Newspaper Page Text
8
©iiMm’s Columa.
Th* kiw Scholar.—A new scholar came
fp Rack ford school at the beginning of the
Sfef Vear. He was a well-dressed, fiue
feoking lad, whose appearance all the boys
liked.
P'There was a set of boys at this school who
pnimediately invited him to join their “ larks,”
and I suppose boys know pretty well what
that means.
gs. They used to spend their money in eating
and drinking, and often run up large bills,
which their friends often found hard to pay.
They wanted the new scholar to join them,
and they always contrived, by l#ugbing at him
or reproaching him, to get almost any boy
they wanted into their meshes. The new boys
were afraid not to yield to them. This new
scholar refused their invitations. They called
him mean arid stingy—a charge which always
makes boys very sore.
“ You are real mean, not to go with us,”
they said.
“ Mean ! ” he answered ; “ w here is the
meanness in not spending money which is not
my own ? And where is the stinginess in not
choosing to beg money of iny friends in order
to spend it in a way which they would not
approve ? ”
“ He talks like a minister,” exclaimed one
of them.
“ After all,” he continued, “our money must
come from our friends, as we haven’t it, nor
can w 7 e earn it. No, boys, Ido not mean to
spend one penny that 1 should be ashamed to
give an account of to my father and mother,
should they ask me.”
“Eh!'not out of your leading-strings,
then ? ”
“ No, nor am I in a hurry to get out of
them.”
“ Afraid of your father, eh! afraid of his
whipping you? Afraid of your mother?
Won’t she give you a sugar-plum? ‘What
a precious baby ! ” they cried in mocking
terms.
“ And yet you are trying to make me afraid
of you,” said the new scholar, boldly. “”\ou
w ant me to be afraid of not doing as you say.
And which, I should like to know, is the best
sort of sea fear of my school-fellows,
which would lead me into what is low, or fear
of my parents, which will inspire me with
things noble and manly ? Which fear is the
best ? It is a very poor service you are doing
me, to try to set me against my parents, and
teacli me to be ashamed of their authority.”
The boys felt that there was no headway to
be made against such anew scholar. All they
said hurt themselves more than him, and they
liked better to be out of his way than in it—all
bad boys, I mean. The others gathered around
him, and never did they woik or play with
greater relish than w hile he was their cham
pion and friend.
“ The new r sholar is a champion fellow,”
said the principal, “and carries more influence
than any boy in the school. They study bet
ter and play better where he is. \ou can’t
pull him down. Everything mean and bad
sneaks out of his way.”— Children's Prize ,
{England.)
What two little Girls did. —A friend of
mine, saw, a short distance before him, an old
man walking with great difficulty, and very
tired. He seemed at a loss which way to go.
Between in}’ friend and the old man two girls,
eight and ten years of age, were walking, and
talking about the old man.
“How tired he looks!” says one.
Just then a young man passed by, of whom
the old man asked his way to No. 16
street. A hasty answer, not at all clear, was
the only reply. In his bewilderment the old
man struck against a post, and his staff fell
from his hand. The larger girl sprang for
ward to support him, while the other handed
him the staff, saying, “Here it is. sir.”
“Thank you, my kind girls,” said the old
man; “can you direct me to No. 16
street ? 1 came to the city to-day to visit my
son. Wishing to surprise him, 1 did not send
him word that I was coming. lam a stran
ger here, and have been walking a long time
to no purpose.”
“O, we will go with you, sir ; mother said
we might walk for an hour, and we can as
well walk that way as any other.”
“ God bless you, my kind girls /” said the
old man ; “I am sorry to trouble you.”
“O,” replied the little girls, “it is not the
least trouble; we love old folks, and we love
to do them a favor.”
They at length brought the old man oppo
site the house which he sought; and he was
dismissing them, but they said, “We must
cross the street with you, lest the carriages
run over you.”
What a delightful body-guard were those
kind children ! As they separated, the old
man said, “If you ever visit my country, come
to the house of John B , and you shall
have a hearty welcome and as good entertain
ment as a farm-house can afford.”— Mather's
Magazine.
Rules for the Journey of Life. —The
following rules from the papers of Dr. West,
according to his memorandum, are thrown to
gether as way-marks in the journey of life:
Never ridicule sacred things, or what others
may esteem as such, however absurd they
may appear to you.
Never show levity when people are engaged
in worship.
Never resent a supposed injury till you
know the views and motives of the author.
Always take the part of an absent person
who is censured in company, so far as truth
and propriety will allow.
Never think less of another on account of
his differing with me on political or religious
subjects.
Not to dispute with a man who is more
than seventy years of age; nor with a woman,
nor an enthusiast.
Nor affect to be w itty, or to jest so as to
wound the feelings of another. To say as
little as possible of myself, and of those who
are near to me. To aim at cheerfulness with
out levity.
Never to court a favor of the rich by flat
tering, either their vanities or vices.
To speak with calmness and deliberation on
all occasions, especially in circumstances
which tend to irritate.
Frequently to renew my conduct and note
my feeling.
Good Examples. — Some years since, a
poor factory girl in Lowell, by rigid economy,
laid up enough to let her attend for a short time
in the High School in that city. An intense
thirst for knowledge was soon awakened,
talent evinced, and a resolute purpose formed,
“somehow or other,” to secure a thorough
education. The result is, that the factory
girl is the first assistant in a popular ladies’
seminary in Montreal. A young brother, in
the employment of the same corporation, was
encouraged by the noble example of his sis
ter, and still more by the timely and gene
rous offer of pecuniar} aid by the present
Secretary of the Board of Education, to se
cure a collegiate education. Since his gradu
ation, this young man has been the successful
principal of a high school. — Mass. Teaehtr.
