' .• i • • , • I • • _ . • • t . • • • 1 - • . 1 . 1 : .- , . • • • ' - • ' • • - - • • ••• , • • r • • , . . . fr - • • , - • •, r *. -I , P.. 1 •- ~ • • .. • SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor. • OLUME XXVIII, NUMBER 43.] ;PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING Vffice in Northern Central Railroad Cem tE(lny'eßuilding,north-weeleorner Front and )Walnut streets. ' Tanis of Subscription. deem Cop y per aunaar,ir paid in advance, sa . 6 •. if not paid.wittutt three months from commencement of the year, 200 Cteaa.tas IL C. 1 01:03T. _ . No subscription received (or a less time than sir almouths;, and no paper will be discontinued Milli all aarrearages are paid, unless at the option of the pub- Unr"Money may lee remitted by mail at the puhlish ftes•Sisk. ' • ' Rates of Advertising. , * wr i tare Pi limes) one week, *0 39 three weeks, 7.5 e: seek, subsequent i :nettles, 10 II i, mu neii _ 1 neeek, , • 50 . . , , ~ ,three weeks, ii. t 00 . • each subsequent Insertion, NZ thrrgeradvertisennentsin proportion. _ • . . liberal discount wi II be Laude qurterl y, half rearly.or yeariyadvortisers,who are strictly confined Soibeir* business.. DR. 'S. ARMOR, :.11011gEOPAT11.10 .PHYSICIAN, 7 • COLUMBIA, PA. Orstor AND Resumica—Second Street, ace door from Walnut. . • March 13,1858; ' ' (O • . . JUSTICE OF 11113.PFACE, Columbia,' It J OFFICE, in • :Whipper's New Budding, below 'Meek's Elotel; Front street. .Wier" Prompt attention given to nil business entrusted to his care. November 28,1E157. 'DN. G. W. MIFFLIN, ' WNTIST, Locust street, — a few doors above 3_l ,he Odd Fellows' Hall, Columbia, Pa. Columbia. May 3. 1856. H. M. NORTH, ATTORNEY AND : COUNSELLOR : Air LAW. Il Columbia, Pa. Colleetloae, .rompdl made, la Laneasteraad York Cam tie*. Columbia, ANT 4,1850• ' 3. W. FISHER, • Attorney and Counsellor at Law, xszt- Colorable, September 6, 155641 'GEORGE J. SMJTII, WHOLESILE and Retail•Breal aidtake - Baker.—Constantty on hand n variety - of Cakea, goo numerous to toe Wiwi; Crackerr; Soda, Wine, Scroll, and Sugar Biscuit; Confectionery, of every dexrription, • LOCUST sTrmr, Feh.2,'S6. Between the Bank and Fnniklin House. Cold Cream of Glycerine, -DOLL the Cure and Prevention of Chap ped Molds. For auto by Dr. E. D. maul. Col.. Nov. 7,1587. Golden Mortar Drug *tore WISTAWS BALSAM OF 'WILD CHERRY, for Coughs, Co &e . for vale at bIcCORKLE & Family Medicine Stare, Odd Fellows , Ball. Columbia, Oct. 3L, UM. WOOLLEY'S ill Beating and Strengthen ing Solve, for role at McCORKUR & DELLETDS Family Medicine store, Odd Fellowa' Mall. Columbia, 0et.:31 .15157. I f lOU Starch, Farina, Rico Flour, Tapioca, %) Sago, Oat Meal, Arrow Root. &e., at the FAMILY .MEDICINE STORE, , 40,'57. Odd Fellows' Hall. JUST received, three dozes Dr. Bration's Vegetable.A.tere. a certain care for Dyspepsia; Also, a fresh lot of Sap Sago and Pine _Apple Cheese, ,Fain* and ComuStarch, at D. DERR'S Sept .5,1857. Grocery and Liquor Store. I.IAIB DYE'S. Jones' Battle Peter's and Egyptian hair d) en, warranted to color the hair 'any desired shade, moUiout injury to the skin. For bale y R. WILLIAMS. Maylo, Front at., Columbia, Pa. ,SOLUTION OF WRITE OF MIGNESIA,or Fur .llo valve Mineral Witter.—This pleasant medicine which is highly recommended as a substitute for !Epsom seidlitz Powders, he.. run be olaainrd elesh every day at Da. E. D. 111i1211•6 Drug Store, tEront st. fyd LAMPS, LAMPS, LAMPS. Jost received of Here+ Drag . tnore, 11, new anti beautiful lot of Metope at all deeertptions. Mar 1, Mt AsUPERIOR article of burning Fluid just received and for sale by H. SUYDAM A. SON. ALARGE lot of City eared Dried Beef, kid received at H. SUYDAM it - Columbia, December 20,1850. "{COPLAND'S. German Bitters. For sale at & DEILLETrd Family Itlediciue Store, Odd Fellows' July 45. IRS 7. PORTLY Produce tongantly on hand an d N_/ for salt by It. EOLJYDAM & 80N. ONINY, Cranberries, itaisins, Figs, Aim- Duds, Walnuts, Cream Na', kc., just received N. 1M1TD.A.74 as see's. Columbia, De.e. 20, 1856 ASUPERIOR lot of Black and Greta Teas, Cafes and Chocolate, just received at K. MCIRIAIK & SOWS Dee. 20,1856. Corner of Front and Union pas. glitillTO, a beautiful assortment of Glass Ink stand., et the Headquarters and we Depot. Cotentin., April 18,1857. SITU Family and Superfine Ear of . the best brand, for sole by ff. SUYDAtI & SON. • TIN received' 1000 lbs. extra double balled Back whom. Meal, at Dee.so, WM. H. SUYDAM & SOWS. WIRELI-jpganiarteeas Nast or Baking Powder, for sale by H. SUYDAM & SON. k 1101IPSOW&jusUreciabratedeom x *weal and other Gold Penf—the NWil in the anartet—ldalreceived. Gottnebia,Oprilltd.l6l3. IT should azyperson do without a Clock, 4,13 V wbentbe7 can be bad torsl,seand nperarde • BHRELNErift f 19.18,55. !,!L .1 reed Hula 0 D o ni r ;• 84 ore l, ll , I.; ,gona. ..••• • . • • Epd Golden M orta r_ - treb. d. 11717.