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“GALLAHERS INDEPENDENT,”
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT
QUITMAN, GA m
by
- J. C. GALLAHER.
TERMS or SUBSCRIPTION
TWO DOLLARS per Annum in Adrrtnce.
THE LITTLE YEU.
BY XOUEBT IjOWBLTJ,
Tlicut* yearsi these yearl these naughty ytifcru,
Once they were pretty things;.
Their feiry'footfall caught our ears,
Our vyes their glanetng wings;
They flitted by *r sehool-boy way,--*
TVe chased the lit'tle imps at ptejr.
We knew them soon fofftrioky #h*e<i; N
They brought the efflege gown;
With thouglitfnl lwmhwfilled up uur *liul vim,
Darkened oar li]M vrtth down,
■*> Played with our throat, and iol the tono
Of manhood had become ottr own.
They, smiUpg, stretched our Miildiith siao; *
Tneir soft hands trimincil odr hair, v
Cast the deep thought withiulmr eyes,
And leftit ,*
Hang jamgs V hope iu college hklkk
They flashed upon *m a bright gem;
They show ed u gleams of fame;
Httmt-heartett-Wtryk *x l un fhmi them,
And honor moy *
And Sit 1 they eamo and went away,—
Wo said uot stay.
- sweet day, when quiet skies
“ And still leaves brought me thought,
When lazy hills drew forth my eyes,
Aud woods with deep shades fraught;
That day I e-arlesslv fou|d out P
What work these elves had beeh^about.
Alas ! those little rogues, the years
Had fooled me many a day;
Plucked half the locks above my eyes,
And tinged the rest alt gray.
mey’d 1 eft me wrinkles great and small, —
I fear that they have tricked us all„
. Well, give the little years their way*
speak, aud act the while; 1
Lift up the bare front to thewlay, *
And make their wrinkles smile;
They mould the noble living hViul,
They carve the best tomb for the dead
THE AGATE CROSS.
Tlie late June twilight is loath to leave
the faintly starred, dim-blue heaven.
Wafts of delicious fragrance float along tin
garden jiatlis from the dewy hi’Uotro) e
clusters and the vague jungles of migno
nette. Low above the ragged line of dis- :
taut forest hangs the young golden cres- j
cent.
The lovers stand at the garden gate.
The woman's face is fresh and fair; you can
woe indistinctly the lustrous richness of her
hazel eyes aa the soft moonlight strikes
them. The man is handsome, hat; tall, i
Veil shaped, with a face of delicate, slight
ly oval contour. It is Elsie Warner’s
Voice that breaks the stillness:
"And so, Paul, you really mean that :
yon will never forget me ?”
“How is that possible, Elsie?” He
holds her hands between lioth his own, j
whilst murmuring the words; and now he !
stoops to kiss her white forehead, glitter- J
iug purely in the moonlight.
“But New Orleans is such a great,
thickly-populated place,” the girl says, 1
giving a little mirthless laugh. “Perhaps!
—wlio knows- —you may sue someone there !
whom you could love better-—”
“Hush, darling!” and ho stops her
mouth very lovingly with his uplifted
hand. “I won’t let you talk so ridiculous
ly. lam going to New Orleans, it is true;
hut 1 shall write you from there every
other day, at least, during the six mouths
of my absence; aud you should not feel
sorry that lam to be away. Remember
that 1 have some pride about taking a rich
man's daughter without a penny of my
own to save me from being what people
can term an out-and-out fortune hunter.
Your father bus obtained for me (kind man
that he is) u situation of the most vulua ;
ble character. In a few months I am to j
return and marry you; meanwhile lam to
reap all the advantages possible from ygur
father's benevolence. Surely there is
nothing in this prospect to make you feel
at all gloomy.”
Elsie sighs, though nlmost inaudibly.
“I know it, Paul. I suppose 1 am horri
bly foolish. Hut do you know that a sort
of a strange sadness comes over me when
ever I think at all of the future.”
“Nonsense.” He kissed her again—not
on the fordicad this time. Then he f ra
bies for a moment or two at his watch
chain, presently saying:
“Here, Elsie, is a little cross that I want
yon to take und keep. Always wear it
whilst I am away; and whenever the least
shadow of doubt in my perfect constancy,
darling, visits your soul, look at it aud say
to yourself: “Paul loves me.”
BUe answered him a short, low, passion
ate cry, eagerly receiving the souvenir he
offers. “I shall, Paul. It is a sweet idea,
and I um so glad you thought of it.”
A little while afterward Elsie Warner
Walks up through the vague-lit garden to
wards the handsome-fronted house that
looms beyond, telling herself as she does
so that she is a dissatisfied borrower of
trouble, and does not deserve to have half
so devoted a lover as “dear PauL”
Meanwhile “dear Paul” strolls home
ward through the placid June dusk. What
ore his thoughts as he does so ? Far dif
ferent are they from Elsie’s. He is telling
himself that fate has cast liis lines iu rather
pleasant places: that he barf the only child
of a very rich and prosperous parent to love
him to distraction; that one day, when old
Joseph Warner dies (an event which must
be kicked forward to as uot particularly
distant,) he will occupy a mostcuviable po
sition as that gentleman's son-in-law;
briefly, that he is in luck.
And whilst thinking these thoughts he
whistles nonchalantly, and figuratively pats
himself on bis own shoulder, as much as
to say, “Paul Balistear, you arc a clever
fellow, and deuced fortunate.” But does
he remember the agate cross ? Hoes he
remember the sweet, appealing eyes that
dwelt so tenderly upon him uot long ago ?