A little four year old pet stood looking out
of the window a few days ago, when an ex
pressman slopped just opposite, and tied up
the horse’s tail to prevent it trailing in the
mud. She watched the operation intently
for a moment, and then called out eagerly:
*-C. see. Auntie! the ’sprcssman is making a
waterfall for his horse!”
THE CHRIST IAN INDEX: ATLANTA, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, JAND ARY 6, 1866.
ffitararg Jfrjrartomjt.
TO SAY AND TO 13 O.
From the French of Emile Souvestre.
The post house of Oberhausberg was thrown into
confusion one day by the arrival of a traveling car
riage from Saverne. which was going to Strasbourg.
Master Topfer, the inn-keeper, ran here and there
giving orders to the servants and postillions, while the
coach, which was being unloaded before the great
gate, was surrounded by children and idlers who were
talking together.
Among the last there was a man with a bright eye
and swarthy complexion, whose quick, jerking accent
formed a singular contrast with the Teutonic language
of the other spectators. Indeed, Master Bardanon
was born in the South. Chance alone had carried
him to Oberhauslterg, where he had served bis ap
prenticeship iu a barber's shop opposite the inn, whose
blue shutters carried the double inscription—“ Hair
and beard cut cheap. Customers shaved in the Mar
seilles style.”
Mixed in a group of busy bodies, who had collected
around the coach gate of Master Topfer, the hair
dresser took part tit the general conversation, in a
kind of German of which we can give no belter idea
than by saying that it was the Alsatian dialect spoken
by a native of Provence.
“ Have you seen the traveler, Master Bardanon?”
asked an old woman, carrying a basket on her arm.
filled with thread, pins and lace cords, which indica
ted the street hawker.
“To be sure, Mother Hartman,” replied the hair
dresser. “He is a big man who looks like he has
more stomach than brains.”
One could see that Master Bardanon had a taste for
epigrams, and passed at Oberhausberg for a very
smart wit.
Those who heard this piece of pleasantry, on the
new comer, responded by loud laughter, in which
Mother Hartman joined ; then shaking her head with
a knowing air. she said, eying the barber, “ Better
have rents than wit. neighhor, for with wit one takes
it a foot, while with rents he rides in a carriage.”
“ What you say is very true, Mother Hartinan,” re
plied the Provencal, with a profound air, “and mean
time, God knows where riches often go. This stran
ger, who has just arrived, for instance : I wish some
one could ted me what he has done to deserve this
traveling equipage.”
“ Hush. Bardanon, he is a baron,” suddenly inter
rupted a voice Iresh and laughing.
Bardanon perceived the daughter of Master Topfer,
who had come to the door of the inn.
“ A baron,” he repeated ; “ who told you, Nicette?”
“ The grand footman who came with him,” replied
the girl. “ He has declared that Monsieur the baron
cannot be served in the common hail, and that it is
necessary to carry everything up to the large room on
the balcony.”
Tbe crowd raised their heads. The chamber of
which Nicette spoke was just above them, and the
window was open, but the drawn curtain did not per
mit them to see anything.
“So it is there that you have spread the table for
him,” demanded Mother Hartman, casting a glance at
the chamber on the balcony.
“ Not I,” replied the girl. “M. the Baron did not
wish either our porcelain or glass ware. He always
carries a silver service with him, and I saw his valet
take out a large ebony box.”
A murmur of wonder and admiration rose in the
crowd ; the Provencal only shrugged his shoulders.
“That is to say that M. the baron can neither eat
nor drink like other Christians,” replied he, ironically.
“He must have a separate room and silver service.
The great king Solomon had cause to say, 1 Vanity of
vanities, all is vanity.’”
“ Come. Bardanon, you are again speaking ill of your
neighbor,” interrupted Nicette, laughing.
“Os my neighbor?” repeated the hairdresser.
“ Can it be that a baron is my neighbor? Be it so, then ;
I already know your great man; he is like all the
other fine gentlemen whom we see pass here. Did
you hear how he called his valet who stopped to speak
to Master Topi'ei ? ‘I am waiting for you Germain I
am waiting for you.’ This barou must be a veritable
tyrant.”
“Ah, why do you speak so, Bardanon?” said Nicette.
“ God grant that you maybe deceived. Do you know
why he is going to Baden ? ”
“No, indeed.”
“ His servant told me.” replied the young girl, low
ering her voice, “that he is going to be married.”
“To be married!”
“ To the richest heiress in the country —a widow.”
“ Whom he does not know, without doubt.”
“ I know nothing of it.”
“It is not necessary that he should know her.
These great people contract marriages as we carry on
commerce, by correspondence. They only think of
ganilying their cupidity.”
“ Be silent. Bardanon,” interrupted Nicette, quickly.
“You are always ready to judge evil of people with
out knowing them.”
“ And to judge still more evil after I do know
them,” added the Southron.
“You know very well that every body does not
marry for wealth,” replied the young girl, blushing a
little, and easting a sidelong glance at him. “There
are still some who only consult their affections.”
“ Like me for example.” continued Bardanon gaily,
as he took the hand of Nicette and forced her to look
at him.
“That is not the point.” said the young girl, hastily.
“Pardon me, pardon me,” cried the Provencal.
“You well know, Nicette. that I. lor my part, do not
run after fortune; and that I have not found you less
pretty because Father Topler has declared that he can
give you no dowry. But as for me. I am a singular
man. my dear, a philosopher, as your god-father says
My ideas are different from those of other people.
How my blood boils when I see men like your great
baron, to whom fortune is only an instrument of van
ity, of tyranny and of avarice. I cannot help think
ins’ that if I were in their places, that I would do more
honor to the choice ol Providence.”
