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'abirs’ |)orf'^olior. 
GOOD NIGHT. 
GOOD-NIQHt— good-ntKht! 
Tlio hour of I'nrt.ing brinks the hour of dreams. 
Be thy sleep calm *n<l deep. 
A spell of clown on silken eyelids laid ; 
Between our pillows distance only seems. 
And darkness Is us a transparent shade. 
And sweetest speeches silences Inclose, 
Like roses’ perfume folded in the rose— 
Growing Intense as silence deeper grows : 
Good-night! 
Good-night—good-night' 
These parting words are but a tender cheat; 
For still w'o know that whether we may go 
Beyond arm's reach, or wide as worlds apart. 
Together we shall throb at each heart-beat; 
T hrillcd by the same electric dart. 
Shot from the arch-god's arched bow, 
Through either bosom’s wall of snow— 
Forever and forever be it so f 
Good-nlgln 1 
[Overland Monthly• 
-- 
. MODERN COUNTRY WEDDING. 
for silver or other donations. But it it was 
the fashion it. must be followed, of course, 
and those city boarders told Kate how to 
manage it. 
Aunt Becky, whose round face beamed 
like a full moon upon Kate, came first with 
her offering. “ 1 thought and thought,” said 
she, “ what would he right for me to bring, 
and at last I told A iiKAM that if lie would 
take the pulled wool from those two sheep 
that died, he could exchange it for tlauucl; 
it would buy four yards of the heaviest , and 
I guessed there wouldn’t any one beat that. 
Here it isand she produced a bundle of 
an alarming size from her capacious basket. 
Old Mr. Weatiikuvvax, hardware dealer, 
sent In a sausage cutter and ft bag of clothes 
pins. The Misses L. f who envied Kate her 
delicate white fingers, generously donated a 
mop, broom and dust-pan. Grandma White 
came with a bundle of old linen, which she 
assured K ate would be “ drefful handy about 
the house.” 
Mrs. If ante says these useful and practi- 
fflit a lib Iqimar. 
qp s? _ 
EDITORIAL EXPERIENCE. 
How I Edited an Agricultural Paper Once. 
BY MAJftK TWAIN. 
living in a plain way. The farmers come 
to town once a week, usually Saturdays, for ' 
the “ mail,” consisting of one political and 
one religious newspaper, (sectarian, of ' 
course,) and by looking at this index you can 
determine to a certainly which of the two 
churches in the town the man lias a leaning ‘ 
to. For questions ofClmrch and State agi¬ 
tate even this community at times. 
Nearly every male member of each church ^ 
expects at some stage of Ids earthly exist- 
cnce to “ represent the town ” in the Legis¬ 
lature. This year a member of the Old 
Orthodox Church; next a member of the 1 
2Van. Those who have obtained the coveted 
honors may he known by their self-satisfied ( 
air, and a certain consciousness of dignity that 
weighs heavily upon them those who have 
not, by their graceful deference to that, 
many-headed individual—the Public. There ' 
are a few speculators of very mild turn of ' 
mind; a merchant, or two in a small way; 
the post-master; a few loungers, who, with¬ 
out visible means of support, contrive to live 1 
easy, jolly lives, and myself, Ichabod : 
IIance, School master. 
There has been no attempt to follow the 1 
fashions of the Empress Eugenie in this 
community until lately, when, I regret to 
say, the example of a few city hoarders lias 
utterly demoralized the female element 
among us. Yesterday I saw on the street a ( 
young lady who, I supposed, was afflicted, 
with spinal complaint; but Mrs. IIANCE in¬ 
formed me it. was the “ Grecian Bend," and 
truly elegant. 
Mm. IIance also insisted on having her 
new black alpaca made cn pannier, and 1 
foolishly gave my consent, supposing, in the 
innocently of my heart, that pannier* were 
some sort, of a pocket or receptacle lor the 
numerous veils, scarfs, ribbons, &c., that 
women delight to carry about With them. 
Mrs. Gueen, the grocer’s wife, and Mrs. 