He remembers neither.
“Tom is so awkward,” pouts Maud
Enninger, with something between a smile
and a frown. “I like him, of course; that
is, I used to like him. Now, things are
different. ”
"Different, Mand !” echoes her mother.
“I sincerely hope not. Thomas Erskine i
believes htmself to be your future hus
band.”
“Let him believe what he chooses,”
snaps Maud, rosily beautiful in her anger.
“I am uot responsible for the pranks which
his imagination chooses to play. He
joined me in the avenue yesterday,” she
goes on w ith tossed head. “I was so vexed.
A momen t later I met Mr. Balistear. Of
course Paul couldn’t walk with me, poor
dear fellow, whilst Thomas Erskine was
at my side. He did look so annoyed—and
so handsome into the bargain.”
Mr 8. Enninger .sighs faintly. “I wish
yont father was living, Maud. It will be
a p tty indeed if no one cun prevent you
from subjecting Thomas and the whole
Yxskine family (whom \vc have known for
VOL. I.
years and yours) to 6uclr a Bud disappoint
ment.”
“A great pity, mamma. No doubt the
wimple Erskine family, as you oompreheu-
Ha j) > never forgive me for having
dtAnved their esteemed relative of my
rnokey."
“Matid! You know that is shameful
slamhir. I wish you had never seen this
Paul .’Balistear," adds Airs. Enninger,
gravely. “It is far more probable that 1m
is merely anxious to many you on account
of veal- money than that—”
But ifaud, the self-willed, petted heiress,
interrupts her mother quite furiously, just
here. Is she nut of age and her own mis
tress ? Bhall she he perpetually dictated
to as long as her life lasts V ot cetera, to iui
almost infinite degree. Finally, exit our
impetuous,* spoiled Maiul: with eyes u
glitter and cheeks aflame.
That liigTlt Paul Balistear 0...1'. Ilia
visit is the ultimate 1 uniting and scaling,
so to speak, of '“Maud’s resolution. Tom
Erskine is very nice, but Paul is immeas
urably nicer. Tom has good, honest eyes,
that ore blue and pjeasuiit, tuid nothing
more. Paul lias dreamy, lunguoress eyes,
Spanish iu their Mack ness and their lus
tre. Tom’s nose is an uncontruilictublc
pug. Paul’s nose is. thiu-uostriled, deli
cate, classic. Tom’s, voice is a sound.
Paul's is music- a divine harmony. In
many other ways, the infatuated girl tells
herself, tlie two men bear sharpest con
trast to one another. No; Tom is certainly
not endurable by the side of Paul.
“You must come in a day or two,” she
murmurs this evening, just before he
leaves her, “and be introduced to mamma
and little sister Bessy —that is all our fam
ily consists of, you know. Aud O, 1 for
got Miss Matthews; she isn't precisely one
of the family, however though I love her
dearly. ”
“Pray, who is Miss Matthews ?” asks
Paul.
I can’t tell you much about her family
history, for 1 only know that she used to
be iu much better circumstances than slu
is now, before certain pecuniary reverses
forced her to go out as governess.”
“The old story,” comments Paul.
“Stop, sir 1 You must not sneer at my
sweet Miss Matthews. Perhaps if you
saw her you would fall in love with her
beautiful, sad face. She isn’t my govern ;
ess any longer; she lives with me as my
friend.”
“And gots paid for so doing ?" queries
Paul, w ith a little laugh.
Presently the lovers separated. Two or
three days pass. At lengt h Paul receives u
little note from Maud Enninger, ti ling
him, iu rather familiar terms, that she will
be glad to have him call at about
eight o’clock on the evening of that day.
He goes, full of pleasant anticipations.
Beyond a doubt, ho tells himself, Maud’s
mother has at length consented to receive
him into her house as the affianced hus
band of her daughter. W hilst thinking
these thoughts he pats himself,so to speak,
upon his own shoulder*- just os we know
of his having done once before, lie also
passes a mute mental criticism upon him
self to the effect that he is “deuced clever”
and “deuced fortunate,” just us we hoard ]
him do once before. But does any thought
enter his mind concerning Maud horsed
her generosity, her sweet winning candor, j
her countless charms both of person and j
character? No such. thought enters his j
mind.
“Am 1 late ?” asks Paul ns Maud enters
the richly-furnished parlors to receive
him.
“O, no,” is the prompt answer.
She takes his hand; she ('veil lets
him kiss her; but sho is somehow not the
same Maud as when they last met.
Just then the soft—very soft—strains of
a piano begin at a little distance from
where they Vvere seated. Paul looks round.
The back of iho-lad.Ws head and figure arc
plainly viable, whilst tin- lady plays her
soft little rippling fuutn i Paul wonders
whether her playing is not low enough for
her to hear Maud's and his own voices.
“Miss Mathews, I suppose ?” ho pros
en tlv says.
“Yes,” Maud answered
After tins there was considerable talk
between them, on rather commonplace
topics. Paul is waiting for Maud to speak
first on the important subject of whether
their engagement is to be immediately an
nounced. But she docs not.
More commonplace conversation. Tlie
Indy at the piuno continues to play her rip
pling, tender melodies. Paul grows im
patient.
“Mand,” lie murmurs, “have you
mentioned our—our engagement to your
mother. ”
Sho gives a rather cold laugh. “0,
dear no.”
“And why have you not ?”
She gave another laugh; louder this
time, and colder. The piano stops. Pan!
does not notice this. lie too was bent ou
the girl’s answer.
