/ 11 1- 4 L ( A t clash ;SANITEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor. VOLUME XXIX, NUMBER 48.1 PRELIM!) EVERY MURRAY IRORNING Office in Carpet Hall, South-west corner of A Front and Locust streets. germs of Subscription AP! Cop ype raatture.i peidin advance. 41 if not paid within three montlisfrorn commencement of the year, 200 9. C2c...xx.tJs. 111., No subxeriphon received for a le:e time than six ,;:toznlts; and no puller will be diieatitieetil until all ,grveurage I arevaid,unlegsut the optionof the pub• fEr‘loneyrnaybe , eznitted by.rouil atilt epub/ish er'* risk. Rates of Advertising. square[olines]one week, three weeks, • ettch+uhsequeritinsertion, 10 [l2:ineP]one week. 50 three weeks, 1 00 a I each 4111,eqUCIri nsertion. 25 Largeradverti.ernerm.tn proporttott. A liberuldiscount will be made to quarterly,half early or r early tdvertisers,who are strictileoufwea o their business• gettttiguz. Sister Madeleine Cl/J.3ITM; I. I was educated in a convent, and was scarcely seventeen when I left it to marry the Marquis do Rerdoe. The thought of this union gave Me no pleasure, for I knew very little of my intended husband, and as he was a grave-looking man, and much my senior, I did not expect we should take great delight in each other's company. This feeling made me shy and unhappy, and was increased by the numerous em barrassments of my altered position, the necessity of receiving many visitors, and the responsibility of governing a large es tablishment. I was afraid to reveal these difficulties to my husband, fearing be might think me childish; so kept them to myself, and shrank from his observation lest he should find them out; for he had a look in his quiet handsome eyes which gave me a sensation as if be were reading my heart like a book. I remember I felt very lonely and miser able during those Bret months: I thought it would always be ns it was then, all my life long, and what a weary life it would bet It could bring me no pleasure, since I should always carry about with me an unoccupied heart. Ilow I wished I had been a nun like Sister Madeleine, who seemed to have half her soul in heaven, and was calm and peace ful when anything troubled her—so unlike me; yet she had tried very patiently to make me humble, and gentle too. Not nt first, nor for a long time, did I think she disliked me, though she always sent me to another sister with my lessons and work, and loft the room whenever I sang or played. This made me very unhappy, fur I loved her better than any one else in the convent, she had such a sweet voice, and was so gentle and patient. I tried to win her love by car rying her flowers every day, but her brow always darkened when I came near, and at last I was afraid, and only watched her from a distance, and that very sadly. I think alia never would have loved me had I not taken courage one evening and followed her to the chapel. Every night when all had retired to rest, I heard a gentle tread in the corridar, and I knew, for the nuns had whimpered it to me, that it was the Sister Madeleine, who went to pray before the lonely altar: they added, that she was expi ating some deadly sin, but that I could not believe. On this night I had been watching the moon from my window, as it passed through the clouds, and thinking of my mother, my sweet mother, whom I could only just re. member as having bent over me on such a night and kissed me before I slept, and I felt so sad, my heart so longed for some one to lore me, for the pressure of kind arms once more, and the warmth of a loving kiss, that when I heard Sister Madeleine's step, 1 said to myself, "I will follow bar to the chapel; I will kgeel by her and pray with her every night till she learns to love me. till she folds me in her arms and kisses me as my mother did;" and as I thought this, I looked out into the cloistered corridor, and watched her as she went. Her bands wore crossed on her breast, and bead was bent low, very low, so that I could not see her; she glided past. my door like a spirit, and I did not move till her tall form and long shadow had disappeared, Then, with stealthy step, frightened at my own temerity, I ventured to follow her, though the low echo of the chapel door, as it swung to after her, and which, murmuring through the Arches and down the long passages, ap ,peared to shut her out from the living, as in a tomb. - The altar of St. Mary Madeleine ,was one of the most remote in that old „church, and stood in a chapel concealed be hind the pillars clustered round the high ,altnr. One narrow gothic window lighted it from the side, and the light that fell through