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] 10 1(1 could bo roused. Would it, Cousin ?’ Then, suddenly changing her manner, she exclaimed: ‘‘Away! away, before I fol ]mv my impulse, and call on the servants t 0 seize you. Oh.” she cried, her eyes gleaming tire, as she fastened them on his faltering face—“oh, I could see you drag red to Jail like a felon, and witness against you without mercy, were you not of my hwn blood! Since it is so, 1 spare you. but do not think that Robert will be so merciful. The papers that you have stolen from this room, have been missed; the ghost’s errand is clear to me now. Away, instantly, and never see my face again!” As Laura stood thus, in her white dress, her golden hair unbound, her lithe figure raised to its full height, and her graceful, arm outstretched, she looked like a beau tiful angel of Justice. Richard glanced at her, and his eyes glared like those of a wild beast; but be saw his game was up, and drawing his cloak around him, he stealthily, but swiftly glided from the room and crept down the stairs; the house door closed softly, and we heard the clatter of bis horse’s hoofs die away. But Laura did not wait to hear all this, before she released me. Her little white lingers had a hard time with the rough knots; hut she untied them with wonder ful speed. As she loosened my hands lastly, I clasped hers within them, and in a mo ment all was said that I had so vainly tried to write, and all was answered that I had so fondly hoped. We agreed that it was best not to men tion the night’s adventure; “for Dick’s sake,” said Laura, and added, “I can easily get the papers from his desk, and no one need know it. I only suspected him, and I don’t want Mother to know I sat up all night waiting to hear you scream, and ran in when I did hear your voice.” “Oh, indeed! ” said I; “that’s the se cret, is it? Well, I’ll promise secrecy on that point.” And I never did mention it before; but yesterday, Laura told me, laughingly, that I might write the story of how, ten years ago, she and I laid the ghost. What’s a Wife. — A wife (says Mr. Lofty,) is a woman that belongs to a man. She’s a pretty little creature, made to tickle his fancy, his vanity, and his self love, and to sing, laugh, and dance, through his otherwise dull habitation. But upon her dance, mind you, she must see that the house is kept in order; that the dinner is well cooked ; that the but tons and the hose are all right, and that nothing in the whole household economy ever interferes with his comfort. In short, a wife is a pleasant sort of universal servant to her husband’s will and pleasure—a most agreeable provis ion made by the Creator for man’s good. She is a compound of flowers, music, and domestic animal—very useful and very ornamental—all the more desirable for her lack of mental powers ; because, were she not in this respect so much inferior to her lord and master, she might become so presumptuous, as to think that a shoe which fits one foot ought to fit the other; that good rules work both ways; and that just so much comfort as she gives, she has a right to demand in return; and just so much honor and respect as she pays she should receive; in short, that she is, in number and importance of rights and r privileges, the peer of her husband. Thus soitli Mr. Lofty. And now hear the response of Mr. Common Sense : Nay; but a wife is given—neither for a toy, nor for a servant, but lor a stead fast friend. She is, indeed, a fount of joy and pleas ure, such as, to a true heart, there is not elsewhere on earth. bhe is the brightencr of liis house and the wise and careful manager of her lamily—of her family, for whatever is his ls 'also hers ; and between wedded hearts, the words “mine” and “thine” are impu dence and absurdity. Hut she is more than all that—she is lis confidant, his adviser, his ever-sym pathizing friend—his able and most ten der consoler—his strength, even, when his courage droops. She is the voice of God’s love and corn t'Ut to him as he toils, and struggles through the world. AH of this, is what a wife is, if she answers to her Master’s ideal. Tiik Population of Kome.— The annual census is just completed in the Jittj-four parishes of Rome. The city a Abating population of 217,378 souls —30,000 more than 1859. The popula ti' n would soon be double, if the large hMi.ontial swamps were cultivated. Ihe inhabitants are classed as follows: -9 Cardinals, 28 Patriarchs, Archbishops and Bishops, 1.372 Prelates, Priests of lerici ; 790 Seminarians, 2,947 Monk* and 2,191 Nuns. There ’are furth e ; -•>1)4 Jews, and 2,208 Jewesses, who uve near their Synagogue, and 488 here 'Hio attend service at the Russian. Prussian, English, American, or Pres bvterian Chapels, situated outside of Rome, 1 ;* { h° Via Flaminia. Instruction is gi\en to 14,067 boys, and 11,860 g’irls, a fourth part of these it is gratui tous.