608 
Its quaint, old-fashloned dwellings and the'sleep- 
ing valley with Its murmuring brook lazily glid¬ 
ing through Its everchangtng labyrinth with 
tailing autumn leaves dancing notselessly on its 
surface. Above and around all was life and 
bustle. Tho whole region swarmed with busy 
vintagers whose brightly-colored costumes form¬ 
ed a llvelv contrast to the somber, autumnal 
asoeet of the surrounding country as thev darted 
to and fro among the now half-dismantled vines, 
■filling the atr with merry words and happy laugh¬ 
ter while their nlmhle (lagers wore, deftly cutting 
the purple clusters of grapes from the vines. 
Lustv shouts, giy carols and snatches of popular 
ballads rose through the vapor of the autumnal 
landscape while, from the opposite hills, the air 
came freighted with the echo of a chorus of 
sonorous voices, singing a national song with 
such strength and harmony that it thrilled our 
hearts with emotion and pleasure aud caused a 
momentary hush of chatter among the busy work¬ 
ers around us. 
We could not help hut notice the sweet, harmo¬ 
nious blending or labor and pleasure, the cheerful 
Industry in the midst of song and laughter. 
Little eight-year-old children stood cutting the 
grapes with the practical, business-like air of a 
grown person. Young, rosy-cheeked girls bal¬ 
anced the heavy tubs full or the luscious berry 
■upon t.belr heads with an ease and grace worthy 
of a finished gymnast, while the male portion 
carried their indispensable “ Buddens(a deep 
■wooden vessel in the shape of a half barrel cut 
apart lengthwise and secured to the shoulders 
with leather straps or twisted willows). 
It Is strange that. In this secluded village where 
the cruel, exacting customs of the outside world 
are usually so little observed. It should be con¬ 
sidered vulgar and unwomanly for any female to 
carry one of these “ Buddens/'—which are han¬ 
dled with so much more ease aud comfort than 
the heavy, unwieldy tubs,—while at the same 
time it is nothing unusual to see a woman plow 
the field or push a wheel-barrow l 
When the sun began to decline In the west and 
the vintagers, with their tanks and barrels full 
of half-pressed grapes, formed themselves again 
into a long train down to the village, we descend¬ 
ed the htlls, which were still ringing with the 
cheers or a lew stragglers, and preceded the 
long oaravan of carts to take a view or the Kelter, 
before the busy harvesters arrived. The Kelter 
Is a large, square, wooden building, similar to an 
American market-house In style of architecture. 
The stalls or apartments containing the tanks 
are numbered and ranged on either side; in the 
center is a large wine press, where each of the 
vlll igers takes hla turn. The Kelter Is opened on 
the first or second dty of October and closed for 
the rest of the year at the end or the month. The 
season cf grape-gathering seldom lasts longer 
than three weeks, at the end of which time there 
Is a grand festival, called " Kirby,” where the 
wlue-merchauts from the city, after closing their 
bargains, are feasted with new wiue and the 
young folks have a grand hop at the Inn. 
-- 
QUIET PEOPLE. 
The ralagovernrneui of the world Is carried on 
with such an amount of talk that one has seldom 
time to think how little would suffice. Half-a- 
dozea well-chosen words would generally be bet¬ 
ter than whole conferences and debates. Both 
wise and foolish people have broken much silence 
In praising It. Tne silent man is often enabled, 
by the value attached to his rare utterances, to 
say more by his silence than a voluble talker by a 
string of phrases. There Isa kind of silence which 
is the reverse of talk, and is In Itself eloquent. 
A prisoner who reserves his defence, a witness 
wuo refuses to answer a question, a man who 
holds his tongue when his character Is assailed 
—in short, all the cases in which “ silence gives 
consent” are rather Bllenee as the negation of 
speech than as a positive quantity. It is quite 
easy to imagine luquaclty In a deaf mute. He 
may not hive power to utter a sound, yet, In the 
strict sense, he Is not perhaps a silent person. 
And silence kept on purpose to express, by Its 
very existence, an emotion of the mind, is only a 
substitution of signs for speech. Such is the 
reticence displayed by the well-known epitaph 
on a tombstone in Fulham churchyard, where, 
after the name, age and date of death of the lady 
burled below, tnree words only are added by way 
of epitaph—” Silence is best.” The estimation 
of the deceased by her surviving relations could 
not be more rully expressed had the whole stone 
been covered. When a character IB to be given 
to a drunken or dishonest servant, the omission 
of the words honest and sober is sufficient. But 
this Is not the silence of quiet people. Too often 
they resemble rather the chimpanzee than the 
parrot, and are not talkative because talk may 
involve them m further exertion. But it is not 
easy to pry into their motives of action, or rather 
of inaction. The Ulster folk have a proverb, 
“ Nobody can tell what 1s In the pot when the 
lid Is on.” it Is not the most unselfish people 
who talk least, about LhemBelves. To some the 
facts which rela.te to their personal history are 
too serious tor words. 
