-y-> .-jSt*..
t,Jßmnruhms,ra
ir]US&Mi
gsgagfeataat
M prices. b«|Njij|pL t
win iwelwe attfceeeyßgy.
it tD O* from t^iMMMwEk
is
,'*» U» Tritmtu CWc*. V*
tiatity.
, ud nw* MtiiliiHat,
r all who ent-o»t their m»k to
[Haicb 31 tIHU;
CO £ A
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fr- o« -li&f
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SRSIONE^A^ma<-
n» nf Altoona and vkiaitr that - W
np lmiicer of
CTIONAKIBS. SDTB, STICKS '
*'4r_ emready Be-tiwSe#h|*B.
rap oohanda goad «MdE.af «t*fii
tnauAcnra. -
IBSES, RAISINS,AC.
wwnn of ;w.
Molasses, B»tW.
WHITE WHEAT FLO,VB.
n/ICR, CORK URAL, JtC,
* Mk io krct orinmfl jtirtMw,
price mj stock mil Jon viU And
u.aaT in town.
JACOB WB».
t x question whjoh
tv sated of etery -
njto best artiple fcrmyM^B;:
» other matter*. th* -
paiplto direct. but if you H' ,
iirUrtf
OE SHOES
>»te«tinn of hi* stock mad wqtk»
tel hand at Assortment nfTTimtentoi ll
which bo offers at &ir prices. T; V
tiattentioD to ctutom —rti. p[f
ie4-jtejglepisti»<ecUott. .
to .da Virginia street, fifafrto tH
f ltore. • "
JOHN H. SOBKBSJSu
STTINGER’S
News igeacf,
No. 7, MAIN BT&PX
OKS, BLANK B0Q8&,
r. CONFECTIONARIES
I & TOBACCO,
LOSS Df GREAT TABOCTT
AKXMT OK ALAKD.
POLICE GAZETTE -
«f*«w ’-
SOTIONEttV
STEB SA&OPX,
WDULD I*
cr a mi nxtl MaBSIIt ww»
tab* Ini, MS'Mjjft**
saloon
tajuorf
a-«r , : : < ■" .
a
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Wjtp,
«sr3hl
gM-.
hAMD
*rJk
.—A ''
t.v«nWi'
MoCKFM & DERN.
\ ()L. '
THE ALTOONA TRIBUNE.
iji'CKt'Jlj”
fC-BUSBtt* AJfD FBOFUETOB£.
. .ana»>. w»ari«bly IB adTmßCf,; SUS#.
; trt per« *» the expiration of the lime
*r Af»ViiTiasG
I ituteriioti - do. ;; do.
$ $ &}£ $ 90
*o 7o I 00
. If. - I 00 1 So *OO
*>i •• } 1 Wt ti 0u 250
~r r cur-«* and teas than three mootta. cent*
‘“r **»eh Hwertion.
..i «<•#>-
t hue*).
months, fl months.
l5O $ 3 00 ssoo
2 m 4 00 7 00
4 00 6 00 10 00
.... s oo ft oo 12 go
6 00 10 00 M 00
lO 00 WOO aooo
"*• '.'‘T is 00 40 00
rtaimstrawr. and Kx f ß h** Notic *?; i 116
,1 -rchanl. adtertWnp f '- T lh<> J««> »*>»« I"""-
' sih*rtV to
pr C«rd*, not mm*dto K 8.
with u*p*r. l* r ® ®V
:-• nnicaikm* of* political mmeUaoT indMdnalin
, ~11char zed according to the aboee rate*.
■"<r«t«men - not marked
udwired. arill be continued till forbid and ehaigedae
niiac to the abate term.- .
iteMCT. notice* fit* cento per line for ewy loaertooo.
“ itueri notices exceeding ten Unetc gftj cento a Ktoare
x :,ut* <>r i<*«
i-jaar*-.
BALTIMORE LOCK HOSPITAL
VLtabushbd as a rbfcoe pbomquackuby.
The Only Place Where a Care Can
be Obtained.
DK. JOHNSON has discovered the
taost Ortalo, Speedy and only Effectual Remedy in
• all Private Di«w»«. Weaknea* of the Back
iw*. Strictures, Affection* of the Sidneys
... iotoioaury Diaeharges, Impolency, General Debility,
Dyapepay, Languor, Low Spirits. Confoaion
I i-x*. Palpitation of the Heart, Timidity. Tremblings,
•/aw** of Sigh* or Giddiness, Disease of the Head.
