Some one has set afloat, in the midst of all the attention which has been given to the Washington monument, a touching story of a monument erected seventy-five years ago to the “Father of his Country,” by the inhabitants of Boonesboro, Md. It was purely a labor of love. Near the town stands South Mountain, and on the most conspicuous point a site was chosen, where the farmers of the vicinity hauled and laid with their own hands the rocks which they themselves had quarried. Labor and time were given willingly until the work was complete. The humble, eloquent tribute still stands, a witness to the honest devotion of a faithful people.
The Afghan frontier difficulty between England and Russia came in like a lion, and bids fair, at this writing, to go out like a lamb. War was announced to hang by a thread. The Russians were declared to be advancing into the territory of the Ameer; England to be ready with an ultimatum, which might be accepted or not, as Russia pleased. Announcements were made that no such vast stores of ammunition, unbounded supplies of provisions, and altogether gigantic preparations for a ferocious war had ever before been made. British consols and Russian securities went down, and American wheat went up. Undoubtedly the war cry has been fostered in England—a shrewd maneuver of the ministry—to take the attention from the Soudan trouble, and there is but little doubt now that the negotiations in progress will be successful. England has her hands full already, while Russia is not so hot-headed as to rush into a war without counting its cost.
A pleasant surprise has stirred literary circles this past month. A favorite magazine contributor for several years has been Charles Egbert Craddock, whose striking, original stories, full of freshness and keen observation have been constantly becoming more popular. “Mr.” Craddock kept himself quietly in St. Louis until his literary position was well established, and then went to Boston to make the acquaintance of his publishers. What was the astonishment of the latter to find that this contributor was a lady, Miss M. N. Murfree by name. The revelation was almost “too good to be true,” for no one had suspected the vigorous writing to come from other than a masculine mind. The surprise has greatly increased her popularity, of course.
The striking public spectacle of 100,000 visitors gathered to witness and to swell the pageant of the 4th of March is not yet at an end. The month goes, but it still leaves in Washington hundreds of office seekers, who have before themselves the belittling, wearing, unmanly business of etching their way into public service. The way in which most of the appointments have thus far been made signifies very plainly that this work is at a discount, and that we may reasonably hope to soon see the office seeker starved out.
Niagara is to be preserved. The bill which passed the New York State Assembly recently, providing for the preservation of the banks of the rivers from the works of the vandals, proves conclusively how quick we Americans are to do the right thing when we are fully persuaded what is right. Most of our wrongs against good taste and our depredations against rivers and forests are rather to be attributed to a lack of thought than, is usually the case, to be laid at the doors of avarice.