[For The Sunny South.]
THE STONE MOUNTAIN.
BY ALEXANDER MEANS, D.D.
The Stone Mountain is a huge and almost anomalous
projection of solid syenitic granite, shooting up in soli
tary grandeur from an extensive outcrop of the granite
stratum which extends from New England through New
Jersey, Maryland, Virginia, North and South Carolina,
and Georgia—terminating near the Tombigbee Kiver, in
Alabama. Its base approaches within one-half mile of the
Georgia Railroad, and is estimated at seven miles in cir
cuit. Its elevation has been reported by Mr. George
White, in his "Statistics of Georgia,” at two thousand
two hundred and twenty-six feet abov the small creek
which runs near its base. The nort rn exposure pre
sents an almost unbroken mural pre pice of perhaps one
thousand feet in height. Altogether, it strikes the eye
of the traveler as a grand, solemn, naked and unique
monstrosity, which has attracted the gaze and com
manded the attention of admiring thousands
as it does, in the midst of wide-spread and luxuriant for
ests and cultivated fields, and forty miles remote from
the Kennesaw Mountain—the nearest considerable eleva
tion, and one of the spurs of Alleghany range.
many dungeons and castles, among them the
[ Castle of Joux. But how was it with Sophie de
It was in the month of May, 1775, that Mira-
beau, by order of the old Marquis, was removed
from the Castle of If, where he had for some
months been imprisoned, to the Castle of Joux.
Joux was an old castle among the Jura moun
tains—solitary, frowning, grand—in the midst
of a country wild, rugged, mad, like the tiger
faced man coming here to be imprisoned in the
castle. Not far from the castle is the little bor
ough of Pontarlier. Mirabeau was permitted to
walk hither, on his parole; as often as he '.‘hose.
And hither he did walk, too often for his own
rest— often enough to add one more line to the
great history of human tragedy.
At Pontarlier lived old President Monnier,
now verging on four-score years. In the house
with him lived a beautiful young woman, scarcely
out of her teens,— Sophie de Monnier, people
country. Mirabeau had come a great distance,
“disguised as a porter.” “And they flew into
each other's arms, to weep their child dead, their
long, unspeakable woes? Not at all. They stood,
arms stretched oratorically, calling one another
to account for causes of jealousy; grew always
louder, arms set a-kimbo, and parted—never to
meet more on earth.
“In September. 1789, Mirabeau had risen to
W a world's wonder; and Sophie, far from him,
had sunk out of the world’s sight, respected
only in the little town of Gien. On the ninth
night of September, while Mirabeau was thun
dering in the Versailles Salle des Menus, to be
reported of all journals on the morrow: and
Sophie, twice disappointed of new marriage, the
sad-heroic temper darkened now into perfect
black, was reclining, self-tied to her sofa, with
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
A Subscriber (Jefferson) writes: “I am a
youth of eighteen years (just entering the junior
class in college) and desperately in love with a
beautiful and most estimable young lady of six
teen years, and she loves me very much too.
Mr. Seals, we both want to marry. What do you
advise me to do,—marry or complete my course
of study?” . . . Complete your college course
by all means. Guess she don't “want to marry”
too bad to wait on you awhile. Plenty of time
after your college days to realize the pleasures
or miseries of the matrimonial yoke.
L., Athens. Georgia, asks: “What say you to
the marriage of a couple where the young lady
is the elder? To follow the example of some of
a pan of charcoal burning near, to die as the the eminent English authors, such a relation of
unhappy die.” ages would constitute no objection: but I*d like
And now, when we say that Sophie de Ruffey to have your opinion on the matter.” . . . The
—standing called her, wife of the old President, for they was less guilty than old Monnier, less guilty man should always be the elder by several years,
xuriant for* had been married some four years before, accord- even than society (because society made this lest the lady assert her superiority by virtue of
ing to all the forms of the law. How came it so? tragedy possible—nay, even certain), dost thou
AN APOSTROPHE TO THE STONE MOUNTAIN.
Great granite monster! ■whence thy birth?
What age upheav'd thy giant form ?
Why has the rent and lab’ring earth
Disgorg’d thee, bare to sun and storm?