“Because we’re not engaged any longer,
PauL”
Ho springs up with flashing eyes.
“Then I have been merely dealing with a
flippant, frivolous coquette all tln-se
months ? O, Maud, Maud, this canuot bo
true !"
“Coquette, Mr. Balistear ?” The words
came hard, ringing, and measured now
from Mand Enningcr’s lips. “Ho you
then o dislike a coquette ? And, if this
is the case, what would your feelings be
toward a man who basely dares to trifle
with the affections of a true, good women
liy first professing the deepest love toward
her and then, when he haw learned that
her father’s fortune has suffered ruin, de
serting her without apparently a shade of
compunction V”
Maud's eyes are fixed with keen scrutiny
upon his feoe. It is intensely pale.
“I don’t understand you, ho stammers.
“No. The story is a very simple one,
lam sure. This man, whom lam telling
you about, gave this girl whom I am tel
ling you about, a little cross, iu token of
his life-long constancy, I know the girl
very well. She herself gave me this cross,
tiie other day, after telling me this story.
I have it Lerc iu my pocket; would you
like to see it ?”
Paul Balistear’s face is whito as marble
now. “A lie !” ho burst out, “a lie !
Whoever told you that story was trying to
slander me.”
“I told the story, Mr. Balistear.”
Miss Matthews has left the piano, and
has come quietly forward, and lias spoken
these words. Paul Balistear .starts back as
if stung. “Elsie Warner !”
MiSfe Matthews bows her head. “I call
myself Miss Matthews now. It is a whim
of mymother’s, that I shall uot disgrace
the name of Warner with any so dreadful
a ejuuoetioa as this of lady’s companion,”
QUITMAN, GA., SATURDAY, APRIL 4, 1874.
and she smiled carelessly. “It was an
unlucky event for you, • however, this
changing of my name. Otherwise you
would have known of my presence hero
and retired gracefully before any such oui
bnrrussuig exposure as the present."
Paul Balistear slinks from the room in a
miserable, cowed way. And during his
walk homo that oveuing let it bo chroni
cled that he does not pat himself in meta
phor upon his own shoulder, nor pro
nounce himself either elevor or fortunate.
As for Maud, she is Mrs. Thomas Er
skino now, and has entirely recovered
from her weakness for dreamy eyes and
! classic noses and voices of divine melody.
[ Elsie Warner is her constant companion,
but will leavo her before many months to
j gladden a homo and a heart that shall be
all her own. And Elsie is very sure that
sho has not fallen in love with n second
fortune-hunter this timo ns sho has more
than once laughingly said.
A Bit of History.
On the 28th of February, 1814, a largo
party of ladies and gentlemen, including
the President aud the members of his Cab
inet, with their families, were invited by
Com. Btockston to spend the day ou board
the steam frigate Princeton, lying off Al
exandria. The day was favorable, and the
company large ami brilliant, uot less prob
ably than four hundred in number; of
whom two hundred were ladies. After the
arrival of the guests, the Princeton got un
der way and proceeded down the river to a
short distance below Fort Washington.
During the passage down, pne of the large
guns (carrying a ball of 225 lbs.) was fired
several times. At 2p. m. the ladies were
invited to a sumptuous repast in the cabin.
The gentlemen succeeded them at the ta
ble, and some of them had left it. The
ship was on her return to her anchorage,
and was opposite the fort, when Com.
Stockton consented to fire another shot
from the same gun, around and near which
many persons had gathered, though not in
as largo numbers as on similar discharges
in the morning, most of the ladies being
between decks and out of the reach of
harm. The gun was fired. The. explosion
was followed by shrieks of woe, which an
nounced a dire calamity. The gnu had
burst, at a point three or four feet from
the breach, and scattered death and deso
lation around. Mr. Upshur, of Virginia,
Secretory of State; General Gilmer, of N.
('., Secretary of the Navy; Commodore
Beverly Reiman, a gallant officer of the
navy; Virgil Maxcy, of Maryland, recently
returned from the Hague; Mr. Gardner, of
New York, and a colored man attached to
the Executive Mansion wore instantly
killed. Nino seamen were seriously
wounded, and Colonel Benton, Commo
dore Stockton, Lieutenant Hunt, of the
Princeton, and W. H. Robinson, of (la.,
wore stunned bv the explosion. Mrs. Gil
mer was on deck at the timo of the explo
sion and was brought back to Washington
in a state of distraction. Mr. Gardner was
accompanied by hiu two daughters, one of
whom afterwards became the wife of Pres
ident Tyler. Mr. Upshur was accompani
ed by Ins daughter; Commodore Keiinan
liy several ladies of his family; but none of
them, with the exception of Mrs. Gilmer,
were apprised of the death of those most
dear to them until their arrival in Wash
ington, The President was uot ou dock at
the time. He was summoned, but one of
the ladies having concealed his hat, he was
compelled to remain below. Chas. A. Da
vis, (Jack Downing, No. 2) of New York,
was ou board, and wrote to the Now York
Repress that he was within ton feet of the
gun, which was fired by Stockton himself.
