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And, -Propriettir.
:VOLTIMBIXXV.M . NUMBER 39.1
. _
FORAIRD:EYERY SATURDAY MORNING.
Office in Northern Central Railroad Com-
Railding, norlhlfrst corner. Front and
alnut *ear; • , • •
. , .
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moo Copy per annum, if ,paid in advance., ''
if not paid within three
I -Months from commencement of the year, '2 00
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No subscription received for a less time than six
'smooths; and ne'paperwill be discontinued anti! all
.vrrearages are pos1(1,12'11085 at the option of the pub
:Daher.
•
ED - Money may be remitted by mail at the publish
nor's risk.
Rates of Advertising.
11 -square DI (Ines] one week,
. 6 611 0 39
three weeks, 75
each subsequent insertion, 10
1 " [1.2 lines] one week, 60
II three weeks, 1 00
co • each subsequent insertion, 20
&trees advertisements in proportion.
A N beni discount:will he made to quarterly, hal l%
yearly or yearly advertisers,who are middy - confined
to their bushier'. ... .- .
"Ika; John & Rohrer, "
ITHE aisoelated in the Practice of Medi
cine.
Col =biz, April .1.*1,1.9.56-1f
DJIL, G. W. MIFFLIN,
WINTER', UMW Street, near flit; Post !H
-i./ flee. Columbia; Pa.
Columbia. May 3, 1.06.
H. M. NORTH,
A TTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT in n ?
Columbia, Pa.
Collections, promptly made, in Lancaster and York
Counties.
Columbia, May 4,1.85 a:
J. W. 'FISHER,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
Ctcoltszkikolast, Pat.
Columbia, Septernberti, 1..4.56.11
GEORGE J. SMITH,
WHOLESALE and Retail Bread and Cake
ilaker.—Conmantly on hand a variety of Cakes,
too numerous al mention; Crackers; Soda, Wine., Scroll,
and Sugar Ilismait; Confectionery, of every description,
dm., &c. LOCUST sTRR.ET,
Fab. 2, , 50. Between the Bank and Franklin House.
33. r. &Prow; & co.,
MA& Ma fia t
GENERAL FORWARDING AND COMMIS
SION MERCHANTS,
RECEIVERS OF
VOA LAND PRODUCE,
And Deliverers on any point on the Columbia and
Philadelphia Railroad, to York and
Baltimore and to Pittsburg;
DEALERS IN COAL FLOUR. AND GRAIN,
WHISKY AND BACON, have just received a
large lot of Monongahela Rectified Whiskey, from
Pittsburg, of whichthey will keep a supply constantly
on hand, at low prices. Nos.l, 2 and Canal Basin.
Columbia, January 27. 19.54.-
OATS FOR SALIt
BT THE BUSHEL, at. ins Targetquantities,
at Nos. 1,2 Jr. 6 Caaud Swan.
B. F. APPOLD & CO.
Cohmabia, 7antin27 26, 18M
ROPES, ROPES, ROPES.
COILS, superior qualities, various sizes,
j2.areceived and for.sule chenp,by
WELSH & RICH.
Columbia, March 22,1856.
Just Received,
O BUS. PUB GROUND NUTS, at J. F.
SMITH'S Wholesale and Retail Confectionery
•establisbment. Front street, two doors below- the
Washington Home, Colombia. [October 25, MO.
Just Received,
2
0 HMS. SHOULDERS, 15 TIERCES HAMS.—
For sale by 13 F. APPOLD & CO..
Nos. 1, 2 and 6, Canal Basin.
Columbia, October 18, 1856.
'Rapp's Gold Pens,
TIONSTINTLY on hand, an assortment of
"k 1 these celebrated PENS: Persons in want of a
good article are invited to dall and examine therm
Columbia, June 30,1855. ' JOHN FELIX.
Excellent Dried Beef,
QUGAR. Cured and Min Harris, Shoulders and Sides,
13 for sale by
March 22,1858.
Just Received,
A LAUB LOT of Carriages,
Gigs, Rocking nOrses,.Wheelharrows, ?repel
tryigursery Swings, &c. HEORGE, J. SMITH.
April 19,1856. Locust street.
RINA and other Fancy Articles, too numerous to
C
mention, for sale by G. J. BLUTH, Locust street,
, between the Bank and Franklin House.
Columbia, April 10, 1856.
TWE undersigned have been appointed
agents fertile sale of Coot & CO'll bUTTA'PER-
A PENS, warranted not to corrode; in elaalicity
they almost equal the quill:
SAYLOR & McDONALP.
Columbia Jan. 17, 1857
Just' Received,.