the stained glass descended on the most beautiful piece of sculpture in the church. I had to pats pp the long south aisle, and I. trembled as II advanced. Maror had the ancient knights who slept there in atone ar mor. awakened more deadly fear in the days of their lofty prowess then that I felt; in the quivering moonlight every familiar ob ject took a strange form, and whon the low echo of my footsteps startled mo and I tarn .ed to sea if saute one followed, any own pale shadow, gliding be4ind a pillar, chilled IZIP as if it had been a haunting spirit. Still I want on. with beating heart, til' i reached the chapel, and there, kneeling before the beautiful sculpture, was Madeleine, bar head bent down, her clasped bands raised towards the saint whose prayers she invoked. She seemed rather to be entreating than praying, such anguish was there expressed in her attitude of wild, overwhelming de. ;pair. The beautiful figure on the altar above her was that of a kneeling Magdalen, the head, slightly thrown back, looked up to Heaven, and the hands were extended to wards earth, as if in aid of the weak and wavering who still wandered there. Something there was in the intensity of Madeleine's grief, so far exceeding anything I had ever imagined, that even then I should not hate dared to pursue my design had I not heard her mention my name in her prayer. This emboldened me to go and kneel quietly beside her; sho seemed con scious of my presence, for her attitude was exchanged for a calmer one, but it was a long, weary time before she turnel and folded me in her arms, as I prayed St. Mary Madeleine she might do. 0 how happy I felt, when I heard her murmur gentle lov ing words to me, when she led me back to my room, and as I laid down on my bed, place herself beside me and hold me in a close embrace, till I became warm again. Then she kissed me sottly and stole away; I listened and heard her pass down the long corridor again, to renew her tears and pray ers before the altar of her patron saint; and then I fell asleep and dreamt I saw her there, and that Ler hands clasped those of St. Mary Madeleine, and she was drawn gently upward from the earth. OE CM From that time Madeleine's manner to ward me was changed. I became her child, her pupil, and I loved her more than any one on earth. Gradually she adopted a more cheerful manner with me than with others; but not the less for that, did I hear her night after night pass by to long and dreary vigil. Once or twice I stole after her, but she reproved me, almost severely; so I listened to her as she went and implored our Blessed Mother to comfort her, and be fore I fell asleep I dropped a tear for her hidden sorrow. I had written once to Madeleine since my marriage; I had told her how I wished I were hack again with her and my old com panions: "My heart is very desolate and sad," I said; "I do not understand my hus band, nor does he understand me. I seem such a child in his presence that I fancy he must think me silly when I converse with him; so I often take refuge in silence. I had no such fear with you, Madeleine, though you too were older and wiser than I, for I knew you loved me tenderly, as I loved you, and reproof is not bitter when it comes from ono we love; but with my husband, oh, Madeleine, it is so different. What interest can a young girl who has just left her con vent have for a man who has experienced and learnt so much as ho must have done? And I, what link have I with his past life? —and that past life is much to a man of his age—it is half of himself the memories with which it is filled; and I have nothing in com mon with these. lam a thing of yesterday to him; I can never make him happy, nor he me. "Perhaps you do not understand all this, and think I am wrong, for he is kind to me, very kind, trying to lead me on to trust in him; but this I cannot do, Madeleine, for I fear him too much. "Ah! how different it was in the convent, how calmly the days flew by, how quietly contented I was, so unlike the trembling agitated being of to-day. Pray for me in your still vigils, sweet sister, pray for me that I may be permitted to rejoin you there. "INES DE Kznvoc." crt s I•TER. As I grew more accustomed to my hue band, the coldness between us gradually, almost imperceptibly, diminished. Ile per suaded me to accompany him in his excur sions to the forest; he taught me how to ride, and seemed so delighted with my com pany that I could not refuse him. We returned home one afternoon, about three weeks after I had written to Made leine. My ride had been a very pleasant one. The excitement of en exercise I bad greatly enjoyed