Chicago Daily Tribune Newspaper, August 23, 1874, Page 5

" b1 Th PY-E B e mARE. e B mgpositi\'dvdishflle!nl. As it is, the mis- G THE CHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, AUGUST 923, 1874, - 5 METROPOLITAN MODES. ve Preparations for the Coming Season. Rumors Touching fia Polo- naiss and Overskirt. ed Bevival of Plaids, Stripes, and Figured Goods for Autumn—The Tims to Reproduce Achaic Gowns, iispered Novelties from Paris—--New Varieties of Colors. grings for Fall-Bonnets—Abandonment of the Chatelaine-Chain. From Our Ouwn Correspondent. NEw Yomx, Aug. 19, 1674, 1t our whole snmmer had not boen so deli- goasly cool and comfortable, the painful peeessi- f of consilering fall-fabrics and examiniog stumn modes would bo Dot only unwelcome raees of mtnre are setting to work with wn- el cheerfaluess on tho proper preparations Jx the coming season. Coswumes of every st —noticenbly thoso for the street,—sacques, Zantles, and wraps of all doscriptions, and bon- e and Baf3, arein active construetion. ¥OR THE NEXT TWO MONTRS. Thouenal rumors as to the abandonment of g6 polonaice and overskirt are rife in trving- oms sod motistes’ parlors; but it is by no s certa’n thet either carment has scen its Gmissal. A decided effort will be made to dis- pesee with thicso partn of the costumes but they Jave been favorites. to 60 unprecedented an ex- feat that the averaze feminine mind is loath to reign them, espacially when Do atiractivo sub- itgte is offered. During the incertitude of the sert two montha, the fachionable form for out- i promices tobe s silk petticost trimmed quther high. with verv long apron of camel's hair (raching withia o few inches of the too), and ghort reand Easgue of camel’s hair with silk gwres. Frequently the petticost is ornamented b flounezs of the woolen stufl piped with silis. Thereis 10 remarkable noveltyin theso suits, bas they are very simple snd stylih, aud, for the inlermadizio weather of Soptember and October, sspresty a8 need be. When we are quite certain astothe faie of our well-beloved polonaise, wo «aaafiord to elaborate our costumes ; till then it {yvise to confine oursclves to the unnoticeable. DBY GOODS GOSSTP. The gossips of the dry-goods shops declare nore poriuvels thun over that pluids, stripes, axd figured goods of all kinds, are being revivi- Sodlor the fall msrket. Itis & vity that anythiog but psincolored and plain-surfaced stuffs Fhocli eve be the beight of fashion, sinca the * introduciion of othor fabrics leads the inexperi- enced shoppers iuto every sort of unfortunate mauken. Yory fow persons nnderstand their own figure, arminge, and complextion, well enough to Judge correctiy what gnits them atnong an jufini- irofmited tints and_broken Lnpes, though, 8o 15 they cling to plain hues, thoy can make no ndalerrors. However, the shop-keepers—may- bipthey are right—fancy that, even if we aro well musfed with what we already have, we shall, in szouth or two, demand novolty ; henco the Te- after long relezation to tho ebades, of . puids, stripes, and figures. As a type of the tadod snits deetined for morniog-walks is one daft blue aud green i SCOTCH FLATD, nida plain, dark shade of a green twill e petticoat’ clears the ground, and fain goods. Around the bottom isa 10-inch smight flounce, of the plaid, Jaid in 2-nca mplaits with_spaces, trimmed on the edge vthan inch-wide bias band of the plaid piped @both edges with green. This flounce is set woader & 2-inch bias band of the plaid, piped ¥b green, and bias a plaited heading above the bod lmed with green. Two other fiouuces, euctly Iike the first, except 2 inches narrower, s placed above ; which carries the garniture of e siirt quite bigh. The tunicis a sort of half- . Piasiso of the pia‘d deoply Iooped in tho back ; oy § olors and broken liues will meet o scant wel- me a3 noi to becomo unpleasantly common. e luug aud smooth in [ront, opening over & p coutinental rest of plain green. The * skeses ace plain green cont-glceves, with cuffs of the plmd.~ Tho buttons are Scotch wood, . plaidod like tho drees. 1tis 2o long since anything but plain colors bave been fashionable that it is possiblo the serge of taste has mscu, sod the coming invoices of mixed Binpes aro mach less objectionable than plai d anch more useful, for they can bo mingle with plain etndls with good cffect after they are & wmitle jassa themselves, This 18 the time, though, t being ont any " ANCIENT GOWN ‘whoee vasiely of hues bas long ago sent it into ob-curits. No keason 50 good & the present— or ratter coming—for using what we have been Prozo to cousider tho uuusavle. 1 know al- feady of the overhauliog of numerous trauks for the gate of brmgingout eilks, sud satwns, sod 83t wool fabnes, which, through their unfashion- sbie styic, have been laid away for years. Now, B&e arc to be on the apex of the e, and their delighted owners Ml have a chauce to use what b b:::n teo good to throw away, and too out-ot- = {0 weac. L just ceenrs to me that this is, undoubtedly, e primal canse of the rotation of fashious, of @estzle being tolerably sure to return in & cer— “in wumbsr of sears after going out. Thero @ searcely be & question that it is mercly to A s 8 cliauce to use such sucient garments umaterials as we bave laid away as of small mlee. This i 2 beautiful politico-cconomical theors, which I have never known to be agvancea ‘ore, and which I am convinced lies at the Of our national prosperity. ' 3 PABIS 5AYS Sedosll eend us 2 kind of coschman’s cape for M ouer wap for iue autumn. it is fled to lave (wo capes, sometimes e, snd con hardly fail to be clumsy o Cumsequence, wuless made of a material :fllhmu lack the requisite warmth. Besides, e promiked manties of various shapes and L,-"wwd, for regular_stand-bys, our adored riting tacques and palctots are to be loft m“{: s believed that, if plaids are worn to any Tadtor costumes, plaid shawls will come ib L;‘!flrqupccuur the Scotch plaids, matching 'wdmzn of the dress. Rumor declares that, Yl the weather i warm enough, the clan & will be worn over one shoulder, secured ¥ bra silver thistle, and be carried under f oher arm, falling like o sash on the skirt. :—ffwuld seem to ba doubts about this ; for sy Tile too pronounced to “ take " with quict o AL 805 rate, thero is assurance that some tagg Earments, a_crosw becween tho old Arab e and the ancient maotiljs, will bo in order, s thoze slouder people whom thoy become Tejoice in the prospeet. Rl WAISTS ol to mest a3 many modifications ss any s q:g Of the costume. The chatelaine-bodices ¥ pyel-maists, as thoy are cslled differently, [wy Yery popalar for evening robes, as. in- s they'have been during the summer. They eXcessively irving to every figure; only & Tt not stout form should dare to wear vz, eF Deed to Gt the person witbout a kg o1 Yet the gimplicity of their design for- e ¥ tiwmming, which is always timely to Yoy focks in gif. The edge of the waist e ekirt is sewed is usuaily finished by & 256t cord and a fril] of lace, which produce |. p 2 ™Ting and picturesquo effect. For wbtilectls natnral figore,—one, that is, e ariginal sliape has never been distorted s or close waists,—no bodice is 50 be- qh;s 25 the chatelaine: but, more than any va,” 31, 8 perfect form is required to woar it g L0 CUrAse-waist promises Tairly for the o) pand Plaited and gathered (including sur- L 22ists wiil be widely popalar. _ A noticea- o joeucy exists toword round waists with &g O it18 tobe hoped that this will be checked gy sy, We resily counot epare over— s 304 polonaises (it we have to), and s il & oo, Thero can bardiy be any 49! the prominence of the slceveloss jack- Ty 0ium aud winter wardrobes. Whilo wiPerons aro a triflo wears of them, thoy 80 atiractive, bocoming, and conventent, Y ®ill not be sj:ared before another year. R, f22bion combines £o mans excellent it i8 & erious mistako to give it up. e cotons R0 next Baigyoar o not diffor materially from those worn last winter. The «sme momo- tones and dark tints bordering on black will be chosen for the most part. A new shedc of bine —can thera really be new shade ?