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THE REPUBLIC, IS PUBMSHED EVLRV WEDNESDAY, OVER J. D. WINN’S BIUCK STORE COTTON AVENUE, MACON, GA. AT *3,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. — RATES OF ADVERTISING, &c. One square, of 100 words, or less, in small type, 75 cents lor the fir3t insertion, and 50 cents lor each subsequent insertion. All advertisements containing more than 100 and ess than 200 words, «vil! be charged a* two squares. To yearly advertisers, a liberal deduction will be made. Sales of Land, by Administrators, Executors, nr Guardians, are required by law to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of | ten in the forenoon, and three in the afternoon, at j the Court House in the county in which the pro perty is situated. Notice of these must be given in a public gazette, sixty days previous to the day of sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to thcCourt of Ordinary for leave to sell land, must be publish ed four months. Sales of Negroes must be made at public auc tion, on the first Tuesday of the mouth, between 1 the legal hours of sale, at the place of public sales, j in the county where the letters testamentary, ol | administration of guardianship, shall have been ! granted, sixty days notice being previously given in one of the public gazettes of this State* and at: the door of the Court House where such sales are ; to be held. Nolice for leave to sell Negroes must be pub J fished lor four months before any order absolute shall be made thereon bv the Court. All business of this nature wilt receive prompt 1 attention at the oflice of THE REPUBLIC. BUSINESS CARDS. 108 PRINTING JEEESWiftSH) A® E3KHS * I With Neatness and Dispatch. mms* mss**xr 9 Fashionable Dress Making Establishment. Plumb Street , next to the Seminary. Orders for Dresses. Riding Habits, &,c. &c. j executed in the latest and most fashionable style, and at the shortest notice. 20 ts JBROWN & SHOCK LEV, asp 1 MACON, GA. Jan 1, 1815. 12—ly I CEO YD HOUSE. BY 13. S. NEWCOM 13. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,18-14. l-M WIIITINU A- MIX, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN ; BOOTS AND SHOES, Near the Washington Hall, Second street. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. 1-tlj J. L. JONES Sc CO. CLOTHING STOKE. I Vest side Mulberry Street, next door bcloic the 1 Big Hat. Macon, Georgia. Oci. 19,1844. l-ts NISBET & WINGFIELD, AT T O K A E VS AT EA W. Office on .Mulberry Street, over Kimberly's Hat : Store. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. l-ts ; DOCTORS J. N. A 11. K. GREEN, Corner of .Mulberry and Third Streets. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-tl FREEMAN & ROBERTS. Saddle, Harness, and Whiff, 1 A > U I- A C T O It Y . Lhah rs in all hinds of Heather, Saddlery Harness and Carriage Trimmings , On Cotton Avenue and Second street, Macon, Ga. October 25, 1844. 3-1 SAMUEL J. RAY & CO. DEALERS IN FANCY AND STAPLE DltY GOODS, Ready .Made Clothing, Huts, Shoes, &c. Second street, a few doors from the Washington Hotel. Macon. Georgia. Oct. 18,1944. I—if REDDING”& WHITEHEAD. DEALERS IN FANCY AND STAPLE DRY GOODS, Groceries, Hard H are, Cutlery, Hats, Shoes, j Crockery, &c. &c.. Corner of Cotton Avenue and Cherry streets. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. l-ts JOSEPH If. SEYMOUR, " DEALER IN DRY GOODS, GROCERIES, HARD WARE, &c. Brick Store, Cherry Street, Ralston's Range, first door below Russell & Kimberley's. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-ts GEORGE M. LOGAN, DEALER IN FANCY AND STAPLE DRY GOODS, Hard-Ware, Crockery, Glass-Ware, &c. &c. j Corner of Second and Cherry streets. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-ts d7 & w. gijnnT DEALERS IN S T V P I, E DRY GOODS, | Groceries, Hardware, Crockery, &.c. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. 1-tl i J. 31. BOARD3IAN, DEALER IN law, medical, miscellaneous and School Books; Blank Books and Stationery! of all kiuds ; Printing Paper, &e. &c. of the Large Bible, two doors above Shot well's corner, west side of Mulberry Street. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1 —ts B. R. WARNER, AUCTION AND COMMISSION NEIt- CHANT. Dealer in every description of Merchandise. “The Public’s Servant,” and subject to receiving consignments at all times, by the consignees pay ing 5 per cent, commissions lor services rendered Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. 