bad melted my reserve, and M. do Kerdoc lifted me from my bores, I ran up the steps of the chateau with a heart lighter than it had been for a long time. As I ootered, a servant approached and presented me with a small parcel and a let ter. The former was directed by Madeleine, the latter by the lady abbess. I was child ishly delighted. "This packet," thought I, "how many, how very many of Nlndeleine's words it must contain!" I suffered my riding whip to fall; I pulled off my gloves and threw them down beside it; then taking the paoket, proceeded has tily and eagerly to unfasten the seal. "Had you not better open it in your own room?" asked my husband, who had followed and stood beside me; "the air is cold here." There was an expression in his face that chilled me by its want of sympathy; nay, I even fancied ho looked annoyed by my un restrained, girlish joy, The old feeling returned stronger than before. I colored deeply, gathered up my whip and gloves, and hastily retreated to my own room. A momentary sensation of anger crossed me, but it was quickly dispelled when I read the superior's letter. Madeleine, my own sweet, little Madeleine, was dead! They bad found her, it seemed, one morn ing, stretched lifeless at the foot of the altar, where, it was supposed, she bad passed the night; they had borne ber to her cell, and she had revived sufficiently to request that her papers might be sent to me; she then "NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 25, 1859. received the last offices of the church ore elle died. The abbess spoke touch of her grief, and that of the sisterhood, on account of the sanctity of the departed, and Ler munifi cence to the convent. Long and bitterly I wept for my own dear Madeleine) How desolate seemed the world whence she had fled, how desolate my heart, which had lost the only object of its love When summoned to dinner I was still weeping. I refused to go down. I was im patient of any interruption to the sorrow I felt for Madeleine. I would suffer nothing to come between me and my grief, so I re mained in my solitude reading again and again the details of my poor friend's death. Late in the evening I opened Matleleine's packet. Tho first thing in it was a note, dated two days before her death. It was as fellows: "I will not pray that you may return here, my sweet Ina?, for you hare another work to do on earth, and God will give you strength to do it, and make it pleasanter to you than now. This it is that I have prayed for, and this I will pray for till I die. For I have not long to live, Ines; ray strength is failing fast. One or two days more at most, can the conflict last, and then I shall be free. To you, my darling child, whose love is my only earthly treasure, I bequeath the souvenirs of my life, the history of ray transgressions and suffering. Nothing stave the hope that it may contribute to your hap piness could give me courage to make a con fession that has renewed the agony of years gone by. "I have a claim upon you that you know not of—we are related, Ines. I was the wife of your husband's brother, the late Marquis de Eerdoc. You will uuderstand as you read why I hare hitherto concealed this. But I address myself to you now as my dear and only sister. Pray for me, Ines, pray for the soul of With a movement of curiosity occasioned by this unpected discovery, I opened the ac companying papers. A small miniature fell from among them. I looked at it, and for a moment thought I dreamt; but cer tainty was forced upon me. I could no longer doubt that it was a likeness of my husband, of Rene de Kerdoc. The face was younger by many years, but it was his; the same still, grave look, the same noble forehead, but less wrinkled than now. With something astir in my heart stronger than curiosity, something that, deadened even grief, I began to read. 13332171111 lilndeleine's tale began with an account of her early childhood, passed in a country chateau, with an indulgent gouvernante, enli vened only by occasional visits from her father, a stern military man, for her mother was dead. The Marquis de Sollenges bed been a warm adherent to the Bourbon cause, and an exile during some years from" France; but in the latter part of Napoleon's reign, like many of his fellow countrymen, he joined the armies of the empire, overcoming political feeling fur the sake of his country. All this first part of the story I read has tily. Interesting, us every detail was of my lost friend, I know it was not here I should find the information I sought. From this point she proceeded thus-, "I was little more than sixteen when our solitude was