A BEAUTIFUL lot of Lamp Shades, viz: Vie`
torine, Volcano, Drum, Butter Fly, Red Roses,
and the new French Fruit Shade, which can be seen
in the window of the Golden Mortar Drug Store.
Novemßer. 4 29, •-:
ALAUB lot of Shaker Corn, from the
Shaker settlement to New Yotk, luvi received,
at 11. SUYDAM& SON'S
Columbia, Dec. 20,1850
ICr AIR DYE'S. Jones' Batchelor's, Peter's and
JUL EFyptlan halt' dycg, warronted to color the ham
any desired shade, without injury to the skin. • For sa/a
by 11. WILLIABIS.
Maylo, Front st., Columbia, Pa.
VW Is THOMPSON'S justly celebrated
Jl.:Com
mercial and Miler Gold Pens—the best in the
market—last received. P. SHREINER.
Columbia, April 23,113.5.5.
EM. FAMILY Fl,olll,by the barrel, for
, sale 'by B. B. APTOLD ea CO,
.Coinistbia,Jane 7. N 05.1,12 End 8 Canal Basin.
REILS,I2 1-2 ets.ver pound; ;
Shoo Were, 10 do do
Dried Dee, 14 do do
'Side Water Camel Money received reritoedisD—
WLSH tz.ICH
Colombia, M ay 17,1850
WHY should any persowdo without a Clock,
when they can be hna forsl,so and upward,.
at taIIagINEWST
Colombia, April W 5 1855
SIPONEFIBIL, or Concentrated Lye, for ma
king Son). 1 lb. is sufficient for one barrel of
Sell Soap, or ITb.forrlbs. bard Soap. Full direr-
COOS will be given at the Counter for making Soft,
Hard and Pane' , Soaps. ror sale by
a. WILLIAMS.
lOolumbia, M■reh 31, 1656.
SOLUTION OF QUITE OF NAIMISLI,or Pm
mauve Mineral Water.—Tbis pleasant medicine
wbbraLls higlq recommended as s. substitute for
Spacial Salts, Seidlits Powders, he., eon be obtained
tAarsh every day at 5.11.11%. FILBERT'S Drug Store,
Front st. (J 2
BROOMS, 10 BOXES CHEESE. Far
20 sold cheap, by B.P. ?IPPOLD it 00.
ColOofbia, October 23, 1256.
A SUPESIOII, article of PArinit?'„Witoiraiiit by
itilr 1 1 4 Front Street, Coinnobie, Pa.
117 ItEdgIVED, et lards and wall aelestedwariety
4 , ofdlrasbea, eosuriatingio part ofaboa. flair, Cloth.
Crumb. Nail, Hat and Teeth Brusbas JIM for sale by
R. *ILLIAMS.
Mamba, '56. Front street Cs:Assemble, Pa.
$1 50
Pd give thee Friendship, pure and true,
To bless thy peaceful life;
A. home of Love and Sappiness,
• Mar from sin and strife ;
I'd wish thy heart could ever be
As guileless as 'tie now
Innoiencifciiiier Let
Her seal open thy brow.
And thus thy pathway e'er should be
Strewn with Life's sweetest flowers,
---While : auisio-sonetoLldpßeaind:Faith
- Would wreathe the Sleeting hours;
Then, as a star; . dawns,
Fades from our earth-dimmed eyes,
iti glory thriu ihouldst pass away,
To beam in fairer skies.
Year, Match 1857.
KOB=It'S - ":I I RATEICLIICIIATTLE."
The follOwlng beautiful translation of Kerner's "gray
er fn Eizttle,' , is from Leisure Hour! with the Germim
Poets," by A. C. Hendrick.
Father, I call to thee!
Hoaxing enshrouds me In the din of battle;
Round me like llehtning the leaping shots rattle ;
Leader of battles, I call to thee!
Father, thou lead me!
Father, thou lend Zne
Lead me to victory, lead me death:
Lord, at thy pleasure I offer my breath :
Lord, as thou wilt lead, so lead me!
God, I acknowledge thee!
God, I acknowledge thee !
As when the leaves of autumn are shaking,
So when the thunders of battle are breaking,
Father of grace, I acknowledge thee!
Father, thou bless me!
Father, thou bless me!
Into thine band I my being resign ;
Thou didst bestow it—to take it be thine.
Living and dying, 0 bless MC !
Father, I honor thee!
Father, I honor thee!
Not for earth's riches unsheath we the sword ;
'Tis our hearths we protect; 'tis thy temples, 0 Lord:
So, falling or conquering, I honor thee !
To thee, God, I yield me!
To thee. God, I yield me!
Round mo when "death's fiery tempest is rushing,
When front my veins the red currents are gushing,
To thee, 0 my Cod, do I yield me!