“ That yet remains to be seen. Master Bardanon,”
said the old peddler woman. “ Fortune changes char
acters in a very droll manner”
“ When one has no principle,” cried the Provencal,
quickly; “when one permits himself to be whirled
about by every passing wind like a weather-cock
But as for me, I know my own mind and what is
right, Mother Hartman. I have my philosophy. I
will becomt rich one day or other, and then you will
see if I change any more than the clock in our church
You will always find me as just, as disinterested aud.
as clever.”
It could be very easily seen that distrust in himself
was not the fault of Bardanon. All that he detracted
from his neighbor in morality and good sense, he
credited to his own account with scrupulous exact
ness. So well content was he with his own person
and discontent with that of every one else, he almost
wilfully reproached God with having made man in
his own image, instead of that ol Bardanon.
At one time, led on by his vanity, he permitted him
self to go into a long improvisation. He explained in
detail all the good and great things which he would
accomplish, if luck would only send to his aid an
uncle of his in America, whom one never hears of
again even at the theatre. He passed in review all
the virtues of which he could give proof, until he at
last accorded himself an apotheosis, when the traveler,
who had been the cause of the exposition, appeared
at the door of the inn.
He was apparently a man of forty years, of portly
figure, a little bald, and his heavy German features
would have revealed his origin, if his ultra Teutonic
accent had permitted the least doubt in this respect.
Yet, intelligence beamed from the depths of his clear,
blue eve; and prejudice alone had dictated the opin
ion which the Provencal hair-diesser had formed.
The baron bowed to the group collected at the gate
aud said, with a paternal smile:
“ A pretty place, messieur, a pretty place, and a
beautiful day.”
Those to whom he spoke were pleased to return the
salute without replying; but the Teuton did not ap
pear discouraged by this silence.
“I hope,” continued he. still smiling, “that the
country is prosperous, and that you live happily
here.”
“One can ste happiness everywhere when he pos
sesses fortune himself,” responded Bardanon, senten
tiously.
The baron made a sign of assent.
“What you say is a grand truth, monsieur,” he re
plied, with a tone of deference; “and I hope that
this remark is the fruit of your own experience. Those
who understand fortune so well must necessarily
possess it.”
“One must do what he can,” said Bardanon, whom
the manners of tbe baron had began to sotten. “It
is very necessary to have philosophy when one has
nothing else.”
“ Have you any cause to complain of your busi
ness?” asked the stranger, wilh interest.
The Provencal shrugged his shoulders.
“ I never complain. M. le baron,” said he, gravely.
“ When one sows complaints he reaps nothing but dis
couragements. I cut hair, trim beard and curl false
locks, and fpr tbe rest, 1 await a lucky opportunity.”
“ It will come,” said the baron; “be sure of that —
it will come. Luck has not imitated your government:
it has maintained its lottery, and one always hopes to
get a good number.”
“ Stop, a pro; to f numbers,’’cried Nicette. “We
have two. 1 we should draw the chateau ”
“A elite :u,” repeated the stranger who became
attentive.
“With lands and forests,” continued Bardanon.
“ There i an agent from Frankfort who has been here
for three months offering them, and Nicette has made
me take one.”
“ I: is, perhaps, the domain of Kovembourg.”
“ I do not know. I have neither looked at the
name nor the number; but I ought to have it here.”
The hair-dresser searched in an old pocket book and
drew out a prospectus aid a ticket.
“It is the same,” said he. after casting his ey'es over
the prospectus. “The domain of Kovembourg, situ
ated two miles from Badewiller at the entrance of the
Black Forest. Ihe ticket gaining ought to have been
drawn the 20th of July.”
“ And so it was drawn,” replied the stranger,
calmly.
*• Do you know what number?”
“ It is 06.”
Bardanon cast his eyes over his ticket, uttered a
cry and became pale.
“Sixty-six,” stammered he. “Did you say 66?”
“ To be sure.”
“And are you sure that this is the number win
ning ? ”
“ I saw it affixed to it at Saverne.”
“ Then the domain of Rovembourg is mine,” cried
the hair-dresser, staggering.
“ Yours! ” repeated the baron, in astonishment.
“ See ! see! I have 66.”
He showed his ticket to all by raising it triumphantly
over his head. The stranger’s countenance changed,
and he approached him quickly. But after having
cast his eyes on the number, he uttered a cry of joy
and opened hi* mouth to speak, when, stopping sud
denly as if struck by an idea, he looked at Bardanon
with the air of a good natured sharper, which seemed
habitual to him, and bowed in token of congratula
tion.
The news of this unexpected good fortune was
soon known to the master of the post, who spread it
in every quarter. The Provencal, who had retired to
his shop, did not wait to be assailed by the crowd of
neighbors who came to compliment him on his im
proved fortune. He still entertained some doubts in
the middle of his joy; but the baron sent him a copy
of a Frankfort gazette, which contained all the de
tails of the diawing, and confirmed the news in a
manner that did not permit any uncertainty.
Bardanon supported this marvelous change very
well from the beginning. After the first emotions of
joy and surprise, he regained his accustomed sang
froid of appearance, and conversed in a friendly way
with those who came to compliment him; only his
voice was louder than usual, his manners more as
sured, and his affability more majestic. It was evi
dent that the hair-dresser had turned grand seigneur.
He threw back his head, laid off his hands and spoke
of his projects with a superb nonchalance. He did
not know yet whether he would go to live in his
Chateau of Rovembourg. He had always loved
Oberhausberg very much; but as a Frenchman, he
owed himself to France. He added some allusions
to his projected marriage with Nicette. who listened
with astonishment, and received the congratulations
of his friends.