— Ex. [For the Banner of the South.] A Tomb and a Ruin. Does it stand like a phantom, dark and wild, To blacken the mirth of a fair young child ? Or, does it stand, with its dark, grim frown, By the dreary way-side, with moss o’ergrown, To teach a lesson, or, to point to the stone, That stands in the picture, so dreary and lone? A child lies there of the sixth oeutury, And her life was a cold sad destiny; A false-hearted lover, and a murdered fame! A woman’s weakness, and a mother’s shame! Two children there are, who were laid beneath The stone that marks that wayside heath. There, the ghosts of the child and the mother, Arc standing as stark in wintry weather, As when the moon, with soft, silvery light, Bhed its pure rays upon the summer night; And they point to the ruin, dark and wild, The mother one side, and the other, the child. I was traveling on over hillside and plain, When I heard before me a plaintive strain ; It came with a pleading and earnest appeal, And sunk in my heart like a silver seal ; “ We must breathe our burthens to mortal ear, Oh! banish, dear lady, all terror, all fear, “What lesson does the marble teach to you, O, passing traveller, fearless and true? Listen and learn, and the lesson will tell, If moral, or mind, or the mind’s deep cell, Or, if all combined, form the Spirit's mark, That makes mother and child stand stiff and stark. “Thou shalt see the stone and the sculptured verse, And from its sides the sad tale rehearse— The talc of a love, though plighted and won, Yet, ending in blight, and a fate undone ; And this was the fate of both mother and child: ‘Pointever to the ruin, dark and wild.’ “Not one of the sculptured letters are lost, And the marble liauds on the bosom crossed, Are laid there—still, as cold and meekly sad, As her own, on the day she was known bb dead, Were laid, in their beauty across her breast, Asa sign of quiet, and a long, long rest. \ ‘ ‘Turn, lady, thy thoughts to the olden time, Whan years were numbered by century’s chime ; The lost, the learned, and the strong, Alike to ages of the past belong; And I bloomed in the morn of life, like ye, Born of the flower of Eternity. Oh! would that my father and mother had kuown, How sad a fate on my heart was thrown, When they brought to my homo a Cousin fair, With dark brown eyes, and silky hair, And coupled him oft, iu our household ways, ' With their only child, in our childish plays. “My heart throbbed soft, to his softened voice, When lie said to me: ‘ Rachel, thou art my choice.’ And it ended thus, with a plighted love— A love, which penance alouc could prove, Was a blight to the flower that gave me birth, And a noisome plant, on the face of earth. “Iu that ruin, lady, I have lived, and there My parents thought me, of all, most fair, Till they heard, with pain, that my troth was given To the one who, of all, they would have striven To have me regard with a sisterly love, Which nothing in Heaven or Earth could disprove. “We wandered away from the laud of our birth, To the sea—o’er the ices—far away to the North. In Iceland, we found a sad, fugitive home, With yokuls of ice and the blue surges foam. And oft times wo wept, when, far over the strand, We saw visions of home, in this fair, blooming land. “Bull many a day did wo wander together, In cold, and hunger, and wintry weather ; Full many a day we journeyed iu light, And thought it, of ail, the darkest night. To wander along in this world of «ire, With nought to relieve us of grief and despair. “ ‘No cottage—no home—shall be thine,’ said my heart ‘ Till the sin of thy soul from thy side shall depart;’ And I knew, and I felt, that the doom was upon me, Unshrived and unpitied, to droop and to die. Too soon, alas, lady, too soon for my soul, Came the waters of sorrow—the deep billows’ roll. “When, coining, at last, to the downhill of life, The condemned and the culprit were often at strife, I earnestly tell thee, I, alone, am to blame For all that has happened—the sin and the shame: I would, if I could, hide my face in despair, Nor breathe this sad record to your mortal oar. “And this was the sentence that fell on my soul : ‘ Go to your parents’ home —there make your dole; Breathe it over and over in some passing ear, Till, excited by pity, they listen with care; And tell them to teach to the child at their side, That God, and the Church, are their proper guide.’ “But, come to the ruin, and see it with me, It stands by the root of the old chestnut tree ; It bears in its image a blighted look, Since from its walls, the Virgin they took And put her within the cloister deep, Which stands alongside ot the citadel keep. Come to the orchard, the grove, and the dell; Come to the brook, which we loved so well; Come to the bower, and come to the shade Os the Eglantine vine, which grew in the glade: Come to the virginal; come to the choir; Come to the Mother; come to the Sire. “Mv Sire was gone; and my Mother laid here; And I, by her side, was to stand in despair; Till, centuries past, I might lighten my load By Confession—the seal to the Heavenly road. And now, in the moonlight, the sunlight, the storm, You maj no more behold me, iu my spectral form.” A curious phenomenon recently oc curred at St. Paul. A shower of ants fed upon one of the streets, the sidewalk being nearly covered with them. Some of them had large wings, while on others the wings were only visible by close observation. It is supposed that these winged ante were flying over the city, when a change of the wind, or the s !ght storm, drove them down upon the treet. * > 1 AifBIB ©F fEI Spoilt Men. BY' ELZEY HAY'. That implacable woman-hater, the