-au No*e or Skin, Affections of the Liver, Longs, Stom
- r Boaelf —those Terrible disorders arising from the
Habit- of Tooth—those sscan and solitary prmc
uorv total to their victims than the song of Syrens to
" Mariners of Ulymea, blighting their most brilliant
anticipations. rendering marriage Me irapow-
YOUNG MEN
*.-«rikllv. srho bare become the victims of solitary vice.
*ii dreadfal and destoctire habit which annually sweeps
, i untimely glare thousands of Young Men of the most
-liCtea talent* and brilliant intellect, who might othet'-
• 1- late entranced listening Senates with the thunders
: or waked to ectasy the living-lyre, may call
fall confidence.
MARRIAGE.
*Urriel Persons, or Young Men cotetnplating marriage,
>-.r.c aware of physical weakness, organic debility, defcr
i.;». ic., speedily cured,
ii-- who places himself under the care of J. may xe
-uslr ‘con&l* In hh* honor as a geu«lem*|fc and coofi
- „;;v r.’-Iv upon his skill as a physician.
ORGANIC WEAKNESS
Cured, and full Vigor Restored.
Hu* Diitressing Affection —which renders. Life miserable
iB,- marriage the penalty - paid by the
• fcjims of improper indulgences. Young persons are to
,|.j ij commit excesses from not being awaie of the dread-
Ic-coaseqneace* that may ensue. Now. who that under*
-Uais the subject will pretend to deny that the powtjr of
is lost *»ner tv those falling Into improper
bahit- than by the prudent? Besides being deprived the
of healthy uffspring. the most serious and de
•suctive sTtaplom> t » both body and mind arise. The
.-.item become* Derang*!, lb* Physical and Mental Fnnc_
:ij&s Weakened, Lo*- of Procreative Power, Nervous IrrT
ability. Dyspepsia. Palpitation <>f the Heart. Indigestion,
Debility. a Wasting of the Frame, Cough
."Va-amptloD. Dec*v and Death. ,
OFFICE, NO. 7 SOUTH FREDERICK STREET,
Lrit hand side going frum Baltimore street, a few doors
;rwn thr corner. Fail not lo*observe name and number,
betters must be paid and contain a stamp. The.Doc
r* Diplomas hang in his office
A CURE WARRANTED IN TWO DAYS.
.Vb Mercury or Xuseons J>rugs.
OR. JOHNSON. „ •
Meaber of the Royal College of Surgeons, London. .Grad- -
ute trots one of Hie most eminent Colleges in the United
jiitt*. and tlie greater part of whose life has been spent in
h>piuls of London, Paris, Philadelphia and else
•lifte. has effected some of the most astonishing tores
wer>- ever known; many troubled with.ringing in the:
and ears when asleep, great nervousness, being
kiirmol at indden sounds, bashfrilness, with frequent
attended sometimes with derangement of mind,
**:* cared immediately;
TAKE PARTICULAR NOTlCE
addrossea mll those who have injured themselves.
l -j improper indulgence and solitary habits, which ruin
>& body and mted, unfittiag them for either business,
society or marriage.
The«e are some of the sad and melancholy effects pro
'ixi by early habits of youth, vlx: Weakness of the
S*:t and Limbs, Pains in the Head, Dimness of Sight,
i** of Muscular Power, Palpitation of the Heart. Dys*
rj»r, Nervous Irritabilitj. Derangement of the Digee
-V Functions, General Debdity, Symptoms of Coosump*
.Jrc. : •’
'llxtallt.—The fearful effects of the mind *re much to
'- ireaded—Loss of Memory, Confuioo of Idea*, Be
rr-nUm of spirits, Brll-Forebodiog*, Aw*ioa to Society,
l*ore of Solitude, Timidity, Ac., are some of
produced.
Theism cff persons of aliases can now judge what U
: - a dkO«e of their decttalng health, losmg their rigor, be
■aiog weak, pale, aerroits and emaciated, haring a gin-
appearance aboal the eyes, cough and symptoms of
■-a*amptioo.
