Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

[For The Snnny South.] THE TRYST. Under the boughs of a sycamore tree. Where clambered a blossoming vine, Sat Nellie and I—young lovers were we; Her little brown hand, as soft as could be, Was closely imprisoned in mine. I frankly confess I fondly did press The dear little hand, The beautiful hand, That lovingly nestled in mine. “ Nellie, my darling, I’ve something to say ” “ O John, there's a bird in the vine,— A mocking-bird. Ji hn; he’s singing his lay!” “Yes, and he sings, •! will love you alway,— I love, I adore you; be mine.' ” ’Twas nothing amiss If then I did kiss The soft dimpled hand, The olive-brown hand, That tremblingly nestled in mine. “Listen,” said Nellie; "what else does he sing— What words fr<m his half-open beak?” “O love me, my love, and happiness bring; And wed me. my love, this bright, balmy spring, As bright as the bloom on jcur cheek.” I think you can guess I warmly did press My lips where the blush, The rosy red blush, Was mantling her velvety cheek. “Be quiet, now, John—you dear, foolish boy! No more will I meet you at tryst.” As threatening she looked, yet winning and coy, Sly heart gave a bound of infinite joy, And twice the sweet maiden I kissed. The ghost of a pout And smile play'd about The coral red lips, The ripe cherry lips. The innocent lips that 1 kissed. Now, while we sit in cur vine-covered cot, Sweet mem'ries around us still cling. The sycamore tree will ne'er be forgot— The oild place of tryst a dear, hallowed spot, Where we heard the blithe mocking-bird sing; And Nell is my wife, The pride of my life— Sly own gentle Nell, Sly neat, dainty Nell; Anol I—well, she calls me her king! than Solomon, that such investments bring forth, some ^twenty, some sixtv, and some a hundred fold. Do yon ask why it is and how it is that such investments pay such profits. The answer is plain. The good soil, the most fruitful soil in the world, is the intellects and souls of the young; and sometimes a small seed, not larger than a grain of mustard, planted therein will j bring forth a large tree, in which the birds of heaven will rest, and yield more fruit than orch ards of apples and peaches. Do you see that | father investing thousands of dollars in the edu- | cation of his son? Why does he do it? He says: “I am only changing my dollars and cents \ into moral and intellectual power, and efficiency j for good. The dollars and cents may take to themselves wings. If I give them to my son, in ' ignorance, he will lose them. If I give them to | him in ideas, in useful knowledge, he has them ■ forever. They not onlv enable him to extract loose curtains, are quite comfortable and much enjoyed by excursionists. The central figure on our grand boulevarde is the well-known, bare-headed statue of Henry Clay—a colossal figure, mounted on a pedestal sufficiently high to give him a good view of the city generally. Tiers of stone steps running around the base of the pedestal form a most con venient stand-point of view to hundreds of peo ple, on our usual holidays, to witness the pro cession of Mardi Gras, Twelfth Night Revelers, Knights of Momns, firemen's celebration, etc. A little further on towards the river is the foun tain. another object of attraction to the stranger. This was built at some expense, as an experiment by its inventor, and donated to the city. It looks very well, on first sight resembling a hand somely ornamented summer-house; but when you come nearer, lean on the railing and look in, you see a huge marble basin in the centre of the little house, a fountain coming up through [For The Sunny South.] Meriinee*s “ Letters to ail Incognita. BY W. M. A. “ I am now reading a book, writes M. Meri- mee to his “Incognita,” “that may interest you: the history of the - Revolt of the Netherlands,’ by Motley. There are not less than five thick volumes; and although not over and above well- written, it is smooth in style and interesting. He yields too much to anti-Catholic and anti- monarchial prejudice; but he has made immense researches, and. though an American, is a man of talent." This is not a lawyer-like proceeding. I ken, my good reader,—to raise your American ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. A Subscriber asks: “Is ‘Ouida an English or French writer? Where does she live? What is her real name?” . . . She is an English woman, but resides in Paris, and her name is Miss De La Rame. Thomas Jefferson. —We have mislaid the let ter of the young lady near Madison, but in reply to her question in regard to Thomas Jefferson would say that he was very much opposed to any mixture of religion and politics, or of