He owes his escape to having climbed up
the sliroiids a few feel with Mrs. Wetli
ered, of Baltimore. Sho was covered with
blood - their hats were blown off—but the
only injury lie received was a slight contu
sion of tlie upper lip. The gun which
caused this calamity was the invention of
Coin. Stockton. Mr. Tyler manifested a
great interest in its success, before the
accident, and made it a frequent subject of
conversation; so that it came to be a bye
word among the Senators and Representa
tives in Congress. Mr. Vinton, of Ohio,
used to Buy that the only incident of tho
melancholy occasion, which call up a smile,
was the reiteration by John Tyler of “his
full confidence in the gun,” in his special
message to Congress on tho 28tli of Feb
ruary, when the dead bodies of his friends
who had been slain by it were lying under
his roof. Here is tho paragraph: “Iwill
add that it in no measure detracts, in my
estimation, from the value of tho improve
ment contemplated in the construction of
the Princeton, or from tho merits of her
brave and distinguished commander and
projector.” Htockton remained in the na
vy several years after this sad event, but
finally resigned and embarked in politics
and became a Senator of the United States.
He was a gentleman of distinguished ap
pearance, and remarkable for philanthropy,
energy and enterprise. The present Sena
tor Stockton is his son.- Wiuliingicn Star.
—
Too Much Memory Work.
The prime evil of the prevailing method
of teaching consists in the careful culti
vation of the memory to tlie neglect of tlie
growing powers. Commencing with the
teachers, even of the highest grade,
down to the youngest child in the
school, there is an almost slavish
adherence to the mere language of the
text book. Teachers do not trouble them
selves to study over tlie lessons, to com
prehend thoroughly their full .significance,
but on the contrary, only too frequently
go into the class-room and have to depend
on tho book iu order to hear tho lesson.
In theory this is not allowed, but in prac
tice it ia pretty general. Such being tlie
case, the teacher, having no higher sense
of responsibility than the necessity of go
ing through a certain form in order to se
cure the quarter’s salary, is very well con
tent to find the scholar perfect in the mere
language of technicalities of tho lesson.
The scholar, finding nothing further re
quired, is only too glad to perform the
, comparativly easy task of committing so
many lines or paragragps to memory,
leaving its comprehension severely alone,
or to follow, blindly, rules without any
pains to discover their scope of value. As
a consequence, most school children have
their minds choked with dates, facts and
mere language of laws and principles of
which they have no Understanding what
ever, aud aside from the routine of the
text books know absolutely nothing, and
have not made tlieir own, by mental diges
tion, any appreoiblc portion of the knowl
edge they have spent so many hours in
attaining.
“If you fire courting a girl,” says a Cal
ifornia paper, “stick to her, no matter how
large her father’s feet are. ’
[From tho Nmv York Herald.]
EUGENIE DE MONTIJO.
Tlie Story of tli WUV III.
Eugenio Mnrio do Montijo was born at
Grenada, Spain, on tho sth of May, 1828,
aud is cousoqenUy—although no ono would
guess tho fact from her face—forty-eight
years old. Those who believe in the
omens of dates will note that tile sth of
May is one famous in Bonapartist annals,
for’it is that on which Napoleon I. died.
Ilowi-ver, when Eugenie was born nothing
seemed more improbable than that she
would ever marry a crowned head, for her
mother did uot occupy the brilliant posi
tion which court biographies and memoirs
would have us think. Her maiden mono
was Kirkpatrick-Closeburu. She was des
cended from a Scotch family, aud was'mar
ried to tho Count, of Montijo and Teba,
who was a grandee ci< the first class, but
who had not much money. From some
reason, too, the Count of Montijo soon
tired of his wife's company, and the pair
wore separated long before the Count’s
death. With her two daughters—for Eu
genie had nil elder sister- the Countess
then traveled from country to country, and
spent some years in London, where she
lived in retirement, and went little into so
ciety. On leaving London, which, it, ia
said, she found too expensive, Mine, do
Montijo returned to Spain and resided for
about three years iu different parts of the
peninsula, her place of predilection being
Seville. But toward the year 1845 she
came to Paris, and some documents found
at the Prefeoturo do Police, under the
Commune, brought to light the following
queer notes about her: "There is staying
at No. 45 Rue street, Antoine, in a rather
shabby apartment on the third floor, a
Mme. do Montijo, who professes to be tlie
wife of a Spanish grandee. Her style of
living is modest and she receives no visits
from ladies; but three or four times a week
a number of gentlemen, principally for
eigners, come and spend tho evening with
her and play cards. It. is presumable Unit
they are at tracted as much by the beauty
of Mine, do Montijo’s two daughters as by
the wish to gamble. ” Ou tho margin of
this police note tho Prefect of tljat time,
M. Dolossort had written, “Find out.
whether Mme. Montijo is really the wife
of a nobleman;” and on a paper appended
to the above was tkiH brief statement,
“Mme. ile Montijo is really what she assorts
she is, tho wife of tho Count of that name,
but tho couple were virtually divorced
three years alter murrigo, and the Coun
tess professes to live on her jointure of 10,-
000 franca a year.” The word “professes”
was underlined in both notes, and it is evi
dent that tho authorities supposed that the
foreign Lady derived the larger share of her
income from the maintenance of ono of
tlffiso private gambling saloons which have
at all times been common in Paris.
Whether this was the eoso or no need not
bo conjectured, but, if the fact, were true,
it would entail none-of the discredit which
attends the encouragement of gambling in
other lands, seeing that tlie French look
upon games of hazard with a wondrous
respect, and affection. As to tho note
about the beauty of Mme. do Montijo’s
daughters, nothing that could have been
said on this head would have been exag
gerated, for they were both lovely to an
astonishing degree, and were, moreover,
known us
fast Ginns.