YOUNG MEN ■
*■■ -■ :.av-‘ injured themselves by m certain practice to*
aiS'd in when alone, • habit freqnently learned front
■ra companions, or at school, the eflbeta of muce t»
■■shilr Mt, eren when asleep, and if not cared render*
csrnsg. impoeible, and deetroy* both nrind and body,
•weld apply immediately.
Wbut a pity that a young man, the hope of hie country,
fee darting of bi> parent!, should be anatched from ail
;-c;epecli and enjoyments of life, by the consequence of,
Gristing from the path of nature, and indulging in n
secret habit. Sncb persona iresr, before content
r-Uting
_ MARRIAGE,
-Beer thet a vjutul mind ami body are the moot neeeaaary
■tioisitn to promote connubial happiness. Indeed, with
al these, the journey through life becomes a weary pii
trtmige; the prospect hourly darkens to the view; the
-•ud becomes shadowed with despair and filled with the
-oUncholy reflection tb.e the happiness ot another be
"" ‘■"'S blitted with oar barn.
' DISEASE OF IMPRUDENCE. , .
. Wien the misguided and imprudent rotary of Mim
tads that he has imbibed the needs of this painful die
it too often happens that an UMinaed sense of shame.,
or dread sf discovery, deters him from allying to those
'ha. from education and respeeUbßity, can alone ho
•neni him. delaying HU symptoms of
•in horrid diaeaae make their appearance, such
Miore thrust, diseased nose, nocturnal pain sin the head
jaa limbs, diocese of sight, deafness, node* on the shin
• a*, *ad arms, blotches on the bend, free and eitremi
*»• Programing with frightful rapidity, tm at last the
[f dc of the month or the bone* of the nose fall In, and
Tictim of this aarlhi disease become** horrid object of
raeuaiseratlos. Oil death pats a period to hie dreadful
'•ftriags, by sending him to “that Undiscovered Country
' no traveller returns.”
it ii a mdoaedofy fact that Hwmsande fall victims to
“ a terrible disease, owing to the nnskOlfnlnesa of igno-
Pc-tendervwho. by the use of that Zteadly Autm,
"““■g. ruin the consUtatioa and nuke the' residue of
miserable.
,„, STBAM6ERS , i
• rsjt Dot jour |i rM , or baalth to the cere of the mine
; k«m4 ud Wortblcm Pretender*, deetitnte of knowl
f.. ■ tuu or dmeftr, who copy Dr. JtAneton'i edrcr*
■»arati or style tbemeelTee, in the newspaper*, rega
wj faceted Pfayriciuu, fnemble of Curio*, they keep
*? month after month, ukfag theiriUhj w»
? 3WB5 ® compounds, or as long at the smallest fee cti
u and in decpalr, leare yon with rained health
iSri 0 /** I" 0 ®* 1 galling disappointment,
j? - Johnston U the only FhyskrUn auiTcrtiaißg
-5? credential or diplomas always hang In his oft*,
on remedies or treatment are unknown to all othtra,
glared ttm a Ufe spent in the great hospitals of Korofm,
toJixl* ** ooontoy and nmoreeztsosire
wy otter PhysWah |p the wortd.
- JNDOtSeMEHT or THE PRESS.
emny tboamads cured at thSsimtitetion, year after
lm|OCT oa» important Surgical operations
Johnston, witnessed by the reporters of the
»'to aiu * many other papers, notfcee'of
appeared again and agaia before thepnblic,
.•/•nrfJr* •'coding as a gentlemen of character and re
‘n wiity, u a sufficient guarantee to the afflicted.
So uSi* diseases speedily cured.
w * iTe< l nalees poet-paW end containing a
Hs«ili 0b % tt **‘ ,on Person* wrfifegriumU stale
portion ofedrertUesentdoKrlblag •jraptonu.
’*W^.TrH nc AooU •* particular hi directing thetr
, 40 ' hi * Inutntiott, in the following meaner;
JOMNSTOII.
Of the Baltimore Lock Hospital. Uarri*
€k«wf IfMfej.
.U. C. OKBN,
AN APPEAL TO YOUNC MEN.
BT OUTER WESOELL BOLMtS,
Lkten, young hero*! Jfcnr country is calling!
Time strikes the hdar for ihe brave ao4 the true
Nov, while the foremoat are fighting and foiling!.