State and church, though he did not go, perhaps, to the lengths intimated by your letter. Fickle Phil.. Madison, asks: “When a boy is | ments of nature, but they enable him to help | uphold the fabric of society in which he and his J children are to live. They enable him to become \ an ornament and a pillar in the church and in ] the State; and when the grave shall close over ! him, his soul will most likely meet mine in a j far better realm. At all events, he has wealth i which can neither be stolen, burnt up, or de- j stroyed by floods: wealth that will likely go i with him to that far-off land where weeping and toil shall cease. I feel, therefore, that my invest ment is a good and safe one.” If, then, the j wealthy parent thus reasons, and counts the j wealth of the mind the most valuable of all | wealth, why may we not conclude that a fraction of each man’s wealth, invested in the souls of the rising generations—in a system of popular education, wherein all the children may receive the seeds of wisdom and knowledge, and wherein are planted the seeds of honesty, good order and | safety in society—is the best investment possi- ! ble to be made? When we speak of popular education, we mean ! a system of labor-saving machinery whose raw j material to work upon is the minds of the young; a material in which divine germs are to be found; j a material from which heavenly flowers spring ! up, and where each and every soul, touched by j the wand of science, may become a co-worker in j the garden of plenty, the Eden from which our | parents fled, beguiled by the father of ignorance j anel lies. We mean a system by which thou- | sands upon thousands can be taught the ele ments of moral and physical truth, upon an j economical anel cheap plan; a system, and the j only system, by which dangerous ambition is softened into virtue, and the rights of society I are guarded against its fury— where the love of industry, truth and honesty are planted in the | breasts of all; the system, and the only system, ! by which the faculties and powers peculiar to man are developed and brought into play and J harmony with his safety and prosperity. Talk When we speak of an investment, we mean j about such a system being expensive and bur- the laying-out of money or labor in the purchase densome It is the greatest labor-saving- and far greater treasure and wealth from the ele- it, which keeps the basin filled with water from [For The Sunny South.] Popular Education as ail Investment. BT J. XORCROSS. or production of a species of property, usually of a permanent and jn'odnctive nature—such as a farm, a mill, or shares—from which we expect a return in the shape of profits. Investments in property with this end in view are of two sorts— private and general. All property to which indi viduals hold titles are private investments. The general investments consist of public highways, public buildings, and the like; and among these may be accounted churches, school-houses, and other institutions of general use. The former consist of the surplus products of labor for indi vidual uses. The latter have the same origin, but are for the general benefit, and in the main pay much better than the former, although the dividends are not counted out in dollars and cents. They pay better, because they contrib ute to the general encouragement of industry and enterprise, and the safety and security upon which all human progress and prosperity de pend; while the other sort but too often obstruct and retard the general interests and welfare of societj-. The latter investments are usually brought about by the means of taxes and volun tary contributions to a general fund and general interest. We hear a great deal of complaint about taxes and such contributions, as if they were a total loss to those who pay them. But such compilaints are only well-founded when the proceeds are stolen or misappropriated. All such payments, honestly and judiciously ap plied—as, for instance, upon roads and neces sary public buildings—are the best, the most profitable, and the most durable investments any people can make, because they remain as permanent aids in carrying forward all other business—all the private anil general affairs of the community. By far the greater part of people’s means and labor are mvesteil in propeity such as food, clothing, and the like, which are consumed or resolved back into their original elements almost as soon as produced. Another large portion is invested in property which yields no income- such as jewelry and other ornamental luxuries. Another portion is invested in the means of amusement and recreation—a blanch of invest ments which