1-ts L . j. CROSS, Has for Sale DRY GOODS ts GROCERIES , BOOTS, SHOES, CAPS, AND HATS, At John D. IVinn's Old Store. Macon, Oct. 25,1844. 2-ts A Strange Bet. —Public notic is given in the Boston papers of a bet which is to he settled on the 4th of March in that city. It appears that a whig and a democrat, having bantered each other, several months since, for a bet on the Presidential election, finally agreed that if Mr. Clay was elect ed the Democrat should saw a half cord nf wood for the whig, in any public place mat he should name; and vice versa, if Mr. oik should be elected. The Whig hav ing lost, :s to saw the half cord of wood on the 4th of March in front of the market bouse. THE 'REPUBLIC'. S. M. STRONG, Editor. volume i. MI SCE L L ANY. TIIE GHIBETTE AND BRAND*: D AME. i he carnival of 1717 was drawing to a close : it was the last ball of the season, and the sallc de V Opera was crowded to its utmost limits. All distinctions of rank were forgotten. Peets jostled pickpock ets, and courtiers, countesses, and even sober citizens, mingled with chevaliers Industrie, grisettes, and*opera dancers. Here, masked to the teeth, may he seen j some grande dame in whispering confer ence with a young mousquetairc, who, quick at a hint, has been all night waiting ! that black domino with a rose and silver ribbon tied at the wrist. There, a march- I ioness, the heroine of many an adventure, ! is trying to make a conquest of the young mercer hei neighbour, who is impatient j to see whether the beauty of his incognita -answers to the charms of her conversation. r i lie slight figure in the Turkish dress, who has made love to half the women present, is well known to be the Regent, Duke of Orleans: the group of bacchantes, bayaderes, and heathen goddesses hover ing about him, are the ladies of the court, several of them his mistresses; and the Venus who conceals her face, while through that thin veil she undauntedly displays her neek and shoulders, is no less than the Duchess of Berry, a princess of the blood-royal, and the regent’s fa vourite daughter. It may he readily supposed that many piquant adventures, and not a few scan dalous intrigues, wore the result of this intermixture of ranks and under the pro tection of the mask more than one fair dame indulged in frolics, the discover}’ of which would have covered her with confusion. Under a gallery at the further end of the ball-room, and screened from obser vation by a row of pillars, two persons in close conversation occupied a sofa. The taller, who had thrown his mask aside, was dressed as a student. lie was a young man of from eighteen to twenty years of age, and of remarkably prepos sessing appearance. Ilis dark brown hair fell in curls on his shoulders; his complexion was of a clear brown; and his large haze, eyes had that mild serious look that has been said to charac terise persons fore-doomed to a violent death. At this time, however, their me lancholy expression had disappeared, and the}' sparkled with animation as he con versed with the person at his side. This figure was so carefully masked, that even the mouth and chin were concealed, but the slight graceful form, and the small foot that occasionally peeped from under the sable domino, left no doubt as to the sex. The conference seemed at an end, for the lady made an attempt to rise. ‘Do not leave me,’said her companion: 'or, at least, ere you go, let me gaze for one moment on those lovely features anti the bright eyes that, even through that hateful mask, have subdued my heart.’ ‘I dare not stay,’ site replied. ‘We are observed. Yonder Diana has been watching you for the last half-hour. Per haps she means to choose you for herEu dymion.’ ‘When goddesses condescend to visit us poor mortals,’ answered the student, ‘they come in disguise—mine is already here,’ and he caught her hand. ‘See !’ she said, ‘your deity approaches. If she finds you with a rival, her vengeance will be terrible.’ ‘At least I shall not merit the punish ment of Actocon, for it is not her charms that I am contemplating,’ he returned, as he pressed to his lips the small white hand from which he had drawn an embroider ed glove; ‘but fear her not, she is the goddess of chastity, and flies from men.’ ‘Rather say the huntress, in full pursuit of you. I will not encounter her wrath.’ She disengaged her hand, and, mixing with the crowd, was out of sight in a mo ment. Ere he could follow her, the mask in the dress of Diana stood before him. The baskined goddess was a curious specimen of the Grecian costume, as un derstood in Paris at the time of the regen cy. Her green satin hooped petticoat, looped up on one side with more than classic brevity, displayed a well-shaped leg, though not of tiie most slender dimen sions. Her waist was extremely long, and below it hung an imitation of a pan ther's skin, which finished with a huge claw. She carried a gilt bow, which, judging by its size, and length of the ar rows suspended in a quiver at her back, never could have been intended to bring down anything larger than a butterfly.— A crescent of false stones sparkled in her hair, two or three locks of which hung down on her neck; but their jetty hue w-as disguiscil by a shade of powder, then first coming into fashion. l Je te connais /’ said she beginning with the usual jargon. ‘And I know you, Susettc,’ returned the student, impatiently, ‘although you have taken the trouble to change your dress. Did you think all that frippery would disguise you from me?’ The goddess snatched off her mask, and her brilliant black eyes sparkled fierce ly under her marked eyebrows, as she re plied, ‘You are right, Etienne, there should be no disguise between us. Tell me, therefore, who was the mask that has just quitted you?’ ‘You know as much on the subject as I,’ he answered carelessly; ‘She is a strang er to me.’ PKO PATRIA F.T LI'i.IKPS. ."MACON, GEORGIA. WEDNESDAY, MARCH 5. 1815. ‘Did she leave you this for a souvenir T was the reply ; ‘or as a token by which you are to find her again ?’ saying which she snatched a small glove from his hand. Her colour changed as she looked at it. It was of the scented leather once so sought after, called peatt iPEspagne, and embroidered with very small pearls. ‘ls it so ?’ she exclaimed. ‘Are grisettes no longer good enough for you, that you seek acquaintance among the fine court ladies ?’ ‘Be silent, you do not know what you are talking about,’ he returned ; by a sud den movement again possessing himself of the glove, and thrusting it into his bo som. Her jealous fury increasing, she raised her voice so high as to attract the atten tion of several persons near. ‘Do you I think lamto be foiled ?’ she cried. ‘Be ! she who she may, she shall not seduce my lover with impunity.’ ‘Ho! ho!’ said a figure grotesquely dressed, stealing from behind one of'the pillars, and jingling some bells fastened to a stick—‘a lover’s quarrel! then Folly must he at hand ;’ and he began skipping round them. Irritated at the laughter of the spectators, Etienne attempted to leave the spot; hut linking her arm in his, Su sette exclaimed— ‘Are you going to your assignation ? I will accompany you, for I have some thing to say to my lady Countess—or whatever she calls herself.’ At these words, the delight of the mask representing Folly was excessi\ e; he clap ped his hands, jinged his hells, and a clown catching the infection, the two capered about till a crowd began to collect round the party. Etienne, half mad with vexation, broke through the throng with the intention of leaving the ball-room. Ashe arrived at the door, his incognita gliding up to him, said softly— ‘Gentle knight, you will not refuse to return a lady her glove, since it was not thrown down in defiance of you ?’ Before he could answer he heard the hateful jingling of the bells, and preceded by Folly, and followed bv a troop of maskers, he saw Susette approaching. Her eyes seemed toflash fire, and her nos trils were dilated with passion as, striding up to her rival, she crushed the mask on her face, and tried to tear it off. Etienne catching her arm prevented a repetition of the blow ; hut his own pas sion roused, he threw her front him with a force that sent her staggering backwards. ‘Fiend!’ he exclaimed,‘from this hour 1 counsel you to avoid :ne ! —Dare to cross my path again, and I swear by all that is sacred you shall bitterly repent it!’ say ing which, and taking the black domino under his arm, he left the ball-room. ‘Bon DieuV said a female, who had just forced her way through the crowd. ‘lt is Susette Lagarde and the student Etienne Grandier, her lover.’ A few weeks after the ball, in the house of a family of high rank in Paris, a lady reclined in hep boudoir in one of those antique chairs, the curved shapes and rounded backs of which are so character istic of the graceful fashions of that day. A dress of pale blue satin set off the ex quisite fairness of her skin. Bright au burn hair combed back from the forehead, fell in two or three large curls on her neck. Her features were delicately shaped rather than regular, her lips of that bright vermilion hue that we often see in chil dren ; and partly cased in a rose-coloured slipper, with a very high heel, a foot as small as that of a fui ry rested on the lap of a young man w ho half kneeled, half sat a cushion at her feet. It is not necessary to describe his appearance, for it was the student Etienne Grandier. The lady smiled tenderly on her lover ; as looking anxiously at her he said, ‘You say this to torment me : if the danger were tenfold, I would brave it, were but the peril mine alone.’ ‘But since it is not? she replied, ‘since to receive you any longer in this house would be fraught with danger to me as well as to you, theonly course that remains is—.’ ‘To part,’ he answered. ‘Be it so, but remember it is my life you ask—l will not live without you.’ ‘How many have sworn as much ?’ said the lady, ‘and have found women credu lous enough to believe them ?’ ‘Butj’ou are not one of those,’ said Crandier, bitterly; ‘you have lived among courtiers, and judging all men by that standard, believe me to be as heartless as they.’ ‘Ungrateful!’ she exclaimed; ‘had 1 thought so, should I have trusted my re putation in your hands ? Had you not in terrupted me, I would have'told you, that though we cannot meet here we may do so elsew'here —and this was about to do for one who loads me with reproaches.’ ‘Forgive me,’ he answered, pressing his lips to her hand ; ‘the fear of losing you made me unjust. Call me not un grateful; your generous condescension is written in characters of fire on my heart. Would to Heaven it were given me to prove how lightly I hold my life in com parison with your safety and fair fame.’ Etienne Grandier was the only child of a merchant of Toulouse, who, having amassed a fortune, was anxious to raise fiis son to a higher rank in life than his own. There were no other means of do ing than by educating him for the church, | a course to which he was the more inchti- ed from the docility of the boy’s temper, and the superiority of his talents. Etienne had been carefully educated ; and so secure were his parents in the strength of his principles, that they sent him to finish his studies in a licentious capital, without casting a thought on the temptations to which he might he exposed there. The character of young Grandier might he compared to a volcano under snow, for no one who saw the mildness and timidity of his demeanour would have suspected the fiery passions that slumbered beneath. For some time after his arrival in Baris, the hours not devoted to study were passed in the society of a priest, an old friend of his family; butj intense application proved so injurious to his health, that even father Gerard advis ed him to seek occasional amusement. His advice was followed, and it was with sincere pleasure that in a few months the old man noticed the improvement in his appearance. Etienne blushed on receiv ing his congratulations, but did not think it necessary to explain that a total change had taken place in his habits, and that in stead of study, his whole time was now passed in the society of the grisettes of the neighborhood. The smiles of the handsome student had already proved a fruitful source of discord among this amiable sisterhood, when Susette Lagarde, becoming the fa vourite, succeeded in keeping every rival at a d's'.tnce.'hsujucli by her strength of arm and volubility of tongue, as by the superiority of her beauty. Her empire had continued undisturbed until the night of the masked ball; but her conduct on that occasion had deeply offended Etien ne, and though she employed prayers, tears, and even threats, to bring about a reconciliation, he was resolute in refusing it. It must-he owned that his determina tion found its strongest support in his pas sion for her rival. Since that evening! they had met repeatedly, and the refine ment of her manners was so new to him, and he was so dazzled by her charms, that he seemed to tread anew sette, who had for some time ceased to j pursue him. was forgotten. But he was not forgotten by her. 11 j she could not have love, she was at least! resolved on vengeance, and judging that his acquaintance with the black domino would not end with the ball, site deter-. mined to watch all his movements. Eti- j enne, however, was forced to take so j many precautions in visiting his enamora-j la, that she was completely baffled, until the lady’s fears that her family should dis- i cover the intrigue, induced her to visit her j lover in his own apartments. It was an old and gloomy quarter of j Paris in which Grandter