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THE WASHINGTON GAZETTE.
VOLUME I.
THE WASHINGTON GAZETTE.
BY JAS. A. WRIGHT, AGENT.
Taxi—Three Dollar* a fear, in advance.
THE BROKER ENGAGEMENT.
Ho, Carrie, “not even a bud,” can I
apare from my peerless rose. Ho doubt, it
seems selfish to keep them all, when you
*ao much desire a single one. You have
been very kind to me, darling, since my
illness, brightening by your presence and
sympathy many dark hours of suffering.
The rose tree sht# -b* yeses whew my
nights have become days in that other land.
Since little Eva was in, prattling of your
two lovers, I have bad a story to tell you;
if you have leisure to remain, I think I
(eel strong enough to relate it now. Raise
rny head a little, please; that will do nioely
—thank you.
It will be twelve years to-morrow, since
my twentieth birthday. Your mother was
but one day past eighteen, but we always
celebrated the festivals together. Upon
this occßsion uncle gave us a grand party.
I dressed early, for my betrothed Lawrence
Elmore, had promised to coma before the
company arrived and bring me flowers. I
anticipated something beautiful, for his
taste was exquisite. He came bringing a
boquet of half-opened rosebuda and blue
violets; besides this, a branch frofif a rose
tree, bearing three fragrant white buds, jost
ready to expand into full flower. The
buds he insisted upon twining with bis own
bands among my braids and ringlets, which
he accomplished with wonderful skill, ma
king the green leaves and snowy buds
gleam here and there among the dark
curls in a way that won praise and admi
ration from all. “My taste,’ 1 was commen
ded again and again, and I laughed tire
compliment* wff at best I could; for to no
one, not even your mother, bad I told the
secret of my engagement. Lawrence was
a olerk, industrious and economical. Still,
he deemed it not prudent to marry in less
than two years, and I insisted that if ho
waited to long, the engagement should not
be puhlio. My only motive was to avoid
the comments and discussions of Acquain
tances.
Our party passed pleasantly; the re
freshments, music, flowers, everything, were
admirable; the company was in fine spir
it! and nothing occurred to make it as a
dark hour in my life. Among the guests
was Mr. Hueton, just returned from a
lengthened tour in South America.
Early in the evening be was introduced
to me, and entertained me greatly with
accounts of wild adventures and descrip
tions of tropical scenery. Several limes,
during the evening, we were thrown to
gether, and that subtle something which
tells a maiden when she baa won anew
admirer, told me that Lewis Hoeton would
pursue the acquaintance. Months of gay
ety followed, and people began to notice
the attentions Mr. Hueton paid me. Law
rence was seldom present; books and stndy
.occupied his time, save when he spent a
quiet evening with me. ' These evenings
became less frequent, for I went out con
stantly. There was anew charm in the
devotion of the wealthiest, beat educated
man of the set. I never stopped to think
whither I was drifting. One day, some
nx months alter our party, a beautiful
bouquet was sent me, with a note. I had
not seen my betrothed for two weeks, and
said to myself, he has sent this to ssy he
is coming to-night, I opened and read.
“Ctaba : With the flowers, accept the
devotion of one who would be more than
your friend.
Lewis Hueton.”
The paper fell from my startled fingers,
and for the first time in months I was ob
liged to think. Stooping to raise the note,
I brushed against the rose, which, with
infinite care and patience, l had reared
from the branch worn upon my birtbnigbt.
The gentle touch of the leaves upon my
cheek smote me like a blow.
All the day was spent in thought.—
Lawrence, I argued, foes not really love
me, or he would be more attentive. I have
near cel y seen him for two months, and he
is becoming so quiet and abstracted that
bis visits are not as pleasant as formerly.
Why should my youth and beauty be
wasted in planning little economiea, as a
WASHINGTON, WILKES COUNTY, GA., FRIDAY MORNING, MAY 25, 1866.
clerk’s wife, when, as Mrs. nneton, every
wish would be gratified ! At evening, ha
ving stifled love and conscience, I dressed
to meet Mr. Hueton. He oame—told me
how I had, grown into his affections, and
offered heart and hand for my acceptance.
I did not then accept his proposal, though
I gave him reason to expect my answer
would be favorable, if my relatives were
pleased. «•
Before sleeping, I wrote to Lawrence,
saying as gently as possible, that I could
ne| )|4>pi!y share bis lot; that, brought
Op flf 'luxury, though having no fortune of
my own, I could not cheerfully labor, os I
ought, to make his salary suffice for us ;
therefore, I ask freedom from my engage
ment Three days later a reply came, in
the following works:
"Clara: My best beloved—you are
free. I have nothing of yours to return,
save a bit of blue ribbon that once tied
your curls. 1 retain that,
Lawrence.”
