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4
SAMUEL WEIGHT, Editor and Proprietor
VOLUME XXVIII, NUMBER 27.]
71JBLISRED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
"(Vice in Northern Central Railroad Com
pany's 13oilding, north-west corner Front and
Walnut streets.
Terms of Subscription.
r.eile Copy per annum. ti paid in advance,
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-months from commrae..ineni of he pear.
91 C7axi.tsi .19i. Copp.
Stli,erlfllloll received for a time than aix
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atrreurages ure paid, milers ut the option of the pub
.-biter
Ey - Money Indy be remitted by mall at the publish
e risk.
Rates of Advertising
s q uare [5 lines] MIC weel
ihr , e weeks,
each .uh.equent insertion. le
1 " (12 line.) our week. .50
t• three wrek..l 00
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Lngeradverticemrtet. in proportion.
let liberal diaeouel will he made to quarterly, half
/curly or vearlyadverikero.vrho are ‘triellynOttrlned
to their
'l' 110 M AS W ELS 11,
JUSTICE OF TIIE PEACE, Columbia, Pa.
ovvit;i:, in NVl.ipper's New Building. below
Block's lime!. ' , coin street.
flEr Prompt audition given to nil business entrusted
to Ms dire.
November 2S. *57.
DR. G. W. MIFFLIN,
DENTIST, Locust street, a few doors above
the Odd reilow.' 11101, Colutulitu. I's.
(Wllllll.ll. Alloy 3. 1550.
H. M. NORTH,
A TTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW.
tl Columbia. Pit.
Collecnon4‘. t rolinnly made, in Lancaster and York
Conant,.
Columbia ploy 4,19511.
J. W. FISH ER,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
lICC011LI:JCICL30.1.111,
Columban. Samiamilar r 0. I'. It II
GEORGE J. SMITH,
WHOLESALE and Retail Bread and Cake
Hal:cr.—Constantly on hand a variety of .'akes,
too numerous to mention; Craelcr...; Soda. \\ no.. Scroll.
and Sugar iiiscuit, Confectioner!.. of evert de.cription,
I.U. UST STRUM,
Between the flank and Franklin House.
CORN Starch, Farina, Rice Flour, Tapioca,
Unit A ram ,- Root Ace., at the
FAIR tX I:DICINK STORE.
Odd reilow,'
!EMS
TURF received, three dozen Ur. Brunon's
CP Vegetable Di tcr, a certain rare for Dyspep.m,
MIN°. a fre,ll lot of ..lap Sago and Pine Apple Clwese,
Farina and Fora Starch, at D H1:12 R'9
Sept 5, Grocery and Laplor Store
EAllt DYE'S.Joors' Batchelor's, Peter's and
EFypthol hair dyes.svarranted to color the hair
any desired shade, wahout injury to the skin For nate
R WILLIAMS.
May 10, Front .t.. C 011.1,111,111. Pa
JUST received, a fresh supp y of Kennedy's
:% I dlc lit nottoton • otot for by
II %VI 1.1.1 A:111.3, Front street.
=EI
BROW N'S Essence of Jamaica Ginger, Gen
i.te A rawle. For kol.•
D!cG Ii & DEI,I.I7rT'S I
Fn rnil y Medicine Store. Odd Fellows' I
Soly 2.5 1-57
qIILUTION OF CITRATE OF lIIAGNESIA,or Pur
gauvr Allll,ll , W•l ,, r plen , not lordieloe
vrlitelt ...I...mint-toted a, n gult•ttinie for
E,1•81111 Powder.. he. 4.1111 in 0111:1111ed
rvery any nt On B BEIM'S Drag Store,
Fbrnot 41 112
JFST received, a frrslt supply of Corn
March. Vanua. omit Fl o o r a ,
NI 011141i:1.1i h 1)V1.1.11 , :r1"A
gamily Medic me %Imare Odd Follow.' !lull. Col umlAn.
CoCn'll natl.. 5114 V :NI, 1.57.
_
lAMPS, LAMPS, LAMPS. Just received at
J Here- Drue Nore, a oew acid beitumul lot of
[mow- of .411 cle-eripliolt,
Mot I. I NY/
ALOT of Fresh Bram, at Dr. B B.
J.. 111.1 - 1;(11.1,1 Ottig Sion,
Col 1.0.,
A NUPEltillit ;Miele of burning Fluid just
• 111 tl n d :I.r 14' 11% H SI:VD %NI
ALARGE lot of City cured Dried Brel, just
I e 1 .1.1 v ...I :It II SC YOA £
CIAU 011.11 11 , 1,011‘ler 111.