John Smith, whose husband peddles jew¬ 
elry, called on her this very afternoon, and 
the three women had cptile a timo turning 
around and observing the effect of each 
other’s en pannier. 
But what 1 especially wanted to write 
you about was a wedding that lately took 
place in this village. I did not attend this 
wedding myself, hut think I can report it 
with sufficient accuracy, for T received my 
information from Mrs. IIance, who learned 
it from Mrs. Jones, who had talked with 
Mrs, Smith, who was there. 
In the first place Charlie Gray and 
Kate Parsons had been “courtin’,” more 
or less, these three years. Ho had escorted 
her to evening meetings, donation visits, 
singing schools and such other amusements 
as the village afforded ; and now the wed¬ 
ding has been “done up” in a style they 
fondly believe reflects honor upon the com¬ 
munity. 
For as many as six weeks before the cere¬ 
mony took place, Kate’s naturally fine hair 
began to curl and frizz in a most unaccount¬ 
able manner. Sometimes it was in a state 
of general frizziness all over her head; then 
again, it would he arranged in little bunches, 
suggesting a flower garden. 
Invitations were sent out, as much as two 
weeks before the eventful eve, to the Squire’s 
family; to Mrs. A-, who owned an ex¬ 
tension table that must be borrowed for the 
occasion ; to Mrs. B-. whose silver cake 
baskets were required ; to Mrs. C-, whose 
plated nonsense that, could be thought of. , 
When I heard that, I thought that sort of !' 
house furnishing, my dears, “ won’t, wash ” 
for beginners. 
Covered carriages and rosewood pianos are 
comfortable things to have about one when 
the means admit, of such luxuries; but a car¬ 
riage is not the cosiest place in the world to . 
live in, and a piano might, not prove as pula- 
table for dinner as a well-cooked beef steak. 
But it is not to be expected that young folks 
at the present day will get, married and go j 
to housekeeping as did their parents before 
them. 
There must he a long season of braiding, 
tucking and ruffling, and all sorts of cunning ( 
broidcred work on fine linen; a siege of mil¬ 
liners and dressmakers, before even a farm¬ 
er’s daughter is fit to leave her fat her’s house. 
Sonaith Kate; hut I heard old Mr. Par 
i 
sons say to a merchant when he settled a 
long bill, “ If all these things helped the gal 
any, 1 wouldn’t mind; but. hero is a thou¬ 
sand dollars i had laid by to start the young 
folks in the world with, and it will take 
every dollar of it for clothes, and then she 
don’t think she is half rigged ! Her head is 
turned by all the talk she hoard about fash¬ 
ions last summer; and after I have bought 
tier, the Lord only knows how many silk 
dresses, she has got something she calls an 
India Inn-Jin, thinner than a spider’s web, 
that she is going lobe married in to-morrow 
night. Think of her wearing such a thing 
in January! I expect it will be the death of 
her; hut she don’t seem to think the cere¬ 
mony will he legal if she don’t wear that and 
a white veil. She and Charlie both have 
about ns sensible ideas of life as a pair of 
week-old robins. It boats all natur.” 
1 saw by that ho didn’t think such prepar¬ 
ations would “ wash” either; but the women 
folks, bless you, they were all carried away 
with it. 
The ceremony itself was just the old form 
that was in use when Polly Ann and I were 
married, twenty years ago; but immediately 
after that came congratulations in this man¬ 
ner;—First, CnARLiE stuck his arm through 
the gossamer veil and extricated it without 
further damage than a rent half a yard long, 
and then Idssed the bride, Relatives and 
friends followed in quick succession, and by 
the time it was well over with, there wasn’t 
enough white veil left for a show ; in fact, it 
looked like the curtains of the White House 
after a raid of curiosity seekers. 
After supper the bride appeared clad in a 
dove-colored traveling dress— en pannier , of 
course—and a hat about the size of a tea- 
saucer on tier head. Her wrappings were a 
beautiful little short sack, just matching the 
color of her dress and hat, a very diminutive 
fur collar and muff— very costly though, I 
am told, and about half a yard of dove- 
colored gauze for a veil. These were the 
• preparations for a drive or six miles in an 
• open sleigh at midnight, in a storm. 
