Newspaper Page Text
The Cambridge Weekly Democrat.
BEN. E. BUSSELL) Editof and Proprietor.
' VOLUME 4.
1MELY TOPICS.
Bhioham Young has filed his amended
answer to the complaint of Ann Eliza
Yonng. He says his relations with that
lady were : f ’-a polygamous nature, and,
therefore, she has no claim on him.
Xhin is a cool confession that all his
children nro bastards, and his wives by
Mormon marriages concubines, which
would seem to be the fact.
Here Shall the Press the People’s Bights Maintain Unawed by Influenoe and Unbribed by Gain.”
TEBMS: $2.00 Per Annum.
BAINBRIDGE, GEORGIA, TrflRSDAY, AUGUST 19, 1875.
NUMBER 45.
RrroBTS continue to arrive of the dis-
sstrous elTeots produced by the recent
rains throughout the west, and especial
ly in Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and Iowa.
Whole sections of country are flooded
and the damage to grain crops not yet
harvested or standing in the shock i
immense. Railroad tracks and fence?
ire w ashed away, and in many instances
tiiscs and barns have been destroyed
Tire committee appointed to count
the lands in the treasury on the retire
mint of Mr. Spinner are about ready
to make thoir report. They have been
engaged for the past week in an invest!
gAtion of the $47,000 robbery, and after
taking a moss of testimony without
inculpating any single individual, ex
press the opinion that the money was
taken by nn employe of the cash-room ;
and, further, that it is possible for such
robberies to occur at any time.
As Washington died before the close
of the administration of John Adams,
there was, of course, no ex-president
living when he was gone; ind now,
agaiu, the death of Andrew Johnson
leaves tho country without a living ex-
presidtnt. Within three poesidential
terms, five presidents—Pierce, Ba-
cliancn, Lincoln, Fillmore, and John
son havo died. Mrs. Polk, Mrs. Fill
more, Mrs. Tyler, Mrs. Lincoln, and
Mrs, Johnson, the wives of presidents,
iro living. But two ex-vice presidents
-Hamlin and Colfax—are living.
What remarkable strides we arc mak
ing iu tho increase of our domestic ex
ports of produce is shown by a little
statement just issued by tho Statistical
Mjrean. In tho fiscal year which ended
Julie 30, 1874, the last year of which
that bureau has made up full returns,
the domestic exports amounted in specie
value to over $509,500,000. For the
(orresponding fiscal year of the previous
decide, that ending June 30, 1864, the
sp.o o value of the exports were but
S143.500.000. Hero is au increase of
moro than thrr e-fold in ten years.
A commission of the architects of
Chicago has dirocted, after a close ex
amination, that the work on the new
enstom-house should be resumed, as
they find the foundations strong enough
nnd tho Bat no Yista stone good enough,
if carefully selected. Potter, super
vising architect, thought the walls
should come down, but the Chicago
people want a custom-house, and are
willing; to risk the present foundations.
If demolished, ns proposed, it would
occasion a delay of three years and a
loss of $1,000,000.
Ini: manufacture of glucose, or corn
Speaking of the proposed direct trade
with Brazil, the St. Louis Trade Journal
gives a doleful view of the crops,
says: “ At the present rate wheat suffi
cient to make 10,000 barrels of flour,
suitable in all respects for the Brazil
trade, could not be gathered together
in this market in three months. This
for the very simple reason that nearly
all the fall wheat now being received is
damp and in other respects oat of con
dition.” The Chicago Times, on the
other hand, says: Throughout Ohio
and Indiana it is now generally cor
ceded that the first reports greatly ex
aggerated the damage done, and that,
although both winter and spring wheat
are badly injured, there will be at least
half a crop.
The Chinese are going to engage in
the foolish business of making war on
Kashgar. The dispatch states that
this movement is on account of “the
alleged discovery that the rnlers of
that tributary state are preparing to
revolt against the Chinese authority.
The Chinese conquered Kashgar, in
eastern TnrkiataD, about the year 1750
from the Tartars. In 1863 tho Tartars
revolted, and under Mahommes Yakub
Beg drove the Chinese out, bag and
baggage. Yakub Beg has been ac
knowledged as the rnler of Kashgar by
Russia, to whom he pays tribute. The
Chinese may collect some tribute there,
but Kashgar is quite an independent
state and Yabug Beg is a brave and
dashing warrior, who will doubtless
whip the Celestials again if they under
take to coerce him.
