SAILLITEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXIX, NUMBER 1.5.]
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Woman or Wine
EME2EM
To the PrcAillent of the New fbgtlnntl ;Society, who
recommends the, introduction of Women to place of
'Wine at entertainments.
Oh, wont: ninth forilliarily'reforrner!
To substitute women for wine.
The glow of who, presence is warmer
Than =nuttiest Juice oh the vane.
Believe me. less fatal are juleps
Than woman in witchery •killed,
For there 00/1,5 more V.. 110111 from two lips
Than ever from grain .vas
Who barters for beauty his witidcey,
The change will be certain to rue;
For her •yes s h ill :1 span more fn-hYI
Titan lurks to the t' mountain dew."
.Ith ! those eyes at mull meeting co merry,
Von'll fiml to outttpark le chntnpagne!
.Allll ringlet. more golden tlimr , herry
' Will fuddle 1)8 well the poor brain.
More tapering necks than the bottle's,
With inottlhq more bewilderingly ' , owned,
♦Will pout from their rut taring throttles
A streutnttlat a sege would confound.
7f wine ;nuke, u. brute.. ins-c is aide
To turn us fool, to woh like ease ;
If the one Inge ilk under the tulle,
T'other brings us at lea , t to our Lure,
Still at table sOITIC mischief ...he's lerewtag;
Her feet scrape acquaintance below;
Alt! no heel tap.. so pregnant watt ruin,
As those hidden taps of the toe.
And hands,beiween courses at leisure,
111nke friends when there's no one to mark,
AU: less poison yield grapes under pres,ure
Than fingers !bus squeezed in the dark.
As home reels the taper of beauty,
How crimson his visage, poor elf!
how fevered he sleeps! how his duty
Is left to take care of itself!
When thwarted, Low• pa , xied hia power.,
Tdl he sinks in detpa , r at death's door;
Oh ! tf woman heryimini thus lower,
Say, what con the bottle do mare?
No spirit an orient as WOM:III . P.--
SO sure to iiitos:iciar roan;
Iler touch is "delirium tremens;'
That muddens lain more 1111111 it man
The glance of bar eye is "blue ruin,"
• Her blush is the blood of the vine,
Her pout is a punch in who, brewing
tr i us, sugar and spirit combine.
So sparlding, co heutiog. so bendy,
No hope for her vision uppeor-t;
Should her mode!, ouly render bun giddy.,
Ile%l be surely drunk milli her tenr.
Net the srapr•juice of lidert made Adam
So stupidly forfeit his all;
But the lure of Itiu yid:lWe mat'man
Led him tipsily on to his full.
Not the wines of fair Cyprus the rover,"
So Fine UR thin xi:OIMM beguile;
Better rest where tic is ' h half seas over,"
Than steer for Co fteol on I.le.
Ohl then shun such a teinrite r as this is,
Nor commence CO court,
Whn eitibarki on the w:n•ec of her
Will grieve that he ventured from Port.
EI tin it .
From NltAazioe.
My Landlady's Stoxy.
That hour o urghi q black ouch the key-mane.
Tom O'Shrinter
Mrs. Crowe, in her work entitled the
"Night side of Nature," makes allusion to
the facts, upon which the following little
story is founded, but, strange, she does not
give the details. It was a case strikingly
in point forher. Was it too horrible to put
in her book; or was she restrained by the
same delicacy that made every marvel-mon
ger speak of it in a whisper?
It was told to me, in Edinburg, by my
landlady, Mrs.—. She was from Mont
rose, and spoke in a well-marked arelic
#dicati that greatly enhanced her descriptive
powers. It is a remarkable fact, that no
thusgaage is so well adapted to the thrilling, the
pathetic, and the humorous, as the dialect
pf the Scottish Highlander. Sir Walter
Scott owes much of his success to it, and
the lyrics of Burns would be comparatively
insipid without it. I remember once hear
ing Mrs. S— jest with her husband about
some nonsease he perpetrated in his court
ship. She was so much amused at it, that
she fell back in her chair and
.exclaimed, "I
cannot think o' it, but it emost splut me
seeds a Inching." The same expression in
Anil] English, "I cannot think of it, but it
almost makes me.splitmysidesalaughing,"
is utterly tame by the sides of the other.—
Mrs. S—, moreover, had a manner which
made her narration vividly impressive.
It was in the evening twilight, and we
were watching front the parlor window the
Inchksith light in theFrith of Forth, throw
ing °netts flashes of warning to the mariner.
