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VOLUME I. THE INDEPENDENT. SATURDAY, IIPTBIDIBR 6, MM. Fubllihtd Weekly t $4 00 per Annum la Advance. Klm#te Copice A crate. THJB PAST. BY FREDERIC W. FORD. *‘l have loved—who has not!” and the vision so bright, Once shed round my path its soft halo of light; Then sunk to repose ui oblivion’s wave, And its riquiein slugs o’er its own lonely grave. “I have wept—who has not !** and the tear as it rolled Adown my cheek, too surely has told Of happiness vanished and shrouded in grief. Of sunny hopes fled, and of pleasures as brief. “I have smiled—who has not!” and my features of joy * Once glowed with that smile that knew not alloy; But a moment it sparkled, then sharing the doom Of all earthly bliss, it has sunk to its tomb. “I have erred—who has not l” and the follies of youth, Conviction has crushed with the dictates of truth; And the mild form of mercy and spirits above, lUmniue my path with the soft beams of love. “I have <lreamod—who has notl” and the gay sunny hours Again strewed my path with their roseate flowers, From those (breams of the past. I never awaken But to feel still more desolate, lone, and forsakeu. But my love and iuv smiles forever are vanished. My dreamings and errings I hope, too, have vanished; But iny weepings I’ll cherish, whose christening power Submission will teach me, in affliction's bleak hour. Letter from Colorado. [SI-ECUI. OORnKSFONDEKCE or THE independent.] Colorado Springs, Col, , Aug. 30,1878. Editor Independent: I wrote yon last from Nevada. New look at the map, and pnt the end of the forefinger of the right hand on that town. You will find it hid away between two mountains, and about fifty miles northwest from Denver. Now, you think you’ve got your finger on me; you are mistaken. I’m like the Irishman’s flea —I ain’t there. Now follow with your finger the stage road down the mountains to Central, then trace the line of the C. C. R. R. down Clear Creek canyon past Golden and Den ver. Hold your finger on Denver four days, then move it right on down due south, and you will discover that, you are following the 1). and R. G. It. R. Pass over the Divide, through Colorado Springs, on dowu to Pueblo, hold your finger there two days; then if you are not tired retrace the same line, forty five miles to Colorado Springs. Then you have overtaken me and been over the same route. Now we will take the narrow-guage together, and leaving Denver at 8 o'clock a. m., we fol low the Platte river about twenty miles; then, as if tired of our society, this crooked little stream suddenly takes a short turn to the right and disappears through an opening in the mountains known as Platte canyon. Now, we begin very perceptibly to ascend, and after traveling fifty-two miles we reach the top of the Divide, and are two thousand feet higher than at Den ver. The Divide is a high strip of land or spur of mountains about tliirly miles in width, and extending ninety miles east from the main range, and is called the ‘ 'Divide” because all the streams on the north side run into the Platte, while those on the south side empty into the Arkansas. Upon making Colorado Springs we have descended fourteen hundred feet, but are still six hundred feet higher than at Den ver. The Divide iB probably the best timbered portion of the Territory. Many saw mills are situated along the lino of the D. and R. G. R. R., and most of the lum ber is supplied to Denver from this sec tion. In passing over the line of this rood we see many herds of cattle, sheep and ponies grazing on the hill-sides and in the valleys. All the stock I see looks well, though I must say the grass is not m luxu riant as I expected to find it. Pueblo, located on the Arkansas river, and one hundred and twenty miles south of Denver, is the chief city of Southern Colorado, and is the commercial head quarters of the vast and rich Arkansas val ley. They claim a population of 3,500. It has all the signs of a growing and pros perous city, and all the evidences of refine ment and civilization to be found in our Southern and Eastern towns. Most of the prevailing denominations have churches here. Their educational facilities are good; a high school, two private schools, and the same system of public instruction that ex ists throughout the Territory. Puebloites claim that their city has a bright future. The railroad situation and prospects of Pueblo are as fhllows; D. and R. G. R. R. between Denver and Pueblo, and Pueblo Rnd Canon City branch in operation; branch from Trinidad to Pueblo under construction; extension of Kansas Pacific from Kit Carson and Atcheson; Topeka and Santa Fee from