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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,