In the meantime the notary had come up to point
out to Bardanon the measures he ought to take. The
first, by his to Rovembourg im
ii i y. s
meet in a few there alone that the
taking possession of the new properly could be regu
lated.
Bardanon agreed thereto, and signified his intention
of departing instantly. Tlit wine merchant offered his
char-a-bancs , and the vine-dresser his horse; but
Bardanon thanked them with a royal smile. In his
new position he could not travel in such a style; it
was necessary that his arrival at Rovembourg should
be in keeping with his future title. For his part he
was above ali such vanities; but he must submit to
established prejudices, and respect customs, so as to
give no caue lor scandal. In consequence, Master
Topfer must furnish him his best post-chaise and finest
horses. The hair-dresser stipulated besides that he
should be accompanied by himself, Nicette and the
potary. who was to overlook the deeds of possession.
Iu this way he would present himself at Rovembourg
in a suitable style. The daughter of the master of
the post did not find any objection to this arrange
ment. She did not inquire whether the Provencal
would attach her to his triumphal car through love or
through pride, and if she would be an associate of his
joy or only an ornament. Without suspicion, as all
simple hearts are, she was grateful for the remem
brance of Bardanon. and thought that his affection
for her had increased.
Thus, as we have seen, the infatuation of the hair
drtsser was already moderated. He had need to ac
custom his mind to the change which had taken place.
It was with difficulty that h could believe it himself.
His new position seemed like a dream to him, which,
having all the appearances of reality, leaves one in
doubt and confusion. But as the post-chaise came up
Bardanon’s spirits became more and more assured,
and he felt like one intoxicated. At ea-h relay his
manners assumed something more of the aristocratic.
His thoughts, which continued in their just limits,
escaped in puffs of egotism or pride, to which Nicette
paid no attention, and the notary permitted to pass
in respect to the wealth of his new client. The news
of the event which had enriched Bardanon had
spread far and near. One postillion transmitted it to
another, and it was repeated all along the route of the
hair-dresser:
“ Behold the proprietor of the domain of Rovem
bourg ! ”
“ The very same thing was done in the time of
‘ Puss in Boots.” ’
“Behold the carriage of the Marquis of Carabas!”
Each one of these cries was as a gust of wind
which puffed up the heart of Bardanon. Becoming
an object of admiration and curiosity, he arrogated to
himself the consequence of a prince traveling incog
nito. From time to lime he leaned before the coach
door, in order to show himself to those brave people
who ran to see him; he bowed his head; he majes
tically threw sous to the poor by the wholesale ; and
if they had pressed closer, he would have given his
hand to be kissed.
At the last inn where he stopped, he complained of
the service ; the linen was coarse, the vessels cracked
and the convert was battered. He declared that if he
ever left his chateau, he wished to have hereafter,
like the baron, a silver service for traveling. The
wine appeared to be equally bad; and he had to be
served with some bottles that were reserved fur grand
occasions.
At last the Chateau of Rovembourg appeared on the
horizon, with its avenues of fir trees and sharp poiu
ted turrets. Bardanon made the post-ehaise go slow,
so as to enjoy the sight better. Nicette uttered a cry
f joy at the sight of the meadows sprinkled with
flowers; the notary estimated in a low voice the rev
nue of the fields and woods, and Master Topler ad
nired some horses which were galloping in the pas
ures. Bardanon alone looked on in silence. At the
ight ol the turrets of Rovembourg anew question
,ssailed him. He Us ted himself if there was any
lie attached to the estate ; and if he would be called
le Count or the Duke of Rovembourg. This seemed
i him to be the necessary complement of his posi
on. Without it Master Bardanon would always have
ihe air of a rich Bourgeois. Fortune was a very good
s hintr, but nobility seemed indispensable to him to
upport it with grace.
The hair-dresser was in the midst of these reflec
tions when he errived at the gale of the chateau.
.'icette proposed to descend, but Bardanon held that
-,e ought to enter his new residence like a master.
I t was necessary to wail until the concierge, who was
bsent. came to open the gate lor the post-chaise,
hieh entered the court with the trotting of horses,
nd a great noise of whips and hells. Bardanon
itarned from the keeper that the agents from Frank
fort would arrive on the morrow ; but that the niece j
of the old proprietor, Madame de Randoux, was I
at the chateau.
She was not slow, indeed, at the top of
the steps, where she received the Provencal with all
the grace of a woman of fashion, and all the good na
ture of a Bourgeois.
Madame de Randoux was a widow, twenty-five
years of age. rather agreeable than pretty, but of ele
gant manners and charming address. She showed
herself extremely affable to Bardanon and all his com
panions, and ushered them into a rich salon decorated
in the style of Louis XIV.
The hair-dresser found the baron there, who had
preceded him some hours, and whom the young widow
presented as an old friend. Refreshments were
served, to which Bardanon did honor, with the free
dom of a proprietor who uses that which belongs to,
hitn. Madame de Randoux proposed afterward to
visit the estate, and had her carriage drawn out. in
which she mounted with the Provencal, accompanied
by Nicette and the baron.
Bardanon could contain himself no longer. Joy
and pride had exalted him even to delirium. Seated
on the soft cushions of the caleche. he looked wilh
contemptuous p ly on the peasants who plodded along
on foot. He no longer thought of returning their sa
lute. These people would have hereafter noth
ing in common with him ; they were men of another
species, only fit to work.
He showed himself moderately satisfied with the
property, spoke of improvements and embellishments?
and ended by declaring that he intended to make
Rovembourg a residence fit for a prince. Madame de
Randoux approved with cheerfulness, and the Barou
in a more reserved lone. Bardanon did not doubt
that he was jealous, and promised himself not to
spare so vile a sentiment. In consequence, he con
j turned to affect the airs of a lord of a manor, cotn
| plained of the roads, the bad state of the enclosures,
and the negligence of the lorresters.