Sargent, in Texas, up the Arkansas valley to this point, being built. When these lines are completed Pueblo will be a railroad centre, and no doubt a place of considerable importance. They have good water power, and their facilities for irrigation are, perhaps, the best in the Territory. This is now the principal fitting-out point for the San Joan country, and the commerce of the town is much beautified thereby. The business now seems to be prosperous. Re tracing my steps to Colorado Springs, I stop at the Mountain House, from which point we have a most magnificent view of Pike's Peak and surrounding mountains. Yesterday I witnessed quite a. rain storm on Pike’s Peak, while with us in the val ley all was bright and serene. Colorado Springs is only about two years old, and has a population of 1,500. The town is laid off apparently in anticipation of becoming a large city. The streets are THE INDEPENDENT. alternately 100 and 140 feet -wide. Shade trees—cotton-wood, elm and maple—are planted throughout the town, and grow ing finely. Streams of clear water from the irrigating canals perambulate every street, and gurgle a pleasant welcome to the stranger. Just in front of the Moun tain House, and a rod from where I write, is a clear running brook, and here some genius, for the want of something to do, has placed a miniature water mill. Many new residences and business houses are in course of erection, and a stir aud activity is visible quite in contrast with our South ern towns. This is the railroad depot and the stopping-place for tourists aud inva lids desiring to visit Mauiton Springs, the Garden of the Gods, Glen Eyre, Monu ment Park, Bergen Park, The Falls of the Fountain, and many other points of in terest which are near. Yesterday I went to Colorado City, “the old town" as it is called, having once been the capital of Colorado, and still the county seat of El paso. It is two miles distant from this place. Thence I visited Maniton Springs, three miles from Colorado City. Here are several flue hotels, and the place is thronged with invalids, tourist* and visitors. In common with all other watering places, it is most positively asserted that the medicinal properties of these springs will cure all diseases to which poor, frail, dying humanity is heir. Had Ponoe De- Leon, the seareher for the fabled “Spring of Youth" come this way, he would un doubtedly have been fully compensated for his wanderings through the wilds of America. I washed my hands iu the magic waters, swallowed two or three gal lons, mere or less, and not feeling quite rich enough to pay five dollars a day at a so-called first class hotel, returned to the Mountain House. The exercise, pure air, and, perhaps, the three gallons of mineral water have made me as wolfish as a hyena. I noticed in the morning mine host, Cul der, of the Mountain House, buying an untelope from a hunter just in from the plains; so at supper I ordered antelope steak, well done. Great was my astonish ment to hear the waiter call out to the cook “one antelope well done.” I should certainly not have countermanded the or der, however, for I felt equal to almost any emergency in the eating line. But it seems this was only an abbreviation of my order—“one antelope steak, well done.” At any rate, as the waiter had it, I “got away with” two antelopes well done. Unless you intend that your life shall be a failure, to spend the remnant of your days in “ignorant bliss, and go down to posterity nnwept, unhonored and unsung,” why, of course, you must visit Colorado, and necessarily Colorado Springs. At the depot yon will find a free carriage to con vey yourself and numerous family, or families—if you are Mormon—to the Mountain House. Inquire for it. It is your best hotel. Calder will look after your happiness and give you plenty of good grub. An antelope well done, if you can chamber a whole one. Night before last I went to hear Miss Anna Dickenson lecture. Her suhject was, “Joan d’Are;” but Imust say I came away disappointed. It is true she related the story quite as correctly as we read it in history; but eertainly nothing more; no comment of her own; no branching out in the spread eagle style I had hoped to hear; no beautifully rounded sentences, complimentary or otherwise, of the crazy warrior girl; only a simple recitation of historical facts, which some of us knew before Miss Anna was born. Should I ex press a candid opinion, I should say Miss Dickenson’s lecture on Joan d’Arc is a humbug. This strong minded lady I should take to be about thirty-five years of age, rather short in statue, ruddy com plexion, hair cut like a man, showing signs of good health, much