17100FLAND'S German Bitters. For sale at
Rx only 31,cliaKi.K 1)E1.1,E
Mcdtviite Siorr. Odd Halt
filly 21 IPA;
lOUNTRY Produce constantly on hand and
for II ...4WD% %I I% SO'S:
1101111 NY, Cranberries, Raisins, Figs, Alin
oud.. SVB!mit, Cremn Nnl, A Jll-1 reertved
•I'YOAN h ,Or.' 4
Cniumbia, Dre .20. 14N
A SUPERIOR lot of Black and Cram Tam,
corn, and c0cre010r0. J 0.r.... , .000 at
sts:Vo
flee. 20.1558. Corner of rront and Union
ipjUST RECEIVED. a beautiful assortment of
lak :thuds, nit the Headquarters Mild
New , Depot.
Columbia, Apri119,11557.
VXTRA Family and Superfine Flour of the
I. moll, for U sUr DA & S'ON.
JEST received 1000 lbs. extra double bolted
k vette, i Meal. ut
De c H. suy DA M & SON'S.
WEIKEL ' S Instantaneous Yeast or Baking
11. 11. SU VOANI &
AU& THOMPSON'S justly celebrated Corn
merethl vita other Gold Pen•--'he the
otarket—ju , o received.
COillMina. April :N. 11355.
yA,7IIITE GOODS.---A full line, of While Dees,'
y Good.; of ccery description. just received . . ut
3uly 11. 1,-57 I'ONDEItet
IIY should anyperson do without° Clock,
when they en. ire had forBl.soarid
Columbin. April el. IR"
QAPONEFIER, or Concentrated Lye, for ma
r, king Soap. I lb. i• •ulbrirut for our lonrrel of
;Soft snap, or Ittt.for lbs. (lard Song. Full three.
slog• will be given at the Counter for making Soft,
•lard and Fancy Soaps. For sale by
R. WILLIAMS.
.Columbia. Match 71. 1953.
pE GRATE'S EI,ECTRIC T.. Just receives.
wren *ripply of ibis popular remedy, end for 'ale
May 10,1 Rsa
. Front Street, Columbia. Pa.
A LARGF: atmortnteni of ;Kopec nll "me' and length',
on hood nod for guile At TIMS.
Nareh 12, 1.57 No. I. High street.
ADT w lot of WHALE AND CAR , 14R EASING
OILS, received at the , tOrG of the *oh...niter.
R. WILLIAMS.
Front Street, Columbia. Pa.
Nay 10, I,Qzei
fa DOZEN DBOONIS, 10 BOXES CHEF+E For
7+U saie cheap. hT 0. F. A PPOLD S CO.
October YS , 10Z.
A supEtuoz ■rhe:e of I'AINTOIL. for sate hy
R. WILLIAMS.
rretni Street, Colombia. Pa
May 10, IEVI
JUST RFAIEIVED. a large nod well relented variety
of Brushes. eomistinew part of Shoe. Hair, Cloth,
Crumb, Nail, Hai and Teeth Brushes. and for sale by
It. WILLIAMS.
March E 2 'SO. Front street Coluinhaa. Pa
ASUPERIOR article oITONIC sPIt E BITTERS,
suitable for Howl Keepers, for sale by
R. WILLIAMS.
Front street. Columbia.
May 10.1+956
FITHERNAGOIL.,aIwaya on hand. nud of
POW by R. WILMAMS.
May 10.i51.50. Frans Sirert. eolumhia. Pm.
JUST received. FRESH CA rtIPHENE. and for *ale
by ft. 1V1L.1.140115.
May 10,1536. rrost Street. Columbia, Pa.
Vortrij.
Catawba Wine.
This song of mine
Is a Fong of the Vine,
To be sung by the glowing embers
Of wayside inns,
When the rain brgins
To darken the drear Novembers.
DE
It iA not a song
Of the Scuppernong,
From warlllCloolllllllll
Nor the Isabel
And the AI uscndel
That bask in our garden alleys
00 39
7:5
Nor the red `duslo:18:
Whose clusters hang
O'er the waves of the Co'orado;
And the fiery flood
Of tvlsoae purple blood
flas a dash of num.!. bravado
For richest and best
Is the wine of the West,
That grows by the beuuttful river;
Whose sweet perfume
Fills all the room
With a benison on the giver.
And as hollow trees
Are the haunts of bees
Forever going and colinng,
So huts crystal hivo
Is all alive
With a swarming and buzzing and humming
Very good in their way
Are the Verlenay,
And dir Nllery bat and creamy,
I=l
Ilas a taste more
More dulcet, delLeseul, uad dreamy
There grows no vine
Hy the haunted Rhine,
Ry DaMAW. or Guadalquiver,
Nor on I-hand:or cape.
