The Weekly gazette. (Barnesville, Ga.) 1868-186?, December 03, 1868, Image 1
I TgE KKELV’ GAZETTE. | POUND & LAMBDIN, oirons * PROPRIETORS Baknksvillk, Georgia. WbMI ,t gazette is published every , rn * morning at Two Dollars per. an- Tb ° r No subscriptions taken for a less pe- I Cards. or. g. m. McDowell , lL CONTINUE in the practice of his \\ profession. OFFICE at j. W. HViewer’s Drug: Store 0ct22,-ly jOHNT- CHAMBERS fsTAUKANT and Fancy Confectionery, R Heaters Game aod Fish, respectfully in aJL nublic that he has opened a Confec *°r,l1 rv and Toyshop in the building adjoining Stable on Thomaaton street, where i-mild be pieased to serve his friends and b . e nilb |i c generally. Meals served at all hotr.-s l r the day and night, at 50c. each; Also all Wi or Tropic! aod Northern Froths. o ct22- 3ta WATCHES I WATCHES! IF you want to buy anew watch nr have your old one made as good ae neW go to o S. HIGGINS’ Jewelry ShoTsit'n of tbe Big. Watch, at the well known .undo/ Powell & Hoguleys corner of Thom „ on A Zebuion streets, Barnesville, Ga. o ct22- If lIAKT & ALEXANDER, ATTORNEYS at law, Tbomaston, Georgia. WILL practice in all the Courts of the Flint Circuit. Special attention to col lection, filing petition for Homestead, Ac. nor26—tf Tl hunt, ATTORNEY AT LAW BARNESVILLE, GA. WILL practice jn tbe counties comprising the Flint Judicial circuit, and in the Su preme Court of the State. Office over Drug Store of J. W. Hightower. oc(22—ly EUROPEAN HOUSE- THE undersigned most respect fully informs the pnblic that he has’opcned an eating house on the EUROPEAN PLAN, In connexion with a large assortment of FANCY CONFEC TIONERIES. which are sold at astonishingly low rates. Would be pleased to have my friends to call around at the P. O , and ask for what they want and pay fer what they get. G. M. GRADDICK. oct22--3m JAWHWOODS DEALERS in Dry Goods, Ready Made Clothing, with a general stock of Groceries always on hand to the retail trade, cheap lor cash, or in exchange lor country produce. Scrap Irons, and all kinds of Pot Metal, broken, or otherwise worthless, taken in ex ."ange for goods. Glean Rags bought at all times at this house. Oct. 22. 3m. T. SI. JONES, WITH F. W. SIMS & CO., COTTON FACTORS AND General Commission Merchants, | Savannah, Ga oct22—3m W. P. TYLER RESPECTFULLY informs his friends and the public that in connection with Dry Goods, Notions, t fcc., be keeps on hand a good supply of MILLINERY. Mrs. Tylbr will be pleased to attend to all orders in that line. oct29—tf GUN-SMITHING - Done at short notice, In the most appjov ed style, at the lowest cash prices. Shop up-stairs over Dickey & Dumas’ Carriage Shop, Rarneßville, Ga. Special attention paid to repairing Sewing Machines. All work war ranted. DAVID HIGGINS. oci22—Bm DICKHtf & DUMAS, A T their old stand, continue to serve the public as heretofore ; making and repair ing all wood and iron work, done at short no tice, with neatness and dispatch. Many tbanka to our Iriends for former patronage, and solic it a continuance of the same. DICKEY & DUMAS. oct22—6m PRODUCE AND GROCERIES. ITHE undersigned will continue to keep on hand a good stock of Produce and Groce ries, consisting of Corn, Seed Oats, Barley and Rye, Bacon, Sugar, Coflee, Molasses, Syrup, Cheese, Mackerel, and a variety of articles too tedious to mention. All for sale low for cash or its equivalent. J. It. JENKINS & CO. 0c122-6in MILLXBng aT ! M. G. GOQDWYH pleasure in informing her former A customers and frieude that she is still at her oi stand, (room S. E. corner, second floor of ound’s brick store,) where she will be pleas ed to wait on them at any time. oct29— tf i “ T HA\ E been induced to remain in A Harnesvil'e fora longer period. I woulcl 8 glad if my friends and customers would bring in their work, as I am prepared to do work upon the shortest notice and in best style. Particular attention paid to cutting and fittine. JOHN MAYER. novi9_tf undersigned would respectfully inform the public that his business has so much improved * n 'he last few weeks that he is still on hand, and will remain & lew weeks longer. M An 7 size pictures from carte de visile” up to life size por traits _ Can be obtained at this gallary upon er 7 short notice, either plain or colored. Respectfully, j. W. HURT, Photographer. aovig —tf • * — l — - - ~ ' ~ ' ~ 1 * "■■■ - - _. . VOL. 1. TEL!, Me yes. One little moment more, Maud ; One little whisper more; I bate a word to speak, Maud, 1 never breached before. What can it be but love , Maud ? And do I rightly guess, 'Tis pleasant to your ear, Maud? 0 dariing, tell me yes ! The burden of my heart, Maud, There’s little need to tell; There’s little need to say, Maud, I’ve loved you long and well There’s language in a sigh, Maud, One’s meaning to express; And yours—was it for me, Maud? O darling!