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8 YOUTHS' DEPARTMENT. O ENIGMA— No. 27. I am composed of 15 letters : My 5,8, 10, 7, 15, 12, is a welcome visitor to school girls. My 7, 11, 9, is a part of the foot. My 1,4, 12, 3, 11, is a sign of the Zodiac. My 5, 11, 7, is an enclosure. My G, 10, 9, is a heathen goddess. My 3,6, 2, 14, 8, 12, is an article of dress My 1, 15, 7, 11, is a prohibition. My 3,4, 5,5, is a measure. My 11, 7, 10, 8, 12, is a valuable animal. My 13, 5,5, 4,3, 6, 10, 11, 12, I would not like to meet. My whole is the Latin interpretation of a beautiful sentiment of our Saviour, which we should all practice. Answer next week. St. Joseph’s Academy, Columbus, Ga., 1868. ENIGMA—No. 28. GEOGRAPHICAL. I am composed of 14 letters : My 6,4, 13, 14, 5, is a river in Swit zerland. My 8,9, 5, 11, 10, 2, is an island on the coast of Florida. My 4,2, 11, 11, 10, 5, 14, is a town in Austria. My 10, 6, 13, 14, 12, 13, 14, is a town in Ohio. My 2, 11, 9, 56, 11, 8, is a city in Spain. My 12, 10, 5,1, is a river in Wales. My 14, 10, 11, 5, is a river in Africa. My 5, 11, 9, 10, 6,8, is a city in New York. My 13, 7, 10, 13, is a river in the United States. My 7, 13, 9,5, 6, is a town in New York. My 11, 5, 13, 14, is an island of Spain. My 9,2, 6,8, 14, 7,2, 9, is a city in Brazil. My 1,6, 5, 13, 14, 12, is a basin in Utah. My 3,6, 5,4, 12, 13, 14, is a town in Georgia. My whole is the name of a talented and much loved clergyman. Answer next week. CoBBIE. Cuthhert, Ga., May, 1868. SQUARE WORD. My first, is a legal process. My second, is a measurement of land. My third, is part of the eye. My fourth, is an adverb of quantity. U. A. P. Answer next week. Answers to Last Week’s Enigmas, Etc. —Enigma No. 24.—“ May God for give, as I do, them that have long thirsted lor my blood”—General Morgan—Balti more—Don—Hatteras—Forget-Me-Not —Mammon—Madeira—Volga—Reynolds Forty—Minerva—Theta—Death Aristides. Enigma No. 25.—“ There is nothing true but Heaven” —Arborvitse—Sage —Bee —Tin—Horse—Tuberose—Nut— Hour —Honor. Enigma Eo. 2G, —Pope Pius the Ninth. —Po—Nine—Pine —The—Nut—Hope —'Sin. ft The following answers from corres pondents are correct : Lizzie, N. 0., La., to Enigma No. 21 ; J. 11. F., to No. 21 ; Cobbie, Cuthbert, Ga., to No. 21 ; U. A. P., Augusta, Ga., Enigmas Nos. 22 and 23, Poetical Cha rade, Prose Charade; Charles, Augusta, Ga, to No. 24; J. 8., Charleston, S. C., to No. 24. [Prepared fur the Banner of the South by Uncle Buddy.] FAMILIAR SCIENCE, II EAT —CONTI NUED. A chimney will smoke if the Hue be very short, because the draught of a short fine is too slack to carry the smoke up the chimney. The draught of a short Hue is more slack than that of a long one, be cause the air contained in a short flue does not become sutiiciently raritied to cause a strong draught. The fire is always very dull and sluggish, if the chimney fiue be very short, because the draught is bad; and as the rarefied air passes very tardily up the chimney, fresh air flows as tardily to wards the lire to supply it with oxygen. Smoke will not acquire its full velocity in a short fiue, because the higher the smoke ascends, provided the fire be clear and liot, and the fiue unobstructed, the faster it moves; if, therefore, a flue be very short, the smoke never acquires its full velocity. The draught of a chimney depends on the speed of the smoke through the fiue, for, the more quickly hot air flies up the chim ney, the more quickly cold air will rush towards the fire to supply the place, and, therefore, the higher the flue the greater the draught. The chimneys of manufactories are made so high to increase the intensity of the fire. The intensity of a fire is increased by lengthening the flue, because, the draught being greater, more fuel is con sumed in the same time, and, of course, the intensity of the heat is proportionately greater. If a short chimney cannot be lengthened, the best way to prevent smoking is to contract the opening of the chimney contiguous to the fire. A smaller opening in that part of the chimney near the fire will prevent smoking, because the air will be compelled to pass nearer the fire, and, being more heated, will rise through the chimney more rapidly; this increase of heat will, therefore, compensate for the