That hears such n grape,
As grows by the bettuttfu. river.
Drugged is their Juice,
For foreign use,
When shipped o'er the reeling Atlantic,
To rack our bralux
WWI tilt, let er ruing
Thnt have drivelt the Old World (matte
To the sewers and sinks
With on such drinks,
And after them tumble the mixer!
hors poison malign
Is such tiorgia wine.
Or at best but a Devil's Elixir.
\VIAIe pure as a spring
Is the V. me I sing.
And to praise tt one needs but to name it;
For Catawba wine
lius lived of no sign,
No tuvern-bush to proclaim it.
And tins song, of the Vine,
This greeting ui male,
The Will& amid the birds shall deliver
To the C/114,11 of the Wee;
Jo her gurlond. droned,
()st the bank. of :/estuttful river.
[A thy! tic Mootlay
The First Snow on the Fell.
Our days had begun to darkest;
The shadow , . upon the lawn
To fall from the elm trees curly,
To linger lung for dawn;
The leaves of the elm to redden,
And to tremble to the wind,
With MT...littler ,new, anti whispers
Of the worse that lay behind.
And now and again, would flutter
A dead lent to the ground,
Which son should hen er gladden,
Nor rain %%lib a summer bound,
The fern was red on the mountatn,
The Ci /OW m the sky,
And we knew that the year was fuiltng,
That the wintry time ugh.
But we thought, as IhiuLb the lover
%VALII his loved ohe lieur her grove,
0 0, Death. leuve her here fora little,
Leave her, whoa, naught eon save."
A little inure warmth arid brightness,
Aild tarry trig ut the green.
Had left. no euntelit is ills tag future,
Thankful fur what lied been;
We 41'011110 1141 al V. inter, etuntling
As to-day we see hut.
In the midst of tae ittuuntutos yonder,
%Volt / lel vellyst u. Ills lavid
Though he dare not came to the valleys,
Though tie leaves the lull ere noon,
Ills loot will he on the Like's breast,
lie will /00.11 um river 8000.
Von print of kits hoary finger
We Northern, know full well,
Our sign that summer is over,—
The fiat snow on the Fell.
Ilfausehvid Word:
gtlEttitiltes.
Pride versus Vanity
Some three years ago there was a brilliant
marriage at the church of St. Eustache, in
Paris. All the adjacent streets were
filled with equipages, some brilliant and
fashionable, while others were sober, unob
trusive, and even E habby, their only dis•
tinction (one fur which the owners of the
other equipages would hare given ten times
their value) being the arms and the coronets
of the noblest and oldest families in France.
The alliance thus celebrated united the
two opposing ranks, birth and money, and
possessing these two envied advantages,
would appear to offer the greatest chances
of happiness. Besides, the bride and bride
groom were well matched as far as years and
beauty were concerned, fur, as they stood
side by side it was impossible not to exclaim,
whether audibly or mentally, 'What a beau
tiful
couple!' Who would have thought that
as hand in hand they turned from the altar
whilst the organs were pealing, the incense
burning, friends and relations congratula
ting, the young bride was murmuring to
herself:
•Who knows if he didn't marry me for my
money only?' Whilst the bridgegroom was
saying tc himself:
'Wbo knows if she did not marry MO only
to he a marchioness?'
Now, the cause of the alliance which had
united these two young people dated many
years back, long before either of them were
born.
The Marquis de Presto, the father of the
bridegroom, born in exile during the first
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JANUARY 9, 1858
emigration, had, through all the humilia
tions and privations of poverty and exile,
been taught to preserve the pride of an an
cestry which belonged to one whose nobility
dated from the crusades. On his return to
France he found his fortune a mere wreck,
nothing remaining to him but his ancestral
castle and a few acre] of land. The indem
nity voted for by those who had emigrated,
procured for him, however, a considerable
sum. Investing this, he left Paris, and with
his wife, (Out being able to maintain his
rank at Court,) established himself in his
ancestral domain.
Here all was changed from what he had
been taught to believe it. n't materially
changed—that change the marquis was pre
pared for—but the novelty changed; ideas,
principles, and customs were all those of
modern times, whilst the marquis belonged
emphatically to the ancient regime. The
village of Presle had grown into a town, not
under the auspices of the former lords of the
soil, but under the skillful management of
a successful speculator. Anselme Dubois,
who had established in it large manufacto
ries, and employed hundreds of workmen,
all paid well, treated kindly and invested
with the right to have opinions, and to speak
their mind.