—tell me yes! My eyes have told my love, Maud; And on my burning cheek, You’ve read the tender thought. Maud, My lips refused to speak, I gave you all my heart, Maud; ’Tis needless to confess; And did you give me yours, Maud ? 0 darliDg! tell me yesl ’Tis sad to starve a love, Maud, So worshipful and true* I know a little cot, Maud, Quite large enough for two; And you will be my wife, Maud? So may you ever bless, Through all your sunny life, Maud, The day you answered yes! The SBioemaker's Daughter. A Tale of the First Empire. The Rue St. Honore, in Paris, is one ol the longest streets in the world. It is the Oxford street of the capital of France, and has more chops and houses than even the boulevard. At no great distance from tbe Pala is Royal, and between it and tbe church of the oratoire, wafc, during the reign of terror, a small shoemaker’s shop. It was kept by a German, a dry, droll, middle-aged man, who dur ing those times of revolution and alarm, when heroic France, attacked by the whole civilized world, was ap parently perishing in death throes— expiring in agonies which were, how ever, to raise, to save, to glorify it— paid little attention to anything save hisjmsiuessand his pretty little daugh ter. M. Leopold was a selfish man—a very selfish man , so that boot making prospered, he did not care for any thing else. If the country was attack ed on all sides, and foreign armies on every fiontier, he little cared. The only inconvenience be did care about was the taxes, that was unpleasant ; but, otherwise, public affairs were do fin... ...o 0 e such men every where—men whose na tive towns might be desolated by the plague, and who yet would be happy if they remained untouched—unhurt. Leopold Mayer had a daughter a very pretty girl, about twenty years old, with rosy cheeks, laughing eyes, a warm expansive heart, and a charac ter the very opposite of her father. She was as generous as he was selfish, as keen in her sympathies for the world as he was for his own private bu siness. She had a corner in her hdhrt for every one. Her mother had been like herself, having sacrificed every consideration to that of pleasing her husband, who would not be pleased, of making a man happy who would not be happy. M. Leopold Mayer did a very good business ; and, it was said, had & great deal of money somewhere ; but no man knew where. Katerina Mayer sat in her father's shop and took the money ; but having plenty of leisure, she read, during the intervals of business, such books as she could find in a neighboring circu lating library. German in her nature, with a warm but somewhat contempla tive character, she devoured history, philosophy, poetry and the drama; but she had her favorite author too, and that was the author of “Lives of Plutarch." Of an evening she would read to her father while he smoked his pipe—- to which, like most Germans and Dutchmen, he was a great devotee.— Very often they were joined by a young officer, a lodger, who had not long been removed from a military school to a commission in the army, but who was, as yet, unattached.— Paul Leblond was a young man who had profited by his education; and a better guide for tbe girl could not have been found. Of course he was a republican ; all young men, not emi gres, were, in those days; and the contagion spread ; for, “a more auda cious little sans culotte than was Ivate-J liua," would old Mayer say, “never stepped in shoe leather." The reign of terror very nearly shocked her; but she had good seuse enough not to confound the bold crimes of Danton, or tbe atrocities of Marat, with the principles of the true friends of free dom. Paul Leblond and Katerina Mayer were the very best of friends. The young girl, so early mistress of a house, and so precocious in her studies, play ed the little woman with an air that made tbe man of twenty laugh and declare that, were he not a poor devil of an officer with no other fortune than his sword, he would carry her before the mayor and marry her at once, at which Katerina laughed, and bade him go and win tbe epaulettes of a general first, and then she might lis ten to him ; but tbe idea of a young adventurer, without a penny, talking of marrying the heiress of the richest shoemaker in Paris, was terrible auda cious. Paul called her an aristocrat / they laughed, aod the matter ended. About three mouths after the young man received his commission, he en | tered the shop of citizen Mayer in | company with a brother officer. Kat erina was at the counter. Citizen May ! cr was