Verily it seemed to me ns if the dear 
i child would actually suffer with the cold; 
hut the ladies here nil assure me that such 
an outfit is perfectly comfortable. 
> The rest of the story T heard from Char- 
3 lie himself last night, and as it is my pur- 
. pose to lie as accurate as possible in this 
3 narrative, I will give It in his own words. 
3 ‘jl tell you, hoys, F- is the regular 
e ticket for a fellow that wants to go the gen- 
I did not take the temporary editorship of 
an agricultural paper without misgivings. 
Neither would a landsman take command of 
a ship without misgivings. But I was in 
circumstances that made the salary an ob¬ 
ject,. The regular editor of the paper was 
going off for a holiday, and I accepted the 
terras he offered and took his place. 
The sensation of being at work again was 
luxurious, and 1 wrought, all the week with 
unflagging pleasure. We went to press, and 
I waited a day with some solicitude to see 
whether my effort was going to attract any 
notice. As l left the office, towards sun¬ 
down, a group of men and hoys at, the foot 
of the stairs dispersed with one impulse and 
gave me passage-way, and I heard one or 
two of them flay, “ Thatffl him!’ 1 was 
naturally pleased by this incident. A he 
next, morning T found a similar group at the 
foot of the stairs, and scattering couples and 
individuals standing hero and therein the 
street, and over the way, watching mo with 
interest. The group separated and fell hack 
and 1 approached, and l heard a man flay, 
“ Look at his eye!” 1 pretended not to ob¬ 
serve t he notice 1 was attracting, but secretly 
l was pleased with it, and was purposing to 
write an account of it to my aunt. I went 
up the short flight, of stairs, and heard cheery 
voices a,ml ft ringing laugh as I drew near 
the door, which I opened, and caught a 
glimpse of two young, rural-looking men, 
whose faces blanched and lengthened when 
they saw me, and then they both plunged 
through the window with a great crash. 1 
was surprised. 
In about half an hour an old gentleman, 
with ft flowing beard and a flue hut rather 
austere face, entered and sat down at my in¬ 
vitation. lie seemed to liavo something on 
his mind, lie took off his bat and set it, on 
tin! floor, and got out of it a red silk hand¬ 
kerchief and a copy of our paper. He put 
the paper on his lap, and, while lie polished 
his spectacles with his handkerchief, he said: 
“ Are you the new editor?” 
I said I was. 
“ Have you ever edited an agricultural 
paper before?” 
“No,” I said; “Ahj^Js my.first attempt.” 
“Very likely. ^Tavc'you had any experi¬ 
ence in agriculture, practically?” 
“ No, I believe 1 have not,” 
“ Soino instinct told me so,” said the old 
gentleman, putting on his spectacles and 
looking over them at me with asperity, while 
he folded his paper into a convenient shape. 
“ l wish to read to you what must have 
made me have that instinct. It was this 
editorial. Listen, and see if it, was you that 
wrote it: 
csstiry in rearing it. It should not bo imported 
earlier than June nor later than September. In 
the winter it should he kept in a warm place, 
where it can hatch out its young. 
It Is evident that wc are to have a backward 
season for irraln. Therefore, It will be well tor 
the farmer to begin setting out his cornstalks 
anil plant!me hts buckwheat cokes in July lu- 
Bieiul of August. 
Concerning the pumpkin. Tills berry is a fa¬ 
vorite with the. nailves ol the Interior of N> w 
Eiinhuul. who prefer it to I ho gooseberry for ibe 
mnkiiiK of fruit- cake, and who likewise give it 
the preference over the raspberry for feeding 
cows, ns being more lllljng and fully ns satisfy¬ 
ing. The pumpkin is the only esculent of the 
orange family that will thrive hi the North, ex¬ 
cept i lie gourd and one or two varieties of iho 
squash. Rut.the custom of planting it in iho 
t rout yard with the shrubbery is faHt. going out 
of vogue, for It Is now generally conceded that 
the pumpkin, as a shade tree, is a. failure. 
