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STANDARD AND EXPRESS.
a. n.VRsnnLH )
MAIIJiCHALK,! Editors and Proprietors.
Translated from the German.
THE MAIDEN ELEEPS.
The maiden sleeps—wearied from play to rest
Tired out with happtDeas,
The dolt the little arms had' fondly pressed.
The pretty Sunday dress.
Her story-book remembered not
All, all her treasures now forgot—
The n aiden sleeps.
The maiden sleeps—her life was peaceful made.
And light her earthly lot;
A little stream that through the flowers st raved
With love: and mnßic fraught; J ’
"No bitter eriet the child’s heart' pained
Soon was the short fight fought and gained—
The maiden sleeps.
The maiden sleeps—how blest she slumbered in
Her tender Savior’s arm ;
That spotless heart, unboiled, unstained by sin.
>o earthly fear could hirrn ;
A conscience pure, a sinless breast,
This 1b u couch the head to rest—
The maiden sleeps.
The maiden sleeps—earth’s pain, earth’s strife no
more
May break that sweet repose ;
Know’st, mother, tbou, what might havo been in
store
For her, of bitter woe r ?
She feels uo moTe ‘be tempest’s beat,
Feels noi the summer’s sultry heat—
The maiden sleeps.
The maiden Fleeps- on'y one short, calm night
That peaceful sleep will last;
Whl h ' ( K b M tri * h * V hp morn that her eight
‘V hen that brief night is o’er! 6
Me, who by his re-istless will
Soothed Jairus. lives and comforts ftill
The maiden sleeps.
The maiden sleeps-and now the last kiss press
Upon th , bps so still,
The Father help thee in thy sore distress ;
O, mot .her ! ’tis His will.
Now, as they bear ber to her rest
Sing ye the hymns she loved the beet
The maideu sleeps.
Shepherd, take her home,
i bine for eternity; ’
Ye glorious stars, bend down from Heaven’s dome.
Watch o er her tenderly ;
O, wind, bowl not so loud and sbrid
Over this little flower-decksd hill—
The maiden sleeps.
The Scotsman.
LUMIiEPS r ARDNER,
1 have forgotten the name he brough
with him from the states, but nobody
here ever called him anything else but
“Lnmley’s Pardner.”
Me miners havo a familiar knack of
reohri toning, and a name once altered
sticks to a man as long as he sticks to
the mines; so, even after Lumley had
thrown up his claim and left the dig
gings, a good three years ago, Lumley \j
> ardner still remained, a finger-post to
trace the distance back. After all, John
Jon o s, or Lumley’s Pardner, what mat
• eied it in that doubtful tide of immi
gration setting in toward the wild re
gions, where the first confidential ques
tion after intimacy seemed to warrant
the liberty, was invariably, “Say,
comrade, what was your name before
yon came hero ?”
You see, I knew Lumley’s Pardner
when he first came into the mines. I
was up at Wood’s Diggings at the time
when he and a party of two or three
more came around prospecting. I re
member I thought what a fine stalwart
ycung fellow he was, straight as a
young pine tree, and no foolishness
about him either, for he had been
roughing it a year or two down on the
Texas border. I never saw the boys
more downright pleased over a new
comer than when he bought a claim and
went m with us. He was not a man to
talk much about himself, nor one you
would feel free to question ; but there
was honest square dealing looking out
of his clear, gray eyes, for all the
trouble and unrest laid up behind
them.
Ifmley was as different as a man
conld be. I have noticed that men
take to unlikes n mating among them
selves, as well as in choosing mates for
u.e. He came into the diggings a week
or so and they somehow fell in
together. Lumley was what you might
call an extra clever fellow. He looked
carcely more than a boy—those fair
*ki“ned People never show their age—
Vvitu his handsome, womanish face,
blight blue eyes ard trim-built figure ;
not he had confidance until you could
not rest, plenty of the gift of gab, and
a something about him—l believe peo
•* e call it magnetism ; at least, when
_ on were with him yon believed just as
h i did, and then wondered at yourself
afterward for doing so.
Lumley always had a knack of twist
mg folks round his little finger; for all
‘bat, the lines of firmness were quite
lacking about his mouth. Lumley’s
1 ardne r now, with his close-set lips and
square massive jaw—you might as well
hope to move a mountain as him against
his will. He would be strong to do, or
to bear ; yon could easily see that.
I do not know as it was exactly fair.
* never meant to eavesdrop, but it hap
pened in this wise ; One night I went
over to Lumley’s shanty—it was amaz
ing strange bow soon his name got
tacked to everything—to see about a
broken pick he wanted mended. I used
to do the smithing in those days. As I
opened the door 1 saw there was no one
in, and being tired with my day’s work,
I dropped down on a log just outside,
lit my pipe, and sat leaning back against
the pme boards waiting lor Lumley to
come back. I guess I must have got
drowsy and fallen asleep, for the first
tiling I heard was voices, and Lumley’s
Pardner speaking out bitter and short,
m a way we seldom heard him speak:
, rec kon its of no use to ask if
there s any letters come to my name,”
he said. “ There’s no one to write to
me.”