overlooking his young men* BARNESVJLLE, GA., THURSDAY, DECEMBRRXI^fisT “Well, little wife," said Paul smil ing. “Mr. Saucy, pray who are you talk ing to ?replied Katerina, looking hard at him and at his friend, a pale, dry and thoughtful locking youth. “To you, citogenne,’' continued Faul ; *1 Lave come to bid you adieu We are ordered off to tbe army this very day. Here, dear Katerina, is your father’s account, which being paid, I bave to ask a favor of you " “What is that?" asked Katerina with a tremulous voice. _ "The fact is Katerina, we have our bills paid, not one penny left. We have our uniforms complete, but we want a pair of boots each. We are in the army of the Sambre-et-Meuse, to which, the government, having heard their demand for shoes and stockings, said, ‘The republic has ma ny thanks for you, but no shoes and stockings/ " “Poor Paul!” said Katerina, turn ing her head towards the dark end of the shop. “Citizen papa.” “What is it ?" asked citizen Mayer, advancing to bis daughter. “Why, papa, here is Paul going away, and here is money he owes you, and the poor, dear young man wants a pair of boots for himself and friend on frieLd on credit, until the end of the campaign." Exactly, Papa Mayer; and yon ae a good citizen- ” Humph ! humph ! Bad citizen or grted citizen is neither here nor there Money is tbe question. My principle is, you know, no money no boots." full j Bpa ! ” Cfibd Katerina re P ro *ch- Well, citizen,’ 5 said tbe grave look ing young man, who had not yet spo ken, ‘ that is enough. If we cannot buy boots we will take them " Citizen ! said Mayer in an alarm ed tone. “From the first Austrian or Prus sian we will,” continued the sallow young man, drily ; and he turned ou his heel. “Stop a minute,” exclaimed Kate rina quickly, “you do not understand papa. He means that he would refuse boots without money to strangers ; but to you, a friend of Paul’s he will be happy—rather two pairs than one." “A pretty business girl you will make," said citizen Mayer, with half a grunt and half a smile; “but to you. friend Paul, and to bis friend, I will not refuse credit. M Paul, do you and your friend choose two pair of boots each.” “We thank you, citizen,” replied the sallow young officer, while Paul patted Mayer on the back, “and you shall be repaid." Mayer looked rather incredulous; but be loved his daughter, and it was to her he made the sacrifice of four pair o' boots, which, naturally euough the jouug men ch&oss. Then they shook hands with Mayer, Paul kissed Katerina, and then made his friend kiss her, and putting their packets un der their arms went away. . Tears passed away, and the saucy girl of twelve had become the beauti ful womau of three and twenty. In all this time not one word of Paul and worse, said Mayer, the shoemaker, no news of his boots. M lie Katerina had many suitors. Persons in a very elevated position overlooked, in those democratic days, the fact that she was a shoemaker's daughter, and many sought her hand and heart. But the girl of twelve still lived within her, and she refused every offer, however brilliant, remaining still her father’s cashier, and aiding him in adding to that rather large fortune which be had now invested in the French funds. He sometimes pressed her himself on the subject of marriage, but Katerina was not to be moved by any one—not even her father. Things were in this state. Kateri na had just refused a colonel whom she met at a great party, who talked to her father rather sharply when reject ed, and M. Mayer had taken Katerina to task, when,-one morning, they re ceived a laconic epistle requesting their appearance at the office of the staff of the commander-in-chief of the first military division. “1 will not marry him," said Kate rina quickly. “Who?" • “The officei, Col. Peterman. I’m sure he's complained to the comman der-in-chief, and that he is going to threaten us.” “But he cannot make yon marry against your will," cried M. Mayer. “I do not know that. Since this emperor Napolean Bonaparte has ta ken us ali by storm, papa, the sword is not very apt to yield when it wish es anything.” “We shall see, my dear,” replied tbe shoemaker. “To begin, this re quest must be obeyed at once. Make basle, girl, and put on your finery.” Katerina smiled thoughtfully, and went away. The girl expected a ser mon from the commauder in-chief on the impertinence of the daughter of a little shoemake refusing an officer of rank; but she was determined to hold out, and yield to no threats, persua sions or seductions. She remained faithful to the memory of Paul. She was romantic; she loved and wrote poetry, and she preferred a beautiful dream to any idea of fortune