Father, I call thee !
NEVER DESPAIR.
The opal-hued and many perfumed morn
From Gloom Is born;
From out the sullen depth of ebon Night
The stars shed light ;
Gems in the rayless caverns of the earth
Have their slow birth;
From wondrous alchemy of winter hours
Come summer flowers;
The bitter waters of the restless main
Give gentle obi •
The fading bloom an dry seed bring one* more
The year's fresh store ;
Just sequences of clashing Tones afford
The full accord ,
Through weary ages, full of strife and rush,
Thought reaches Truth;
Through efforts, long in vain, peephole Need
Begets the deed:
Nerve then tby soul with direst need to eope;
Life's brightest hope
Lies latent in Fate's deadliest lair—
Never despair!
gthrt gtxrry.
WELSH & RICH
A SKETCh FROM PARISIAN LIFE
In a narrow street of a poor suburb of
Paris there stood, two or three years ago, a
small •and obscure fruiterer's shop, where a
few withered cabbages and some stale fruit
placed at the door made a melancholy show;
whilst on the shelves within were symmet
rically arranged baskets, which, though
complaisantly suppesed by customers to
contain something, were, in reality, quite
empty.
"Mathieu Giraud, Fruitier" was written
in large and half-effaced letters above the
door of this humble abode. There was no
one in the shop; but in a small •back-room
beyond it, two women wore seated. They
spoke but little,' and busily plied their nee
dles, though one of them oecturionallyglanc
ea towards the shop, as if expecting some
customer to enter; but the precaution was
needless; it remained vacant; and at every
glance the woman sighed and ones more
resumed her work. The back-room was
small, and almost bare. A dingy bed, half
hidden in a recess, a table, and a few chairs
of painted deal, were all the furniture it
contained. It was dark moreover, as all
back-rooms have been from time immemo
rial, and the dull glimmering light which
streamed frOm the high narrow window ap
peared to increase rather than diminish the
natural.gloom of the place. The two women
were seated near the light, which fell full
.upon them. They were both somewhat ad
vanced in years; and their pale and wrinkled
features bespoke a life of poverty and care.
They wore sisters, but notwithstanding their
relationship, very different in temper and
personal appearance. Antoinette Giraud,
the fruiterer's wife, was tall and thin, a
simple, meek-looking woman, long accus
tomed to misfortune, to which she had at
length submitted with aided of indifference,
proceeding more from abroken-spirit than
from resignation. Ma tante Anne, or-Aunt
Anne, the name under which her sisterwas
generally kncivrn, was, on the contrary, a
brisk little creature, full of spirit stud fire,
with many mysterious winks, and nods, and
prophetic •hints, which it was not given to
everybody to understand . She was a firm
itelieier ' dieitnitc' gild hefti ) cards, as a
means of divination, in great savannas: in
deed-she trusted to them, and her nightly
Egstrg.
For the Columbia Spy
A WISH •ROB. AUGUSTA.
I'll ask not for the Pureit germ,
To Wreathe in thy desk hair,
Nor seek for robes of countless worth
To make thee seem more fair:
I will not wish thee lands nor wealth,
Nor jewels from the mine,—
A. rarer, richer gift, I weep,
I would that it were thine.
AVINNT WooDstx2
I*10:14•10,1161:A•411
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS• SO CLEE.A.P' ) .A:SIREATT, EA :NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA; PENNSYLVANIA,, SATUBDAY MORNING; APRIL 4, 1857.
visions, in almost every important occurrence
of her life; and notwithstanding herrepeated
faibirea,.held her faith in them unchanged.
It might, indeed, have been supposedithat
Anne lived for the mere - purpose of dream
ing. Asehe had never been Married—her
unlucky dreams Inking; •she said, always
come in the way just as *sh'e was on the
point of contracting a matiiinonial erignge
mentshe had for`many yearg Tesided with
I her sister Antlnettes,ttifis ; heiever, escap
ing only a few of the cares oi.matrimony.
The two females had : liven • for sometime
sewing ineilenee, when Antoinette,,paUelng
in her work, suddenly observed in a melan
choly tone, "No, no, I have no hope, Anne;
my poor Jean will not get a goad number.
His father and I have always been unlucky,
and we shall be so to the end." And• the
old woman shook her head despondingly.
"Ha! Antoinette," replied Anne, with a
mysterious solemnity, "if Jean had only
listened to me he could have consulted Ma
demoiselle Lenox:mend before she died, and
then we should have known what number
he was to get, and Whether he was to be a
soldier or not.. But no; he always said it
was throwing away money. Young people
don't believe in anything now-a-days."—
And Anne !hook her grey head even more
sadly than her sister.