Unspeakable are the emotions of silent people; 
a sense of personal dignity or shame keeps them 
quiet; but to moat of them ts vouchsafed a single 
confidential friend. Into whose ear all the pent- 
up teellDgs are poured from time to time. 
This Is especially the case with quiet girls. 
What they say in tuelr moments of confidence 
we cannot pretend to know. Whether they are 
really quiet or only uhy Is equally heyond the 
superficial observer. That they are not found to 
Impede the pleasant flow of soul In ordinary so¬ 
ciety Is because they are eminently good listeners, 
and do not yawn at the utmost, commonplaces. 
That another should eomprut himself to speech, 
with or without anything to say, Is enough to In¬ 
terest them. They are thought sympathetic, and 
often^clraw forth the tale of woe long hidden. 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
Men begin by telling them of other loves, and 
often end by loving them for themselves. In this 
they have advantage over the more gushing sts- 
*er. They take no notice of a. foolish speech, and 
a man Imagines he is safe In their hands. He can 
say things to them which, said to any one else, 
might, have serious consequences. A quiet 
cousin Is thus often a great, blessing to a man. 
He can talk a matter out as if with himself, and 
Imagine afterwards that he has had counsel upon 
It. The quiet girl hears him with outward sym¬ 
pathy, agrees with all hts views, and, when 
asked to help him to a decision, gives her casting 
vote in favor of the course he already prefers. 
He finds after a time that her quiet receptiveness 
Is grateful to him: and, when she has seen him 
safe through an engagement or tw<y, and half-a- 
dozen flirtations more or less serlons, he suddenly 
finds out. or at least tells her, that he has really 
been In love with her only all the time. Some¬ 
times this happy result Is brought about by 
scheming, and It Is the great drawback of quiet¬ 
ness that, duplicity Is so often attributed to It. 
The quiet, girl of the family regulates the autumn 
tour; she silently directs Its goings to the place 
where her bosom lrlonrt, male or-female. is to be 
met with, aud she will bury her sisters in a north¬ 
ern moor or bake them at Brighton with equal 
and unruffled composure. True, site never asks 
to go any where In particular; but at odd Inter¬ 
vals she hazards a remark which suggests the 
place, and now and then reads out, a paragraph 
from a. letter or newspaper In which Its advanta¬ 
ges are set forth. What she does say Is listened 
to by the family, for she la always sure of 
an audience for her rare utterances, and gets a 
reputation for good sense which she does not 
always deserve. She Is never in scrapes, or, If she 
is. keeps them to herself. Her allowance is never 
overdrawn, or. if It is, no one hears her grumble 
that she cannot" make ends meet. There seems 
to be a method in her doings to which people 
instinctively yield, and she gets tier own way, 
not so much because she tiles to get it, as because 
nobody thinks of opposing her. Like the files 
whose feet are provided with soft pads, so that 
you do not feel them when they allghton you, her 
Influence works unnoticed, and everything Beems 
ordered for her rather than by her. She almost 
monopolizes the attention of the lady ’s-mald she 
Is supposed to share with her sisters, and can 
always manage a cup of tea In her room or break¬ 
fast In bed. She can flirt, on occasion. In a way 
no frivolous girl dares to attempt, but she never 
writes a compromising letter, and has a most 
convenient want of memory. She accepts 
presents which her sisters would have to refuse, 
and keeps them laid by In cotton wool to look at 
during the hour she Is doing her hack hair and 
saying her prayers. She retires gracefully In 
favor of the other girls, as if willing to let them 
shine, and gets her reward by the approoation of 
the old people of the party. 
Quiet men find her agreeable, and wonder why 
Bhe Is said to be silent, but tbis Is chiefly because 
she does not bore them by Inals lug on answers to 
her questions. When she develops Into a wife, 
for she always marries at least once, sue gets her 
own way In everything. Her husband probably 
chose her because he thought It would turn out 
differently, and finds when too late that he could 
not possibly have made a more complete mistake. 