This population had mighty little respect
for M. le Marquis de Presle. The castle to
be sure stood there, but to them it seemed
(what, without historical association it really
was,) a heavy, crumbling ruin, to which
was infinitely to be preferred the gray white
marble villa of the manufacturer. The tra
ditions of the house of Presle had passed
away in the turmoil of the various revolu
tionary changes, in the battle of prosperous
commerce; and as for the crusades, not one
of the citizens, no longer vassals of Presle,
had ever heard of them.
Anseline Dubois was disposed to welcome
the Marquis most cordially; not as lord of
the manor, but on perfect terms of equality
and good fellowship. But this, after aston
ishing the Marquis, greatly excited his indig•
nation, and soon led to an open feud. The
Marquis found himself alone, for all the
townsmen, owing their prosperity to Dubois,
openly sympathized with hint. The Mar
quis was left to his dignified isolation in com
pany with his wife and infant son.
But althongh the Marquis disdained to
associate with persons whom he despised,
the contagious malady of the age—specula
tion—took possession of him, and inexperi
enced and ignorant of all financial or specu
lative operations, he embaaked in a wild but
specious joint stock company, and, as might
be expected, lost nearly the whole of the lit
tle that the indemnity had restored to him.
From this time the Marquis was rarely seen
beyond the walls of his domain. His wife.
one of Hume rare models which first sug
gested the distinctions and titles of nobility,
as types of grandeur and nobility of soul,
concentrated her existence and happiness in
that of her hu4etad awl her son.
She was only seem by the townspeople at
mass.„ when her quiet dignity iniposed re
spent. and in the 'tour of sorrow—for, u nable
from her poverty to give that material aid
of which Dubois was so lavish—she could
not but minister the consolation of a woman
and a Christian to those suffering front the
great catastrophes of the affections common
to all ranks.
Georges de Presle, her son. placed by the
Bourbons in one of the royal military col
leges, had been intended for a military life.
but the change of dynasty had itko changed
his destiny, and ho had roturned his home
to share the solitude of hi. father and
mother; too proud to remain in Paris nn a
pittance unbecoming his rank, too faithful
to the traditions of his ancestors to swear
fealty to a traitor of the ever treacherous
house of Orleans.
Front taste, as much as from deference to
his father, Georges do Presle had forborne
to form nequointaace in the town, though he
had more than once either at the lawyer's
when on his father's business, or at the
curate's on a mitnion front his mother, en•
countered the great Ansehne Dahoi., whose
brick factories towered almost as high as
the crenelated walls of the castle of Pre•de.
Georges, although imbued with the prin
ciples of the ancient regime, had, however,
progressed with the century in which he
lived, and knew how to value and esteem
the energy and talent which had made
Dubois rise from poverty and obscurity to
the high and flourishing position in which
he now stood. A few words of courtesy had
been exchanged between them on these
meetings and on every other occasion on
which chance had thrown them together.—
Georges had not the same cause of irrita
tion against the pervenu that the remem
brance of former days gave to the marquis;
to Georges he was a perfectly umimportant
personage, forgotten when unseen. But by
a strange anomaly in human nature, the
young marquis. so grave, so dignified, yet
so courteous, became to M. Dubois a sort of
beau-ideal. In the society to which his for.
tune gave him admittance, he had seen
handsome, fashionable, and stylish young
men; his own nephew was the very type of
this class of the jeunesse dore of the Chat's.°
d'Antin, but Dubois despised them; they
seemed to him like counterfeit money, very
like the real, but wanting intrinsic value.—
Ho himself was a parvenu, a man risen
from nothing; ho knew it, he was proud of
it. Surrounded by every luxury, it was his
boast to remain in appearance and manner
still the same Anselme Dubois who had
risen by his own exertion from the peasant .
boy to the millionaire. The young men of
his society were all striving in their hearts
to imitate the very class whose power, rights
and pretensions they affected to laugh at.—
Georges de Pre-le appeared to him the true
embodiment of greatness, of manliness, of
true nobility—nobility which after all was
the one unattainable thing, the only thing
that his money could not buy, and which,
therefre. acquired excessive value in his
secret heart of hearts.
Anseline Dithois had a daughter. Frr.m
the first time that he saw Georges he deter
mined he should be his son-in-law. By till.
alliance he could at once satiqfy hi 4 vanity
that his daughter would be Margod , e de
Presle. and hii hate that the noble Marqui,
would be dependent on him, the pervenu:
for the. Marquis knew he was a ruined man.