But not fast in any evil sense. They
were well guarded by their mother, and
had all the virtues and modesty of well
bred young ladies; but they redo a good
deal, dressed exuberantly, and in tho fly
ing excursions which they made now and
then to Spain, they delighted in picnics,
masked balls and other amusements of a
dashing kind. It. was during one of theso
excursions that, being at a bull-fight one
day, the two pretty Montijo girls wore
seen by the Duke of Alba, and this cir
oumstauee led to a very romantic passage
in the life of the future Empress of the
Trench. Tho Dnko of Alba was im
mensely rich, and bore ono of the finest
names in the kingdom. Ho was also
young, handsome, amiable aud charming
in every way, so that it was an exciting
day for tho two si stem when obtained
an introduction to their mother and began
to visit at their house with assiduty.
| He came every day and would sit for hours
I and chat. Iu tho evenings he came again,
| aud whenever the Montijos were to l>o
j seen, whether at the theatre, prominaile
j or party, there was tlie Duke of Alba dan
-1 ring attendance on them arid exciting the
storms of jealousy in the breasts of other
Spanish young ladies who pined to bear
his coronet. For a long time, however,
there was no telling which of the sisters ho
preferred, and the point was only solved
on the day when he proposed to the eldest
one. Eugenie, who, perhaps loved the
Duke, or who perhaps hud simply as
pired after the manner of young ladies
all tlie world over to make a dazzling mar
riage, was cruelly wounded by her disap
pointment, and in the first burst of her
grief tried to commit suicide. You will
uot find this littlo episode in official his
j tones; but it ia a true one, nevertheless,
j and well known to all who are versed in
| the private chronicles of society. Eugenie
! swallowed poison; an antidote was ad
| ministered in time; but tho drug left a
I trace behind it in the shape of an occasional
| twitching of the mouth, which has not
disappeared to this day. Eugenie could
uot then foresee
lllilt IMPERIAL DESTINY,
| but tho time was rapidly approaching
j when sho was to elipse her sister in a way
as startling as it was unexpected. Thanks
to tlie wealth and rank of tho Duke of
Alba the position of the Montijos wins now
| very different to what it had been before
I the marriage. Tho Countess was no longer
I obliged to live in a third-floor lodging
j or a second-rate street, nor to lay herself
! open to the suspicion of keeping a card
i saloon. She set up sumptuously for a
| time in the Duke of Alba’s house in Mad-
I rid, and in 1831, when sho went back to
| Boris, hired a mansion in the Champs
! Elysees aud became a regular frequenter
of tho parties givon by the President,
j Briiice Louis Napoleon, at tho Elysee.
It should be mentioned that this return
jto Paris, w hich was to lead to such high
| results, had not been undertaken spon
i taneously by the Countess, but had been
! in a matter forced upon her by her ducal
I son-in-law. The Duke of Alba liked to
[bo master in bis own, house; Mme. de
I Montijo, who had a fairly meddlesome
j and domineering temper, loved to be mis
tress too, so that tlie Duke would have
ended by leading a difficult tiiprf of it if
lie had not hit oft th easy eyfu'dient of]
allowing his mother-in-law ltw,ooo francs
a year provided -ho woLE kve abroad.
This she did, as above said, in a fine style,
and her daughter Eugenio was enabled
to appear everywhere dressed with the
grace and richness suited to her wonder
ful beauty. It became a marvel to every
body at this time how a girl of such at
tractions as Mile, do Montijo remained
so long without finding a husband. Hint
\v.-8 twonty-fivo, uud yot seemed in no
hurry whatever to bo marriod. An Eng
lish enri, an American banker, a young
cousin of the Duke of Alba's, both weal
thy and titled, all proposed to her, and so
did shoals of Frenchmen, among whom
was a famous novelist, who is still living.
But to all of them Eugenio said “no,”
not heartlessly, hut with a firmly settled
purpose, as if her good genius were whis
pering to her that sho would loose noth
ing by being patient. And so it befell
that at a ball given by tho President at
tho Elvsoo, some nights only before tho
coup and, Mill'. Eugenio met.
IlliK FUTUIiE EMl'Elton AND HUSBAND.
The manner of meeting was somewhat
romantic. Louis Napoleon did not much
care for tho crush of ball-rooms, and ho
had chosen a propitious moment to escape
with his friend, Edgard Ney, tho Duke of
La Moskowa, into the Elysee gardens,
when he caino suddenly upon a rtulient,
blushing girl, who was trying to do up her
hair alone, opposite a glass in a conserva
tory. Her hair had como down during a
waltz, and the crowd was too grout to ad
mit of her girl’s reaching tho ladies’ dress
ing rooms, so she had glided iu hero, hop
ing lo bo unobserved. Louis Napoleon
seeing her in this strait, gallantly gave her
his arm and led her round by the private
apartments in the dressing room in ques
tion, and from this day there was mutual
regard between the President and the fair
stranger. During the following twelve
months Mine, do Montijo mid her daugh
ter were invited guests at all the Presiden
tial residences Fontaineblau, Ooinpiegno,
St Cloud -and it escaped nobody that the
Prince paid Mile. Eugenie aud inordinate
amount of attention. No one supposed,
howover, that theso attentions could end
in marriage, for tho President, having
performed liis coup tl'etai, was oil the
point of becoming Emperor, and it was no
secret I hat his ambassador at Munich was
trying to arrange n match for him with a
princess of Bavaria. Tho King of Bava
ria refused to give away his relative to a
prince whom ho styled an “adventurer,"
and then it was that Louis Napoleon,
much mortified at heart, resolved not,, to
expose himself to further rebuffs in court
ing royal princesses. Possibly Mme de Mon
tijo laid been waiting her opportunity, for
two days after the news of tho Bavarian
snub hail begun to get bruited, she beg
ged a private audience of the Prince, and
told him that os his attentions toward her
daughter was beginning to excite com
ment, sho had the intention of leaving
France. This was at St Cloud, where tho
mother and daughter were both staying.