Fill op the ranks that have opened for yon!
Yoo whom the fathers made free and defended.
Stain not the scroll that"emblazons their fotoe!
Yon whose foir heritage spoUms descended.
heave not yoor children a,birthright ot shame!
Stay not for questions while Freedom stands gasping:
Wait not till Honor lies wrapped la bis pall!
Brief the lips* meeting be, swift the hand*’ clasping—
y Off for the wan!” I* enough for tb*-ra all.
10 00
Break from the arms that wo old fondly careas yon
Hark! *tas the budebhitl sabres are drawn!
Mothers shall pray for you, fathers shall bless you.
Maidens Mull weep few you when you are gone!
Never or now! cries the bloqd ofa nation.
poured on the turf where the red rose should bloom I
Now U the day and the hour of salvation—
Never or now! peals the trumpet of doom!
Never or now! roars the heart throated cannon
Through the black conopy blot ting the skies:
Never or now! flaps the abethblasted pennon
O’er the deep oose where the Cumberland lies!
From the tool dsns where our brother* are dying.
Aliens and toes in the land of their birth.
From the rank swamps where our. martyrs are lying.
Pleading in vain Ibr a handfol of earth;
From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered.
Furrowed and ridged by the battle-field's plough.
Comes the load summons; too long you have slumbered.
Hear the last Angebtrump—Never or Now!
jltlKt |§|is«Uatt|),
A BLINDFOLD MARRIAGE.
The elite of the court of Louis XIY,
the great monarch of France, were assem
bled iu the chapel of the great trianon, to
witness the nuptials of Louis. Count of
Franche Compte—a natural son of the
King —with Lydonie, Duchess de Bali
verne,, a worthy heiress.
The singular feature of the ceremony
was that the bridegroom's eyes were ban
daged with a white handkerchief.
This circumstance excited the wonder
of all. Had the bride been old and ugly,
they would not have been surprised. On
the contrary she was young and quite
pretty.
The king alone understood this strange
freak of the bridegroom, and, though
much enraged, he prudently held his peace
and suffered the ceremony ,to proceed.
A few words will explain the motives
of the bridegroom.
When Louis XIY came back from his
great campaign in the Palatinate, he de
termined to unite his son, whose valor
and Haring in the war had greatly pleased
him, to one of the wealthy wards of the
crown.
He proposed the union to the young
Duchess of Baliveme, and found her fa
vorably inclined.
She had just come to court, having but
recently emerged from the convent where'
she had completed her education. She
had seen the young Count often, though
be had nevef deigned to cast a glance
upon her. She knew he was brave and
noble, and she thought him handsome.—
The barsinister in bis escutcheon was no
objection. * ■
Unfortunately, Louis of Tranche
Compte, who, lie his father, was some
thing of a reprobate, would not accept her.
“My son,” said the great King, “I
have resolved that you shall many,”
’ “My worthy sire and most excellent
father,” returned the Count, “I have re
solved to do no such thing!”
The King frowned.- He was not in the
habit of being contradicted.
“I have made a formal proposition, in
your name, for the hand of the. Duchess
of Boliverne, and she has accepted you,”
said he, gravely.
“Doubtless,” sneered the young scape
grace, “her taste is excellent, and how
could she refuse met Perhaps it would
have been as well to have consulted my
inMinstinna in this matter. I do. not wish
to many.”
“Are yon in love with any one!”
“No.”
“Then love my Duchess. She is noble
and wealthy.” t
“I am your son—-that, is nobillity
enough;” he bowed low as he spoke, and
the King smiled at the compliment; “and
the- Jews trust me—what could I do with
more gold?”
“She is the prettiest woman in my
court.”
“ I'm tired of pretty women; they are
always fools.”
“Gould you but see her, you would be
sure to fall in love with her.”
“ I never will see her,” answered the
Count, determinedly. /
“See her or not, you shall marry her!”
cried the King in a rage.
“If I do rn marry her with my eyes
shut!” returned the Count.
The King.grew purple with passion. :
“Haxfcy*e, boy! Yon owe me obedi
ence as subject and aS son. It is my will
you bestow joint hand upon the
Duchess de Baliteme. The wedding
shall take place this day fortnight. Sub
mit to mv will with a good grace, and I
ALTOONA, PA., THURSDAY, AUGUST 7, 1862
will create yon a Duke on year wedding
day. Dare to disobey me, and I will
strip foil of your title and the lands yon
hold from me, and cast yon into the hos
tile.”
