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-;{5T & REID, Proprietors.
If AJU-iSii r.l) 1820.}
The Family Journal.—News—Politics—Literature—Agriculture—Domestic Affairs.
GEORGIA TELEGRAPH BUILDING.
MACON, FRIDAY, JUNE 19, 1868.
{VOL. XLII.—NO. 35'
IlfOLEON’S COURTSHIP.
,-jjrr interview wrrn Josephine—
jjj attention as a suitor.
* Mublbach’s “Empress Josepino”
j the room a few times, his hands frlded on
his back and liis head inclined on his
breast. Then again he stood before tho
viscountess, and nis eyes rested upon her
with a wondrous bright and genial ex-
J pression.
i “I bid defiance to fate!” he said, some-
L the following fanciful but inter-1 Ananiy, prophecy does not
. ° .. „ XT • frighten me away, and, in defiance to your
^ireouat of tho oourt.'lup of Napo- p r0 phetic negro woman, I, tho republican
jjJ Josephine: j general, addressed my prayer to the future
lupine was not alono when Bonaparte ' queen of France; bo my wife! give me
'jjnonnoed; and when tho servant | your hand.”
Ijhim she could not repress any in- j Josephine fob almost affrighted at the
^ifeSL without knowing why sho was I pertinacity of the general, and a senti-
Her friends, who noticed her t re- incut of apprehension overcome her as
* j blush, laughed jestingly at tho [ she looked into the pale, decided counten
:j; lv which made her tremble at the ance of this man, a stranger to her, and
^of the conqueror of Paris, and this who claimed her for his wife.
'ntfhaps the reason why Josephine | “Oh, sir,” she exclaimed, with some
lived General Bonaparte with less ; anguish, “you ofTer me your hand with as
-j ’ 11 " - 1 J 1 much carelessness as if the whole matter
was merely for a contra dance. But
can assure you that marriage is a very
grave matter, which has no resemblance
whatever to a gay dance. I know it is so,
I have had my sad experience, and 1
cannot so easily decide upon marrying
second time.”
“You refuse my hand, then?” said
Bonaparte, with a threatening tone.
Josephine smiled. “On tho contrary,
general,” said she, “give me your hand
and accompany me to my carriage, which
has been waiting for me this long time.”
“That means to dismiss me! You close
upon me the door of your drawing-room ?
exclaimed Bonaparte, with warmth.
She shook her head, and bowing before
him with her own irresesistible-grace, said
w fell in tangled disorder on either | in a friendly manner, “I am too good a
j of his temples over his sallow, hollow patriot not to be proud of seeing the con
’s; whoso whole sickly and gloomy ! queror of Toulon in my drawing room
. latency tlian sho generally showed
j*r suitors.
■mid the general silence of all thoso
^ D t,the young general (26 years old)
!i:eil the drawing-room of the Viscount-
jpauhamais; and this silence, how-
« r flittering it might be to bis pride,
iused him a slight embarrassment. He
I- rtfore approached the beautiful widow
FLv a wr t*in abrupt and perplexed man-
,J‘ r a nd spoke/to lier in that hasty and
uporioM tone which might become a
Jcrnl, but which did not seem appro
ve in a lady’s saloon. Gen. Pichcgru,
, stood near Josephine, smiled, and
n her amiable countenance was over-
•j ! with a slight expression of scorn,
iie fixed her beautiful eyes on this
. thin, little man, whose long, smooth
-aRinoo bore so little resemblance to
majestic figure of the lion to which ho
4 been so often compared after his auc-
* of the thirteenth Yendemnire.
-lpcroeivo,general,” suddenly explnim-
iJosephine, “that you are sorry it was
To-morrow I have an evening reception
and I invite you to be present, general.’
From this day Bonaparte visited Jose
phine daily; she was certain to meet him
everywhere. At first she sought to avoid
_____ ____ - _ him, but he always knew with cunning
duty to fill Pavis once more with j foresight how to bailie her efforts, and to
.land horror. You would undoubted- ; overcome all difficulties which she threw
iavc preferred not to be obliged to car-1 in his way. Was she at her friend The-
juttne bloody orders of the affrighted ! rose’s, she could safely reckon that Gen
mention ?” ’ J eral Bonaparte would soon make his ap-
*That is very possible,” said he. “But; pearance and come near her with his eyes
at can you expect madam ? We mili- beaming with joy, and in his own ener-
rrrnen are but tho automatons which j getic language speak to her of his love
covernmont sets in motion according 1 aud hopes. Was she to be present at the
is good pleasure; we know only how ; reception of the five monnrehs of Paris, it
V.\ The sections, however, can not! was General Bonaparte who waited for
c congratulate themselves that I have ! her at tho door of the hall to offer his arm
wd them so much. Nearly all my 1 and lead her amid the respectful, retreat
gas were loaded only with powder. | isg, and gently applauding crowd to her
listed to give a little lesson to the ; s-m, where he stood by her, drawing upon
iiano. Th« whole affair was nothing her the attention of all. Did she take a
| the impress of my seal on France, drive, at the accustomed hour, in the
tii skirmishes are only the vespers of j Champ Elysees, she was confident soon to
ifrne. j see General Bonaparte on his gay horse,
otephine felt irritated, excited by the 1 gallop at her side, followed by his bril-
Jncss with Which Napoleon spoke of I liant staff, himself the object of public
t daughter of that day; and her eyes, admiration and universal respect, and,
vnrise so full of gentleness, were now i finally, if she went to the theatre, General
Amed with the flashes of anger. j Bonaparte never failed to appear m her
-Oh,” cried she, “if you must purchase j lodge, to remain near her during the per-
iaeatsuch a price, I would sooner you ' formnnee, and when she left, to offer his
j*one of the victims. * arm to accompany her to her carriage.