have ever been fostered and encour aged by despotic rulers, for the purpose, in the main, of keeping the people in ignorance of their greater needs, and from a knowledge and inves tigation of their more substantial interests and rights. This nas the case among the ancient Greeks, as their free governments and laws de clined; and among the Romans, as the usurpers rose into power among them; and in truth, the great struggle is and ever has been, with the mass of society, to so employ and invest their surpilus means as to guard thtm from falling into the hands and under the despotism of ambi tions men,— or in other woids, so as to enable them to uphold a free government and equal laws. This, perhaps, is the great and chief argu ment in favor of popular education. And why should it not be, so long as the fall of tree gov- ment is synonymous with slavery or barbarism? In the next place, what is the nature or what are the contingencies that overhang investments or property in gtneral? As belore remarked, the main part of the products of labor are con sumed almost as soon as in sight. Other por tions are invested in luxuries whose benefits are confined to the selfish gratificatii n of the pas sions. Of that portion placed in permanent wealth, we call it a good investment if it yields ten per cent, per annum. But more than one- half of such investments yield no income. These contingencies come from the uncertainty and evanescent characteristics of all physical wealth, ever verifying the saying of Solomon, that “ riches certainly take to themselves wings; they fly away as an eagle to heaven.” Here let us remark, that Solomon had exclusive refer ence to material wealth, for he dwells at great length upon the importance of getting knowl- eelge and understanding. “Wisdom,” he says, “is better than rubies, and all things that may be desired are not to be compared to it. Nay, my fruit is better than gold—yea, than fine gold.” From this point of view, then, we rightly conclude that investments in material wealth are exceedingly pirecarious. and that the only wise and sure ones are in the moral and intel lectual culture of the rising generations—m the rising intellects and souls of men and women; and these pay by far the best dividends known to the moral and economical world—for we know from experience, and are assured by One greater wealth-producing device yet invented. There I is not, there never was, a device or an invest- j ment that paid so well, or that so rapidly brings dividends to the investors. Talk about tl e tax ? j The amount required is no tax at all. It is the j relief, and the only possible relief from such a burden. It is the device which takes from the shoulders the burden which is levied by igno rance, idleness and crime, and converts our con tributions into an investment from which no philanthropist or true lover of his species ever wishes to be deprived. “Ah! but,” says one, “the highly-educated community, the community where popular edu cation prevails, are also heavily taxed.” This, it must be admitted, is sometimes the case; but in all such cases, it is the voice of the people intel ligently expressed, and becomes a voluntary con tribution, or an investment in public property and public enterprise outweighing private prop erty and private enterprise in utility, and finds the river, and on its surface floats a miniature steamboat, the R. K Let, the champion of the Mississippi—a perfect gem, and the work of an excellent artist. Round the upper sides of the covering or shed to the fountain, numerous ad vertisements catch the public eye, warning while you gaze on th& smooth waters, to buy your clothes at such a house, or get your leather tanned at somebody else's. A little farther on, one sees a crowd of people moving, talking and hurrying by the immense building on the lower side. It is the custom house. The post-office is in one of its compart ments. fronting on Old Levee, from Canal to Custom House streets, and is said to be the larg est and best in the United States. The building is not finished yet, though began in 1848; but the structure is so immense, occupying a square of ground and four or five stories high, not quite enough money has been wrung from the people by the city authorities for its comple tion. It holds the guardians of the people’s wel fare (that is, the United States troops), and was the”center of the fourteenth September struggle, the soldiers within firing from the windows on the densely-packed crowd in the streets. Ascend ing the top through a convenient stair-case, you find the roof a promenade ground, from which can be seen the entire city, with its clearly- defined