interrupted ono night by my father's arrival. Instantly life and activity awoke in the chateau—banging doors and hasty footsteps that aroused every echo in the old walls resounded in every direction. "I remained listening in my own apart ment, wondering if I should be admitted to his presence that night, or whether I might retire to rest, secure that he would not ask for me. While I waited and wondered, the summons came, and I descended to his cabi net, where he stood before a heated stove, for it was February, and very cold. "His greeting was, as usual, kind and rough. lie pronounced me growing like my mother—the highest compliment he could pay me. Ile then desired roe to be in read iness an hour before noon on the following day to take a journey with him. It is probable my look expressed the sur prise I dared not speak, for he added in an irritated tone, 'There, now, you must have an explanation. Well, then, I am going to give you a husband, child, a bravo soldier who will take care of you.' "'But you take sufficient care of me, dear papa,' I said timidly. "'Little enough, Heaven knows!' he said half to himself; then he added in a gentler tone that was habitual in him: 'I am going, my child, to fitbt along way off, in Russia; your husband is going too, and that direct ly; but though it is probable that at my age I shall newer return, yet be may; ho is young and can endure hardships that will kill me.' "'Do not go, papa,' I said, venturing to take his hand in mine. 'I would rather he were killed than you. What is his name?' "'Do Xerdoo,' ho replied. •' •Ah! but his other name?' I asked. "'Gustave,' ho replied. •'I repeated, 'Gustave de Ren.loc,' then I laid my cheek caressingly upon his band. 'Papa,' I ventured to say, 'I like your name better.' "'Go, go, silly child,' be said, kissing me with more affection than usnai; 'remember that you do not keep me waitin4 to-morrow' "There was so little satisfaction in this information that it kept me awake nil the night, curiosity and dread altornately tak ing possession of my mind. But I was so accustomed to obey the orders of my father, whom I reared as much as I loved, that I not hesitate in my preparations, and was ready at the appointed hour on the follow ing morning. "Suppressing every outward sign of sor row et leaving familiar scenes and faces behind me, neither by word nor look giving utterance to the natural curiosity which possessed me, I passed that long wintry day traveling by my father's aide. Once he told me, in answer to my inquiry, that we were going to the borders of Bretagne. That, and the few words be had spoken the previous evening, were all I had on which, to found my conjecture. "Fight came oa with its strange dusky shadows, and still we were whirled along the rough roads. bly father grew impa tient, and repeatedly lot down the windows to call to the postillions and urge them to redoubled speed, At length we arrived; there was a clashing of iron gates, and a fesv minutes after the jingling horses and rumbling vehicle stopped before a dark mass of building. Hardly had they done so ere doors were opened, lights appeared in the ball and on the steps, and springing from the carriage my father lifted me out and assisted me into the house. "Here I was entrusted to a female ser vant, who led me into a large chamber where a pleasant fire was burning on the hearth. Presently she left me, to return with refreshments, which she pressed me to partake of. I drank some wino; it was all I could do. My attendant then made a few hasty alterations in my dress, but I was too bewildered to remark what they were; and then taking a lamp in her hand, she asked me to follow her. She led ins along many corridors and down more than one flight of stairs; then suddenly a blaze of light burst upon me; I started and shrunk back, wheu my father advanced and took my hand.— His familiar voice recalled me a little to myself. `:"Looking around me once more I saw I was in a chapel. Tapers were burning on the high altar, flowers and incense perfumed the air; the robed priest was awaiting our approach, and near him stood a grotip of people. I saw but two—a gentleman in a military dress, and an old and stern look ing woman, whose glance as it fell upon me, chilled my very heart. "My father, still grasping my hand (I felt but for his strong hold I should have fallen to to the ground), led me to this lady and presented me as her intended daughter. in-law. She addressed a few words to me; whose import did not reach my ear. I know not what they were, but this I know, that they were not words that could lead the motherless girl who stood