I opened my eyes and saw two gleams
of light streaming out through the open
door and the one loop-hole of a window,
and then I knew that Lumley and his
mate must have passed me by and never
seen me in the twilight. Raising myself
up, I saw Lumley through the window,
sitting down to the pine table beside a
yellow dip. with two or three letters ly
ing before him, and one open in his
band. Then it flashed across my mind
that one of the boys from a camp be
yond had gone into the station and was
due with the mail that night.
Lumley’s Pardner sat over the far
Eid6 of the table with a gloomy look in
bis eye. Being in the same boat ray self,
I knew how lonesome it was never to
have news from heme, and wondered to
m J6elf how a manly, fine-looking fellow
hke him should be without a wife or
sweetheart waiting with a woman’s price
i him soma where.
Lumley was busy reading his letters,
f thought I had better stay outside. He
waa that intent at first that he seemed
nf) t to have heard the other’s words,but
: ft ; r a moment he lifted his face with
nne of the proud, bright looka that
were Lumley’s own. “ Ay, comrade !”
he cried cheerily ; and don’t you tell
me it isn’t all yonr own fault. Don’t
dare to envy me my wife and obild.”
There was no reply ; but, looking
over, I saw sue i a bitter,, sorrowful
look on the face of Lumley’s Pardner,
that, scarcely knowing what I was do
ing, I stood and watched and pitied
him. I heard Lumley read aloud, words
of love and and trust, watching and
waiting, and of happiness in him and
he child. I saw his face as he read.
He might be a weak man, but he loved
the woman and the child. From the last
letter there dropped out a carte de vis
ite. Lumley caught it up with boyish
eagerness.
“ Old pard,” he cried, “you shall see
my two treasures. Here they are—Lulie
and the boy!”
He tossed the picture across the ta
ble. The other picked it up. I saw a
man die once, stabbed through the
heart. Just such a look came iDto the
face of Lnmley’s Pardner, as he glanced
at the picture in his hand. Lumley,
bending over his letter, never saw it.
When he had finished reading he held
oat his hand. The other did not even
raise his eyes, but kept them fixedly
on what he held.
“I, too, once thought to have a wife
and child,” he muttered presently, less
to Lumley than to himself.
The words following that look, were
a whole book of revelation to me. Hap
pily. Lumley did not notice. - His face
showed some surprise, mingled with
that placid satisfaction the successful
alwavs wear .
“Ah !” he returned, shaking his head
knowingly, “is that the way Pie land
lies? I knew you were always close
mouthed, but a disappointment—l never
suspected that. She, whoever it was,
had pr.cious bad taste when she looked
the other way !” and he ran his eyes ad
miringly over the other’s splendid pro
portions and mauly, handsome face.
“ She never refused me,” broke in
Lumley’s Pardner, in a low, smothered
tone, his eyes still fastened intentlv on
the picture. “I—never asked her;
but she knew my mind, and I thought
I knew ber’s. I was sure she would
wait for me until I came back. It was
for her I went away.”
“ But yon wrote*to her ?” questioned
Lumley, with genuine interest.
“Not a word—not a line. I am a
poor scribe. But she knew me well
enough to need no written assurance of
my intentions. Every day would be
lived for her. There could be no doubt
of that in her mind.”
Lumley made a hasty gesture of dis
sent. - “And there, old man, was pre
cisely where you failed to connect! It
don’t do, you know, for women to take
to much for granted. They like to oe
well fortified ; and then you are surest
to win if you take them by storm. Why
my Lulie ”
“Sh 6 don’t look as though she ever
walked over a true heart with herdalnty
feet, and that glad little smile just curv
ing her lips !” broke in Lumley’s Pard
ner, his white face still bent on the pic
ture. His deep voice trembled a little
over the last words.
“ Lnlie is truth itself,” answered
Lumley, quickly. “She never loved
anybody but me. To be sure she had
admirers; how could she help that and be
what she is ?—but she loved me truly.
You can see it in her eyes !”
Lumley’s Pardner turned deadly pale.
He caught the table by one hand as if
to steady himself, and fairly burled the
picture across to Lumley. It missed its
mark and fell to the floor. As he saw it
fall, all the fierceness died out of his
eyes, and a frightened look crept into
them.
“Pick her up,” he said, with timid
apprehension, as though it were a hu
man being to whom, in a moment of
passion, he had committed some act of
violence. “ I didn’t mean to do that—
poor little motherthe last words
seemed to give him a stronger footing
with himself. “ I was thinking how my
wife married another man, and never
let me know.”
“Come, come, old man, don’t take
it so to heart,” said Lumley, sooth
ingly. “There’ll be a pleasant home,
a dear little woman, and bright-eyed
children in the future for you yet!”