energy, and withal, rather masculine in appearance. She re cently performed the feat of riding to the top of Pike’s Peak, Some say she rode— not sideways—but the other way. I vouch for nothing. Women, especially the strong minded, are a puzzle I have given up. She said one good thing, however. It was this: “If slander was worth a penny a sentence, how rich we all might be.” When out on a “bum” Miss D. wears a costume similar to the Bloomer rig. Many literary celebrities visit this coun try, doubtless seeking inspiration among the beautiful scenery of the Rocky Moun tains. Yesterday I had a passing glimpse of Grace Greenwood, and a few days since in Denver, saw General Strother (Porte crayon), notorious for his sketches in Vir ginia, and others not less interesting. 24tli. This is the Sabbath, God’s blessed, holy Sabbath, bright, beautiful and serene. The threatning clouds which yesterday hoarded around Pike’s Peak have disappeared. The passing zephyr brings a movement among the trembling leaves, and whispers praises to the Most High. The gingling brook, as it ripples over the snow white pebbles, murmurs thanks to him from whom all blessings flow. All nature seems to feel the Divine presence, and humbly and thankfully to acknowledge the Divine command, “Re member the Sabbath day to keep it holy. ’’ Man—toiling, straggling, restless man— has ceased his labors. The sound of bnisy life is not heard; the strife for gain, which so lately filled every mind and heart, has given place to purer, higher aspirations, All is quiet, rest, repose. Now little chil dren, bright, beautiful and happy, pass on their way to Sunday School, carrying me back to my childhood, and causing a heart felt sigh as I think of one little one far away. And now the pleasant toned bell rings clear upon the morning air, wafting an invitation to all, and saying “Stranger, come to the houso of God.” Very truly yours, QUITMAN, GA., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 0, 1873. A SUMMER IN THE COUNTRY. I do not know of a more beautiful river than the Landis. The scenery on both bonks is rich and varied, while not the least of its attractions is the smooth level road which follows its windings for miles and miles away. Just before sunset on a June day, when the rosos were breathing their sweetest fragrance, a horseman rode slowly along, idly watching the "tacking” of a little sail boat lower down the river. He was a fine-looking man, of apparently twenty-seven years, who sat on his horse with easy grace, and held the reins with a firm, yet free hand. As he slowly turned a sharp bend in the road a bewildering spectacle met his eye. Coming toward him was a young girl, seated in a low, basket carriage, with um brella top, drawn by two spirited black ponies, which she managed with the skill of an accustomed driver. A mass of thin, floating drapery and fluttering blue rib bons passed before his vision, but the face imprinted itself upon his memory. It was wondrous fair, with a warm, rosy color spreading over it at sight of him, as though startled from some unwonted re very, a shy, enquiring glance from the soft eyes answered his, and the vision passed. Our friend paused a moment, as if con sidering the expediency of turning back to find out whether this were really a vision. Only a moment, then with a light laugh, and touching liis horse with the riding-whip, he gave chase. He turned bend after bend in the road, but ponies and pony-carriage hud vanished, and but for the startled glance of the eyes that had met his, he might have fancied it but a trick of his imagination, a pretty fancy born of tlie roses, the dewy air and the soft, summer twilight. This pretty fancy haunted our friend’s brain for some days, which I tliiuk but natural, as he had only recently graduated from college, and so, perhaps, was rather more susceptible to pretty fancies. Ho w ever that may Vie, my friends, he ia a fine, generous fellow, with noble qualities of heart and mind, and 1 introduce him to yon with pleasure. I grant that liis reddish-brown moustache hides some considerable firmness about the lines of his mouth, and I allow him to be quite timid in the presence of ladies, but these little faults, if so you think them, only bring him on a pur with our own mortality. He is spending the sum mer months in the quiet of his own home, previous to entering upon his profession in the fall. While we have been chatting about him he has reached home, comfortably estab lished the “red roan steed" iu his quarters in the barn, and has made his own way to his study. “Hallo! Percy! how d’ye do, old boy ?” cried a merry voice; and one hand clasped his