I foil, instinctively, that my freedom had
been purchased at the price of mortal an
guish to another, and would gladly have
undone my "rork. Shutting myself from
every eye, that day, I did not weep, but
suffered none the less that tears were de
nied me. The evening brought Mr. Hue
ton, and with the hoarty approval of my
uncle and aunt, I was again betrothed.
Lewis urged an early day for tho marriage,
but aunt insisted that four months was the
least possible time in which my outfit
could be prepared. Tbe next three months
were passed in a whirl of silk, laces and
muslins, which wearied me. Mr. Hueton
often remarked my silent ways and thought
ful looks, which he attributed to shyness
and over-exertion. With his grand faith
in me he never imagined my love was half
vanity.
At length, but eight days were to pass
before our marriage. The rose tree %H3
full of opening buds, and I anticipated
wearing them at my bridal. Two bads
were half opened, and I brought the plant
down to show Lewis, when he came in to
spend the evening.
“Do you know, darling,” said he, "that
tbe charming taste with which the roses
were twined in your hair, the first time of
our meeting, was what attracted me to
you3”
I bent over the tree to hide my glowing
face. He continued:
“But I have not told you—l can remain
no longei this evening, having promised to
spend the night with a sick friend. By
the way, Ire is passionately fond of flowers
me those two, for they will fade be
fore tbe day, and others will come ont."
I cut tbe flowers and he left me. Tbe
day following, a messenger brought a re
quest from Lawrence Elmore, that I would
lend him for odo day, my rose tree; he
was ill, bad beard of'its wondrous beauty,
and knew how I had reared it. I could
but send it, with every caution for its safe
ty. Instead of calling that evening, Mr.
Hueton wrote, saying that be was staying
with a dying friend. The thought that his
’ friend was my discarded lover did not cross
my mind.
The next morning Mr. Huetoo brought
the rose tree shorn of every bud and blos
som. He placed it upon the
•-
“My friend, Lawrence Elmore, cat them
off, and started upon a long journey with
them in his hand!”
“0, pity me P* I cried, and fell senseless
upon tbe floor. When consciousness re
turned, he waa holding me against his
heart; but with such a desolate, broken
hearted look in bis face, that I was fain to
turn away my eyes.
"Pity you! Clara,” said he, "pity me! I
hare lost my best loved friend and my be
loved wife. Lawrence did not willingly
betray your fault; it was only in the deliri
um of his dying moments, that I learned
what had caused bis illness and death.
Gently placing me upon the sofa, he left
the house.
The wedding invitations had not been
given ont and were now delayed by my
sudden illness. From a servant I learned
when Lawrence’s fnneral would take'place,
and, in spite of remonstrance, attended,
dressed plainly and wearing a heavy veil
to avoid recognition. He was ] <ried in
Greenwood, and,' alone in tbe carriage
which my uncle sent, I went to the grave.
Mr. Hueton stood by myffide, as the last
solemn words were said, though I fancy he
did not recognize me, until, as we turned
away, ha offered his arm, conducted me to
the carriage, and left me without one word.
May my darling Carrie never know suob
agony of remorse as t suffered that day
and for many years, feeling that I had mur
dered the man 1 loved, and destroyed the
happiness of one so worthy of respect and
affeotion as Mr. Hueton. At evening the
paokage containing the few notes I had
written him and my miniature, waa han
ded me by a servant. I looked in vain for
one written word of his. He was too no
ble to add one reproach to thoso he knew
I suffered, yet too truthful to attempt a
palliation of my fault. It then became
necessary to tell my uncle that there would
be no marriage, and that the fault of tbe
broken engagement was mine; yet I could
not bring liis contempt upon me by telling
him all. I have related this to you, Car
rie, as a warning. Your affections are gi
ven to one man, do not trifle with tbe ho
liest feelings of another. Sometimes, when
I am gone, and you come to Greenwood,
bring a rose for Lawrence Elmore, i
An Anecdote of in India.
Whenever tbe subjeot of scriptural for
tune telling came up in Lord Macaulay’s
presence, be was pretty sure to relate an
anecdote of bis sojourn in India. He ar
rived one night, late and tired, at tho house
of the chaplain of a somewhat unfrequen
ted district, and desired. to get to bed as
soon as possible. But his host was not
going to throw away the rafo opportunity
of eliciting some valuablo information from
a guest of such rare ability and scholar
ship. “Mr. Macaulay,” said lie, "I posi
tively cannot let you retire till you state
your opinion as to .the pf the
Beasfr 1 "I was driven into a corner”
said tho statesman rather than theologian,
"and I answered on tho spot, l have no
doubt as to what was foreshadowed by the
mystical number—tbe British House of
Commons 1 The members elected—63 B——
three clerks at the table, the sergeant
at-arms and the deputy-sergeant, tbe li
brarian and tbe two door-keepers, making
666,’ and I rushed to my couch.”