crescent shape; the inhabitants, houses, boats and shipping look like insects and their tiny domicils. For a mile or more from the river, there are but few private residences on Canal street; it is almost entirely devoted to stores of every kind and description, some of them very elegant. Olympe, that queen of modistes, holds her own right royally in a large mansion on the southern side. In the tall glass window-cases, are exhibited the very latest of full-dress toil ettes, but of such costly texture and still cost lier prices that but few of the mortal feminine kind care to do more than look. Right near her establishment, is affine private dwelling, its marble front showing clear and fair above its neighbors. It was the home for many years of one of New Orlean’s oldest citizens— Dr. Newton Mercer—a lonely old man—wifeless, childless, kinless even—last survivor and inher itor of the wealth of his numerous relatives; 1 and that wealth did all possible to make amends for the loss of family ties; but he was paralyzed and could enjoy it but little. He had an eleva tor constructed in the center of his house to convey him with ease from one story to another. That was his only means of moving, unless car ried. His will, an eccentric one, containing about two dozen codicils, was copied in the daily papers, causing much comment. His leg acies were numerous, and some of them very worthy. St. Anna’s Asylum, a large institution : for destitute and infirm widows, was named after a cherished daughter of his, long since dead; he endowed it largely during his life and remembered it liberally in his will. To his most devoted body servant, he donated a lavish and ire against mine author, and then expect yon to • escorting a lady home, is it respectful for the - •* “ - 1 -• L — ” ; - i; —boys to congregate in the rear, and laugh and talk, in order to worn- the young man ? Is it not very ungentlemanly and ill-bred on their part?” ... It is by no means respectful, and the boys should not so embarrass Fickle Philip. Give him a showing. “Engaged,” New Orleans, says: “I come to you for advice—in a love affair, of course. I visit a lady, not beautiful, but good, and have but one objection to her, viz: though she is my equal in social standing, yet she has friends who are not—people good enough in their place, but “ gosssipy.” My friends and relatives object to meeting them as equals. Now, can you tell me how to win her away from them ? Being a pro fessional man and standing well, I object to such companions for one who is to be my wife.” . . . There are black sheep, you know, in every flock; but we must not discard the white ones on their account. If the lady of your choice is really su perior to her friends, she is also conscious of it as well as yourself, and after she is married and taken from their immediate companionship, it will be an easy matter to get rid of them, for worthless people are very sensitive. jump from the hot “frving-pan ” of indignation into the hotter “tire” of admiration. But I wish you to smile with me at an idea that I can not rid me of,—the imagined horror of the learned Frenchman at the idea of an American attempting to criticise the workmanship ! Not only an American, but a Southerner! — and worse still, a “feminine!” To his indignant ghost I cry (“over the left”) “ Men Culpa;’ to you. good friend (“over the right”) “A cat may look at a king.” I proceed. Prosper Merimee was born in Paris in 1803. Until Mr. R. H. Stoddard gavb space, in Volume III. of the Bric-a-Brac series, to the “ Letters to an Incognita,” I doubt if the name of their au thor was familiar to more than a score of Ameri cans outside of Paris. A most profound linguist, master of the Italian. Greek, Latin, Spanish, English, German and Russian languages, with the history and literature of each; an indefatiga ble traveler, having been once in the East, twice in Greece, a dozen or fifteen times in England, in Spain. Italy and elsewhere; no mean adept in painting; thoroughly versed in the effect and technicalities of architecture, he was undoubt edly one of the most versatile of our nineteenth century geniuses. With his more ambitious works, among which are “Columba—a Novel,” a “History of Don Pedro I., King of Castile,” “An Episode in the History of Russia,” a drama or two, we have nothing to do, although they gained him the plaudits of the literary world. It was only after his restless spirit had gone to its rest that M. Blanchard, the painter, in whose hands the manuscripts had been deposited, gave to the press the letters that have made the name of Merimee, be he anti-American or what he may, a cherished one. M. Blanchard