Still this plan, though fully matured in
his own head, was, even to him, difficult of
execution. But fate at last appeared to fa
vor him, fur suddenly the old Marvuis (lied.
Georges de Presle, who had not presumed
to question his father as to his worldly af
fairs, now found. on his first interview with
the old family lawvet, that he had been Inv
on the small capital left him, and that that
being eah:ttNted, his father had mortgaged
every foot of land, et en to the old castle of
his ancestors. now the sole refuge of
his mother. Georges de Presle adored his
mother. The solitude iii which he lived, the
sternness of his father, had made him cling
to her with an affection that amounted al
most to passion. There was no sacrifice he
would nut have made for her. What was
now to be done? Poverty be knew she
could endure, not sordid poverty in a close
town lodging, but dignified poverty in the
decaying halls of her ancestors, where her
husband had lived, where her son had been
born, To leave Presle would kill her. Who
held the mortgage? M. Richard traced it
from hand to hand, and having done so. it
was found in the possession of Ansehue Du
bois, who, being in his rights, signified to
Richard his determination to foreclose it.—
Richard advised the young Marquis to en
deavor to conciliate, to obtain time—and
Georges, after a severe struggle, for his
mother's sake resolved to follow the lawyer's
advice.
M. Dubois declined to speak on the sub
ject, though he received the young Marquis
with great cordiality and deference. Rich
ard must arrange all matters of business; to
Richard he would transmit his determina
tion. Georges, after a few days, applied to
Richard. What was Dubois' decision? An
alliance, a community of interests, by the
marriage of Georges with Laura Dubois.—
Georges' brow lowered and his cheek be.
came flu.hed.
'Laura is beautiful, Laura is rich, highly
educated, charming.'
Georges turned contemptuously away.
'For your mother's sake.' said the lawyer
seeing lie had not struck the right chord.
Georges turned round instantly, and
grasping the lawyer's hand, said, 'For my
mother's sake, Richard; fur her anything,
everything.'
Georges scarcely remembered to have
seen Laura, lint having made up his mind
to the -aeriliee, lie would have married her
even th.ingli rlie had been displeasing to
him. fully determined at the same time to
sacrifice to her narr , ows., as ft sacred duty.
the rest of his life. lle was fir fnim divin
ing that for the two years Laura had been
from drool, pre-iding mer her father's
I. he laid keen the iect of her
secret ailiirat ion, as from the windows of her
gay villa she looked on the stern gray wails
of the castle. Georges, in pride and poverty,
became for her an Edgar Ravenswood. and
; Georges' manner and appearance would, in
reality, have sitgge.ted both the moral and
physical resemblance.
Laura had a tender. noble heart, entirely
free from the vanity of riches. To have the
power to bring happiness to so desolate a
life, to raise from decay one of the noblest
families of France. to enrich poverty so
nobly borne, appeared to her a holy task.—
. When, therefore. M. Dubois proposed the
match to his daughter, Laura, who would
have dreaded to speak to her father on the
supject, felt that her destiny had myste
riously manifested itself.
Georges, as soon as the match was decided.
followed Lanra to Vichy.. where she had
gone for the season. lie could not but be
pleased with Laura, but not knowing her
real feelings, and absorbed with his own
anxieties, he never sought to inspire her
with love. On his part the marriage was
an interested tine; on that of Laura he ima
gined it to be the same—and so they were
married—and so, as they turned from the
altar, there was a doubt in the mind of each.
'She married me for my title'—'he for my
money.' For love had not as yet dispelled
all doubt.
• By the marriage oontract George had re
fused to accept anything; all was settled on
his wife; though, of course, the Castle of
Presle was restored to him, and necessarily
he shared the princely income bestowed on
his wife by her father.
Mme. de Presle received her daughter-in
law with great courtesy. but with all her
prejudices about her, and convinced that the
narvenu's daughter despised her poverty,
.he refrained from a more cordial greeting.
Georges was attentive, polite and kind to
his young and beautiful wife, but nothing
more; he schooled his heart against the fas
cinations of one who ho supposed must, in
her inmost heart, despise him fur his mer•
mar) , marriage. Laura, proud as a wo-
man and timid as a bride, took the frigid
tone of those around her; and all lived, as
may be imagined, a tedious and constrained
life.
At the end of three months, M. Dubois
summoned his children to Paris. He had
prepared for their reception a splendid man
sion, in which he himself, was ttISU to reside.
Laura's beauty, position, and her luxurious
splendor, together with her title, made her
the point of attraction of the season. Ac
customed to luxury from infancy, she loved
it not from vanity, but from habit. M.D./-
bids gratified his vanity by pompously dis
playing to his son-in-law the magnificence
of his habitation.