resided. He; had selected it as being quiet and retired,' and because adjoining his room was a pa vilion with a garden, which, though sur rounded on three sides by houses, served him as a place of recreation after the hours of study. It was here that he proposed to receive his mistress. With a lover’s care the pa vilion was made ready; his own hand ar-1 ranged the garden, and when all was done he sighed as he thought how unfit was j such a temple for his divinity. Their meetings did not escape the sharp ; eyes of Susette. The sight of her faithless lover leaving his own house one evening with a female, put her on the alert; she recognized the figure of her rival, and only waited her next appearance to overwhelm her with reproaches. Fortune soon favored her projects.— : The lady arriving alone, passed through ; the house to the garden, and Susette, who ! knew that Etienne was from home, enter- ) ed the pavilion after her. The dismay ofj the stranger at (he sight of a female of the lower class, whose disordered appearance j gave indication of the violent passions that j agitated her, may he imagined. Scarce j had their eyes met than she remembered her as a girl who had worked in her father’s family, and the astonishment expressed in the grissette’s face showed that the recog nition was mutual. ‘So, madame! it is you who play these pranks !’ she exclaimed. ‘Shame on you, court ladies! who call us had names and despise us, while you envy and rob us of our lovers. But the whole neighborhood shall know what a grande dame is the mis tress of a poor student. We shall see what the grisseltes will say to it. Here, Lisette, Martha, come and see the fine madam who visits Etienne Grnndier!” The lady, agonized with the tlanger to j which her life as well as reputation would be exposed in the hands of an incensed I populace, endeavored to disarm her fury ; by supplications. ‘My good Susette!’ she cried imploring ly, ‘do not ruin me. I will give you mo- i ney,—make you rich, —only let me go, and I will never come near your lover again.’ Her prayers were disregarded, and Su sette, throwing open the window', contin ued to call her companions. The alarm was given, casements were thrown open, and the neighbors from their windows en deavored to ascertain the causes of the cries. It was already dusk, and nothing could be seen; but the screams continued, and once the cry of ‘murder’ was heard. Old and young now hastened to the spot. As they entered the house they met Eti enne coming f rom the garden. ■For Goil’s sake !’ said the foremost; ‘what is the meaning of those cries ?’ 11. C. CROSBY, Proprietor. NFJUBER 21. ‘Cries!’ he repeated. *1 have heard none. I am this moment returned and came in the hack way.’ ; ‘There have been dreadful shrieks heard from your house,’ was the answer. ‘You are wrong, neighbour,’ interrup ted an old woman ; ‘they were not from the house. I opened my window at the I first alarm, and I am sure the screams came from the pavilion. Let us there.’ ‘The pavilion !’ said Etienne, starting. I ‘There is no one there! —lt is looked, and j I have not the key.’ ‘Nevertheless,’said old woman perti naciously, ‘I am positive it was from there j theycarne; and it is my advice that we ! search it.’ Etienne in vain remonstrated. ‘My friends,’ said he, as they pushed past him, I ‘let me enter first, there is a person; there ’ ‘Why, just now-you said it was empty ! and locked,’ said oue of the men. ‘Perhaps Monsieur CEtudiant has one of j his masters there!’ observed another with a laugh. ‘Or mistresses,’ put in a third. ‘Come,' .Monsieur Etienne, allow that there is a j lady in the case, and we will wait out-! side.’ ‘There is a lady,’ said the student, evidently confused. ‘I must speak to her before you enter.’ He sprang to the door of the pavilion without perceiving that the old woman, who had followed him, was stealthily peeping in. A shriek from her brought the rest of the people. Etienne, his face as white as death, his whole eouutenauuc the picture of horror, was leaning over the body of Susette Lagarde, which lay weltering in blood at his feet. The murderer was immediate ly seized. He made little defence, but seemed overwhelmed by his situation. Indeed, taken almost in the fact as he had been, it was generally expected that he would confess to save himself from the torture, and though he did not directly dis avow his guilt, his silence when interro gated on the subject was looked upon as a tacit confession. It was only on the day of trial, and with the horror of his impend