—called black- blue, is_expected to bs the most popular with those who can wear so dull a hue.” Then thera are soveral new varieties of deep brown for thosa who care nothing for tbe extreme of the mode; ona or two froth steel-grays; and soveral danlis ades,—rich reddish-violet, beautiful to look st, and very unbecomivg. It is wonder- ful that even the skillful French work- men can, year ofter year, 80 combine chemicals ' 88 to producé a ' dozen shades of an old color, different from all that bave been created before, and different from all that shall be created in the future. No one can guess the number of shades of a color till ho (or £hs) tries to match a Inst season's tint. Then the dozens of varied hues shown that are verv like, but not exact, prove the extraordinary and chameleon- like quality of dyes. i ODDS AND ENDS. On dit that one must wear strings on one's {all-bonnet, and that 1t shall no louger bave the appearance of calling in the mucilage-bottle to i n its security. The plaid eilk scarfs that have been sparingly ueed a8 hat-trimming dvring the snmmer, are likely to bo prominontly worn for the promenade during the early sutumn. The piaids will be chosen to match as nearly a8 possible the plaids (where they are used) of the suit. Broad, English-goled boots, of stout goat-skin sud other heavy leathers, promiee to be the mode for the new yesr : the present vagary of fashion being an attempt to_sppear eminontly practical and common-seusical in matters of street-attire. As surpending the fan from tho belt bas be- come a hisbit—a very convenient one, too—with all toilettes, it is hoticeable how largely the nring of a chatelaine-chain bas been absudoned. Three ribbons sre now seen to one chain ; un- questionably an improvement with thin drosses, over which an oxidized chain is an abomination. With winter-costumes for the house, velvet rib- bons matching the color will supersede chains, . Eveniug-dresses will be, more thau ever, high in the neck,—the average Amencan neck being too thin to eudure a low bodice. FurpeLow. "LONDON. A<e Old and the New. The Tower, St. Paul’s, and Work- ingmen’s Chop-Houses. The Tower is by no mesns the oldest thing in London, but notaing—hardly the Abbey itsolf— scems 80 old. A gest central fortress, sur- rounded by an inner avd outer wall of ramparts and bulwarke, encompassed by s deep moat, which i crossed by bridges defended by caunon, —its aspect carries one far back ivto the Past. The Tower sppears somewhat of & misnomer: there are, in fact. inside the moat. NEADFR TWENTY TOWELS. Thera is the central Leep, or citadel, called the ‘White Tower ; Middle, and the Byward Towers, defending the southwest aungle of the most ; thie Cradle Tower and St. Thomas Tower; and, in the inmer ward, s Dew series,—the Bloody, Bell, and Jewel Towers ; the Dovereux and Beauchamp Towers,—with others that one need mot emumerste. The guido-books have mach to say of tho place under its threefold character of fortress, prison, and palace; but it is a mistake to traverse, book in band. this peculiar inclosurs, and recall laboriously the sovereigns who have held court bere, the illus- trious captives who have entered here, or to puzzle out the curious inscriptions on the dun- geon wails. That one can do in books, 3,000 milesaway. Dnt what one caunot do elsowhero i8 z0 trace under these gloomy archways, look up to these bold, massive towers surmounting walls of immeuse thickness and solidity ; survey bastion and turret, portcullis and bactloment, and feel onesclf transported to tho Feudal Ago, of which this is the most complote memorial in all England. For everything shout the Tower is ATISTOCEATIC—MONARCHICAL. This place commemorates only Roral joys and sorrows, the tribulations aud triumphs of noble knights and ladics,—Besuchamps, Arandele, Devereuxs, Howards,—no *‘simple annals™ of soldier and eailor, printer, goldsmith, or engin- eor. Such were “base-born churls ™ and slug- ish hinds™ in the spirit of thoso days. Very properly, therefore, the first stone of the Tower dates from Willism the Norman, who brought French feudalism to England; and its use as a palace expires with the Labeas Corpus of Charles 1I. The govereign neceded no longer protection from bis subjects,—the era of Law aud Constitutional Government mado 1t a relic. A morning in the Tower 18 like reading half of Walter Scott’s novels at once. Besides this, there are_incidental features of epecial interest : Queen Elizabeth’s Armory, for lustance. 1f yon want to know what ther foughe witn at Agincourt and Flodden Field : what s glaive, or a bill, or a pike, or & balberd was; ‘What were the eteps in fire-arms from arquebus to Mioie rifle; 1f you want, in short, to read or t0 write picturesque history, here is your oppor- tupity for etudy. But nothing heré excites xo real and warm an emotion a3 tho tradition that in this room, with 1ts curiously-vaulted roof, aud inthe cell-like closet adjoining, SIR WALTER RALETGID spent the twelve long years of bix imprisonment. There ie & large windoyw on one side, and through the diamoud paves ong can catch a glimpre of something green. Let us hope it was 80 in bis time ; but, with every fancied alleviation, and evon thy occasional presence of his Lruo wifo and bright boy, how he must have chafgdand iretted in these narrow bounds) “What visions must bave crowdetd upon him when tho twilight closed around him; when be laid down is pen and roso up from his History of the d, sud paced his room like caged lion. What 'visions are ours, standwg in his foot- steps: The bappy, active boyon the Devon- ‘shite farm; tho versatile Oxford siudent ; the enthusisstic young soldier in tha Low Countries; the brave young companion of the Gilberts in the American seas; the gallant, graceful courtier of the Elzabethan galuxy; thie great Admiral, approaching Virginian woods sud consts of the Carolimas; melancholy scholar of tho Tower; broken-bearted explorer of the Orinoco; heroic old mau, smiling upon the scaffoll,—whet a wonderul career was this which came to so long & pause iu these four walis. Apart from these sesocintions, tho larger Armories, including _collections of modern Sweapous, produce & strong impression,—somie- tlung liko that _expressed by Longfellow in_his “Arsenal at Springfield,” Greek armor from Cumae, Etruscan holmets, axes of Ceit aud Eriion, Roman spear-heads, and Saxon daggers, —what itlustrations aro these of Homer, Grav, 2nd Gibbou! No_wonder tho sarticics n_the Biti-h Encyclopedia ato so well writien. Who could not wiite au arsicle Lere on WAR AND WEAPONS ? ] “Perhaps the most st1iking objects of this collrc- tion are the cquestrinn figures,—life-like efiigies of moparchs and warriors *‘clad in compicte stecl,” ** armed cap-a-Lie," 38 the Ocern-linded hatiit. Theso kmgbtly counterfeits are so ar- ranged a8 to give a connected bLietory of tho various forms of armor—chain, mai), plate, and so forth—from the Norman Conquesi to the Itevolution of 1638. Here you can sce how Heory V. looked when he &aid, “*Ouce more uwto the breach. dear friends !" at Harfleur; Low Richard 111 sppeared