The Prince asked Mme. do Montijo to
tarry ono day more, for ho might then
have something to say to her, and he em
ployed these twenty-four hours in acquaint
ing his Ministers with liis determination
to marry Mile. Eugenie. Tho news fell
upon them like a shell. Nothing of this
kind had been apprehended by any one,
and both Count do Morny, M. de Persig
ny anil Edgard Ney earnestly implored
tho Prince not to contract such a mesuUi
arwe. But Louis Napoleon was inexorable.
The communication was made to the Cabi
uet on the 25th of November, On tho 2d
of December tho Prince was proclaimed
Emperor; on the 21Jd of January the com
ing marriage was officially notified to the
French people, and on the .”oth of January
it was solemnized at Notre Dame.
-•-.
Death A Beautiful Extract.
The annexed extract is so beautiful that,
by every one who reads it, it will be pre
served. It, fell from tlie lips of Rev. Dr.
Chas. Wads north, of Philadelphia. The
text taken by him was, “Asa shock of corn
cometh in its season.”
“In His moral tillage,” he said. “God
cultivates many flowers, seemingly only
for their exquisite beauty anil fragrance.
For when bathed in soft sunshine thoy
have burst into blossom then tho Divino
hand gathers them from tho earthly fields,
to bo kept in crystal vases in tlie blessed
mansions above. Thus little children lie—
some in tho nweet bud, some iu fuller
blossom; but never too early to lnako
Heaven fairer and sweeter with their im
mortal bloom.
■ “Verily, to the oyo of Faith, nothing is
fairer than the death of young children.
Might aud sense, indeed, recoil from it.
The flower that, like a breathing rose,
filled heart and home with an exquisite
delight, alas! wo are stricken with sore
anguish to find its stem broken and the
blossom gone. But unto Faith, eagle
eyed beyond mental vision, anil winged
to mount like the singing lark over the
fading rainbow unto the blue heaven, even
this is touching lovelyly.
“Tho child’s earthly ministry was well
done, for the rose does its work as grandly
in blossom as the vine with its fruit. And
having helped to sanctify and lift heaven
ward the very hearts that broke at its fare
well, it lues gone from this troublesome
sphere ere the winds chilled or the rains
stained it, and leaving the world it blessed
and the skies through which it passed still
sweet with its lingering fragrance, to its
glory as an ever-unfolding flower in the
blessed garden of God. Surely, prolonged
life on earth hath no boon like this 1 For
such mortal loveliness to put on immortal
ity—to rise from the carnal with so little
memory of earth that the mother’s cradle
seemed to have been rocked in the house
of many mansions—to have no experience
of a wearied mind and chilled affections,
but from a child’s joyous heart growing
up into tho power of an arch-angelic intel
lect—to be raptured as a blessed babe
through the gates of Paradise -—ah ! this
is better than to watch as an old prophet
for tlie car of fire in the Valley of Jordan.
“Barely, God is wise in all his works,
and even amid our tears will rejoice in this
harvest feast that, among us, us elsewhere,
lie gathers so largely ‘the flowers in their
season. ’
“And as of flowers, so of fruits, in their
order and kind each ‘cometh iu liis sea
son.’ Home fruits ripen early. Beareely
has delicious June poured its full glory
over the earth ere some rare and delicious
species are already ripened. And some
ripen later. There are trees that do uot
even blossom until midsummer. And
there are fruits Unit remain hard aud un
savory until God shakes them in tho wild
autumnal wind and treats them with the
distressful ministry of frost. And so it' is
in the spiritual —souls develop and mature, j
differently. Bonin uru ready for gathering j
at life’s early suuniier; some come not U> i
the eating till- thmtiuic of- the latter rain, j
NO. 4S.
And God watches carefully that each shall
‘eumn in bis season.’ Wo indeed some
times talk of ‘untimely deaths’ of young
Christians removed too early from spheres
of usefuUttiS*,' (W if tlie omniscient hus
bandman did uot know when liis immor
tal grapes are purple aud his corn iu the
ear. Surely God does tlio whole thing
wisely, gathered each spiritual growth just
us it comes into condition for its immortal
uses.
“O, thought beautiful and comforting 1
Death is not destruction, but harvesting—
the gatherings from fields of mortal tillage
rise fruits in tills season. And why, then,
should out' harvest feast be sad over gar
nered immortality ? IV by shotilil this
sweetly tolling bell filling the troubled airs
with a gentle sound, so startle and appal
the trustful spirit ? God strengthen your
faith so to behold this mysterious thing in
a light from heaven, that its dark veil shall
seem truuspai'unt, und a face with soft eyes
look forth loving and bright as tho face of
aa angel. . . .
“Death is not destrnct.ori 1 Death is
not even decay 1 Death is harvesting I
Hour vo parents from whoso household
sweet children have been rudely parted,
In ar ye this: ‘The beloved has gone down
into his garden to gather lillios ! Ye chil
dren who have lost revered parents, and
whose life is chilled in the shadow of that
dreadful thing -orphanage —hearyo this:
‘As a shock of corn cometh in liis season
so are matured souls gathered in tho gaij
ucr of God.’ "—(iroitim/ World.
What Is Life ?