and ma terial happiness which might be offer ed to her. In half an hour the father and daughter were ready, aud away they went, arm-in-arm, ou foot, to the Tuil leries, where the commander-in-chief of Paris had apartments. They were soon at the palace, and were met by the sentries, who asked them where they were going. M. Mayer showed his letter of invitation, which served at once as a pass, and they were ad mitted. They entered the ante-cham ber occupied by officers of various grades, several of whom rose from cards, or smoking on benches, to greet them. A young man, an aide-de-camp, respectfully addressed them, and in quired their business. M. Mayer again produced His letter. The officer bow- ed profoundly, and said he was at their service. Moving through a crowd of officers, he led them by a siaircase up ward, until be reached a large open landing. He tapped gently twice, and the door opened. A servant in rich livery appeared, who made way for the party, and passing on with tbe theatre of the palace to the right, they turned around and entered the real palace of the Tuilleries, of which they had hith erto only visited the wing. Presently the aid-de'Camp paused* “Monsieur will be kind enough to wait one minute,” he said, as they en tered an antechamber. “I will pre cede you, and return in an instant.” “Where are we going ?” asked Kat erina of her father, in a whisper. “I don’t know, but my head begins to grow dizzy ; I begin to suspect that we must give way to circumstances.” “Never!" exclaimed the young girl, firmly. “Will you walk in !" said the aid-de camp, returning, and standing with the door in one hand and Lis Lat in the other. M. Mayer and Katerina bb.yei me chanically. They advanced with eyes dimmed by excitement; with a singing in their ears; with a fainting at the heart—a doubt, a fear, a dread, that left them a minute later standing in the mid dle of a small room, unconscious wheth er they were in tbe presence of the em peror of China, the Khan of Tartary, or the grand lama of Thibet. “Well, Monsieur Mayer," said a some what gentle voice. M. Mayer and Katerina now saw that they were in the famous private cabinet of the Emperor Napoleon—who had just been crowned—with its rich orna ments, its maps and charts, and its splendid furniture. By the fire stood, with his back turned to it, a man of mid dle height, neither stout nor thin, with a look of power and genius, but tinged by haughtiness, pride aod a; spirit of in solent domineering. “His majesty, the emperor," cried M. Mayer to his daughter, bowing as if he were very much inclined to kneel, while Katerina stood erect—respectfully, but firm—and resolved to oppose even the will of Napoleon, where her heart was concerned. “Monsieur Mayer," said* the empe ror, who was in one of his moments of good humor, “I have sent for you on a mattor of business. Mademoiselle Kat erina be seated." Katerina courtesied profoundly, and seated herself; M. Mayor stood by her chair. “I am informed, M. Mayer, that your daughter has refused the hand of one of my bravest officers, Colonel Peter man. Now, as all my subjects are my children, I have sent for you to ask an explanation. It seems inconceivable to me that the daughter of a tradesman should refuse the hand of a distinguish ed officer who may become a marshal.” “Please your imperial majesty,” said Katerina, firmly, and without note of hesitation in her voice, “it is not the daughter of the obscure tradesman who refuses the Land of Colonel Peterman, but the poetess Clelia !” “Oh !’’ exclaimed Napoleon—a flush of pleasure crossing his cheeks—for a poem on his campaign bad deep'y grat ified, perhaps, the vainest man that the world has ever produced—“you are Clelia !” “I am known to the publio by that name,” said the young woman mod estly. “Then I pardon you yonr refusal of Colonel Peterman ; but"—and his majesty, the great usurper smiled—“it I allow you to reject a colonel, I can not a general—and that general the commander-in-chief of the army in the first military division.” As he spoke, Napoleon rang, an officer appeared, who received an order in a low voice, and disappeared. “Your majesty,” exclaimed Kateri na. warmly “must excuse me. Not all your mighty power, nor all the deep respect I bear to one who is making my country illustrious with victory, can make me marry where my affections are not*" “But, obstinate girl, where are your affoctions V said the emperor, with a provoking smile. “With the dead,” replied Katerina sadly. “Explain yourself.” Katerina thought a moment, and then briefly told the story of the past ; of Paul, his departure, and of the boots. “The commander-in-chief of tbe army of