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rired at Holland House at a most unreasonabl hour, risking his long anticipated sapper—if he, for once, neglected to repeat the stories whioh he had rehearsed for a quarter of a cen tury, and was but dull company at table that night: he was not very much to blame ! CHAPTER YL—A Dootob and a Lawyer in Council. It dees not often happen, that young members of a profession enter into what is termed a * lucrative practice.’ Many ‘ limbs of the law’ | have been compelled to spend idle hours and | days at terms of court, hungry for an opportu- j nity for distinction without finding it, and those | oases of successful treatment of disease which j are competent to immortalize a physician, are j not often entrusted to the younger members of ] the profession. Thus it happens, that the j knowledge stored away in years of study, whioh | is necessary to proficiency, may, by disuse, or lack of application, be in a measure, worthless. ! No greater test of human patience can be con ceived, than the tardiness of opportunity, to one who feels himself competent for any emergency. But Herbert Gordon was sohooled from early youth to disappointments, and he did not de spair of eminence because his briefs were few j and far between. His leisure hours were few, 1 if his business engagements were not numer ous. In default of practice in the law, he be came a diligent student of the science—a field of enquiry entered by few, and hence the pau city of lawyers of renown. The meeting assigned to the day after the party, he did not connect in any way with his profession, but supposed the good physician h..d occasion for a friendly assistant in some work of charity, in which they had more than once co-operited. Out of his scanty income the yonng lawyer continued to set apart a small sum for charitable purposes, and as he generally became his own almoner, he had a better knowl edge of its appropriation, than many p rsons who gave larger amounts, but entrusted them to other hands than their own. At the appoint ed hour, therefore, Herbert, having drawn a small balance from his banker, waited upon Dr. Physick at his office. Punctual to the moment, the Doctor came riding in his buggy, as Her bert reaohed ihe office door. ‘Ah, punctual to the hour, Mr. Cordon,’ said the Doctor, * an excellent Bign in a man of busi ness. Men of the world, as they call themselves, sometimes feign from engagements, multiplicity of business, and all that to atone for tardiness— as if the pretence of a large practice was the infallible m ans of securing it.’ “I am not a ‘man of the world,’ though, Doc- i tor,” replied Herbert, ‘and I hope I never will i be, if insincerity and falsehood are necessary j qualifications of that character.’ ‘ Very good, sir, I am glad you are not. And i let me tell you—I am not a very old man, but 11 have lived long enough to see that plain-laced j candor is the best of all qualities in professional < men. Deceit and fraud thrive for u time, it may j be, but in the long run undermine and destroy ] those who practice them. The fact is, Mr. Gor- ! don,’ he continued, drawing a chair in front of i the young lawyer, and addressing him in a tone of respectful kindness unusual to the unde monstrative physician, ‘ I have taken a fancy for you; not all at once, sir, but because I have observed your course for some time past, and I admire your principles. Last night I became more and more convinced that you are the very person to whom I can safely confide an impor tant trust, and for that reason I requested this interview.’ * I am very much obliged to you for your good opinion, Doctor,’ replied Herbert; ‘I am sure I prize no man’a friendship more highly than 1 do yours, although I have no right to claim it.’ ‘ Indeed you have, sir,’ said the Doctor, ‘and you are entitled to the respect and confidence of all men who love integrity of character and honorable principles among young men. There are many people in the world whose sad expe rience can be brought to disprove the existence of honesty and uprightness among lawyers, but I have had little to do with the bar, and can only Bpeak from observation. Now, I take you, Herbert, to be an honest lawyer.’ ‘Yet I hope you do not take me fora rara avis on that account, Doctor,’ said Herbert, smil ing. ‘Well, no, not exactly, but the fact is, the hab it of pleading all sorts of canses has a .tendency to weaken moral obligations, and to obscure the distinctions of right and wrong, and therefore I do think is more difficult for a man to preserve integrity of opinion, at least, in your profession, than in most others.’ ‘Is it not rather to be expected that lawyers be come more competent to form opinions, accus tomed as they are to look upon every side of a question ? You know we have our ethics, as you have yours, and a cardinal duty in a lawyer is faithfulness to his client, and as no man is to be regarded guilty until proved to be so, I think there is not, necessarially, a just censure to be passed upon us, even when we defend a crimin al at the bar of jnstioe.’ ‘Well, Mr. Gordon,’ replied the Doctor, doubtless you are right, but the danger is very great, nevertheless, when self interest leads us not only to defend, but to acquit the guilty, whose escape from the hands of justice inures to our personal benefit. However, I do not pro pose to discuss jour profession, nor to find fault with it. So long as men violate the laws of na ture and society, Doctors and lawyers may be called necessary evils, and we must be content to get along with them.’ ‘In the Millennium we can dispense with both classes,’ said Herbert, ‘so will try to commit felo 4e se, and bring the good time as speedily as we •an.* ‘That’s about the case—we both tire on the sins of the people, and we like to do so, for many questions yet to come. But, let us proceed to business.’ ‘ With all my heart, Doctor, when yon please to inform me what the business is.’ * Precisely so, Herbert, that is essential to the ease in hand. I have an important interest,spe cially important, at th6 present moment, and your services are needed, both as an Attorney and as a friend. But, before I proceed to tell you what that case is, you must understand that this interview is confidential.’ ‘ Of course, Doctor, if it is in the line of my profession, whatever you confide to me, is sacred —and as a friend, I hope you will not scruple to trust me, even if I cannot serve you»’ • 4 But you can serve me, by serving another, whose cause I make my own. You must know then, that there is a certain property, amount ing to a large sum of money which is at stake. That property, at the present time, is in the bands of a party who avails himself of certain terms in the last will and testament of a citizen formerly being in this town. The conditions of the will by a perverse accident, have not been, and cannot now be fulfilled, except in a sort of secondary way, as I might say. Now the ques tion is, when it is impossible to comply with the terms of such a legal document as a will, what becomes of the property devised by the testa- to *Upon my word. Doctor,’ replied Herbert, scarcely able to repress a smile at the physi cian s awkward method of stating a legal ques tion. • I cannot give an opinion, until I know the merits of the case. I must see the will—1 must know what the terms «e». and * hat the difficulties in the way of fulfilling them may be—in a word, I must understand the case, before 1 can give an opinion.’ . , , •Certainly, Mr. Gordon,’said the Doctor, you have a perfect statement of the case. 'l iKt [ f then, is there no wsy to set aside a will r ' There are many methods of doing that, Doc tor, but the usual course is to make objection at the time tne will is probated. If this is not done, however, if it can be proved that the par ties at interest were minors, at the time, when they attain majority in law, they may prove that undue influence perverted the natural affection of the testator—or that he was not of sound mind when the will was made. There are still other i remedies which have been often employed suc cessfully, but I cannot tell whether they will j meet the case until I know what it is.* | ‘ Right enough—but none of the remedies you j ^ ogt 0 f y, 0 characters in this story are net fictitious, have mentioned will suit this case. The will , but real personages who took conspicuous parts in was made in my presence, and signed by me as j some of the most important events which occurred during a witness. It has been proven in the usual way. i rebellion ol the Westof Prance—called Chouamerie.] THE GHOST —OF THE — MALMAISON. AN EPISODE OF FRENCH HISTORY Translated from the French for the Sunni South BY CHABT.K8 OAILMABD. There is no question as to the sanity of the tes tator, and no suspicion of undue influence ex ists.’ ‘ Then there is no escape from the consequen ces. The will must be enforced, unless it re quires impossibilities, and that I presume a sane man, in the presence of competent advisers, would not demand of his heirs.' “Not if he or they knew it at the time, Her bert,’ replied the Doctor, after a long pause. ‘I see I must give you the particulars,’ he added, and the Doctor drew his chair nearer to the young lawyer, and spoke in a low tone. ‘About twenty years ago, I was called to see Mr. Percy Howard; who was taken suddenly ill. He grew worse by the hour, and no remedy that I could use seemed to take effect. On the third day, he sent for a lawyer, had his will written, and it was witnessed by myself, and two other gentlemen—both of whom have since died. Your father wrote the will—’ ‘My father,’ exclaimed Herbert. ‘Yes, your father was Mr. Howard’s attorney,’ replied the Doctor, ‘and there was something mysterious about the transaction, but what it was, I have never learned. The next day or perhaps two days afterwards, your father re marked to me that there was a singular fancy in the manner of making the will, which by direc tion of Mr. Howard, he would reveal to me be fore it went to probate. It so turned out, how ever, that your poor father was killed by a fall from his horse, only three weeks after the funer al of Mr. Howard, so that his intended commu nication was never made. The will was read in the presence of two English gentlemen, father and son, relatives of the Ho vards, and they re mained in Oglethorp until the will was probat ed and recorded. One of those gentleman-*- both of them indeed—were interested in the dis position of the property, for a certain sum of money, £40,000 I be'ieve, had been loaned some years before by Mr. Percy Howard to his cousin Edwin Hampton and a mortgage was held upon Hampton Manor, in England for the loan. The will provided that Ethel Howard should receive that money as her portion of her father’s estate, upon the condition that she married Mr. Percy Hampton.’ ‘And I understand you to say that this Percy Hampton and his father were present at Howard Hall, when the will was read?' enquired Herbert. ‘ Thej were in the room when the will was read aloud by your father, after it had been signed by Mr. Howard 1 and vitnessed by myself, a Mr. Watton, and Col. Hopkins.’ ‘ And you did not hear any reason assigned by the testator for this condition as to the mar riage ?’ asked Herbert. ‘ No. I did not see the will until it was writ ten out in full, read to Mr. Howard, and acknowl edged by him—I then with the other two wit nesses, signed it, and it Vas placed in your fath er’s bands lor record.’ ‘ And was recorded according to the forms of law?’ •Yes—but, the ways of Prbvidence are indfced mysterious. A few years afterwards, the Court House building was consumed in the night, and all the records perished in the flames !’ ‘ But the original will—what became of that ?’ ‘ Ah ! that is safe enough. It is now at How ard Hall in possession of the family.’ ‘ You are, then, the only surviving witness to the will. It is an easy matter to establish the will,’ ‘ I have no doubt of that; but just now there is more importance in the interpretation of the document, than in its legal recognition. If the will should not be established, is there sufficent equity in our statutes to do full justice to the heirs?’ ‘Of course, Doctor, When one dies intestate, our law makes equal distribution of property to the lawful heirs.’ ‘ But suppose a morgtage, existing upon real estate in a foreign country, and the life of the mortgage expires at the execution of the will, does the failure of conditions in the will forfeit the mortgage?’ ‘To the legation, undoubtedly—to the estate, no.’ • Well the facts are these. Ethel Howard married a worthless spendthrift, the very week her lather died, but for some reason it was more CHAPTER CX. Tamerlan had been thrown down, but was fighting like a lion against hiB agressors, Cail- lotte, at that moment, leaned over the desk and cried to his men, with an oath: ‘Be through with him; choke him to death if necessary, but don’t let his voice be heard. I’ll be back immediately. In two minutes every thing must be silent here.’ V Then he went out in a hurry, and ran towards Buffet. ‘What has happened he asked in a low voice. ‘Here is the cab,’ Buffet answered in the same tone. Caillotte turned round and saw a cab slowly coming up the steet, with two men in it. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘that cab iB coming this way, but you could not have seen the number.’ ‘Yes, I did. When they passed the grocery store below, the light struck it, and I plainly read 53.’ •Well,’ said Caillotte, ‘I told you to wait until the cab had stopped, but since you are sure of the number, you have done right in blowing your whistle.’ ‘Are they through inside the office ?’ asked Buffet. ,1 hope so. The >'honan was fighting desper ately, though.’ ‘If they keep fighting this will be a failure.’ ‘I gave orders to kill him, if necessary,to stop he noise.’ ‘They have not done it I see. Listen !’ Half-suppressed cries were heard mixed with the sound of furniture being thrown about over the floor. The fight was raging as hard as ever; and the cab was only twenty-five yards off. Caillotte could now see distinctly the two men inside. One, small and thin held the lines; the other, seated at his left had a colossal stature. •This is Cadoudal, beyond any doubt!’ said Caillotte: ‘but will he stop if he hears that noise?’ / ‘I fear not.’ ‘Nevermind; if you are as anxious as I am to get the offered reward, we shall arrest him any how.’ ‘I am willing but how?’ ‘Let us keep still. If he enters the office, he will find our men and we will cut him off. If he passes without stopping, we will run after him, blow our whistles and make so much noise that the crowd will stop him.’ •Agreed !’ answered Buffet. ‘We might be killed, but the reward is worth doing something for.’ The two agents waited, standing as near the wall as possible. The noise in the office had ceased; Tamerlan was probably powerless now. The cab stoped in front of the office door, and a juvenile voice, that of the driver, said: ‘It seems to me 1 heard some one hollering.’ ‘Oh ! you’re mistaken. If the police were there they would not make any noise. But let us lis ten a while before we ent^r.’. 4 The conversation stoppet? ihkre; but after a few moments silence the man on the left said: ‘You were dreaming, Leridan; I do not hear a thing.’ •It is true,’ said the young driver, ‘but any how I feel uneasy. Hold the lines, General, I will enter the office myself. If there are any blue-coats there they will arrest me, but I will have time to warn you.’ Cadoudal hesitated to accept the proposition of the devoted soldier who offered his own life to save him. ‘cio, and be quick,’ he said at last. Caillotte growled. This arrangement did not suit him. He wanted Cadoudal himself, and the capture of a single private would not console him for the escape of the great chief; so he took a bold determination: ‘Come,’ he whispered to Buffet; ‘we will pass behind the cab, jump to the horse’s head, catch the bridle and call for our men to help us. The man in the office must be quiet now, and all of us can easily manage these two men.’ The driver rose to go out of the cap. ‘Let us go now,’ urged Caillotte. They were about to start when a great noise came from the office. The glass of the window flew into pieces, broken by Tamerlan’s fist, and the voice of the chouan, who had succeeded in Leridan had not thought of that quick change from a dark place to a brightly illuminated one, and the wheel of his cab came in contact with a hand cart loaded with apples which it over turned. The cab was soon disengaged, but the apple vender began swearing and vociferating. Leridan, troubled by this noise and at the sight of the crowd that were staring at them, did not perceive in time that a dray, loaded with long timber, was emerging from rue de l’Odeon. He was obliged to stop his horse and wait for that unwelcome vehicle to pass. Meanwhile, the crowd was gathering on that spot, and the cries of Caillotte and his man shouting “ Mur der !” “Stop the cab !” oaused an inevitable ex citement. In an instant the cab was sur rounded. The dray was still across the street. “Play with your whip on that canaille, and turn on the left,” said Cadoudal, who saw that the rue de l’Odeon was unencumbered. Leridan used his whip freely on the crowd, and Cardoudal taking a pistol in each,hand, cocked them ready to fire. But at that moment Caillotte seized the bridle on the right and Buffet on the left, holding the horse still. Leri dan tried to disengage the horse by striking the man with the handle of his whip, but he could not succeed. Then Georges Cadoudal told him: “Say your prayers to Sainte-Anne d’Auray, and make your escape as you can, while I shall keep this crowd busy. Good bye, my son, I believe this is the last!” And he fired