An almost incredible story of cruel,
ties to prisoners in the Texas Peniten.
tiary is verified by a report to the war
department. A variety of tortures
worthy of the fiendish ingenuity of the
middle ages has been inflicted upon the
unhappy inmates. Those selected espe
cially to undergo snch treatment were
mostly convicts who had been employed
by contractors for railroad building,
and by owners of plantations who were
also lessees of the penitentiary. The
crime of the unfortunates was their in
ability to endure overwork, hardship,
and bad food. The result of the cruel
ties and the general bad management
was a large proportion of deaths among
the convicts. The circumstance that
some United States prisoners were con
fined in the Penitentiary has served to
bring to light the horrible facts, bnt
there is reason to tear that no cnangB fr
has been made in the system, and the
cruelties are continued at the present
hour.
The dnke of Sutherland’s wicker
coffins, now attracting attention in Eng
land, where the undertakers have held
a meeting to protest against the nse of
them, seem to furnish a solution of the
much-mooted question about the best
way of disposing of the dead. They
are simply coffin shaped baskets of
wicker, in which the dead are laid with
evergreen boughs, flowers, resinous
wood, or whatever else is liked, placed
about them. They readily decay and
allow the body to return to the dust
from which it came. Their cost is but
slight—not comparable with that of
rosewood coffins and metal ic caskets—
and the thought of death and decay be
comes less repulsive when we think of
being buried thus. The objections
against vanlts and hermetically sealed
coffins are great: if their purpose is to
prevent dissolution of the compages ol
the flesh they do not accomplish it, and
the horrible scenes witnessed when old
vanlts are opened—where water has
come through or the bodies are found
in a loathsome deliquescence in which
they float—are infamous if they can be
prevented, as they can be by the use of
the wicker ooffin.
f ! rn l\ should be very profitable in this
couutrv. Tho foreign article, of which
immense quantities havo been imported
8 ® ee l a,, 7, is charged 20 per cent, duty,
beside.s ocean freight. This advantage
*° th® home manufacturer is enhanced
‘.v tho fact that the raw material in the
I uited States is far cheaper than in
Europe. A bushel of corn in Illinois
c fts from 30 to 60 cents, in New York
85 cents, while tho European mannfao
mrer of glucose and grape sngar has to
l'\v 81,23.
Tnr. English having loaned the Turk-
isb government several hnndred millions
'4 dollars for the purpose of affecting
internal improvements,” are now get-
'•ug romewhat alarmed when they find
'J 10 f uttan spending the greater part cf
ii: ‘' ffioccy on personal luxuries. The
f ‘’••tan iu fact lias entirely too much fam-
wires numbering eight hnndred
u '• the household expenses alone
: ®°unting to $10,000,000. This item
n one keeps him “ sick,” and the sooner
•ngland can induce him to settle down
^ ‘h one wife the better it will be for
Sl Tarties concerned.
Twenty-six crimes of various mag-
• ides, f rom counterfeiting to wife
G| wder, are the subject of twenty-six
spocial telegrams in a western paper,
th f 1 ® * re * or 8 er ' es > riot®, incendiarism,
e * 8 * borders, embezzlements and
ri ^es of darker hue. This savory
^ets is served up in a column by itself
Co family need miss it, and is
B&riushed with startling and imagina
( |^.| lea< f* n Rs- With such diet as this
« J*t to the community every day
e * ew Tork Tribune thinks there
t>e no wonder if crime “doth make
it feeds on.”
Arm y and Navy Journal, com
muting upon tho ravages of the yellow
p,\ ( r at ^nsacola, very sensibly sug-
tjj f S 89 *ke soldiers stationed at
^ wo forte there are really not needed
aba ^ ° f P eace » tb® place should be
tr nuoue< * i Q the sickly season and the
* >S Eent t° a healthier locality, thus
»i,£i^ e aw fnl sacrifice of hnman
co has characterized the summer
and ? a . 10n °* the Pensaoola station,
0lD S a way with the danger to the
*ave» e n | b ° Utlienicotultr y aod possibly to ., .
tf an northern seaports through the avarice is but the cunning of imbecili y.
fusion of the disease. i ■—Bulwer.
—The grange is worth to-day almost
as much to the agriculturists of the
country as the common Bchool. It is,
in fact, the only primary school we have
which is devoted to agricultural educa
tion. It is there where our sons and
daughters are first tanght the importance
of agricultural instruction ; it is there
where they are taught to love and take
a pride in their calling; it is there
where they are made to Bee possibilities
in agricultural industry which past gen
erations have never dreamed of, and it
is from thenoe that an influence is to go
ont which in a few years will fill np onr
agricultural collets with young men,
and young ladies, too, with a class of
students that will not turn their backs
on the farm or seek other professions
because <?f their supposed higher re
spectability or utility. —Pacific Enrol
Press,
To read, to think, to love, to hope
and to prav; these are the things that
make men happy. They have power to do
these things; they never will have power
to do more. The world’s prosperity or
adversity depends upon onr knowing
and teaching these few things, but upon
iron or glass, steam or electricity in no
wise.—Euskin. .