Paris," said an usher, as the girl finished her story. Katerine turned around just in time to be caught in the arms of the dash ing young general, who had darted toward her the instant that he en tered. “Paul!" “Katerina !" were words nttered in the same breath. Napoleon took up a letter, and turned his back upon them, with a grim smile as if he thought them chil dren, and yet had no objection to letting them have time to express their feelings. Paul drew the shoe maker and iiis daughter into an em brasure of tbe window, and rapidly explained himself. He had never forgotten them—had always intended to write, but had put it off—taken up as be was by his military duties, lie had only been three weeks in Paris as commander in chief. A few even ings back he saw a lovely woman at a ball, and asking who she was, had learned that she was M’lle Mayer, the “intended” of this Col. Peterman ; and angry, be knew not why, at this, he ' avoided being seen by her. Hearing, however, that she iiad refused the ! Colonel, he had taken this mode of ! again claiming his little wife. “But, friend Paul," said the empe ■ ror, who had advanced nearer to them I at the conclusian of the conversation, “tbe youug lady has refused the com mander-in.chief of the army of Paris. “But, your majesty," exclaimed Katerina, blushing, “1 did not know that he was my old friend Paul/’ “Ob," said napoleon; “but how have you settled about the boots V' “Why, your majesty,” exclamed Paul, laughing, “I fancy that was as much your affair as mine." “True,” said Napoleon, laughing heartily ; “how much, M Mayer, do I owe you for those two pair of boots that you were good euough to give me credit for i” “What!’’ exclaimed M. Mayer, con founded and astonished ; “it was your majesty I—I—I—I—” “It was Lieutenant Bonaparte," said Napoleon, smiling, “to whom yon would, but for your good natured little daughter, here, have refused credit.” “What !” your majesty wore my boots on your first campaign ! 1 en joyed the honor !" began Mayer ; “I am almost in amazement. That youug man who accompanied Paul, and who talked of taking boots from a dead Austrian, was—To think of the Empe ror Napoleon making bis first cam paign in a dead Cossack’s ugly shoes ! Oil, Keterii.a, what an eye you bave got. Your majesty, I implore you will allow me to —to—" “To call yourself bootmaker to bis majesty, the emparor Napoleon," said the ex-lieuteuant of artillery, smiling. “Ob, your majesty ! 1 am over whelmed.” f'Very well. Paul, I shall sign the contract of marriage between yourself and Clelia.” “Clelia !" cried Paul. ‘‘lt appears so ; and now Paul, run and send Cauliucourt to me, and don’t be carried away by the woman to neglect your duty." Paul, Katerina and Mayer, went out, after again expressing their thanks, and adjourned to the apart ments of the commander-in-chief, where, again, at full length, and over a dinner, they talked over the past.— Mayer was lost in ecstacies at having furnished the emperor aud his friend, on credit, with boots; but this delight was a little abated when Paul insisted on Mayer, on the epoch ot' hi3 mar riage with Katerina, shutting up shop and retiring from business. Tbe good German grumbled excessively; but a smile from Katerina soon set aside all his scruples, while the old man him self smiled grimly at a thought which illuminated bis brain suddenly. A month later—Napoleon being about to leave Paris—tho marriage took place, and Katerina became the wife of a general. Paul—a thorough soldier, and a brave and noble charac ter —rose in bis profession even higher, and proved a good husband and an excellent father. Neither be nor his wife ever changed their principles, serving Napoleon only from the con viction that, after tbe revolution aud the coalition, bis reign was indispensa ble. When he died, they remained faithful to his memory, and refused to serve the Bourbons. A few months after the marriage of Paul and Katerina the grim smile of Mayer was explained. The ex-shoe maker had retired from business, as bo promised, and had purchased a cot tage on the road to St. Colud. One day Paul and Katerina, iu an open carriage, with tbe emperor and em press Josephine, stopped to speak with him a moment, as he stood smok ing his pipe on a little eminence over looking the road. Paul and Katerina blushed up to the eyes, and looked confounded and confused, but both Josephine and Napoleon laughed heartily. Ou a large brass plate on the door was engraved, -‘Leopold Mayer, late shoemaker to his majesty, the Em peror Napoleon ! ’’ From the Mononjrahela Republican. A Dead Wife’s Visits -Remark able Case of Hallucination. Not very long ago, the young and beautiful wife