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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.-