shoulder while the other sought his with the unmistakable “society grip” of college days. “Jim, you’re heartily welcome!” an swered the other, returning the “grip” with interest. “Down hero for the summer with mamma and Nannie. Could not rest until I had hunted you up. By George! what a cosy place you’ve got here!” And Jim Harris indulged in a prolonged whistle as he sank into a capacious arm-chair; then looking up to his friend, ho said slyly: “Wouldn’t Nannie enjoy looking in here ?” “No admittance to ladies,” said the other, reddening a little. “See here, now, Percy. I’ll venture to say, with perfect safety, that at first sight you will fall in love with my charming sister. And, really, come to think of it, I don’t know of a better fellow for her. ” “Come, Jim, I’m a dangerous fellow, as you know, so cease your bantering, and tell me about some of the fellows. Where’s Atwood ?” This proved to be an even more tempt ing subject than Nannie, though Jim could not resist bidding his friend “mark his word.” Then the two indulged in a long and pleasant reminiscence of college days, parting at last with a promise of meeting the next and every succeeding day to come. A week passed, and Jim had not suc ceeded in impressing upon his friend the necessity of an early call upon his mother and sister; so, in pretended dudgeon, he informed Percy that he thought best to stand upon ceremony until some of his calls had been returned. True to bis word, no Jim appeared, and now the third twilight had come, and, wearying for a sight of his friend’s face, maybe just the least impelled by curiosity, too, Percy mounted his red roan with the fixed determinotion of appeasing Jim’s wrath. The red roan carried him swiftly to the grounds of the pretty cottage where Jim had said they were staying, and being informed by a servant that the young people “were up near the woods,” he tied his horse and proceeded to the designated spot. It was a pretty, winding path he followed, and in it, directly at his feet, lay a dainty blue ribbon. As he picked it up what train of associations did it awake in his mind that he Bhould recall the little lady of the pony carriage ? yes; and there she was before him, sitting swinging on the old stile, crooning softly some song to herself. She blushed like any rose at sight of him, but rising, gave him her hand and said: “I think you must be Mr. Rolfe. lam happy to meet my brother's friends, Jim is out calling with mamma; will you wait for him ?” This little lady of the pony carriage was very winning. Mr. Rolfe thought it would be exceedingly pleasant to wait for u few momenta. “Jim has been looking for you for the last three days,” said the soft voice, while she gave him a shy glance; “and to-night he came to the conclusion that there was no such thing ns friendship, Mamma re minded him that there was such a thing as politeness, and carried him off to show that virtue to a number of old ladies of her acquaintance.” Mr. Rolfe laughed pleasantly, and said he greatly wondered at himself for not having called before; and he only hoped he had come in time to dispel such a mel ancholy idea from Jim’s brain. Friend ship was a sacred thing. Then thore was a little pause, until Mr. Rolfe enquired if Miss Harris rode often with her ponies ? (How pretty the roses and dimples were in Nannie’s cheeks!) “Yes, every day; it ia so very’ quiet hero, I should be wholly at a loss if it were not for them. Sometimes I rather weary of my’ drives, for though the scenery is so very beautiful, I find it very lonely riding mile after mile without seeing a hu man being; and when I do come in sight of a houso I never see a face at. the win dows. Twice I have found myself at the end of the road, and once came out iu a deserted stone quarry, which is the great est excitement I have hail since I came,” and she laughed a little as she pulled a daisy to pieces. “It must be rather dreary, I confess, to a city young lady. If you would allow me to join you sometimes, I think I could show you some places of interest, unless you have already’ come across them iu your wanderings—paradise and purga tory ?” “No!” she said, laughing; “but, oh 1 I should much prefer paradise.” “You have no idea of how beautiful purgatory is until you get there!" he re torted, with a merry twinkle in his dark blue eye. What a sight for Jim! “Ha! old boy! Glad to see you have come to your senses! Been improving y’our time, eh! As Mr. Rolfe rode home that night he called himself a very foolish fellow for having deprived himself of so much pleas ure as the past ten days might have brought him; and I rather think, too, he concluded to make the most of