of one of our citizens was called to her final account, leaving her husband sad, disconsolate and be reft. She was buried in tbe adjacent cemetery, and the hnsband returned to his desolate home, but uot to forget the loved wife. She was present with him bv day, in spirit, ahd in his dreams at night. One peculiarity of his dreams, aud one that haunted him—being re peated night after night—was this : “That the spirit of his wife came to his bedside aud told him that tbe underta ker had not removed from her face the square piece of muslin, or napkin, which had been used to cover her face after death, but had screwed down her coffin lid with it upon her, and that she could not breathe in her grave, but was uns rest on account of the napkin. He tried to drive the dream away, but it bided with him by night, and troubled him by day. He sought the consolation of re ligion and his pastor prayed with him and assured him that it was wicked to itdu’ge such morbid fancy. It was the subject of his own petition before tbe throne of grace; but still the spirit came and told anew the story of hersuf- ; focatior. In despair, be sought tbe un dertaker, Mr. Dickey, who to!J him that the napkin had not been removed, but urged him to forget the circumstance, as it could not he any possible annoy ance to inanimate clay. While the gen tleman fraukly acknowledged this, he could not avoid tbe apparition, and con tmuai stress upon his mind began to tell upon his health. At length he deter mined to bave the body disinterred, and visited the undertaker for that purpose. Here he was met with the same persua sion, and, convinced once more of his foil), the haunted man returned to his home. That night, more vivid than ev er, more terribly real than before, she came to his bedside and upbraided him for his want of affection, and would not leave him until he had promised to re move the cause of all her sufferings.— The next night, with a friend, he re paired to the sexton who was prevailed upon to accompany them, and there, by the light of the cold, round moon, the body was lifted from its narrow bed, the coffin lid unscrewed and tbe napkin re moved from the face of the corpse.— That night she came to his bedside once more, but for the last time, pressed her cold lips to his check aud came agaiu no more. Reader this is a true story ; can you explain the mystery of dreams ? I Correspondence of the Pall Mall Gazette. The Catacombs of Paris. Paris, Aug. 17. It is not easy for the ordinary English sight-seer in Paris to satisfy hi a curiosity— dijficihs .descensus. — Formerly one of the regular sights of tliis capital, they have now been closed to the general public, and I have met but very few Parisians of the youngest generation who have explored those dismal vaults. Four times a year the metropolitan sui veyors officially inspect the great ossuary, to report on the condition of the pillars aud piers which have been built to prop the excavated galleries, and a select few, whose application to the Prelect of the Seine have been backed by iuflential recommendations are allowed on these occasions to ac company them. Notice that the ex pedition is about to proceed is often received many months after the ap plication has been sent to the Hotel do \ die, and a prolonged residence in Paris seems to be an i ndi-pensablo condition for obtaining a sight of the catacombs. I was fortunate enough a fow days ago to accompany one of these peri odical visits of inspection. The ap pointed pia'.e of meeting was iu the courtyard at the back of the office for collecting the octroi, at the former Barriere d'Eufer. M. Nadar, in the buiky Paris guide which was printed for the use of visitors to the exhibition last year, describes midnight as the aour usually appointed for these ex cursions, but this is probably merely a literary artifice, destined to throw additional gloom over his narrative.— We met at noon in considerable num hers, chatting in every language of Europe, and all provided with caudles, railway lamps and matches. On the arrival of the metropolitan surveyors, the door of a low building, which occupies one side of the courtyard, was unlocked, and displayed a steep flight of narrow steps leading under ground. The inspectors mustered the company, the caudles were lit, and on® by one we descended. The hub bub of conversation was at once hush ed. We were about to visit the silent abodes of the dead. Perbaps some of us iuvoluntarily remembered ghastly tales of men who had lost their way in this subterranean labyrinth, and had never returned to their friends and the blight sunshine above. Ninety steps led to level ground, and we walked during twenty