Why cling’st thou to her breast disowned—
A naked outcast, scath’d and peal'd—
While smiling plains her lap has nurs’d
Are crown’d with wealth of wood and field?
A foundling, flung without a name
’Mid winds and skies to stand alone,
What paps have nurs'd thy Titan frame?
What Gorgon glance, transform’d to stone?
Thy natal hour no mem’ries reach,—
Far lost in a jirimeval age,
When fire and flood, in fearful breach
Of pristine order, shot their rage.
Upheav’d to heav’n in hoary pride,
O'ertoppling thrones, thou tow'rest now,
Wild hurricanes have lash’d thy side—
Insulting thunders storm'd thy brow;—
Yet there thou loomest, stern and strong—
The wrecks of tempests at thy feet—
The Storm-God’s thrilling battle-gong
Silenc’d, as all his hosts retreat.
Bald, bleak and bleach'd, thou ling'rest on—
Survivor of a world entomb'd!
And rob’d in light, thy rocky throne
Shall brave the skies till earth is doom’d.
Great monumental pile! live on—
For sun shall gild thy royal head
When Egypts pyramids are gone,
With all their underlying dead.
Down, deep below thy cloudless face,
The storm of internecine war
May roll its columns round thy base,
Led on by their portentous star.
Uusheeted heroes long shall sleep
In countless hundreds at thy feet; •
And widows wail and orphans weep,
No more their mold’ring dead to greet.*
But though a people gor'd and torn
Bewail in blood their glory gone,
No grief for millions thus that mourn
Shall ever stir thy heart of stone.
In scathless strength and stoic gloom
Thou still shalt mock the wastes of years,
Till herald thunders wake the tomb,
And God in Judgment pomp appears.
* During the late destructive war between the North
ern and Southern States, a battle was fought near the base
of this mountain.
[For The Sunny South.]
Mirabeau and Sophie De Ruffey.
The Story*of Tlirir 9Ia<I Love, and Sophie's
BY WM. DUGAS TRAMMELL,
Author of “ Ca Ira."
There is a world of tragedy around ns that
men and women know little of. And yet it is
not an undiscovered or an unexplored world;
far from it. Nay, we are all explorers here; but
each one must travel alone, and none can read
the journals of others—for we must all have our
journals, whether we will or no. And these
records that we keep, records of our travels
through this world of tragedy, are not written
upon paper or parchment—nor are they stamped
with paints and dyes like a piece of bleached
cloth, or carved as we carve in marble; hut,
rather, they are part of the very substance—the
woof and warp of the mind itself. And these
records are buried with us, and it is well, per
haps, that they are; for only consider—all un
happiness, all wretchedness, all pain, all misery,
go to make up this world of misery. It would be
a frightful hook, would it not—a history of mis
ery? Who could read it and live? To say noth
ing of the highest type of tragedy, the supreme
misery of the hnman mind—remorse—which the
world knows nothing of in its entirety, even that
phase of tragedy illustrated by this case of Ga
briel Honore and poor Sophie de Ruffey only
makes itself known to the world as does a comet.
It must be out of the common order of things,
either from the fume of the actors or the great
ness of the play itself.
Of its kind, perhaps, the world hath no record
of a mournfuler tragedy thnn this of Mirabeau
and Sophie de Ruffey. The times of the Mires
de cachet had not gone with the year 1778. Un
doubtedly, for France and hnina'nitv, it was well
they had not; undoubtedly, for Sophie de Ruffey,
it was very bad.
Gabriel Honore, Count de Mirabeau—France
and humanity had much need of him in ’89.
Nor was it some other Mirabeau, but even this j
one, just as he was—the Mirabeau of the Tennis j
Court—that was needed. And this Mirabeau, be !
it remembered, was what he was by the grace of !
his father—lellres de cachet, Peter Bou iff ere, Castles
ot If, Joux, Vincennes, and every other castle
Yes, what cursed fate had here, once again,
brought January and May together? Knowest
thou not, oh ! simple-minded reader, that such
is always the possible fate of woman ?