Now. as the warm weather approaches, and 
the ganders begin to spawn- 
The excited listener sprang towards me to 
shake bunds, and said : 
“There, there — that will do! I know I 
am all right now, because you have read it 
just as I did, word for word. But, stranger, 
when 1 first read it this morning, 1 said to 
'Turnips should never be putted—it injures 
them. It Is much bolter to send a boy up and 
let him shako the tree.’ 
“ Now, what do you think of that?—for 1 
really suppose you wrote it?" 
“ Think of it? Why, T think itis good. 1 
think it, is sense. 1 have no doubt that,every 
year, mill ions and millions of bushels of tur¬ 
nips are spoiled in this township alone by 
being pulled in a half-ripe condition, when, 
if they had sent a boy up to shako the 
tree-” 
“ Shako your grandmother! Turnips don’t 
grow on trees!” 
“ ()h, they don’t, don’t they? Well, who 
said they did ? The language was intended 
to he figurative, wholly figurative. Any¬ 
body, that knows anything, will know that 
1 meant, that the boy should shake the vine.” 
Then this old person got up and tore Ids 
paper all into small shreds, and stamped on 
them, and broke several things with his cane, 
and said l did not know us much as a cow; 
and then went out, and hanged the door 
after him, and, in short, acted in such a way 
that 1 fancied he was displeased about some¬ 
thing. But, not knowing what the trouble 
was, r could not be any help to him. 
Pretty soon after this a long, cadaverous 
creature, with lanky locks hanging clown to 
his shoulders, and a week’s stubble bristling 
from the hills and valleys of his face, darted 
within the door, and halted,motionless, with 
finger on lip, ami head and body bent in lis¬ 
tening attitude. No sound was heard. Still 
he listened. No sound. Then he turned the 
myself, 1 never, never believed it before, not,- ; 
withstanding my friends kept me under ( 
watch so strict, but now l believe 1 am il 
crazy; and with that 1 fetched a howl that , 
you might have heard two miles, and start- 11 
cd out to kill somebody, because, you know, ° 
I knew it would come to that sooner or " 
later, and so I might as well begin. I read 11 
one of them paragraphs over again, so as to ? 
ho certain, and then I burned my house J, 
down and started. 1 have crippled several 
people, and have got one fellow up a tree, * 
where l can get him if 1 want him. But 1 1 
thought, 1 would call in here as I passed 
along and make the tiling perfectly certain; 
and now it in certain, and I tell you it is ' 
lucky for the chap that is in the tree. I 3 
should have killed him, sure, as 1 went 1 
back. Good-by, sir, good-by — you have : 
taken a great, load off my mind. My reason 1 
has stood the strain of one of your agricul¬ 
tural articles, and 1 know that nothing can 
ever unseat it now. Gooil-hy, sir.” 
1 fell, a little, uncomfortable about, the : 
cripplings and arsons this person Had been 
entertaining himself with, for 1 could not 
help feeling remotely accessory to them; 
but these thoughts were quickly banished, 
for the regular editor walked in ! 11 thought 
to myself, Now, if you had gone to Egypt, 
as 1 recommended you to, I might have had 
a chance to get my hand in; hut you 
wouldn’t do it, and here you arc. I sort of 
expected you. | 
The editor was looking sad, and perplexed, 
and dejected. He surveyed the wreck which 
that old rioter and these two young farmers 
had made, and then said: 
“ Tills is a sad business—a very sad bo'&l- 
ness. There is the mucilage bottle broken, 
and six panes of glass, and a spittoon and 
1,wo candlesticks. But that is not the worst. 