I forget what drew from Mrs. S— the
awful recital, the interest of which I have
feebly attempted to maintain, by drawing
upon my fancy for some slight - amplification:
but she began, in substance, as follows, oc
casionally tapping" me upon my shoulder
and reducing her voice to a hissingwlaisper.
It is scarcely a year ago since a young
man died in the town of lladdington. His
conduct bad been so outrageously dissolute,
that everybody repulsed him with abhor
rence. Finally he sank down in half starved
condition at the door of his uncle, an old
blacksmith of Haddington, and was kindly
taken in and cared for. Everything was
done for him that even affection could sug
gest; but ho grew worse and worse until
he went into a delirium, and uttered things.
of such frightful import that few persons
could remain near him. There were cer
tain expressions which excited more atten
tion than others—indeed they drew tears
from those who ‘ heard them, as well on ac
count at the earnestness with which they
were uttered, as:the distracted gesticulations
accompanying them. "He seemed to stare
at some distant object—distant as a fixed
star; and with his outstretched hands thrust
forward as if to resist the rapid approach
of something, he shouted in a voice bub
bling up through his death rattle, "Back!
back!—ftwa' wi' ye! awa' wi' ye! It is nae
see written; lam not to be bruised ! No,
no, no! It is written that the seed of the
woman shall bruise—awa' wi' ye !—mercy!
oh, mercy, mercy, mercy!" These ravings
at last ended in death.
91 SO
Ell
It is the custom in Scotland to set up
three nights with the dead. The corpse of
Andrew Allen (fur that was the young
man's name) was placed up stairs in a back
room. It rested upon a rude table, consist
ing of four small benches supporting two
boards. It was wrapped in a sheet, and
two half-crown pieces were placed upon his
eyes to keep them shut. The blacksmith's
house was built upon a very simple plan.—
The outside door opened into a small hall
down stairs, and at the further end of the
hall were two bed-rooms. A staircase
commenced near the door, and led to the
second story, in which there were what
might be called an ante-room, and the large
apartment where the body of Andrew Al/en
lay. A door opened into this chamber from
a narrow platform at the head of the stairs.
Any one descending the stairs from the
ante-room, must pass in contact with this
door.
Evening came on and the_ blacksmith's
two sons, cousins of the deceased, were ap
pointed to sit up the first night. They were
to occupy theante-room. It was too warm
for fire; so they were provided with a couple
of tallow candles, a jug of "mountain dew,"
and some tobacco and pipes. Jamie was
just twenty—a tine looking lad of quiet de
meanor, and industrious habits. Archie,
however, twenty-two years of age, was far
more sprightly. He took great delight in
being involved in love scrapes. In fact Ile
was, what they call in the Highlands, "the
very diet among the lassies." Hour after
hour he entertained Jamie with his con
quests, until the latter began to show symp
toms of doubt.
"An' are you sure, Archie," he asked,
"you're na telling me a pack o' Ices?"
They had not given their cousin in the
adjoining room a single thought. They
could not dis,gui , e the fact (nobody could)
that they were glad he was dead; smother
ing gratification, however, under the old
cumfirting maxim, "It was wed the puir
body was relieved o' his sufferin." The
night dragged on. Archie continued his
amatory reminiscences to the great an
noyance of Jamie, until the town clock
"strak the twal"—it was midnight.
The candle required snuffing and Jamie
reached forward his hand fur that purpose,
but a noise reaohing his cars from theroom
where the corpse was—a sound like the
moving of a bench, caused him, in his
tremulousness, to put nut the light. The
darkness was total. The young men held
their breath—each one choked by thethrob
bing of his heart.
"Jamie," said Archie, "it was needling—
needling but the wind. Gao doon an' get
a light."
"Oh, Archie, for the lave o' God tak bold
o' me—it is na your %-oice—youdinna speak
in your air voiee•
The next moment the brothers were
locked in each other's arms, and fell cower
ing against the wall, shuddering in the
extremity of terror; for another sound
reached them, and one calculated to par
alyze the bravest. They heard with un
mistakable distinctness the two half crown
pieces drop open the floor.
When the old blacksmith went up stairs
at day-light, and saw his sons crouching In
the corner of the room, be thought they had
been &hiking to much, and began to chide
them. But he soon stopped, fur they rose
up and came to meet him with a wild ex
pression -of joyful relief on their counte
nances ; mid pointed to the door at the head
of the stairs. They were not able to speak
a word. The old man, without hesitation,
pushed open the done and entered the room :
hut he came rushing back, uttering a cry of
horror—such a cry as none but an old man
can give—shrill--tremulous. They fled
down stairs—out of the house, and into the
street. The neighbors were aroused—the
story told—and, in less than half an hour
there was tumult. The stair-ease in the
blacksmith's house was soon filled with
eople; hut none had courage to open the
door. The head of the column stood upon
the platform misting the force from behind.
