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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.