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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*