• imoort. OIL. CLOTAIS,2II widths, ji and Carpeting% 0711 . fate cheap. 47_ Oct. 10, t 8.57. I. O. DRAW.% &CO. iIATE AND CAPE, an:table for the wares, and at low prices, at the Corner orThird and Union sta. Oet.. 18,1E37. 001:1DIG GLASSES, .11 fires. by I. 0. GRUNER .1c CO.. ()eta°, ISS7. - Corner of' Third cad Union its iIHEAP While, Rea owl Yellow Weiol Flammlove F.; Wool Yon, all.cobwo sod • October le, NW. BRUNER'S. CIALT by the sank or bushel. and Mackerel by the 13 barrel or retail, as 1„11. BRUNER & CO'S. October 10, 1557. • - R 1 6R3 MN d TOEI4CCQ, of different F brands, wboles‘le Owl retail.lvr • October 10,11 1 57. 1. O. BRUNER 4,c CO. jrnmux sod sock Salt, by Mc sack or traskel,for %IL sate tow. by • Oct. I% 1857. D 8 (MATH'S ISLFACTRIC OIL . Jost reaePie.l. *sea :applyoftYfapopularremedy, and Cor oalic _ ft. W 4.1.10115. la Q=:== A'LARGE nottruaent ontoprig. an sizes etal lengths, on bawl anti for male at 7110 S. VVEUSO'S, M=ZM A118:1v lot of WHALE AND CAE GREASING OILS, received al the store of the volovrilser. R. WI LUAUS. NeylBsll s • Front Street, Columbia, Pc I.A.ttrg. - Two Dark Days. the dread day.thut calla thee hence, Tbrouilt a red mist of fear should lodm, '(Closing in deadliest might and gloom,' Long hours of-aching dumb , suspense) 81 50 And leave me to my lonely doom. • I think, beloved, I could see In thy dear eyes'the loving sight , Glaze into vacancy and night, And still my, "GMI is good to rne, And all that he decrees is right." ; That watching thy slow straggling :breath{ And unswering each perplexed sign, I still could pray thy prayer' and mine, And tell thee, dear, tboaeh this was death; That God wu love, and love divine. Could hold thee in any arms, and lay ,Upon my heart thy ,weary head, .dud meet thy hist smile ere it fled; Then hear coin It'clnsiun, one say', 'Now all.ls over,--ihe is - Could smooth thy garinents with fond mire, And cross thy, hands upon shy breast, And kiss thine eyelids down to real, , And yet say no word of despair,' • •• But, through my sobbing. It is best. . Could stifle down the gnawing pain, • • And say:"We still divide our life, She has the rest and I the strife, And mine the loss and hers the gain: wrin will, bliss (other is rife, Then turn, and the old duties take,— Alone now.—yet with earnest Will Gathering sweet sacred traces still To help me on, and, for thy sake, Idy heart and life and soul to fill. I think I could check vain weak lean, And toil,—although the world's great space licld nothing but one vacant place, And see the dark and weary years • Lit only by a vanished grace. , , • And sometimesrnben the day was o'er, Call up the tender poet amtim • Its painful joy, its happy pub', • And Mir it over yet once more, And say, "but (ow more years remain." • ' And then; when I had striven my .And all around would softly say, "See how Time makes all grief decay," To lie down thankfully to rest, And seek thee in eternal day. If But if the day should ever Hac— h could not and it can not be— Vet, if the son should ever see, Looking upon ue from his slits, A day that took thy heart from me; If forint; thee still more and more, And still so willing to be blind, should the bitter knowledge find, That Time bad eaten out the core Of love, and left the empty rind; Of the poor lifeless word., at last, The soul gone, that woo once so sweet, Should cease my eager heart to cheat, And crumble back into the past, And show the whole a vain deceit; If I should see thee turn away, And knew that prayer, and time, and pain, Could no more thy lost love regain, Than bid the hours of dying day ' ' ' .Gleam in their mid-day noon again. If I should lose thy hand, and know net henceforth we must dwell apart, , Since I bad seen thy love depart, , And only count the hours flow By the dull throbbing of my heart. If I should gam and gaze in rain Into thy eyes so deep and clear, And read the truth of all my fear with pity for my pain, And sorrow for the vanished year, If sot to grieve thee overmuch, I strove to counterfeit disdain, And wenveaw a new life again, Which thy life couldbot mar or touch, And so smile down my bitter pain, The ghost of my dead past would rise And mock me,and I could 'not dare Look to a future of despair, . Or even to the eternal skies, For I should mill be lonely there. All Troth, all Honor, then would seem Vain clouds, which the first wind blew by; AU Tills; a folly doomed to die; All Life, a useless empty dreamy All Love,—sinee thine had failed—a lie. Bat see, thy tender smile has east My fear away: this thought of mine , is treason to my Love and Iliac For Love Is Life, and Death at last Crowns it eternal and divine: • grtedigno. lam a shy young man; with a limited in• come. My residence is in the oountry—my hair is light—my cheeks are rosy—my eta ture is small—my manners are' mild—my name is Koddle. - . , How it is that professed literary gentlei , men contrive 'to slide as smoothly as they do, oat