before her to shelter her desolate heart in her bosom; or to clasp her arms around her and implore her for love and consolation. "It was a relief to me even to turn to the altar, to place my hand in that of the sol dier, to whom I dared not raise my eyes, to hear the solemn words of the priest, as he united my fate to that of Gustave de Ker doe. It was a relief when (the ceremoney being over) my father pressed me to his heart, praying God to bless me, and I sank from his arms senseless on the floor, never to feel that pressure again, never to be fold ed in nay fond embrace till the welcome shroud should wrap me in its folds. "Oh, Heaven! who can express the wear iness of a heart that dwells alone, a prey to yearnings that are never realised, with . a love welling out from its hidden depths, that like a stemmed ricer having no natural course, overflows and destroys all around it! Ines, my life from that hour Wll9 one of isolited solitude. Before I had regained my senses, my father and husband had de parted to join that ill-starred enterprise to Russia's frozen plains, from which one of thorn never returned. "MADZGEINT." "I rarely saw the Marquise do ICerdoc, for she was an invalid, and only sent for me from time to time, 'when she had received a letter from my husband, to inform me he was well, and read nloud his polite inqui ries after my health. That was all, all the food my heart had to live on, all the interest I had in life, these occasional glimpses of what was doing in the great world beyond our chateau. "It was about nine months after my mar riage that the fearful intelligence was an nounced of the disasters in Russia, followed by a period of dreadful suspense, and at last by the sad certainty of my father's death. -He died as ho wished to die, light ing for his country, and lung an d bitterly I wept the loss of the only being 'who had ever loved me. "Up to that time I had lived almost en tirely in my own apartments. I had read a great deal, and cultivated a talent for drawing, in which I took great delight.— But during the period of sorrow succeeding my sad loss I had co courage to pursue these occupations, and took to wandering about the deserted old chateau, or sitting in listless solitude in my own room. "One day in the early spring, the weather was so bright and beautiful that I felt tempted to mount the leads of one of the high towers which rose at the corner of the building, and gaze around me. I had nercr bean there before, hut I knew the way, and that the door loading to the current steps wee open. Threading the long corridor that led to it—for it was in a corner of the house the most remote from that in which I lired—l reached the low postern, pushed it open, and ascended the narrow stone staircase. Another small door opened to to the roof, and unfastening it with some little difficulty, I reached the leads. Heie I stayed long, watching the flitting shadows that cased the sunlight across ther fertile plains which spread around our dwelling.— The fresh spring breeze brought healing on its wings, and I descended refreshed and invigorated. •'llulf way down the stairs I observed a door, apparently leading to a chamber. In cited by curiosity, I gently pushed it open and looked in, and, as I expected, saw a small room, which fur an instant I presumed to belong to a domestic. But a moment's inspection removed this idea. The furniture, though old-fashioned, had once been costly, and there was an indescribable look in its arrangement which convinced me the mind of its occupant was a cultivated one. The polished arms, grouped over a marble slab, suggested that a gentleman had inhabited it: the view from the window sufficiently accounted for the selection of this remote apartment. The books, whose titles I could read through the glass bookcase in which they were locked, were those of a schol ar and a man of taste; the few pictures that adorned the walls were good and well chosen But one amongst these soon absorbed my whole attention; it was that of a man about five-and-twenty years of age, in a military dress, such as I dimly remembered my husband had worn on the night of our mar riage. "While inspecting it I was roused by the entrance of some one behind me, and turn ing I saw an old servant, whom I had sometimes noticed sunning himself in the court-yard of the chateau. lie had appa rently been cleaning some of the armor, for he carried a piece highly polished in his hand. With a grave salute he passed me, suspended it in its place, and detatching another from the wall, was leaving the room, when I stopped him: "'Tell me, my friend,' I said, 'whose is this picture. Is it your master's?' "'Certainly it is, my lady,' he replied.