ing fate before his eyes, that he seemed desirous of making an effort to avert it ;i hut lie confined himself to general asser-; tions of his innocence and begged his ! judges to have mercy on his youth, and j finding this appeal, unsuccessful, he ex-i claimed, almost wildly, that he was not guilty. He was condemned to be broken on the wheel. As the time of execution approached, he requested to see the priest already mentioned. Father Gerard had been deeply offended at the duplicity of Etienne, whose disorderly courses he had i not suspected until the trial made them known ; but though as rigid in his own principles as strict in exacting the perfor mance of their duty from others, Chris-; tian charity forbade him to refuse the; prayer of a penitent. An interview took , place between them. Etienne Wjis to die j on the morrow, anti as some hope had j been entertained that a less painful death j might he inflicted, it was a part of his! friend’s mission to inform him that his ; petition to that effect was rejected. However severely Father Gerard I might have been prepared to treat the! criminal, the sight of his former pupil, 1 changed by suffering of mind and hotly, turned his anger to pity, and though he I reproached him it was with gentleness. ‘Behold,’ said he, ‘the fruits of vice, j Who that knew you, Etienne, loved by all for the goodness of your heart, and of ; whom numerous witnesses have deposed ! that you never had a quarrel, never spoke I an angry word to any of your companions,! : who would have believed that a few months of a licentious life would have' ! transformed you into a murderer?’ ‘And might not their testimony have proved that I was incapable of commit* j ting such a barbarous deed ?’ faltered 1 Etienne. ‘Unhappy boy!’ returned the other; ‘when at that fatal ball you uttered that threat, murder was in your thoughts. But enough of this; I come here as your spir itual guide, pre.pared to speak comfort to your soul, if by contession and repen tance of your sins you would seek that mercy from Heaven, w'hich the justice of man dare not show you.’ Their conference was long, and the troubled countenance of Father Gerard showed that it had deeply moved him. There was still a painful duty to perform. question anticipated it. ‘Father,’ said he, ‘am 1 to die on the wheel ?’ On a reply in the affirmative the unhap py youth nid his face in his hands, but their convulsive trembling showed the agony within. ‘My son,’ said the priest, ‘remember him who died on the cross ! Did he suf fer less ?’ ‘Ah, Father, he was without guilt! What can give courage to one whose sins have cost him his life, and brought shatne ] and sorrow on his parents ?’ We should vainly seek in a modern : 1 drawing-room for the elegance and splen dour presented by a salon at Paris in the | time of the Regency. The lofty and | spacious apartments were lighted by in numerable tapers, reflected in mirrors 1 draperied with the richest produce of the Indian loom. Thick Persian carpets ! half covered the polished floor. Before every door hung damask curtains, inter j ceptmg the air that might have blown too i roughly on the delicate forms within. On the marble chimney-piece, between lus- tres with long glittering pendant* large baskets of golden flowers anch. middle, clock oi Serrc* which is painted medal Upas, the ho: hand in hand danced JJttir eterajjr i'ou§. or swains, with c&sfikc ed wit ribbons, piped their numerous strains z the feat of garland Th japanned cabinets were set out with nuir hers of tiny cups nf tfist delicate as# ; transparent china that looks as if a breath of air would blow it away!. Manpanas? pagodas, all the variety of \QTOnssp?% & which Chinese imagination revels, fffiau the intervening spaces. The pietiJf% completed by the variety of colours and costumes. The brilliant scarlet distin guishing the officers of the Swiss guards rivalled the elegant blue and gold of the cavalry uniform, or was relieved by the black velvet and silver facings of the mousyuetaires. The embroidered coats of the peers, their diamond stars and buttons and i lie blue ribbon displayed across the rich white satin waistcoat, were equally contrasted with the more sober dress of the little Ebbe, with his smooth cheek, his short cloak, point lace cravat, ami black silk culotte. These were the perfumed and powdered butterflies that fluttered round the fair circle, where waving plumes and necklaces, 'sparking with precious stones, were no more graceful than their wearers, nor brighter than theireyes. Such