“Never !”
Lumley’s Fardner brought down liis
fist like a sledge-hammer; theu he
leaned forward in his seat, with a fever
ish eagerness in his manner which he
tried hard to keep out of his voice.
“Tell me, how would you have given
up your Lulie ?”
Lumley laughed with easy, careless
goodnature. “You put me in a tight
place,” he said. “ But, supposing the
case, the first question I should ask
would be, did she go over to the ene
my’s camp, in other words,"forsake me
for an old rival ?’’
“ N n-o !” answered Lumley’s Pard
ner, slowly, “Itwas someone I had
never seen. I’ve nothing ag’in the
man.”
“ Why, then,” went on Lumley,
“truth sometimes cuts hard, old fel
low—l think it was your fault and not
the girl’s. It’s a man’s privilege t
speak his mind ; a woman’s destiny to
fold her hands and wait. She can never
be quite sure unless he has spoken out.
Then, perhaps, another,who has learned
to love her, does speak. She feels the
need of love in her life ; women as often
marry to be loved as because they love.
Then instead of wasting her life for
that which may never come to her. she
takes up the fate lying at ber feet. Does
she go very much astray ?”
Lomley’s Pardner dropped bis head
upon his breast. “ Poor girl! I never
thought of that,” he said.
I do not know jnst how it was that I
remembered all the words so plain.
There was no more said, and, feeling
guilty-like for stealing a mate’s secret
which it was not meant for me to know,
I crept to my shanty, bunked in, and
let the broken pick lay over until morn
ing.
I always felt sony for Lumley’s Pard
ner after that.
Well, for a time, things went on m
the old way. Then Lumley’s Pardner
came down with the mountain fever,
and LumleV nursed him through it. He
was as tender" as a woman, was Lumley.
When I used to drop in of nights, occa
sionally, to lend a bard at watching, the
man’s eyes would follow him about the
room, in a helpless, beseeching way
tbkfc ttas pitiful-to see-
CARTERSVILLE, GEORGIA, MONDAY EVENING, SEPTEMBER 13, 1575.
It was only the ghost of Lumlev’s
Pardner that got up from it, but the
two men were always nigher together
after that.
When Lnmlev got back to the claim,
and Lumley’s Pardner was just able to
crawl about, they came into a wonder
ful streak of luck. Lumiey struck into
a big pocket, and there they were, at
the turn of a die, rich men. Mining,
after all, is a game of chance—you buy
yonr ticket, but it does not always win;
there are plenty of blanks to every
prize.
It does not matter the exact amount
this prize netted, if I had remembered
it. Lumley vas jubilant over his
“pile,” anxious to sail out and leave
the mines; so nobody was surprised
when his partner bought him out for a
good round sum, saying, in his quiet
way, that he gnessed he’d stay an t see
the thing through.
It was very quiet in camp the morning
that Lumley went away. The boys
were sorry to lose him, for he had not
any bnt well wishers among us.
Well, six months went by, and then
came a little white letter, “scribed
in a dainty woman’s hand, to Lumley r
Pardner. The man trembled all ove
like a leaf when it was put into his
cabin and shut the door. Within the
next half honr he came out again in a
desperate hurry, saddled his mule and
rode off down the trail.
“ Unexpected business!” was his
hasty explanation. Could not say when
he might be back.
The news came to us at last by a
party of traders stopping to noon in
camp. Then I knew what those marks
of weakness about his mouth stood for ;
Lumley had never left the city at ali !
He had sat down to tbo gaming table
one night and gotten up from it the next
morning poorer than ho had come into
the mines. He had first won, then lost
and lost and won, and won again ; and
then that last total blank stared him in
the face.
Lumley could never give ur> at th t.
He must win it all back. Luck was
surely in store for him yet. He haunted
the gambling hells, playing recklessly,
desperately, so long as he could win
enough to keep the ball rolling, pawning
his watch, his ring, even his clothing,
when other resources failed.
So Lnmley’s Pardcer found him-*
heavy-eyed, with a seedy flashiuess in his
dress, marks of dissipation on his fair,
womanish face—a pretty nearly played
out individual.
The blood rushed all over his face,
for the manliness yet left in him conld
but feel the shame of that meeting. But
there was no backing out now. Lum
ley’s Pardner took him to one side.
“I’ve heard of you, old man,” he
said, in his matter of-faot way, “and
I’ve come to ses you out of this. How
much do you say will clear you up and
have a trifle ahead?”
Lumley never raised his eyes.
“Old pard,” he answered, choking
up, “ you’re a better friend than I de
serve. Don’t ask me to take anything
from yon. I went in with my eyes open,
and thanking you all the same, I’ll have
nobody’s helpout.”
Lumley’s Pardner laid a broad hand
on each of the pitifully dropping
shoulders.
