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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
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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
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,three weeks,
ii. t 00
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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