Children are always fond of her; sons respect, it 
they do not greatly love quiet mothers, tor they 
have never heard them talk nonsense. Servants 
never give them short answers, as their words are 
rew aud decisive, and the poor people think them 
dignified and mines of hidden wisdom. In fact, 
they go through the world under a kind of false 
pretense; they get credit for groat depth of feel¬ 
ing, aud It Is for some reason thought well worth 
while to win their love. Only the experienced 
man estimates them at their right value, and ad¬ 
mires the merry little sister with the sharp 
tongue, the pleasant smile, and as he knows well, 
a warmer heart and truer character than under¬ 
lie the staid demeanor of the quiet girl. 
Quietness Is sometimes a sign of bodily health. 
The nervous man who Is always stlrrlug is sel¬ 
dom strong. But whea a man Is thoroughly 
wrapped up In himself and his own Importance, 
perfectly satisfied with his position and pros¬ 
pects, the cut of hts clothes, too length of bis 
whiskers, the attenuation of hla umbrella, and 
luster of his hat, the chances are that he Is very 
quiet. Such men are habitually well dressed; 
but as they get on In life they cling to old fash¬ 
ions. They are not considerate for others, yet 
they give very little trouble. They exact, the ut¬ 
most service, hut make no fuss about It. They 
are painfully regular and punctual, but never 
seem put out by other people's want of order. 
They are bores at a dinner party, wet blankets 
at a picnic, mere sticks at a ball; but excellent 
as officers, admirable parsons, and much sought 
after by match-making mothers. It lz they who 
carry off the heiresses; who always save money; 
who are never in debt or difficulty, as other men 
are; who are regular In ibelr devotions, and In¬ 
valuable on committee, where they always get 
their own way without trouble or fuss. They 
habitually wait till every one else has spoken, 
and then make the Biogle remark which con¬ 
cludes the matter, and which seems as If It had 
risen to the surface, like cream, of Itself.— Fort¬ 
nightly Review. 
HOW TO LEARN TO SWIM. 
Man, for the most part, must learn to swim; 
and here Is the recipe. It must he understood 
that we are teaching a man come to years of dis¬ 
cretion. First, work up theoretically aud prac¬ 
tically (as far as may he out. of the water) the po¬ 
sition of the body In swimming, and the rhythm¬ 
ical extension and adduction of tho legs and rms. 
Then boldly walk Into the sea, when It la rather 
calm, up to the chin, turn t,o the shore, and fall 
forward on the chest, letting the arms cut the 
water before the body, and practice the motions 
now f amili ar to the mind from the treatise. 
Never mind swallowing a little water! Persevere 
In this for several days In succession, and then, 
If possible, get a swimmer to support your chest 
for a minute or two. Or, better still, as man Is 
nearly of the same specific gravity as water, the 
addition of a very few pounds of cork will make 
him float. Get several pieces of cork, therefore, 
and fasten them to loops In which tho arms can 
he inserted, and wltu the addition of these you 
will find, when the “stroke” Is once ramlUar, 
that you will easily float, and what Is more, make 
progression through the water. Stick to this 
plan for a few more days, and then try your own 
unaided powers again, aud you will be astonished 
to find that you can swim. In this way, without 
any swimming-master or parade of any kind, 
swimming (we speak from personal experience) is 
easily learnt, and then what a treat, and what a 
charming mode of gaming exercise, does a bath 
In the sea become! 
Instead of being a shivering duty, looked for¬ 
ward to as a necessary part of the poojah due to 
a watering-place, as an Anglo-Indian would say, 
the dally bath is eagerly welcomed, and the 
whole system Invigorated and braced up by It. 
For the swimmer leaves the water with every 
muscle and llrnb aching with his exertions, and 
tho whole body pervaded by a healthy glow of 
which he wilt feel the beneficial effects through¬ 
out the day. When once tire stroke 1 b familiar to 
a man—comes, as It were, by Instinct. t.o him (as 
It surely will If the above modus dlsctmdi be per¬ 
severed in), all that Is needful Is to set one’s self 
dally the task of a stroke or two more, and soon 
the learner will find himself able to swim any 
reasonable distance, not now near the side, but 
boldly d tshlng out among the waves. Thus, If 
he finds he can only struggle on for six strokes 
to-day before his face sinks and he gets a duck¬ 
ing, to-morrow let him set himself the duty of 
struggling on through seven strokes, eight strokes 
next day, and so on, never being satisfied with 
his efforts until he has succeeded In performing 
his dally number of strokes. In tbis way a visit, 
to the sea becomes a happiness to be looked back 
upon over after lu a man’s life with pleasure. 
How much better Is It thus to have acquired the 
mastery over a strange element than to have 
lounged up and down the beach for many morn¬ 
ings, listening to Italian organ-grinders and 
smoking innumerable cigars.— Cassell's Family 
Magazine. 
-- 
RECENT LITERATURE. 