beforo he lost his lorse on Bosworth Freld ; you can sce Heury VIII. cxactly as he tiltéd on the Field ot the Cloth of Gold, and the Earl of Leicester a3 be saluted Elizabeth in the tournament at Kenilworth ; nay, from this prescatment of Staf- ford in half-armor aud bufl boots, you cau cven conjure up Cromwell and Fairfas, the mclan- choly Falldand, and Hampden, welcomest fzuro of all. It is not surpriring that the Loudon theatres are so correct in costuming historic lays, nor that the English barde, historians, and novelists have been =5 successful in Tepro- ducing the picturesque Middle Age,—their nia- terials were near and abundant. I am moro and more struck by the wisdom of our finst Aweri- can noveliet, and of our leading poets, iu choos- ing their subjects in * fresh fields_and pastures pew.” On tho old ground of the Past, imitatioa was easy, but competition impossible. In the arrangement of MODERN WEAPONS s there are some curious features. On the ceil- ing is *The Prince ‘of Wales' weddinu-cake " copied in dnggers and similar arms ; on the walls thero are passion-flowers made of bayopets ; gigantic ‘biossoms with petals wrought of ehin- Jog blades and stamens of glittering steel. Ono cannot help asking himnelf whether this is the new reading of the old propbecy: *They sball beat thorr swords into plow-shares and their gpears into pruning-hooks: They sball wreatho their swords into ornaments, and their Spears into passiou-flowete. 4 A quaint, old-fashioned figure is the Warden who escorts you to the gate. He wears s belted yeoman's - coat, embroidersd on the breast with the thistle, tho shamrock, and tho rose, with Victoria's crown above, and the ribbon_of the Garter below. He hasahigh ruff, knee-breeches and choes with epormous rosettes. In his right hand he bears a great msce, ending in & bayonet, and his left rests upon his sword. When you have tarued your back mpon him, croased the most, and come ont into the street, Jou bave passed from the Middle Age to_tho Nineteenth Century. At this pointin your si - scelng, allow yourself to bo persusdéd io Tepair A LITILE RESTAUBANT in the neighborliood, whose chief claimto your notice is, that Elizabeth lunched there when eho went from the Tower to Ler coronation. A lit- Ye printed account of this will be put by your plate, and, if yon aro wise, you will not discredit ony of its statements from snything you may Lave read in Hume. These little traditions add 5 subtle charm to various localities, and are worth sl the trouble required to preserve them. You will, of course, order a chop, and yon will 500 Opposite you a little brick ovenin tho wall, on whose fiery coals the waiter will lay your meat, sud awsit your siguul to romove it _at_ tho very witching moment of perfection, He will &150 bring you bread, & pitchor of foaming alo, aud a gooseverry-tart, and, if you are not satis- fied with that, you may be quite eure that Her Majosty of happy memory was. The writer is copstrained to declare that no repast ever eoem- ed to bim more satisfactory, or better calculated to restore tho mental and bodily equilibrium af- ter the fatiguo iuvolved iu a dutdi}ud investiga- tion of the Tower. So fortified, peshups yon will go ou to ST. PAUL'S. After a view of ihe Duomo of Floronce and 8t. Peter's, St. Iuul's does not not justify to the tourist the impression it makes on most Londoners. It lacks the beauty of the first and the grandeur of the gecond, and it has the bar- mouious proportions of neither, winle it sug- gests tnem both. It 18 impoving chiefly from its size, and its vastuess strikes oue more sud mote with ropeated visits, As a Pantheon it is a fail- ure. The great tombs beneath languish in neg- lect and gloom. Groping through the dust ous comes upon a white sarcophiagus, and, stooping down, one can dacipher, in gils lotters on its side, tho name of * Nelsou.” There 18 a bit of the old Pagan superatition as to burial loft in all of us, and 1t is hard to believe that he who ex- -ulted io the free, wind-swept main can be con- tent while his mortal romatus rest in so dreary a place. Opposite, there is & gloomy chamber cousecrated to THE DUKE OF WELLINGTOS. In the centre is the catafalque on which he was borne to tho grave, and—inconceivable faucy!—the horses which drew 1t. They are preserved exactly as they appeared on that gis- tant day,—ibe bizck plumes still nodding about their ears, the rich trappivgs and fuveral crape suill upon them. Thereis s sort of ** Miss Havi- sham " suggestion about the moldy streamers and witheling wreaths, which produces sa ef- fect at once comic and repulstve. Wiile wo stood there among the sombre shadows, we thought of Wellington's great antagoist lying under the high dome of the Iuvalides, in his porphyry earcophagus, which rests on s sun of martble mosaic whose rays are bis victories,— Lodi, Marengo, Aus:erlitz,—whilo over all pours the deep gol.len light from tho high aitars and we thought that in the tomb the Vanquished was more enviable than the Yictor. The most exaited ideaof St.Pasul'sis to bo obtained from tle ascent of the Dome. It ix, bowever, far more fotigning than that of Jilan Cutbedral or Notrs Damo, and ought not to be attouypted by any bus the most vigorous tourists. Those who have read Brunelleschi's account of bow he built the Dome of Floreuce will bave found it bard to understand what he eays of an inuer and outer dome. But here the secret is told, for you go in between tho two, and e the great beams and stone, lilic the rongh sesmsof a pin-cuchion tursed in opon each otber, leaving a fair upper and under surface. Mcre than haif- way up you come oat upon the roof, and what you sco is worth all your paius. Below vou lie the clouds, floating on a great sea of f0g, from which the spires, and domes, sud palaces of London, and the tali shipping of the river, nplift themeelves. Sometitnes it rains down there smoug tho clouds, whilo the sky keops its dull-gray abovo vou; sometimes the an bursts out sud denly and throws a golden glory over the rolling mists. It is asightto be remombered s whole lifetime. Returning from the ascent of the Crthedral, which the traveler may reckou upon 88 tho most evhausting effort he will be called upon to make in the great 3letropolir, the collector of fare in the omnibs will perbaps tell him that bis best place for leaving the vehicle is az the * Elephant and Castle.” Thus will call his attention to THLE CURIOUS COMBINATIONS in the names of tho old-fashioned 1nus, of which a large number etill maintain their ground suc- cessfully against the new hotels. It does not take long to puzzle out the conuection of the two parts of the compound name just quoted, 1f one has ever scon o s of India chesamen with the castles borns on the backs of clepbants ; bat n of ideas ever brought The I'ic and Whistle,” ** Tho “The Cat and Souffers,” and *The Dear and Sun ?—all names of popular public bouses. Doubtlers there 1s, in each m- stance, some old legend of the * Wittington and s Cat” order, which was once well known, but which has now faded out of common recoi- lection, and left ovly these comicalitics behind. These old inns are not the least atiractive places in Londow, particularly if you care to obtain & Kkeener appreciation of & good deal i Dickens, Clarles Lamb, and oven the old Spectator aud Mies Burney. And.if one of the charms of travol be the getung out of old grooves into new experiences avd scusations, the tounst will al- ways prefer these, and the shabby little chop and cofleo honses, to the new hot=I dini and stereotyped restaurants. There stance, A LITTLE CROP-NOUSE only three minutes’ walk from the fashionable thojougntare of Iiegent sircet. 