Bonaparte looked at her with astonish- It could not fail that this pereevering
sat, but as he perceived her flushed homage of the renowned and universally
detk and flashing eyes, the sight of her i admired young general should make a
iuty ravished him, and n soft, pleasant [ deep and flattering impression on Jose-
oilssuddenly illuminated his counten- j phine’s heart, and fill her with pride and
act He answered her violent attack; joy. But Josephine made resistance to
Ita fight pfesantry, and with gladsome j this feelingshe endeavored to shield
stSecfedness he gave tho conversation > herself from it by maternal love. ^
rwthcr turn. The small, pale, gloomy I She sent for lier children from their re-
itaeral was at onoe changed into a young, spectivc schools, and. with her nearly
apassioued, amiable cavalier; 'whoso ; grown up son on one side, and her daugh-
.nteuance grew beautiful under the j ter, budding into maidenhood, on the
sparkling intelligence which animated it, ' other, she thus presented herself to the
lid whoso enchanting eloquence made general, and with an enchanting smile,
Ms conversation attractive and lively,; said: “ See, general, how old i am, with
coring with it tho conviction of a su-. a grown-up son and daughter who soon
prrior mind. i can make me a grandmother.
After tho visitors who had met that 1 But Bonaparte, with a heartfelt emo-
.norningin Josephine's drawing-room had tion, reached his hand to Eugene and
departed, the General remained, nofcwith- g^id: “A man who can call so worthy a
standing the astonished and questioning youth as this his son, is to be envied.”
'*>ks of the viscountess, paying no ntten-1 ^ cunning, smiling expression of the
m to her remarks about the fine weather,! c ., e Tev ealetl to Josephine that he had un-
r her intention to enjoy a promenade. j derstoodher war-stratagem—that neither
with rapid steps and arms folded be- t j ic g rott - n -up son nor the marriageable
his back he paced a few times to daughter could deter him from his object.
*« fro the room; then, standing, before j j£ SO phine at last was won by so much
/4-jphine, he fixed on her a searching I j ove an( j tenderness, but she could not
- j yet acknowledge that the wounds of her
. MadamJr said he suddenly, with a i iear t were closed; that she could trust in
^'1 of rough tone, “I have a proposition l ia ppi ne s.', and devote her life to a new
make; ouvfl mo vour hand. Bo rnv to a’new future. She shrank timidly
away from such a shaping of her destiny;
and even the persuasions of her friends
and relatives, even the father of her de
ceased husband, could not bring her to a
decision.
The state of her mind is depicted in a
letter which Josephine wrote to her friend
Madame de Chateau Rcnaud, and which
describes in a great measure the strange
i uncertainty of her heart:
Fate!” said Bonaparte, with nnima- j “You have seen Gen. Bonaparte at my
Son. * i house. Well, then, he is tne one who
"Yes, fate mv general 1” repented Jose- wishes to bo father of tho orphans of
sniiHng." "But let ns speak no Alexandre do Bcauliarnais and the| hus-
** Of this. It is enough that fate for-! band of his widow ‘Do £>?
twtfh* wife -General Bona- you will ask. Mell.no. ‘Do you fee
vou would any repugnance towards him ? hut
I feel in a state of vacillation and doubt,
a state very disagreenblotome,and whi ch
the devout in religious matters consider
to be the most scandalizing. As love is a
kind of worship, one ought in its presence
to feel animated by other feelings than
general I cannot be vour wife, those I now experience and therefore I
^ I am destined to bo queen bf Franco long for your advice, winch might bring
- ucsuuou i constant indecision of my nnnd to a
j fixed conclusion. To adopt a firm course
; lias always appeared to my creole non-
cahhincc something beyond reach, aud I
find it infinitely more convenient to he
led by the will of another.
’make; give mo your hand. Be my
V
Josephine looked at him, half astonish-
$ half irritated. “Is it a joke you are
•hili
gmg ui
?” said she.