shortness of the flue. If there be two fires in a room, it will be filled with smoke, because the fiercer fire will exhaust the most air, and draw from the smaller one to supply its demand. And so, too, if there be a fire in two rooms communicating with each other, because whenever the door between the two rooms is opened, air will rush from the chimney of the inferior fire to supply the other, and both rooms will be filled with smoke. The best remedy in this case is to let a tube be carried from the hearth of each fire-place into the external air; and then each fire will be so well supplied that neither will need to borrow from the other. A house in a valley will very often smoke, because the wind, striking against the sur rounding hills, bounds back again upon the chimney, and destroys its draught. The common remedy in this case is to fix a cowl on the chimney-top, which will turn like a weather-cock and present its back to the wind. But a cowl will not always pre vent a chimney’s smoking, because, if the wind be strong, and there were a steeple, or hill, near the chimney, it would keep the opening of the cowl towards the hill; and then the deflected wind would blow into the cowl and down the chimney. The perfect remedy is to carry the chim ney flue higher than the hill; then no wind can enter it. "■ •++*** JULIE DE L’ORME. CHAPTER I. SAVED. The old man came to the front of the humble cottage. His head was white with the snow of seventy winters. But his slender form was free from the stoop of age; and there was something peculiarly high bred and aristocratic in his bear ing. “How is he now, grandpapa ? ” The speaker, who sat on a rustic bench, under the twining rose-tree be side the door, was a lovely girl, whose cheek bore the bloom of seventeen maid en years. “lie is better, my child,” the old man answered. “Perfectly restored !” said a deep voice; and a tall, stern-looking man emerged from the cottage. Ilis straight black hair was close cut; and his dark face wore a savage expression, which was by no means lessened by the strip ot plaster which covered a fresh wound, on the left side of his forehead. “Saved !” he said. “Young lady, you have saved my life. One moment later, and that vicious brute would have kicked my brains out. The girl looked up, blushed, and smiled. “Monsieur exaggerates his danger,” she said. “What I did—what a weak girl in such a case could do—was little.” “I am not unaccustomed to danger, mademoiselle,” the dark featured man replied, “I know what it is to have the hoofs of a frightened, plunging horse close to one’s head, when one is lying al most insensible on the ground. Had it not been for mademoiselle’s courage and ready hand, monsieur, 1 had looked upon my last sun.” “Julie’s a brave girl,” the white haired old man replied, proudly. “She comes of a brave race, and is worthy of it.” The stranger, who, by the way, was dressed in a riding suit of the period, threw at the other, a rapid, enquiring glance, that seemed to measure the old man from head to loot. “May I venture,” he said, “to ask the name of those to whom I am so deeply indebted ? ” The girl looked anxiously at her grand father; but the latter drew himself up with dignity, as he replied : “Our name is De L’Orme ! ” The stranger started, and drew back a step. “De L’Orme ! ” lie exclaimed. “Citi zen, that is a dangerous name iu these perilous times. The ring of aristocracy is in it; and many a proud head has already fallen for no other crime than boasting that aristocratic prefix to a name.” “It is true,” the old man said sadly, but without any show of fear ; “your re publican rulers have shed profusely the proudest, and noblest blood of France. But De L’Orme is not a name to be ashamed of, or disown ; and if the harpies of the Convention, still unsatiated, desire to glut their longing for more blood, the lifiTof an old man, grey in poverty and suffering, is not much. but ’ he O 7 { Jt, J *o* r'jj Xvl» Jai3 CMI ; ; j[» J.vX ry paused, and his cheek grew pale—“my poor child.” The girl seized bis hand, and nestled close to him. The stranger regarded both a moment, in stern silence. “You are the father of the Count De L’Orme,” he said, “who was killed at p “Aye,” the old man proudly interrupt ed. “My son fell in battle, fighting