R hub abb was first introduced into
culnv-tio.. in 1735. It came originally
from China. The root, used medici
nally, came to be called Turkey rhubarb,
because -t got into Europe through the
hands o _ur ieh merchants, who pur
chased it from the Chinese, among
whom it has been used for many cen
turies. The first attempts at cultivat
ing it were made in 1760.
—Money never can be well managed
if sought solely through the greed of
money for its own sake. In all mean
ness there is a defeot of intellect as well
as of heart, and even the cleverness of
FORGET.
One little ytn hie ewiftly passed
Since first onr tows were said;
Oar love wig all too sweet to last:
Within tfce year *twas dead.
Sprity saw it budding into life,
And through the summer tide
t>n . r Bred on till winter’s stage,
Ana then it pined and died.
Bnt tbongh the spring is here ^gain •
The lore that once was ours
No more shall be between ns twain:
ris dead as last year’s flowers.
LAst yiar I called thee mine, sweetheart
Bnt now, without regret,
I tay *tis better le should part.
And, if we can, forget.
—London Orchestra,
MY TWO PEABLS.
BY JULIA O. B. DORR.
“ Lightning express, gentlemen 1 All
aboard 1” shouted a voice in the station
at Rochester, at 11 o’clock at night.
I stepped on board the train, choosing
MiJ AwuluuAOUl OBI. ' UiAVtlatU
to Chicago.”
“ Section ?” said the conductor, with
a rising inflection. “ Ought to have tel
egraphed, sir. Only one berth left, and
that’s a mere accident. Here it is—No.
Gentleman who engaged it missed
connection at Syracuse.”
Congratulating myself on my good
fortune, I speedily crept into No
a lower berth, and fell fast asleep.
When I opened my eyes the gray dawn
of an October morning—the October of
1868—was stealing in through the cur
tained window.
I lay some minntes in a half dream,
listening to the multitudinous noises of
the train, with scarcely a thought of
where I was. Then, as the light grew
stronger, I raised myself npon my elbow
and looked abont me, only to fall back
a moment after with a start of surprise
that was almost dismay.
Right before my eyes hnng a white,
shapely hand, with a dark seal ring npon
the third finger. It took me a minute or
two to collect my scattered senses
enough to discover that it belonged to
the occupant of the upper berth,
dropped carelessly from his quarters to
my own, in tho heavy abandonment of
sleep.
I lay and looked at it—a white,
shapely hand, as I have said—a hand
nnmarred or unglorified—choose the
word for yourself—by the seams andcal-
lonsesof manual labor. The fingers were
long and tapering, the nails oval and
well cared for. The wrist was not large,
but well-knit and sinewy; and half
buried in the fine linen of the shirt
sleeve I caught the sparkle of a dia
mond.
The hand had a strange fascination
for me, half uncanny thongh it looked
in the weird, struggling light of early
morning. I watched it, vaguely won
dering what kind of a face would assort
with it, till there was a stir overhead,
and it vanished. Then I made my toilet
as I best might, and went ont on the
platform for a breath of fresh air.
When, after the lapse of half an hour,
eisurely stoleoacK lo my place again, H
all vestiges of the night were removed,
and a gentleman in a plain gray traveling
snit occupied one seat in the compart
ment allotted to me. He held a newspa
per in the hand. I recognized it at
onoe.
He lifted his eyes long enough to sa
lute me with a courteous bow as I took
the opposite seat, and then resumed his
reading. I opened my paper also; but
the attempt to eugross'myself with its
contents was a vain one—my eyes and
my thoughts continually wandered to
my vis a vis.
Describe him ? Not an easy matter.
Neither is it easy to account for the
fascination that he wore as an invisible
mantle. I might tell yon that he was
tall and slight; that his complexion
was clear and dark, that his black,
crisp locks curled closely around a well-
shaped head; that his mustache was a
light and graceful penciling on the
firm, thin lip; and that his imperial
was above reproach. But, having told
you this, I Bhould expect you to say
with a glance of ineffable meaning that
S on oould find his counterpart in any
arber’s shop on Broadway ; or, if not
there, in yodr sister’s French dancing
master.
Yon think so? Perhaps it is not
strange. Yon see I cannot put into
words the individuality of the man—
the certain indefinable something that
__ onoe set him apart from the crowd,
and made him notable.
He dropped his paper presently, and
turned to me with some remark upoD
current events made with a slight
foreign aocent. Thus we fell into con
versation.
Breakfast served whenever yon
please, gentlemen,” said the porter
passing through the car.
My companion bowed, srqiling.
“ As we are to be second mates for a
day or two,” he said, “it is well we
should know each other. Shall I do
myself the honor to present you with
my card ?”