1t bas one or 50 100y, perfectly clean, but a little sombra 25 to light, and with an air of faded gentility, which contributes an old book-case of worn novels of half-a-century ago. You are served Ly & comely English gicl, aad here you can ob- tainn chop of the finest iwutton, admirably cooked, & cup of excellent tes or glass of ale. with bread, and perhaps a vegetable, for a shill- ingr, or abont 25 couts of our money. The vom- ctable does not amount to much. It is generally **a vegetable marrow,” and readers of Dickens will not need to Lo toll what a sutisfact it is to como. ujion this hitherto mysterions edi- ble, which figures 50 often in the pager of Nich- olas Nicaleby. It tastes nnd Jooks like watery squash, witlout eceds or fluvor. But the other visnds are of tho best quality, especially the tea, which is served in old blue china figured with mandaring, and ladies etepping iuto boate o little smaller tuan their parasols,—the whole immo- diately recalling the ** Old Cbina” in tae Essavs of Elia. There are restaurants of this type all over London, and soms whose prices aré much Jower. There are some who wake upon their bills (and verform very respectably) a protaise of s large plate of mea: with plain vegetubles, for 7 ponco; diuners, including bread, nle, and vegetablex, for 8 pence: snd Iuncheon, *with ale, for 2% pence. The latter ate patronized most by the class technically called workingmen ; and the differonce between theee prices aud those m some Amorican States poskcseing the finest Boil and grazing in tbe world, explains a ceriain dissatisfaction of the Englivh workman with his much larger wagee in this country. From Towers and Pantheons to workingmen's dinners i3 a transition which would not lhave . been vo readily permitted in_the old time s ia the new. CuanrLES LaNpoR. HIDDEN SORROW. *Tis not alone when eyes are bright, And lips in gayest sniiles are dressed, That swe mnay Kay the heart is light, The passions calm, the mind at rest. ¥For oft doth sunlight'a brightest beams Shed radiance o%cr a lonsly tomb ; And oh! the light that only se Is worse than darknese’ deey: gloom, Thus, thongh the smiles of cheerfulnees May hide from signt an aching heart, They cannot make ita misers lesk, Nor bid the frowns of Fate depart, And, thongh no tears bedim the eye, Nor outward signs of grief appear, The bratn tnay burn without u sigh, The heart may burst without tear, 8.2 8 —_— A Trinmphant Trunk. From the Detrvit Free Prexs” Saturday morning there camo over the Grest Wescorn Ioad, on its way West, & trank which ‘made tho hair of the baggage-smashersstand right up. It was 34 inches loug. 3 fect wide, and was mado of Folid boiler-iron, an cighth of an inch thick. The havdles wera of iron, rivited on with great bolts, and the lid was fastened down with an immense padiock. On the end of tho trunk was panted the words: **She can_stand it !" and on the other, * More coming!” The railroad men grosned aloud as they walked around ** them trunk " and viewed it from overy angle, and two omnibus men, who thought the owner was going to stop over, made tracks out of tho depot- THE ORGAN. Organ-Music and Organists in Chicago. Legitimate Organ-Musio vs, Overture- Playing. The Two Well-Marked Schools of Organ- Composition. Creswold, Dudley Buck, Louils Falk, Flagler, and H. C. Eddy. BY W. 8 B. MATEEWS. Kotwithstanding tho large sum of money paid anpually in tus city for organ-plaging, it may bo doubted whethor suy purchase whatever i 8o ignorantly and unthoughttully made. The av- ersgo man ucderstands sbout s much of organ- music as he doos of Chiness. Whon appoiuted on a Music Committes (a position for which his ignorance and consequent impartiality so fully it him), he performs his duty with UNDLUSHING CHEEX, 2 development which woutd be genius if it were not so common, Hedictates the choice of music, prosides at trials of organists, and discharges the duties of bhis office genorally in spint of entire uuconsciousness that thero may bo questions in music that he is incomipetent to decide. Farbeit from the writer to be the ill-fated messenger to broak mup this pleasing trust. Ho secks merely to enlighten the average reador somowbhat as to the principles that govern organists iu solecting their musi and to point out some of the pots which dis- tinzuish excellent performance. Probably very fow readers are awaco that the Iast e1x years have seen A GIEAT ADVANCE in the ideas of Chicago churches in the matter of their music. Avout cight years ago, the Finst Baptist organ was the ouly large one in the city. ‘The one which had previously beld the palm of superiority was a small three-mavuul one by Erben, in St. Paw's Church, st the coruer of Vasn Buren street and Wabash ave- uue. This iustrument was presided over by Mr. G. C. Kuopfel, then estcemed generally t0 be tha best player in the city. Tle First Bap- tist organ was about twice as large, and, from the first, was presided over by Mr. Havens, who ia still orgavist of tho now Louseless church. Mr. Haveus was thou quite youn, of great am- bition, and very diligeut in practice. 1o Lad al- rondy begun to accumulate his largo repertory of the best orgun-music. The poxt large organ was erected by the Hooks in Centeary Church, then estcemed by all Soutli-Siders as very far out on the prairie. But space forbids me to trace the tius organs sacces- sively erccted by Grace and Clark Street Method- ist, Union Park, tho First and Plymouth Con- gregational, the First and Second Presbyterian, Grace Episcopal, the Jesuit Cunrch on Twelfth sureet, ete. 'Lito great fire burned about 100,000 worth of orgaue. CHICAGO OMGANISTS IN 1567 were either mero amatcurs, having a _slender stock of legitimate organ-music aud a still slen- derer stock of exccution, or piano-plavers who treated the organ with a lovity but 1li-suited to 18 grave nature. Noneof them were playors of & Liugh order. Tho st decided virtnoso who cams bere was Mr. A. J. Creswold, an Euglisman. When e firal came, he plaved cuieily tae egitimate school of organ-music. Bat, beiog a man of ready re- wources, ho speedily conformed himself to’ tho popular laste, aud behold Bich was banmshed from lus programmes, and Flotow, Donizettr, and Suppe took Lis plice. Creswold carried the art of overture-ploying on the organ to the highest perfection it bas ever reactied hera. But to understand thia faily requires & digros- sion on the naturo of THE LEGITIMATE IN OGGAN-MUSIC. That music i3 leuitimate to any nstrument which is a:laptedto the unture of the instrument ; that is, to ita peculiar quality of toue, 1t3 mechanism, and the circumstances under which the instrumeut 15 commonly used A march, for mstance, is legitimate ou 8 brass instrument, but not on a flute,—tho tone of the latter beiog enlircly wanting in the bold -and aggressivo spirit of the march. A piece requining consider- able digcrimipative emplasis, contaiving o num- ber of ideas, relutively of dilerent importance, progressing simultaneously, admits of being cicarly performed on the pinao-forto, because tho piayer can briug out tlie seveial threads of melody according to their importance, Ly means of discrimiuate accentuntion ; but, on’ the cabi- nev-organ, such discriminative emphasis iy impossible, and such & pieco 15, therefore, illeptimate for that instru meut. Music of ap extremely bull and aggrewsive character cammot be proyerly given Ly tho violi, its tune being of radically- unsmtablo formation. On the other band, & melody requiring much deficacy_of expression, aud especially where o rocal effect is rougbt, cannot be given by thie oboe or flute,—neither of these instruments admitting of much variation in power. Vocal effects can best be imiated by the violin or cornet. THE CHARACTER OF TH. VARIOUS ISSTHUMENTS is much more perfectly understood now that 1t was formerly. ~In Bacl’s tuno (1635-1750), maty things wera wnitten for tho organ which we uow regard as unsuitable and incffective. A com- poser at the present time, baving such ideas, would wiite them for the piauo-forte (or keep thew to hunscli). Such, for mstance, scem to me the prelude o the great -fugne in A ‘minor, and the fugue in D major. On the other " baud, in _the sreat B minor preludo and - fuzue, Buch enters fully into the wpirit of the organ, These pieces tmperativeiy require full orzan. When d ou s large urgan will 2 suflicient pedal, become graud and exiremely oxpressive. Played on a ringle siop, they sound thin and old- fasbioned. It 13 to be obsersed that Bach lnid out his work very differently for organ from what he did for piano. 