Nicette always interposed an excuse ; but Barda
non, who found that systematic discontent gave a
grand air, interrupted her and imposed silence, and
ti e young girl forbidden, did not dare to say a word
more.
On the return to the chateau it was still worse.
The quondam hair-dresser found the furniture mean,
and the plate insufficient. He developed with an easy
nonchalance, the changes which he wi-hvd to make
there. He knew how to order the appointments of a
i great house. He had seen sometime before that of
I the Prince de Croix, to whom he was a little related.
! Nicette. who had never heard of this relative before.
I opened her eyes wide, but did not dare to say any
thing, lor Bardanon had commenced to brow-beat
her.
These entertainments occupied the evening. When
it was time to retire, the hair dresser was conducted
to the most beautiful chamber in the house, where
there awaited him a bed in an ab ove. The walls
were decorated with portraits of different epochs,
j representing the former lords of the manor. Barda
i non saluted them with an emotion almost as respeet
! ful as if they had been his ancestors. He commenced,
| in fact, to believe himself a legitimate descendant of
i the house of Rovembourg. He slept very late, and
he saw himself in his dream at the court of the
grand Duke of Baden, his breast covered with ribbons
and crosses.
Tbe day was far advanced when he awoke. He
started to rise in haste, when he remembered that a
man of his dignity could not dress himself alone. He
rang for the valet de chambre. who came in at the mo
j ment. and commenced his toilet according to all the
i prescribed rules of a certain fashion. Bardanon. who
: did not wish to appear ignorant, patiently let him have
j his own wav; but when it came to the coiffure, the
■ souvenir of his art which he had brought with him,
he snatched the comb from the hand of the German
i valet, and gave him a practical lesson in the disposi
tion ol the front locks and the arrangement ol the
foretop.
At last, completely dressed, he descended to the
garden where he ptreeived Madame de llandoux.
She had already returned from her morning walk in
the meadows. The young widow wore an elegant
neglige , and had on a hat of the Black F9rest, wilh
the broad riban I floating on her shoulders. Her feet
wet wilh dew, and hiding in her hand a little boquet
\ of field flowers, she came up by the hedge, singing in
a low voice an old melody from “la Souahe.” The
walk had heightened her color, and the freshness of
the morning seemed to respire in her whole being.
Bardanon ran to salute her, and kissed her hands
as lie had seen done at the theatre. The pretty widow
j took his arm without ceremony, and told him of her
; excursion to the border of the coppice. Although
| she had lived in the largest cities of Germany, Mad
i ame de Randoux loved the country, and especially
Rovembourg, where she Ia l been raised, and she was
never able to console herself, that her uncle, before
his death, had allowed his estate to be put in a lottery,
which, until then, had never been out of the family
The two hundred thousand florins which this specu
lation had added to his heritage, wi re very far front
appearing a sufficient compensation to her. She would
have voluntarily added twenty thousand florins of he r
own property to gain possession of Rovembourg and
‘ts dependencies.
Bardanon understood this to be an indirect proposi
tion addressed to himself; but he had taken too great
a fancy to the role of his lordship to wish to exchange
it for a sum of money.
He replied, smiling, lo Madame de Randoux, that
although it had changed proprietors, the Chateau of
Rovembourg was entirely at her disposal, and that
she was as much at liberty to command everjthing
as before.
The widow made a graceful sign of impatience.
“Come, you refuse to understand me.” said she.
“You wish to receive me at Rovembourg, while it is
my duty to receive you there.”
“ What matters it. provided you be at home there ?”
gallantly observed the Provencal.
“At home!” gaily replied Madame de Randoux.
•‘You will be nicely caught if I take you at your
word.”
-Why so?”
“Because a stranger is always a vexation to a
young housekeeper.”
At this Bardanon started.
“ Ah, pardon,” added she. “Is it still a secret ? but
Madamoiselle Nicette was the first to betray it.”
“ Mon Dieu interrupted the hair-dresser, wilh
embarrassment “It is nothing more than a project”—
“Which nothing now preveuts your realizing.”
“ It is true.”
“ And Madamoiselle Nicette has need to remind you
of it, I suppose, for she would find it difficult to fill
your place, Monsieur de Bardanon.”
The hair-dresser bowed, flushed with joy. for it was
the first time that any one had added this title of no
bility to his name. Madame de Randoux, at this mo
ment. appeared to him resplendant with beauty.
“ Since it is so,” continued she, “ behold me dispos
sessed, without hope of ever returning to my dear
Rovembourg: and meantime. God knows what I
would not do for it. If 1 should avow to you. for in
stance, that I had failed to purchase the chateau at
the price of all my income, what would you say to
that. Monsieur de Bardanon?”
The Provencal scad a second fit of dizziness and
vanity, and was only able to stammer out some broken
words.
“ Yes.” replied the widow, as if she had responded
to her interlocutor, “at the price of my income. Have
you seen the Baroa de Roback who arrived here be
fore you?”
Bardanon replied affirmatively.
“Eh? well, he is an old friend of our family, who
has always been strongly attached to me. and who
even opposed my marriage with M. de Randoux.
Since my widowhood he has offered me his hand
many times, but my liberty pleases me, and frightens
me from anew union, and I have always refused him-
At last, when the Chateau of Rovembourg was put in
a lottery, he was the witness of my grief, and pro
posed to me, in jrst, that I should marry hitn if he
gained the chateau. I acceded, and he laid out
five thousand florins in tickets. Up to the time oftlie
drawing I feared that he would not gain it, ant j-day
I grieve that Rovemfourg should passto another mas
ter. On the eve of quitting this beautilul domain, I
find that it would not have been too dear to have bought
it with the gift of my hand.