The reputation of tile paper is injured, and 
permanently, 1 fear. True, there never was 
Bitch a call for the paper before, and it never 
sold such a large edition or soared to such 
celebrity; but does one want to he famous 
for lunacy, and prosper upon the infirmities 
of his mind? My friend, as l am an honest 
man, the street out hero is full of people, and 
others are roosting on the fences, waiting to 
get a glimpse of you, because they think you 
are crazy. And well they might, after read¬ 
ing your editorials. They are a disgrace to 
journalism. Why, what put it into your 
head that you could edit n paper of this na¬ 
ture? You do not, seem to know the.first 
rudiments of agriculture. You speak of a 
furrow and a harrow as being the same thing; 
you talk of the moulting season for cows; 
and you recommend the domestication of 
the polecat on account of Us playfulness and 
its excellence as u ratter. Your remark that 
clams will lie quiet if music he played to 
them, was superfluous—entirely superfluous. 
Nothing disturbs clams. Clams always lie 
. quiet. Clams care nothing whatever about, 
’ music. Ah, heavens and earth, friend, if 
i you had made the acquiring of ignorance the 
i study of your life, you could not have grail- 
, uated with higher honor than you could to- 
; day. I never saw anything like it. Your 
r observation that the horse-chestnut, as an 
! article of commerce, is steadily gaining in 
- favor, is simply calculated to destroy this 
o journal. I want you to throw up your situ¬ 
ation and go. I want no more holiday— 
3 could not enjoy it if 1 had it. Certainly not 
:> with you in my chair. 1 would always stand 
* iii dread of what you might be going to rec- 
\ ommend next. It makes me lose all patience 
li every time 1 think of your discussing oyster- 
t- beds under the head of 1 Landscape Garden- 
II ing.’ I want you to go. Nothing oil earth 
e could persuade me to take another holiday. 
who never wrote one. Who do up the 
heavy leaders on finance? Parties who 
have had tlu: largest opport,unities Ibr know¬ 
ing nothing about, it. Who criticise the In¬ 
dian campaigns? Gentlemen who do not 
know a war-whoop from a wigwam, and 
who have never had to run a foot-race with 
a tomahawk or pluck arrows out of the seve¬ 
ral members of their families to build the 
evening camp-fire with. Who write the 
temperance appeals and clamor about the 
flowing-bowl? Folks who will never draw 
another sober breath till they do it, in the 
grave. Who edit the agricultural papers, 
you—yarn? Men, as a general thing, who 
fail in the poetry line, yellow-covered novel 
line, sensation-drama line, city-editor line, 
and finally fall back on agriculture as a tem¬ 
porary reprieve from the poor-house. You 
try to tell me anything about the newspaper 
business! Sir, I have been through it from 
Alpha to Omaha, and I tell you that the 
loss a man knows the bigger noise he makes 
and tho higher the salary he commands. 
Heaven knows if 1 had hut. been ignorant 
instead of cultivated, and impudent instead 
of diffident, 1 could have made, a name for 
myself, in this cold, selfish world. I take, 
my leave,sir. Since 1 have, been treated as 
you liavo treated me, 1 am perfectly willing 
to go. But 1 have (lone my duty. I have 
fulfilled my contract, as far us 1 was permit¬ 
ted to do it. 1 said I could make, your paper 
of interest, to all classes, and 1 have. 1 said 
I could run your circulation up to twenty 
thousand copies, and if 1 had had two more 
weeks I’d have done it. And I’d bftvegiven 
you the host class of rondel's that ever an ag¬ 
ricultural paper had not a farmer in it, nor 
a solitary individual who could tell a water¬ 
melon from a peach-vine to save his life. 
You are the loser by this rupture, not me, 
Pie-plant. Adios. 
I then left .—Galaxy for July. 
ment, (luit “ one shall be taken and the other 
left"—and a whole host of uncles, aunts, 
and cousins of tho parties received invita¬ 
tions with the delicate hint, that presents for 
the bride are expected. 
This was something new here; for our 
young folks have always seemed to think 
that getting married and going to house¬ 
keeping was their own concern, and have 
had too much independence to call right out 
m 
washing days, ‘picked up,’ and the hush 
was a little more than she could stand. The 
fact is, that muslin dress and a drive of six 
miles in the storm, and traveling till near 
daylight, liked to have killed Kate, for her 
constitution never was one of the st rongest. 
