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[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 Ruffey ? 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 Trngie Death. 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 reached sublimity. 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 with God! 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 the husband. 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 edly. 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 egar. 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 measles.” “M-e me, z-e-l-s, measles,” said Robert. “Next.” “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.” “Next.” “M-ee-z-e-ll-s.” “Next.” “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 Alabama. John Ciesar was the first to tackle it. Hear him: 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 fulness. 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 new themselves. 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 abandoned. 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 slow.” “A-l al, 1-e-r ler, Alabama,” shrieked Betsey. But Smith saw his mistake and let loose the next word. “Archibald Headman!” “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 bald Headman.” 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 Constantinople. 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.” “G-u ” “ Thunderation!” yelled Smith, with his pa tience oozing away. “T-h-n-n ” “Confound it!” gasped Smith. “C-o-n-f-o ” “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 garret. 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 that. 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,- 000. 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 fever tree. 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 thing. 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 objects. 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.”