Saturday Review, is down upon the sex again, with all its usual venom, hut with out its usual wit. Not satisfied with be rating one class in the person of its imagin ary “Girl of the Period, it turns against another, and iashesspoift women as fiercely as if there were no such things iu the world as spoilt men—and much things they are, and more frequent, too, than spoilt women. lour spoilt man, unlike the spoilt woman, is more amiable to his own sex than to the other, for the reason that his narrow susceptibilities are incapable of grappling with important affairs that would bring him in conflict with men, while his contracted mind occupies itself with the small concerns of life that bring him chiefly in conflict and collision with women. He sets himself up as a sort of social Juggeruaut, before whose chariot wheels the heads of adoring mothers, sis ters and wives must bow, grateful for the privilege of being crushed beneath the triumphal car of their god. He thinks all women were made to worship him, and will only tolerate them in proportion as they admire and believe in him. A clevef woman he detests as an insult to himself. He is usually a man of small intellectual powers (a man of enlarged views is above spoiling) and, therefore, bitter ly resents intellect in others, especial ly in women.. No man ever forgives a woman for being more clever than himself, if he has the penetration to find it out, but the spirit man is peculiarly intolerant of female excellence. If “ the spirit wo man of the mental kind is,” as our re viewer declares, “ a horrid nuisance gen erally,’ the spirit man of the mental kind is ten times worse. He will suffer no one about him to hold opinions of their own, and to argue with him, is like speaking .against inspiration. With him, emphat ically, “ orthodoxy is my doxy, and heter odoxy is your doxy”—especially in politics. He lays down the theses in law, rostheties, or religion, and if you presume to quote Story, Ruskin, or Chalmers against him, he stares at you for an audacious fool, as it you had cited a funny novel against the Bible. But it is not alone in intellectual mat ters that the spoilt man must assert his own superiority. His tyranny descends to the minutest concerns of every day life; none of the details of housewifery are se cure from his interference, and he always interferes in (he wrong place. He scolds his wife because nurse lets the baby cry, quarrels with his maiden sister because cook made milk toast for his breakfast, instead of dry, and grumbles to mother all day because the grocer sent a pound of bad cheese last night. He has a thousand whimsical theories about cooking and will no more tolerate a palate that differs from his own, than the men tally spirit man will tolerate a dif ference of opinion. I know one who will pout a week if anybody presumes to touch cabbage in his presence, while another of the same stamp pronounces all eaters of spinach to be no better than heathens and barbarians. If the spoilt man has a fancy for high seasoning the whole family must suffer with dyspepsia to gratify has taste, or if plumb pudding gives him the gout, it must never appear on his table for the benefit of any one else. I have seen a man so intolerant of any dish he did not eat that, if his wife took the liberty of preparing it for a guest, he would snatch it up and set it under the table. Now, I am no advocate for woman’s rights— at least not for the sort that Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Staunton aud Miss Susan B. An thony would have—but I do think every woman has a right to be absolute mistress of her own kitchen and pantry —yet even here your spoilt men must assert Lis sway —he must be prying into every nook and corner, and is always telling his wife how his mother used to do. Thackeray makes living mothers-in-law a terror to husbands, but these spoilt men make dead mother* in iaws a terror to wives. I know a lady who has been trying, for twelve years, to cook potatoes for her husband, like his mother used to have them, and I have never yet seen a loaf of bread so perfect that the spoilt mau would not say: “Oh, but you should have seen the bread my mother used to make.” Their shirts, too, when mothers have been so inconsiderate as to make those in tricate garments at home, are a standing nuisance to wives, and I have heard of a wretch—though I am happy to say I never knew such a one—who petu lently tore the cuff from his sleeve be cause the button was not sewed on exactly as mother used to do it. This grievance of not having things the way mother used to do them, is very convenient to men who must always keep a grievance on hand, especially if the old lady happens to be dead and gone, because then there can be no appeal to her, and if one of her own loaves could be resurrected and set before him, the spoilt man would still shake his head and say, “Ah, but you should have seen the bread my mother used to make.” Os course it is all very right and proper for a man to honor the memory of his mother, but in justice to the old lady we must protest against his making a bore of her. There is nothing too trifling for the frivo lous mind of the spoilt man to make a nuisance of. If he has a prejudice against this or that