dying soon after, Paris found itself possessed of a most tantalizing mystery, that promises to retain that sobriquet for “ good and a’.” Learned academicians and deputies were agog to find out who this charm ing “Incognita” could be. Time, it appears of late days, has the knack of complicating anew instead of unraveling mysteries; but for our part, it matters little whether the “wonderful she” is, as the Revue des Deux Mondes maintains, an English woman, moving in brilliant society, or. as Mr. Stoddard inclines to believe, a French lady, dame de compagnie to a Madame M ' de B . We utterly repudiate the idea of her being a “myth,” however, as a few try to show. A creature she was of veritable flesh and blood— beautiful, intellectual, capricious (diabolical, her correspondent tells her on several occasions), , but lovely exceedingly, in the true sense of loveliness; for so, of necessity, must a woman be who for a period of over thirty years could Agnes, Newberry, S. C., says: “I am a young woman twenty-two years old; have three sisters and one brother, all younger than myself. My mother has been dead a little more than four years—died while my youngest sister was quite small. I have been receiving the attentions of a young man whom I love very dearly. My father admits that this young man is worthy in every respect, but refuses his consent to our marriage, assigning no reason therefor except that he can not do without me. Now, Mr. Editor, I love my father as dearly as any child can, and, as I have said, I love the young man also. He says he cannot wait longer for my father’s consent.” . . . While the feelings and affections of your father are most commendable, and should excite your gratitude, he is rather unreasonable in this mat ter. If he has no serious objection to the young man, he should not cause you to sacrifice a good opportunity without a good cause. W. A R., Barnwell, S. C., say: “We notice, in your issue of the twenty-sixth ultimo, advice given ‘Old Sock,’ of Bamburg, S. C. We are well acquainted with that gentleman and his lady-love, and are as fully captivated by her charms as he could possibly be. Now, our trouble is just this: ‘Old Sock’ lives much nearer the young lady, whose age he seems to know so well, and he has not only that advan tage, but also that of the splendid advice above mentioned. Now, both of us being subscribers to your paper, we will feel that you are rather partial to ‘Old Sock’ unless you 'advise us how inspire, at first, a love so unquestioned (thwarted to rival bim and win the j lady in qnes _ nv rDtp. wfi know not irni/ nor howi Ann At Iasl a• >» -vt i i i »* t _ i • • in the general intelligence a balance-wheel which I expensive wardrobe—a small fortune in itself. A few mornings before he died, he bade his at tendant bring from his private room a large sealed box that had been kept sacredly untouched for years, exciting much interest in the curious who could not venture to open it. Bidding the servant unlock it, he took from thence two su perb dressing-gowns worn by him and his young wife during their bridal days. They had been worn a few happy times; then, when trouble came, shut up and put from sight through all the long years, and now were given as a precious memento to his faithful attendant. Men die and leave their goods behind them. This week has been a grand time among the Jewish population—the feast of the Pentecost being celebrated with great pomp by them, espe cially by the new Temple of Sinai, of the reform faith. Situated in a pleasant spot on Caronda- let street, it is a place of great resort for all de regulates and promotes the interests of the whole, and a break-water against the dishonesty and ambition of the vile. O, for the day and the hour when such a sys tem shall prevail in this our grand country, abounding in wealth of soil, wealth of climate, mines and forests, mountains and rivers, which shall give us intelligence, knowledge and skill adequate to the blessings which are here in store for the wise and good ! 0, tor the day and the hour when our people shall be ready to invest a fraction of their physical wealth and labor in the greatest and best labor-saving machinery which the world has ever know n ! O, that the day and the hour would come when the East and the West, the North and the South, would say: “Let us go down, let us go up, let us go over to that beautiful sunny land—that land of vast resources—to establish our homes, for there they have a popular and an efficient system of ! nominations; and this week it has been crowded by Fate, we know not why nor how) and at last a friendship so faithful. There is a moisture about my eyes when I read the few lines penned but two hours before his death ending, “Adieu ! Je rous embrasse." There was no “myth” here. We must all confess to the charm of a love- letter — us-waril or whomsoever-ward. That grand old tune that Adam first “raised ” in the sylvan aisles of paradise we go on singing and singing, as the centuries roll by. Varied music we make of it—-dreamy waltzes, stately fugues, chansons pastorale—but always and ever but va riations of the dear old anthem, “Love.’’ The tender, most love-breathing pages we will make no extracts from; for, reader mine, you can im agine them, or perchance a wee bird is singing them in your heart just now—so ? But did lady fair e’er read such lines as these before: “ It dis tresses me to perceive your rapid progress in satanism; that yon are becoming ironical, sarcas tic and even diabolical,” etc. Mrs. Hill might take dots here: “You jest at my gastronomy; do you appreciate the entrails so greedily devoured by ancient heroes? They are still eaten, and are truly delicious, being composed of spiced and appetizing little crusts, skewered by per fumed mastic wood, which at once explains why the priests reserved for themselves this tempting morsel of the victim.” One more extract: “You are a combination of the angel and devil, but the latter predominates, * * * and holding me at the end of your line, you keep me dancing between education, under whose banner our children can | by the curious to see the rights of confirmation | heaven and earth until, weary of the sport, it may ster- administered to the beautiful young Jewesses, please you to cut me loose, and I shall swim about grow up to goodness and virtue, and our poster ity receive an inheritance of greatness and true glory-” [For The Sunny South.] THE CITY OF NEW ORLEANS. New Orleans in June is not so warmly un pleasant as usual at this season, due, no doubt, to the relreshing rains we have had just when the oldest inhabitant would begin to prognosticate a most unendurable summer, with no visitors but yellow fever and sun-stroke. This is unde niably a healthy city; not more than one or two yellow flags could be seen by the most observant, and those so small as to be scarcely visible. The times must be just what they always are,— plenty of money to some and none to others. Those who have it, rush off to give it to the Northern population, expecting its return, as a matter of course, in the ensuing winter. Canal street, with its mile of stores and their tempting displays, is the most frequent object of attrac tion now, at least to the ladies; the gentlemen only pass there to see them, and a pretty sight they are, well worth the seeing, as they prome nade in their new summer toilets, their tightly- pinned figures showing off to the best possible advantage. Neither rain or sun interferes with visits to this street of all others here. Cars run up and down all the principal thoroughfares, and the galleries or balconies of all the stores project to the outer edge of the broad banquets, affording protection to the most dainty train or delicate chip. The lower side of Canal is much more frequented and popular than the upper. Matinee days, it is just next to impossible to pass through the thronging crowds or catch more than a glimpse of one’s special friend; now, there is room enough and to spare. The grand dry gooels store of the merchant prince. Holmes, is still largely pationized. That occupies a central position between Rues Dau phin and Bourbon. It is in the shape of the let- | ter L, faces on Canal and comes out on Bourbon, j the latter part calleel the Ville de Faris. All the I elegant nouveautes there contained in the shape j of laces of all descriptions, sashes, ribbons, lace i overdresses, etc., are direct from that paradise i of modistes, Paris. One lovely cambric mom- “ Wisdom,” he says, ; ing wrapper, composed entirely of tiny puffs and Yaltnciennts lace, was only two or three hundred dollars, and won the envy of all unable to buy it. On the neutral ground of Canal run the nu merous lines of cars—some to the river, thence down to the French part of the city; others to the Metairie Ridge [whose white gate can be seen lrom here). They go to the fair grounds, race courses, barracks, to the lake, and in fact, to all parts of the city, six or seven miles each way, lor the moderate charge of five cents for every change. The summer cars, with their Some of them would rival Scott's Rebecca. The singing there is an attraction every Friday even ing. The reader is said to have an unequaled voice for purity and sweetness. The building is a most beautiful object, and can be seen for squares off