"If I were only dead they could not take
Jean from you," said a low, broken veice,
which proceeded from the bed in the recess.
"Did you speak, Mathieu?" inquired
Antoinette, going up to the conch of her
paralyzed husband.
"Ay, ay," he muttered, without making
a direct reply, "Heaven help us; our poor
Jean has no chance."
"Ay, he has no abance," • sadly repeated
his wife, resuming her seat. •
Mathieu and Antoinette Giraud had been
married for many years, and had begun
their wedded life with every prospect of
happiness. In one sense they had indeed
been perfectly happy; but so far as worldly
matters were concerned, they had to endure
all the trials of poverty and misfortune
combined. After struggling for some time
against the difficulties which surrounded
them, they had at last been obliged to give
in, and leave their neat and comfortable
fruiterer's shop in the Rue St. Honor for
one in the suburbs of the city. Scarcely
had they removed to their new lodgings,
whem Mathieu became paralyzed. This
unhappy event cast upon his wife the sole
burden of attending to the shop and support
ing the family. To this task, notwithstand
ing her strenuous efforts, Antoinette would
have proved wholly inefficient, but for the
aid she received from her only son, then a
youth of fifteen. Jean Giraud was scarcely
out of his apprenticeship, though be had the
heart and courage of a man; he was a lock
smith by trade, but on account of his youth,
did not earn, with all his industry, more
than a few francs a week. On this scanty
sum, and the little that Antoinette and
Anne made by their sales in the shop, and
their exertions in the shape of needle work,
the whole family continued to live; no easy
task, considering that old Mathieu's illness
was very expensive. Still, they did live,
and, as Antoinette often proudly observed,
"without owing a single sous to anybody."
The French working-classes have, gener
ally speaking, a deep and wholesome horror
of debt.
As Jean grew older, his earnings increased
and some comfort began to reign in the little
family. A few hundred francs even went
to the savings' bank; but this was only a
proviSion for the , approaching time when
Jean would probably be snatched from his
' parents to enter the army, according to the
laws of the French conscription. The fatal
epoch had now arrived; Jean was twenty
one; and on the next day he was, with the
ether youths of the neighborhood, to pro
ceed to the mairie; and therein the presence
of the mayor, to draw forth from an urn a
roll of paper on which a number was in-
Scribed. If the number was a low one, such
as 12, 25, or even 40 or 50, Jean Giraud
must bid his parents farewell, and become
a soldier; but if it was a high one, as, for
instance, 80, 90, or 100, there was little or
no chance of his ever being called upon to
fight for his country, and he might quietly
remain at home. had ho moreover, been a
widow's eon, or afflicted with any awkward
deformity, this would have ititEced, what
ever number he drew,, to exclude •him ;rem
the service. This was why Mathieu, re
gretting his own useless life, observed, with
a groan, that his poor Jean bad no chance;
whilst Antoinette, thinking of her son's
muscular and well-knit frame, echoed with
a sigh, "Ay, be has no chance." •
A melancholy silence had followed, these
last words, and Antoinette was in the shop
attending on a customer, when Ma tante
Anne, mysteriously drew a, pack of cards
from her pocket, and mutterring to herself,
began dealing them out, and spreading them
on the table before her. For a time she
eyed the cards with apparent satisfaction.
"All goes on well Antoinette," she eagerly
said, addressing her sister, who now came
in from the shop: "just look; here is an ace
of diamonds, which signifies goodneWs; then
here are plenty of clubs, which mean money;
and now see if the card I am going to turn
up is not a good one?" As she spoke she
laid the ace of spades upon the table.—
"Old" she cried in consternation, "the ace
of spades! why, I can have no hope after
this! But 'tie all of a piece. I dreamt of
a rat last night. Ahl poor Jcan, and she
12E1
racked herself in.her obuslr with every token
of - despair:: •
"What! has anything fiappenixt to Jeant"
inquired a low and tremulous voice behind.
Anne and Antoinncitte;lapth batoed round
somewhat hastily; but.xaote,' , .howev.er, to
greet the newcomer tharita . lOstify their sur
prise at her unexpected appearance.
She who thus anxiously inquired after
Jean was a pretty brunette, about eighteen,
with glossy black hair smoothed under her
little white cap„2ll 3 7try.hr!. l lint dark eyed.
