'It crept along through the dark gloomy streets, white aml glistoniiig Heavy teams with surly drivers reeognized it and gave it the right of way and t h capitalist, riding in the stately carriage, drooped his liead on liishreast for only last week it liad stood at his door. What a niockfry all his wealth of possession seemed in sight of tliat little white carriage? Mothers drew their children about thera, and lookec yearningly at the flower-covered caskel in the ghuw lined spaee, heaped with fragrant wreaths, and to their childish inquines answered softly "Somebody's baby is dead." "Uut we don't know what dead ia," says a littlo fellow, balancing on springing toes to look at the sweet burden within the baby's carriage. "Isn't it something nice, mamma?" "A simple chile!, Tbat liebtly draw its breath And feels its lite in everj liuih, Wbat siioiild it know of deaUiV" So the white horses draw the dear baby in the little carriage with the glass sides gr;u:efully draped. It rides heavily over many a heart thai was wounded and sad bof o re, and by and by it comes back without any little paudenger. 15ut always there will be tear-tilled eyes to look after it, and loved hearta for it to roll over. They cannot see that the baby made a triumphal march amid Üowera, with an embitssy whose leader is a King. No, they can only feel that they are desolate. "Ynu acaree could tliink so sumll a Uiídk Coald lejive a luis to large." - l'ott Tilbuiie. Robert Toombs does not entertain the highest adiniratkm i'or Jlr. Jefferson Davis's late litcrary exploit. He is reported to have said recently: "I do not recognize Mr. Uavis's historj-. It would have been a great deal better for lim and the South if it had never been written. Most oi the people in this country regret that it ever was writ;en. The truth is, the bulk of the peoile of the South pity Uavis rath'X than admire hiin. Thetrouble with Davis was.and is, that helias ati rxaid-d dea of bis own imjwrtance. He lias ome ability, but no nerve, and has not he slightest capacity for managing men. I have not a thing against him xcept his follies." A moderate gale travels at tho rate of 10 feet in a second.