when lit by sparkling jets of gas, which throw out in clear light the rich mosaic work of the temple, its dozen windows on each siele giving a full view of the scene within. It is surmounted by two tall towers, between which stand two tablets of white marble in a wooden frame-work. I must stop to go and see the new altar in the Jesuits’ church. Its beauty and finish are said to be unsurpassed. Au revoir, Sunny South. Flora Belle. [For The Sunny South.] UNDER THE MOONBEAMS. BY MYRTA. Some spirit is darted in the beams from thee Which penetrates my frozen frame. And passes with the warmth of flame. With love, and e>dor, and deep melody, Through me, through me ! How like tender play-fellows they are—plav-fel- fellows we have known along ! We told our joys and sorrows to them when they slanted through window s over our cots, resting on spotless baby feet, silvery baby hair and supplicating baby hands, like a benediction. Ah ! brow and hanels anel feet were lilted out of sin then by youth fresh from God. Now, time has let us down farther from heaven, anil we wonder if we were ever guileless, and how it is we have strayed so far from the whiteness of the moonbeams. Ah ! how many with weary life, and weary of the pride that struggles to make it gay, with hearts sorely bruised and trust broken, have felt the soothing power of the calm light on drawn and fevered brows. How many have felt it was “tioiVs hand laid upon the head of earth !” There was one who played with me on long, misty lawns, watching ghost-like shadows and hiding in them. The hawthorn casts one on his grave to-night. There was another, who gath ered strength to tell of a deep love in their sub dued radiance. Over the red lips he kissed the white beams are shining now. And I know of one who watcheel them with patient yearning till she went away from me. Her spirit is up above them, but “over her grave-couch, years ago, the wild birds fluttered anil played at will.” But the saddest of all are thoughts of those faces upturned with ours once in innocent prayer, drooping and crime-stained in the moon light to night! Oh. moonbeams ! come to the heart-sick children of earth for “a time, times and half times;” flood our sinful earth with peace and purity. with the hook in my gills, but never again to find the angler. Adieu, Nina, de mi ojos.” I give these extracts as being a little out of the beaten track. In his gastronomic way, he but mixed the bitter and sweet, as the epicure his pepper and mustard; ’tis but a dressing for the fresh and tender morceaux that make up the bet ter part of the dish. I would now speak of the book in the light of its true importance as I take it. From the favor able circumstances which surrounded Merimee, being a frequenter of the brilliant social circles of London, Paris, and various continental cities, as well as the high offices he at various times held—first as Inspector-General of Historical Monuments, then member of the Assembly, afterwards a Senator, and lastly a prominent member of the household of Napoleon III—his personal recollection of eminent personages and events are wonderfully interesting. He gives us pen pictures of Rachel, Persani, Caraiguac, Pasta, Lord Brougham, Toneguinuff, Edmund About, Victor Hugo, Baron Munsen, the Empe ror. Empress and Prince Imperial, Prince Napo leon, Wagner, Gladstone, Palmerston, Bismarck, Garibaldi, Sainte-Beuve,Theirs, and many others of minor importance. I would feel no wiser than the clown who showed a brick as a speci men of his house, should I attempt to make ex tracts and give you any adequate idea of the book in this light. Two incidents I cannot for bear mentioning, however. While the Imperial family were at their villa, at Biarritz, they were visited by M. de Bismarck, his wife and daughter. I will give you Meri- mee’s idea of the “great man.” He writes: “Another personage, M. de Bismarck, pleased me much more. He is a tall German, very po lite, and far from naif. He is apparently utterly destitute of soul (gemuth), but all mind. He made a conquest of me. He brought with him a wife with the largest feet beyond the Rhine and a daughter who walks in her mother’s footsteps.” This was in ’65. Little did the writer dream tion.” . . . Naughty boys! to be conspiring against poor “Old Sock,” to deprive him of his “sugar plum.” Now, we sympathize very much with both of you if you are really in love with this same belle; but our stronger sympathies go with ‘Sock,’ for if there is any institution that really needs attention from a female, it is “old socks.” Turn her over to him and let him be darned. “You Know Who,” Loachapoka, Alabama, wants to know if bis sweetheart had a perfect right to get angry with him and cry because he said that she favored Mrs. Tilton. 