— 'Did you ever see two men with a face like that?' "'lt is a very handsome one,' I said, smiling at his tone. "'That's not it,' said the old man, indig nantly, 'that's not it madame; it is the good ness in it, the heart shining through it.— Ahl there never was such a likeness, nor was there ever such a man,' and shaking his head and brushing away a tear, the old man tottered down stairs. "When left alone, I gazed long upon the picture, for the face was not to be read at the first glance. 'This is my husband's likeness,' I said: can learn him from this portrait. I can study his character, his in clinations, and his tastes;' and with throb bing heart I set myself to an employment 1 bad long desired. Feature by feature I examined that portrait. "'The forehead was broad and high; the brown hair careless and wavy, without pow der; the eyes were largo and rather long, and of that peculiar hazel which takes every shade and color, as different emotions swell the heart. The brows though not sufficiently arched for perfect beauty, were somewhat strongly marked; the nose was neither ef feminately straight, nor too prominent, and the delicate nostrils expressed refinement. From all this I gathered that M. de Ker doe was a man of' talent, energy, sensibility and accustomed to be obeyed. I might have feared the energetic will but for the mouth, which denoted sweetness of disposi tion, and it had that noble expression which denotes persuadibility and gentleness, and is the best guarantee of happiness to a wo man when seen in that feature of the man she loves. "Perhaps, as a whole, the face was no t decidedly handsome, but to me it had some. thing far above beauty. I felt a sense of confidence and protection in its pre.enee; after that first careful study it became to me as a living being, a monitor, a director, a comforter in my lonely hours, "I resumed my studies from that period, but they had a purpose, a motive now. I selected from the library volumes similar to those I found in the turret chamber, and carrying them there I set myself to master they contents. I encountered many difficul ties in my self-imposed task, for some of those books referred to subjects generally deemed too obstruse:fona woman's intellect, and I was compelled to make myself mis tress of more than one foreign tongue before could road them. all. But what will not love do And dare? Those hours of study passed beside that beloved 'portrait Wove the happiest of my life. I was no longer desolate and lonely, fur there is no solitude for those who love. "As I look baek upon that time I ask myself: 'Are there sorno beings who are born into the world with a darker curse upon them than their follows Lear? Arc there some to whom happiness is sin, and lore a crime? And am I one of these--and this my fearful retribution?' Soon, Ines. I shall solve this mystery.'" CA.I.I.IER IT As I read this partion of 3I ideleine's narrative my heart beat very quickly. At last I could boar it no longer. and throwing, down the papers, I .took up the miniature she had sent me and compare' it with her written description. It tallied exactly, only she had not told all the depths of ten derness that were painted in those eyes. 81,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,90 IF NOT IN ADVANCE Was this Ilene'e picture, then?—the pie lure of my husband, that she had worship ped, believing it that of her own? Was it on him she lavished alt the tenderness of a heart that loved for the first and only time? i 'Was it fur him she bent her fair head over dark and abstruse studies, that she might follow the workings of his stronger mind? And he —could he resist such tenderness and beauty?---for I felt that she was beau tiful. Suddenly I remembered a picture in i the saloon which had been pointed out to me as that of the last marchioness. This, then, must be Madeleine's. The sharp pain that rested at my heart obliged me to seek ; some solace, some relief; end I formed a sudden resolution. Takine a lamp in my ha'nd, I descended into the drawing-room, ! and gazed upon Madeleine's picture. I could detect a resemblance now—it was the same sweet, gentle face, I Loved` so well—' but oh, how changed since then! At any other time my heart would have wept tears of blood to think what had been the suffer ing that could work a change like this; but now I only saw its beauty, and a strange idea seized me. Putting down my 1:J1T, I drew beneath the picture a chair, and mounted on it. With coniderahle difficulty I detached the picture from the hook to which it was sus