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.