"I apeak in all earnestness,” said Bona-
sute, warmly. '‘Will you do, me the
: aor of giving mb your hand ?”
"Sir,” said she, “who knows if I might
- J tbe inclined to accept your distinguished
&T, if, unfortunately, fate stood not in
Way of your wishes?’’
me to be the
P*rte. I can say no more, for vr
4u 8h at me.
out you would laugh at me if you
' j Bld turn me away with so vague an an-
Jter,” cried Bonaparte, with vivacity. “I
you exnlain the meaning of your
*ords.” ’I
n, general, I car
■ queer
, •• ]”-iliaps more than queen !”
t It was now Bonaparte’s turn to np-
astonished and irritated, and, using
own words, he said, shrugging his
'Boaldorg; “Madam, is it a joke you
^mdnli
, ‘1 speak in all earnestness,” said Jose- “I admire the courage of the general;
- . Shaking her head. “Listen, then: I am surprised at his ample knowledge,
f •Wgro woman ill Martinique foretold my which enables him to speak mientiv on
-ftun*, and as her oracular words have every subject; at the vivacity Ol «is
^ far hern fulfilled: I must conclude genius, which enables him to guess at the
the rest of her prophecies concerning thought of others before they are express-
be realized M I ed ; but I am ftigbtened at the power lie
Aii.I what has she prophesied to you?” seems to exercise over every one who
Bonaparte, eagerlv comes near him. His searching look has
'ho has told me : ‘You will one day something strange, which I cannot cxplaiu,
’ aiein of France ! You will be still but which has a controlling influence even
. r -than queen.upon our directors; judge, therefore, of
.^general was silent. He had re- bis influence oyer a woman. Finally, the
’ ‘‘“ed standing ; buC now slowly paced very thing which might please the vio
lence of his passion, of which he speaks
with so much energy, and which admits of
no doubt—that passion is exactly what
creates in me the unwillingness I have so
often been ready to express.
“ The first bloom of youth lies behind
me. Can I therefore hope that this pas
sion, which in Gen. Bonaparte resembles
an attack of madness, will last long? If
after our union he should cease to love
me, would he not reproach me for what
he had done ? Would he not regret that
he had not made another and more bril
liant union ? What could I then answer?
What could I do ? I could weep. ‘A
splendid remedy!’ I could hear you say.
I know well that weeping is useless, hut
to weep has been tho only resource which
I could find when iny poor heart, so easily
wounded, has been hurt Write to me a
long letter, and do not fear to scold me if
you think I am wrong. You know well
that everything which comes from you is
agreeable to me.”
After their marriage and the successful
campaign in Italy, the happy pair enjoyed
each other’s society for a brief time at
Montebello, when occurred the following
characteristic scene:
All Italy did homage to the conqueror,
and it was, therefore, very natnral the
sculptors and painters should endeavor to
draw some advantage from this enthu
siasm for its deliverer, and that they
should endeavor to represent to the admi
rers of Bonaparate his peculiar form of
countenance.
But Bonaparte did not like to have his
portrait painted. The startling, watchful
gazo of an artist was an annoyance to
him; it made him restless and anxious,
as if he feared that the scrutinizing look
at his face might read the secrets of his
soul. Yet at Josephine’s tender and
pressing request he had consented to its
being taken by a young painter, LeGros,
whose distinguished talent had been
brought to his notice.
Le Gros came, therefore, to Montebello,
happy in the thought that he could im
mortalize himself through a successful
portrait of the hero whom he honored
with all the enthusiasm of a young heart.
But he waited in vain three days for Bo
naparte to give him a sitting. The general
laid not .in' iii-tant to .-pare ibr the tin-
5'minute young artist
At last, at Josephine’s pressing request,
Bonaparte consented on the fourth day
to sit for him one quarter of an hour af
ter breakfast Le Gros came, therefore,
delighted, at the time appointed into the
cabinet of Josephine, and had his easel
ready, awaiting the moment when Bona
parte should elt in th» arm-ohair opposite.
But alas! the painter’s hopes were not to
be realized. The general could not bring
himself to sit in that arm-chair doing
nothing but keeping his head quiet, so
that the painter might copy his features.
He had no sooner been seated than he
sprang up suddenly, and declared it was
quite impossible to endure such martyr-
om.
Le Gros dared not repeat lus request,
but, with tears in his eyes, gathered up
hispninting materials. Josephine smiled.
“I sec very well,” said she, “that I must
have recourse to some extraordinary
means to save for me and for posterity a
portrait of the hero of Areola.”
She sat down in her arm chair, and
beckoned to Le Gros to have his easel in
readiness. Then with a tender voice she
called Napoleon to her, and opening both
This was rather a sacrifice for a young
artist like myself, who had just found a
charming subject for a picture, and was
setting to work on it with all the ardor of
the fust moments of inspiration. But
never mind, thought I; the idea may be
better worked out' if I give it time to
grow, as it were, in my mind, ard in the
meanwhile who knows what pretty Christ
mas scenes I may discover in my rum
blings.