1l piano-fuzues are #mall. The counter-subjects have little individ- uality. ‘1he whole must bo brought under the player's two bands, aud the individuahity_of tho parts must be shown, by accentuation. In the organ-fugues, on the coutiary, the composer adds to his resources tho two octaves of pedal- Keys controlled by the fcet ; bere, the iustru- meut baving no power of individualization by means of acceuts, the comporer has giver tho counter-subj a_widely-different movemcut from the theme, and the parts bave elbow-roon, £0 that the ear can fullow cach ono in its wind- ing. I'he tono of the organ is LGRAVE AND DIONIFIED, Thus senee of dignity and gravity inheres in the form of the tone, whicls bezs at its f.01 power, and continues undiwimebed any unchanged un- til tbe moment of cesgativn. Such a form of tone at ouce conveys the nupression of perma- nence. Add to this the various uctaves in which the #tops doutle the sound zbove and below the Key taken, and wo have 1o longer a stronger cord of tone, but & cable, many times doubled and twisted together. Such a tone imperatively arks of the player that he sball bave sometbivy 10 say. To shout bonsenss 1o 2 ehurch full of Feoplc mey not be unprecedented in Chicago; it ir at least in questionable taste. The oigan hae little power o1 marking 3 rhytbm. It 18 the ex- act opposite of the piano-forte. s The piano-forte has & tone which begins loud aod speedily diminishes,—s0 speedily that, on many iostraments, one can makoe 5o sauing effect whatever. 1Its tone-color is neutrai, but, on the whole, light and_chcerful. When every individual tone so speedily dies awas, what can result but a style of music in which the businees of the upper notes (where the sound quickcet vavisbee) is of » hight and rapid natute, convey- ing necesgarily an impression of lightness and evauescence? The orchestra is THE IDEAL INSTEGNEST. Here aro representatives of every color aud foim of tone : aud, as every insirument is in the bands of & sepurate player, the most delicate ehading 1n_power and Loue<vlor i possible. Still the average orchestra plays very poor stuff for music. Much of it consists of a singlo melodic ides, bright aud clearly cutspoken, sup- ported by & meazre harmonic framework of chorde, but little shaded with color or orna- mented by fignration. Of eucn texture is the sverago operatic overtare. > w, when we cume to play the Italian or Freuch overture on, the orgas, Wo try ai once todo THE USSUITADLE AND THE TMPOSSTSLE. It is not impossible to play the notes of & pisno-arrangement. The melodies and har- monies of the overture are here sure eacugh. But, in place of whatever of retiued coloring the instrumentstion may bave had, the organ gives only a bald contrast of a few leading tints. The flutes are woll enough. A certain approximation to ths violiu-tone is mot im- possible. But the brass, and especialiy tbe clear-ringing blast of tho trumpet, aro com- pletely wanting in the organ. Besides, one of the greatest of the orchestra 18 want- ing,—the atlack and ranisk of individual tones, the variation of whicti forms so important means of exvression. Hence it is not only the writer's opinion, but_tbat of all good judges of tho organ, that, in plsying overtures wnd other light orchestral pieces, the orgau is enter- ing upon & taek to which its resources are inade- quate, aud in_which it can never honorably dis- unguish itself. At the same time, this course has the necessary effect to crowd Teal organ- music into the background, snd so an importaut \ujl:y i8 done to the progress of a sound musical taste. ‘Tlero exist two well-marked schools of organ composition, TIE FRENCH AND THE GERMAN. The French bulds cluefly on swoeiness and piquancy of contrast In tone-color. The cluef lights of tuis school ore Batiste and the late Lefebre-Wely. They ure the tremnlant aud reods enormously. Nevertheless, thoir compo- mtions are thoroughly legitimate to the organ, 28 10r a8 regards its méchanical constraction and Tesources, “(rue to the oryan as a machine, but not to tho ideal. In emotioual texture they are estremely secular, or, if characterized at all by sentiment, it in of a vappy aud xpoony kind, less elevuted than that of the hackneyed * Lost, Pro- ecribed ™ in ¢ Martha." The German school, on the other hand, comes down from Bach and Haudel. 1lts present revresentatives are Fischier and G. Merkel, of Dresdon. This siyle of com- position Lias been greatly moditied since Bach's time, but'the ruling spirit 1 still dignitied and coutrajuutal. The misterpicce of this school way the fuzue. Latoly Merkel scems i his soustas to have succeeded in impart- ing s moderu mpixit to organ-muwic, without emasculating 1t of its dignity. Hanpt, tue veteran urgamsi in Berlin, holds Merkel's second sonats 1o be the greatest pieco of recent orgau-mus ‘s long digression will serve to explain why Ihold Creswold to have unvorthily yi-kled to the public want of taste. It nixo nerves to show a reason for regsrding the advent of DUDLEY BGCK with a great deal of interest. Duck, then a young man, fresh from Gormany, was 3u organ- 1st of the very highest rank. Iy technique was casy and firm; his regisiration good, Unt Dot particularly superior; bis taste eatholic, but ois- crimivating. His residenco bexe, and his admir- able organ-1e ituls, gave a very important impe- tas to orgun-study awong other orgavists. Tho fire lost us Bucit and Creswold. Buck went to Boston, and became organist to the dusic Hall Aesociation, where he Las met with groat suc- cess. Creewold went to St. Louis, aud he too tinds himsel! bettered by the chauge. About five yosrs ago, Lows Lalk returned from Germany, thoroughly up in the bess school of orsau-music, and looking cn overture-playiog as little better in an organist than stoaling. Dut two thies were against bim: One was the Rev. Arthur Mitchell, who, I 2m told, would not sulfer him to piay legitimate organ-music in church— not eveh the slow movements of Mendelssohn's sonatas; the other was Creswold's mantlo, which, in thie hasto of the fire, he omitted to taka with bim. No sooner did Falk begin to play overtures and ** Mounastery Bells ™ than hig sala- ry began to creep up, until ot present it isata gratifvivg figure. Falk bas ta'ent of very high or- der, 1ie masters dillicultics with tho utniost eaxe, and reads with 2bzolute geniaa. Itis unfortunate that bis German learning finds so little field for exercive here. Had he the good lack to have sottled in Boston or in Germany, wo mistht have expected Lim to