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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. The national b \ptist newspaper “the EXAMINEE & CHRONICLE,” a Journal of the largest class, and by many thousands, the most laigelv circulated Baptist Newspaper in the world, is published every Thursday, at 80 Park Row, New York. The Ex aminer and Chronicle is published at Three Dollars per Annum, with a deduction of Fifty Cents when sub scriptions are paid strictly in advance. The Cash-in advance Club prices are as follows: Five Copies, one year sl] no Ten Copies, one year 20 00 Twenty Copies, one year 35 00 And at tLe same tate for any additional number of copies. Any person getting up a Club of not less than Ten, and remitting the money with the names, will receive an additional copy through the year. Remittances for Club subscriptions should always be made by drafts or piwi oflice orders. EDWARD BRIGHT & CO., Publishers. JUDSON FEMtLE INSTITUTE, Mu ion, Ala. Rev. A. J. BATTLE, A. M., President. Rev. T. W. TOBEY, A. M., Professor of Ancient and English Literinure. Col.. S. H. 1 OCKETT, A. M., Professor of Mathemat ics and the Arts of Design Prof. 0. F BLANDNER. Director of Music. Mas. TOBEY. Presiding Teacher. Miss McINTOSIt, Preparatory Principal. Miss DANIEL, Primary Principal. Miss HENTZ, Teacher of French. Miss REESE, Vocal and Instrumental Music. Mrs. LOCKETT, Piano. Miss CHILTON, Piano and Guitar. Mrs. DANNKBURG, Piano. Miss TALBIRD, Governess. Da. O. L SHIVERS. Steward. Mas. HARRELL, Matron. This Institution, for nearly thirty years, one of the most flourishing Female Colleges in the South, having suffered no abatement during the war, seems to have acquired anew lease of prosperity. The new Session has opened witu nearly two hundred pupils. A most accomplished Faculty has been secured, and the facilities are unsurpassed for the acquis turn of a finished educa tion in the various departments of Literature, Science and Art. RATES OF TUITION, PER SESSION (9 MONTHS.) 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The price has been put as cheaply as possible, to in sure the Editor front loss, until a large circulation is ob tained; and when that happens he will diminish the price or publish the paper semi-moulhlv instead of monthly. Address CHILD’S DELIGHT, Dec. 23, 1865—1 t Macon, Ga. McCAMY & CO., WHOLESALE AND RETAIL Dealers in Drugs, Meilicines, Paints, Oils, Dye- Stuffs, Glass, Putty, etc., near Roark’s corner, Atlanta, Georgia. Country orders filled promptly, and at lowest prices. Prescriptions Carefully prepared day and night, jan 4-ts SALOMON, ROOT & CO. 42 BROADWAY, N. Y., Bankers, Shipping and Commission Merchants. Carelul attention given to the sale of Cotton and Real ; Estate, and the purchase of Goods. BEACH, ROOT & CO., MARSHALL, ROOT & CO., Liverpool. Charleston, jan 4-4 t Business, visiting and wedding cards and Envelopes. 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