'This is your borne, Georges,' said he: 'I
hope you like it. In the stable you will
find Nurses especially for your use, and, I
believe. the most fashionable vehicles have
been selected Ins
.you by my nephew. Lau
ra's new equirmage is a clef d'euvra. The
carriage is from London and the horses are
Arabs.'
I shall be delighted to go with Laura
whenever she will like to have me, but as
for the horses and carriages for my own use,
I have never been accustomed to them, and
therefore decline them.'
Dubois was mortified; he wished to impose
an obligation upon his son-in-law. But
Georges steadily refused all participation in
the splendors of his father-in-law as far as
he was concerned. He went with his wife
everywherP, shared her state whenever she
desired it; but, as far as his own habits
were concerned, they were unchanged from
those he contracted at Presle.
Georges, however, had sedulously sur
rounded his mother with every comfort.—
To leave her had been a great sacrifice, but
both mother and son had felt that it was a
duty, and both had consented. The health
of the Marquise was declining, but site for
bore to complain to Georges; she knew he
must remain in Paris, and therefore was re-
signed.
M. Dubois, failing in his plans of subdu
ing the pride of Georges do Presto, had
turned his attention towards the Marquise.
lie commenced the restoration of the old
chateau. ills architect, his builder, his
workmen set to work; subverting all the
habits of the quiet and humble household of
the old Marquise. She was too proud to
complain, and the employees, all paid by
Dubois, and recognizing only him, took
pleasure in inordfying and antupying her.
Towards the and of the Paris season.
Georges, with the instinct of all tru'6 and
strong affections felt a VZIgIIC and unusual
anxiety fur his mother. He wrote, not to
her, but to the curate, and awaited with itn
patience the reply. He had never confided
his sorrows or his sentiments to his wife.
therefore ...he was utterly ignorant that and
sorrow oppressed him.
One evening. at one of the halls of the
Princess Mathihle, Madame Laura de Pre.ile.
who had just been dancing with a foreign
prince, for sonic :hoe her most ardent ad•
mirer. was surprised by the sight of her
hushand, who, with a haste unbecoming the
place, and very unusual in him, made way
through the crowd which surrounded bar
and hid her follow him.
She obeyed instantly. He took hor to the
cloak room, and then, without speaking, took
her down stairs. When they reached the car
riage Laura started back. It wag not her
own town equipage, bat a travelling car
riage. and her own maid and her own foot.
man were nn the box.
'Where are you going?' said she, turning
to Georges.
'To Presle,' he replied; 'my mother is dy
ing. Do you object to going?'
'I will go anywhere you desire, Monsieur
le Marquis; it is my duty.'
So saying, she got into the carriage.—
'When they were seated •here, as they pro.
seeded to the railway station, Georges har
ing first most carefully enreleped his wife
in additional cloaks and shawls, addressed
her:
'Madame,' said he, 'I ought to apologize
for my hasty conduct. Tho news of my
mother's danger came by express this even
ing, after you had loft for the Elysee. I ex
pected it. and returned home, after conduct
ing you to the boll, to receive it. It is of
such a nature as requires my immediate
presence. I consider it your duty and mine
that you, being my wife, should come with
me to the death bed of my mother. Your
father refused to let us go, referring to a
clause in. the contract which forbids me
taking you from his roof without his per
mission. My dignity as a man and a hus-
band were here compromised; what I de
manded was right, not only for me but for
you. This will excuse, I trust, the decision
I have come to. and its mode of execution.'
'Georges,' said Laura, 'why did you not
confide your enxicties to me, am I not your
lESI
'You are, but I do not desire to make you
forget that you are M. Dubois' daughter.'
'I trust our mother is not in danger,'
murmured Laura, laying a stress on the
pronoun.
'My mother is dying,' meld Georges, who,
at the mention of her name had forgotten
all else; 'but, Laura, I thank you for your
sympathy, and for your ready aoriniescence.'
Laura, on the impulse of the moment,
would have thrown herself into her hus
band's arms; but, though she was a wife
she was a woman. Could she make the
first advances?
When they reacL•od Presle. Georges rush
ed from She carriage. 'ls dm living?' was
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; 82,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE.
his first inquiry. With sorrowing tone, the
curate, echo had come to meet him, replied
in the affirmative.
Without heeding his wife, though she fol
lowed him, he flew to his mother's room;
here, though he scarcely heeded it, all was
changed; the confusion left by bricklnyers
and masons overwhelmed the whole chateau.