of" one topic and into another, with. out the slightest appearance of any sicomm partying jerk, is a mystery to roe. I,wsinttri tack on to the information imputed in my first paragraph, two additional facts: first, I I that I am anxious to be settled in Ilk- see ondly; that -I bare my eye' on d young we ll Man. But there • seems, somehow, to be a (disrespectful abruptness inmestioning tbe okjeet of my attachment in that way: , /tis as if I dragged her into 'these pages by the neck and shoulders, instead- - of appearing serenely before the public gaze, with charmer escorted-on my arm. Iler residence is in the country—her hair is light—tier cheeks are Misjr—,-Insr'Statare is small-4u manners are . nsild. Except' that. she, has no haisomii at all, and that ber Sod ' dle, my young -woman is -wonderfully like me in everything; extreme shyness irieln• ded. Under these circumstances, it is per remarkable that I should be so fondof her se I em! 'can't siceMiiitibrthat: • lint I can smooth Jimmy anotberlittle difficulty; I can eiPLun hoW it, is.that"-I have-not yet imparted the state of my affections. I don't know how. , - • - - - I. <X .1111lifHPit CO. NO.l. High *creel "blouse, Mi se, MarrY . M l a h .l.• • Toci abrupt, "by other seJf.l plunge your hand into my bosom, extract the throbbing preainousehom Wonis k Shy Scheme. ' " ' N'O .ENTERTAINMENT SU,CELEAP, AS' READLNG, NOR' - ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COTATAIta,' PENNSYLVANIA, SATIIRDAY MORNING, MAY 1, 1858. , . principle - . within, observe whether it adores you or not, and if : appearance..mire satisfac tory, keep it forever." PreLty„but, perhaps, at .the sastke,,time incomprehensible to a practical young woman of the present day. Ogling! Will ogling alone do it? : Possibly; but; I. have not , the right ,kind of eyes for that-exercise. My organs of ogling are too light in color r too small,in size, and too .stiff in theitaction for flttpurpose. Perpetual sighing? She might mistalc . c.ruy intentions, andSaney. that I was only endeavoring to express to her ts_wretched state othealth.— A. sudden dart at, her ,in her, father's pres ence, and , an ,affeetionate„clasping of her round the waist undt;r 4 er father's astonished eyes? .- Could, that! excellent .gentleman be _depended on to, start from hischair, and say, "Scoundrel, what ,are your ,intentions?"— and could I make sure•pf having presence of, mink enough -to ; drop on ; my knees and reply instantly,,"Dear • sir, they are strictly honorable?. ' I,fear not; it takes so much to get some parents out of their chairs, and so little to upset a lover, like ,me. Shall' I _write, to her father? Then there is the dreadful.embarrassment of the first meeting with her afterwards. Shalt :I -write-to the charmer herself?. The santeembarrassznent still lies-in wait - for me. I can't express it in words, or looks, or sighs, , or. sudden em braces, or epistolary correspondence.• What am Ito do? Again the humiliating cantos- . sion escapes me; again - Iwaswer—l • don't know. • • t,- . This is .a serious, and, as I am inclined to think, even a sad state of - things. Here , is my future depending on •my doing -some , thing—and I can't do it. Even if I could find the courage•to make• the offer, I should not feel .certain of 'discoVering, at the same time, the -words in which to express it: In this matter! such awful ifiterests depend upon such - shacking trifles. , • I know a heart rending case in point. -A friend of mine, almost as shy as ram myself, armed him self with the resolution which I do not pos sess, watched his opportunity,. and started with his offer of marriage to the object of his affection.•, It' was in the • winter time, and he had a cold.. He advanced about . six words into the preparatory sentence; the lady was listening with modest, yet encour aging attention—he go to the seventh word, and felt a sudden titillation in the upper part of his nose—he pronounced the eighth word, and—burst into a shrill, raging screaming sneeze! The lady (who can blame her?) after a noble effort to preserve her self-contaol, 'fell back into ,the chair in convulsions of, laughter.. An •offer is an.es sentially serious thing; who could• proceed with it under: those circumstances? Not my frend, at any rate. He tried to , begin again, two or three days afterwards, At his first looktif•unutterable lovei.at his first 'approach .to •the tender topic, - lie saw the -lady's face get red, and the lady's lips des perately compress themselves. The horrid explosion of the sneeze was firing itself off again in her memory—she was shaking all over with suppressed laughter. •lle tried a third time; the -same result followed: • and then he gave it up. ,They.have never met since; they never , will meet. • They were made -for each other by nature; they -were sweetly and - suitably matched •in age; for tune, social position and•zautual tastes:— And what has rudely torn them asunder forever?