“Hippolyte L’Estrange, Strasbourg.”
I read from the little white parallelo
gram. So I had not been mistaken in
supposing bim a Frenchman. I may as
well tell you here what he read from
the card I gave him in return : “Edward
Ripon, New York.”
We breakfasted together at his re
quest. I found mj | “chance acquaint
ance” to be a most intelligent and
cultivated man, and a great traveler.
So much of the world had he Been, so
wide was his knowledge of men and
things, that to my comparative inex
perience, it seemed little less than
marvelous. He was years older than
myself—I was just twenty-three—or at
least he seemed so. A Frenchman is
older than an American of the same
age, always. But, allowing for all that,
M. L’Estrange was, doubtless, ten or
twelve years my senior. He was at
once reticent and communicative as to
his plans and projects. I soon discov
ered that he was on his way to San
Francisco—so much further off then
than now. ... . T
“ Bnt what a circuitous route ! I
exclaimed. “You are going round
Robin Hood’s barn.”
“ Robin Hood’s bam ?” he repeated,
with a half-laugh, his eyes lighting as
he caught my mean. “Bnt, my friend,
I had just come from Panama. I was
bred of the ship, the sea, the monotony,
so I go this way.”
“Overland the whole distance?” I
asked.
«oh, no 1 Look here, I shall have
the honor to show yon,” and he drew a
folded map from-his breast pocket. “I
leave yon here at C^ nm ®t”—noting the
r iint with hi& penci-—“you see ? There
take the lighting _ train for Cairo;
thenoe by expres^ :his way”—pointing
to Memphis and I Jackson—“down to
New_Orleans. That is right eh ?”
*' xes ; but you will have to go to
Vera Cruz. How about a steamer across
the gulf ?”
“Ah I there I go round your Robin
Hood’s bam 1” be said, langhing. “See!
I go across to Havina, and thence to
VeraCrnz.”
“ And then—?” my eyes followed his
pencil.
“ Then I go by diligence to the city
of Mexico, where I take the saddle for
Manzanilla. There, if the good fates
befriend me, I catch a steamer ahead of
the one that left New York when I did.
So, I lose no timet; i saa voux great
wmuiu/, —. .. 6 .
nous sea, of whicCWhave had too much
already,”
The hours flew on silver wingB. All
day long we floated on a tide of talk,
sometimes sparkling with wit and
hnmor; sometimes taking a deeper
tone as we touched npon themes that
gave to each brief, passing glimpses of
the soul of the other. It seemed to me
that there was little worth knowing that
my companion did not know; little
worth seeing that he did not see; little
worth thinking that he had not thought.
Yet I learned little of his personal
history, save that he hnji spent much
time in South America; end that he had
large interests in the peprl fisheries at
Lima, on business connected wi.h which
he was going to San Fratcisco.
We had said nothing in any way re
lating to the war, its crises or its re
sults. But suddenly my friend turned
to me.
“You have been in the army?”he
said.
Yes,” I answered. “I served
throngh the war. But why do you
think so ?”
Ab, yon have something—the air
militaire. I knew it from the first. I,
too, am a soldier, and I did not need
that you should give the countersign.”
Another night passed, and hour after
hour of the second day. We were
forty miles from Calumet. A deep
silence fell npon us two, who in these
days of chance companionship had
grown so strangely near each other.
Soon our paths would diverge, never, in
all probability, to cross again. In vain
M. L’Estrange urged me to prolong
my journey, at least as far as New Or
leans.
“ We mast not part as strangers,” he
said, impulsively. “ My heart has gone
out to you—for we are akin! Some
how—somewhere—shall wo not meet
again ?” and he clasped my hand
warmly.
My reticent northern nature stirred
within me.
“ T fTn-f a -. t f ,tC»TX«ipoi.aoa.-
" But the world is wide. I shall never
forget yon, M. L’Estrange.”
“Ah ! you are youDg,” he said, with
a slov shake of the head, “yon are
young, and the young have short memo
ries. But slay ! hold! I shall give you
a sign—a token. So shall yon keep one
in your heart.”
Taking from his pocket a tiny box, he
unlocked it with a key attached to his
watch-guard. A number of pearls
gleamed and shimmered in the sunlight.
He selected four of remarkable size and
purity.
“ You shall wear these for my sake,”
he said, placing them in my hand.
But I demurred, saying it was too
costly a gift.
“Are we not friends?” he cried, his
lip curling with a Buperb scorn. “ How
talk you then of cost?”
“ Two, then, to be mounted as sleeve-
buttons ?” Still I shook my head, and
still he persisted.