2. Do you think a young lady ought to have “went back on me” because I escorted a beautiful young grass widow to a ball ? 3. Have school-girls any right to be jealous when I waltz the “Blue Danube” with a married lady ? . . . 1. If her resemblance to Mrs. Tilton consisted only in personal beauty, she was hardly right in getting angry, for Mrs. Tilton is represented as being a pretty and fascinating woman. But we greatly admire her conduct in resenting the coupling of Mrs. Tilton’s name with her own. 2. She should not have gone back on you, and even if she had objected, she should not have allowed you to know it. 3. School-girls, of course, have no right to be jealous of a married lady, and we guess you do them great injustice in supposing they were. They are not such chickens, and if they get you near the “Blue Danube,” they will pile you into it with a mill-stone around your neck, which you will find inconvenient for waltzing. A Subscriber, Lawrence ville: “I am a single man of marriageable age (and conceit—a “use ful man ”) in quest of a wife. Will you inform your lady correspondent from Houston—the good cook and housekeeper that I would like for us to sit around the same table and say grace over some of those ‘large, fat biscuits’ she boasts of. I feel that I could do full justice to them. I have a friend—of marriageable age. also who nearly froze to death last winter. He is five feet ten inches high; weighs ninety-five pounds in blackberry season; has taken a great fancy to the light, sanily-haired one hundred and sev enty-five pounder; thinks it his Christian duty to rescue her from the cruel fate of being scalped by a Modoc, and asks will she i ?” . . . We cheerfully lay these propositions before the Houston girls, and congratulate them upon their good luck. Good biscuits, you see, are very at tractive, and even “sandy hair” has its admi rers. The thin man, though lean, has a good heart, it seems, as he is not willing to have the scalp of the fair girl fall into the Modoc’s hand; and now she must show equally as large a heart by not allowing the lank gentleman to freeze to death. All things work together for good to them who are lean and fat and love good bis cuits. Lula, Macon, says: “I am in love with a Mercer boy, and I can’t induce him to come to see me. I met him soon after I entered the Wes leyan Female College, and loVed him at first sight. I have met him several times since at picnics, and he seemed to enjoy my company so much that he was inexpressible and full of every other object around, and soon he makes it con venient to excuse himself, but keeps a gazing look on me during the day. I can’t understand him. He is intelligent, and talks fluently with others when away, and looks at me; and when with me, looks at others and has but little to say. I love him blindly, devotedly: can’t study for thinking of him, yet can’t get him to love that this tall, polite German was to work such my presence. What must I do? I can’t quit r. l • i -I -n . 1 lnvinrr Viirr. fnr T lmvn trinil in voin Plnocn full woe to his loved France. His account of the Americans at the same villa is amusing. “At the Thursday receptions, ” he writes, “the Northern and Southern Ameri cans have to be placed on different sides of the salon, lest they should eat each other.” What wonder that he voted us barbarians, and wondered at the “Revolt of the Netherlands” em anating from an American brain. If what is in my heart has run out at the pen- point, you will, at the first opportunity, read these charming letters for yourself. I pray you to do so. On the twenty-third of September, 1870, just as the dark war-cloud burst over fair France, Prosper Merimee passed away; but his work, I say—and I am no isolated prophet, I ween—shall abide with us. loving him, for I have tried in vain. Please tell me how I am to draw nearer the charming ob ject of my affections.” . . . From your account, the Mercer boy gives unmistakable signs of being struck—mortally struck about the heart. When he is gay and talks fluently with every one else, but is mum and embarrassed in your pres ence, and don’t know what to do with his hands, and yet can’t keep his eyes away from you, it is a sure sign that you have him strung. But don’t try to pull him to you too soon. Give him line, and manage your leverage adroitly, and after awhile you can manage him at will. But, then, what a pity that a college boy and girl should be in love ! As you say you can t study, and I guess he can’t study; and what a misfortune for two ignoram uses to form a partnership for life !