Four years before the time of which we write,
old Monnier set out to get himself a wife. She
must be young, she must he beautiful, she must
be a rare flower of rare perfume, in order to in
toxicate the senses of this old man and make
him happy in his dotage. There must be a
bosom soft and fair as the white-downed birds
of camphor-land, for the President to pillow his
head upon—for it is old and rickety, the bones
almost through the skin; for old Monnier believes
like everybody else, that “woman was the glory
| of man,” “Heaven’s last best gift to man,” and
that her only business here was to add to his
felicity. At Dijon it was that the old President
found Sophie de Ruffey, a lovely, beautiful girl.
Her beauty was of the sweet and amiable kind,
rather than striking or splendid. She had a
! deep-brown eye, a sweet voice, and one of those
| voluptuous forms that we are accustomed to
associate with Italy and the East. The old Pres-
| ident warms into life as he gloats upon this un
suspecting beauty; the fire kindles in his sunken
eyes and the blood creeps into his withered lips.
\ President Monnier has much gold—“yellow,
i glittering, precious gold:” gold that “will make
black, white ; foul, fair; wrong, right; old,
j young;—“the yellow slave” that “will knit and
| break religions, bless the accursed and make
j the hoar leper ador’d.” Yes, Monnier has gold,
j much gold: he has honors, besides, and offers to
j make an advantageous “marriage settlement.”
j As if any “settlement” could he “advantage-
! ons ” to this poor girl; as if anything could atone
for even once taking her in his skinny, palsied
! old arms! Desecration? Aye, aye! desecration
of the purest and loveliest of God’s holy temples !
But Sophie must marry him or—go to a convent.
Sad alternative. “Can I not die, then!” No,
no i Hast thou not learned yet, gentle Sophie,
| that thou wast made for “the glory of man”—
, one man who, in your ease, accursed fate hath
i fixed it, is no other than old President Monnier?
j The convent is certain and eternal death to all
young girl-dreams; so you must even go along
with the old President and make him happy, for
he is old, and will soon die.
Four years afterwards—long, weary years—
Sophie de Buffey, already become “sad-heroic”
from suffering, finds herself listening with rapt
attention to the impassioned eloquence of Mira
beau, the prisoner of the castle. Mirabeau felt
the incantation stealing over him; and it is said
that he wrote to his wife to come to him, that
her presence might fortify him in his duty. But
his poor wife, driven to desperation, had already
forgotten him, and was looking out for some
other man to glorify—one, perhaps, more con
genial and less mad than Mirabeau. So Mira
beau continues his walks to Pontarlier. This
beautiful, brown-eyed, sad-heroic woman,—how
is one to break the spell ? Mirabeau falls at her
feet. In burning words, he declares his love.
What can Sophie do but yield ? Dost thou won
der, reader? Thou hast little conception, then,
| of the power of eloquent love. Finally the old
President opens his eyes. He sends Sophie back
| to Dijon. Mirabeau escapes from the castle—
follows her thither. Explosions at Dijon and
elsewhere, and many things are endured by the
sad-heroic woman that need not he narrated here.
Meanwhile the old Marquis calls to his aid the
best detectives in France, and turns them loose,
like blood-hounds, upon the track of his mad
son, Gabriel Honore. He lias also secured for
said Gabriel the dreary castle of Mont St. Mikell,
in Normandy, which prison he hopes to find
“strong and desolate enough even for this tiger
with face pitted by small-pox.” Mirabeau flies
from Dijon, and Sophie is sent hack to Pontar
lier to do her duty; to fulfill the “evident designs
of her education;” to revolve for the balance of
her life in the “true sphere of woman”—namely,
about the old President.