At this moment we heard tho postman’s
knock, and the recreant Jane appeared
with a smutty visage :...d u . 1 letters.—
One was for me, the other for my wife.
•‘Ah! it’s from Kate,” she exclaimed,
breaking the seal, wliile I applied myself
to the reading of my own missive.
Its contents were «f a most astounding
nature, and I was still engaged in deci
phering tho crabbed handwriting when
my wife made a second exclamation.
“Kato says they arc coming the day
before Christmas Eve. You must go to
the seven o’clock train to meet them.—
From whom is your letter?”
“My dear,” I replied, “it is a most re
markable tiling, and very unfortunate
under the present circumstances.”.
“ Go on,” said my wile, resignedly.”
“ This letter is from my uncle James,
volunteering to ^iay us a visit.” My wife
gave a little scream of dismay. “Of
course,” said I, “ we can’t put him off.—
It’s the first time he has ever offered to
come to see us; in fact, itis the first notice
he has taken of us since wd were married.”
“ He here, and no servant 1” murmured
my wife, distractedly; “aud his curry, and
mullagatawny, and the dher hot things!
He won’t get anything to eat here that he
likes.”
“Your mention of a servant reminds
me that he has a black fketorum, who is
with him evt rvwl.cre: in fact, is lii.i very
shadow. Now, he’d be able to tell j;ou
his master’s tastes. I hope he’ll bring
him.”
“Good gracious, Edward, are you
crazy?” she began; “I lope to goodness
he won’t,” when a cry vas heard over
head. “That’s baby,” she continued; “I
must go and fetch him. Dear me, I hope
your uncle has no objection to babies.”
She ran up stairs, and presently re
turned with the young gentleman, who
was quickly pacified when his breakfast
was placed before him, and was speedily
absorbed in making a hearty meal.
“ Well, I shall go and answer the let
ter,” said I, rising from the table. “I
must say we shall he very happy to see
him, and so, ladeed, we shall, ‘bating the
circumstance' os Paddy would wiy.”
“An idea las just struck me,” exclaim
ed my wife, ‘a most splendid idea. Mrs.
Jones, the washerwoman, has a little girl
about ten or twelve; now, she’d be better
than nothiEg. I’ll go there this morning
and get her to come and help.
“Truly r. luminous thought. Well,
good luck to your undertaking. I hope
you may get her,” said I; and I addressed
myself to answering uncle James’ letter.
But alas! for the fallacy of human
hopes. When we met at the dinner table
1 a-ki‘} mv wile what micci -s .-lie had.—
She tried to smile, but it was a very rue
ful attempt, as she replied, “Betsy Jones
has the measles!”
“And so vanisheth the last hope,” said
I. “We must do the best we can unaided.”
“I wouldn’t mind so much about the
girls,” my wife said, “but your uncle is so
particular, i know he is—all tlio.-e old
Do
arms, she drew him down on her lap, and Indians are; and, of course, he has every-
in this way she induced him to sit quietly thing in first-rate order at home.”
a few minutes and allow the painter tlCf] “Indeed ho has,” said I; at least so I
sight of his face, thus enabling him riay.Jiavc heard. Everything is done by clock-
sketch the portrait. iernorWk. Every meal is punctual to the
At the end of this peculiar sitting piute. Ho has a troop of servants be-
naparte smilingly promised that he T.nr,j 3 _ j be.the Indian, who manages everything
next day grant the painter a second one, relating to his master’s coinfort. More-
provided Josephine would again have the
“extraordinary means” ready. She con
sented, and for four days in succession
Le Gros was enabled to sit before him a
quarter of an hour and throw upon the
canvas the features of the general, while
he sat quietly on Josephine’s lap.
The picture which LeGros thus painted,
thanks to the sweet ruse of Josephine, and
which was scattered throughout Europe
in copperplate prints, represented Bona
parte vitn uncovered head, holding a
standard in his hand, and with face turned
toward his soldiers, calling on them to
follow him as he dashed on tho bridge of
Areola amid a shower of Austrian halls.
It is a beautiful and imposing picture,
and contemporaries praise it for its like
ness to the hero; but no one could believe
that this pale, grave countenance, these
gloomy eyes and earnest lips, which seem
incapable of a smile, were those of Bona
parte as ho sat on the lap of his beloved
Josephine when Le Gros was painting it.
A DOMESTIC DILEMMA.
“And wliat we shall do, I don’t know.”