Smile.—Which will you do, smile and
make others bappy, or ibe crabbed and
make every one around you miserable ?
You can live among beautiful flowers and
singing birds, or in the mire, surrounded
by fogs and frogs. The aticunt of‘hap
piness can produce is Incalculable, if
you will show a smiling sac», a kind heart,
and speak pleasant words. |oa the other
band, by sour looks, cross words fnd a
fretful disposition you can make hthdredt
unhappy, almost beyond enduranoe.
What will yon do 3 Wear a pleasant
countenance, let joy beam in your eye and
love glow on your forehead. There is no
joy so great as that which springs from a
kind act or a pleasant deed, and you may
feel it at night when you rest and at morn
ing when you rise, and through the day,
when about your daily business.
Beautiful.—At a Sabbath school anni
versary in London, two little girls presen
themselves to receive a prize, one of whom
bad recited one more verse more than the
other, both having learned several thousand
verses of Scripture. Tbe gentleman who
presided inquired:
"And could you not have learned one
verse more, and thus have kept up with
Martha?" '
"Yes, sir,” the blushing child Teplied,
"but I loved Martha,and kept back on pur
pose.”
“And are there none of r]| the genes
you hare learned,” again inquired the Pres
ident “that taught you tbha lesson 7”
‘There was sir,” she answered, blusbing
more deeply: "In honor prefering one an
other.”
Hartley Coleridge once being asked
which of Wordsworth’s productions he
considered the prettiest, very promptly re
plied; “His daughter Dora.”
A “warm meal,” in New Mexico con
sists of two crackers dipped in pepper
sauce. Simple, hut not calculated to be
come popular.
AUTHOR! ARD CLEOPATRA.
The following exquisite poem waa writ
ten by Brig. Gen. W. H. Lyttle, of the
Federal Army, who was killed at Chicka
mauga. Eh was no leas a poet than a
soldier, and following lines antitie him
to rank amOnfe the foremost :
I am dying, Egypt, dying,
Ebbs the crimson life tide fest,
And the dark Plutonian shadows.
Gather on the erening blast;
Let thine arm, O Queen, support me,
Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear,
Hearken to ths grant heart aaoret,
Thou, and thou alont, must hear.
Though my Marred and veteran legions,
v Bear their eagle* high no mpre,
And my wrecked and Mattered galleys,
Strew dark Actium’s fetal shore,
Though no glittering guards surround me.
Prompt te do- their master’s will,
I must perish like a Roman,
Dio the great Triumvir still.
Let not Ceasar's servile minions,
Moek the lion thns laid low,
’Twas no foeman’s hand that elaw him,
'Twas hie own that struck tbe blow,
Hear, then, pillowed ou thy bosom,
Ere his star fades quite away,
Him, who drunk with thy earemes,
Madly threw a world away.
And then, star eyed Egyptian,
Glorious sorcerer at toe Nile,
Light the path to Stygian horrors,
With the splendor* of thy smilo,
Give thia Oesssr erowns and archaa,
Let his brow with laurel twine,
I can scorn the Senate's trinmpb,
Triumphing in love lika |ffin..
I am dying, Egypt, dying,
Hark the insulting foetnan’a cry, y .
They’re coming—quick, my falchion I
Let me face them ere I die—
Ob I no more amid the battle.
Will my voioa exalting swell,
Isis and Osiris guard thee,
Cleopstrsl Rome I Farewell I
ORE HDRDHKD YEAR* OF SGIIRCB.
One of ton moat eloquent men in France
is M. Duma*, senator, member of
stitute, ex-Minuter of Instruotiqn, Profes
sor at the Sorbonno and College do France.
When he rises to address the audience there
is a- thrill of, expectation, and a hushed
anxiety to catch tbe words that are to fail
from his lips. He baa an entire and thor
ough command of the nicetiea of the
French language, and added to this a mar
vellous familiarity with tbe growth and
present standpoint of science. Recently, at
the distribution of prizes awarded by tbe
Polytechnic Association of Paris, M. Do
nnas gave a sketch of the condition of
scientific knowledge a hundred yean ago,
and compared it with the progress of
present day. We translate a part kk liis
address : i t JJ
In 1765, the employment of the forces
of nature was limited to two motors, wind
mills and water mills. jHeat had not’been
converted into universal meohanioal pow—
er, the steam engine was unknown. The
sun marked in its daily return the
hours in tbe life of man, but Niepee and
Daguerre had not made use,of its light as
the docile instrument of art; photography
had not yet ottered into the imagination of
man.