HN Dear Little Wife. Philadelphia, Pa. : J. M. 
Stoddart & Co. Price Zb centB. 
A tale more sad, tender and true, we have never 
read. It almost passes bellet Chat a man Is the 
author of It, for It would seem as though only a 
woman who had suffered could so faithfully por¬ 
tray the misery of the “Dear Little Wife.” So 
long as a man provides for Ids family and re¬ 
frains from using any actual violence towards his 
wife, he is esteemed a good husband; and yet all 
the while he maybe crucirylng his wife by his 
selr-assertlon and hts thoughtlessness. The fatal 
doctrine that the wife Is to lose her Identity lu, and 
to be absorbed by the husband, develops selfish¬ 
ness and tyranny In the man, and Is the occasion 
of bitter uuhapplness to woman. The author has 
taken t.he “ subjection” theory for hls text, and 
his treatment of the subject shows him to be a 
keen observer, and to be possessed of a deep 
knowledge of womanhood. Its nature and needs. 
If tho average man could but be induced to read 
the book, and profit by the lessons It teaches, 
many a wife would have reason to bless the au¬ 
thor for having written It, 
Saveli’s Expiation. Translated from the French 
<il Henry Greville. by Mary Neal Shkuwoou, 
J'nila.: T. B. Peterson & Bros, Paper, 60 cents ; 
cloth, $1. 
Tns author’s reputation as a powerful and 
original writer Is rapidly becoming an accom¬ 
plished fact with American readers. And we 
have now under notice the book which has done 
more towards establishing her reputation abroad 
than any other. For strength, variety and a 
marked dramatic Interest, it takes precedence of 
all her other works, and ranks among the first of 
modern novels. The characters are boldly and 
powerfully drawn, and the Incidents are varied 
and Intensely Interesting, while the underlying 
strata of pathos and tenderness soften the effect 
of the rugged Individuality of the characters upon 
Whom the plot rests. It Is a story or the time of 
Russian serfdom, and though there are scenes of 
painful Interest vividly depicted, there ts uothlng 
of the sensational and nothing overdrawn. The 
author’s forte Is in her appreciation, analysis and 
delineation or character and remarkably realistic 
descriptions. The language Is always refined 
and elegant—the translator having done the 
author Justice, and altogether the book Is 
thoroughly enjoyable. 
Six to One. A Nuntuekct, idyl. New York: G. P. 
Putnam’s Sous. Cloth, 76 ol,« ; Paper. Ill ctB. 
Tma is a pleasant Utile story of an editor’s 
summer vacation at Nantucket where he Is lion¬ 
ized by six young ladles of whom he enjoys com¬ 
plete monopoly. The peculiar circumstances 
render everything like a plot out Of the question 
and there Is even a dearth of adventure until the 
hero of the “ idyl” wrests his favorite naiad from 
the clammy embrace of Neptune who sought to 
win her for hla own. After this the two become 
satisfied the other five glrlB are not absolutely 
necessary to their existence, and poetic Justice is 
accomplished. _ 
Littku.a Living Ahe.— Llttell’s Living Age for 
the week eudlng September 14th, contains a very 
Interesting article, entitled The Four Last Sul¬ 
tans, iranslu ted and abridged lor the magazine, 
from advanced sheets of a work by Count K. de 
Keratry, ex-dlplomatlsi at Constuntlooplp. The 
number also contains the Bapt ismal Creed of the 
KarlV Roman Church, Contemporary Review; 
The Trial of TWO Quakers In the Time of Oliver 
Cromwell, from original documents by A. H. A. 
Hamilton, Frazer’s Magazine; The First JCdln- 
burgh Reviewers, CornbUl Magazine; The Bo¬ 
wline rments ol Science, Spectator; Thibet, Na¬ 
ture; The Drawbacks of tho luudteotuul Life, 
Mpeotator; lnslalmeuis of two serials, one by 
Miss Keary, author of Castle D.ily, Oldbury, etc : 
the other by Mrs. Oilphant, and both published 
from the authors’ advance sheets; together with 
the usual choice poetry, etc. 
SEPT. 24 
BRIC-A-BRAC. 
THE TALK OF TEN THEKMOMETEB8. 
Ter little ’mometers roosting on the " Line.” 
One foil aud broko its “ neck ’’—then there were nine. 
Nine little ’inometors ecori ng hundred ’n eight. 
One “ its biler bust ‘'—in passing old “ Death Rate.” 
Eight little Tuoineters sending folks to heaven. 
One had a sunstroke—counted out by eight to seven. 
Seven little ’moulders all as light as bricks, 
One took too much frig-id ice-leaving only six. 