But the human heart is very hard to crush
utterly, and volcanoes burn on in spite of sleets
and snows that cap them in. There was a little
garden at Pontarlier. The walls were high, and
Sophie was allowed to walk here. It was on a
dark night, the twenty-third of August, 1776,
that Mirabeau scaled the walls of this garden,
and found himself once more by the side of
Sophie. No burning words are needed now to
persuade this sad-heroic woman. They will fly
to some far country, out of the frowning shadow's
of Castles of Joux and Mont St. Mikell—beyond
the ken of rhadamanthine father and his blood
hounds. For her he will sacrifice everything—
defy all the laws of Church and State—and she
for him. Reader, wait here for a moment. Ad
mit that all he had done before was had, wrong,
criminal; yet, at that moment, was not Mirabeau
a grand man ? I declare to you my belief that
he was. And was not Sophie at that moment
sublime ? If not, then love and trust have never
With Sophie clinging to his side, the strong
man again mounts the garden-wall and lets them
gently down on the outer side, and Sophie is
free ! The morning star of hope rises softly over
the hills, and the orient dreams of her girlhood
gild the gray of the coming morn, as she pic
tures in her soul a home with him; and even in
this night of peril she sings in her heart, “They
two, and they two, and they two for aye !”
And now, Sophie in his arms, this wild man,
strong with the strength of love and despair,
flies towards Holland — over the hills and far
away. They stop at Amsterdam. And here they
live out eight months of tropic love and terror,
for they are liable at any moment to be arrested
and separated. Think of these two, oh ! reader,
there in the garret! The beautiful, sad-heroic
bride—not wholly innocent, perhaps, but less
guilty than the most innocent of her torment
ors; and Mirabeau, the deputy of the people,
raise thy hands, oh ! reader, and roll thine eyes
in holy horror? Thou art a hypocrite and a
pharisee — altogether scandalous and useless.
We declare unto thee, that it is worth thy while
to consider whether that feeling of thine would
not better be described by some other word than
holy. Wait until thou knowest fully the wom
an’s heart—till which time, at least, leave her
age, and demand the greater obedience. They
are very exacting sometimes when they get the
advantage. It is natural for the younger of a
family to look up to the older, and it would he
much better always for the wife to look up to
J. H. DirzMUKF., Americas, Ga.—“After the
anouncement of a social gathering which took
place in this city a few nights ago, I applied
sidered me a very good friend. Would you pur
sue your suit with renewed vigor or drop the
subject and write only friendly letters? Please
inform me how to act in the next edition of your
most entertaining paper.” . . . Possibly you
may have been too pointed in your manner. It
is best sometimes not to dip too directly into
the main question, but to come at it in a peri
phrastic or circumlocutory manner. But as you
have already committed yourself, if you are im
patient to bring things to a crisis, you might
hold her to the main question till she says yea
or nay. But if you have plenty of patience, you
might write her friendly letters without refer
ring at all to the tender passion, and very likely
she would soon bring it up herself. They usu
ally like letters on that subject. Your pointed
avowal may have frightened her at first, but if
you are silent on the subject she may ask you
after awhile to frighten her again, as the girl said
to her sweetheart when he kissed her unexpect
Noero.—“I have a question to propound
which I hope you will answer. If a young lady
attends a social entertainment—a party or hop—
she is continually bored with the questiont
“ How have yon enjoyed yourself?” Could no:
a young lady “enjoy herself’ equally as much at
home and alone as elsewhere ? Can yon not
furnish the young men of Atlanta a substitute
for this trite inquiry?” . . . We have often
wondered if the young ladies did not tire of this
But if thou art so minded, come my compliments to Miss E. Jones, a bell of this s iu v stereotyped inquiry. But then you know
(1 rmi ft. iTnrvn n^r irroanil o .. ai. ^ .... i. * u ..i. . — i t...a * . . * 1 *, * ....
with us and drop a rose upon her grave and
tear to her memory; if not for the wrongs she
suffered,, then only for the sorrows she endured.
We pledge thee, it will not be the worse for thy
soul; for behold! Sophie de Ruffey was also a
woman—one of God’s unhappy children. God
made her—God will be her friend.
[For The Sunny South.)
SMITH’S SPELLING BEE.
BY B. RIDGES.
Smith went to the spelling bee the other night.
He was delighted. Thought it was the best
thing out, and that the safety of the country de
pended upon proper spelling. He determined
to have a private bee at his own house and thus
brush up his acquaintance with the lexicograph
ers and sharpen the intellect of his Smithlings.