A thought flashed through the mind of Bardanon.
He looked at Mai ame de Randoux, who was smiling
and biting her boquet of wild flowers. She appeared
charming to him. He thought at the same time mat
she possessed a fortune double the value of Rovem
bourg, and that she belonged to the best nobility of the
duchy.
All these ideas assailed him at the same time, and
stunned him.
The widow seen, ed to take a change from his silence.
“You find me very foolish, I suppose?” said she.
“No,” replied Bardanon, who made an effort to re
gain his self possession “ I only find your confidence
dangerous.”
“Why so?”
“Because it gives singular temptations to the actual
proprietor of Rovembourg.”
■“What do you mean, M. de Bgrdanon ; I do not
comprehend you.” said Madame de Randoux, with an
embarrassment that contradicted this affirmation.
“I mean,” replied the fiair-dresser, emboldened,
“that the agreement made with the baron a tout
hasard would be more sure with him who has gained
the chateau.”
“ With you ?”
“ Since Rovembourg has so many charms for Mad
ame de Randoux, she could resign herself, perhaps,
to stay there -and accept the suit of the new pro
prietor.”
“Come, this is a jest,” said the wdowr laughing
without restraint. *
“ A jest if my proposition offends Madan.e de Ran
doux,” replied the Provencal, quickly—“a serious
thing if she can accept it without offense.”
“ But you forget, M. de Bardanon. Have you not
previous engagements wilh Madamoiselle Nicette?”
“None. Madame. All tnese vague projects are at
an end.”
“But. in the meantime, if this child has received
hopes”
“ Reason will bring her to renounce them. Nicette
ought to understand that anew position imposes new
obligations on others and herself.”
“I fear that she may not have sufficient philosophy
for that.” objected the widow ironically.
“ Leave all that to me.” said the Provencal. “But
see, the baron Do not mention it to him. I will
speak to Nicette, and in one hour it shall all be ar
ranged.”
He immediately re-entered the chateau to seek the
daughter of the master ol the post. The conversation
which he had had with Madame de Randoux had given
him the finishing stroke. He saw in an instant his
fortune trebled, and his position established. This
was a second ticket gained in the lottery. He could
not permit such an opportunity to escape him without
folly. Besides, there really existed no tie between
him and Nicette. He had neither made nor exacted
any promise. Obliged to postpone their union, they
were only held by one of those tacit agreements which
is not an engagement except to the heart ; so he did
not believe himself held to its observance. Forget
ting all that had passed, he spoke to Nicette as to a
protege of w hose happiness he was solicitous. He
did not wish to be the sole gainer by the lucky chance
which had enriched him ; he had decided to give her
a generous dowry and to be assured of the prospects
of the husband whom she would choose.
The young girl listened at first without comprehend
ing; but as Bardanon proceeded, the light broke upon
her and with it a grief as cruel as it was unexpected.
In the meanwhile she said nothing. Pale, her lips
trembling, and restraining her tears with difficulty, she
listened, even to the end of the promises of the Pro
vencal, and when he had finished she raised herself
up calmly and made a step toward the door.
‘ Where are you going. Nicette?” demanded Bar
danon, troubled by this silence.
“I am going to return with my father,” she simply
said.
“ Why now ? Who urges you to do so?” replied
the hair dresser.
Nicette did not answer, but went out.
Bardanon felt his heart give way. How wilfully
olind had he been to the inexorable reproaches of his
conscience. His emotions protested against h r s rea
son. He arose from his seat and paced the salon, en
deavoring in vain to recover his composure. He was
sad and discontented. He remembered fortunately
that he bad not breakfasted, and rang the bell, but the
valet de chambre. who presented himself, said that
everybody had eaten breakfast some time before.
Bardanon. who only sought a pretext to vent his
ill humor, complained of not having been apprised of
it. The valet responded that M. le Baron had not
given him orders to do so.
This was a signal of explosion to our Provencal.
“The Baron!” erkd he; “ and how long, knave,
have you need of the orders of the baron toserve me?
Who is master here, I ? To whom does Rovem
bourg belong ? ”
“I do not know yet,” hastily replied the valet.
“Ah. you say yon do not know,” -epeated Bardanon.
highly exasperated. “ Very well; I will learn you,
rascal. Leave here leave immediately, and I advise
you never to appear before me again ”
The valet was about lo reply, but the baron, who
entered at that instant, made him a sign and he re
tired.
“ You treat this poor fellow rudely, M. Bardanon,”
said he, shutting the door behind him.
“I treat him as suits myself, M. de Robach,” replied
the Provencal with hauteur , “and 1 am astonished
that others should give orders to me here.”
“First: I would have you observe,” responded the
baron, politely, “that as executor of the will of the
former proprietor ol Rovembourg. I have charge of
the administration of the chateau until the arrival of
the new possessor.”
“And I.” replied the hair-dresser—“l would have
you observe that the new proprietor is here.”
“And what do you infer from that?”
“1 infer that every man ought to be master in his
own house.”
■ “Most certainly,” said he; “but it remains to be
known at whose house we are.”
“At whose house !” repeated Bardanon, in aston
ishment. “ Parblue , M. de Robach ought not to be
ignorant on that point, since it was he who made
known to me the number gaining the prize.”
“ Yes, I remember it perfectly.”
“And you must certainly remember, besides, that
this number is 66, for here it is, M. le Baron.”
He bent forward to examine the ticket presented by
the hair dresser.
“Pardon,” said he ; “but I believe that M. Barda
non is laboring under a mistake.”
“ How ?”
“He lias not noticed that on his ticket the point
precedes the figures instead of following them.”
“ Very well, what does that prove ?”