“ Old man, when the fever had me
down, I’d ha’ gone under if it hadn’t
been for you. So help me God ! I’d
rather ha’ died than have taken what I
did at yonr hands. Do you dare deny
me this small return, now ? What’s a
paltry sum of money between you and
me, and the ‘little mother’ waitin’ at
home?”
Lumley put down his head upon that,
and cried like a baby; the which, if it
be not manly, I like him the better for.
There are tears, I am thinking, that are
far from disgracing even the eyes of
man.
“I’m ashamed of myself, through and
through, for what’s gone by,” were
Lumley’s next words, “ but I can’t give
it up now. Matters can’t be any worse,
and there’s a chance of bettering. Per
haps to-night I shall win it all back.”
There were the old willfnlness and
pride and the new fascination of the
gaming table. There was no turning
him back, no moving him from that
resolve.
Lumley’s Pardner took him by the
arm.
“ Either way, I’m bound to see you
through,” he said. “Come.”
So night after night, as Lumley
plaved, there stood Lnmley’s Pardner
looking on, with never a word of that
little white letter, his auswering mes
sage, or the two passengers on board an
ocean steamer bound for California.
Despite Lumley’s hopefulness, luck
never turned. It was the same feverish
unrest and tedious waiting, the sense of
degradation b/ day, and at night the
brilliantly-lighted gambling hell, the
excitement, the fascination, trembling
betwixt hope and uncertainty, the fre
quent potations to steady his shaken
nerves, and as the night woreoD, uncer
tainty deepening into failure and disap
pointment ; and each morning Lumley’s
Pardner led him slowly and silently
away, until time, wearing on, brought
at last this appeal:
“For God’s sake, old man, when will
you let up ?’’
“ So help me heaven, as soon as I get
back two thousand dollars, I swear never
to touch cards or dice again.” And
Lumley was dead in earnest this time.
Still, be would accept nothing from his
partner.
The night the Oceau Belle was
signaled into port, Lumley’s Pardner
beckoned “Monte Bill” aside (I reckon
you have heard of Monte Bill, tli i best
brace dealer and short-card pla" sr west
of tbe Mississippi), and some e< e et un
derstanding passed between tbei.i,
In the midst of a game Lumley’s
Pardner left his post, which was some
thing unusual, passing Monte Bill on
his way to4he door. It was not gener
ally noticed, bnt as he passed he drop
ped a small, compact package in the
gambler’s hand; then, slouching his
sombrero over his eves, he left the hall.
Pausing in the street Lumley’s Pard
ner looked anxiously down. It would
have been dark bnt for the street lamps,
for it was full two hours to moonrise ;
but down by the wharf ehone out, the
gleam of anew signal light, which,
poised at the mast-bead, gloweied
through the dark like the fiery eye of a
gigantic Cyclops ; the Ocean Belle was
in, Ten .minutes letter, pushing tis
way through the bustling crowd that
thronged the deck, he hurried across
the plank and made his way straight to
the cabin.
The past seemed (ill a dream as he
stood again wit|i a wildly beating heart
before a once jfamiliar form—familiar
still, though bearing the maturer crown
of motherh''ocC Her face was even
fairer than of ‘old, blushing with its
wild-rose tints of loveliness, her soft
eves shining up in glad expectation.
The broad sombrero, slouched over his
forehead, shaded his features. She saw
only broDzed cheeks and a strong, brown
beard. The tremor in his voice might
have meant diffidence.
“ Pardon me, madame,"you are, I be
lieve—that is to say—l am Lumley’s
Pardner.”
She held out a white hand cordially.
“ And my husband ?”
“Is well. lam to take you to him.”
He took timidly the hand she extend
ed, awkwardly the little woman thought,
and then let it go.
“ Give me the child.”
He took the sleeping boy in his arms,
and so burdened piloted the way to a
carriage close beside the wharf. Put
ting her inside, he laid the child gently,
almost revereutly, upon her lap.
“ We’re to drive round and take np
Lumley. It is only a few minutes’ ride.
One last searching glance from under
the protecting sombrero, and be closed
the carriago-door, mounting to his place
beside the driver.
Oddly enough, Lumley had just fin
ished a winning game with Monte Bill
when Lumley’s Pardner came hurriedly
in. A? be slipped quietly back to his
post, Lumley sat eyeing tbe “pile”—
$2,500. He put out his hand to rake it
up, paused, drew it back, piled up the
cards and began to shuffle for another
stake; not he had f orgotton his
oath, or the woman and child he loved,
but a long way ahead of anything else
was the thought that luck had turned—
that he had only to follow it up and win
back all the past. Lnmley’s Pardner
stooped io his ear :
“ You’d better throw up the game,
the ‘ little mother ’ and your boy are
waiting here outside.”
Lumley started—half rose to his feet,
looked up into his partner’s face, then
at the cards, then at the door, then wist
fully back upon the cards and the gold.
As with a heavy sigh he sunk into his
seat again, Lumley’s Pardner, dashing
the cards from his hand, raked up the
stakes and forced the money into Lum
ley’s pocket.