Told Mrs. Smith about it. For a wonder that
worthy agreed. Straightway Smith locked him
self up in a hack room and selected a list of
words. Charles Waxelbaum watched him with
interest through the key-hole. Charles thirsted
for fame. He wanted to be the best speller in
the family, so he concluded to play a trick on
the old gent. About the time Smith had written
down all the words he thought necessary for the
evening’s entertainment, Charles yelled fire ! in
a voice loud enough to frighten a small cannon.
Out rushed Smith, forgetting his specs, and be
fore he reached the hack porch where he always
went to look over the town for a fire, he fell head
over heels over the chair placed there for that
purpose, and was soon in a condition to he
picked up and rubbed down with salt and vin
Charles had startled the neighborhood, and in
a short time everybody rushed down town to
pull the engines, whilst he copied the words.
This done, he slipped out the hack way and in
a few moments came rushing frantically in the
front gate, shouting:
“It’s a false alarm !”
Smith was too badly hurt to resume exercises
that night, so he put it off until the next, when
he assembled his family together.
He made two classes, placing all the boys in
the high class as he called it. There were Charles
Waxelbaum,* Walter Lycurgus, Robert Walpole,
Archibald Aristotles, Archimedes William, and
John Caisar Smith in the hoys’ class; Matilda
Cleopatra, Betsey Minerva, Araminta Juno and
Martha Tilton Smith in the girls’ class.
“My children,” said Smith, as he seated him
self on the piano with his left eye done up in a
mush poultice (the effect of having fallen over
the chair), “I have assembled you here together
in order that you may learn something. I have se
lected a few words which I am anxious you
should spell for me. To the best speller I will
give the privilege of going to the next circus to
see the animals with me. The first word that I
will give you will he baker.”
“B-a ba, k-e-r ker, baker,” came from every
one of the spellers.
“Pretty good. Now, Robert Walpole, spell
“M-e me, z-e-l-s, measles,” said Robert.
“N-e-x-t, next,” yelled Robert.
“No, no; I mean let the next one try it. See
what you can do with it, Lycurgus.”
. “M-e me, z—no, s-e-l-s.”
“M-e me, z-u-l-s zuls, measles.”
During all this time Charles was at the foot of
the class grinning and jumping and snapping
his fingers, wishing for a whack at the measles.
It finally reached him and he made a good spell
of it, of course.
Then Smith lowered his specks and sang out
John Ciesar was the first to tackle it. Hear
nl \H k-a- m bfim, e-r er, Alabama. j y ~ highly, and have expressed my sentiments
Now, Betsey, show John how you can spell. f l f b * t * u without any satisfaction, and now
Spell the word for him. j ....... .
Betsey stepped to the front and spelt it so fast
it stunned the old man. He thought he’d found
a treasure—a regular speller from Spellersville.
city, for the evening, which she excepted, but
after we met the crowd, she taken on to such an
extent over another young man. that I was com
pelled to leave the room. Miss J. refused to
prominade the house with me, and concentid to
go home with the other gentleman. Should I
abscond ?” . . . We think you had better attend
a “spelling bee,” and take your English gram
mar along. Can’t blame Miss Jones for her con
duct, till you learn to use better English.
H. H. (Atlanta) says:-“I have been acquainted
with a young lady four years, who is superior to
myself in almost every particular. I loved her
when I first saw her, and sheis tlieonly lady that
I ever saw that I do love, hut have been unable
to ascertain whether she loves me or not, and
have tried every plan that I know. She says she
esteems me as much as any gentleman she ever
knew” . . . We think she answers you plainly
enough when she says she “esteem# you as
much as any gentleman she ever knew.” What
more would you have her say? That is a deli
cate and modest way she has of expressing her
self on the subject and we admire it. You should
he satisfied with that language and endeavor to
make yourself more worthy of her. She is a
smart, sepsible woman.
N. C., Carrollton, Ga., says: “I want to know
which is the happier life, married or single ? I
love a young lady twenty-three years of age,
which is a little younger than myself. She is
dearer to me than life. Shall I still hesitate, or
marry her at once?” . . . The testimony on
this subject would doubtless be conflicting.