pended, and heavy as it wtts, and impeded as I was at every step by my long riding. habit, I contrived to carry it up to my own room. Arrived there, I locked my door and. took off my habit. I was interrupted by a knock. It was my own maid, who brought a request from M. de Kerdoe that I would permit him to visit me. I declined, alleging that I was 'ill, and added that I required no further attendance, as I had already retired :to rest. My im patience, my resolve to carry out the idea that had taken possession of me, induced me to utter this falsehood. Then I went on with my toilette. The lady in the picture I had brought from the drawing room, was dressed in a white evening dress of light texture re lieved by a scarf cf blue.• Ornaments of pearl were in the hair, on the fair uncovered neck, and round the beautiful arms. After carefully studyingrevery detail, I selected from among my dresses one cor responding to that she wore; I placed simi lar ornaments on my neck and arms; I ar ranged my hair in the style of the image before me, and looped pearls among the floating curls that fell upon my shoulders; lastly, I placed several wait rights so that their lustrn should fall at once on the glass and en the picture, and stood in front of the mirror to decide the question whether I was as as beautiful Madeleine. After all, a comparison could scarcely be made, so un like were we in style and feature. Madeleine had soft, light brown hair, and eyes of the purest melting blue, with long deep fringes. My hair was many shades darker, and my eyes, though as large and shaded as here, were darker too, and now they flashed with a strange glittering light I had never seen in them before, My face was flushed and hers was pale, as if with solitude and thought; then hers was an imago only, mine was the reflection of life, and in one of the.most earnest mouteuts. So it \\*ll.s, that as I gazed I was content, I felt that in my way I was as beautiful as Madeleine, and I sought no further; but the flush on my cheek deepened with a now joy, and my eyes lit up with added bril liancy. It was the first time I ever felt it a privilege to be a beautiful - woman—The as- BUD, nee that bad fallen coldly on my (..4r when whispered by others tiled with delight when discovered by myself. Suddenly I remembered that my rival was dead; that till fair being with whom, in my foolish, hateful vanity, I bad eom ,l pared myself, was an inanimate corpse, Iturning to dust within a narrow tomb. Humbled and heartstrieken, I fell on my knees before her picture, and prayed her to 1 . forgive me. My tears were of s ineere pen ! itence, and as they fell my bursting heart was relieved, and calmer thoughts took possession of me. TbOßet suggested that perhaps I was mistaken after all; some similarity in her description and the minia ture might have deceived me, it might be ' that of some other person, and not my hus band. "••• I rose, resolved to satisfy this doubt. It was nearly Midnight, and I knew every one in the chateau save myself had probably long since retired. I took my lamp once more, and stealing out with slow and cau tious step proceeded to the turret chamber of which Madeleine spoke. The room was exactly as she had described it; the picture I sought was visible among the rest. Yes, there was no longer a doubt: the likeness was of Rene, of my husband, and .t.dto had believed it that of Gustave. I could understand, as I looked on that noble face, how that solitary girl in con-, templating it had loved him; how her soul j became filled with him as she gazed; how in intellect and heart be reigned alike. As I thought of all I had yet to learn of him Ind this fair deleted creature, something .f'the old pang returned. A quick, short .iob burst from me, as if my heart were weeping, and with a chill forbodiug in my ioul I turned to go away. I was traversing the last corridor when I heard an advan zing footstep. I sprang forward, hoping to reach my own apartment; it was too late; another moment, and I stood face to face with my husband. [WHOLE NUMBER 1,505. In my shame and confusion at being thus diszovered, I nearly dropped my lamp. Rene took it from me, and with a grow loci's, he asked, ".18 Madame do Kordoc going to a ball this evening, and in her ill state of health, too?" "I knew he despised me fur my false hood, and fur having dressed m3, - self out as I had; if by any wish or will of mice I could have turned my costly deekinger into the most loathsome rags, I would gladly have done it, that I might have hid my face in them, and so passed hint by. "Forgive me," I muttered; "but*" "Well?" he said, in the