the time remaining; for certain it is that, rides, picnics, and all sorts of pleasant times filled the days fol lowing, iu which Mr. Rolfe bore a promi nent part, and where lie seemed to lose much of the timidity and reserve he had ever before experienced in ladies’ society. Jim looked on approvingly, smiling to himself, and thinking, no doubt, of sun dry prophecies of his own, Sometimes joining in these little excursions, and at other times pleading other engagements. Through the intimacy of the young peo ple Mrs. Harris found a thoroughly lady like and agreeable companion in Mrs. Rolfe; indeed, I think the city and country bred lady each found mutual improvement iu the other’s society. Thus the two fami lies were brought into intimate relation ship, and tea-drinks and lawn-parties fol lowed each other with amazing rapidity and untiring interest. Paradise and purgatory were visited, and they proved but to be the introduction to many charming excursions. Returning from one of these, one afternron, after they had seated themselves in the boat, for they lmd been far up the river, they paused a moment to take a last, lingering look of the scene of their day’s pleasure. The boat lay in a little cove; the water rip pled along its sides in a soft, monotonous murmur, and the white sail hung idly save when the evening breese gently stirred its heavy folds; the tall trees stood silent and gland against the fair sky, casting long shadows upon the green grass; across the river was a rolling sweep of meadows, a wide, grass-grown path, leading up to a gray old farm house, with green moss clinging to and fringing its gabled roof; little flocks of fleecy clouds, with rose tinted edges, floated across the sky. Not a sound broke the stillness, save the shrill cry of a lonely cricket. Suddenly Mr. Rolfe gave a quick dip of the ours, and they glided out upon the smooth river. “There was always something mournful to me in the cry of a cricket; sitting in my study, quite contented with myself and all the world, if I chance to hear their shrill cry, all my views of life change in a twinkling, and it is only with an effort I can throw the feeling off.” “That is strange,” said Nannie; “you never can have read Dickon's ‘Cricket on the Hearth,’ or I am sure he would have persuaded you to think more cheerfully of them. Don’t Dickens’ works find a place upon your book shelves?” “Quite a prominent one, Miss Nannie, though I confess I have never read the lit tle story you refer to. You have never been inside my saw-turn sanctorum! If you fell like lengthening out your day a lit tle, it will give ms great pleasure to show you its wonders.” Nannie’s heart beat fast, for this was an honor, indeed, according to Jim. The color deepened in her face, her eyelids drooped until their thick, black lashes swept her cheeks, and she shook her pretty head a little doubtfully. “It is very tempting Mr. Rolfe, and if you feel like using a great amount of persua sion, I may be induced to say yes. ” What a pretty picture she made, sitting there just before him! It was a dainty face, with its delicate features, soft color ing, aud varying expression. Percy looked at her until a great love surged up from his heart, and found expression in his face. Nannie, raising her eyes, saw it, and said hastily: “I must bend my energies to tlie oars if I expect to see your study this afternoon. ” Mr. Rolfe started perceptibly, and dip ping the oars vigorously into the water, in ten minutes reached the landing. Shaw ls, luncli-baskets, sketch-books and parasol, were gathered up in a promiscuous way, and a quick walk soon brought them to Mr. Rolfe’s home. Ho deposited his load, led Nannie to the end of the hall, and opening a door, said gayly: “‘Will you w’alk into my parlor?’ I shall put yon just here, in my easy chair, Miss Nannie, and then you can take ft sur vey of my room at your leisure, while I leave you for a while." Nannie sank hack into the luxurious eßsy chair—low, deep, and wide—then gazed about her with a feeling half of cu riosity, half of awe. Plaster, parian, and bronze busts of great men looked coldly down upon her from low bookcases that lined two sides of the room; a largo desk, with numberless compartments, its table iu a charming state of confusion, occupied the third, while above it hung an exquis ite Ec.ee Homo, delicate, feathery vines creeping over its frame from vases on dainty brackets; a fine organ stood be tween the two windows, through whose long, wide, open casements the evening sun sent slanting rays of gold and crimson that flecked the carpet and flickered over the long rows of books. It seemed to Nannie that this room