minutes or half an hour* through a narrow, damp, low passage, cut in the calcare ous rock. By raising my hand I could easily touch the vault above. Right and left we passed by innumerable openings leading away into mysterious gloom and silence - f l’hey were each closed with a wooden barrier, so that we could not, had we been tempted, turn from the right path. Surveyors opened aud closed the, march. We were in the ancient quarries from which the stone Paris is built of has been extracted from the Roman period, down t.o the reign of Louis XIV. Ihe subterranean gallei'ies extend under the suburbs of bt. Germain, St. Jaques, and St. Marcel. The neigh borhood of the Luxemburg Palace and Gardens, and of the Pantheon, are undetermined by them. But proba bly they have not the vast extent of depth which popular legend ascribe to them. Towards the end of the last century great alarm was felt throughs 1 out Paris by the sudden sinking or! several houses near the Barriere d'Enfer. Even at present, purchasers are shy of investing in the building plots that have been recently created by the ruthless destruction of part of the Luxemburg Gardens, in conse quence of the doubtful reputation fur stability of the ground' Since the oc currence of the accidents above men tioned, subterranean Paris has been carefully surveyed by order of the municipal authorities. Large sums have been spent on props and pillars, on pieis and buttresses, and a curious map of the catacombs has been pub lished by M. de Fourcy, C. E. The cell.usoi M. Darnell's great brewery occupy galleries of these old quar lics, and persons who are curious to form an idea of the catacombs of Paris can do so easily by applying at. No. I<> Hue du Marche aux Chevaux, the counting-house of the brewery. The entrances to the quarries, of which there were more than sixty, it is said, have been for the most part closed. e reached the gate of the necro po is. It is painted black, flanked with columns, and hears the inscription HAS. ULTRA. MKTAS. REQUIESCUNT. BEATAM. fcPE.W. SPECTANTES. The vast ossuary into which we now entered was formed in the follow ing manner: In 1784 intramural in terments were discontinued in Paris, by an order in council, and the old church-yard of the Innocents was first cleared ; other burial places followed, and were closed and cleared in their turn. Respect for the dead is one of the most deeply noted of the religious feelings of the French people, as every one who has visited the cemetery of Pere la Chaise knows, and as recent debates in the Senate, on the proposed removal of part of the cemetery* of Montmarte, prove. A Frenchman who neglects to visit the tomb of his pareuts, and at least once a year to decorate it with wreaths, is very ill thought of ; and the utilitarians in France have not yet been successful in demonstrating to their countrymen that old church-yards are but quar ries of phosphate of lime. Tbe bones were carefully removed at the end of the last century from the closed Par isian church-yards at night, in long trains of funeral cars hung with black, accompanied by priests bearing wax torches, and chanting the litames of the dead. The old quarries were found by the Parisians the most con veniennt place in the neighborhood for preserving and protecting from desecration the remains of their fore fathers, and a portion of the subterra nean labyrinth was solemnly couse- crated to be used as a cemelerv. lu a garden of the Rue de la Tom be Issoire a shaft has teen sunk into the catacombs. Here the long procession halted, t.ie carts were backed, tilled, and their contents shot down the shaft. This work continued at intervals dur ing runny nights. In 1810, and the following years after the restoration of Christian wor ship in 1 ranee, the catacombs were surveyed, pillars were built, an>l drains made to carry off tlie water.— The bones were carefully arranged along the walls of the vaulrs, keeping distinct the cemeteries from which they were originally brought. The skulls form three rows in most places ; the space between them is filled by the large arm and leg bones, carefull v piled ; the ribs, vertebrae, and all the smaller bones fill in promiscuous heaps the space left between the rows of skulls and the rock. In many of the recesses or chapels which we passed, the workmen employed in arranging these ghastly objects have indulged their sense for the beautiful, and have built up ornamented and varied de signs with the horrid fragments at their disposal. Inscriptions on stone indicate the cemeteries from which the NO. 7. remains have come. All human hones brought to light by the actual rebuild ing of Paris are convoyed to the