against the enemies of France. And now none of our noble line remains, but one poor old man, and this orphan child.” For an instant, a gleam of compassion —a ray from the celestial countenance of the angel of pity—lighted up the dark, stern face of the stranger. He paused for a moment, as if absorbed in deep thought. Then looking up, with a smile that had the grimness of a frown in it, he said : “Citizen, these are dangerous times for such as you, and this lovely child. But lam not an ungrateful man, and I owe you a life. If danger comes to you, it may be in my power to save you.” He drew a tablet from his pocket, as he spoke, and wrote upon it a few hasty lines. “Here, citizen De L’Orme,” he said. “Keep that tablet, and should danger come to you at any time, it may be—if he who writes it still retains his own head,” he said this with a bitter smile— “prove of service in your need. He turned back into the cottage, and came out again with a whip in his hand, and a large heavy cloak on his arm. “Maiden!” he said, taking the girl’s hand, and raising it respectfully to his lips, “We should be, by rank (for I am of the people, and you of the no blesse), and heritage (for I am only a prolelaire , a sanscullote, if you will) ene mies. But I owe you a life, no matter ‘how small you may deem it worth, and I am grateful.” He dropped her hand, and the next moment was gone. The old man read the lines inscribed upon the tablet ; and w r ith an cxclaima tion of astonishment, handed it to his grand-daughter. Julie De L’Orine, as she read, grew pale. “He! The enemy of our race and class.” “Our enemy no longer, thank Heaven.” CHAPTER 11. THE APPEAL. Days pass by; but terrible events pass faster. In a front room of a house in a narrow faubourg of Paris, a man was seated at a desk, writing rapidly. Two other men near him, to whom he dic tated brief orders now and again, were writing likewise. Off and on, persons came hurrying in, who whispered hasty messages in his ear, and rapidly departed. This man who sat alone, and whose pen moved with such noisy rapidity, was dark and stern, with closely cropped hair. So cold and stern lie sat, he might have been a creature turned into stone, but for that nervous motion of his fingers, and that grating sound of his pen. The door was noiselessly opened. A man, with the silent tread of a cat, enter ed, and walked up to him. On the desk of the writer, he laid a set of ivory tablets, and then stood by, mutely waiting. The dark and stern looking man started at the sight of the tablets, and opening them hurriedly, read what was written inside. “Who gave you these ? ” he said, look ing hastily up. “An old man, citizen, with long white hair.” “Show him up.” The man instantly vanished. In a few moments a hasty, tottering step, was heard upon the stairs; the door was thrust open ; and an old man, with a wild, eager look, rushed into the room. “L have found you, monsieur! Then it is true.” “Citizen De L’Orme ” said the stern visaged man, “ what has happened ? Some great trouble has befallen you.” “The tablets! ” exclaimed the old man, “you have received them?” “Yes; and I know that their arrival here means that danger menaces you. I remember my promise well. Now, what is it ? ” The aged noble paused, and gasped for breath. The other pushed him to a chair ; but he heeded it not. At last he spoke— “My grand-daughter ! ” “Your grand-daughter ! Heaven ! What of her ? ” “She is in prison—she lias been de nounced by a wretch, whose insolent ad dresses she spurned. She is condemned to death; and in an hour her neck will be beneath the guillotine, if yon owe her a life, and prove false to your word.” The other started with an exclamation of horror. “Citizen Andre,” he said to one of the secretaries, “your list—quick ! Ah ! here it is. Heaven grant I may not be too late. Here ! here ! ” He rushed to his desk, seized a sheet of paper, wrote hastily upon it, and thrust it in the old man’s hand “Away, citizen!” he cried. “Waste not a moment. If you would save your child’s life, hurry to the Place de Greves, and present that.” The noble grasped it as a starving man might clutch his proffered food, and dash ed from the room, with a speed that seem ed to defy the feebleness of age. The dark, stern man sank back on his chair. The mere cold, inhuman thought of working out what is called an “idea” —let us hope—was not his just the*.