one of his pistols. Buffet tell, killed by a bullet through the head. Caillotte, seeing his turn had come, dodged behind the head of the horse, but not soon enough to escape Cadondal’s second shot, which broke his shoulder and stretched him senseless on his comrade’s corpse. The witnesses of .this scene ran in every di rection. The two chouans, taking advantage of the moment ot confus on, jumped out of the cab. Leridan took to the rue de l’Odeon, and Car doudal ran in the opposite side, rue des Bouch- eries Saint-Germain. However, the crowd having no more shooting to fear—for revolvers were yet unknown—sur rounded Cadoudal, who commenced striking right and left with his dagger. But a gamin de Paris, catching him by the legs, made him fall. In a moment, he was seized by the neck, by the arms and by the legs, so as to be rendered help less. “I surrender!” he cried, with his powerful voice. The conspiracy and with it the Boyalist’s hop es were virtually at an end. The second* Lieu tenant, who had distinguished himself at the siege of Toueton—and had become First Consul —could now put on his head, the imperial crown, without fearing bullets or daggers. was to bear it ten years, and then lose it in a catastrophe, for which France would suffer cru elly. The king, whom Cadoudal and his com panions could not leave to the throne in 1804, was seated on it without any opposition in 18- 14. But millions of French corpes had been scattered over Europe from Cadiz to Moscow. Georges Cadoudal was searched, and they found on him several daggers, a rosary; and about sixty thousand francs in gold and bank notes. He did not make any difficulty about giving his name and acknowledging bis intent ions, but when asked to name his accomplices, he simply said: “I don’t know anybody in Paris.” He was incarcerated at the Counciergerie. Le ridan was arrested on the rue De L’odeon. not been killed by Georees’ bullet, but he was yet in bed. Had he been out. Maneheu and his dog would have been in great danger. Unable to act personally, he had written sev eral times to Fouche, always pointing to Sour- dat’s house as the residence of a traitor. Fouche had consequently notified Sourdat that if he did not get any confession from Louise before the 29th of May—the day appointed for the trial of the chouans—she would have to go with them on the bench of the accused. (TO be continued.) Mrs. ELIZABETH McNABB'S Orange Grove. WllA T A LaD Y MA Y DO IX FLOP ID At BT G. C. PLATER. This is near the pleasant little village of Orange Springs—the Springs being a superb sulphurous fountain—about twenty-five miles west of Palatka, and nine from the Ocklawaha river. The early settlers of the country, among them Mr. and Mrs. McNabb, were devoted to raising cotton, which here, as elsewhere, as it was fol lowed then, left hardly any time for tedious fruit culture. Indeed it was not known that the soil and climate of this locality were suitable for orange trees, it not having been tested. A few years before the war, Mrs. McNabb conceiv ed the idea of raising a grove herself. She had no experience to aid her—fruit-nurseries were not within easy reach. Her friends urged her to desist, since they were sure her labor would be lost; but she hopefully persevered, carefully collecting a stock of little shrubs as she best could. A neighbor in removing gave her a sickly j little bush, which she transplanted in her , garden, and which there, under her best care, : was unthrifty some years, and besides, obstin- I ately grew in an objectionable shape. It is now one of the finest treei in the state, and yields I $80 worth of fruit annually. A little shrub I which was given to one of her little girls now yields $60 worth. She has several tr> es which bear $40 worth each. All her trees this season bore 70,000 or anges. She luckily obtained, and is one of the few having the sweet orange of Tangiers. Her fruit now renders her independent; and her ex ample has been one of public utility. Her success becoming established by the close of the war, others in the vicinity began to establish groves, to an extent that will create the annual produc- tionin a few years of $30,000 worth, or perhaps j much more. One of the earliest and best imi- ; tutors is Doctor Frank McMeekin, who, in ten j years, has reared a grove of ten acres, almost \ entirely by his own labor, in addition to prac- i ticing his profession some years, and attending | to his farms and tenants. The country