Liave been s life-long expoueut of the noblest and besc organ-music, 28 well as 3 composer of uuuxual ability. Auother scquisition of whom Chicago was very far from mzking the bekt way ML, FLAGLER, organistin Dr. Bartlett's church. Flagler was well brougit up on good organ-music. But, finding that iiud of a thing incompatible with Cuicago bread-uud-butter, lie too fell iuto the Iap of tue operatic Delilab, 2nd profesres himself able and wiiling to play the music the people are wiiling to pay for; aud, if anyihing could reconcile ono {0 operatic overtnres oa’ the onan, it would be Flagler's exquisite neatness in doiug them. Quite lately another acceseion bas coma to the ranks of Chicago organists, to whose remarkable metits the préss has failad to do justice. MB. K. C. EDDY, of the First Congregational Ciwirch, is an organ- virtuos0 of a very high order. Althuugh still quite a young man fouly sbout 23), ho Las played tbrough sli the Kach works, and almost the whole repertory of orgau-muic. But 1t is not simply his wide knowledge of organ-music, it is iis superb and masterly technique, aud espeernlly the artitic coulness aud aplomb of s plaving, oven w tho mwost dificult moments of a compo- sition, that entitlo kim to such luch rank. In whatever way wo may test him, whether in the finih of touch and phrasing, sweep and clean- news of execntion, or the enormons range of Liy rej ertory (probabiy equaled by only one other American—S. P. Warren, of New York), it is +afo to fuy that here wo have an exponeut of organ-plaviug of such rare excellencg that any city might be proud to possess iim. d I writo this Decause, bein an orzanist, I feel competent to epeak understandingly on this snbject, 80 comparatively numtelligiblo to the average mu- sical amateur; and, moreover, I bave the hiope that the city may not lose him as we did Buck, the most emiveut of his predecesors. MAY AND DECEMBER. Spring comes bt once to us cach year, With 24 green leaves, ith bursting bitls, ita fowers Withs their white cugs apheld 1o catel the glow Of ali the Funnivst houzs, Alittla time tis ours, ke somo sweet dream, Or like the fading glory of the day's last gleam. Summer may follow with her beauty rare, Her perfect splendor, but ‘tis not the Syring— The dew in kissed frow off the clovers’ b Wood-flowers are gone; dust lies on everything, Something Ik loxt that words can never spea, As childuicod's blush fades from the matron's cheek. My Spring in past,—counted with days departed; My Spritig Was Very doar,—the Sumier wearies §0,— “Tiiu buds lay thick Gpon the wreath hifo wove, "4 ieat has scorched them,—ibes will ‘never biow. Never!_1lay thein down with bitter, nushed tear; 1 Luve laid wary & dead hope on its bier. Winter comen soon, when broken flowers may hide "Neath sbeltering suowa theie faded, sonllees Livoms 1 comen too,—thunk God af lesst O thiat I— hen weary bearts ind rest within the timb. * ouce T loved thee best: Tae Winter,—it brings deatbind reat. GARNET B. FREEMAN. R S g = Dringing in France. A correspondent of the Cincinuati Enquirer writes: * During my brief #tay in Paris I have seen 2L leasz 500,000 people, 2ad in this number ouly three drunxarde, and not a single crurader! Everybody dris ¢ is a part of the meals. They put brandy in thcir coffeo instead of milk. Tho father pours wine for hiz_dangiter, tho amother for ber children, On all the principal sireets there are lit:le tables placed on the side- walk in front of the cife, nhere all classes cit and drink and mingle freely together. EBut there is no disorder, no aisturbauce. There is a good opening for the ‘sps svstom’ here, if some of the crusading noartyrs at bome will ouly come over aud introduce it. In France it 18 hot disgraceful for & man to dritk, but it isuo- geuteel for him to get drunk. Iu America it s a diegrace to drink, and social damnation to get druuk. Hero thero are no bars or ealoons where the front windows are puinted, and there are no scrcens at_tho doors ; nobody drinks on the sly. They drink ligkt wincs, drink loisurcly, rink until they bave enough and then stop. An Amenicen has no time to drink leisurely. Ho is slwavs 1 a hurrs. He dodges into a aloon, bolts 25 cents’ worth of poison, works half an hour, aua runs io and takes anotber. Life 18 & rush with him, and he must bave a smulant, and wino is_too licht. Anotler differcuce. A man of the lowest claes is considered a gontle- man uutil he proves Limeelf otherwire, and ho takes wine at thesame table with the rich man witbout giving offense to the latter. Being treated hike a gentleman, ho acts liko one.” Remniscence of the Founder of the & glerald.? Strolling into the Town-Clerk's oftice, the other day. I was wiown a receipt given by tue late Jamen Gordou Beonett, founder of the New York Herald. The reccipt was given iu acknowledg- ment of having received the sum of $18.70 for twonnd a balf months' teaching in 1816. Mr. Lenneit passed through Steuben whea on his ! Way from Halifax to Boston, 2od. on ssriving Dere, being bard up. hotauzht the village rcbool. Tonmest showed 3 zood deal of theological love, 2nd held a strong argument with the old Ortno- dox deacons of the town. e alzo evinced great proficiency in teachinz. He sadilenis laft town one night. It wns afterwards ascertained that e had taken paseage on boerd & veswel for Bos- ton. The next thing heard-from Bennctt was in the ehape of the New Yerk Herall, copies of which paper biave ever tince been taken iv this town, more because the people respected Bon- pet’n frieudship shau onjanconnt of any. love tiey bora towards thz papef.—Seuben (e.) Cor- respondence of tie Boston Globe, DAN EMMET, Life of the Author of * Dixie’s Land.” The OId Chief of Negro Minstrelsy Feeding His Chickens, His Experiences in the Concert-Saloon Business. A Contented Old Age. Chicago, asmong her half million or so of in- babitants, numbers the father of negro min- strelsy, Daniel B. Emmet, to-wit: The late George Chnstie was generally accorded the honor—if it be an honor—of baving wtroduced “burntcork opera™ to the world. This is a mistake. Long before tho genial Gearge ever convulsed the peoplo of 2 past generation with irrepreasible langnter, YOUNG DAN E3MET sang “The Black Rose™ snd danced “Jim Crow " amoug the villages of North- ermn sud Eastern Ohio. Ilo was born the year of the battle of Waterloo, and first caused troubie in his family by yelling with in- fantile dieregard of adult suricular organs at nnseemly hours of the night, in the fair village of Mount Verpon, situated in the *“ Buckeye State.” Dan's very wail was melodions, and he threw bis littlo limbs around in s way that fore- sbadowed his future celebrity as s professor of eccentric Terpsichore. Ho received the wholesome amonnt of spank- ing and ear-cafling benevolently dealt out by irato pareuts to the restless urchins of the old day, and from this species of house- hold discipline was duly consigned to the tender morcies of 8 crauky pedagogue, who engineered a log-house school in the neigh- borhood of Daniel's patal village. There he learned to * read, write, and cipher,” tha latter experience going os far a8 ““ the donble rule of three,” which was considered a wonderful degree of mathematical perfection in Dan's jusenile Gays,—that is, smong the rural folks of Ohio. Butit was evidint that tho boy was not de- signed for anything very aatonishing in the way of erudition. M3 EARLY GENTUS developed itself in blacking the conntensnces of hineelf and schoolmates with burnt corn-cobs, in lieu of cork, and in danciog ** walk arounds,” which he had learned from an old