held the most curi ous collection of chairs she had ever seen —for lounging, for writing, and for study —of every shape and size. What a place this seemed to study or to dream away one’s life in! A shower of rose petals fell from above her head, and glancing back she saw Mr. Rolfe just outside the w in dow. "Miss Nannie, do not yield to the magic influence of this room, but trust my hand to help you from the window that you may eat grapes and look at the sunset.” “O! Mr. Rolfe, this room is a kingdom of itself; what can ever tempt you to leave it?” “Look at the sunset!” was the only an swer. They found Mrs. Rolfe, Mrs. Harris and Jim at the ond of the walk, sitting in gar den chairs before a table that displayed a tempting array of grapes and other fruit. “I take my wine in pills, Percy,” said Jim, making rapid progress into a bunch of grapes. Mr. Rolfe laughed and hold a tempting cluster toward Nannie. “All!” said she, stretching out her hand for them, “ ‘sweeter yet did never crown the head of Baccheus!’ ” “ ‘Deign then, fairest fair, to take them,’” retorted Percy, with laughing eyes, keeping up the quotation. So they jested until Mrs. Harris warned them that darkness would shut them in unless they made a move for home. So the days flew by until there lacked hardly a week ere their return to the city. One afternoon Nannie sat by the water’s edge, at the foot of a low, branching tree, thinking of her pleasant summer, and fancying how long the winter would seem. “If only Jim could be at homel But with only mamma and me—oh, dear!” Then, at the sudden sound of dipping oars on the river, her cheeks flushed, and she began gathering hastily together the scarlet and yellow leaves that came flout ing down around her. “ ‘My boat is on the shore.’ ” sang Mr. Rolfe, as he pushed liis way up through the bushes, his hands full of white lilies from Mrs. Rolfe’s little conservatory; but: as he threw himself upon the bank beside her, he seemed grave and silent, even agi tated. By some subtle sympathy Nannie felt much of his emotion, and it was with great difficulty that she could control her self sufficiently to calmly take the lilies from his trembling hands. “How lovely they are! see what a bril liant background these leaves make!” She spoke rapidly, as if to take refuge in her words. “What a pleasant summer I have had!” she contined; “nearly four months of pleasure. Isn’t it sad that pleasant things must come to an end? I can hardly realize that we return to the city so soon. How I shall miss these pleas ant country sights and sounds; but, with a little shiver, “winter must be dreary here!” “Shall you miss them?” broke in Mr. Rolfe’s voice, deep and low. “And how do you think it will be with me, whose life you have made so bright with happi ness all these weeks? It is a thought I cannot harbor for a moment. I have been in a dream—a hope—Miss Nannie; may I dare ask if it can ever be realized? Will you think me worthy of your love? I offer you mine, strong and true. Do not speak lightly, dear.” The blood rushed to Nannie’s face, then left her pule and trembling. She twisted the flowers around and around in her ner- ; vons fingers. The silence was growing | painful, when she raised her eyes. He j smiled. All Nannie’s pride was up in 1 arms. She fancied there was mischief in his smile. Naughty, wilful Nannie! Her ; cheeks reddened; she made a saucy cour- j tesy, and though her voice shook with love, pride und terror, she gasped out a “No, thank you,” and turned away. In an instant Mr. Rolfe was on his feet. “Can I believe it V” ho spoke, placing himself before her. “Is this my friend, treating lightly, with contempt, a true, manly love? Nannie, do you mean it? Can I never be anything to you ? Can I give up all the beautiful dreams I have in dulged of you ? Nannie, Nannie, can it indeed be true ?” The soft eyes filled with tears, and Nan nie was pressed close to Percy's heart, where she was glad to hide the teardrops and the roses that would come and go so prettily in her cheeks. “Are you my own Nannie, willingly and gladly my own ?” asked Percy. We did not hoar Nannie’s answer, but I think it must have been satisfactory, for Percy clasped her little hand and looked up to the fair blue sky. as if asking God’s blessing upon their love. What a prophet Jim was, to be surel A LEGEND OF MAMMOTH CAVE. BY MAKY KYLE DALLAS. “Come closer, Stewart.” The man went closer to the bed on which the woman who spoke lay, propped by pil lows. “I’m listening, Maria, he said; “I'm lis tening, my deal'. ” “Am I your dear? she gasped. “Really, truly, yon loved me, Stewart?” “Haven’t I behaved as if I did?" said he, softly. “Have I ever given you any reason to think I did not?" “No," she said, “no; but I was rich aud yon poor, and I old and you young, and so I can’t help thinking.” Don’t think that way any more. Try to be calm, my dear,” said the man. “Calm!” said she. “I am going to leave you. I’m going to die. Don’t you know that, Stewart?” “No.” said he. “While there is life there is hope.” “I’m going," she said again; “but we'll meet in heaven. You'll be mine there, and I shall be young and benutifnl again. Stewart, promise me you’ll come to me ns I leave yon, no other woman’s husband.” “Don’t think of such a thing, Maria,” said he; “it’s horrible.” “But swear,” said she. “Here is the Bible; swear. Lawyer Grey is in the other room yet. He lias made my will in your favor, but yon know, Stuart, I could call him back in a moment. No other woman shall have, my money to spend. If yon think of marrying, I’ll make my will over." “How could I think of marrying witli my wife dying?” said the husband. I’m not a brute.” “Then swear,” said she; here put your hand on the Bible—say this after me: “I swear before Heaven never to marry again while I remain upon earth.” The man she spoke to was young and ardent. He had married a woman fifteen years liis senior for the sake of her for tune, hut they had been happy together— she had been even personally agreeable to him. Now she was dying, and ho had nothing hut grief in his heart. He be lieved he should never wish to have an other wife, and he desired to make the anxious woman happy. “Maria,” he said, surely I will do it, if you think it will comfort you,” and he laid his hand upon the Holy Book. “I swear never to marry again while I remain upon the aarth,” he said. Then liis wife put her arms about his neck and kissed him. “In heaven, dearest.” she whispered. They were her last words. After she was dead, the widower lived alone in liis handsome house for some time, and grieved sincerely for the poor lady whose generosity had only been equalled by her love for him. It was not until a year had passed that he began to spend his large fortune as though he were its exclusive master. Then, however, he decided upon a trip to Europe, and, acting upon his resolu tion, spent many months abroad. Rich, a widower, and very handsome, he was not allowed to remain without friends during his travels. People soon discovered that he was a very agreeable person, and ladies lavished their smiles upon him. None of them, however, tempted him to wish his vow unuttered. He was not to he won by any of the arts which belledom so well un derstands, If he ever loved it would be because love came unsought. Long be fore he had decided he could he happy with all agreeable women with whom he had no thought of falling in love, and he did not belong to the susceptible order of mankind. He had taken an oath never to marry while he remained on earth, and lie had rio intention of perjuriug himself. So he flirted coldly enough with pretty women, and each time dropped the amusement quite unscathed himself. He returned to Amorica as ho had left it, and, with the fever for travel still strong upon him, determined to make a tour of the United States. Where he went and what lie saw, we leave the guide books to tell our readers. Enough that, after many days, our hero found himself in Kentucky; and in the quiet of a Kentucky parsonage, whither chance led him, met, for the first time in his life, a girl against whose charms he found no weapons of defense. She was the pastor’s daughter—a young brunette, with crimson cheeks und eyes soft as bluck velvet. He looked at her, and loved her, and in an instant his oath recurred to him. “He had vowed never to marry while he remained upon earth.” The thought soon became torture—but for that vow heaven seemed to open itself before him. Why had he taken it? Why had liis dead wife demanded it? He al most hated her for the uct. Ho despised NUMBER 18. himself for his cowardice. Yet he dared not break an oath. Meanwhile he lmnnted the steps of the young beauty and made mad love to her. Soon he discovered that Bhe returned his love, and then he told her all his misera ble stoty. She wept, but the dread of the oath was upon her also. Love they might, Irat they could never marry. Hero was a tragedy indeed. Tlie daughter’s cheek paled; the lover wore a look of misery; papa, the pastor, noticed nothing, and smiled upon them as usual; and suns arose and set, and sum mer flew by on airy wings, and the dead woman lay In her grave at Greenwood, and her widower hated her memory be cause of the promise she had forced upon him. Yon all know what and where the Mam moth Cave is—the Mammoth Cave of Ken tucky—where the guides keep travelers from losing their way; carry blazing torches, which reveal strange stalactite hung chambers and mysterious corridors that, seem to have been cut by some giant’s tools from the firm rock. Hither it pleased the Rev. Mr. Bray one day to take his guest, and with them went Rhoda, liis daughter. The girl had never visited the cave. Slie was full of curiosity. The guides, with their torches, walked before. The three visitors fol lowed. Rhoda clung to Stewart’s arm. Sometimes, in the obscurity, he placed his hand upon the hand that rested there. They paused in great chambers, where their voices sounded strangely hollow. They crept through narrow passages into grand and wonderful places that sparkled ns though hung with jew els. At last they paused. “No lady Ims ever been any farther,” said the principal guide. “Indeed, few of the guides know the way beyond this spot. We are very far below the earth.” He mentioned the distance. It was something astounding. It struck Mr. Bray as a text for a sermon. “My dear children,” he began, “think of that, We are no longer upon the earth. Awful thought! No longer upon the earth!” Then Stewart seized Rlioda’s hand. “My darling,” he said, “listen; do you hear ? My vow holds me no longer, lam free here. I only swore not to marry an long as I was upon earth. We are as much beneath it ns though we were in our graves.” “It is trite,” said Rhoda. Then they both clasped the old pastor’s arms and besought him to marry them. He had no idea of the motive, but he rather liked the sensational. He bud married people in odd places before—in a boat, in a steeple, in a grave yard. He agreed. The guides stood as witnesses, and the words were soon said. Rhoda was Stewart's wife. “And I have kept my oath,” he whis pered, ns he kissed her. “I never mar ried upon earth.” As he uttered theso words one of the guides shrieked aloud and fled, dropping his torch. The Other, with an oath, fol lowed suit. There stood amidst the group a tall, ghostly figure—a woman in her shroud. She stretched forth her bony fingers and pointed to the bridegroom. “You never married upon earth,” she said, “and you shall never live there. Fol low me. ” Aud she vanished iu the shadows of the cave. An hour after, the guides, attended by a strong body of believers and misbeh vers, and fortified by plenty of whisky, ventured into the cave again. They found the Rev. Silas Bray, more dead than alive, and took him home; but Rhoda and Stewart were never seen on earth again. And there are Mammoth Cuve guides to this hour who believe that sometimes, at a certain day of the year, there is likelihood of meeting two ghostly figures wandering hand iu hand, who ask you the way to the earth iu tearful voices, and before you can answer vanish with a shriek. [From the Davenport Gazette.] A Queer lowa Story. One of tlie leading citizens of North Davenport had an only daughter, who was betrothed to a young man of fair promise, a clerk in a leading commercial house at Du buque. His visits to tlie city were regular, and arrangements had been made for an immediate union, when the bride-elect was stricken down with typhoid fever, and, in spite of all that skill and care could do, died. After the melancholy journey to Oak dale the young man returned to Dubuque. Nervous fever sat iu, and a peculiar hallu cination seized him that his lost one was present in tlie room draped in the same garb which hod enveloped her clay. All remonstrance was in vain. He minutely described her dress, her appearance, and her position in his chamber. Even when his parents or friends would sit or stand where he declared her to he, he hiiw her glide away and take another place. This went on for weeks, and the patient was gradually sinking under physical and ner vous excitement when a friendly ruse was tried to cure him of his ecstacy. Coming to Davenport, his mother found that the funeral garments were purchased of C. & M., and made by a Mrs. B. She procured the material,had it made up. and returning, a young lady as near iu height and appear ance as could be found was dressed to re semble his deceased love, and during one of his fevered and brief slumbers was in troduced into tlie room, taking her seat in a shaded corner. His awaking was anxiously watched, and sanguine hopes of removing his hallucinations were indulged in. He awoke at length, and, turning his eyes in the direction of the pious fraud, stured with fixed eye-halls fora few seconds then rousing himself almost upright in hia bed, flung liis arras aloft, and shrieking iu an unearthly voice: 'My God, there are two of them!' fell back und expired. ”