This was what had brought the Count
of Tranche Cample blindfolded to he mar
ried.
The King smiled grimly, but said noth
ing-
The Count placed the ring upon the
finger of his bride, bnt he did not salute
her: and when the ceremony was over be
turned his back upon her, took the hand
kerchief from his eyes, and walked out of
the chapel.
Lydonie pouted her pretty lips, and
was almost ready to cry for vexation.—
The King took her in charge, escorted her
to her carriage, and they were conveyed to
the hotel her husband occupied.
1 “Here you are, my dear,*’said the King,
conducting her through the apartments he
had expressly furnished for her reception ;
“here you are, at home.”
“But where’s my husband ?” said Ly
donie.
“Silly boy!” muttered the King, look
ing very much annoyed. “Never mind,
my dear, he is your husband : the rest will
come in time.”
“What is the use of having a husband
if he will not look at you ?” pouted Ly
donie.
“He shall look at you, or I’ll send him
to the Bag tile.”
“Oh, no,” cried Lydonie, “do not force
him to look at me. If he has not curios
ity enough to see what kind of a wife he
has got, I’m sure I do not wish to oblige
him to look at me. 1 see how it is,” she
continued, a sad expression stealing over
her countenance. “Sire, you have forced
the Count into this union!”
The King coughed and looked guilty.
“Oh!” cried Lydonie, with anguish, “he
never loved me, then —he never will love
me
“Why should you care ?”
“Because 1 love him,” answered Lydo
nie, innocently.
“Love him!”
“Oh 1 so dearly ; that is why I married
him. 1 had loved him from the moment I
first beheld him. And now lam his wife,
he will not look at me.”
Lydonie burst into k flood of tears, and
sank upon a sola.
The King pitied her sincerely; but what
could he do ? He bad forced his son to
marry her, but he could not force him
to love her.
He thought of the Bastile. It would
not make him love hi# wife to send him
there.
“Well, well,” he said, “you are his wife.
I will make him a duke, and I dare say
you’U'find him home before morning.”
With these words the King withdrew.
Lydonie was left alone with her sorrow.
But die was not one to droop long. She
soon dried her tears, and looked all the
better, like a rose after a shower.
Her old mirse came in, and together
they inspected her new home, which Ly
donie found entirely to her satisfaction.
The Count did not come home that
night. A week passed by, and he did not
make his appearance. Lydonie came to
the conclusion he would never come. She
knew it was useless to appeal to the King.
He had made jFranche Compte a duke,
but he could do frothing for her. She de
termined to ascertain what her' husband
was about.
She dispatched a trusty servant for in
telligence, and, like all wives who place a
spyupon their husbands’ movements, she
was not at all pleased ; with the news she
received. i
The Duke was plunging into all kinds
of dissipation. He was making love to
all the pretty daughters of the shopkeepers
in the rue St Antoine. In fact Cor a
newly married man, his conduct was
shameful. „
“To leave me to run after such cana
ille /” exclaimed Lydonie, -
She panned suddenly. An idea had
entered her brain. She determined to
act upon it.
While she is meditating upon it, let ns
see what the Duke is about.
One night, about eight days after his
marriage, the Duke, plainly attired and
muffled in a cloak, roamed through the
Fauburg St Antoine, as was his wont in
quest of adventures.. As he turned the
comer qf one of. those narrow lanes that
intersected that quarter at that period, a
piercing shriek burst upon his ear, min
gled with suffocating cries for assistance.
The Duke’s sword was out in an ; instant
He was brave to rashness. Without a
moments thought he plunged into the lane.
He beheld a female struggling in the grasp
of a man.
The man fed precipitately at his ap
proach, and the girl sank into his arms,
convulsively exclaiming;
“Save me! oh! save me!”
The Duke sheathed his sword and en
deavored to calm her fears. He led her
beneath the lamp that swung at thecomer.
“Why, you are a perfect little beauty!”
he cried rapturously, and in surprise
The giri ost down her eym and Unshed
deeply, and the Duke felt the little hand
[IXDKrKXIJEVT IN EVERTTHISG.j
j that rested upon his arm tremble. Biit
i she did not seem displeased.