His mother's apartment had nut even been
respected. At one glance Georges under
stood all, but he smothered his indignation,
pr rather the agony of his grief made hint
for a moment forget it; his mother was dy
ing; the dews of death were even now upon
her. He the ew himself on his knees beside
her bed.
'Mother, mother,' said he. 'forgive me—
has my sacrifice been in vain?'
'No. ray child: but my task is over. lam
going, but to leave you alone on earth; that
is all I regret.'
Laura, who had been timidly approaching
the bedside, heard these words and drew
back.
At this moment a great noise and confu
sion was heard below. Georges smiled up
and rushed to the door, but Laura was be
fore him; she had recognized her father's
voice, and interposed between them before
Dubois line crossed the threshhold of the
Miil
'How did you dare, air,' said Dubois, 'to
violate tho contract you had signed, and
thus—'
•Father,' said Laura, 'his mother is dy
ing.'
'Let her die in peace,' said Georges, alone
approaching the bed. For some minutes his
mother murmured in her son's ear, as put
ting his arms around her, he bent his head
inwn to her. Then all was over. Ge.oges
rose from his knees, closed his mother's
eyes, and the curate, throwing the sheet
over the body, placed his crucifix upon it.
Slowly he pawed out of the room, unheed
ing his wife, who was weeping in her fath
er's 1111715 t.
M. Dubois had his daughter conveyed to
his carriage and taken to herpaterna! home.
'Till after the funeral,' said he. Laura
afraid to intrude herself on her husband,
waited in an agony of anxiety. It was a
week since the Marquise's death, when, at
last, a letter came, not to her, but to M.
Dubois.
'Sir,' wrote Georges, 'My mother is dead:
how far you contributed to her death it is
now needless to inquire. With my mother
dies the holy reason I had frr keeping the
castle of my ancestors. I have given orders
that it shall be with the produce my
lawyer will repay you all you have spent in
the reparations you commenced. Your
danglitor has 'chimed to her home; she is
Margnise de Presle; I willingly give her all
she valued in me—my title. When you re
ceive this I shall be on my way to Algiers.
'GEORGES DE PRESI.E.'
'So you are my daughter again, Laura,
my darliAg; one of these days your noble
husband will be sorry for what he has done;
meantime we will remain here together.'
'No,' replied Laura, 'I am his wife; Novo
him, wholly, passionately, tenderly; he is
perhaps wrong, but it is not for mo to judge
him; I will gn to the castle of Presto; that
is my place; his widow, till again he claims
me as his wife.'
With her own dowry Laura bought the
chateau; hero she established he •self, her
occupation being to complete the restoration
of her husband's caqle. and by her charities
to make the name of Presle as beloved as
that of Dubois.
Three years passed away. Georges do
Presle from Algie:s had gone to the Crimea.
There his name had been mentioned five
times in the bulletins of his commanding
officers; he was one of the young heroes of
whom the Emperor woe prowl. But he did
not return to Franco when all the victorious
troops returned; ho entered again on active
service, and returned to Algiers.
Laura, whose love had increased in si
lence and solitude, wept bitterly, for she
had had a hope—hut she dried her tears,
for love is long suffering, and she loved and
hoped on.
During thts interval, a distant cousin of
the Do Presles had left Georges a sum of
two hundred thousand francs. but this com
parative wealth rustle no difference in his
life.
One day, on reading a. French paper, he
saw that the financial crisis in Franco w•as
threatening the credit of even the richest,
and in a list of the losses in a great specu
lation ho saw M. Dubois' name for over a
million.
Georges folded the paper, asked for leave,
and the next steamer from Alexandria
brought the Colonel de Presle back to
rope. He hastened to Paris. His father
in-law was in Belgium. With his daughter?
No. Madame de Presle was where she al
ways resided, at. Presle.
At Preslel These words wore a revela
tion to Georges; his heart believed, though
his reason still doubted. On to Presle.—
There is the castle—his own—restored_ in
all the exquisite perfection of its antique
gothic architecture. He entered the gate
over vi hich is carved hi; own escutcheon;
through the picture quo and cultivated
park he hastens. At his own door he'
stands; it is opened almost bsfore he could
touch the bell-pull, by servants in his own
livery.
•Madame de Presto,' said Georges, with
illsuppressed emotion, entering his ances
tral hall hung around with the bettners
[WHOLE NUMBER, 1,432.
conquered by his ancestors. But even as
he spoke two arms were round his neck, and
Laura, laying her head on his shoulder,
in u rm u red
'Georges! Georges! my own at last!'