darkey who bad come with the elder Emmet from *Ole Virgiony.” This kind of exercise got the boy sundry thrashings, which he endured with astonishing_ stoicism. The magic age of 15 emaucipated Daa from pedagogical thraldom, and promozed bimto a place behiud a plow-borse oo lus father’s farm. The youth soon sickened of this, and one fine sumuner day, In the year 1830, he bade farewell to farming, and joined A STHOLLING_COMPANY OF PLAYEUS who where then delighting the Olioans with their * most sweet voices.” Young Ewmet was favored by nature with a handsome countenance, ood musical taste, inberited from his motber, who was a untivo of * Marylsnd, my Marsland,” having been born in that same Frederick Town where * Barbara Fritchio ™ did not exclim— Scatbe, if you will, this old gray head, Bat ppare Four countrs's iz, Dantel found the players s congenial set of peoplo, and beearre a prime favorite - rigist off.” His clear, musical voice chariued all histeuers, aud he beeawe, alinost Immediately, a celebrity throughout his native State. His caunection with the strolimg company lasted over two ycars, and then hg joired A TROUPE OF SINGERS, which firat led bim iuto the wey of doing planta- tion songs and ecenes, 8s depicted to bim by the talented old darky already mentioned. Haviug acyuired, for mere boy, quite a reputation, and s pretty good nup})ly_ of money, Dunicl was next induced to travel with a ciicus, and was duiy registered on all the bilis as **The wonder- ful aud unapproachable Master Emmet, the ‘as- tomshiug aeliveator of life on the slave planta- tious.” It was in this cspacity that ho first really adupted the trado of ** burnt-cork.” Having served s cousiderable ime zmong the knights of the saw-dust, Emmet, at the ave of 21, orgamzed a small mivstrel company, and_set out on a grand tour through the Atlautic States, meeting with wonderful succcss. Year by year his compauwwas iucreased, aud his wandorings emoraced the slaveholding States, wherein lus represeutations perfectly carricd away the plant- ers and their famlies. About the vear 1340, baving formed a partnership with some other siugers ho SATLED FoR LUROTE, and exhibited in almost evary c:iy and hamlet of “Three Kingdows.” Tnen he roturned to a, and became counccted, ocve after another, with nearly all the minstrel organiz: tions formed in New York. Holad & natural taleut for music, aud composed several negro melodics that won a world-wide re: . Tho bes: known and most popalar, mieans the most pretentious of Emmeu's cotnpo- sitions,—is “ DIXIE'S LAND, 3 the air of which was nmdo & kind of ne- tional snthem by the rebuls during the great civil war. “Dix starting fiom = Lryoot’'s minstrel _ theatre, whers it was eqgaposed by Damel Emmet about tho year 195 am viorated in every land beucath the sun. A)ur soidiess heard ity strains from the banas of the Coutederate regiments, Lefore tho opeumg of all tho grest engagements; and “'Honeat Old Abe,”in his last public speech from the balcouy of tue Whita House, af:er Learing of Lee's surrcuder, said to bis hearers that the air of * Dixie’s Laud ” bad oecome part of tho spoils of war, baving been fairly captured, and called ' upon the bands present to play it, which they did, amid sreat euthusiasm. During the war, Ewmet was iu tho height of his prosperity ; sinco that pe- riod he buy been gradually on tho decline. HE CAME TO CHICAGO ton or twelve years azo, “to stay,” and has Leen frequently in print_ever siuce bis armival, The great fire burned him out of house and bome, destroying many carions manuscripts of songs composed by Danicl when he was in the prime of his career. Poverty compeiled the old man to resort to “concert-ssloon” busincss as a means of livelthood, aml how it fared with him in that euterprise let his own story show. AT HIS HOME. A Tumuse reporter called npon the veteran winstiel yosterday afternoon at Lis residence, No. 620 Sonth Lutterfield street. The house. or rather cottage, is very neat, frame, with brick bascment, the walls pamted white, and plants protusely’ spreeding 1 tho Little tront garden. Evidently tiio 0id man has & poetic svul, and da- spite the passing clouds of his latter life, bas the loze of pature strong within bim. The reporter opeued the lit+le wicket-gate, and, finding no one around the front of the Louse, walked down the little pathway leading to the yard, wheie be waw an old man, in his shirt- Hleeves, ittivg on a board placed edgways in the shade of & tall wooden fence. This man was surrounded by mob of chickens, which were Xept in order by n sleck looking httio dog, which barked ficrcely as the visitor approached. The old man_mado the * Llick-and-tan " keep silence, aud asked who came. Reporter—are you Mr. Emmot ? [ 0Old Man—Yes.” I'm just fecding my chickens. “Tis a hubit [ have got into, for I Lave no chil- dren, and must have pe:s. : R.—i have come to Liave a talk with you over minstrolsy. Iam from Tie TRITSE. THE CONCERT-SALOOY r. Emmett—Well, I'm regulariy ongaged by the Clipper, of New York, to writo thet kind of thing. T Chicazo press bas been rough on me.—1 didn't descrve it. When I keps that place on Canal street the reporters blacksuarde 2ll the time. I kept in the basement, 253 some disseputable people rented up-staire, after I had been tettled below. I couldn’t help’ that. Ev- ervibing thevdid up there was, laid to my chisrge. Fually it got so that Weshburn raided my place, broke up my business, aud left me in debt £1.000. R.~The police certainly gavo your place a very Lad nime.—tho reporter's Wero not to blame. I tbink they got the story from the E.—Tue polico accused me of eversthing bad. Uno of them came to me, and’ sxid: “Dan, whero are_the womea hid you keep hero?* 1 eaid to him: * Go back and tell your weasel-cved Chief thas I never had 3 woman on mv promiscs, and never will bave.” Dut, in spite of ail this, they * pulled” me, rnd ruined me financially. > “tt.—You have had a very adventurous life, Mr. Emmet ? ir. E—Yes, indeed, over since I was a boy. 1 'waa 50 last birth-day, and have to play powina saloon for a living. ‘This littio bit of property is all that remains to me after my lonc csreer. Ouly for my wife, I'd be all alone in the world. R.—WellL 80 long as you have even this much left you oughto’t complain. THE CHICKENS. 3r. E. (cheerfully)—That's so. But ain't thesc fine chickens? - Game, every one of them. Never keep anvthing elese—axcept an odd ban- tam—plucky ittle devils that would right an ele- phaot.” 1 never allow my chickens to tight, how- eover. Ikeep thom because they are good for the pot. You see I feed them with meat ? R.—You look sound and healthy after all yoa have wone through. Mr. E.