Electricity had neither given us the
Voltaic pile, which decomposes tbe most
obstinate compounds, nor the galvanoplas-,
tic art, which plates the metals without
the aid of fjre, nor the electric light, nor
the electric telegraph, and other marvel*
of modem times, dne to the genius of Am
pere ; nor the formidable Rubmkorff coil,
tbe rival of gunpowder, and tbe just object
of highest reward. Chemistiy had no ex
istence. -Lavoisier had not yet immortal
ized hik name by those discoveries which
explain tbe reciprocal relations of matter
composing the surface of the earth with
tbe same clearness that Newton’s laws af
ford the key to the movements of tbe stars
which adorn the heavens. Earth, air and'
water had not been decomposed; the na
ture of the metals and that of carbon waa
unknown ; tbe acids, alkalis and salts, now
employed in so many arts, then only offer
ed obscure problems; tbe cause of com
bustion was ignored ; tbe existence of gat,
distinct from atmosbberic air, had not been
determined; the proximate principle of
plants and animals had not been defined ;
their nutrition an enigma; agriculture
was a blind and devastating practice, min
ing in torn the different countries pf the
NUMBER 5,
globe, and not permitting to any people to
fix itself in permanence on any spot.
Tbe movements, the changes and the
transformation which affect the material
of the surface of the globe «nd metamor
phose it according to timea and places, had
no signification for our ancestors. The
circuit always in action, which nourishes
the plant at the expense of the soil, the an
imal at the expense oi the plant, and which
returns to the toil through the amimal that
which it has lost; those harmonies of na
ture which our commonest farmer now un
derstands, did not enter into the imagina-
tion of**he piofowMte*t pWlo» r ,lK-r
ry ago.
Geology was only inspired romance;
the crust of the earth had not been explor
ed; the history of its formation bad not
yet been written; it was then unknown
that in the fossil remains of a rock is con
tuned the infallible story of its origin ;
that in the history of the development of
the globe is revealed the relative ages of
the mountains and the clew to the former
condition of the Alps and Pyrenees and of
their rival chains.
Thousands of plants had been collected
and named, but Jussieu had not yet clas
sified them into natural families; Cuvier
ha4,net applied the same laws to the ani
mal kingdom. One could not then em
brace in one view the ensemble of nature,
from the ephemeral iftten, which, at the
summit of the Alpeofbn the confines of the
pole, mirk the last pifipitatiops #1 life, up
to the giants of tbe tropical forests, whose
existence dates beyond historic timea;
from the equivocal, microscopic produc
tions, thd last argument of the partisans of
spontaneous generation, up to man created
in tho image of God. One oonld not, thus
guided by Cuvier or Brogniart, mount from
age to age, reconstructing in their forms,
their aspect, and even their habitations,
"the animals aud plants vbleft Dave preced
ed the advent of man upon earth, and
which conduct us through epoch, back to
the moment when life first manifested it
self upon our globe.
To-day mau has acquired the right to
aay:
Matter, aud the forces which it obeys
contain secrets which I do not know, 1 or
shall not be able at semh future period to
discover; the historjpfof tketewtb has no
longer any mystery for me; X am present
at its earliest ages; I reconstruct the be
ings whom it has nourished ; I know the
1 precise date of tbe transformations upon its
surface. My eye penetrates the profundi-,
ty of space; I assign to each star its place
in tfoe orbit in which it must move; I
weigh tbe sun; I analyze tbe subsistence
of which it ig composed, as if it could be
placed in my crucible, and I can say of what
elements the scars consist which decorate
the vaults of heaven, even those the light
from which requires ages to travel to the
focus where the observer performs their
dissection upon our earth; I play with
the/orces of nature; I transform the light
into beat, tbe beat into light, electricity
into magenetiem, magnetism into electrici
ty, and all of these forms of activity into
mechanioal power; I convert ono com
pound into another; I imitate all tbe pro
cesses of nature dead, and the majority£of
tbosa of nature living; I render at will
the earth fruitful or sterile; < I give to it or
I take from it the poweri to nourish the
plant, Life is an open book, where, from
the embryo egg to the death of tbe ani
mal, I read without obscurity the .role of
the blood which circulates: that of the
heart which beats, and of the luDga which
respire; that of the muscles which obey;
of the nerve* which convey the order; of
the brain whioh commands; of the stom
ach which digests; of tbe chyle which
regenerates. In fine, I apply to my use
all es the forces and all of the gifts of na
ture. i
This sketch by a master-hand reveals to
us the extraordinary progress of science
during a hundred years, and shows how
quietly we appropriate each addition to
our knowledge, without taking into ac
count tbe long years of toil which must
have preceded its full development. If the
next hundred years should show eqoal re
sults, it is impossible to predict wfrat limit
Shall be set to the progress of tht world,