So my wife ended a catalogue of do
mestic grievances, the head and front of
which was that Jane, our household
tyrant, had consummated a long career of
offeuces by giving notice to leave exactly
month before Christmas Ev&
“And what we shall do, I don’t know,”
repeated my wife. “Not a servant is to
be had for love or money. None will take
a place before Christmas, and your cousins
are coming, you know, to spend their holi-
u*s with us*. How am 1 to make them
comfortable without a servant?
Write and put them off, Alice,”said L
I don’t like to do that,” she said.—
The poor girls have been looking for-
ard to coming all the half year, and it
... certainly very dull for them at home.
No, they must come, and we must do the
best wo can.”
“When do they break up? ’ I asked.
“ To-day I believe,” she replied; ‘ but
hether tliev come on here at once or go
ome first I don’t know. I suppose we
shall hear from them to-day or to-morrow.
I am afraid they will find it avcjry stupid
visit.”
“ Well,” said I, “I must take them out
as much as I can. It will only be steal
ing a little of my time from the picture;
and I dare say the holiday will ao me as
much good as it will them.
over, 1 understand that he is a most
crochetty old fellow, and fancies himself a
great invalid.”
“Well, I’m thankful that I do know
something about cooking,” said my wife;
“and as to the Indian dishes, I must learn
how to make them.”
And truly I saw her busily engaged all
tho afternoon with the cookery book—a
venerable authority—and for supper that
night, and for dinner and supper for sev
eral days, the result of her studies was ap
parent, by the addition of Indian dishes
to the ordinary meal. There is a little
work published on the different ways (I
think from ono to two hundred) in which
a rabbit may be cooked. How I pity the
family of that worthy lady, the author
ess! How sho must have experimen
talized on them during the time she w as
forming her recipes! However, I waanot
afflicted to an equal extent; though be
tween the repasts I have named I was
frequently called upon to taste several
compounds, and anxiously asked if I
thought they were hot enough.
Uncle Janies was a rich old bachelor,
who had returned from India only just
before I had married, so that I had only
seen him a few times. From his large
house, his great wealth, aud his numerous
servants, he was a formidable visitor to a
young couple just beginning life very
quietly and economically, in a small
house, and with one servant. Judge,
then, how, in such a dilemma as ours, we
dreaded his arrival.
I went at the appointed time to the sta
tion, and met the girls. IV lien we were
seated round the tea table my wife said,
“ My dear girls, I really don’t know how
we shall be able to amuse you. I am
afraid you will have a dull visit. Fancy
our misfortunes! Our servant goes to
morrow, and I can’t get another.”
“Never mind,” replied Kate, “I am sure
we shall do capitally. ^1 can amuse my
self wherever I go and whatever I do.”
“But where is baby, that we have not
seen him yet ?” inquired Fanny.
“Fast asleep, or you would have heard
his voice long ago,” replied my wife.—
“But, my dear girls, do you know who is
coming to spend Christmas with us?”
“Who, Alice ?” said Kate. “The IN
or the Lama of Thibet?”
“Chang, or Anack, or the Emperor of
China?” chimed in Fanny.
“Neither,” said Alice. “WTiat do you
say to uncle James.?”
‘The Pope,
“Uncle James!” they exclaimed,
you really mean it?”
“I really mean it,” said Alice; “and I
shall have no servant.”
“Why, what will you do ?” said Kate.
“Be my own servant,” said Alice.
“Then I will help you, said Kate. “Do
let me, Alice. I should like it so much 1”
“And I will take care of baby,” said
Fanny. “I am so fond of babies 1”
“What am I to do, ladies ?” I inquired;
“you seem to be portioning out employ
ments for every one.”
“You shall amuse uncle, and walk out
with him, and make yourself generally
useful,” they replied.
“I wonder what he will be like ?” said
Fanny; “I have only seen him once.—
Whether he will be crusty, and choleric,
and impatient, like the Indian in the
‘Bengal Tiger,’ or else one of the benevo
lent kind of old gentlemen.”
“Let us hope the latter,” said I.
“To-morrow I must decorate the house
with holly,” cried Kate. “I hope they
will bring some to the door.”
“There is a lot in the back kitchen,”
said my wife; “I have had no time to put
it up yet.”
“Then it shall be done the very first
thing,” said Fanny, “and you shall see
skill in decorations.”
Next morning came a letter from my
uncle to say he would be with us in the
afternoon. I went again to the station.
Out of the train stepped the colonel, with
out the black servant. As he had very
little luggage wo quickly got into a cab,
and were on our way home.
“What a cold winter it is!” said my
uncle; “very had for the poor, very. Have
you any soup kitchens here?”
I was astonished. This was the cross-
grained, selfish old bachelor, the Indian
hypochondriac; this bright looking old
gentlemen, with the cheery voice and good
humored eyes, who kept on asking me
questions about coal tickets, blanket
funds, and other charities.