is gently j undulating, the lands mostly of pine forests, | but will produce cotton and corn. Hammocks are interspersed through the country. Every mile or so there is a beautiful lake of pure, lim pid, silvery-bright water, as I will describe it in contra-distinction to the blue-tinted ocean. These lakes are of various sizes, from one acre to hundreds, and afford lovely building sites on their margins, among the live oak and magno lia hammocks. Dr. McMeekin has met with signal success, by cultivating cotton among his trees while they are young, and by not pruning; the unusual thriftiness of his trees prove that his method is a good one. than a month before the intelligence reached the i freeing himself, cried through the hole: family Mails were slow and uncertain in those : ‘liun, friends, run; the blue-coats are here !’ days, and a delay of some days before writing j The driver, springing back iqto his seat, the sad news to an already distressed family— i lashed his horses vigorously, and they started in for I have forgotten to tell you that Mrs. How- a gallop. ard died within a week of her husband—on ac count of the additional pain and humiliation it would bring, were reasons which satisfactorily explained the silence of the Principal of the Philadelphia Seminary, where Ethel was at school. It so happened, then that the very week, perhaps the very day, that her father dic tated his will, and provided for her marriage with Percy Hampton, Ethei ran away from the Seminary in Philadelphia, and married the fel low who afterwards deserted her.’ • And what finally became of her?’ ‘ She is still living—but her husband is also living.’ ‘And who administered upon her father’s estate ?’ ‘ The oldest sister Mary.’ ‘Then I must see the will, before I can deter mine the question, and if necessary, I can get other, and better legal advice—’ ‘ No, Herbert, you can see the will—but I am opposed to any step which will involve this much afflicted family in farther distress. To involve them in a lawsuit which would not end in a lifetime would be easy enough to do. But I am satisfied that they would prefer the loss of the property to such a proceeding. You can see the will at Howard Hall, on to-morrow after noon. In the meantime, allow me to remind you of your promise. Not a word to any friend of these matters.’’ ‘I understand you, Doctor. I feel too much respect for the family, and too much interest in the young niece to afflict her, I assure you.’ ‘ So, so ! ’ exclaimed the Doctor, ‘ and you have seen Ellen ? ’ ‘ Only at a distance, my dear Doctor, but you know I am on principle, pledged to interest in any good and true woman who needs a friend or a defender.’ ‘Yes—amiable weakness, that. It does you honor, though. It is well that you are not ‘a man of the world,’ for you would outgrow some of your chivalrous opinions. It is poetry—poe try of life, my j oung friend—but—still adhere to it, as long as you can 1 ’ ‘Until I change my nature, Doctor,’ replied Herbert , b ‘As all men and women change from better to worse, or worse to better, by the sad and Borrow- ful realities of life.’ ‘Perhaps, Doctor. At what hour, to-morrow ? ’ * Five in the afternoon.’ The physician was soon on hisway to see his patients, and Herbert to meditate upon his first seriously important case. (TO BB GONKHUnD.) Oh! cowards !’ cried Caillotte to his men, ‘you have let him go; if that chouan makes his escape, you shall all perish in a dungeon.’ Then turning to Buffet, he added: ‘Let us overtake the cab. Your fortune is now in the swiftness of your legs.’ Allured by the hope of the reward, Buffet im mediately followed him. Before leaving the place, Caillotte had the satisfaction to see that his agents had at last mastered Tamerlan, who handcuffed and tied all around was reciting that supreme verse: ‘ Et mes derniera regards ont vu fuir lea Romains.’ The most learned of the chouans must have ended with a quotation. CH APTER CXI. The cab, however, was rapidly going off, fol lowed by the two agents, who could, at first, hardly keep in sight. But when they entered rue Saint-Hyacinthe the driver was obliged to restrain his horses, who otherwise would have fallen in running down such a steep place, and this gave a chance to Caillotte and bis compan ion to come nearer to the cab. He began then to cry: ‘Stop the thief! stop the murderer !’ These cries were fruitless, for the street was almost deserted, but the agent expected that they would soon reach a more frequented locality, and he wished to make as much noise as possi ble. It was evident that the chase was coming to an end. If the oab could reach the OdeQn it would be safe, for it conld then take one of the numerous streets converging to that point; if on the contrary the detective could overtake it before, he would certainly find some assistance and succeed in his undertaking. Cadoudal understood well the situation, for the great chiefs mind was never brighter than when in danger. ‘ Whip your horse, Leridan, and turn rue de Conde on the left, then on the right, rue de Petit-Bourbon.’ This plan was the best. By passing behind Saint-Sulpioechurch, they would reach the Luxembourg, one of the most deserted places in Paris. Georges Cadoudal looked behind the vehicle and saw the puTsuerS about fifty yards off. ‘They cannot stand it much longer,’ said he; ‘ whip, Leridan, whip ! but watch the corner ot the street sb that your your horse won’t fall!’ The yonng chouan executed this order success fully, and they entered the small triangular plaee where the cafes are always brilliantly lighted. • # CHAPTER CXII. Of all the Chouans that were at Biville with Cadoudal, only Maneheu and Liardot were at large. As soon as Mauehue'had his discharge from Cadoudal, he took Jacobin along and went to the vegetable market, where he knew he conld see a friend of his, from Clamart. That man was coming to market every day, and, as in spite of all the measures taken by the government, Paris must eat, and they were obli ged to let the country people bring their pro duce to market. Maneheu went out with a bag of Irish potatoes, with Jaeobin perched on the top of the load. When out of Paris, it would have been easy for Maneheu to go back to Normandy, but instead of that he asked his triend to keep him at his farm, and offered him his servicfS only, for his^oard. He never had lost the hope of finding his wife The return of Jacobin was for him an evidence that Louise was in Paris, and at liberty; for he did not think the police would keep the dog with her if she were imprisoned, and Jacobin would not stay two days with anybody but her or himself. He had remarked, too, that his friends never spoke of Louise before him. Only once, Saint- Victor had made an allusion to her, but he nev er tried to ask his officer anything about that, and less did he dare to question Cadoudal. One day he tried to pump Malabry; but the latter declared that, as he never wanted to be bothered by a woman of his own, he didn’t care to trouble himself about those of others. He had enough money to buy a farm in his country, and his intention was to do it, but he wanted his wife; not that he loved her—Mane heu loved but money—but he needed her as one needs a devoted slave. Moreover, Louise was his property; she had been stolen from him like his farm, and, unable to avenge himself on the blue-coats, he wished to take vengeance of the chouans who, he thought, had taken his wife. He was almost cer tain that she was at Liardot’s, and he had resolved to kill him as soon as he could safely do it. Hearing that Georges was arrested", he thought the time had come;still he had the patience to wait for the excitement to subside. Cadoudal had been arrested on the 9th of March, and Maneheu remained quiet at Clamart until the first part of May. After these two months he thought the police was almost through with that affair and had re laxed its vigilence; consequently he ran the risk of coming to Paris twice a week with the vegetable wagon, always taking Jacobin along. One day he read in the papers that the chouans would soon be tried before the Tribunal of the Seine. The papers gave the names of prison ers—forty-seven in number—and on this list where General Moreau's name was associated with that of Cadoudal, Maneheu looked vainly for the name of his wife. He was then convinc ed that hisjwife was at Fleur-de-Rose’s whose name was absent too, and he resolved to hunt her up. For three weeks he took long walks through the city with his dog; but either Jaco bin’s instinct had been affected by a long seclu sion, or his master led him in a wrong direction for he never seemed to recognize a street he had already passed. Nobody paid any attention either to the man or to the dog, for Fouche thought he had in his hand all of George’s accomplice. Two months sooner Maneheu could not have circulated through Paris for two hours without being ar te ted. But the