Her dress, though remarkably plain and
simple, had that. izidocrilinhle air of neat
ness which' charabtarizes the better class of
Parisian grisettes, and' added even a riew
charm to her attractive little perstin. Ma
rie, for such was the name of the pretty
grisette, was a.,giletiere, or waisteostrnaker,
and being an an exellent work-woman, some
times earned no contemptible sum by her
industry. She resided in the same house
with the Girauds, and, if the truth must be
told, had for the last six months been be
trothed to Jean, whose parents loved her
almost as tenderly as the young man him
self. Marie, of course, took great interest
in the question of Jean's coming fate, as the
two lovers had agreed to postpone their mar
riage until all was over. If he was so fur
tunate as to draw a good number, the wed
ding was to take place in less than a twelve
month; if, on the contrary, he became a sol
dier, Jean and Marie would have to wait
eight years before the fulfilment of their
happiness,
Marie's spirits wore not cast down by this
alternative. She was an orphan, and had
been early taught self reliance and trust in
Providence. hope had indeed become so
habitual to her, that she would have in
dulged in it even under desperate circum
stances. In this disposition she was upheld
not only by the buoyancy of youth, but also
by her natural good sense, which led her to
contemplate even misfortune under its most
advantageous aspect. Besides, as she some
times philosophically observed, "God was
for all—for both rich and poor." It must,
however be confessed that notwithstanding
her pholosopby, Marie felt no little anxiety
to know the result of Jean's trial on the next
day. Eight years was a long period to pass
without perhaps seeing him more than once
or twice! And even less selfish considera
tions led her to fear the result when she re
flected on the unhappy condition to which
his absence would reduce his parents. As
she entered the back room on this evening,
and heard Aunt Anne mention the name of
her betrothed in a tone of despair, Marie,
therefore felt some uneasiness; and receiving
no reply to her first question, she anxious
ly repeated, "Has anything happened to
Jean?"
"No, Marie," sadly replied Antoinette;"
Cis only the old story: to-morrow is the
day."
"Ay, to-morrow is the day." Sorrowfully
echoed Anne; "and depend upon it poor Jean
will go. I did not turn up an ace of spades
or dream of a rat, for nothing."
"Ohl is that all?" said Marie, somewhat
relieved; "he has still a chance, I hope."
"A chance!" doubtfully answered Antoin
ette; "have we not always been unlucky?
No, no, we have no chance. If even Jean
was lame, or wanted a few teeth, or—"
"Well," interrupted Marie, laughing in
spite of her real grief. "I am not sorry, for
.my part, that he is not exactly as you would
wish him to be. But" added she more grave
ly, "you must not get into low spi ' rits, Mad
ame Giraud; though you have not been very
happy as yet, it is true, still a day comes at
lust for the poor as well as for the rich."
Here Mathieu sighed audibly, and Marie
approached the old man's bed.
"How are you this evening, Monsieur
Giraud?" said she gently.
Mathieu gazed on her tenderly, but made
no reply. He had known and loved Marie
for years; for when he first fell illy his wife
and sister-in-law being sometimes compelled
to leave him alone, the young waistcoat
maker would then come and sit by hie bed
side with her work, cheering him with her
pleasant laugh and merry song. It is, in
deed, quite characteristic of the grisette that
she always sings, and she has even prettily
and poetically bee* called "the lark of Paris."
Never, surely was there a merrier lark than
Marie. From staying occasionally near the
old man, she at last came 'to spend with
him a few hours every day; this was mostly
in the evening time, when Jean came home
'from work. The young man would then sit
at the head of hie father's bed, whilst Marie
was working at the foot. It was thus their
Courtship began, to the groat delight of old
Mathieu, who was never happier than when
he could thus Imo them together, and who
now dwelt with bitter grief on their ap
proaching separation.
"If I were dead," said he, mournfully
gazing upon her, "you could be his wife."
Marie's eyes filled with tears; but striving
to hide ber feelings, she observed with ap
parent chenrfulness, "And why not whilst
you are alive, Monsieur Giraud?"
"Because Jean .sill have a bad number,"
replied the old man in the same desponding
tone.
"Well really," exclaimed Marie with some
impatience, "you all seem quite determined
that it should be so. Aunt Anne has turn
ed up an ace of spades; and of course Jean
must be a soldier; Madame Giraud says she
is poor and unlucky, and that there is tur
chance for him; and even you, , Father Eli
rand," she added in her most caressing yet
reproachful tone--"even you must needs put
in that,
.if you were dead, I should be his
wife! Really this is too bad. I came here
to seek for a Hale comfort, and not only
find none for myself, but cannot even afford
any. I suppose," she pettishly continued,
"Jean will be as bad as the rest of you when
he comes home."
As she spoke thus, the door leading from
the shop to the back room opened, and Jean
entered.
van •Giraud was, indeed, as his mother
had'averred, not so fortunate as to be afflic
ted by any personal deformity. Far from
it. He was tall, well-made, and good-look
ing; and his curly chestnut hair, dark-blue
eyes, and fresh color, proclaimed him to be
long to the real Frank race of his country.