— Higher thoughts (represented by the no ble girl, who was the noblest type of hu manity he had ever seen), may have occupied his mind at the moment. After a short pause, he spoke : “Heaven grant he may be in time! ” He had used the sacred name but little of late, except to blaspheme it. “Andre, my friend, some wine. I feel sick! ” CHAPTER 111. LOST. A fearful scene was that, on the Place de Greves, on that bright summer day. There was the horrible scaffold, the hide ous frame, the block, and the glittering knife. Soldiers fenced it around ; and a howling mob, thirsting for blood, filled the whole square. A fearful scene was that in the distance. The tumbril camo rolling along the rug ged pavement, filled with its freight of human victims. Aged matrons, and ten der maidens were there; gay ruffling nobles—what a grim and grotesque mock ery of life, was their ghastly levity, and gaity now! What a many colored pic ture of miserable humanity was that, with the night shade of death hanging overall! Some prayed; some moaned; some looked cold and stern ; others, those once gay young nobles, smiled and play fully jested to the last. They were cool and brave, these men, worthy of the death of the soldier, not the felon. Out of the tumbril, and up the steps of the platform they went, amid the stares and clamors of the mob. One graceful young noble, of handsome features, and lordly mien, had placed his foot side by side with one of .the female victims of this liorrrd blood-thirst, when he suddenly drew back, and, as if he were on the per ron of the palace at Versailles, he lifted his hat, and, with a gracious smile, and sweet bow, said, '•'‘place aux dames ” ladies first! He was the grand-son of an Irishman, this, of one of the heroes of the great old brigade. Even in that dark hour, he was the polished gentleman still. The hideous butchery began. A young girl, in a robe of simple white, approached, and knelt before the frame, at the feet of the Confessor. The executioner stood by, silent and grim. The howling crowd hushed its inarticulate noise awhile, at sight of that girl, so lovely in her virgin grace, and celestial heroism ; and then a murmuring of something akin to pity, filled the air. The white robed maiden advanced, and kissed the cross. The headsman pre pared for his functions. She knelt again. A wild, weird shriek burst upon the air— “ Tenez ! tenez ! ” —'“ Hold ! hold ! ” And the form of an aged man, whose white hairs floated on the wind, was seen in the distance, rushing forward with frantic gestures. Onward he came. But the maiden did not seem to heed him—nor the crowd, except some on its outward fringe. On ward, waving a paper. “Tenez! tenez!' 1 ' The ivory neck was bowed. The waiving hair flowed over the white brow, and pallid cheeks. One word: the knife fell; and the dissevered head dropped in to that heap of blood-stained sawdust ! Another angel tenanted Paradise. Onward —onward the old man came, his wild shriek echoing through the crowd. “My child! my child! A reprieve! ” “Too late, old man: she is dead! ” With a stare of madness, and a‘ piercing cry of agony, he looked around him, tottered, and fell upon his face. When they lifted him up he was dead. Lost! lost! No! old man: you found the white robed spirit awaiting you at the porch of Heaven. Scotch snuff put in a hole where crick ets come out will destroy them. Half a cranberry on acorn will soon kill it, It is not until the flower has fallen off that the fruit begins to ripen. So in life it is, when romance is past, that practical usefulness begins. Seven hundred thousand trains passed over the London underground railway in five years without accident. From fifteen to twenty million passengers have been carried annually. WIT AND HUMOR. G. A. T. whites: “There is more of Ohio in Washington now than of any other two States. Mr. Colfax said to me, some day* ago, that the American passion was the desire to hold office, which led me to sav that Ohio was the most passionate State in America.” Punch pictures Gladstone and Bright i JS the character of boarders, clambering over the bulwarks of a vessel, on the deck of which stands Disraeli, with one