“ That proves that M. Bardanon has read his num
ber reversed, and that this number is 99.”
“ Ninety Nine.” repeated the hair-dresser in amaze
ment. “ Whai do you say but then 66”
“ Here it is,” said the baron, showing him a num
ber.
“What, you!”
“ And llie authenticity of my ticket has been recog
nized by the administration of Frankfort itself; all
the preliminaries have been concluded, and here is the
deed which puls me in possession of the domain of
Rovembourg.”
He held a paper toward the Provencal, spotted with
stamps, and seals, aud certificates of all colors.
Bardanon wished lo run away, but a mist blinded
his eyes, and his whole frame trembled so that he was
obliged to seat himself.
The fall was as sudden as his elevation j and he
felt all his strength abandon him. After the first stun
ning effect had passed, he arose Dejection suc
ceeded doubt and anger, lie looked the baron in the
face.
“Then you deceived me at Oberhausberg,” he
said.
“ Say rather that I left you to your own error,” re
plied the baron.
“ It was an act of cruelty, of inhumanity,” inter
rupted Bardanon.
“ No,” said the baron, tranquilly, “but a chastise
ment and a lesson. Seated behind the curtain on the
balcony of the inn, I heard you judge me without
knowing me, and accuse the rich of vanity, tyranny,
ingratitude and cupidity ; while you boasted that you
would be free from all these faults if fortune should
in turn favor you Chance alone made you believe
that this supposition was accomplished. I wished to
see if your principles had the strength you supposed,
and I lell you in your delusion.”
“ It was a delusion then.” repeated Bardanon. with
dejection, unable to take his eyes from the returned
ticket.
“ Yus.” said M. de Robach. more seriously; “but
your conduct since you believed yourself master of
Rovembourg was not such. Since yesterday, tell me
which one ol us have shown the most pride. Which
has been tile most arrogant towards servants? Is it
you or I whose cupidity was aroused by the position
of Madame de Randoux ; and by whom was Nicette
repulsed with ingratitude?”
Tne hair-dresser hung down his head overwhelmed
with shame.
“ You see,” said the baron, after a pause, “it is
necessary to be more indulgent toward others and less
confident of self. All men have in them the germs of
the same loibles, but different positions develope them
differently. Pardon the rich for being unfeeling and
careless, and he will pardon your malevolence and
your envy. The means of improving the different
ranks is not to place one in opposition to another, but
to enlighten each according to its needs. - ’
“ And it was to give this instruction that M. le Baron
has exposed me to such a revulsion of fortune?” said
Bardanon, bitterly. I have been a subject for him
to dissect. He wished to try an experiment on living
flesh, without troubling himself for the consequences
of such an essay.”
*• Pardon me, Master Bardanon,” said M. de Robach.
“ Madame de Randoux, who has had a share in all
this, has already repaired the mischief which you have
done yourself, and as a proof she has reconciled Ni
cette to you.”
The daughter of the master of the post entered at
this instant with the widow. She was easily consoled
by proving to her that the rupture with Bardanon was
only to test her affection ; that the estate of Rovern
bourg did not belong to him ; and that he loved her
more than ever. Nicelte believing all that they wish
ed to make her believe; and the Provencal, ashamed
of his conduct, received her with a tenderness so
humble that she was touched even to tears.
During this reconciliation the baron spoke to Mas
ter Topler. and made him consent to the marriage of
the hair dresser with Nicette, to whom he wished to
give a dowry of six thousand florins.
The two lovers repaired the same evening to Ober
hausberg, where the marriage was celebrated one
month after. Bardanon was profited by the lesson, but
without being entirely cured of his critical inclina
tions. Ollen still he permits himself to go into invec
tives against the rich and powerful ; but the young
woman modestly draws the name of Kovemhourg in
the conversation, and the Provencal returns to his
trade.
Dr. Francist Wayland.
BY REV. ABEL STEVENS, D. D.
The loss of such a man as Francis Way
land is a national calamity. lie was one of
the few really great men, of not only the
church, but of the republic; and though he
had nearly passed through the allotted term
of human life, and had done his work, and
done it pre-eminently well, yet the continued
personal presence of such a man among the
living is a blessing, by the continued power
of his character, it not by continued public
activity.
He was one of those rare cases among
great men, in which their physique corres
ponds with our idea of their intellectual and
moral character. No one who had read his
works, or heard much of him, was disap
pointed on first coming into his presence,
lie was athletic in frame as in mind—tall,
robust, with overhanging brows and dark,
luminous, deeply inserted eyes. His manners
were characterized by blended dignity and
simplicity. In familiar life he could be cheer
ful even to humor, relishing heartily a witti
cism, though possessing little or no wit him
self. In his religious offices he uas gravely
dignified, and marked by a true Christian hu
mility. As a collegiate ruler he was stern,
but his pupils revered him so much that they
soon came to reverence the laws or discipline
of which he was the administrator. It may
be doubted whether the .American college has
ever had a more successful president.
Ilis intellect was profound,“subtle, and yet
as remarkable for its lucidity and practicality.
PoMtieal economy is confessedly a science of
problems, arid it was much more problemical
when he wrote upon it than it is at present;
for, excepting the physical sciences, it has
been the most progressive department of
knowledge in our generation. But he remarks,
in his introduction to his text-book on this
science, that he was surprised, in his investi
gations, by the simplicity of its principles.
It was the, light of his own clear, logical intel
lect that gave perspicuity to its complicated
subjects.
He possessed, in a remarkable degree, that
highest logical power by which an obscure
principle, involved and trammeled by its re
lations, is reached and clutched through sure
induction, and then abstracted and contem
plated in its simple individuality, till it shines
with its own incandecent lustre. And he was
equally a master of the deductive process by
which the significance and application of a
truth, thus ascertained, are exhibited. With
him this philosophic logic had such directness
and simplicity, that, to his pupils or readers,
his discussions of the profoundest subjects
seemed always without difficulty and without
labor.