—a sneeze! - I write this with tears In my eyes, and - do , not envy the feelings o any man or woman who can laugh at it. • ' To return to My `own' case. It is very hard, I think, that no provision is made for bashful - men like ttie, ivhd•Vraitt to declare the state of their affections, who are'not ac- Custorned 'to female society, and Who ftre habitually startled and confused, even on ordinary occasions, whenever they bear the 'sound of their own voices. There are peo ple ready to assist us in every oiher' ewer , gency of our being; . but in the greatest dif ficulty of all, we are inhumanly left to .help onrselres. 'There . have been ono or two rare occasions, on which ono or two unpar 'aliellea women have nobly Steeped forward ais4 relieved us of our humiliating position as speeohle L si suitors, by 'taking all the em barrassment of making the offer on their own shoulder. I knOW an instance of this, and I feel bound tatelate it,ns a, sotithiit,g contrast to the hirroning anecdote which I lia've:juit . told. 'Our curate where Ilive, has been all his life it. martyr to shyness; and but for the admirably decided conduct of his wife under Erring eirountsnumees,..l happen to know that he'Wpald , never hags been the father "of the ten sweet children Who wits - enliven. and adorn his `existence. H 9 was justin my miserablap?eition, when he was' kindliinvited to tea muffins) ono ;evening, by his (Igal:eer's'', agreeable mother.: At the head of the table sat this estimable' woman, in nnewiap:'', At the foot of the table sat her aceoniplished denghter,, in a new gown. " Between theM Sat my friend the curate, looking in speech = loseonfusion at a plate of Muffins placed einellyopposita to him. Ni, other visitor Marred the barnlolll'ot the deMestie scene. They hedn cup of tee all round, and aplate of inuilintindinifriendnevereixike., They had s secOnd cup. Of 'tea; stint:tor then , the irst,. and' . a' seiond plate of muffins :more richly bettered.. Even this encouragement failed• to loosen the entitle's tonkue. At the tliiid - Cup; and pending lite strilvMa of the third plate of menthes, the avpressive eyes of Use daughter vested *significantly on the comitenance of her maternal parent.- "Mamma," she said, with a kind of silvery caheness. "mamma, shall .1 have him?— - "My dear," replied ,the indulgent Judy, "have I ever thwarted you in any of your little caprices? Please yourself, doi.e;• please yourself.", _ The third plate of muffins came in. It. was set. down in solemn' silence.— The mother took a bit encouragingly; the curate took a hit confusedly ; the daughter took 'a bit medibitively. "I think," she said after a moment of charming reverie, "I think, Mamma, I will haie ,She turned and looked critically,at the curate; waited till he had, with great difficulty, dis posed of a mouthful of muffui;* and then held out her hand, with * fascinating frankness. "There:' she said, "don't let us make a fuss Want it. There is my hand!" Six weeks afterWardi he was married, and has - been' the happiest man in existence ever since:' Such a case as this is, unfortunately, an exceptional one. It has bean most hastily and most , unwarrantably established as a social principle, that alElltrien a:re,audacions and enterprising in their love affairs, because they are men; and on these manifestly false grounds, the conclusion has been adopted that it is invariably the business of the man to make• the offer. Dear, dear me: are we all:Bon Juan's? Is there no such being in ex isteaceas a, bashful man? On the other hand, are all young women naturally strupk speech less with confusion at the mention of mar riage?. Bo they all fall into suchcouvulsions of modesty at the first prospect, of assuming bridal responsibilities, as }sally, to. lose the admirable self possession which de one of the mostcharming , attributes of the sex in every other circumstance of life?, My :own observation of the appearance of brides and bridegrooms, under the trying ordeal, of the wedding-day, induces me to believe that the loss of self-possession is almost invariably on the man's side. It is my firm opinion (sup posing myinind to be sufficientlyrohust to sup porta firu. oppit ion about any thing) that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the offer of marriage would be much more _quickly, sensibly, and irrestibly made if it came from the lady instead of the gentleman ; and.l would respectfully invite any man who dis agrees with me to compare the behavior of the bride with the behavior of the bride groom the next time he goes to a wedding. The wisdom of the ancients seems to have sanctioned some such salutary change of custom as that which propose at the period of leap-year. But the practice has fallen into disuse ; and the modest men of the community have suffered unspeakably in consequence. , . r . If I had only the courage,, .I would sug gest to some of those public spirited ladies who aro so nobly trying to take away from the, men everything they haye_ got, and to give it all to the women, that they. might make out a very strong case against the male population, if they accused my grasp ing sex of monopolizing the right of making Offers. The first offer in the, world was made„in that matter of the apple, by Eve, who was not bashful, to Adam, who was: Why have Eve's daughters (I would ask, if I were ' one of the public spirited ladies) al lowed the privilege exercised by their first mother to slip through their fingers in this disgraceful manner ? What is the use of talking of the equality of the sexes as long as one sex perpetually exercises the right of putting-the question, and leaves to the other .sex only the inferior awl secondary privilege ef giving the answer? Let it be understood, for the future, that the men are to take their turn 'of waiting until they are spoken to. Let every other year . be considered, for matrimonial purposes, a leap year, and give the unhappy bashful bachelor agood twelve month's chance of getting an offer.. It may be Objected, I know, that, even in the e event of thiewliotesome reform in our manners being Ferried nut, I could scarcely hope to be per sonally a gainer by it, seeing that my young woman is, according to my own confession, as ietiring in her habits as lam myself., I can only answer to this, that I have noticed, I on the few ; occasions when I have had op, portunities cf exercising my observation, a great difference to exist between the shyness of tyvernan and the shynesi Of a man. To refer to my own case, I have.remarked that say,ehariner's shyness differs from mine is being manageable, graceful, and, more than that, in being capable of suppressing itself And. of assuming a disguise of the most amazing coolness and self possession.on car- , Lain, trying occasions! I have heard the object of my affections condemned by igno rant strangers as a young woman of unplea santly audacious manners, at the ;very time when my intimate familiarity with her character assured me that she was secretly suffering all the miseries of extreme con fusion and self-distrust. Whenever I see her make up a bold face, by drawing her hairOff,her forehead, and showing the lovely roots all round ; whenever I hear her talk; ing with extraordinary perseverance, and laughing with extraordinary readiness.; , whenever I see her gown particularly large in, pattern, and berribands dazzlingly bright in color—then, I feel certain that. she is privately.quaking with all the most lade scrible and most unreascoable terrors of shy ness. Knowing this, I should not be at all apprehensive of a long pariod„of silence elapsing, if a reform iu ow : social laws authorised my charmer -to help see out by making my offer for me. ...She would do ,it, I know, with an appearance of extraordina ry indifference andgravity—with her utmost fluency of utterance, with her most .nelli fluently easy laughter—in, her gown of the largest pattern, in her ribandsof the fiercest brightness—with her poor heart .thumping the whole time as if it would burst, and with eyery nerve in her body trembling all over,from bead to foot. My experience has not been a large one—but that is my humble idea of the nature of a woman's shyness.. flowerer, it is uselcs to speculate on what might happen if the oppressive laws of court ; ship were relaxed—for no such welcome event is likely to take place. It will be more to the purpose, perhaps, if I venture on iutroduc ing a little practical suggestion of my own' which struck me while I was meditating in my unhappy . position, which involves no sweeping change in the manners and cus toms-of the age, and which, so far as I know,, has never made its appearance in • print before. I am informed, by persons of experience in the world of letters (about Which'l myself know nothing,) that the ladies of the pre sent century have burst inton every depart ment of literature,..have carried off the ac cumulated raw material from under men's I noses, and have manufactured it to an enor mous an unheard•of extent -Tor the public I benefit: lam told that out of everytwelve poems or novels that are written, nine at least are by ladies ; that they write histories, in six or eight volumes, with great ease and satisfaction to themselves, while the men can only compass the same achievements with extrem difficulty, in one or two vol umes; and.: that they: are perpetitally producing books of travels which-are all about them selves and-their Own sensations, without the slavish fear of that possible imputation •of self-conceit which so often lurks in the more timid bosom of man. I am particularly rejoiced to hear of this, because my sugges tions involves nothing less than the writing of one gigantic book by - elf the ladies of Great Britian put together. --What I•pro pose is a Hand Book of Courtship, written by all British wives, and edited, with notes,' by alLßritish daughtors. The magnitude of my own idea absolutely takes away- my breath—,-and. yet, the execu tion of it is so unimaginably easy that the hand book might be ready for publication in six months' time. I propose that every Married .Lady in • the country shall write, down. the exact words (for surely her affec tionate heart must remember them,) which her husband used when he made his offer to her; and that she shall then add to that in teresting report of the offer, illustrative .particulars of the circumstanees under which it mas made, and, of the accompanying ac tions (if any) by which the speaker empha sised the all-important words as they fell from his lips. ,I would have the:Returns thus prepared, collected, as, • the In come Tax Papers are, with the most extreme care and the most, honora-I hie' seeresy,._ ,They shall be afterwards shuffled together in. baskets, and distributed, one by one, just as they happen to turn up, among the Unmarried Ladies of the country,; with, the following brief formula. of two questions attached: First. Would the form of offer presented herewith, have' proved to be a satisfactory one, in your case 1' And if not, will you state in what particulars you think it might be improved? Second. Would .the accompanying actions by which the offer was pressed on the kind attention of the in- dividual addrissed, have specially inclined you to favor it with a suitable reply ? And,; if not, what improvements in the way •of addition or suppression, would you be disl posed, in: , the strictest confidence, to suggest? I When the necessary answers to these ques-1 tions had been given, I would have the! Papers again collected, on tho same income I tax principle ; . and would immediately set the printers at -work The Married Ladies Re- Wens should form the text, and tho Unmar riod Ladies' Returns should be-added in the form of -notos:• No • ' names - -or addresses shciuld appear!anywhere. The book should I be bound in virgin white, 'with orange-flower deborations on the - back. It should be Print-1 ed in rose-color ink, and it should'be issued.' to the world from a publishing house estab lished for the purpose in Doctors' Commons. What an inestimable bachelor's Manual this would be! What *ehminden it would have among all classes I What a delightful isense of• confidence it Would awaken in the mind of the diffident male reader I How could any go wrong with the fiend Book to 'refer; to, before ho committed himself to a. positive course of action ? If I had such a. book within my reach at this moment, I. might look out and learn, the form of offer l'which felt to be most suitable in my own' Immo ; might: discover and correct its little human imperfections, by -reference to. the, critical notes appended to it ; and might become a happy accepted man (if I could depend upon my memory) by to-morrow at , latest. How many other men might-enjoy the same benefit, if the -practiCal results - or the experience of others' were thus - placed at their disposal—how many extra marriages might be solemnized in the course of the first yeaeafter the publication of the Hand. .Book-;-I cannot presume to say. I can only point to the serious necessity that there is for 'bringing out: the .grest wnrk 'that 1 pro-, posed—l can-only implore the ladies to dertake it, in consideration .of the literary honor anatlory which it would confer ttpO'n the- whole sex. • , .• : „ In the meantime, here I ma, shyly hover ing. round my fate, and hopelessly ignorant hot- to rush in and' . cLoso'witb it; et once and Sorevei. If I cauld feel sure that the Bachelor's Manual was likely to be soon produced, kmight,portaaps, manage to wait for it. But in the absence of any positive information on the subject, I feel that I must make up my mind to do something des- $1;50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE;* 82,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE pernte immediately. A spoken explanation of my feelings—unless I could manage to catch my young woman in the dark—being. in my case; Manifestly out of the queition, I suppose - I must linslifully resign myself, after all, to the alternative of writing.— In the event of my mustering courage enough to compose the letter, and to send it off when done, the question is, How had I better behave myself, when the inevitable embarrassment of the first meeting with her comes afterwards? Shell I begin with words, or begin with actions? Or to be plainer still, which shall I address first, her waist 'or her mind? Will any charitable married lady kindly consider my especial weakness of disposition, and scud me pri vately one'ivord of achico as to which of these two delicate alternatives it will be safest for me to adopt? The . Widow'siu'ff CLIAPTCCI I. The first cold day which announces the close of autumn and the approach of winter, is a solemn and important epoch to a lady of fashion. She must, then, make due pre parations for the coming season. Winter is on his way, accompanied by concerts, and routs, and balls. 'What pleasures, what triumphs, bring he 'in his' train? IThat dresses shall •we invent to do him fitting honor? These are momentous questions, but cannot be decided until the reigning deities have issued tbeir fiat, fixing the fashions for the season. Until then, we must content ourselyes with last winter's velvet mantles, and thick cashmeres, and comfor table furs. • _ . So shought Madatne - Dubreuil, one of the most celebrated clegantcs of Paris. On that day—it . was,in the early part of last, .No 'venilier—,-witder 'had' suddenly announced himself, ands witli more asperity than usual. Madame Dubreuil was making her arrange ments against this sudden and unforeseen attack of the white-headed old gentleman, and skecould not help reflecting, while oc cupied in - these matters, on the rapid pro gress of time, on the happy days which had flown so ,quickly by, and on her own twenty eighth year, which was drawing Dear its close. Twenty-eight certainly cannot he consid ered, a despairing, or even a desponding age, and 3ladame . Dubrenil, as she glanced at ono of the mirrors in her boudoir,. was right in thinking that the ,had never been more lovely than at that moment. Up to that time, every day appeared to have only added to - her beauty, to have fur nished her with some new charm; but now she had , reached a perfection which she head not hope long to retain. It is not, therefore, to .be wondered at if the sight of her last winter's'habiliments - produced such various thoughts in the• mind of Mddame Dabreuil, as one by one she drew them forth fromitheir snug retreats. In a bits of sandal •wood reposed one of - the most lovely muffs ever produced from Siberian sables. ' The • fair lady /ooked at it with melancholYsmilcs, and asked herself, "How many things have happened since the last day I wore that muff? and what will be my fate before I again deposit it in that box ?" Prom these philosophical retlections my readers will alretidy hare imagined that Madame Duhreuil4s a widow. It is true. She had been married to a man much older than , herself; he was immensely rich, lived in magnificent,style; his ho use was visited by the first, people. He had. not been a kind or attentive husband, and, by way of making his wife lament his loss, he just before dying, made a wiil, bywhich he left the greatest bulk of his property to distant relations, with whom ho had scarcely ox changekth word. "This will bo a _very effectual method, to make her, regret me," thought this good_ husband, as •he penned his last wishes. "I torve habituated my wife to. luxury, to spending large sums of money. How will my widow weep for me when: she finds herself reduced to mediocrity, and is compelled to observe the most rigid economy? If I left her all my fortune, she would, perhaps, marry some one for whom . shonhas an, affection, and the comparison might not . be to my advantage." Thus was Madame. Dubreuil made the victim of self-love and the posthumous jealousy of her amiable spouse. To re nounce the pleasures of fashonablo life was impossible'; they had become a neces sity with her; to 'shine in the great world was' her only happiness, and the young widdir did•what many dandies do; her in come:nOt being sufficient for her expense's, 'she'encroached upon' the capital; and con 'tionod.litiiig in grand style. She calculat ed upon the - future, iiropn her charms, upon her aceomplishments; marriage Was a re- Isonzo ,whielf . could not fail her; so many admirers thronged around her, all of whom Weie.,piodigal of the most fervent protesta . • ;' The day had, however, arrived when Maclaine" Dubrenil perceived that it was absolutely necessary sho should bring her widowhood to - a close. Her capital had seriously diminished; time it-as running on, and although her looking glass still gave ber the most• brilliant assurances, -ahhough her admirers :potired their ardent vows and adolationdinto-hersar,-sho must listen to the ivies of re:neon. or -be:exposed:to the dread *Reroute of finding-herself without a lotris. 4 These Considerations had. led her to exclaim so .philosopbically, "dhow many things have happened since the last day I worn that snail'!'' (WHOLE. NUMBER, 1,448 She rook a rapid view of past events.--- 'Two incidents had occurred which seriously influence her future life: Nlllll these were connected two names; the recoi -1 lection of one produced a smile; the other a • slight knitting of the brows. These none, were Theobald and Baron de Grany. Madam Duhrenil had an excellent mem ory. She remembered perfectly that the last time she had worn her muff was on a line day in the month of April. The night before she had been at a grand ball ght en by her banker. Her dress on that occasion was of the most elegant description—a lace robe, a necklace of large pearls, and ant nral camelias in her hair. She had never had so great a crowd of admirers; her co quetry had never been more attractive or more killing; but in the midst of this great triumph her own heart had been severely scathed. A timid and amiabl,e young man whom she had tormented for her own ammo went, during the whole of the 'winter, at last obtained grace in her eyes, and she had confessed to herself, and then but whisper ingly, "I love him." To acknowledge this to him, it was necessary to wait a more suita ble 'place and opportunity; such an avowal could not be made during the intervals of a 'quadrille or a gallop; and 3fadaine Dubrcuil well knew that Theobald do Sarnaud was too assiduous to allow her to wait long for the opportunity she desired. As chance would have it, she met him the next day, the last appearance of the muff, at the Marchioness de Las Celle's, one of her intimate friends. Slit had gone ihere to Make a morning call. The drawing-room was full of company, and Theobald could only express his admiration by the eloquence of looks. llowever,ltt the moment Madame Dubreuil rose to take leave, and as she took her muffTrom'a-table on which she had laid it, Theobald approached, and whispered to her with mysterious emotion: "Remember! I wait my sentence." "Poor young man," thought the compas sionate widow; "he has suffered so longl The first time - I "can see him alone he shall know 'that he has gained his ease.". That evening Madame Dubreuil remained at houie to' repose herself after the fatigues of the ball: Her sleep was attended with the most -enchanting drenms. On waking, her first thoughts were of Theobald. "Shall I tell him 'to-day?" said she musingly; "it would be'very silly of him not to call." The' weather was most beautiful; it was the first day of spring. Madame Dubreuil was walking- out in the hope of meeting Theobald. In'the evening she went to tho opera, where she was a constant attendant. In vain`sliii directed her opera-glass to the stalls and to the boxes: Between the acts a gentleman visited Madame Dubreuil in her box, and . talke:d over the occurrences of the day. Among other matters, he said— "By-theThy, Madaine, are you aware that you have lost one of your most indefatigable ' dancers? fortunately, the season for balls draws near its-close." "And who is the derotee?" asked Madame Dubreuil. "It Is M. Theobald do Sarnaud, who has set off this morning for Italy." Gone! and at such a ,moment--withol waiting his sentence! This was the most poignant grief that Madame Duhrettil had ever suffered. Iu what way could Ellie no count for this precipitate departure! ,lie must have felt terrified at the decisive mo ment! Ho was so modest, so timid! =I! Some time ,after this event, which had made• a deep impression on the mind of 3l'me Dubreuil, she left Paris. Since her widowhood, she usually passed the summer at the country house of one of her aunts, !who had .dignified it with the name of 'Cha teau. 3l'sne Bouneval did not receive much company; her country guests were usually grave personages, some old friends of hers. On the present occasion the youngest of the society was a certain Baron de Grimy, who was only fifty years old; ho was a complete original; proud of his nobility—which was to say the least of it, but. doubtful—and of some military exploits that he took care to recount to every new comer, and which were still more apocryphal. Ile affected the frankness and rudeness of an old soldier, and whenever he had forgotten himself so far as to make use of terms not generally admitted in society, he excused himself I.y saying, "You need not expect that tut old warrior, bred iu camp, can have the soft tones and effeminate manners of a. city fop." Nothing could be more lecherous than hi, mode of expressing his admiration for Ma. dame Dubreail, for he bad become desper ately in love with her, and took every opportunity of paying her attention.— The lovely widow laughed at his awkward declarations, and appeared to consider them ea-in jest. This went on fur some time; but one morning the Baron, finding Madame Dub:sail alone in .the saloon, made bar formal tender of his hand and fortune, and by way of convincing her, en milikulre, that lse...was really in earnest, threw his arms around • her and insisted upon sealing the contract, which be thought too advantageous 'to refuse, with a salute. Madame Dubreuil, incensed a his rude conduct, violently rang the bell, called for her aunt, and declared to her that, if- Al. de _Grimy remained there she would leave the house. -The baron, who bad coldly seated himself in an arm chair, appeared much surprised at the unne cessary alarm evinced by the lady, and said "that he would love her time so consider the fhliy her conduct, and that he should
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