Our life is a strange combination of the
mortal anil immortal, physical uud mental
existence. The mystic link connecting
the soul and body, what mortal lunahcaii
comprehend? The spring that moves to
action that invisible monitor which
prompts ns to think, act. and feel, who can
understand V Without this silent, though
powerful agent, tho frail, delicately organ
ized physical system dies and is utter]}
powerless. This life of ours is indeed a
problem; even the most learned, anil those
who have, even been searching out, its mys
tic connections, cannotoompiebeuil iti aw
ful significance.
The physical system is indeed wonder
ful; tlie circulation of the blood, (the dis_
oovc.ry of which theory was considered
olio of tho greatest advancements of the
age) respiration, uniting the vital gas, ox
ygon, with the bipod; the nervous system
transmitting sensations to and from the
brain; the features of the face, beautifrf)
in all their graceful curves and outliues,
besides expressing tlie emotions of the
soul within, all are alike wonderful. How
beautiful tho wise design which formed
the countenance to be the medium by
which tho soul communicates with tho
outer world.
How varied, also, are the circumstances
anil connections of exist nice ! Tlie rela
tions we sustain to others, tlie tics
friendship and family, aud our influence,
on others. Circumstances cause life to os
sumo varied aspects. Sunshine and
shadow trace tlieir impress oil the mind,
aud give us either weal or woe. Step liy
step advancing, the path diverages, bring
ing events entirely dissimilar from those
preceding. Experience tenches us to an
ticipate events, and meet them' with cour
age; liut, nevertheless, the more one learns
by experience, the less tlieir self-suffi
ciency. . I
Who can tell 11S what life really is ?
Whoso experience has been so vast as to
determine all the secret emotions which
thiill'the soul ? We may not know our
nearest friend perfectly, for locked in liis
bosom may live some sweet., sad dream
unrealized, some hope of his life destroyed
which made life assume another phase to
him. Ask the aged man whose white hair
! tells of the frost, cold and storm, which
j Ims destoyed the verdure of summer s |
! bloom, stricken its thrifty growth, and
blasted its fairest flowers, if he clings to
life.
“Ah, life has grown weary to mo, nnd
full of sorrow, aud fain would I seek some
milder clime 1” lie cries..
Ask tho man in tho fullness and strength
of manhood, if he loves life.
“Tlio busy world is before loo; its surg
ing crowd around; I must work, yes toil !
Who will gain for me those honors and at
tainments yet above me? I must toil up
! the rugged hill, to roach a station where
men should look up to me, and do mo
honor. My ambition and hopes are al
ready at the eve of tlieir fruition.”
Tlio youth, with merry laugh and cheery
smile cries:
“Lite is sweet. Svliat if some find it
brings sorrow ? Not so for me ! Bun
shine shall flood my pathway, and every
pleasure earth can procure shall he
! mine. ”
To live is a privilege few can estimate.
|To live for a purpose, making others
] happy, improving our own opportunities
Iby cultivating our good desires, refining
j and strengthening tlio'intellect, is noble.
Live nobly, as befits immortal spirits
1 which have a inheritance of eternal life—
! which should be witnesses of the roil of
; ages, amt the mighty revolutions, of the
i universe. Can one’s life be too well em
j ployed with this in view ? What noeouut
| shall we render to Him who gave his life
j that wo might live V Wo will accept tiffi
i gift with thanksgiving, and in brightness
of faith trust that God will open to his be
! loved a far greater eternal weight of glory
■ in Iris upper kingdom.
Ifinv Aim Wn to (Jut It. —Suppose the
I currency to he increased to the maximum
amiiut desired by the inflationist, how is
the South to get her share of it ? There
are but two ways —one is to buy it with
our products; the other is to steal it. Wo
haven’t got tho products to buy it with,
and we are not smart enough to steal' it.
At the North they are sharper more far
seeing and far-reaching. They have al
ready developed a nieo little plan for a
National railroad to he built from the At
lantic coast to tlie Rocky Mountains,
through the great States of Pennsylvania,
Ohio, Indiana and Uliuois, to which the
redundant currency can ho applied. Thus'
inflation will make the North richer and
the South poorer. Perhaps we shall never
get even with our Northern brethren until
we have more educated rogues. —Jfaskville
Commercial Reporter.
At aro 'tint fuimral in Danbury, where
soverni F auizti iors were in attendance
no crape badges were provided for a in
mate society. The president, after figet
iug about in a manner peculiar to lier
unfortunate and happy sex, suddenly
bhirteil out, “I declare ! i don’t enjoy this
funeral one bit!” Thu amumiijun .4!
. ugioori r cvex tio male pa—heim^,.
Miscellaneous if
Tho ways of women—Anywhere froni
ninety to two hundred pounds.
When our ancestors wanted 8 hot rutti
punch, they said so without evasitui} they
did uot cull it “kuttled-riud,"
Tho captain remarks that kteerago pas
sengers ought to be very well bcliavedj
thoy have so much deck o’er ’em.
Pittsburgh is trying to find a man whd
does uot belong to a lodge, grange, ulub;
post, temple, encampment or order.
An Oswego woman advertises that she
lias purchased a shot gun, anil will sliobt
any man who gives her husband liquor.
The Wyoming Ifiiuhints fees for mar
riage notices arc “us high ns the eostaoy
uud liberality of tho bridegroom imy
prompt. ”
A Two-ocnt piece was taken from thd
throat of a boy iu Portland, Main recently
after having been lodged thorp for sin
mouths.
John Reeves said to liis hoy, when sliav
ing proved a difficulty, “John I wish yoli
would not open any mofo oysters With tsijf
razors.”