Yet, he was a Herculean laborer. He dug
out the mines of his favorite studies to the
fartherest reach of their rich veins. His works
have been the manuals of American students
in Moral Science, Political Economy and In
tellectual Philosophy. Who can estimate the
service he has thus rendered for this nation]
Such sciences taught to our youth, through
the length and breadth of the land, by such a
teacher! Besides these standard text books,
are his Occasional Discourses, University
Sermons, Sermons to the Churches, Principles
and Practices of the Baptists, Letters to Fuller
on Christianity aud Slavery, biographical
works on Judson and Chalmers, Thoughts on
the College System of the United States, and
Limitations of Human Responsibility. From
1835 to 1858, he was almost continually ad
dressing the public through the press. All
these works appeared within that period.
Meanwhile his pen was vigorously employed
through the periodical press. Few men have
been harder workers, and few have worked
so well.
All these works are stamped with the pre
eminent powers of his intellect; but there
were earlier productions, now not so gen (Tal
ly known, which exhibited his mind wim a
more striking aspect, if possible. While a
pastor in Boston, he preached and published a
sermon on “ The Moral Dignity of the Mis
sionary Enterprise,” and three discourses on
“The duties of the Arne icati Citizen.” They
show more of the imagination, the poetical
qualities of his youth—for he was between
twenty-five and thirty years old when they
were delivered. Chastened beauty, manly
thought, high argument, in a word, sterling
eloquence, charactei izethem throughout. They
made his reputation at once. The missionary
sermon is one of the very best examples of
pulpit literature in our language. A volume
of such discourses would have given him rank
lorever by’ the side of Robert Hall, Bossuet,
and Massillon. It treats of the dignity of the
missionary cause, but its dignity becomes its
sublimity in these unrivalled pages.
The moral character of this truly great man
was the crown of his greatness. The practi
cality of his intellect characterized his moral
life. Though evangelically orthodox, his ex
tremely practical view of Christianity rendered
him almost extremely liberal. A working re
ligion was his ideal of Christianity. Dogmat
ics must give precedence to ethics ; this doc
trinaire must stand behind the “ doer of the
word,” the evangelist, the missionary, the
Christian educator,the Christian philanthropist, j
the Christian statesman. Many of us remem
ber the bold, practical, evangelical liberalism
of his famous Rochester sermon. It w r as a
resounding tocsin, summoning American
Christianity from its fields of speculation, po
lemics and formalism, to its nmre legitimate
fields of evangelical work—work on the high
ways, on the frontiers, in the suburban abysses
of vice and poverty.
—vmn
The Rector of St. Lazarus’Church at Mem
phis, Tennessee, acknowledges the receipt of
over two thousand dollars on Sunday last,
and five thousand the day following, to build
a cathedral to Bishops Polk and Otey, and
others of the Confederate dead.
“ Straight is the gate, and narrow is the
way that leadeth unto life.”
ptijettg.
Ob ‘s
Lamentable State of the Sinner.
BY J. D. C.
There is no pence, saith my God, to the wicked —Isa. 57: 21:
How wretched is the child of sin!
What evils throng his way !
The fires of conscience rage within,
And scorch him night and day.
How oft the plot: of wicked men
Their author’s feet entoil.
And mischiefs they ior others plan
On their own heads recoil.
Behold the troubled sea that rolls
Beneath the tempest’s ire,
And, restless, heaves along its shoals,
Heavy with dirt and mire!
How like the i nrepentant are ;
Polluted and distressed,
The wrath of Heaven compelled to bear,
In one prolonged unrest.
The graee of God alone can give
The good for which we sigh ;
A tranquil journey while we live,
And comfort when we die.
Atlanta , Ga., Nov.. 1665.
The Unseen Baitleiicld.
There is an unseen battlefield
In every human breast,
While two opposing forces meet,
But where they seldom rest.
The field is veiled from mortal sight,
’Tis only seen by one
Who knows alone where victory lies
Wheu each day’s light is doue.
His captain’s Pride, and Lust, and Hate
Whose troops watch night and day, ’
Swift to detect the weakest point,
And thirsting for the piey.
Contending with this mighty force,
Is but a little bard ;
Let these, with an niiqtiailing front,
Those warriors ftr.-ly stand.
Their leader is of God-like form,
Os countenance serene;
And glowing on his naked breast,
A simple cross is seen.
His captain’s Faith, and Hope, and Love,
Point to that wondrous sign,
And gazing on it, all receive
Strength from a source divine
They feel it speaks a glorious truth—
A truth as great as sure,
That to be victorious they must learn
To love, confide, endure.
That faith sublime, in wildest strife,
Imparts a holy cairn ;
For every deadly blow a shield,
For every Bound—a balm.
And when they win that battlefield,
Past toil is all forgot;
The plain where carnage once had reigned,
Becomes a hallowed spot—
A spot, where flowers of jov and peace,
Spring from the fertile soil,
And breathe the perfume of their praise
On every breeze to God.
New Advertisements.
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JUDSON FEMtLE INSTITUTE,
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Rev. A. J. BATTLE, A. M., President.
Rev. T. W. TOBEY, A. M., Professor of Ancient and
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Col.. S. H. 1 OCKETT, A. M., Professor of Mathemat
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Prof. 0. F BLANDNER. Director of Music.
Mas. TOBEY. Presiding Teacher.
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Miss TALBIRD, Governess.
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This Institution, for nearly thirty years, one of the
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Dec. 15, 1665—4 t
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