“ Here, then, mon ami,” he said at
last, “If you will not have two, you
shall have* one;” and, taking my hand,
he placed one large, pure, lustrous
pearl on the palm, and closed my
fingers over it. “ It shall be mounted
like this,” drawing a design on the lid
of the box, “and you shall wear it for a
sign. Then, you see, I shall have its
mate set in the same manner. It shall
be for a token between us; and the
pearls shall bring us together again.
Ab, I know it! The pearls—they are
charmed!”
“Ah, M. L’Estrange!” I answered,
“ I can resist no longer. I will wear
your pearl, and it shall at least be a
souvenir of days never to be forgotten.”
As he was replacing the box a card
photograph fell to the floor. I picked
it np, and was handing it to him, when
my eye fell upon a face of each rare
loveliness that I held the little pictnre
as if spellbound—a woman’s face, softly
outlined, delicatly rounded; a pure,
calm forehead, crowned with “braided
tresses darkly brighttender, unsmil
ing lips, that wore a sweetness deeper
and holier than smiles; a chin and
cheek that might well have served as
models for a sculptor. There were soft
laces resting abont the throat; and a
lace shawl, thrown gracefully over the
stately head, rested lightly on the
shoulders like a radiant cloud. But
the eyes were the glory of the picture ;
large) dark, spiritual eves, that looked
into yonrs with unfathomable meanings
in their liquid depths.
My self-possession and my good man
ners returned to me at the same mo
ment.
“I beg your pardon,” I said depre-
catdngly, as I gave the pictnre to its
owner ; “but it is so beautiful 1 It is
your wife?”
“My wife? No,” he said, with a
low, wise smile, “but it is my Mar
guerite—my pearl!”
There was no time for further Bpeech.
We were at Calumet L’Estrange
threw his arm around me in his im
pulsive French fashion and kissed my
cheek with a warm “God bless yon!”
Another moment and onr short chapter
of romanoe was ended.
Bat was there no second chapter?
Certainly, or I should hardly have
thought it worth while to tell yon this.
I returned to New York in a few weeks,
had my pearl mounted precisely as
L’Estrange had directed, and wore it,
at first with a half, superstitious feeling
that it was truly a link between ns, and
would one day draw ns together. It
was, indeed, as he had said, a sign, a
token. It kept fresh and green in my
memory what might else have gradually
faded away as one of the many forgot
ten incidents of a lifo that was change
ful and full of adventnre.
But it was not nis face only that
recalled. I never wore it without see
ing as in a vision the dark, soul-lit eyes
that had looked np at me from the pho
tograph, tho pure, calm brow, the
tender, wistful month of my friend’i
“Marguerite.” Not his wife, but
doubtless his bethrothed. What other
meaning conld I give to the sudden
light that illumined his face as he ex
cisco," he had said. Bnt days, weeks
and months lengthened into years, and
I heard nothing. My pearl scarf-pin
was the only token that those charmed
days of travel had been more than a
dream. I believed that he was dead.
ra—M -X La Pans, Early
one morning I went to the Madeleine,
and, leaning against one of the Anted
columns, watched the worshipers as
they came and went. The sun shot
yellow rays throngh the grained win
dows in the roof; the chanting of i
hidden choir sounded far off and dream
like; the sculptured Magdalen of the
high altar looked strangely real in the
weird, uncertain light; and the whole
atmosphere of the place was bewilder
ing.
As I stood near one of the great
bronze doors, a lady, veiled, and gather
ing the folds of her mantle closely about
her throat, passed me with a light step,
The figure was exquisitely graceful,
and I watched her with a young man’s
idle curiosity as she knelt at her pray
ers, wondering if her face was worthy
of her form. As she rose, a fresh
breeze from an opening door blew back
her veil, and I canght a passing glimpse
of her features.
All the blood in my veins rushed
madly to my heart. Surely it was the
face of my dreams—the face of my
friend’s. Marguerite ! Yet it seemed a
S anger faoe; perhaps less Madonna-
e than the picture, haloed by cloud-
lik° drapery. You see I had not for
gotten the slightest peculiarity of the
photograph. I conld have sworn to the
very pattern of the lace.
Before I recovered my senses she had
disappeared.
For three days I haurted the Made
leine in vain. On the fourth I caught a
glimpse of her again, stooping to drop
a coin in tbe hand of a pallid child.
But it was a fete day, and the crowed
swayed in between ns. After that I
saw her no more.
I went on to Switzerland, lingering
for a month among its mountain
passes; made a short ran into Italy,
and came back. I was loitering along
Les Champs Elysees one evening in a
fit of homesickness, half inclined to
take the next steamer for Havre, and so
end this roving life, when I became
1—:- D - %-J
dark figure under the shadow of the
opposite trees. The red sunlight fell
fall and strong where I was standing,bnt
it was twilight all about me. I changed
my position hurriedly and hastened on.