times had greatly changed. On the 21st of March, twelve days after Ca- dondal s capture, the Dnke d’Enghien, the last heir of the Conde, was captured on neutral ground, in spite of the treaties, and cowardly shot, at night, in the ditoh of the Castle of Vin cennes. On the 6th of April, Picliegru, prison er in the Temple, had been found throttled in his bed, and on the 18th of May the thundering of the canon of the Invalides had announced to the world that a decree of the Senate had pro claimed Napoleon Bonaparte Emperor of the French. Nobody thought any more of the chouans — nobody except Caillotte, the detective. He had Houor Your Business. We commend this paragraph, from the Lon don Economist, to all who have a “ vocation.” “ It is a good sign when a man is proud of his work or his calling. Yet nothing is more com mon than to hear men finding fault continually with their particular business, and deeming themselves unfortunate because fastened to it by the necessity of gaining a livelihood. In this spirit men fret, and laboriously destroy all their comfort in the work; or they change their busi ness and go on miserably shifting from one thing to another until the grave or the poor house gives them last grip. But while a man occasionally fails in life because he is notin the place fitted for his peculiar talent, it happens ten times oftener that failure results from neg lect and even contempt of an honest business. A man should put his heart into every thing he does.—There is not a profession that has not its peculiar cares and vexations. No mechanical business is altogether agreeable. Commerce, in its endless varieties, is affected, like all other human pursuits, with trials, unwelcome duties, and spirit-stirring necessities. It is the very wantonness of folly for a man to search out the frets and burdens of his calling, and give his mind every day to the consideration of them. They belong to every-day human life. Brooding over them only gives them strength. On the other hand, a man has power given to him to shed beauty and pleasure upon the homeliest toil, if he is wise. Let a man adopt his business and identify it with his life, and oover it with pleasant associations: for God has given us im aginations, not alone to make some poets, but to enable all men to beautify homely things. Heart-varnish will cover up innumerable evils and defects. Look at the good thing. Accept your lot as a man does a piece of rugged ground, and begin to get out the rocks and roots; to deepen and mellow the soil, to enrich and plant it. There is something in the most forbidding avocation around which a man may twine pleas ant fancies, out of which he may develop an honest pride.” Cost of Smokiiu A week ago we copied and commented upon a paragraph from Harper’s Bazarr relating to Mr. Hubbard, a gentleman who built a fine residence with the money which he saved by not indulg ing in the expensive habit of smoking. A relia ble correspondent, who is personally acquainted with Mr. Hubbard, verifies all of the essential statements made, and furnishes the following additional particulars: “He was about eighteen years old when he determined to lay aside day by day the money which he would have spent for oigars had he been a smoker. At the end of each month he deposited at interest the sum thus accumulated in a savings bank. As the price ot good cigars advanced- he correspond ingly increased the amount of money to be laid away each day. From time to time when his saving in the bank reached a few hundred dol lars, he would draw them out to make a better investment. By wise and shrewd management the fund amouuted to from $15,000 to $18,000 a few years since. Mr. Hubbard then took this money, and with it purchased a charming lot on the Greenwioh hill and built a commodious and comfortable home for himself and his fam ily. The palace overlooks Long Island Sound, and commands one of the widest and finest views that can be found along the Connecticut shore.—Troy, (N. Y.) Times. — A Lowell firm reoently sent a lot of bills West for collection. The list came back with the result noted against each name, one being marked “dead.” Three months after the same bill got into a new lot tnat was forwarded, and when the list came back the name was marked “still dead.” A Missouri farmer found his missing daughter in the guise of a St. Joseph newsboy. She had on being reproached with her uselessness at home, gone ont to earn her own living.