color, he goes into the saiks if any one wears it in his presence. Not content with grumbling at the milliner’s bill —which of course all men have a right to—he must meddle wfth the dress of his female dependent, and even presumes to criticise the fashions. Has he a fancy for straight.smoothe hair, he takes it as a per sona, injury that any woman should wear cnmps, and if he likes short dresses, no woman about him has a right to wear long ones. Other people must be comtortable ex actly in his way or not be comfortable at all; they must enjoy themselves in his way or not enjoy themselves at all. Il‘he is dis posed to be silent, he thinks it preposter ous that other people should care to talk; if he affects the recluse, he is outraged that others should seek the pleasure of society. Lut the most special and universal ob ject of spoilt men’s tyranny is the family mail bag. Indeed, I am not sure but nearly all men are a little spoilt in this respect, just.by dint of always taking charge of the family mail to and from the postoffice, they look upon newspapers as something invented for their own peculiar use and convenience—something with which wo men have no more busiuess to meddle with than with prices current or the right of suffrage. Even among those most noted for courtesy and good nature, it is the rarest thipg in the world to find one who will, under any circumstances, offer a newspaper to a lady before he has read it himself., and if he does so, there is always something in his manner which betrays plainly enough that he does not expect her to accept it. I once heard a lady say that her husband—a man of fine literary taste — who subscribed for a large number of papers and periodicals, was so jealous of his treasures that every day when he came from the office he would put them in his chair and sit on them, taking out one at a time to read, lest his wife should get a peep into Rome of them before him. How ever, I have no mind to quarrel with the men for liking to get the first look at the papers ; it is a privilege that all women ought cheerfully to accord them, but I must protest against the un reasonable monopoly that some men make of everything they take out of the postoffice. They carry letters addressed to their female relations for weeks in their pockets, where they lie forgotten till dis covered and brought to light by the washerwoman, or by some honest valet who has fallen heir to his master’s old clothes. And yet, after being convicted lime and again of these misdemeanors, they take it as a mortal affront if a wife or daughter ventures to doubt the accuracy of their memory and ask in the meekest tone, “Have you a letter for me?” They con sider even this legitimate question an un warrantable interference with their preroga tive as autocrats of the family mail-bag. The worst of it is, they seem utterly in-' sensible to the enormity of such offences till someone practices the like upon them; and then what a domestic thunderstorm is raised if a paper should bo torn or a busi ness letter misplaced. Men seem to think that because women get no business letters their correspondence cannot be of much importance, as if stupid business were the only thing in this world worth attending to. As our reviewer says that women arc spoilt by over-attention from men, so men are generally spoilt by over-attention from women. The very worst specimen of a spoilt man is the only son of a widow,or the only brother of a large family of sisters. From living alway in a house where wo men are at a discount, he is very apt to contract exaggerated ideas of the importance of men, in general, and of himself in particular. Sisters are naturally disposed to over-rate the merits of their brothers, and mothers of their sons —an estimate which the son and brother is always ready to receiye. Where the adoration of mother and sisters is di vided among several, it cannot do much harm, but when they all unite to pet and coddle and flatter and sacrifice themselves to one, how can he help learning to think that all women wore made to wait on and ad mire him ? Mothers and sisters generally begin the spoiling of a man, and by a piece of natural poetical justice, are aG ways the chief victims of his selfishness. I have known one or two spirit men who made tolerably good husbands, but they are always horribly exacting brothers. Spoiling makes people selfish, but their very selfishness sometimes expands so as to embrace those most intimately connected with them. A spoilt man may have a sort of selfish affection for his wife because she is hh wife, which leads him to consult her pleasure as far as he can, without inter fering with his own. For the same reason a spoilt woman may sometimes make a good wife. She is not so apt to make an intolerably bad one as a spirit mau to make an intolerable husband, because spoilt people are fussy mainly about trifles, and as women’s business is to deal with trifiles, they are best not carried out of their natural sphere by spoiling—unsexed, as it were, and made contemptible as well as disagreeable, like the childish men who grow fractious at a button sewed on awry or say bad words over a mis placed pin. Women, undoubtedly, can be the most aggravating of crea tures in a small way, if they are so dis posed, but then, as "the Saturday Review declares, a spoilt woman Usually vents her ill humours on her maid, while a spoilt l man vents his upon his female relations and scolds his wife for the fault of his valet or the fluctuation of his stock exchange. Besides, a man always has his office and! club-room where he can take refuge from the caprices of a troublesome wife, while a woman has nothing for it but to stay at; home and submit to the whims of an un- j reasonable husband. Now, I don’t say all men are spoilt (ex- | cept, perhaps, about that little matter j connected with the post-office); nay, upon | the whole, I think they are very delightful J creatures, but the more delightful they 1 are, the more is the pity that any of them should be spoilt. A withered bay tree ts a greater blot on the landscape than a withered rosebush, and so is a spoilt man a greater nuisance to society than a spoilt womaD. Vermont True to her Ancient Faith. Vermont, by the election returns, gives evidence that her vote will be cast, at the Presidential election, for Grant and Col ax. Kali for Vermont ! She is where she always was, and where she ought to Twice she voted for the elder Adams, and his Alien and Sedition Law Admin istration, and twice her vote was cast against Mr. Jefferson. During the entire war of 1812, and the discussion that led to it, Vermont, true to her faith, took the part of Eng land against the United States, and cast her electoral vote against Madison and the war. When Mr. Monroe had a com petitor, the vote of Vermont was cast for Rufus King, the bitterest of Federal leaders. Vermont voted twice for John Quincy Adams for President against General Jackson. In 183*2, the State cast her vote for the anti-Masonic candidate, be cause Henry Clay happened to be a Mason. \ erinonthas never given a Democratic vote, and, in all human probability, never will. The isms of New England are “to the manner born” of Vermont, and, verily, the people cling to them until displaced by anew one, for, except being Demo cratic, they are everything by starts, and nothing long. Like the Atheist with*the Bible, the Vermonter has a terrible hatred of Democracy —Columbus ( O.) Statesman, Sept. 9 th. A Republican State. —Ostensibly, and only ostensibly, the reconstruction measures were intended to afford the Southern States Republican forms of Government. Here is the sort of Re publican Government given to Arkansas : “Memphis, September 4. The Ava lanche's Little Rock special to-day says that Governor Clayton, of Arkansas, has prepared instructions for his Registers for Registration, now about to commence. He says that, among these powers, the duties of each Registration Board is to reject any one whom the Registrars think not entitled to register, even though the applicant has already taken the oath; to make arrests, 'find call upon Sheriffs for a sufficient number of armed men to assist him, and if not furnished them, to call upon the commanding officer of any troops of the State guard, (which means Negro militia), who is directed to furnish promptly such aid. The applicant for registration is also required to prove his innocence by evidence satisfactory to the Registrar that he lias not been guilty of a number of specified acts during a sum of years, one of which is that he did not sympathize with the rebellion. If he fails to establish this, he cannot register, his oath to the contrary notwithstanding, unless he voted for the present Constitu tion. Another is, to reject any one who has taken the franchise oath, if the Registrar is satisfied, or thinks he ought not to be registered; and, before being allowed to register, the applicant must subscribe to an oath that lie accepts the civil and political equality of all men, and agrees not to attempt to make any changes. “Ten days before the election, the Boards of Registration will meet in each county, with power, upon their own knowledge or information, to strike from the list the names of voters thev consider disqualified by the registration law. The Courts are forbidden to issue any manda mus,or other process against Registers.” This is the Radicals’ conception <4 a 'model Republic, for they made it. and denounce Blair as a revolutionist for do manding its overthrow. We doubt if a respectable Radical can read the above, and not, in his secret soul, applaud Blair s declaration. —Paducah Kentuckian. Moßft Repudiatoßs or Repurlican* ism.— A correspondent, writing from Fronesta, Forest comity, Pa., under date August 31, informs the Cleveland Plain Dealer that Col. P. I). Thomas, a life-long Republican ; Col. J. F. Gaul, who commanded one of the Pennsylvania Reserve Corps during the late war, and hitherto a strong Republican; and Lt. D. W. Clark, late Quartermaster of the 83d Pennsylvania Volunteers, and since the war an active member of the Republi can party, have come out for Seymour an<l Blair. And Still Another. —Major Gen. E. 1). Keys is stumping California for Seymour and Blair. General Keys was one of Mr. Lincoln’s warmest partisans, and one of the oldest Major Generals in the Army of the Potomac. He says he will vote as lie fought--for the preserva tion of the Union, and Constitutional Liberty.— Col. (O.) Statesman, Sept. 9. 3