hand on the wheel of “Government,” and the other minting a cocked pistol down the opening of the powder magazine, “Dissolution,” saying: “Give up the helm? Resign tile command ? Never! Come one, come all, :: stick to my craft. Back, I say! One step in board, and I blow up the shin Ha! ha!” Seeing the Point. —Flora—“Mamma. I should like to stay at home to day; it's going to rain, too; look where the wind is it’s in the south, you can see by the letter* on the church spire, and .” Mamma, “Pooh! Nonsense, child! Be otf to school, at once; that S. is always pointing in that direction.” At a bachelor’s dinner, recently, one crusty old wit gave as a toast: “Matrimony the maiden’s prayer and the widow’s might.” Two friends meeting, one remarked “I have just met a man who told me i looked exactly like you.” “Tell me who it was, that I may knock him down,” replied his friend. “Don’t trouble yourself,” he said, “I did that my self.” A gentleman, who had a very blundering servant, put down in writing everything he wished him to do. Going in the country, one day, the master fell into a ditch. 11l called the lad, who, instead of hastening to his assistance, exclaimed: “Stop; let me see if it’s down in im memorandum-book.” Occasionally. —Every man is occasion ally what he ought to be perpetually. A little lady, of two and a half years, persisted that a cane with a crooked llandh was an “umbrella without any clothes on. What could be funnier than this, address ed to a lady-love: “ ’Tis hard, when at your feet adoring, I’ve been to heights of passion soaring, To find you, love, asleep and snoring.” Mike, why don’t you fire at those duck : Don't you see you have got the whole flock before your gun ?” “I know I had, but you see, when I get ?. good aim at one, two or three others will swim right ’twixt him and me.” A young lady being asked by a politician which party she was most in favor of: replied that she preferred a wedding party. “Why is it, husband, that whenever we send for a pound of tea or coffee to the grocer, it always falls an ounce short “Oh, it is just a weigh he has.” If you want to make a long story short, ask tlie teller to begin at the end; in other words, to give the tail of the tale first. 1: is a good method to punish bores. It was wittily, but somewhat ungallar.t ly, said that a woman is somewhat the reverse of her mirror—the one reflect without talking, the other talks without reflecting. A young lady, who was reading a novo: was asked by a gentleman, how she liked the style. “The style—the style?” wi the answer—“oh, sir, I have not come to that yet.” A prominent journalist in New York ha offered one thousand dollars for a tale tin.' will make his hair stand on end. He :■ perfectly bald, and, of course, won't V “stuck.” • A nobleman wished to induce Garrick t< stand as a candidate. “My lord,” sai< Garrick, “I would rather play a leadin; part on the stage than the part of a tool it Parliament.” A stupid fellow tried to annoy a pop'll; preacher by asking him whether the fatu* calf of the parable was male or fema “Female, to be sure,” was the reply ; “f 1 see the male,” looking his questioner fu in the face, “yet alive in the flesh befo: me.” Prentice speaks of Ben Wade as havit. his (chocks distended with oaths, like squirrel's with a hickory nut. Why is an invalid cured by sea-bath l like an imprisoned criminal? Because 1 is sea cured (secured.) Mrs. Ileavysides, getting into anomnil the other day, heard a disagreeable o: bachelor make the grumbling reimw “Omnibuses were not made for elephant To which she replied : “Sir, omnibuse- a like Noah’s Ark, intended to carry sorts of beasts.” A grim old judge, after hearing a li w ery discourse from a pretentious von barrister, advised him to pluck out t; feathers from the wings of his imaginati« : and stick them in the tail of his judgmeii A inan in Cincinnati once advertised f a wife, and the next day he received let f from twenty-seven husbands, saying . might have theirs. There is said to be a great similarity tween a vain young lady and a confirm drunkard, in that neither of them canev get enough of the gl *IBS. Colorable. —“llow do I look, Dorn asked a painted young lady of the faun physician. “I can’t tell, madam, ui: you uncover your face,” was the cru-d reply.