There are no doubt a great many happy couples,
and both parties are much better off than if
single; hut it is equally true that there are a
great many unhappy matches, and it would have
been infinitely better for the parties had they
never been united in wedlock. Your happiness
will depend upon your own temperament and
that of the lady, and it would be well for you
and all others who contemplate matrimony to
look carefully to this point.
Wilcoxen (Georgia) says: “I am a man twenty-
three years of age, of very limited means—say
four hundred dollars. I love a girl three months
my senior, and she says she loves me, and I
believe her, though we are not engaged. What
think yon best, under all the circumstances?
Also, which is the best occupation ■ to engage
in?” ... If you love tne girl and she loves
yon, marry her as soon as you pleass. Give up
all expensive habits (if you have them), such as
tobacco, whisky, etc. Settle down on a little hit
of a farm, and prove how much better a fellow
can work when he has some one beside himself
to work for,—some one to give him sympathy
and encouragement—to save the “small change”
that used to drop through his fingers and turn
it to good account, and to keep his home, small
and humble though it be, sweet and clean,
warmed with affection and lighted with cheer
the boys don’t know what else to say. They
usually get off this question in hold style, hut
unless the young lady is quite sprightly they
soon “run out of soap.” If a young man and
lady could see one of their conversations re
ported in print with its hitches and pauses just
as it occurred, they would not own it. ’“How
: you enjoyin’ yourself. Miss Susy Jane?” “Oh !
very much indeed. How have you enjoyed
yourself, Mr. Joseph Henry?” “Oh ! splendid.”
1 Then comes a painful pause ^n which Joseph
Henry tortures his poor brain to get off some
thing else. But his stock is so small he finds
great trouble in making it available, and is very
anxious to get away so he may propound that
same interrogatory to some other fair one. Shame
upon you, young gentlemen ! Read good hooks,
good newspapers, and prepare yourselves for
carrying on an intelligent and entertaining con
versation with the young ladies when you meet
them. We have not the space now to furnish
any substitutes, as our fair young friend re
quests, but the young men can get up something
H. Y. (Box Spring) writes: “I am a bachelor,
not more than a score and a half years; not fright
ful enough to scare a lion, but believe that I am
kind enough to tame a “dear” if “luck” should
give me one. About the time I was reaching
my majority, I fell in love with one of “heaven's
best gifts to man” (best because they are so good
to patch a fellow’s clothes and look after him
while sick). Yet it profited me naught, for I
[ got out of that scrape like a mule helps one out
of a stable. I have met with some success pecu-
; niarily, though not enough to make me vain;
j yet feel that I might keep a wife in comfortable
circumstances. Now do you think it best for a
‘bach’ who has had such ‘luck’ to look out
j for a companion?” . . . Starting out to look
| for a partner is certainly a dangerous expedition,
; for instead of finding a “companion,” you might
get hold of another mule which would lift you
out of the stable very often; or she might, as is
often the case, become ring-master and make
“old bach” play the mule or donkey for life for
her special amusement and accommodation. We
commend the following soliloquy:
“Marry or not to marry? that is the question.
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The sullen silence of these cobweb rooms,
Or seek in festive hall some cheerful dame,
And by uniting end it. To live alone—
No more! And by marrying say we end
The heartache and those throes and make-shifts
Bachelors are heir to. ’Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished.
To marry—to live in peace—
Perchance in war; aye, there’s the rub;
For in the marriage state what ills may come
When we have shuffled off our liberty,
Must give us pause.”
“WHAT’S THE NEWS?”
The Senatorial excursion to Mexico has been
The loss by the Susquehanna flood is estimated
Miss Nellie (Douglasville.)—“About one year
v ° , 11 ** , i» iue io»m uy i u c nusii ueiminiii hum
ago a young man of my acquaintance and almost of at five hnn( fy e<1 thous ‘ mi dollars .
my neighborhood asked my permission to come a
to see me with a view (he said) to matrimony; | the first ot July 4,000 men will be engaged
and regarding him as a nice man and one of ! on Memorial building at Philadelphia.
honor, I granted him his request. He never
paid me a single visit. A few weeks ago I met
him at a place of amusement and he proposed
to see me home, and I refused him in the pres
ence of all my associates, who say I did wrong.