Six little ’mometers trying hard to thrive, 
One turned up his tiny toes—you couldn't count but 
five. 
Five little ’mometers, oh. to hear ’em roar! 
One broke its vitrouB case—uow hung only four. 
Four little 'mometerB seeking shady spa. 
One its “innards” did congest—thermometric cholera- 
Three little ’mometers looking deuced blue, 
One it swallowed mercury—and "shook” the other 
two. 
Two little ’mometers warming up the Bun, 
Both started for St. Louis—I’ve ouly heard of one. 
One little 'inometer dressed eu dishabille, 
Itfs got a fan and tub of ice—but is very, very ill. 
[Cincinnati Co mmercial. 
Nothing like trust.— Spurgeon says: “There 
Is nothing In the world that Impresses a man so 
much as trust. Some years ago I was mastered 
by a dog In that way. I own. In fact, that I was 
beaten hollow, aud he was a conqueror over me. 
He came Into my garden, and he had uo business 
there. Thinking that he would not Improve my 
flower-bed, 1 walked along quietly and threw my 
stick at him, and thus advised him to go some¬ 
where else. W hat did that dog do7 lie stopped, 
picked up the stick, wagged hls tall, and came 
running to aie with It, and laid the slick down 
at my feet. I felt ashamed of having thrown my 
stick, and the dog was told he might come round 
the garden when he liked. How could I do other¬ 
wise?” 
THE LIFE OF THE BOSE. 
[From the French of M. J. Resseguir.] 
Rose 
Fair 
There 
Grows, 
To whose 
Lot 
What 
Close? 
Sweet; 
Fleet; 
Chill 
Breeze 
Will 
Seize! 
The poet Southey mentions that In days gone 
by, the Mayors of Leicester used to be chOBen by 
a sow. The candidates sat In a semi-circle, each 
with hls hat full of beans In hls lap, and he was 
elected Mayor from whose hat the sow ate first. 
A calculation Uas been made and confirmed by 
several distinguished engineers, to wfiom It was 
submitted, showing that tho population of the 
whole world, fourteen hundred millions, could find 
standing room on the Isle of Wight. 
*• The sandal wood perfumes, whon riven, 
The axe that laid it low. 
Let him who hopes to be forgiven 
Forgive and bless his foe." 
— A DISTINCTION WITH AN INDIFFERENCE. —“ Why,” 
asks the Scientific American, “should not a child 
be taught to write with both hands indifferent¬ 
ly 7 ” We don’t know, unlo isit be that tudlfferent 
writing Is hardly looked upou as a desirable ac¬ 
complishment. We could polut out quite a num¬ 
ber of people who write so indifferently with one 
hand that It Is a matter for gatutatlon that they 
cannot use both. 
“DON’T GIVE IT AWAY.” 
From tho simplest flowers by the wayside, 
Fair wisdom may cull a bouquet j 
A street-phrase may oft point a moral ; 
There’s sense in—“ Don't Give it Away.” 
If you hear of a choice bit Of scandal. 
Be it" spicy ” or true as it may, 
Don’t eagerly burry to spread it, 
Do better—" Don’t Give it Away.” 
When a gossip persistently bores you, 
Your fellow* or friends to betray. 
Be polite as you can, but remember 
Be firm, and—" Don’t Give it Away.” 
When a confidence rests in your keeping— 
When a frieud to your ear doth convey 
Some secret he trusts to your honor, 
Take care you—"Don’t Give it Away.” 
• [Stamford Advocate. 
The old-fashioned custom, still existing Insome 
parts of the country, of crying out “God bless 
you!” when anyone sneezes, Is not confined to 
England. In RusBla, If the emperor happens to 
sueezo in any public place, tho whole assembly 
cries out to wish him good luck. The origin of 
the custom la lost in obscurity, although It has 
been attributed to Pope Gregory the Great, who 
died In (101; but numerous allusions In classical 
authors, and tho prevalence of similar salutations 
among savage tribes, prove that this Idea Is with¬ 
out foundation. There is also a tale whLch may 
possess some truth, that In the days wficn the 
plague was common, a violent sneeze marked the 
crisis of tho disease, to which the bystanders 
then wlsited a happy termination. Among the 
Highlanders and Irish, It was believed that any 
one sneezing thrice without being thus saluted, 
became subject to the power of the fairies. 
Father Taylor, while lecturing oh temper¬ 
ance, was hissed by oue of hla hearers, a notori¬ 
ous drunkard. Taylor stopped, pointed to the 
offender, and said, “ There’s a red nose got Into 
hot wrter, don’t you hear it hiss ?” 