“ Do vou reside in Paris ?”
“Yes: but we have only been here a
short time. We came from Bellville—
mother and I.”
“From the country, eh? Where do
yon live, my pretty blossom ?”
“ In the rue St. Helene.”
“ Why, that is some distance from here.
Will you not permit me to escort yon home?
These streets are dangerous, as you have
found, to one as beantiful as you are.”
“ I would very much like to have you
see me home—if—if—”
She paused and appeared confused.
" If what?” asked the Duke, eagerly.
“If you would only be so good—as to
promise not to —to—try—to—kiss me
again, if you please, sir,” replied the girl,
innocently.
The Duke was charmed. There was a
simplicity, a freshness about this young
girl which pleased him.
“ I give you my word as a gentleman,”
he Said frankly, “ that no action of mine
shall displease you, if you accept my es
cort.”
She came to his side and took his arm
with confidence.
“I am not afraid of you,” she said with
sweet simplicity; “I know you are too
good to injure me.”
The Duke Unshed for the first time in
—he could not remember how many years;
he knew be was receiving a better char
acter than he deserved.
“What is your name?” he asked, as
they proceeded on their way.
“ Bergeronette,” she replied.
“What a pretty name! And so you
live here in Paris, all alone with your
mother.”
“Yes.”
“I dare say you have plenty of sweet
hearts?”
“No; I haven’t one.”
“ What—no one that loves you ?”
“None,” replied Bergeronette quite
sadly.
“ Would you not like a sweetheart ?”
“ Perhaps.” /
“ You must be particular in your choice,
or you would have had a sweetheart be
fore now. What kind of a one would you
like, now?”
Those sparkling grey eyes were lifted to
his for a moment.
“ I would like one. if von please, like
—like —”
“ Like what?”
“ Like you /”
“Phew!” thought the Duke, “I am
getting on here. Now, is this cunning, Or
is it simplicity?”
They walked off some time in silence.—
Bergeronetje checked the Duke before a
little cottage, with a garden in front.—
There was a wicket gate leading into the
garden.
“ Here is where I live,” she said. She
took a key from her girdle and unlocked
the gate.
“ Will she invite me tp enter ?” thought
the Duke—and the thought was father to
the wish.
“ Good night, sir,” said Beigeronette,
“ and many thanks for your kindness.”
“ She is a Dian!” was the Duke’s men
tal reflection.
“ Shall I never have the pleasure of see
ing you again ?” said the Duke.
“Dfr you wish it?” she said, earnestly.
“ Most ardently.” :
‘‘l’ll ask my mother.”
An oath rose to the Duke’s lips, but he
prudently checked it.
“ Will yon receive me to-morrow ?”
“ iTon may come, and if my mother is
willing—yes.”
“I shall be sure.”
“You will have forgotten me to-mor
row.”
“I shall never forget yon!”
“ I have heard my mother say the men
always protest more than they mean.”
“Your mother is”—the Duke paused,
and tat his lip.
“What is she?” asked Beigeronette,
archly.
“She is—is right. But/mean what I
say. As sure as the morrow comes, so
will I.”
“Come. Good night” She turned
from him, and was about to enter the gar
den.
, “ Bergeronette,” he said, quickly, “ one
kiss before I go. Surely my forbearance
deserves it”
She made no answer, but she inclined
her head gently toward him. For a mo-,
ment she lingered in ‘his arms, and then
tore herself from his embrace, and passed
quickly through the gate. The Duke de
termined to Mow her. When he placed
his hand against the gate he found it se
curely fastened. Bergeronette had pru
dently locked it after her.
So the Duke went to faoi lodgings—he
had taken bachelor apartments on his
wedding-day—to dream 'of Bergeronette.
The next day he went to the cottage in
Bue St Helena.
He was received by Bergeronette timid
ly, and introduced by her to her mother, a
fipe, matronly dame,wfao sat quietly spin
ning in the oovner, axd allowed the young
couple to rove abont the garden at will.
The Duke thought she was a very sensi
ble old woman.
The Duke departed at Hie end of the
three bouts, more in love than ever. He
came eveiy day for aMbitnight, and every
day he pressed his sni(. But there was
only one way in which Bergeronette could
be won—on honorable marriage.