same stern tone. But I had nothing more to say. Softened apparently by my obvious confusion, and by the tears which were swelling in my eyes, and ready to fall in big drops down my face, he relented. Ile took my hand and led me to my roam. When ho bad reached it, and ho had discovered, though net without difficulty, amid my scattered wardrobe and papers, a place in which to set my lamp, he said, "Ines, I do not under stand this; will you tell me what it means? why I meet you at this hour, and in tio strange a dross?" "I did not mean anything wrong," I said, hesitatingly. "I did not suspect you of wrong," he answered; "yet—" llis eye glanced at the miniature which I held with my disengaged hand, tightly pressed against my heart. I could not so entirely conceal it as to pre vent his seeing its gilded frame. I colored violently as I saw his look, and trembled lest he should ask to sec the miniature. Ilis face clouded over with a strange, sad expression, as his searching eyes rested on me. lie dropped my hand, and turning away, paced once or twice up and down the room. Presently he approached me again, "Ines," he said, and his voice was troubled. "Ines, why is there this reserve between us? If you cannot love me with a deeper, a moreintense love, at least treat me as a brother; let me 'nave your confi dence—tell me your sorrows. If fate has been unkind in severing you from one dear er to you, let me give you all the consola tion that remains for a misfortune, to:whicit I have contributed." Did ho ever plead so with Madeleine? I asked myself. Did her heart ever throb as mine does now, while listoningto hill' words? —did she ever yearn to comfort him with love's caressing look as I Lin would do? I could not answer the question, but I would have it answered before I responded to his invitation. Without raising my eyes then. I replied, "I have nothing to reveal, M. de Kerdoc." "You speak falsely," ho said; "your eyes are still wet with tears; your face is flushed your lip quivering. You deem 7710 un worthy of your confidence then. You make me very uphappy, Ines." I looked up into his face. Yes, it was quite true; he evidently was unhappy, very unhappy. I smiled a smile of pleasure. If he had once loved Madeleine, sorely / e loved me now. He saw the smile — at d seemed wounded by it. His face and mar ner changed; he turned away and walked hAstily from the room. A word from me would hare recalled him, a word from Inc would tiara dispelled the cloud; but, willful trifler with my ovk n happiness that I was, I would not speak it. I would finish Made/eines natratice first; I would finish it that night before I slept. Now could I sleep with this fear and doubt in my mind? [To Br. coNcLvntb.) Garibaldi The annexe:l brief biography of Garibaldi will be rend with interest: A native of Piedmont, Garibaldi, like hlr father and grandfather, in early life became a sailor, and performed numerous voyages in the Mediterranean and Levant, until, having joined the secret society of Italian patriots, he was condon.ned to death, and escaped from Gerson to 31nrseille9 in disguise. In one of his early voyages ho had visited Rome. Having subsequently spent a few month's at Rio Jeneiro, and learned the condition of the republic of Rio Grande, which had re bellsd against the tyranny of the Brazil. lion Empire, he embarked with General Bo soul in a small vessel to go to their assis tance, and captured a ferr coasting vessels on his way, under the authority of the flag of the new State. Ile was soon after at tacked, in the Parana, by a Brazilian ves sel of much superior force, and laid sense less on his deck by a shot in tho neck, which rendered him unconscious till after the re pulse of the enemy. Here commenced his military life, which continued 14 years in South Atneri:a and through the revolutions of 184 S-9 in Italy, and afforded a variety t.t scenes—of alternate trial, success and du-- aster seldom paralleled. A chief object at which he constantly aimed in his romanti.: South American military career was to tram to 'arms Italians who were in exile in Mar.- regions, and to prepare thern to fight C.r their own country. ' Such was his success, that, although he commenced under many adverse circumstan ces, "The Italian Legion" soon began to reap laurels and at length took the front rank in the armies for discipline, daring. constancy and success. In his services in Italy during the lest revolution, he bad many of his old soldiers in his files, and doubtless some of the survivors must be with him now, to struggle against the Austrians.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers