'f --
:.,
•,..47- a . :- ii i..
' ..._ ~
i a ~,,-i, ,
' -,,,--..-
-4......,: ~
~ ~ ~..
7. ..... ..
• --
1 ..
U. NE
111 I)
. . 11)
. i
illik •
.. . ~
-., cile
...
SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor
VOLUME XXVIII, NUMBER 35.]
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
Office in Northern Central Railroad Com
irany's Building, north-west corner Front and
Walnut streets.
Terms of Subscription
'aim Copy per annum,if paid in advance,
" " if not paid within three
months from commencement of the year, 200
-. Gfaxe.tosi a 40cars-37-.
No subscription received for a less time than six
' , Months; and no paper will he di-continued until all
itrrrartiges are paid, unless at the option of the pub
•iisher.
1,13 - . llfoney may be remitted by mail at the publish
nsk.
Rates of Advertising.
i square [6 lines] one week,
. three weeks,
44 each subsequent insertion, 10
1 " [l2:ines] one week, 50
o. three weeks, 1 00
U each subsequent insertion, 25
largeradvertisentents in proportion.
A liberal discount will he inude toquarterly, hall - -
yearly or yearlyudYertisersiwho are strictly confined
to their business.
DR. S. ARMOR,
HOMEOPATHIC PHYSICIAN,
COLUMBIA, PA.
ArstoeNcw.—Wissinugton House.
Jan.23,leSS.
'THOMAS WELSH,
TIISTICE OF TEE PEACE, Columbia, Pa.
oericE, in \Vliiptier's New Building, below
Black's Hotel, Front street.
f[' — Prompt attention given to all bunnies; entrusted
Qo his care.
November 29, 1657.
DR. G. W. MIFFLIN,
DENTIST, Locust street, a few doors above
the Odd Fellow•' Hall, Columbia, Pa.
Columbia. May 3. Mk.
H. M. NORTH,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW.
Columbia, Pa.
Collections, p romptly made, in Lancaster and York
Countiea.
Columbia, May 4,1950.
J. W. FISIIER,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
iCcal.i.zmilk:siza,
Col.lmbi..:3epteinl,er 6, 1...:36.1f
GEORGE J. SMITH,
WRTILE's:ALE and Retail Bread and Cake
Baker.—Conutantly on hand a variety of makes,
too numerous to mention; Crackers; Soda, Vi toe, St roll,
and Sugar Biscuit; Confectionery, of ever• description,
4.c. I.OcUST STB
Feb. 2,%5G. Betweendhe Bank and Franklin House.
VTISTAIIII BALSAM OF WILD CHERRY,
W for Cougho, Cold, 3re . for cute nt
McCORKLE &
Family Medicine More, Odd Fellow(' Hall.
Columbia, Oct. nt,
WVOLLEY'S All Healing and Strengthen
ing Salve, for gale at
eCO R K LE & DELI.F.TT'S
Family Medieme Store, Odd Fellows ,
Columbia, Oct. 81. 1837.
HONEI: Just received, a small lot of Su
perior lioney, and for sole hv
a WILLIAMS,
Frolll. street.
Nov. 21,1957
QAPONEFIER: at reduced prices, for sale
by the 1,011 lid or ease, by R. WILMA MS,
Nov. 21, 1857. Front weet.
TOILET SOAPS".---The largest assortment in
L Columbia; call and examine for v ourselves, at
it.
Drug Store, Front street.
Nov. 2t, 14.57
BRUSHES! BRUSIIES!--A general assortment
of Brushes; such as Shoe. Stove. Bar,
Tooth and Nail Brushes,Just received and for sale by
R. wiLmAmst
Front slfeet.
Nov. 21, 1 P 57
17 ENN1;DY'S MEDICAL DISCOVERY:---'Phis
Celebrated Medicine always on band, and (or
mule by
Nov. 21, 1957.
(I . ORN Starch, Farina, Ricc Flour, Tapioca,
sm i mOat Men 1. A rrow Root. &c.. nt ihe
FAMILY' MEDICINE STonn,
Sept 46,'57. Odd Fellows , Dull.
JUST received, three dozen Dr. Brunon's
Vegetable Bitters, a certain elire for D } ara•p.ia:
also. a fresh lot of Sap Sago and Pule Apple Claw...,
Farina and Corn Starch, at D. H ERWS
Sept 5, WWI. Grocery and Liquor Store.
HAIR DYE'S. Jones' Batchelor's, Peter's and
Egyptian hair dyes, warranted to color the hair
any destred shade, without Injury to the chin. For sate
by R WII.I.IANIS.
May 10, . _
SOLUTION OF CITRATE OF ALIGNESIA,or Par
dative Mineral ‘Vaier.—Thic pleasant medicine
which is highly recommended as a substitute for
Epsom Plaits, Seidlitz Powders, he.. eau he obtained
fresh every day at Da. E. /1. HERR'S Drug Store,
Front 'it. Lid
LAMPS, LAMPS, LAMPS. Just received at
Iterr's Drug Store, a new and beauund lot of
Lamp. of all descriptions.
May 2. 1e.57.
ASUPERIOR article of burning Fluid just
recroved and for Fait' by H SUYDAM & SUN.
ALIBGE lot of City cured Dried Beef, just
received at 11. SUYDAM & awe.,
Columbia December 20.1i2511.
ROOFLAND'S German Bitters. For sale at
NcCORKLE& DELLErrri
Family' Medicine Store, Odd Fe DOWN' Mill.
.Inly 25. 0452.
AIOUNTRY Produce constantly on hand and
for ...tic by 11. SIJYDANI & SON.
HOMINY, Cranberries, Raisins, Figs, Alm
onds, Walnuts, Cream Nut., he ,port received
nrYDANI & s
Datumlvia. Dee. 20. MR
A SUPERIOR lot of Black and Green Teas,
Coffee and Cliocolate,Juet received at
R. Pcrn eim'a
Dec. 20.1856. Corner of Front and Union eta.
JIIST RECEIVED, a beautiful assortment of
Ghaa luk httutids, at the Headquarters and
.News Depot.
Columbia, April 19.1557.
PXTRI Family and Superfine Ear of the
beat brand. for male by 1l SUYDAM & SON.
jriAT jeceired 1000 lbs. extra double bolted
lkolarbeat Meal, at
Dee.YO, 1856. H. SUYDAM & SON'S.
_ .
WEIKEL'S Instantaneous Yeast or Baking
Powder. for axle by H. SUYDAM & SON.
- PAIR lc THOMPSON'S justly celebrated Com
mercial and other Gold Pen--the I..et ill the
.'parks:—juvi received. P. SHREINER.
Colombia-April 2.
WHY stolid anypersoa do without a Clock,
wheal Huey eau be had for 51,50 and upwards.
SHREINER'S?
Colombia, Ain:l4% 1f4.5
.TABLE and sock Sak,lny the sack or bushel,for
sole .oar. by
Oct 10, 1n57.
DE
- -
GRATH'S ELECTRIC on. Just reeeivel,
fresh supply of this popular remedy., sand for sale
R. WILLIAMS.
Front Street, Columbia. Pa.
by
May 10, Ism
ALARGE, rt
aPPoraent of Rope.. all strew and
on band and for sale at THOS. WELSW: 4 .
March 12, 1857. 70. t High street.
ANEW lot of WHALE AND CAR GREASING
OILS, received at the mote of the euli.eriher.
Front Sireet,Coitoollia. Pa.
Trey 10,195 E
A SUPERIOR article of PAINT Of L. far •alr by
R. WILLIAMS.
nay tlt, less. Front Street, Columbia. Pa
ASUPERIOR article ofTONIC SPICE
suitable for Hotel Keepers, for sale by
R. WILLIAMS.
Plant street, Columbia.
May 10,1854
Cornucopia.
There's a lodger lives on the first floor,
(My lodgings are up in the garret.)
At night and at morn he taketh a horn
And calleth his neighbors to share it,—
A horn so long, and a horn no strong,
I wonder how they can bear it.
$1 50
I dont menn to say that he drinks,
For that were a joke or a scandal;
But every one knows it, lie night and day blows itt—
I wish he'd blow out like a candle:
His horn is so long, and he blows at so strong,
He would make Handel fly oil - the handle.
E
Ily taking a horn I don't hint
That lie swigs either rum, gin, or whiskey;
It's sue who drink in his din worse than gill,
II is strains that attempt to be frisky,
But are grievously sail.—A donkey, I add,
Is as musical, braying in his key.
It's a puzzle to know what he's al;
I could pity him, if it were madness:
I never yet knew him to play a tune through,
And it gives me more anger than i.adness
To hear Iris horn stutter and stammer to utter
Its various abortions of badness.
At his wide open window he stands,
Overlooking his hit of a garden'
One ran see the great ass at one end of his brass
Blaring out, never nskitig your pardon:
This terrible blurting lie thinks is not hurting,
As long as his own ear-drums harden.
Ile thinks. I've no doubt, it is sweet.
While thus Time and Tune he i. flay ing;
The little house-sparrows feel all through their 111111170WS
The Jur and the fuss of his playing,—
The windows all shaking, the liable.: all waking,
The very dogs howling and baying.
One note out of twenty he hits,
And, cheered, Mows piano, like fortes.
Hie tune is his own. lie goes sounding alone,
(A sort of Columbus or Cones,)
Ott a perilous ocean, without any notion
Whereabouts to the dim deep his port is.
Like a man late from club, be has lost
His key. and around stumbles moping,
Touching, this, trying that, now a sharp, now a flat,
Till he strikes on the note he lo hoping,
And a terrible blare at the end of the air,
Shows lie's got through at last with his groping.
There.—he's finished.—at least. for a while;
lie is tired. or come to his senses;
And out of his horn shakes the drops that were borne
By the Whitt" of his musical frenties.
There's a rest, thank our stars. of nmetymine burs,
Ere the tempest of sound recommences.
When all the bad players are sent
Where all their false notes arc protested,
1 sun sure that Old Nick will play him it trick,
When his bad trump and he are arrested,
And down in the regions of Discord's own legions
Ilm head with two French horns be crested.
I A than tic Mon thly
FILOII VIE rßmicit OF ED3fUND ABOUT
Having taken the second prize in tragedy
at the "Conservatary," ho soon made his
debut at the Odeon. It was, if I remember
aright, in January, 1846, when he appeared
as —Orosinan," and was hissed by every stu
dent from the left bank of the Seine.
B. WILLIAMS,
Front wort
None of his friends were surprised; it is so
difficult to succeed in tragedy, when one's
name is Gorgeon. Ile ought to have taken a
nom de guerre, such as Montreal!, or Thabor;
but the poor fellow stuck to his name as his
sole inheritance. However, his fall made
but little noise, for he had few friends, was
only twenty, and was proteged by none of
the Journals. Poor Gorgeon.
No director would engage him for tragedy,
but an old comedian friend got him into the
Palais Royal, and he took his lot philosoph
ically. "After all," thought be, comedy has
more of a future about it than tragedy, for
there will probably be no more Racines,
while it is quite possible to write better vau
devilles than Clairville.
He was soon discovered to have talent in
his new role, possessing a pleasant voice, a
natural fund of wit and mimicry, and great
command of countenance; and the public
took him into favor; so that the name of Gor
goon was passed from mouth to mouth, as
that of an actor with the combined merits of
Sainville and Alcide Tousez.
The metamorphosis of Orosman into Jo
, crisse occupied some eighteen months, and
at twenty-two years of ago Gorgeon was
making ten thousand francs a year, without
counting benefits. His good fortune at this
juncture turned his head a little, it must be
owned. but we don't know what we might
have done in his place. The sight of pretty
furniture in his rooms, and louis d'ors in his
pockets, lifted his chin to such a height that
he fancied himself a young man of fash
ion, and learned to play lansquenet, which
unfortunately is not difficult; I fanty, indeed,
that if every game were as complicated as
chess, there would be fewer ruined by play.
1849, therefore. surprised him, surrounded
by a small regiment of creditors, to whom,
in the mass, he was astonished to discover
that he owed twenty thousand francs. "How
is this?" soliloquized he; "when I made
nothing, I owed nothing; now, the more I
make the more I owe: have lucrative engage
ments then the virtue of contracting debts'
for their recipient?" his creditors came
every day to see him, and he was very sorry
to cause them so much inconvenience, and
regretted sincerely the unhappy day when
the baker and milkwoman refused Orosman
any credit.
I. 0. BRUNER CO
One day, when ho was sadly philosophi
sing on the troubles of wealth, "Happy are
they," cried he, "who have just the neces
sary means of life! If I only made exactly
enough fur my actual wants, I should com
mit no extravagances, contract no debts.—
It is this cursed superfluity that ruins me.
I have no use for more than five hundred
Eintrii.
g;tirrtirritE
Gorgeon.
MEM
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MARCH 6, 1858.
francs a month. If I had aged parents to
support, sisters to dower, brothers to place
at college—very good! but I am alone in the
world—ah! surpose I marry!
And for economy, be married the veriest
coquette in the theatre—and in Paris.
None of my Parisian readers, I am sure,
can have forgotten that pretty little Pauline
Riviere, whose wit and beauty were the suc
cess of many a vaudeville. Her eyes, though
small, were so sparkling that they seemed
to flash over her whole face, and her hair,
so black and so long that the role of a
Swiss girl was created purposely for her
to display it. Her figure was charming;
and as for her hat:es, they were absolute
curiosities, and Jouvin invented a glove num
ber for them-si. At seventeen, with no
fortune but her beauty, no ancestors save
the chief of the claque of the Theatre Palais
Royal, she just missed being a Marquise.—
A. descendant of the Round Table Knights,
indubitable Marquis, and unmitigated Bre
ton, took it into his head to marry her. A
couple of dowager aunts were the only ob
stacles; but alas! "The anger of dowagers,"
saith Solomon, (?) "is terrible, especially of
Breton Dowagers!" and Pauline remained
Pauline. At this crisis came Gorgeon to
kneel at her shrine. She received him at
first with that impartial grace which she ac
corded to all her suitors alike, for he was
good looking, dressed well, and had an agree
able voice and sty/C.
He began the siege, then, under favorable
auspices, and at the end of the month Pau
line liked him. (This was in February, 1849.)
In March she liked him better than all the
others; in April she loved him and let him
discover it. He waited for her to dismiss
his rivals, but Pauline was in no hurry; and
the preparations for marriage went on amid
a crowd of amorous besiegers, whose atten
tions gave Gorgeon the shivers. He was
happy neither at his rooms nor at Pauline's;
for at his were his creditors, and at hers were
her beaux; and be finally asked her, one day,
plainly, if these gentlemen could not find
another divinity to sigh to.
"Bald" said she, "are you going to be
jealous? You know I love you, for I
tell you so; and, to prove it, I am going to
marry you. Besides, jealousy is somewhat
ridichlous, always; but in our profession it
is absurd!"
The marriage came off the last of April.
Two benefits paid Gorgeon's debts and the
wedding expenses; the first at the Odeon,
the second at the Italian. Indeed, all the
theatres in Paris wanted to take part, fur
Gorgeon and Pauline were liked everywhere.
They were united at Saint Roch, gave a grand
dejeuner at Pestel's, and left for Fontainbleu
in the evening.
The first quarter of their honeymoon was
shedding its radiance over the old forest when
they arrived—Gorgeon as proud as the son
of an emperor, and Pauline as gay as a
humming-bird. The next morning. the Ist
rf May, was the file des Sablons, which is
kept up until the ensuing dawn, under the
giant beech trees, and all the youth of the
neighborhood were there; all admired Paul
ine, and took her for the lady Bountiful of
the neighboring chateau, coming to patron
ize their festivities, in which she joined
heartily, and danced away till three o'clock
in the morning, in spite of the gravel getting
in her little Paris boots.
Gorgeon was not jealous. When they
returned to the Palais Royal, he made no
ill-natured remarks about his fellow actors
tutoying his wife, as they had always done.
She was almost their adopted daughter—
they had known her an infant behind the
scenes, and she remembered being dandled
on their knees. But what did worry Gor
goon slightly was, to notice Paline's quon
dam admirers ogling her through their opera
glasses, and this nearly caused him to forget
his cue on two occasions. for which he was
laughed at by his comrades, who discovered
the cause, and one joker tola him he was going
down to the "third rotes." (They call the
"third roles" the villains, the jealous bus
husbands, and splenetic old men.) He took
the jokes in good part, however, though he
couldn't digest the gentlemen of the opera
glass, and he read with an emotion of plea
sure the notice on the green-room door for
bidding all outsiders entrance into the mys
teries of the coulisse. Re also took care to
accompany Pauline home, and to the thea
tre every night she played without Lim; but
Pauline didn't object to this, for though she
was a little of the flirt, she loved her hus
band.
The summer months passed pleasantly
enough; the members of "young Paris"
were at the various watering places, and
Monsieur de Gaudry, the Breton Marquis
who wanted to marry Pauline, passed the
season at his chateau; so that the honey
moon didn't ferment.. But in December
Paris came home, and the dramatic society
posted their bills fora grand artist's ball
on the first of February, of which Gorgeon
was Secretary, and his wife a patroness.—
All the young men, a la mode of theatrical
life, rushed for tickets to the patronesses,
and the prettier they were the greater the
demand. Gorgeon saw that he could not
close hie door; his staircase was in constant
commotion, and his bell-rope was worn out
by innumerable yellow kids. M. de Gaudry
came to buy a ticket; and then lost it and
returned for another, which he gave to his
brother, and was forced to come again for a
third, and the next day for a fourth for a
friend of hie, and again for one of his club
—up to at least a dozen. Gorgeon was one
of Bertram's best pupils; be could tip the
bullet nine times out of twelve with the pis
tol; but what was all that? M. de Gaudry
had not insulted him; on the contrary, he
was the mirror of kindness and courtesy; If
he quarreled with de Gaudry the world
would not only make him in the wrong, but
would say he was cracked.
Pauline loved him as well as ever, but
she liked company and compliments, and
played with the fire like a woman who was
sure of not burning her fingers. When
Gorgeon proposed tartly to shut the door in
the face of her admirer, she stopped him at
once.
"I don't want to make you ridiculous,"
said she; "don't be absurd; if any one of
these gentlemen outetep propriety, I shall
know how to show him his error; but if we
make a scene all Paris will know of it, and
you will be pointed at in the street."
Ire had the imprudence to allude to these
annoyances in the presence of some of his
companions, and the consequence was a
constant series of jokes and puns at his ex
pense, (not to his face; but where he would
be sure to hear of them,) which ended by
souring his temper and destrying his domes
tic peace.
He accused, and quarreled with his wife,
and she, confident in her innoccence, gave
him back tit for tat.
Iu the midst of these disturbances, the
anniversary of their marriage slipped by
without notice by either. The next day
each one recollected it, and Gorgeon said to
himself, "She can't lure me much to have
let it pass unregarded;" while Pauline
thought her husband repented of his match.
But M. de Gaudry, who was never far out
of the way, sent her a bracelet. Gorgeon
wanted to take it back, with an expression
of his sentiments. Pauline insisted on keep
ing it. ''Because you didn't think it worth
while to make me a present," said she, "you
find fault with my friends' attentions."
"Your frinds are asses, whom I intend to
chastise," cried Gorgeon.
"You'd better correct yourself. I thought
up to this moment that there were two class
es of men superior to the herd—noblemen
and artists; but I know at least what to
think of artists now!"
"You may think what you like," said
Grgeou, seizing his hat, "but you shall not
take me as a test of comparison any longer."
'Are you going?"
"Good bye!"
"Where are you going?"
"You'll know one of these days."
"When will you return?"
"Neverl"
I=
Pauline waited four months for tidings of
her husband, in vain. They searched for
him everywhere—even in the river. The
public regretted hint, and the wife wept sin
cerely at her loss, for she bad never ceased
to love him. She closed her door to every
one, sent back the marquise's bracelet, and
refused all consolations—tearing her hair,
and exclaiming, "I have killed my poor
dear Gorgeon!"
Near the end of September a rumor spread
that Gorgeon, instead of being dead, was
coining fame and money in Russia.
Eight days after, an anonymous friend (no
other than M. de Gttudry) sent her the fol
lowing slip from the St. Petersburg Journal:
"The Gth (18th) of September, the cele
brated Gorgeon, the rival of Alcide Tousez,
made his debut at the theatre Michael, be
fore the imperial court and a brilliant audi
ence, in 'La &mode Jocrisse.' His success
was complete, and he was enthusiastically
applauded. Gorgeon is engaged for the sea
son at four thousand silver roubles, 16,000
francs," &c.
Pauline wept no more. She entered the
list of forsaken wives, and all Paris sympa
thised with her, and invented a hundred
stories of Gorgeon's cruelty—such as leaving
her without cause, without resources with
out a home—while, in truth, he left her
every cent he had, and all his furniture and
jewels, and she drew five hundred francs a
month from the theatre beside.
Her misfortune inspired her former ad
mirers of the orchestra box (M. de Gaudry
especially) with renewed devotion of course,
but she permitted no patent leather boots to
bring their condolers to her domicil. Shut
ting herself up with a cousin, she brooded
over futile plans and contradictory resolu
tions. Sometimes she determined to go to
St. Petersburg, and throw herself into her
husband's arms; at others she felt it would
ho more just and conjugal to scratch his
eyes out. Then she resolved to remain at
Paris, and edify the world by a widowhood
which would earn her the name of the Pen+
ope of the Palais Royal, and so forth, ad
iqfinifunt.
Gorgeon, a short time after his debut in
Russia, wrote her a letter full of tenderness
and contrition. His anger had cooled, his
rivals were no longer before his eyes, and
he asked pardon. More: he asked hie wife to
join him; he found her an engagement.—
But, unfortunately, this letter arrived at
the crisis of an indignation paroxysm, and
Pauline threw it in the fire without opening
it. Gorgeon, obtaining no answer was
again ruffled, and wrote no more.
In November, Pauline, her resentment
stil carefully fanned by her friends, was one
morning dressing herself before the glass,
fur a rehearsal. Her cousin bad gone to
market, leaving the key in the door, and
the comedienne was unrolling the last curl
paper, when she perceived in the mirror a
small, extremely ugly man, enveloped in a
fur cloak, standing in the doorway. and
with a scream of terror sin; turned round:—
"Who are you?—what do you want?—go
out, sir! You can't enter here! Marie!"
cried she, the words following each other so
rapidly that they seemed to fall in a stream
from her lips.
"I am not in love with you—you do not
please me," replied the little man, with visi
ble embarrassment.
"Love! Is it I who love you, then?
out of my chamber, sir!"
"I am not in love with you, madam—you
do not pl—"
"Madman!" almost shrieked Pauline.—
"Leave me, or I shall call for aid—l will
call robbers!—l will throw myself out of
the window!"
"Forgive me, madam;" said the little man,
in a supplicating voice, and joining hands;
"I have traveled seven hundred leagues to
make you a proposition. I have this mo
ment arrived from St. Petersburg, and,
speaking French very poorly, I had prepared
what I wished to say to you before-hand;
but you have so intimidated me that I—"
lie sat down and wiped his brow with a
costly embroidered handkerchief, while Pau
line seized the moment to throw a shawl
over her shoulders.
"Madame," resumed the stranger, "I am
not in I—, excuse me, and dot,'t get angry
again—l moan your husband has played me
an infamous trick. I am the Prince Valli
koff; I have an income of a million, but
never having served in the army, am placed
in the fourteenth class of nobility."
"That is nothing to me, sir."
"I know; but I have prepared what I
have to say to you, and—l go on. I am, as
you see, no beauty, and I have, besides, a
slight nervous disorder, which has been
somewhat of a subject for wit in society.—
This, however, has not prevented me from
loving a charming lady, demanding her in
marriage, and being accepted by her parents
(on account of my fortune;) which marriage
was on the point of consummation, when
your husband had the infernal idea of cari
caturing me on the stage, and amusing the
whole city at my expense. After the first
representation, Vava (her name is Vara)
dismissed my suit; after the second, she en
gaged herself to a Finnish Colonel, without
a hundred thousand francs in the world.—
Therefore, I am resolved to be revenged on
Gorgeon, and if you'll assist me, I'll make
your fortune. lam not in love with you, in
spite of your beauty, and the propositions I
am about to make you are perfectly honor
able, although they may appear extraordi•
nary. Thus, in brief, if you will leave here,
instanter, for St. Petersburg, in an excellent
traveling carriage, your will find Place St.
Michel, a few steps only from the theatre,
a luxurious hotel, which I present you, com
pletely furnished and filled with servants,
who will obey you blindly in everything.—
You can take two lady's maids with you,
and two carriages will be at your orders. I
have hired, at the theatre, a stage box on
the first tier. My steward will count to you
each month the sum you demand, and be
fore leaving Paris I will deposit with your
banker two hundred thousand francs to
your credit. Do not become alarmed too
soon; you are not to give me love, friendship, ,
or even gratitude for this; I promise never
to put foot inside your abode. You will re
ceive whom you please, except your husband,
and come and go as you like. All I ask is
—a seat at your side in your box at the
theatre, for eight performances. florgeon
has turned the laugh against use; I wish to
have it on my side now."
The young wife knew her husband's pc
culittr temperament well enough to feel how
cruel such a vengeance would be to him,
and what terrible consequences might ensue.
"You are mad," said she to the prince.—!
"There are many other ways of punishing
my husband. Send him to Siberia fur a
winter."
"Very difficult—l am not influential
enough."
The conversation was prolonged until
Marie's return, when Pauline obtained a
week for reflection and decision, which she
employed in consulting her female friends,
who were unanimous in advising her to ac
cept; some because they were glad to get rid
of a rival—others because they would re
joice at her reputation compromised by such
a scandal. They earnestly heightened her
husband's ill-treatment and scorn of her,
and the sweetness of revenge, nll of which
she heard dreamily, and finally (what will
you think of the paradoxes of a woman's
heart when I tell you?) accepted only be
cause she was dying of the desire to see her
husband again. And proof of her disinter
estedness was, that she refused the Prince's
two hundred thousand francs.
She left Paris the lst of December, and
arrived in St. Petersburg on the 15th, in
magnificent sleigh, emblazoned with the coat
of arms of the Prince. Vasilikoff had ar
rived two days before, and the whole city,
Russians, French and Gorgeon knew of the
expected event of Pauline's entry.
The Prince gave her fifteen days to re
cover the fatigues of her journey, and she
had a further delay of a week, during which
Gorgeon did not play. She regarded the
play-bills each day, as the prisoner of the
Reign of Terror used to look at the list of
the headsmen.
She enjoyed neither her splendid ward
robe, her princely house, nor any of the
luxuries which surrounded her, and the
chief coot —a miracle of Provence—ex
hausted all his gastronom is resources in vain
—she had no more appetite.
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
The sixth of January (new style) the bill
announced to her that Gorgeon was to play
that evening in "Le diner de Made
She wished to write and ask grace of the
Prince; but her cousin advised her to write
to her husband, which she did, in a tender,
supplicating, and sincerely contrite spirit,
enclosing a withered flower, which they had
culled at Fountainbleau on their wedding
trip. Unfortunately, the man who carried
the letter wore the livery of the Prince.—
Gurgeon imagined it contained sonic new
insult, and threw it into the fire unopened.
In the evening, Pauline, more dead than
alive, allowed herself to be dressed, and ar
rived at the theatre doors with a faint hope
of not finding the Prince there; but he
sprang joyously from the vestibule, opened
her carriage door, and led her half fainting
to her box. The theatre was crowded, and
every glass was leveled at her, as she threw
herself unconsciously into an arm chair, ex
actly beneath the gas chandelier.
The curtain rose; Pauline was seized with
vertigo, and saw nothing—heard nothing,
though she sat upright, and her eyes were
fixed on the stage.
Gurgeon had steeled himself to bear all,
and covered his paleness with a double coat
of rouge, though he forgot to paint his lips,
which were livid. Ile played his part
throughout without failure or interruption,
save by the plaudits of his compatriots, and
the ironical applause of the Russians, who
were disposed to turn to the side of the
Prince. The curtain fell, and Pauline was
carried to her carriage.
The next evening Gorgeon played Macha
voiner in "Le Misanthrope et l' Auvergnal,"
admirably. Brassieur never did it better!
The French audience had brought wreaths
and crowns of laurels and roses, and the
Russians were furnished with crowns of
vegetable leaves, and other absurdities, all
of which rained together on poor Gorgeon,
while some poor wit shouted (as he left the
stage) "My compliments to Madame." Ger
geon wept with rage as he entered his dress
ing -room, and finding on the table a new
letter from Pauline, wet with tears, he tore
it savagely up, and threw the fragments
into the fire.
M3I
After those two horrible evenings, Pau
line besought the Prince to dispense with
the other six, Gorgeon was more then suf
ficiently punished.
Vasilikoff was amiable enough to drop
half his vengeance, and declared that after
two more nights Pauline should be freo.—
"Gorgeon," he said, "had played him off
eight times, but he thought his comedy
uught to count double, and four perform
ances would heal his wounded honor."
They were to play, the two succeeding
nights, an amusing vaudeville of Messrs.
Xavier and Varin, called, "La colcre
Achille." The hero of the piece, dchi lle
Pangolin, is a modern "Sganarelle, who
finds in everything a cause for suspicion and
jealousy. If he discovers a cane in his en
try he thinks it was left by a rival. and
breaks it to atoms without recognizing it as
his own. He forgets his hat in his wife's
I chamber, and returns for it; seizes it, and
crushes it furiously up, looking savagely
around at the same time, in every possible
corner, for the owner of the cursed hat.—
Finally, in a climax of' despair, he resolves
on suicide, and loads a pistol to blow out his
brains; but a scruple arrests him. Ire
wants to destroy himself, to be sure; but he
does not wish to give himself pains. So, to
conciliate his horror of existence with his
tenderness for his flesh, be places himself:
before a mirror, and suicides his image. !
The piece on the first night achieved an
enthusiastic success. Two hours before the
performance, Gorgeon had refused to receive
a visit from his wife, and he played the part
of the enraged Achille con more. Unfortu
nately, the theatre pistol was a venerable
relic, which would not go off' until after the I
third attempt. But Gorgeon said to the
manager, as he made an excuse after the
performance: "Never mind—l've got an ex
cellent pistol in my room, which bring
for to-morrow's performance, and which 11l I
promise not to fail." Sure enough, the next
evening he brought a double-barrel pistol of ,
admirable workmanship. "You see," said !
he to the manager, "if the first barrel fails ,
I can fire the second."
He acted with a force and spirit beyond
,his happiest antecedents.
At the last scene, instead of firing into the
mirror, be turned the barrel of his weapon
rapidly round and shot his wife through the
heart; then, before the spectators had re
covered their presence of mind, be blew out
his own brains with the second barrel.
The performance was of course interrupt
ed, and the tragedy made a great hubbub
in St. Petersburg. It was Prince Yasilikoff
who related it to me.
"Would you have believed it?" cried he,
as ho finished the tale, "Gorgeon and Pau
line had really married for love? That's
the way with you people at Paris:"
ra''We lately heard n vulgar politician
boast upon the stump that he and Daniel
Webster once staid over night at the same
public house. It must have been a house
of "entertainment for man and beast."
¢S-The Spirit of Daniel 'Webster was
called up lately in a spiritual circle in North
ampton, Maas. Ile confessed he had made
many mistakes in his social and pulitical
life while on earth and in his Dictionary.
lIM,.Why can a person cook eggs sooner in
England than in America? Because in
England all that. he has to do is to steal them,
and they immediately become poached.
[WHOLE NUMBER, 1,440.
Convents and Coquetry
"How hard it is to decide for one's self!
If there's a trial in this world it lies in the
exercise of free will."
"Wherefore, Lizzie?" asked her father.
"Of course we wish to do everthing that
pleases our fancy," replied Lizzie, "and of
course we wish to oblige our friends; and
so of course we propose and promise every
thing, until one thing gets in another's way,
and all are confused, everbody's disap
pointed, and we don't do anything at all.—
I'm tired of life. I wish I were a nun."
"Let me see," said her father, '
many gentlemen have asked my leave to pay
their addresses to you?"
"Nine, I suppose," said Lizzie.
"And how ninny have you at various
times accepted?"
"Eighteen," she replied.
"That is a fair beginning for a nun; but
what's the trouble now?"
"Why, to tell the truth, father, I have
made seven engagements for this afternoon,
and all with different individuals. What
shall I do?"
"Say that, being indisposed, you bare
decided on remaining at home and reading
the paper to me, like a dutiful child."
Lizzie's face brightened. "I know a plot
worth two of that." said she. "We will take
a walk together; for one doesn't wish to be
poring over politics on such an afternoon as
this. Wait till el ening, and then I'll rend
you to sleep."
"Oh, you must excuse me, child; I am
busy this afternoon."
"But I cannot excuse you," said Lizzie.
"We shall both enjoy the walk; and think
of being preferred to all the beaux in Wil
mington! I will wear my gray mantle and
my new Paris bonnet, and you'll be proud
of your daughter! There! I know you will
go; I see it in your face. I have rung the
bell, and when Mary comes you must get
ready, for I'm away."
An only child, educated by a doting
father—for her mother had died at her birth
—Lizzie Lee had known as little trouble or
restraint as could well fall to a mortal's lot.
Accomplished and sprightly, elegant rather
than beautiful, with fine hair, a pleasant
voice, and unquestionable taste in dress, she
took the lead in the gay society of Wilming
ton. Many lovers made fullest possible ac
knowledgement of her fascinations by offer
ing hands and hearts, which were accepted
for awhile in an obliging way, and then
forgotten.
Mr. Lee was yet in the prime of life,
handsome in person, courtly in manners.—
Wealthy and indolent, he had gradually
abandoned his profession, and suffered his
fine abilities to remain unused, while he de
voted himself to the enjoyment of belles let-
Ins and society. He and Lizzie were mu
tually fond of each other, and took care as
seldom as possible to cross each other's in
clinations.
"Mr. Breckenridge," said Mary, as she
brought her master's coat, "the gentleman
who was here last night, is in the parlor
waiting for Miss Lizzie."
"Didn't you know that Miss Lizzie was
out?"
—No, sir," replied the servant; "I saw her
in her room two minutes ago. I expect she's
going to walk with Mr. Breckenridge; he
said so."
"Lizzie must really mend her ways,"
muttered the father. "What can I say for
her? The youth is no fop. I like him and
lie deserve , ; better treatment."
Lizzie appeared in due time, magnificent
in finery, and found her father alone in the
drawing-room. "Why, I thought Norval
Breckenridge was here?" said she.
"He has been here." replied her father,
"but, in spite t,f my apologies, went home
offended, I think. It is wrong—wrong,
Lizzie, to multiply engagements as you do.
This young lieutenant ran all risk to obtain
an hour's leave of absence that he might
keep the appointment with you.
"Oh, well, don't scold, papa. I feel sorry
.nyself, but I can console him easy enough.
Do you know I n.ean to marry Breckenridge."
"Do you love him?" asked her father.—
"Here's something new."
"As well as I know how," said Lizzie.—
"To toll the truth, father, I seem to have
used up my heart by little and little upon
all the multitude of lovers I've endured; and
now that I am growing old—twenty to-mor
row:—should be glad to settle down in life,
and be somebody's dutiful spouse. I don't
know how to begin, and am as ignorant as
a country lass that never had an offer in her
life. I haven't any heart, I'm tired of flirt
ations. Come, father, let us go abroad."
six youths forgave Lizzie Lee fur that
day's ' disappointment, in consideration of a
but the seventh avoided her with si-
I lent dignity. It was the one for whose for
giveness she cared more than fur all the
rest—it was Norval Breckenridge. If he
had only been angry she would have felt
him in her power, and soon have wearied of
him afterwards; but now his indifference
was too tantalizing; she watched jealously
his attentions to other ladies, her pride was
piqued, she grew angry, and—in love. She
urged still more strongly to go abroad, and
her father's consent once obtained, they de
parted the following week.
And too late Lizzie found that what she
was flying in search of Fbe had left at home
--content, repose—which all the world
could not furnish. Restlessly she moil
from city to city, viewing scenery, pictures,
architecture, and listening to music, all in
vain. Visions of „an earnest, manly face
"how