But on this evening a cloud sat on his usu
ally open brow, and notwithstanding his
efforts to conceal his feelings, the restless
glance of his eye, and the occasional nervous
twitching of his lips, betrayed his secret
anxiety. Jean Giraud was as much of a
hero as any of his countrymen ; he certainly
was not of a timid disposition, and personal
apprehensions had nothing to do with his
present feelings. His only thoughts were 1
for his parents. What were they to do
when he was gone? Who was to support
them in their present helpless condition?
For Antoinette and her sister earned very
little, and what the shop brought was barely
sufficient to pay the rent and taxes. Jean's
mind brooded on these thoughts until he was
well nigh distracted. Though he loved Ma
rie most tenderly, still it was not the pros
pect of parting from her that now saddened
him : she was eighteen, and he twenty-one ;
they were both young, and might wait even
eight years and.yet be happy. But his pa
rents! He strove to think no more of this
subject, but in vain.
As he entered the back room, where the
little family and his betrothed were seated
together, Jean, however, endeavored to as
sume something like cheerfulness. Ile whist
led a tune with more than usual glee, bade
Marie good evening with a merry joke, and
sitting down at the bead of his father's bed,
declared he had never been so hungry for
supper. Antoinette rose silently, and assist
ed by Mario, began laying the things on the
table. The supper was a frugal one, con
sisting merely of some bread, cheese, and
wine. They all sat down to it in silence,
Jean in vain endeavoring to appear cheerful,
in order to induce his mother and aunt to
imitate his example. Scarcely was the meal
over, when Antoinette, overcome by her
feelings, burst into tears.
" Why, mainan, what is the matter ?" ex
claimed her son in astonishment.
" Ah, Jean 1 what were you whistling ?"
she sorrowfully replied.
Jean started, for he had been humming
the tune of the Parisian:lc, a favorite mili
tary song.
"Ay, ay," said Anne mystically, shaking
her head, 'tis only another token. I did not
turn up the ace of spades for nothing.
" Well, and let us suppose, after all, that
he should get a bad number," resolutely
observed Marie, "he will not die for it—nor
shall we, I hope. I know what you arc
going to say, Jean," she quickly added,
noticing her betrothed's sorrowful look as it
rested on his mother ; " but I feel very - dull
in my room up stairs ; what if, when you
are gone, I should lodge here? Madame Gi
raud could take care of my money for me,
and I am sure that would be a great relief;
for though I do not earn much, still some
times I don't know what to do with it, little
as it is."
" Marie !" exclaimed Jean in an agitated
tone: "I won't be interrupted," perempto
rily said his betrothed ; " besides, Monsieur
Jean, this does not concern you, for it is all
to be whilst you are away ; your only busi
ness will be to write us such amusing letters
as may make us laugh heartily."
" And if he goes to Algeria I" observed
his mother in a faltering tone.
" Well," replied Marie with a faint at
tempt to smile, "he will perhaps catch Abd
el-ICader, and become Marshal of France."
But, unable to control her emotion any
longer, she buried her face in her hands,
and fairly burst into tears.
" Marie !" cried Jean, reproachfully—but
he also could get no further; and leaning
his brow upon his hand, he looked very
fixedly at the table.
" Well, well," said Marie, after a brief
though sad pause, " all is not desperate yet.
God is for the poor as well as for the rich,
and perhaps he will leave us Jean."
The next morning was as bright and fair
a one as was ever seen in spring, and the
sun shone quite merrily into Madame Gi
raud's shop, where, with Ma tante Anne,
Antoinette was engaged in arranging every
thing, though the thoughts of both were
certainly but little engrossed by their mutual
occupation.
" Antoinette !" suddenly said. Anne, "do
you know what I.,drearoed of last night'?"
'• No," replied her ;sister, slightly starting ;
" what was it about, Anne?"
" lilneamed that Jean, had a black spot
on his forehead."
" Well, and what does that mean ?"
4 .! That means that be will have a bad
mimber."
" heaven have mercy on us 1" sorrowfully
observed Antoinette ;
.but perhaps, sister,
you are mistaken ?"
" Mistaken 1" echoed Anno with undis
guised wonder ; would, indeed, I were ; but
lon know, Antoinette, I was never mistaken
yet in a dream ; '/ besides," she muttered to
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
herself, " I shall try the cards by and by,
and then we shall know all about it."
" Hush I" said Antoinette, " here is Jean ;
it is of no use to sadden the poor fellow."