Well, I conducted him into the house,
and introuced him to Alice. Kate and
Fanny he had seen before. Then I took
him to his room and told him that dinner
would be ready as soon as he was. In the
meantime Alice had put the dinner on the
table, and, very becomingly dressed, was
ready, when my uncle appeared, for him
to take her to her place. All dinner time
Uncle James talked most agreeably, and
actually took notice of baby, who, tied in
his high chair, ■eat at the table and be
haved admirably. After dinner the
Colonel returned to his room, and brought
back with him a parcel. The parcel,
heing untied, proved to contain a hand
some Indian shawl, which he begged my
wife to accept as a Christmas present.—
That evening we all, except Alice and
baby, went to the theatre.
“Having once embarked in public en
tertainment,” Uncle James declared next
day, “I mean to continue in it.” Therefore
he determined to take us a complete
round of pantomimes. But he was not
satisfied with the species of amusement
only. We must go to the Polytechnic
and revel in ghost scenes; Madame Tus-
saud’s latest additions required to be in
spected, and, in short, everything that was
to be seen we were to see.
The girls had declared that they had
never before spent such pleasant holli-
dsys, and, really, my uncle never seemed
so happy as when he was taking them to
some place of amusement. I was begin
ning to doubt the existence bf the Indian,
and believe the story of his being always
at his master’s elbow to he a myth, when
one day the Colonel spoke of him.
“Poor fellow!” said he; “he was a fine
man and a splendid soldier. Unluckly,
he met with a misfortune ono day. A
tiger sprang upon him and was carrying
him oif to the jungle, when a comrade, a
most expert shot, contrived to fire at the
animal and wounded him mortally, with
out wounding the man ; but the poor fel
low was so injured that he was never fit
for service after. So I took him to wait
on me; in short, to do any light work he
might be capable of. Se was a most
grateful, attached creature, actually would
not leave when I came to England,
so I was obliged to bring him with me.
He wanders about the house, doing just
whatever he chooses. It pleases him to
bo considered my confidential servant, and
he likes to wait on me as much as I will
let him. But, dear mo, I don’t want
waiting upon in such a climate as this.”
The time of my uncle’s and my cousins’
visit drew to an end all too swiftly. He
had declared he must go home on the
same day as they did, that it was absolu
tely necessary. But it is my private
opinion that the important business he
referred to was duly seeing them safely
over part of their journey as far as where
a branch line took him to his own home.
The last evening came. We were sit
ting around the fire, with rather a mel
ancholy feeling that it was the last of our
pleasant Christmas, when Uncle James
took out of his pocket three parcels. One
of them he handed to Kate, and another
to Fanny; the third lie kept in his hand.
“A little present, my dear,” said he
“from an old man, who likes to see young
folks happy.”
“A thousand thanks, dear uncle!” said
they. “How kind of you l How beauti
ful!” 1
Kate’s present was a handsome brooch
and a pair of bracelets; Fanny’s a “lovely
brooch”—this is Alice’s expression—“with
a pair of earrings to match.
“And now as to this young man,” con
tinued Uncle James, turning to Alice,
and placing his hand on baby’s head; “I
couldn’t tell what to do. I know nothing
of childeru’s wants and acquirements. I
had some indistinct ideas about coral, but
whether it ought to be a necklace, or in
any other form, was the difficulty; so I
thought I could not go very far wrong in
getting him what will be useful some
day.” ° Hereupon he opened a little box,
and took out a gold watch and chain,
which he hung round baby’s neck. “Now
mind, girls,” he continued, turning to
them, and not allowing himself to be
thanked, “you spend your next holidays
with me, remember. You other people
who don’t go to school I shall expect be
fore; but as for you I insist on your com
ing at midsummer.”
“Thank you, uncle,” cried the girls “it
will he so nice."
“You shall have ponies to ride on if
you like, and there are all my Indian cu-
A Story on Cambell Wallace.
riosities for you to see, by-the-hy,” he
said, suddenly turning to Alice, “I must
compliment you on your Indian cookery,
It is really excellent; better than anything
I have had for a long time. You must
have a very clever cook.”
“Will you allow me to introduce you
to her ?” said I.
“Certainly,” replied my uncle, rather
puzzled. “She must be a most worthy
woman. I wish my cook were as good.”
“Behold her then!” I said, putting my
hand on .Alice’s shoulder.
“Bless me, you don’t mean to say so 1”
exclaimed Uncle James, in surprise, as
Alice laughed and blushed. “Then
madam, all I can say is that your cookery
does you credit and me honor,” and he
bowed profoundly.
“The fact is, uncle, that we only keep
one servant,” said I.
“Very wise and prudent,” nodded my
uncle. “Gon on.”
“Our late domestic took it into her
head to better herself, as sho expressed it
and badly suited as were before, in bet
tering herself she left us worse off, for we
were unable to supply her place.”
“And do you really mean to say that
you have been •without a servant all this
time J” exclaimed Uncle James.