—Yes, but I had a bic constitution. I tell ron what, s minatrel’s Iife wiil demoralize auy man who goes into it—unless one in a thou- sand. There are too many lemptations to drink and spree. If they could all avoid theso tempta— tions they would bo rich, for they often mako & ood deal of money, but spend it as fast as made. If Thad kept all I made, it ien't one lit- tle house aud lot, but whole blocks, I'd have to- .y _The old men, in the course of the conversa- tion, gave some of the informstion detailed in the introduction to the iuterviow. He would not, however, violate his engagement with the Clipper, but was perfectly willing to_talk about himself. Emmet is a fine-looking old man, with a free-and-ensy manuer that indicates waat the lively author of “Dixie's Land” must bave been in his yourger days. Among other things, Daniel stated that his proper name is Emmet—he had never adopted a vom de guerre. His father was of Irish and his mother of Germau descent. Joseoh K. Emmet (Fritz) 18 not an Emmet at all, old Daniel says, but simply wears the lion's skin. LIFE'S BRIGHT PHASE. Ideals of beneficence have sprung from human minds in an age of Christian enligatenment, far nobler, and uearercomplate perfection, than Min- erva herself, tho statuary Goddess of Wisdom, War, and the Arts, who, mythology informs us, gprang in all ber resplendent beauty, faily armed, rom the brow of Jupiter. Life's Bright Phaso is bore ropresented as an idesl berng: Her soul pure and intelizent ; her countenance beaming with radiaut smiles; her graceful vigor and spotless boing blessed with never-dying vigor, overflowing with emotions of geuerosity and love for humanity ; her eye spark- ling with animation, tho mirrorsof asoal whenca Hlush genial sweotness and heavenly sentiments 5 and her sunny tresges thrown- back with sime plicity, revealing the radiant diadem, Pure Joy, sparkling ever upoa hernoble brow. This being vivifies all under her influence by the sunshine of ber nature, radiating from the inner recesses of her soul, which bask continual- 1y in the rays of Divine lovo, depending for ens durance on the goodness of its Creator. In city, town, aod obscure hamlet, she dispels tha gloom, substitating joy uud light. She wisits the home-circle, aud sunbeams play around tha innocent faces of children, and the visages of parents, often wrinkled with care. When she appears, a transformation is accomplished; heart beat freer; while all wonder why they do not always look upon lifo's bright sides, nover wasting timeand energy in needless apprehon- sions. She visits the business-mart; hope glad- dens every beart, and proaperity 1a obtained on sccount of Tenowoed euergetic exertions. The school, seminaries, and universities of the world are eloctrified by hier presonce; under her insp ration, minds otberwise slow of comprebensicy grasp with ease dificult problems and compls cated theories. Tutelligence beame in youtlifcl eyes.and the brilliant visitantis greeted with lorf cheors by every student. They learn from hg patience, economy of resources_ and -virtues while bor image and character are impressed urs coneciously upoa the pure, uutarnished pages af thoir intellect. She floats before the vision of the artist, the musician, and the writer. Hor evlivening ard beautifying chnracteristics are interwoven in their vanied compositions aud creatiogs, to be reflected thence upon thousands of other minds. Sho bends over tho festival preparcd by the hand of Charity for the orphans and the usually ueglected ones of earth. Callous visages relax their painful expressions as the light of joy quietly glides amoug wrinkles and speaks from sunken eyes. The burden of trouble scems tg fall temporarily, as by magic, from tho aictod, while long-forgotten youtl reappears in beutand aged bumavity, Tho varions scones of rustic amusement; ths vast assemblages in citics collected to greet with enthusiasm the gifted musician, the dramatia artist, or the brifliaut orator; the’ social rathor- ing; and tho usually-unnoticedacts of benevolenca done on behalf of “humanity everywhere, are all blessed by ber presence. She poits out to rising generations the surviving monuments of great acluevements left by the philanthropist, the practical scientist, the chaste aud natural poot, the earuestand enligbtencd divine, statesman, jonrnalist, and writer, and thosa in every depart- went of ifo, either in the sphere of man or woman, who have reudered real service to hu- mapity. She points to monuments made for the amelioration of the condition of msakind, tho spread of intellizenco, and the ostablish- ment_of morality toroughout the world. She lives in tho light of Clristianity, sod her heart and mind are governed by its principles. She grasps with her beautiful and untarnished hand the torch of true intelligence, boldly apply- it to the unholy mass of poisonous literature aud objects of art collected an the earth ducin; the present agc, and remaining from the ages of tho past. The Hames ascending from this burn- ing aud corrupting chafl she causes to hght up anew the garnercd wheat of the true, the beauti- ful, the pure, and the onlightening elements in . - tho world's literature and art. Like the bright atmosphore surrounding tho rugged surface of the sun, that strives to bide its duk, unsightly spots, she spreads out radiant intlucnce, secking to gild the dark clouds of trouble that cast their shadows over humani- ty, and transforms tho dark sides of life wto the Bright and Lappy phases of earthly oxisteoce,— substituting for iguorance, intellizenca ; for im- morality, virtuo; for error, truth; for unuatural ruin, natursl stability ; for a corrupt civilization, public integrity. The'light of her coantenauce dispels the gloom of supcrsution, the conceit of bigotrz, and the false ghtter of infidelity and gilded Pleasures. A true idcal of Life's Bright Phase shonld bs the guiding atar of every one, ‘Tho jourualist, uintorian, und the writer, not neglecting to call attention o the existenco of the dark phases of life, 80 thal tucy may be mitigated, shonld en- deavor to faniiliarize mankind with the_choicest of the many scenes she delights in creating upon carth, that they may then indefinitely multiply themsalves. War sweeps with releptless fury overa nation, and throws st intd confuxiou and trouble; while superstition, frand, domestic jufidelity and es- trangzements, and iniquity in_many shapes, as also Tumine, pestilence, aud the demon of firo, paes over the eartb, leaving a track of desola- tion: but the happy ideal of “ Life's Bright Phase,"—offspring of the combined intelligence of the ages,—accompanied in her shining patb- way by lier beaufiful sisters, Peace, Hope, and Charity, vivifics and gladdens all the peoples of the earth, establishing on true and eternal prin- ciples a paralise of social perfuction. Xz Ciricaco, Aug. 19, 1674, e A COMPLIMENT. Gazelle-eyed maiden, late arrived From waudering o'er tho dark-blus sea, How haye the Graces all contnved To join their varied charm for theo ? To other maids somo good they lot, But for thyrelf alons combine. For thee 1o beauty was forgot, Aud every charm, dear maid, is thine, What wond-r, then, the Archer kneels Who toughl each Grace vep'rats shirin, And for swest Kate such fondness feels, Sinee every Grace, dear mand, is thin 1 CiAnLES NUBLE GIXGOBY. Sand Pies, St. Petersburg, tho capital of Russia, is tho haven for children who have a propensity for making mud and sand pies. In many of tha small public parks of that city there are, here and there, large Open spacca covered with gravel. Every moruiug in each of thcse spacos may bo secn a large pile of waud, cone-shaped, atout 4 feot bigh and 6 feet in diameter at the base. After breakfast all the children of the peighborkood, equipped with little spades, liatchets, and wagonw, repair to these cones and employ themeelves in digging them down snd Ecatiéring the matenal, according to their fancy, over the gravel #paces. The next moruing 11:20 cones aro all ready for another assanlt. ~Tho City Government provides the gand, and has it pil=d up in the cones each night, The reeuls of thue simplo plan is that the children acquiro & fondness for exercise and labor, and get that Lealthful oveu-air amukcment #0 essential to their vitality in a city. Perbaps they alwars get_the usnal maternal spankivg for eoiling their ciothiug, but thisis one of the sweets of the halcron days of ch:ldhood that can be looked back to in after vears without revengeful feclings.