Jean, indeed, entered the shop dressed,
and, as his poor mother declared, with a
faint attempt to smile, quite spruce. Though
not looking particularly merry, he did not
seem to be very sad ; he was calm and com
posed ; for if he felt acutely, still his pride
would not allow him to betray any unbe
coming emotion in the presence of his
com
rades who were to accompany him to the
mairie. After greeting his mother and aunt,
Jean entered the back room, and sat down
by his father's bedside. The old man was
asleep, but he soon awoke; and taking his
son's hand between his own, gazed upon
him with melancholy tenderness.
" Jean, my boy," said he in a low, tremu
lous voice, " think of your poor father
whilst you are away, and of your mother,
too ; perhaps you will never see them again.
Ah ! this will be a sore blow to Antoinette,"
he added, in a mournful tone.
Jean rose, and walked about the room:
all this was truly hard to bear.
Ire found it harder still when he sat down
to breakfast between his mother and Marie,
whose red eyes and pale cheeks testified that
she had spent a sleepless night. The meal
was a silent one, but it was nearly concluded
when Anne entered the room. She was
more than usually grave, and shook her
head in a most prophetic and Sybil-like
manner.
"What is the matter, Anne?" tremulously
inquired antoinette.
"I have just been dealing out the cards
in my room,"
"Well," anxiously inquired the poor moth
er, "what about Jean?"
"I have seen the number he is to:get."
"Ahl which is it?" eagerly asked Madame
Girand.
"Jean will get number 27," replied Anne
solemnly.
"A bad number!" faintly echoed Antoin
ette.
"Illaman," almost angrily exclaimed Jean,
"can anything so foolish affect you thus?"
"Foolish!" cried Anne indignantly;
young people don't believe in anything now
a-days. 1 only grieve for you, Jean, that I
am in the right; would indeed I were wrong
—and that you were not to get that ugly
number 21'1"
Jean knew his aunt's obstinacy on this
head, and unwilling to irritate her uselessly,
he dropped the subject.
When the breakfast was over—and a
cheerless one it was—all arose, for it was
time for Jean to depart. Ile first went to
his father's bedside. Old Mathieu caused
himself to be raised on his couch, and in a
low, broken tone muttered a heartfelt bene
diction over his son, whilst the weeping An
toinette stood near him. From his parents
Jean turned to Aunt Anne, who very affec
tionately embraced him, but muttered some
at the same time about his unfortunate in
credulity, and number 27. Marie alone
seemed collected and calm, and though she
was sad, a smile of hope played round her
lips.
"Be of good cheer, Jean," said she, giving
him her hand; "God is for us all, for the
poor and the rich. Be of good cheer; should
even the worst happen we will strive to bear
it patiently."
Jean gazed affectionutely on his betrothed,
and once more embracing his weeping moth
er, precipitately left the house, not daring
to trust himself with a look behind.
We will not endeavor to describe the hours
of anxious expectation that followed—hours
that actually seemed days, so slowly and le
diously did they drag along. Antoinette,
under pretence of seeing to the shop, was
constantly looking in the street fur Jean;
whilst A nue every quarter of an hour went
up stairs to her room with a mysterious look,
and came down again with a clouded brow
and ominous glance. The infection seemed
to have caught Marie herself; for though
shesat with her work near Mathieu's bed, the
old man sadly remarked that her needle of
ten flagged, and for the first time since many
dags, that she had no merry song to cheer
him. Then there were two or three old
neighbors who occasionally peeped in and
out with woe-begone features, holding mys
terious conferences with Aunt Anne, and
startling her poor sister by dismal tales of
many a young and handsome conscript
whom they had known, and who had fallen,
poor fellow, in his first battle. In short,
they were all as comfortably miserable as
they could be, when Marie, unable to bear
her impatience any longer, left her work,
and going to the shop door, looked out into
the street. It was vacant, and no token of
Jean was to be seen. With a sigh she
once more entered the back room; she had
scarcely, however, reached the threshold,
when she suddenly paused, and turned pale:
a loud shout echoed at the farthest end of
the street.
"The conscripts!" said Antoinette in a low
tone.
"So soon!" answered 11farie with seeming
indifference: "don't you think it may be
something else?"
"No, no," replied Antoinelie in a feverish
voice; "it is the conscripts; I hear their mu
sic."
The merry sounds of a fiddle might, in
deed, as she spoke, be heard at the end of
the street. Supported by Marie, for she was
nearly °Tommie by emotion, and followed
by her sister. the poor mother proceeded to
[WHOLE NUMBER, 1,373.
the front door, whilst Mathieu prayed fer
vently in his bed.