A French paper points ont how the pas-'
rfion for gambling issliownin this country)
so that even in wedding notices it is neCb
essory to state that there Were “no cords:”
Mr. Marrowfat nttltof snappishly re
marked to his wife, lost Bunuay, that •
man can’t always be thinking of his im
mortal soul, ile must have timo to eut hid
meals.
A mart rif Wilmington, N. CL, ia
described by a young lady of tho same
city: “Ho is so stingy that whenever hu'
smiles it is always at his neighbor’s ex
pense.”
A malicious politician says tho Grangers?
in Illinois turn out to dig the graves of
deceased brothers, thus preventing extpr*
lion on the part of that "jiiiddto-niriri;” tiid
s xtou.
An Indiana editor mildly remarks': “If
you can’t bring us wood, remember US iff
your prayers. It is something to know)
as we ait ami shiver, that wo life not fox
gotten if the stove is Cold. ’ 1
At the laying of the Corner-stono of thd
new capitol of lowa, no speeches were
made, except a few remarks by a workman
who got his fingers pinched, and they
were brief and to the point.
Eli Love of Wayne county, Ohid, re
cently climbed a tree to shake down X
coon. Eli, however, fell down himself)
and his dogs mistaking him for the game,
tore him badly before they discovered the
mistake.
A Danbury man who received tele
gram from Buffalo requesting him to
thither immediately to attend his mother
in-law’s funeral, stonily declined, saying
that lie never attended eelob'ralitms during
Lent.
Alias—Mrs. Sarah Briggs (reading he/
“local”): “Hakes alive Ii would no mord
name a child Alias thrift nothin’ in' thei
world. They’re always ,np sitaNtf
caper. Here’s Alias Thomson, Alias WiI J
limns, Alias the Night Hawk, all been
took np for stealin’. Mary Jane, don’t ye
never name none o’yer clnSdron Alius.”
A wag went to the station of one tli Gifti
railroads ono evening, and finding tlio bf-f,
ear full, said in a low tone, “Why, this
car isn’t going t’,’ Of Course tirrs Caused a
general stampede, und tlie Wag took HiO
bust seat. In the midst of thelndiguatiolf
the wag was asked: “Why did you say tins'
car wasn’t going ?” “Well, it wusu’t
then,” replied the Wag; “but rt is now/’
“Littlo Tommy didn’t disobey mamma,
and go in swimming, did ho?” “No,
mamma; Jimmy Brown and the rest of
the boys wont in, but I remembered w hat
you said, and didn’t disobey you.” “And
Tommy never tells lies, does he ?” “No,
mamma; I wouldn’t tell a lie for all tlio
world.” “Then how does Tommy hap
pen to httvo on Jimmy Brown’s shirt 7”
That conundrum Was too much for Tommy.'
lie had to give it up.
A Very Bashful Young Man.
The following little anecdote is told
about a very bashful young man in Indi
j ana. The unfortunate’s friends know that
ho wanted to he married; they know tiiaf
he deserved to be; but they knew that lie
never would be if ho waited until he found
courage to pop the question; so they took
all the trouble off liis hands, and by a se
ries of rapid strategic moves hud liiuV
"popil," accepted, and wived before ho
could find a pretext for "Willing.” Brt
much accomplished, and the nuptial even
ing having been passed off merrily, tho
young man’s back-bouers withdrew at an
early hour, feeling that they could spare
themselves further effort in tlieir friend's
behalf. About five minutes after, young
Benedict, who had evidently bOen having
a serious debate with himself,' i‘6se, anil
took his hat, and with a nervous “Gooff
night,” made his exit.
lie was not seen again by his bride or
his family until the following evening,
when he timidly knocked at the door and
was admitted. No special comment being
made upon liis singular conduit, he passed
an hour rat her comfortably in' the purior;
and everything seenieil to promise favor
ably for a cure of liis besetting weakness,
1 when, hearing the household monitor pro
! claim the hour of nine, he suddenly seemed
to remember h 6 bad forgotten something,
and started for his blit. ,
This ivas the moment, and Ui6 oVent,
that had been somewhat expectantly
awaited, with indignation most profound
but under control by the bride’s mother.
Planting herself resolutely in the doorway,
tho old lady demanded to know why aud
wherefore, what he proposed to do, and
whether he was a man or only a feeble im
itation, etc., lii short, why did lie not
remain with liis wife, instead of slinking
back to bis old quarters? The bashful
son-in-law stammered out, as tli'e eldefiy
female seized bin hat with determination,
and bucked him into a chair again.
“Well, I should like to, but I thought
maybe I’d better wait awhile, for fear it
might make talk among the neighbors 1”
Tun Imuoutanoe of Sneezing.—fine
may he pardoned for sneezing under. any
circumstances, in view of the experience
of a woman from this city, in Westfield,
recently. Being iu company, and.attoiupt
ing to suppress a sneeze, she felt a queer
j sensation iu the left side of her face, which'
soon began swelling and drawing out of
shape. A physician was called, hat by the
time he arrived her mouth and tho left
Hide of her face had become drawn up,
disfiguring her so that her most intimate
friends could scarcely recognize her feat
ures, while sho found it impossible to closo
her left eye. The physicians say it is a
kind of paralysis, caused by the great ef
fort she made in suppressing the sneeze,
and give but faint hopes that her feature*
will ever resunlc their natural appearance.
Bhe ik now in this city seeking medical ad
vice.—Springfield Republican.
Tiiere is a gcf>'-*e in Eliznbt'llitewn, Ky.,
that not only knows enough to go into tho
house when it rains, b.it )>u..o i-0 1, t‘ lv
siring to get there.-