Wc both felt, that society demanded some 
style, and it wouldn’t have been respectable 
not to have made a bridal lour somewhere.” 
Alas! that the demands of society are so 
hard upon the rising generation ! 
Yours to command, Ichabod IIance. 
paper from his bosom, and said: 
you I have been In tho editorial business 
Choice 111 t sail a mi. 
IT) 0 c\ jj 
A LOST CHORD. 
SjoAtki) fine clay at the organ, 
I whs weary and ill at case, 
And my fliiKcira wandered Idly 
Over tito notny keys. 
I do not know what t wan playing. 
Or wliut l wan dreaming thou, 
But I struelc one nhord of music 
Like the sound of a groat Amen 
It flooded the crimson twilight, 
Like the close of an angel’s psalm. 
And It lay on my fevered spirit 
VVIth a touch of lnlluUis calm. 
It quieted pain nod sorrow 
Like love overcoming strife ; 
It seemed tho harmonious echo 
From our discordant llfo. 
It linked all perplexed meanings 
Into one perfect peace, 
And trembled away Into sileuoo 
As If It wens loth to cease. 
I have sought, hut I seek it vainly, 
That one lost chord divine, 
That came from the soul of the organ. 
And entered into mine. 
It may be that Death’s bright ungel 
Will speak hi that chord again ; 
It may he that only in heaven 
I shall hoar that grand Amon. 
[A 'klaltle Anne Procter. 
THOUGHTFUL PARAGRAPHS. 
The chief art of learning is to attempt, but 
little at a time. The widest excursions of 
tho mind arc made by short (lights, fre¬ 
quently repeated ; the most lofty fabrics of 
science are formed by the continued accumu¬ 
lation. of single propositions.— Locke. 
Theiie is nothing that can pay one for 
that valuable ignorance which is the com¬ 
panion of youth; those sanguine, groundless 
hopes, and that lively vanity which make 
up all the happiness of life. To my extreme 
mortification, 1 find myself growing wiser 
anil wiser every day —Lady Montague. 
“ Oh,” says the person proud of blood, “ it 
was never a good world since we have had 
so many upstart, gentlemen.” But. what 
would others have said of Unit man's ances¬ 
tor, when he started first up into the knowl¬ 
edge of the world ? For he, and all men and 
families, ay, and all states and kingdoms too, 
have had their upstarts, that is, their begin¬ 
nings.— William Penn. 
Truth-telling, in its highest sense, re¬ 
quires a well-balanced mind. For instance, 
much exaggeration, perhaps the most, is oc¬ 
casioned by an impatient and easily-moved 
temperament, which longs to convey its own 
vivid impressions to other minds, and seeks 
by amplifying to gain the full measure of 
their sympathy. But a true man does not 
think what his hearers are feeling, but what 
he is saying.— Helps. 
If you are so niggardly that you cannot 
“There— von wrote that. Read it for me, going on fourteen years, and itis the first teach your child to become generous, you 
quick. Relieve me—I suffer.” time I over heard of a man’s having to know 
I read as follows; and as the sentences fell anything In order to edit a newspaper. You 
from my lips, I could see the relief come; I turnip! Who write the dramatic critiques 
could sec tho drawn muscles relax, and the tor the second rate papers i Why, a paicel 
anxiety go out of his face, and rest, and peace of promoted shoemakers and apprentice 
steal over the features like the merciful moon- apothecaries, who know just as much about 
light over a desolate landscape: good acting as I do about good farming and 
The guano is a fine bird, but great care is nec- no more. W_o review the books i Feoplo 
need not lie mean enough to make it become 
stingy; if you arc so avaricious that you can¬ 
not allow those virtues to grow up in its 
heart, whose beauty uml fruitage shall 
gladden and bless mankind, you need not 
work so diligently for Satan as to plant 
therein that “ love of money,” which is tho 
“ root of all evil.” 
ifa 
B 
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