The Duke was in despair and iat his
wit’s end. He had a stormy scene with
the King, who threatened to send, him to
the Bastile if he did not return to the
Duchess. So he came to Bergeronette,
on the fourteenth day, to make a final
effort to obtain her. They were alone to
gether.
“Hear me, Bergeronette, h® cried,
when he had exhausted every argument
and found her still firm, “I swear to you
w'ere I free, this instant would I wed yon.
I will confess all to you. I have told you
that I am a Duke, but not my title. —
Now you shall know all. lam the Duke
de Tranche Compte, and —l am already
married P'
“ Married P ’ echoed BergeroAette with
a smothered sermon.
“I was forced into this union by the
King’s command. Ido not love my wife.
I have never even seen her face. I left
her at the altar’s foot, and we have never
met since. She possesses my title, hut you
alone possess my heart. Fly with me. In
some distant land we may dwell in hap
piness, blessed with each other’s society.
Time may remove the obstacles to our un
ion, death may befriend us, a divorce may
be obtained, and then I swear to you, by
every saint in Heaven, you shall become
my Duchess!^
“ Were you free, would you' really make
me your wife ?”
“ I have pledged you my w'ord.”
“I believe you.”
“ You will fly with me.”
“I will.
“'Dear Louis,” she murmured, for so
had he taught her to call him, “ I also
have something to impart to jpou.. My
name is not Bergeronette, am not
what you take me to be.”
“ What do you mean ?”
“ I have a title equal to your own.”
“Then this old woman?”
“ Is not my mother, but my muse.”
“ And the man who assaulted you ?
“ Was my lackey instructed for the pur-
pose.”
The Duke looked bewildered.
“And like you,” she continued, “ I am
—MARRIED.”
“ I’ll cut your husband’s throat,” ex
claimed the Duke wildly.
“I don’t think you will when yon
know him.”
“Who is he then, and who are you?”
“ I am Lydonie, Duchess de Tranche
Compte, and you are he.”
The Duke was thunderstruck.
Lydonie knelt at his feet
“ Forgive me this little plot,” she
pleaded; “it waste gain your loye. If
it has succeeded l am happy—if it has
failed, with my own lips I will sue to the
King for our divorce.”
“ Up—up to my heart,” cried the Duke,
joyfully, as he- caught her in his arms;
yon have insured our mutual happiness.
Ah, none are so blind as those who will
not see. Little did .1 think when : I stood
blindfolded by your side at the altar that
I whs rejecting such a treasure.”
They passed their honeymoon iat the
, little cottage, and the Duke was hot sent
to the Bastile.
Grave Words.— The following ring
ing sentences from the conclusion of a late
sermon of Henry Ward Beecher: '
• “I am not a prophet. lam not san
guine, though hopeful. I think:: victory
awaits us at every step, but if God thinks
victory too dear to be purchased so cheap
ly, we can give more sons, more treasure,
we will give everything, but thisi:opnntry
shall be one; and one nndivided.l The
Atlantic and the Pacific shall sayit, deep
answering to deep.
“Hear it, England, one PeopUi, one
Constitution, one Government.
' “One God, one country, one dag, and
one destiny—-cost what it may. we will
have it Let God name , the price and it
shall be paid.”
CuPFDfGS ntox Yxsrrr Faib.—-State
of the weather at present-—-no small
change. ;
Puds most in Vogue at present—Pow
der-puds.
Good, with the hot work before us—A
general draft all around.
ThefoDowing message has just been sent”
by Commodere Farragut to Vicksburg,
under a dag of truce, “ Dry up.” ;
' Jenks is anxious to declare that although
there may bea “ shamrock” infbe “arms?’
of Ireland, there is pothingbat “ the real
griP in the arms of her brave sons who
fed>t under our glorious, banner.
0-A queer looking customerinserted
his lurid into an auction store and gravely
inquired:
“Cap I Wd?” ' , , :
'; “Certainty,” arid the auctioneer.
“Writ, then,” said the w*g, w*lking
off, I bid you gMd night.”
EDITORS AND PROPRIETORS.
A GOOD SEVERAL.