“Yes, not even a charwoman,” laughed
Alice.
“Nor Betsy Jones, who caught the
measles,” I added.
“Then I tell you what, my boy,” said
he, and he looked at me seriously, “I tell
you what—I think you have married a
wonderful woman. Why, what a won
derful cook she is!” and he turned to
look at Alice again.
“And this is my little liomemaid,” said
Alice, placing her hand on Kate’s head.
“And there sits the nurse,” I added,
glancing at Fanny.
“Well, Iliad no idea that I was staying
in the same house with such clever peo
ple,” said Uncle James. “But my poor
children, you must have been saddly
overworked.”
“Not I,” smiled Alice, “with such skil
ful helpers.”
“And I am sure I never had such fun
in all my life,” added Elate.
“Nor I,” chimed in Fanny.
Our visitors departed next morning,
and the afternoon of the same day Alice
was fortunate enough to engage a servant,
We soon went to stay with Uncle
James, whom we lerned to admire and
esteem more and more the longer we
knew him,
To make a long story short it seems
that Uncle James, though so rich himself
and so profusely liberal in the arrange
ments of his household, was a great friend
to economy in young people. In fact it
was quite a hobby of his. He had paid
us that visit at Christmas to see for him
self how we lived. Pleased at the idea
that we only kept one servant, whifch he
thoaght must be the case from never
having seen one about the house, he was
perfectly charmed to know how Alice
could manage in such an emergency as
ours. He offered to educate our boy,
who always spends part of his hollidays
with Uncle James; for, as he said, all he
had would be his some day. It is a very
trite saying, that great events spring from
little causes; but it was exemplified in all
this having arisen from our domestic di
lemma.
^ i i $ —
Got. Gilmer on Household Economy.
After Governor Gilmer, of Georgia,
retired from office, he went to his old
home in Lexington. He had a penchant
for old irons, such as plough-shares, old
carriage irons, grindstones, cranks, old
shovels, and the odds and ends of planta
tion tools. Attending the sales of estates,
ho accumulated an ox cart load or two
of such stufl’, which lie dumped down in
the corner of his yard near his dwelling,
very much to the annoyance of his wife.
The pile kept increasing. She determined
to make way with it, and one day,
(Sheriff’s sale day,) sent it to the court
yard, (with the knowledge of the Sheriff,
who loved a joke) to be sold to the highest
bidder. Governor Gilmer that morning
rode out of town a mile or two, and was
returning as the Sheriff was proceeding
with the sales. Catching the eye of the
Governor, who was looking on, he pointed
to him the lot of old irons, and requested
him to make a hid, make an offer for
them.
“Good,” said Governor Gilmer, “I have
some peices at home that will match ex
actly. I bid ten dollars for them.”
“Ten dollars! ten dollars! repeated the
Sheriff—no body bids more—they are
yours, Governor.”
Delighted with the purchase, he paid
ten dollars, and left them in the yard for
future movement. The Sheriff paid the
ten dollars to Mrs. Gilmer. In a few
days she bought a handsome bonnet, and
the Governor, admiring it very much,
said:
“My dear, where did you get that pretty
bonnet? It Is beautiful and becomes
you.” ’
“Don’tit, husband, don’t it ? I bought
it with the ten dollars you paid for your
old iron trash!”
The Governor wilted—he was sold by
his own wife.
But time cured the chagrin, and the
good Governor had frequently to join in
the laugh at his own expense over the lit
tle incident.
££TA codfish, weighing forty pounds, re
cently fell a victim to his own gluttony, at
Little Harbor, N. H. He got into a weir,
and was helping himself to the small fry,
when he was left high and dry by the tide.
When opened, thirty-three fish were found
in his stomach, none of them decomposed.
Dover, England, was enabled by a
mirage, a few days ago, to see Bologne, in
France, distinctly with the naked eye, and
with » telescope the windows of bouses, and
inhabitants could be clearly discerned. A
railroad train was watched for several miles
of its journey towards Calais.
Many years ago, Major Wallace, while
President of the East Tennessee and
Georgia Railroad, chanced to he travelling
over the line in a car where there were
but passengers, seated opposite the stove
wrapped up in his shawl and meditations
connected with the gigantic job, which
he had undertaken, (building a railroad
without money,) when night came on.
Presently, in bounded a brakeman, loud
ly slaming the door behind him—one of
those country geniuses, who with a laud
able ambitiou had, a day or two ago,
abandoned the girls, the fiddle, and the
ploughtail, to “climb in the world,” to
become a brakeman. He had been the
king bee at all the neighborhood frolics,
at the house raisings, and at the cross
roads doggery fighting ground, and now
he felt sure that he was a king bee on
railroads. Strutting up to the stove he
slammed down his lantern, kicked up the
mud from his huge boots on the footboard
of tho seat, spit tobacco juice copiously
and noisily on the hissing stove, crossed
his muscular thighs, took a survey of the
aforesaid boots, with harness leather
straps, and then bethought himself of
tho “customer” sitting opposite, on whom
he proceeded to bestow a lengthened, crit
ical and saucy look, as thought lie
doubted the “customer’s” right to be in
the coach at ali. At length lie sought
knowledge:
• “Whar arc you gwine, Mister ?”
“To Dalton, sir,” responded the Major.
“Preacher, ain’t you?”
“No, sir, I am not; but why do you
ask?”
“Oh! nothing, only by 1 thought I
saw ‘Hark from the tombs’ sticken’ out
all over you like the measils. You know
me, I reckon ?”
“I am sorry to say that I do not.”
“Well, I’ll jist he dam; why, whar the
devil wer you raised?”
“At Maryville, East Tennessee.”
“Oh 1 that excuses you, for if ever I
beam tell of that setllement afore, I wish
I may he durned, and I know everyplace,
Idus.”
“You seemed to be well acquainted with
the place you are now occupying, ren: ark-
ed the Major, almost choking with efforts
to surpress his laughter.
“What place (lo you mean Mister?
This yere, red bainch kivered with the
dried* skins of cows’ tongues or my
office?”
“I alluded to your office, and by the
way, what is your position on this road?”
“Brakeman, hv the jumpin’ geminy. I
tho’t everybody knowed that; brakeman
over the Yeast Tennessee and Georgia
Railroad.”
“Unfortunately I did not know it,” re
plied the Major.
“Well, you’d dam soon foun’ the fac’
out if you’d a cut up any shines roun’
yere, huggin wimmen, or cussin, of trying
to steal anybody’s carpet-bag, or talkin’
sassy to the conductor or sich. Why, I’d
chucked yor head foremost thru that
winder, like dartin clapboards through
the cracks ov a barn, for I mean to ruu
this here train on morril principles, I dus.
An you didn’t know I was the brakeman
ov this yero railroad ?”
“Indeed, sir, I did not.”
“Well, old Slideasy, all I have got to
say is that for a man ov your look, you
no less than anybody I ever saw. How
do you manage to make a living, eny-
how?”
'I receive a salary; I am President of
this road; Wallace is my name. Bnt I
have not the pleasure of knowing yours;
will you he kind enough to inform me?”
All symptoms of‘kingbee’ disappeared
at this thunderbolt announcement, and in
their stead, timid humilty, crushed pride
of place, a strong get way desire, and a
most confounded hang dog look.
An Alabama Editor Silled.
the attorney general elect commits
THE DEED.
Radicalism defies the laws of God and
man, and allows nothing to stand in its way.
The following is taken from the Mobile Reg
ister of Friday morning, and is especially
commended to the attention of Gen. Shep
herd and Gen. Meade:
By a gentleman just from Butler, we learn
that on Tuesday last our friend, N. E. Thom
as, editor of the Choctaw Herald, was mur
dered in a most cowardly manner by Joshua
Morse, the Attorney-General elect of the
scalawag oligarchy which the so-called Con-
greeg at ’Washington has just voted to recog
nize as the lawful government of what was
the State of Alabama. He was assisted by
one Wm. Gilmore, a less eminent member of
the gang of renegade white men, but well
enough known.
Mr. Thomas has not been backward in ex
pressing 4:!s opinion of these creatures, and
it seems that they took the occasion of the
absence of his friends on a fishing excursion
or something of the sort, so visit him at his
office and provoke a difficulty. Gilmore
made the commencement and brought on an
altercation, which resulted in Thomas Bring
a pistol at him. Morse, who had kept in the
back-ground, appears by this time to have
provided himself with a double-barreled
gun, with which he fired twice upon Thomas,
lodging thirty-eight buckshot in h:s body,
causing his death within halt an hour. Both
the assassins immediately lied, and it is un
derstood that they have made their way to
Atlanta to shelter themselves under the pro
tection of General Meade from the vengeance
of the people of Butler, among whom and
throughout the neighborhood where Mr.
Thomas, being highly and deservedly es
teemed, there is much excitement.
Vooiuifes and Chase.—The Pendletoni-
ans, par erceUance, are beginning to grow
furious at the formidable dimensions which
the Chase movement is assuming. They are
specially incensed against Mr. Voorheea,
whom they charge with having written let
ters to each of the Indiana delegates to the
New York Convention, and urging them to
drop Pendleton and declare for Chase. They
say that Voorhees pursues this c< urse because
be is jealous of Pendleton’s popi larity in the
West, and because he knows that if Pendleton
should be nominated in New York and elected
in November next, he (Voothees) would be
left out in the cold, and receive neither a
Cabinet appointment nor a first class foreign
mission.—N. T. Times.
gf~Two vessels brought 1800 emraigrant*
to New York on last Saturday.
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