When they looked out, the conscripts still
stood somewhat far down the street. Their
hats were ornamented with tri-colored favors
and the number each had drawn, whether
good or bad, was fixed in his bat batid, and
visible even at a distance. Bat Antoinette
and Marie vainly strove to distinguish Jean
in the crowd.
"I see him!" at length cried Marie, turn
ing pale.
"Ha! where is he? what is his number?"
simultaneously exclaimed the two sisters,
less clear-sighted than their young compan
ion.
"There—there beyond: he looks round
this tray; but I can see nothing of his
number."
"Ay, ay, I see him now," eagerly re
marked Aunt Anne; "and alas! poor boy,
I can see his number too. Ahl I knew it
-27!"
"It is not 27," hastily observed Marie; for
see, Aunt Anue, Jean holds up his hat for
us to see it; the number begins with a one,
and then there is a nought."
"Ay, ten," said Anne; worse still than
27; I knew it was a bad one."
"No it is not tea," continued Marie in a
tone tremulous with emotion; "there is
another nought—it is a hundred;" and fall
ing down on a chair, she burst into tears.
whilst Jean rushed into the shop waving his
hat in triumph.
We will not endeavor to describe the scene
that followed—old Mathieu's joy, Antoin
ette's silent rapture, and Marie's bright
smiles. Aunt Anne, though greatly do : .
lighted, was very much surprised; both her
dreams and cards Lad for once signally
As for the dream, it was, she
averred, quite her own mistake, for evident
ly the spot on Jean's forehead meant noth
ing; it should have been on his hat, to prove
at all significant! Then she had most prob
ably misdealt the cards; such an error could
never otherwise hare happened—nay, she
even recollected something about a hundred!
Further than this Aunt Anne would never
yield when remonstrated with on this sub
ject. It is, however, worthy of remark, that
her faith in dreams and cards seemed rather
shaken, as she henceforth indulged in much
less speculation concerning them than she
had formerly been in the habit of doing.—
As for the old neighbors, they were very
much pleased, but not so much surprised;
they were almost certain all would turn out
well, but had not said so, lest they should
excite expectations that might be deceived.
But to return to the conscript and his family.
The day was spent by them in much hap
piness; indeed, there was almost too much
of this quality in it. The event was so de
lightful, so unexpected, so everything that
was pleasant, that Antoinette, Anne, Marie,
and Jean were quite bewildered. Mathieu
seemed alone a little sensible. Towards
evening they had, however, grown caliaer,
and after supper, set up to make plans for
the future—the only apparent consequence
of which was, their separating very late.—
When Marie at length rose to depart, and
bent over Mathieu to bid him good night,
she could not resist the temptation of whis
pering to him—" Well, Father Giraud, do
you wish to die now?"
"No, Marie," said he, gazing on her af
fectionately; "no, not yet."
"And you, Madame Giraud," playfully
said the young girl, turning towards An
toinette; "don't you think we poor folks are
sometimes as happy as the rich, if not ti
great deal more so?"
"Ay, and ten times as happy," warmly
replied Antoinette, who was now quite
merry.
I "No, not ten times," smilingly observed
I
Marie; "for you know God watches over
both rich and poor."
The sequel need scarcely be told. In less
than a year Jean and Marie were married,
I and old Mathieu, though still paralyzed, de
clared himself so happy at the event, that
ho expressed his readiness to die; which has
not, however prevented him from living ever
since, and repeating the same wish on the
birth of his son's first child, which, being a
girl, will give it's parents no uneasiness on
the subject of the conscription. Joan and
Marie have not grown very rich, but the
I shop has been newly painted, and, some
' how or other, is oftener filled with custo
mers than it used to be: it no longer contains
any withered cabbages, and is so frequently
visited by the children of the neighborhood
that no fruit grows stale in it. Antoinette
superintends the general concerns .of the
house, Anne has taken charge of the little
Marie, whose horoscope she persists in for
' molly drawing on every anniversary of her
birthday. Jean attends to his work; and
Marie, though she still continues to earn a
few francs with her waistcoats, attends to
her shop, and as old Mathieu declares,
gladdens the whole place with her merry
song. "And yet," as she often observes
"how strange that all this happiness should
have depended on ono insignificant little
number!"
It is true 'Marie generally closes this phil
osophical remark by quoting her favorite
saying; but it is we hope, too well impressed
on the reader's mind to require repetition.
12:7 - The Boston Post says: Alice Carey, in
an essay on "insincerity," says, "ii our
neighbor kisses our cheek, we may infer in
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred that he will
bite our back as we torn about..". The italic
letters are ours. Seems to us, Alice, a ninety
nine cases" amount to a pretty extensive
range of kissing for one woman—considering
the sex of your neighbors." •