I leave the matter for yon to decide.” . . . You
did exactly right and we admire your pluck. If
the girls would all show more independence and
less anxiety to get married, the young men
would appreciate them more highly. It is a
source of much regret and humiliation to wit
ness the conspicuous eagerness of our girls for
sweethearts. They show it so plainly that it
makes the boys vain and conceited. It magni
fies their own importance and lowers their ap
preciation of the girls.
“Calico Corner ” writes: “I have been pay
ing my regards to a young lady whom I esteem
So he said:
“Now, are you not ashamed to let a little thing
like Betsey beat you spelling so easy a word as
Alabama? Spell it again, Betsy, and spell it
“A-l al, 1-e-r ler, Alabama,” shrieked Betsey.
But Smith saw his mistake and let loose the next
“A-r-c-h arch — there’s your arch, i archi,
b-a-l-d bald — i-bald — there’s yer archibald,
h-e-a-d—bald head—there’s yer Archibald Head,
m-a-n man—bald head man—there’s yer Archi
This was greeted with a storm of applause.
Mrs. Smith took William up in her arms and ac
tually kissed him. After this, William was the
pet dog in the manger, and William knew it.
He got entirely too big for his pants and vowed
he could spell anything from p-i-g pig up to
Charles was Smith’s favorite of all the Smith-
lings and he didn't like the way William was
lionized. But Archibald Headman wasn’t on
the list of words in Charles' pocket and he didn’t
know how to spell it. And Smith began to get
qnis vi as degrading his son by depriving him of j depths of the centuries the spirit of revolution,
ins no Me name and giving him the plebeian one j and se nt the world, with all that it contains, at
ot I eter Bouffere, he did not know, perhaps, ! a tangent from its life-time orbit, whizzing
•J 11 l\ e " as P re P ar i n g him 1° champion and glo- j through the ages at a rate unfelt before. These
rm those very plebeians among whom he had j were the two there in the garret.
that the old Marquis thought to be strong enough I hero of the Tennis Court, prophet of the infinite tired of the exercise. He longed to see Charles
to hold this '"'ild son of his. ^ V hen the old Mar- ] future — terrible wizard, that evoked from the master a big word, then he could he happy, so
„ - - - - * * ’ ■ " ~ he gave out Jew’s-harp.
“J-uju, e-ejuce, h-o-p, Jew’s-harp.”
“ G-e-u-i-c-e, h-a-r-p-e, Jew’s-harp,”
“ J-u-s-e, h-o-p, Jew’s-harp.”
“ Thunderation!” yelled Smith, with his pa
tience oozing away.
“Confound it!” gasped Smith.
“Mercy!” screamed Smith.
“ M-e-r ”
But Betsey didn’t finish it. That last syllable
was knocked back into her throat by the diction
ary thrown at her by the exasperated Smith.
Here the spelling match flickered and went
out. So did Smith. And not one of the Smith-
been thrust in disgrace. Perhaps he did not
know, when using against this son that fearful
implement of tyranny, the lettre de cachet, that
lie was only implanting in his breast such a burn
ing hatred of oppression as would one day cause
him to turn upon and rend in pieces the whole
fabric that supported it—king, princes, priests,
and nobles. But certain it is. that to humanity
it mattered not a straw whether the old Marquis
knew or dreamed of such a thing or not; enough
that it was so. And thus it was well for human
ly that this Mirabeau was made to feel the sting
of this tyranny—well that he was locked up in
But the blood-hounds of the old Marquis find
them at length—the wild man and his brown
eyed Sophie. He is taken to the Castle of Vin
cennes; she to Dijon once more. But even the
Castle of Vincennes was not destined always to
hold this Mirabeau. At length he is free again!
One scarcely has the heart to write the closing
scenes of this tragedy; and yet these things
have really happened — flesh and blood have
really endured them.
After some years, these two lovers, wrenched
asunder in Holland, met again. It was under
I have become very nervous on the subject. Must
I propose or not ? 2. If the law to tax bachelors
(one of whom I am which) should go into effect,
do you think it would be more honorable to
acknowledge having been kicked three times (as
the act prescribes) and pay the tax, or go Ties/?”
. . . Your letter has been on hand for some
time. We would advise you to “pop the ques
tion ” right out and test the matter. You will
no doubt find that “Barkis is willin’.” The act
to tax bachelors did not pass; but if it had, we
don’t think you should have gone West—for if
you have plenty of calico, as your name imports,
there is no danger of your being kicked three
times. The women are too fond of calico for
A Widow, Edgefield, asks: “Should a mother
receive an oiler of marriage from one whom she
thinks would render life more agreeable ? Has
she a moral right to accept when, by remaining
‘self-sustaining,’ she can better advance the pe
cuniary interests of her children ? You so kindly
reply to old maids and young girls, I think pos
sibly you may be as civil to one of a more unfor
tunate class.” . . . Your question is a difficult
one to answer. The moral right of widows with
children to mary presents a subject for serious
discussion. But onr own opinion, based upon
observation, is very decided. We hold that she
should not marry. Oftener than otherwise she
sacrifices her own happiness and that of her chil
dren, together with the greater share, if not all,
of the “pecuniary interest.” These second mar
riage experiences are so nearly uniform that they
are regarded with disfavor by everybody save
the widow herself. She can see no objection
usually, and hence we are surprised at having
this question propounded by a widow. It shows . .
more forethought than is usually practiced by dollars have been raised, and agents have been
Five daughters of a family in McNairy Co.,
Tenn., were all married in one day recently.
The chemical apparatus recently purchased
abroad for the .Vanderbilt University cost $30,-
The treasury of Pennsylvania is empty and
the members of the Legislature went home with
out their pay.
Yellow fever is reported epidemic in Havana.
It has also made its appearance at Key West, and
fears are entertained of its spreading.
In Connecticut the Democrats have elected
their Governor, three members of Congress out
of four, and a majority of the Legislature.
The Vanderbilt university buildings are to be
finished next October, and then “the old man ”
is coming to see for himself how they look.
The Mayor of New Orleans has advertised for
proposals for planting around that city a great
number of the Eucalyptus globulus, or Australian
The resignation of Treasurer Spinner takes
place the first of July next.* He will he suc
ceeded by John A. New, cashier of the First Na
tional Bank of Indianapolis.
The New York World states that about one-
third of the stores and offices on Broadway in
that city from the Battery to Union Square, are
vacant, and rents for them have fallen from
thirty to forty per cent.
The Columbus factories on Saturday paid the
usual $12,000 to employees for two weeks’wages.
The factories have taken since September 1st,
6,839 hales of cotton, against 6,063 last year up to
same time ; and, in addition, the Tallasse mills
have taken 1,397 bales.
The Mecklenburg centennial excitement is
becoming general throughout North Carolina.
Large sums are being subscribed in different
parts of the State, and the indications are that it
will be altogether the grandest celebration ever
held in the South.
Chattanooga will soon listen to the jingling
bells of a mule-car railroad. A track is to be
built from the Tennessee river along Market
street to Montgomery avenue, provided the busi
ness men and property holders in Market street
will make the company a cash donation of one
thousand dollars. The road is considered a sure
A Re-colonization Society has been formed in
German} - , not only with a view of preventing
further emigration from that country to this, but
of inducing Germans already here to return.
The society is zealously at work ; millions of
cover of night, in Sophie's apartments, in the lings will go to the menagerie.
that class. Widows are terrible folks for getting
married, say the girls. Many weighty reasons
might be given for our views on this subject.
Major B. (Madison, Ga.)—“I am correspond
ing with a young lady with whom I have fallen
desperately in love, and in my last letter to her,
I penned words to that effect. In her answer
she made no allusion whatever to my most earn
est appeal, but wrote in a most friendly man
ner, and I inferred from the letter that she con
sent to the United States in furtherance of its
It is stated that among the numerous inmates
of the County Prison in Philadelphia, there is
only one Jew, though there are nearly 10,000
Jews in that city. The offense of even this one
Hebrew is said to have been trivial. The Jew
ish Messenger thinks “that if criminal statistics
were carefully taken, the result would show an i
equally pleasing aspect for the other cities.”