“How long will yon keep your wife
and child waiting alone, at night in a
strange city, before the door of a gam
bling house?”
The thrust struck home. Like a man
awakening from a dream, Lumley
sprung up, .ciushed on his hat, and flew
to the door.
Once in the little woman’s arms he
was safe, Luraley’a Pardner knew him
well enough to be sure of that. He
never followed, but slipped out of the
side-door, and the next day saw him
back in camp, a trifle pale and sterner
than was his wont, bub the clear gray
eyes dauntless, honest and brave.
And I reckon, to this day, Lumley
never knows how mrch he-owes his old
mate, or that his Lulie had one trne
lover whom he once knew and appro
priated to himself in the person of Lum
ley’s Pardner.— Overland Monthly.
HOW HE RECUPERATED.
A Marvelous Tale of the Minnesota Climate.
St. Paul Pioiieer-Press.
She came from Detroit, Michigan,
and her great pride was being an in
valid. She lost no opportunity in
stating that she fame to Minnesota to
recuperate. She did not hesitate to
enter into conversation with any par
son she came in contact with, giving
advice, climatological or physiological
to invalids, and seeking the same from
those of robust constitution. Her con
versation was always prefaced with the
introductory inquiry, so common to
visitors, “Did you come here for your
health?” She thus addressed a stal
wart, ruddy-visaged young man at the
dinner table of the Metropolitan a few
days since, and the following dialogue
ensued :
“Yes, madam, I came here probably
the weakest person you ever saw. I
had no use of my limbs ; in fact my
bones were but little tougher than car
tilages. I had no intelligent control
of a single muscle, nor the use of a
single faculty.”
“Great Heavens,” exclaimed the as
tonished auditor, “and you lived ?”
“I did, Miss, although I was devoid
of sight, was absolutely toothless, un
able to articulate a single word, and
dependent on others for everything,
being completely deprived of all power
to help myself. I commenced to gain
immediately upon my arrival, and have
scarcely experienced a sick day since,
hence I can conscientiously recommend
the climate. ”
“ A wonderful cure,” said the lady,
“but do you think your lungs were
afl’t'cted ?”
“They were probably sound, but
possessed of so little vitality that but
for the most careful nursing they must
have ceased their functions.”
“ I hope yju found kind friends,
sir ?”
“ Indeed I did, madam ; it is to them
and the pure air of Minnesota that I
owe my life. My father’s family were
with me, bnt unfortunately my mother
was prostrated by severe illness during
the time of my greatest prostration.”
“ How sad ! Pray, what was your
diet and treatment ? ”
“ My diet was the simplest possible,
consisting only of milk, that beiDg the
only food my system would bear. As
for treatment, I depended entirely upon
the life giving properties of Minnesota,
air, and took no medicine except an
occasional narcotic when very restless.
My improvement date! from my arrival.
My limbs soon became strong, my
sight and voice came to me slowly, and
a full set of teeth, regular and firm,
appeared.”
“Remarkable, miraculons ! Surely,
sir, you must have been greatly reduced
in flesh ? ”
“ Madam, I weighed but nine pound 6 ',
I was bora in Minnesota. Good day.”
Tt must make a woman feel mean t'>
takepoisun, write two or three farewell
letters npbraid her husbnnd, and then he
by a stomach pump.
SECRET HISTORY.
Gov. Vance Narrates a Curious Chapter of
Confederate History.
Oq the 18th inst. ex Governor Vance,
of North Carolina, delivered an address
at Greenbrier White oulphnr Springs.
Va., before the Southern Historical
Society. The Richmond Dispatch has
a report of it, from which we extract
the following under the above head;
Alluding to the fact that much has
been said about the presence of “an
unruly disloyal union sentiment in
North Carolina during the war,” and
“the prevalence of the unjust impres
sion that North Carolina oould be
easily detached from her duty to her
confederates,” Gov. Vance said that
“it seemed there were some who pre
sumed upon it for important purposes.”
“Soon after the failure of the Hampton
Roads conference I was visited by Gov.
Graham, whose death we so recently
deplore, who was then a senator of the
confederate states. After giving par
ticulars of that conference which had
not appeared in the papers, and the
prevailing impressions of congressional
circles about Richmond, etc., he in
formed me that a number of leading
gentlemen there, despairing of obtain
ing peace through Mr. Davis, and be
lieving the end inevitable and not dis
tant, had requested him to visit me and
urge me as governor of North Carolina
to take steps for making separate terms
with Mr. Lincoln, and thnH inaugurate
the conclusion. Gov. Graham re
marked that he had agreed to lay their
request before me without promising to
add his personal advice thereto.