cata combs. The most recent additions appear to have ueen contributed in 1861, by the cemetery of Vaurigard. At equal distance stone tables are set up, with insciibed sentences on life, death and eternity, selected from Holv Writ, ihomas a'lvempis, Seneca and the Latin authors, from Lamartine, Hehile, from Ducius, aud even inferi or poets. My wish to copy some of them was somewhat uncivilly inter rupted by one of the surveyors telling me that we could not pass the whole day underground. On oue of the principal pillars are carved the words —MEMENTO. QUIA. PUI.VI3. es. And on a well which occupies apparently the centre of the labyrinth, ficut UN DA. DIFS. NOSTRJ. FLUX E RUNT. The concentrated light of all our can dles failed to reveal the unhappy gold fish which are said to enliven its waters. A collection of diseased bones, which are kept separate, would bo of more use to sutlering humanity in the glass cases of a pathological museum than iu these inaccossablo recesses. It is impossible to refrain from the thought that among the rows of skulls w T hioh grin upon us from right and left as vte pass along, some must have be longed to the most eminent men in t rance and adorned the salons of Paris by the brains which they onced con tained. lo heighten our interest, we were told by one of the inspectors that the skull af Louis Philippe Egalite was undoubtedly among those which had been brought from the churchyard of the Rue dela Villa l’Eveque. No doubt, an experienced phrcuologist would confidently point it out. It is computed that about three millions of skulls, if not more, adorn the walls of the catacombs of Paris To us, the dark galleries through which we wandered seemed to form an intricate labyrinth, 1 hut, some-how or other, they led us j back to the black gate by which we had | entered. We passed, about two hours among the shades below, and were heartily glad to see the daylight again. Busixess MEN.—While Bemamin Franklin was a printer in Phi lad el phi *, it seems he published a newspaper.— Among other things that received strong censure- at his hands were cer tain modes of transacting business by the merchants of Philadelphia. He handled the knaves in such a manner as to arouse their wrath, and calling a meeting among themselves they waited upon tbe sturdy printer, demanding to know what he meant. “Here, ’ said they, “we have been patronizing and supporting you, and this is our reward. You must change this mode of doing or we’ll show you that the merchants are a power you may not trifle with. \\ ithout our Dalronago where would you stand V* “Gentlemen of the Merchants’ Com mittee,’ said the polite printer, “I am, as you sec, very busy now; but call at .my house this evening for dinner, I shall consider the matter over with you in a friendly manner.’’ The committee congratulating themselves that old Ben was evidently frightened, came to din ner at the hour named, but were sur prised to find nothing on the table but inush—mndr! from ill-ground corn—and a large pitcher of milk. The merchants’ committee not being used to such coarse fare, couid do nothing but watch the healthy printer while he made a hearty j mea l* Rising from the table he address j e committee thus: “Now, gentle j ra en, he that Can live comfortably on i su °b food, can live without your pat | ronage. I shall cease to attack those practices when you cease to practice them, and not before. Gentlemen good night.” & A Remarkable Set.—Old Farmer Gruff was one morning rig 3 vtslv with all his might and main at. a barrel ot apples, which ho was endeavoring to get up the cellar stairs, and calling at the top of his lungs for one of his boys to lend a helping hand, but in vain. When he hid, after an infinite amount of sweating anl puffing, accom plished the task, and just when thev were not needed, of course, the ‘boys’ made their appearance. ‘Where have you been, and what have you been about, Fd like to know, that you couldn’t hear me call V inquired the tarmer in an angry tone, and addressing the eldest. ‘Out in the shop settm’ the saw,’ leplied the youth, ‘And you Dick V ‘Out in the barn settiu' the hen.* ‘Aud you sir ?’ ‘Up in Granny’s room settiu' the clock.’ ‘And you, young man ?’ ‘Up garret, settin' tbe trap.’ ‘Aud now, master, Fred, where were you, and what were you aeitin V asked tho old farmer of his youngest progeny, the Asperity of his temper being somewhat softened by this amus ing catagory of answers. ‘Come, let’s hear !’ ‘On the door-step, settin’ still,’ replied the young hopeful, seriously. ‘A remarkable set , 1 mu6t confess,’ added the amus and sire, dispersing tho grinning group with a wave of the hand. PAY THE PRINTER.