Bnt in a moment I heard quick foot
steps behind me, then a run and a
shout. An arm fell across my shoulder,
hand clasped mine and a well-remem
bered voice cried:
It is you ! I have found you ! Ah,
mon ami ! mon ami! Bnt it was the
pearl, even as I told you so in that wild
Calumet.” And Hippolyte L’Estrange
pointed to the scarf pin I wore that
day. “ But you are grown older, mon
sieur, you are changed ; and I was not
thinking of you at that moment. But
the great pearl shimmered in the sun
light, and it drew my eyes to the face
above it.”
Said L “ Not that it was charmed.”
It is needless to speak of the happi
ness of this reunion, all the greater for
the mood in which it found me.
“I shall not lose sight of you again,”
said M. L’Estrange. ‘‘You will go home
with me to-morrow to Strasbourg, Mar
guerite—you remember”—and he smiled
more brightly than before—“ Margne
rite will be glad to know my friend.
Yery often have I talked of our days
together.”
Marguerite 1 Shall I confess that for
one moment I shrank as from a coding
pain, a hidden danger? Then every
instinct in my manhood rose in quick
rebellion. My friend’s wife was vestal
to me even m thought; sacred as if
shrined and guarded by inapproachable
distances. I would go with him.
Why had he not written to me?—
Simply because he had lost my address
“nnlr fliia and nnthinir more.”
I must not make my story too long.
Yon anticipate all I would say. There
were no other guests at the chateau.
We three were as isolate as Adam and
Eve in the Garden of Eden, That was
truely an enchanted week, in which we
rode, we rambled, we talked, we read,
we sang—happy dwellers in Arcadia.
And then—then—I awoke one day to
find that there was no safety for me bnt
in flight. This “Marguerite” was grow
ing too dangerously deer, I, who pray
daily, “ Let me not be led into tempta-
tetion”—what business had I there,
dallying with danger ?
I was not a villain ; I was not an idiot;
I had no more conceit than my fellows ;
yet, I conld not help seeing that Mar
guerite’s soft brown eyes grew sorter
still when they met mine, and that the
long lashes drooped over them with
subtler grace when I drew near. I did
not look for this ; but It was there, and
I saw it—I must go.
A determination that I made known
to my friend the next morning.
“But you are not going!"’ he said,
“ It is too soon. Did I not say yon were
to stay a month? We will have more
guests, if you tire of this dull life; and
you shall see the old chateau alive with
song and dance. My old friend mast
stay.”
“ No,” I answered, “yonr friend must
go. Do not make it too hard for him to
leave yon.”
He looked at me narrowly.
“Has anything gone wrong?” he
asked, in a low tone. “Tell me, my
friend 1 I had thought—I had dreamed
— Is there anything amiss with yen—
Marguerite ?”
He spoke in his own toDgue now as
he always had when any strong emotion
stirred him. I answered in mine, my
cheeks white and cold, but my eyes
ablaze :
“Amiss—anything amiss, M. L’Es
trange ? Do I hear you aright ? You are
speaking’ of the lady who is your wife,
and of one who would fain be an honor
able man ! Anything amiss, monsieur.
He looked at me an instant as if he
thought I had gone mad. Then a sudden
light seemed te break over his face,
and, to my anger and astonishment, he
langhed a genuine hearty laegh. But
before I eonld speak, his mood changed,
and he canght me impulsively in his
arms.
“ O my poor boy 1” he cried, “ I see
it all, bow. And you thought Marguer
ite was my wife? But I told you she
was rot, when you asked me so long
ago. Do yon not remember? I supposed
you understood. The woman who should
have been my wife lies in the church
yard yonder. Monsieur Ripon—Mar
guerite is my s'ster!”
I covered my face with my hands. I
conld have sunk into the dust at his
feet. It was all so clear to me now—as
clear as noonday. Yet, with my precon
ceived ideas of their relationship, and
and habits I was so unfamiliar, I could
FACTS AND FANCIES.
not so much wonder at my mistake.
The patois of the servants, too, had
helped to mislead me —and I had seen
no others.
I dared not look at him. The gentle
dignity of his last words overpowered
me, even while, in spite of my confusion
and dismay, my heart was thrilling
with a new-born hope.
I lifted my eyes at last to meet his
filled with affable tenderness.
“You know my secret,” I said. “Shall
yon take me at * my word, my friend-
must I go away?”
“ Nay, nay,” he whispered. “ It was
for this that we were thrown together
that October morning. Was it not
charmed, the token I gave you? Stay
now; and, if you can win her gentle
heart, I will give yon yet another pearl
my Marguerite •”
Just as long as I live, I mean to re
member in my prayers the gentleman
who “ missed connection at Syracuse ;”
for, if it had not been for him, would I
ever have worn the rare pure pearl that
was given to me two months since, by
my brother Hippolyte L’Estrange?—
Appleton’8 Journal.