After the first cninutes Laura conducted
her husband into hie apartment, prepared
fr him by her and eter ready to receiTe
him.
'l'..ur father, Laura,' avid Georges; 'what
(.f him?'
'Oh, Georges!' exclaimed Laura, 'a few
hours more, and J, who have waited fur you
these four years, would not have found you.
was going to Paris. My father, almost
overwhelmed, can yet weather the storm, if
he has five hundred thousand francs by the
fifteenth. I was going to Paris to sell my
diamond•, for I could raise hut three hue.
Bred thousand otherwise.'
'And I have brought you two, Laura.—
Did you know I was so rich?'
'No,' replied Laura. ',S.) it was to see
my father you came, Monsieur de Presle?'
'Laura,' said GeorgeA, falling upon hid
knees before her; 'du you, eau you loco
me?'
'Long before you remember having seen
me, Georges, I loved you; but it has been
an unrequited passion till now; but if it had
killed me, and you had not found your wife,
you would at least have found your home.'
'The home you have restored to me, or
rather it is yours.'
',Nay, do not say that; you are so proud,
you would perhaps nut remain in it.'
•Then if I left it, Laura, it would not be
alone, for I love you, my own wife; obi
n•hy have we lost five years of our life?'
They were the last years they ever did
lose. A year afterwards, Anselme Dubois
sat on the castle terrace by the skdo of his
daughter, and held his tiny grandson in
his arms. The Marquis leaning over his
wife's shoulder, looking at both with delight.
A.nselme Dubois gazed from the towers of
the castle to the smoking towers of the fao
tory.
'This boy is the heir of all, Georges,' said
he, him 101 feildA sill lie ended forerer.
Can you forgive my Vanity?'
'lndeed, pal should first forgive my pride,'
replied Georges.
'1 who have +n(l'ered most from both,' ai
ded L tura. •havo forgiven both;' said the
young mother, storing to her child, 'we
w:II have neither prido nor vanity. We
have taught cur father and our grandfather
the great lesson of love.'
HOW WINE IS MADE IN CALIFORNIA.—WO
transcribe from the Los Angelus Star a de
-cription of the method of manufacturing
Wine in that city from native grapes.
The first process in the operation of wine
making, after the grapes arrive at the mill,
is to shell them oti the stems; six men are
employed in this operation. The grapes, as
they come from the vineyard, are thrown
upon coarse wire sieves, which aro firmly
, et at an angle of about forty degrees, above
and around the mill. Wooden forks are
used to shell the grapes, which, as they aro
detached and moved about on the sieves,
fall through into a hopper, which conveys
them to the mill. The stems remain upon
the sieves, and are removed by hand.
The mill is formed by two horizontal
cylinders, about three feet lung, and ten
inches or a foot in diameter. These are
kept in motion by means of a crank, which
is easily turned by one man. The mashed
grapes fall from the cylinders into a large
shallow tank. from which the juice rapidly
flows off, and passing, through a couple of
sieves, to scperate any skins or seeds which
flow along with it, it is raised by a pump
and conducted to the fermenting tubs.—
These vessels hold from eight to fifteen
hundred gallons each. The juice in this
state, fermented without the skins or pulp,
produces white wine. The skins and pulp,
together with the seeds, are removed to
other tubs. where, during the process of
fermentation, coloring matter is extracted,
forming red wine.
To give a high color to the wine, the po-
mace, as it rises to tho surface during fcr.
mentation, is frequently broken-up and
stirred into the wine. This is only prac
ticed when the juice, pulp, and skins are
fermented together in the same vessel.
After the mash is sufficiently fermented,
which occupies from ton to eighteen days,
the wine is drawn off into pipes, and the
pomace is then taken to the press, where
it is subjected to the pressure produced by a
five-inch screw. Surrounding and attached
to this screw is a drum of about ten feet in
diameter; a rope is wound upon this drum.
and one end carried to a capstan, when the
power of two or three more men is applied
to long bars, which produce a leverage of
no insignificant amount. Five men are
employed i n this branch of the operation.
The daily product of wine is two thou
sand gallons, and the estimated product of
the present vintage is eighty thousand gal
lons.
Notwithstanding the pressure which has
been applied to force the bruised grape to
to yield ito spirit, yet so endurable are the
exhilarating qualities of this fruit that the
pomace still contains enough to tempt the
cupidity of man; so the pomace is sold to
distillers, at the rate of five dollars for the
pomace from which one thousand gallons of
wine hare been made. The pomace is mixed
with water, and then subjected to distilla
tion, and the result is a good distillatioa of
pure grape Isuzbely.