The fortitude required of him is Terr
different from the unthinking alacrity of
the common soldier or common sailor in
the face of danger or death; it is not a
passion, it is not an impulse, it is not a
sentiment—it is a cool, steady, A-tiWyy.
principle always present, always equable ;
having no connection with anger; temper
ing honor with prudence; incited, invig
orated, and sustained by a generous love
of tame; informed, moderated, and, direc
ted by an enlarged knowledge of its own
great public ends; flowing j in one Mended
strgam from the opposite sources of the
heart and head, carrying in itself its own
commission, and proving its title to every
other command, by the first and most diffi
cult command, that of the bosom in which
it resides—it is a fortitude which unites
with the courage of the field, the more ex
alted and refined courage of the council ;
which knows as well to retreat as to ad
vance; which can conquer as. well by de
lay as by the rapidity of a march, or the
impetuosity of an attack; which win be,
with Fabius, the black cloud that lowers
on the. top of the moon tains, or with
Sdpid,. the thunder-bolt of war; which,
undismayed by false shame, can patiently
endure the severest trials that a gallant
B pint can undergo, in the taunts and pro
vocations of the enemy, the suspicions, the
cold respect and the “mouth honor” of
those from whom he should meet a cheer
ful obedience which, undisturbed by falaA
humanity, can calmly assume that most
awful moral responsibility of deciding when
victory may be too dearly purchased by the
loss of a single life, and when the safety
and glory of their country may demand
the certain sacrifice of thousands.— lturke.
THE FIRST RAILROAD.
To-day (July Bth) we received our first
yearly pass on a Minnesota Bailroad.—
Nine years ago we got our first pass on the
Pennsylvania Central and do not deep
well at nights without having that ppa?
renewed yearly, even when we do not ex
pect to see the road during the year. The
sight of it brings up dll the old familiar
places and pleasant faces—the station we
adorned with shrubbery and shade trees —
the comfortable cars, with the sense of se
curity in them—the gentlemanly conduc
tors, and the regular passengers. We
watched that road from the first locomo
tive that came staggering and whizzing
along, dragging its loads of rocks and ties
and rails, until it was an institution of
which the United States baa reason to be
proud; and now we cannot help looking
forward nine years to what the Minnwmta
and Pacific Bailroad may be at the end of
that time. It is ten miles long now; but,
bless me how that child does grow! In
six months, it will most likely be thirty
miles long ; and six more will bring the
iron horse to St. Cloud, if the water is
not too low to get the rails up to St Paul.
In six years he will run to Superior, bear
ing his teeming burdens of civilisation,
through the woodland haunts of Hiawatha.
Cities and towns null send up their spires
where the red man now pursues his game.
The trees we shall plant aroqnd some
prairie station will give rest and shelter to
dusty, tired travelers, and our rases will
bloom under 1 them as millions upon mil,
lions of dollars worth of commerce shall
roll past when we get our tenth yearly
ticket —St Cloud (ifrn.) Democrat.
Thai's Mt Wife.—Two of our citi
zens, who we will call A andß, while ri
ding out leisurely the other day, had
attention attracted fay three todies who
were walking ahead of than, one of whom
excited the admiration oif A, who expa
tiated in warm terms upon her fine form,
beautiful ankles and graceful gait B
quiesed in all that A said in praise of the
tody, and became quite interested in her.
When they had overtaken the todies and
were able to see their feces, A was greatly
surprised to hear B. exdafm—“Thunder
that’s my wife.” —Pawtucket Gatette.
O' If a law abiding citizen stops a
drunken ruffian in the act of abusing Jus
family and smashing his neighbor’s win
dows, would it bp right to make the good
man pay the cost of prosecution, and re
pair the damaged windows! Such in
principle, is die’ question now before the
people of this country. Doughfaces and
traitors say we should make loyal' nwh
pay the expenses of the war, rattier than
confiscate the property of tb&rebels.
At a recent splendid burial in New
Orleans, Gen. Butler determined—from
some intimations—to act the part of-a re
surrectionist. He had the coffin opened,
and found the “remains” in an ‘.<e*Befte66
state of preservation;” they were fw
coinage of 1861—probably stolen from
the U. S. Mint that year. The “weeping
friends” are inconsolable under this “un
constitutional desecration.”
, Wlf you are the servant of another,
haying a wuh ope day to be sqpipthuqt
belter, make his business your business; at
the ieaat, be fiutfifgl. -
NO. 27