“ I asked who these gentlemen were,
and with some reluctance lie gave me
their names—chiefly senators and Rep
resentatives in the confederate states
congress. I asked why these gentle
men did not begin negotiations for their
own states with the enemy, and if they
would come out in the papers with this
request to me? He said they would
not take the initiative. They were so
surrounded at home and so trammeled
by pledges, etc., as to render it impos
sible. I declined the proposition, of
course, and asked him to say to those
gentlemen, with my compliments, that
in the mountains of North Carolina,
where I was reared, when a man was
whipped he had t o do his o*u hallooing;
that the technical word ‘enough’ could
not be cried by proxy. This secret
piece of history will serve to show that
there was a faintness of heart and a
smiting together of knees in other parts
of the south outside of North Carolina.”
Gov. Vance would have made his speech
much more interesting by revealing the
names of these confederate senators and
representatives, and whether or not the
list included other officials besides
members of Congress. As it is, his
revelation, without these names, is
something like the play of Hamlet with
that character omitted.
• w ?1 f Won an Emperor.
A correspondent thus relates the ro
mantic way in which the Empress of
Austria captured her Emperor: The
Empress is the youngest daughter of
Duke Maximilian Joseph of Bavaria,
and sister of the ex Queen Sophia of
Naples. Francis Joseph was to have
been affianced to the Princess Sophia,
to make acquaintance with whom he
went to make a visit to his uncle’s of
Possenlioffen, where his four young
lady cousins had.been born and brought
up. The Princess Elizabeth, then in
her sixteenth year and remarkably
beautiful, was not to have been allowed
to see the young Emperor, both be
cause on account of her youth—she
was not supposed to be “out”—and
also because, being much handsomer
than her sister, the wi y Duke desired
to secure his Imperial nephew for his
eldest daughter before the former
should be allowed to catch Bight of his
youugest, as he felt very sure that the
hand of such a beauty as she promised
to be would be sought far and wide
when it should be in the matrimonial
market. So the young lady was told
that she was to stay witn her governess,
and not to presume to show herself in
the drawiug-room during the visit of
the Austrian cousin. But being lively,
spirited, and brimful of curiosity to see
the youthful Emperor, who had so sud
denly succeeded to the tronbled but
brilliant crown of Austria, the Princess
Elizabeth contrived to give her atten
dants the slip, and to hide herself in a
corridor, along which the Imperial
guest, who had arrived an hour before,
and was then dressing for dinner in the
rooms set apart for his reception, would
have to pass in going to the banqueting
hall. As the young sovereign passed
along this corridor the Princes*, who
was watching for him, sprang out of
ber hiding place, laughing at the suc
cess of her manoeuvre, and crying gaily,
“Cousin Franz! Cousin Franz! I
wanted to see you, and they wouldn’t
let me, and so I hid myself here to see
you go by.” It appears that enpid’s
bow, so innocently shot off by the
merry girl, who had no thought beyond
the gratification of her curiosity to see
the grand young cousin, whose quality
as Emperor had excited her imagination,
went straight to the mark. The young
Emperor fell over head and ears in Jove
with the gay and beautiful vision that
had presented itself so unaffectedly be
fore him. What passed between, the
two young people has never transpired;
but, a few minutes after, the Imperial
guest entered the drawing-room with
his young cousin on his arm, and pre
sented her to the amazed circle of rel
atives and courtiers who w*re awaiting
his appearance as‘‘the Empress of
Austria, my engaged wife.” The anger
of the elder sister is said to have been
quite lively, as was, perhaps, quite
natural under tbe circumstances. The
young Princess dined that day in the
banqueting hall, seated beside the
“Cousin Franz” so suddenly metamor
phosed in*o her “Imperial spouse;”
and, tbe Duke, though vexed for the
disappointment of his eldest daughter,
had at least the satisfaction of having
this splendid ma f ch secured for his
youngest. The marriage took place
when the Princess had reached the
mature age of sixteen, and all her hus
band's subjects were enchanted with
tier youthful beauty and her remark
ablr grace and kindness.
Hf. was smoking a cigar oh a Market
1 street car where there were ladies. Of
oonrse be was a gentleman(?). A lady
took out her purs *, got ten cento and
handed it to the smoker. “ What's this
for ?” said he. “It’s to buy you a ,7 00d
cigar when you smoke in the proeenoe
of 1 (dies.” He threw the cigar out of
the window, the scrip into the lady’s
lap, jerked the strap and jumped out. —
Louisville Courier-Journal.
Adventurous Children.
A corespondent of ihe San Francis
co, Chronicle, who writes from Lower
Like, Lake County, Cal., tells the ad
ventures of two juveniles in that local
ity :
There is good stuff in those young
sters of Dr. Baker’s—every one of
them ; hut my yarn only concerns the
two younger of tho lot. Last Sunday
the little one, Jenny, a girl of six or
seven years, made her appearance in
her mother’s room, demanding permis
sion to go out deer hunting with her
brother. Claude is twelve years old,
and killed a deer about, the size of a
buck rabbit one day last week, since
when he can’t rest a moment in the
daytime, and scarcely rests of night. It
was ten o’clock when the children
started, taking a dog with them. The
mother thought no more of them until
dinuer-time in the evening. Then she
became alarmed. Night approaching
she was half wild. Ali hands, consist
ing of some ten or twelve miners,
started out, some ou horseback and
some on foot. Night came ; darkness
settled down on the still valley with a
quiet that seemed like death. The
mother became frantic. She heard an
occasional gun fired off aud knew that it
was the doctor and men in pursuit of
the lost children. She oould not re
main in the house another moment.
She took the direction of the guns’ re
port as well as she could and started
after the crowd. It was midnight when
she came up to them. There was
scarcely a half garment of any kind od
her body, She seemed to have passed
through a dozen deaths—all but the
dying. From the time she joined her
husband and the other men si e led tbe
crowd until, about three o’clock in the
morning, they heard a dog bark, and in
another moment were with the chil
dren, who were instantly wakened by
the nois. Then it was. “ Howd’e do,
mamma?” and “ Howd’o do, papa?”
and “ Ain’t this a splendid tree to keep
house under ? ” We had to tight for it,
though,” said Claude. “ See here—we
had to kill the first settler,” and sure
enough there lay a California lion, one
of the largest size, with a ball through
his brain. Claude had shot him after
dark. They had been lost, but the boy
imagined he had struck the tiome trail
and kept running on until he met the
lion and shot him. Jenny says he was
crouched down like a eat aud not
further away than across the room
when they shot him. He sprang right
into tbe air and tumbled at their very
feet. Before starting from the house
one of the men had put some b.'seuits
in his pocket thinking the children
would be hungry, and these he offered
to them. “No, thank yon,” said
Jenny, “we had quail for supper.”
They had taken matches and Claude
had shot the quails ; these they had
roasted on a stick, aud of course they
were not hungry. It was an elder sister
of these two plucky youngsters who
was out on horseback in a very wild
tract of country. She was about twelve
years old at that time, and had been
hunting stock. All at once she saw a
pair of bright eyes looking at her from
a tuft of tall grass. “ I’m going to see
what yon are an?how,” she said. She
got down from her horse, and soon
found that the eyes belonged to “ the
prettiest little darling she ever saw.”
There were more of them, but she only
captured one specimen and climbed
back to her saddle. She had not gone
haif a mile before she heard something
loping behind her. She turned around
and saw a lion. She put her horse to
his best speed, and almost flew, she
says, bnt the horrid thing gained on
her. “Of course I knew what she
wanted,” said the child, “but I didn’t
intend to humor her selfiseness. I
didn’t take but one, and I lefn her two,
and that’s as generous as anyone need
be. But she couldn’t seem to see i\
Anyhow, she jnst flew after us ; and obi
Phil—talk about his being a fast horse
—I wanted to break his neck. The
lion gained ou us at, every step, till at
last I took her baby and threw it at
her. * Now take it and leave, you
stingy old thing,’ I said ; and she did ;
she just grabbed him up in her mouth
and put off, and I came home.” The
mother says that nothing would give
her more comfort than to know that her
children were all afraid* of their own
shadows. But not one of them has
ever shown a particle of cowardice in
their lives, nor their father before
them.
Children’s Fears.
The objects that excite the fears of
children are often as curious and un
aeconntab'e as their secret intensity.
Miss Martinau told me once that a
special object of horror to her, when
she WBB a child, were the colors of the
prism, and a thing in itself so beauti
ful that it is diflnult to conceive how
any imagination conld be painfully im
pressed by it; but her terror of these
magical colors was such that she used
to rush past the room, even when the
door was closed, where she haa seen
them retie te*i from the chandelier by
the sunlight on the wall.
A bright, clever boy of 9, by no means
particularly nervous or timid, told me
once that the whole story of Aladdin
was frightful to him ; but he never
was able to explain why it made this
impression upon him. Avery curious
instance of strong nervous impression,
not, however, in any way connected
with supernatural terror, oceurfd a
young girl about 8 years old, the daugh
ter of a friend of mine. The mother,
the gentlest and most reasonably in
dulgent of parents, sent her. up stairs
for her watch, cautioning her not to let
it fall; the child, by her own account,
stood at the top of the stairs with the
watch in her hand till the conviction
that she should let it fall took such
dreadful and complete possession of
her that she dashed is down, and then
came in a paroxysm of the most dis
tressing nervous excitement to tell hei*
mother what Bhe had done.-—‘-J/ra, Kern
r>le. in /September Atlantic.
VOL. 16--NO. 38.
smses lxi) Doixes.
A blind mendicant in Boston, wears
this inscription around his neck : “Don't
be ashamed to give only a half r penny.
I can’t see. ”
No doubt the happiea dogs that ever
lived were the two taken aboard of
Noah’s ark—for they had but one pair
of fleas between them.
Meteors of great size are falling in
lowa. Prof. Gu'tavus Heinrichs says
that they are mere shells of other worlds,
and the "interiors are coming along soon.
Praising the ugliness of the Saxon
uniform, Julian Hawthorne says: “That
army will be found most efficient whose
uniform is li'ast seductive to the female
mind.”
The novelty in belts is the gros grain
ribbon not more two inches wide, and
worn about the waist, to fasten in front
of the left side in a bow. with loops and
ends reaching nearly or quite to the
knee.
When the leading New York papers
devote ten columns and a map apioce to
a college regatta, and only two columns
to a college commencement, there is not
much inducement for boys to sit up
half the night puzzling their brains over
cube roots and things.
The chief jewel in the crown of the
truly benevolent man is his sympathy
with the poor. Wo have heard of a
family in this city on the point of starv
ation, whose sufferings were brought to
the attention of a Christian philanthro
pist, and who promptly came among
them like a good angel and refreshed
their souls by the reading of oopious
extracts lrom the book of Job.—Brook
lyn Argus.
John Paul fixed those Saratoga wait
ers. He put anew fifty cent scrip un
der a goblet. It was magnified until it
looked like ass bill. The waiter was
the most active man in America. John
Paul never before enjoyed such a gor
geous dinner. When he arose he coolly
put that scrip in his rest pocket, and in
a fatherly way told the expectant waiter
nottosink any more money which others
might give him in French pools.
That old English humbug which has
cursed this oountry so long, the intelli
gent jury, has at last attracted the at
tention of the magazines. Scribner’s
says: “The simple truth, is, that the
jury system is outlived and ought to be
outlawed. It does not help the oause
of law and justice, ami ought to be
kicked ont of the way. It is oppressive
to the juror, it is anomalous in our sys
tem of government, it makes the uncer
tainty of law still more uncertain, it is
expensive, and it is utterly unuooessanr.
There is nothing sacred about it. To
be tried by a man's peers is not half so
good a thing as to be tried by a mans
intellectual and* moral superiors.
A native of Calcutta recently asked a
number of friends to a dinner party.
His guests accepted the invitation, but
when tho dav came they for some rea
son best known to themselves did not
attend, nor did they send any apologies.
Thereupon the host promptly sued them
for the price of the food which he had
provided for the banquet, and which,
through their want of courtesy, had
been wasted. The Moonsiff who heard
the case thought that the cause of the
action was a good one, and gave the in
sulted host a decree for the amount
claimed. The high court took a more
rational, if less sentimental, view of the
matter. The Moonsiff's decision was re
versed, the presiding judge remarking
with grim humor that if thei Jaw laid
down bv the lower court were correct,
then “ the risk of accepting invitations
would be very serious indeed.
The other day a Detroit husband went
off on a fishing excursion with a small
party of friends. Returning at midnight
he pounded on the door and awoke his
wife. As she let him into the hall she
saw that something ailed him, and she
cried out:
“Why, Henry, your face is as red as
paint.”
“Gaesser n’t,” he replied, feeling
along down the hall.
“And I believe you have been drink
ing,” she added.
“Whazzer mean by zhat?” he in
quired, trying to stand still.
“Oh ! Henry, your face would never
look like that if you hadn’t been drink
* „ ft
mg. .
“ Mi to blame ?” he asked, tears in
his eyes. “ Sposen a big bass jump up n
hit me in th’ face an’ make it red—mi to
blame?”
And he sat down on the floor and cried
over her unjust suspicion.
Dr. Newman believes in missionaries,
so he says, and that the moral elevation
of the pagan must come through the
women, and by Christian women. He
enumerated'various things in which the
burdens of pagan women were grievous
to be borne, one of which was that they
are of ao little account as to be simply
numbered instead of having :aame?, and
that they are only known as such a man’s
wife, or daughter, or mother, etc., a
statement which, at the close of his liq
uid rhetoric, was followed by a most
significant incident. A list of women
composing the missionary society was
read, and not a woman was mentioned
by her own name, but by that of her
husband. It was Mrs. Bishop So-and
so, Mrs. Dr. A., Mrs, Rev. 8., Mrs.
John C., and so on. '
A City Under the Sea —ln the
latter end of the last century old Port
Royal disappeared beneath the waves
in an earthquake, leaving no other
memorial behind than those few patches
of reefs. In calm and clear evenings,
when there is not a ripple on the glassy
surface of the sea you may look down
into fifteen fathoms of water and see
submerged houses, towers and churches
with sharks swimming quietly in and
out of the open windows of
their belfries. The work .of
centuries was destroyed in a few
momenta by one single convulsive throb
of the thin film on which man has lived
and speculated for ages past. An
American diving company, instigated
in toeir enterprise by tales of untold
wealth buried beneath the sea by this
sudden shock, rescued no treasures but
the big bell suspended still in the bell
tower, aid donated the same to the
museum of the island, where it may be
seen, with many puzzling inscriptions
upon it, which nobody has, as yet, been
able to decipher.— Kingston, Jamaiao :
Corretpondenoe*