—“only this and nothing more.
It would take too long to tell onr de
lightful journey,jind I pass on rapidly
to* the hour when 1 the towers of Stras
bourg rose before us, and the lofty spire
of her cathedral pierced the clouds.
My friend's chateau was inside the
walls of the city, on rising ground.
gee,” lio said, with a owcep ut liio
hand, as the carriage rolled slowly along,
“this is not so grand, so fresh, as yonr
great New World; yet it is a fair pic
ture.”
He might well say so. The seven
gated city lay at our feet; the bine
Rhine wonud along between storied
banks; the bnmehing HI glided throngh
the town, picturesque with its many
bridges; in the far distance rose the
Vosgi s mountains, and the Black Forest
of Germany.
And now we were at the chateau, a
stately pile, ivy clad and moss-grown,
yet bright, seemingly with an eternal
yonth.
“Marguerite, this is the friend of
whom you have so often heard me speak
—Edward R ; pon,” said L’Estrange, as
I entered the salcn an hour after, and a
fair, sweet, womanly face, the face of
the Madeleine, looked up from the bit
of embroidery over which it was bend
ing.
“Is she like the picture—my Mar
guerite ?” asked my host; but before I
conld reply he went on: “By that name
yon first knew her, and by that name
you are to know her now. We are to
live in Arcadia for a whole month; and
as is fitting we are to be to each other
Marguerite and Edward and Hippolyte.
Have not the kind fates proved that we
are akin, as I told you years ago? Wny
else have they brought ns together ?”
I bowed low over the lady’s hand; bnt
I did not call her—Marguerite. Neither
did I call her Madame L’Estrange.
Some subtile undefined feeling prevented
that; I compromised by not calling her
anything,
Those Pull-Back Dresses.—A Sar^
atoga correspondent of the New York
Herald says anent the “pnll-back dress
es This year the woman is com
plete. She wears less clothes than ever
and has more covering, less braid, bnt
there is more glory in her hair; no
more height, but she is exalted ; more
colors, but what is like her own ? We
think we understand it—it is currency
contraction, the stringent times rein-
vigorating the spscies. Yet a very tall
woman by nature wears this sort of
dress at her peril. I suppose you know
it is called the Ne;inchen skirt. Yes
terday a tall female came into the Grand
Union dining-room with this dress upon
her. The twelve hundred people then
looked up and beheld in the middle
aisle an advancing Maypole, a gorgeous
Bunflower, a v.sBgntl lieaupole. “Do
Lord ob light,” said Alexander, the in
sinnator, who waits at the next table,
‘is dat one woman or de family tree?”
But the ladies, scarcely smiling ob
served to each other, “Mary, what is
my height F]
Hadn’t Time.—A citizen of Vicks
burg who wanted a few hours’ work
done about his yard the other day, ac
costed a colored man inquired if-he
would like the job.
“ I’d like to do it, but I haven’t time,”
was the answer.
“ Why, you don’t seem to be doing
anything.”
“ I don’t, eh ! Well, now, I gwina a
a fishin’ to-day. To-morrow I’ze gwine
over de river. Next day I’ze gwine a
huntin.’ Next day I’ze got to get my
butes fixed. Next day I’ae gwine to
mend de table, and the Lawd only knows
how I’ze gwine to get frew de week
onlcss I hire a man to help me.”— Vicks
burg Herald.
The people of »• ranee, who fee
themselves obliged to suppress their
comic newspapers in deference to sen
sitive Germany, have tried to relieve
their pent-up indignation by printing
ridiculous sketches of Prince Bismarck
on pocket-handkerchiefs. The youth
of France are thus to be tanght the
virtues of revenge by means of patriotic
pocket-handkerchiefs. But the French
government, afraid of provoking the ire
of the thin-skinned imperial chancellor,
has nromptly confiscated the offensive
articles, and they promise some day to
become as rare and curious as revolu
tionary assignats are now.
—The progress of knowledge is like
that of the snn—so slow that we cannot
see it, bnt so sure as to change night
into day.
—What men want, said Bolwer, is
not talent, it is purpose; in other words,
not the power to aohieve, but tho will
to labor.
—Superstition changes a man )into a
beast, fanaticism makes him a wild
beast, and despotism a beast of burden.
—La Harpe.
—For a fit of idleness—Gonnt the
ticking of a dock ; do this for an honr,
and yon will be glad to pull off yonr
coat the next and work like a negro.
—To know a man, observe how he
wins his objeot, rather than how he
loses it; for when we fail, onr pride
supports ns; when we succeed, it be
trays us.