was the scene presented at the ho tel of the Marquis de Ferriers, where a nu merous and brilliant party was assembled to witness the signing of the marriage con tract between the daughter of the noble host and his nephew the Viscomte de Beauvais. The Countess de St. Gilles, although a widow, had not yet seen her twenty-fifth year. She was married when almost a child to her late husband, and since his death had, by a family arrange- ment, been contracted to her cousin. Tbe age, fortune, and personal qualities of the parlies were so well assorted, that their union was the subject of general approba tion. The Countess, one of the beauties of the day, had always conducted herself with a propriety that did honor to the ex cellent education she had received. Jn ! deed the Marquis himself was generally respected for a purity of principles and conduct rarely met with at that time, The marriage bad been for some time deferred in consequence or the delicate state of the Countess’ health, hut at the earnest solici tation of her father, it was now to take place without further delay. The bride-elect had not yet made her appearance, anti the guests amused them selves in conversation respecting the in teresting event they were assembled to witness. ‘My dear Marchioness, how delighted I am to see you!’exclaimed a lady, riressed in the very pink of the fashion, ‘and how charmingly you look. But the air of Paris is a great beautifier. Only think of me, ma chere, buried for twelve long months in a horrid province ! It was impossible to endure it any longer, so I have left Mon sieur le Comte to govern his barbares by him self. But I have so much news to hear. Only think of our dear Countess marrying her cousin at last! They will make a charming couple. The Viscomte is so handsome, and she—but here she comes; I must go and congratulate her. HoW could they say,’ she continued, on return ing to her seat, ‘she was in bad health?— To me, she seems more lovely than ever.' ‘Your long banishment makes you see everything couleur de rose, my dear Coun ‘tess,’returned her friend: ‘I think her sad ly changed. She is much thinner, and her eyes, the expression of which was former ly so enchantingly soft, have now quite a haggard look.’ ‘Do you not. think that her rouge is a soupcon, too deep?’ whispered the other, be ginning to criticise in her turn. ‘I think that effect is produced by the almost unearthly whiteness of her skin,’ was the reply. ‘lt is true, powder, paint, j and patches, make it difficult, now-a-days. | to see what a complexion really is; hut, un der all those auxiliaries, I trace the rava ges of ill health.’ At this point the conversation Was inter rupted by the preparations for signing the contract; the parchment was placed be- I fore The Countess for her signature, but her hand shook so violently that she could scarcely trace a letter, and it was ohly by a strong effort that she mastered her agita tion sufficiently to write her name. Im mediately after she sunk back in her chair, 1 and became insensible. She was carried 1 into her apartments, and upon medical aid i being summoned, was pronounced to be dangerously ill. ln a few days it was known that the | young and beautiful Countess of St. Gilles, so lately on the point of becoming El bride, 1 was dying. From the commencement of i her illness sire had continued to sink rap iidlv, ar.d her physicians were only sur prised (hat she still lived. The house be came a scene of mourning, crowded with friends anxious to show their sympathy, and to offer consolation to the Marquis and i his nephew. The Countess was aware I that her situation was hopeless; all her thoughts were given to religion, and her icon lessor was constantly with her. On ! the day that the last sacraments were to be administered, the numerous members of her family were, at her express desire summoned to her bed-side. ‘My friends,’ said the dying woman, ‘1 cannot leave the World iti peace, neither will my confessor give me absolution, till I have confessed a crime which has long lain heavily on my conscience. All here must remember the student Etienne Gran dier, who, two years ago, was condemn ed to death for the murder of his mistress. At the place of execution he asserted his innocence, and his assertion was true. — I was the murderer of Susette Legarde!” At this strange revelation a murmur of astonishment was heard, and all present looked at each other, as if to ask whether the words she had uttered were not those of delirium; but the priest made a sign to