—“ I nevc-r place much reliance on a
man who is always telling what he
would have done had he been there. I
have noticed that somehow this kind of
people never get there,”
—Nemesis does not always follow im
mediately upon the guilty act, so that
death, as to this world, at least, is often
a door of escape by whioh the guilty
get out of the way of Nemesis before
she come3 up with them.—Hamcrton.
—Society is infected with rnde, cyni
cal and frivolous persons whe prey npon
the rest, and whom no public opinion
concentrated into good manners, forms
accepted by the sense of all, can reach ;
the contradictors and railers at pnblic
and private tables are like terriers who
conceive it the duty of a dog of honor
to growl at any passer-by, and do the
lioEors of the honse by barking him out
of sight.—Emerson.
—The Rev. Father Remy, a mission
ary, has just arrived in Paris from
Thibet, where ho made conversions
under peculiar circumstances. He was
to be quartered, aud his legs and arms
wore duly attached to four horses of the
oonntrf. The abbe is said to be a very
powerful man, and his limbs must be
uncommonly strong, or the horses em
ployed were uncommonly weak, for he
resisted all their efforts. His persecu
tors, we ara told, struck with admiration,
embraced the martyr and Christianity.
—Under the new constitution Protes
tants will eDjoy religion in Spain. They
will be put on the same footing as Cath
olics in England—that is, they will be
allowed to erect chnrches and attend
religions worship, bnt the state will not
contribute to the support of Protestant
pastors or chnrchs. TheJRoman Catholic
church will continue the state religion
applied to the chief beoanse he was old,
ugly, lame, and had bnt one eye. Not
withstanding the drollness of the mis
take, the Arab took not the slightest
notice of tbe occurrence. This polite-
children. ~ *
—Twenty-three specimens of carp
have been placed in the breeding ponds
at Druid Park Hill Baltimore, from the
waters of the Dannbe. This fish in
habits the fresh water streams of Cen
tral and Northern Europe. It is of a
golden olive brown color, with darker
fins. It lives to a great age, and is
exceedingly prolific, its weight varying
from one to eighteen pounds, and it is
in season from October to April. Theee
were the favorite fish of the monks in
the middle ages. It is said they fat
tened their fish as they did their poultry,
giving them the same tid-bits they gave
their choristers for improving their
voices. Gen. Lafayette took great in
terest in the carp at the Castle of
LeGrange, and could identify certain
patriarchs of the tribe in his moat as
easily as he could any horse in biB
stables. Some of these aged carp
counted more than sixty years, and were
cirefully preserved as breeders. They
need excellent and peculiar cooking,
with a sauce,” says the Turf, Field and
Faim, “of that superlative excellence
which might induce, as a Frenchman
observes, a hungry man to eat his grand
mother.”
Something Not on the Bills.
From the Boston Journal.
A man who was either a monomaniac,
or an enthusiast worthy to be regarded
as such, aroused a considerable excite
ment and furnished a fruitful theme of
conversation at the theater last evening.
The orchestra were just taking their
seats at the museum when a man, ap
parently abont forty years of age, well-
dressed and of intelligent appearance,
arose in the center of the balcony and
said in a clear voice: “ Ladies and
gentlemen: Before the entertainment
commences this evening, I should like
to tell yon that unless you change yonr
way of living and follow in the steps of
Jesus Christ instead of wasting yonr
lives in theaters, you will all certainly
go to belL” The audience was at
first so astonished that there was a
momentary silence, which was followed
by mingled applause and hisses, and
the man was pat out by the ushers
without a show of resistance and ap
parently any desire to stay. He then
went directly to the Boston Theater,
and the curtain had just risen when he
arose again in the centre of the balcony
and said: “Ladies and gentlemen, I
am sent here to interrupt, this per
formance by the Lord Jesus Christ. _I
warn y^u of your danger.” Aud again
he was nshered ont and down stairs.'
The only remark he made* as the ushers,
took him was, “Don’t hurt me.” Offi
cer McCabe took him to the station,
and as he did so he was asked why he
did it, and he replied that he stood np
as he did becanse it was his duty, and
when he was told he hod no business to
interrupt tbe performance, he replied,
“I do not wish this to be made a matter
of ridicule. A gentleman at the Boston
Theater said that tbe same person in
terrupted the performance at the Wall
Street Theater in Philadelphia a year
ago in a similar way.
Wnen taken to Station two by the
officer he gave the name of Andrew
Leslie, formerly of St. Louis, Mo.,
and lately a member of the divinity
school at Cambridge. As he seemed
to be laboring under a temporary in
sanity, Dr. Fove was summoned, and
decided that the temporary illness was
caused by over-work. He was accord
ingly cared for and locked up fer the
night, for his own safety merely, as he
was harmless.