It increased to such violence, however, that
resistance availed nothing. There was an
impatient rush from below--the door was
pushed open, ar', in an instant, the terrible
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 16, ISSB.
room was filled with visitors. Not a word
was spoken—they could only look.
[Here it was that Mrs. S— placed her
hand upon my shoulder, and whispered in
my car—her breath throbbing painfully
ngainst my excited tympanum.]
One of the benches was slightly moved,
and the left foot of Use corpse rested upon
the floor. The eyes were open—wide open,
and staring at something far—far away.
Without any change in the lines of the
face, there was yet an expressl on of curios
ity merging into fear, which taken in con
nection with the disturbed position of the
body, forced the opinion upon the spectators
that the dead man suddenly started. Terror
began to be diminished into simple wonder.
The people, at length, conversed with ono
another, but all they could do - was to close
the eyes of the deceased, and replace the
half-crown pieces; lift up the leg, and again
envelop it in the sheet. That day no work
was done in lladdington—no one ate any
thing. But night came on again ; and oth
ers must take their turn at watching in the
ante-room. Twelve men volunteered—eleven
of them citizens of Haddington, but the
twelfth was an upstart student from St.
Andrews, who derided the credulity of the
people, and quoted Dr. Brewster.
Excellent cheer was provided for the
watchers. A fire was kindled in the ante
room, and a kettle enlivened the company
with its song. The student talked incess
antly about spectral illo,ions, but his com
panions did not listen to him—they sipped
their hot water and whiskey in silence, oc
casionly,lo their breath at souse fancied
sound. The night wore on. The town
clock struck the first peal of the midnight
hour. Each stroke swelled on the air like
a groan. It was midnight. The student
burst into a boisterous laughs. It was, at
first, a laugh of derision ; but it soon ceased.
The young man ruse up—gave ono look
toward the platform at the head of the stairs
and fell down swooning, for the half-crown
pieces jingled upon the floor—rebounded
and fell again ; two benches were turned
over, the ends of the plank, which they
supported, dropped again, and the corpse
was distinctly heard to slide along the in
clined plane. The listeners all spang to
their feet, under an impulse to snake their
escape, but they thirst not pass the dreadful
platform, so impressed were they with the
certainty (as they all afterward testified he
fore the investigating committee, that An-
drew Allan would appear, in,.tbo door of
his chamber, and implore them not to leave
him. Long before daylight the house was
again thronged. A crowd, rushed up stairs,
to the great relief of the watchers, who
hastened to acquaint them with what had
occurred. Great excitement began to be
manifested. The people needed some one
to lead them, and no one had the courage
to approach with the intention of opening
the door of the terrible apartment. At this
juncture some one cried out,
" Bin for the curate; rin for the curate !"
This good man, a Mr. Handyside, lived
in a neighboring hamlet, preferring the
quiet he enjoyed there to the noise in the
busy town of Haddington. He is still
alive and beloved by everybody; but, since
his participation in the :mysterious horrors
of the third 'algid, he has been regarded as
a man having knowledge of things which
no mortal ought to possess.
Ile cheerfully obeyed the summons, and
repaired to the blacksmith's house. It was
now after sunrise. The people gathered
around their pastor, and told him what had
happened. Ile paused a moment in deep
meditation, and then entered the dreaded
chamber. Not more than three persons ac
companied him—the others, as each one
passed the door and looked into the room,
pressed their hands over their eyes and tied
into the street, uttering loud cries.
[I remember the distant chimes of St.
Giles, reaching our hearing at this moment,
accorded sadly with the whisper to which
Mrs. S had again lowered her voice!)
Tho two benches, supporting the feet of
Andrew Allan, were found thrown some
distance from where they originally stood,
as if they had been kicked with some vio
lence. The dead body was consequently in
a half sitting posture. The eyes were again
open, and this time gazing at something
nearer—very much nearer, than what they
had stared at on the previous night. The
hands were unlocked, and thrust forward,
as if to implore or resist; the physiognomy-,
without any change in the facial lines, be
tokened the mart agonizing alarm ; while
the general attitude inclined the beholder
to the belief, that the body had been stiffen
ed in an attempt to rise up and make its es
rape. Some of the persons who had fled
from the house, had Allan's death struggle
so forcibly recalled by these appearance,
that they declared his voice was issuing
front the corpse, and repeating words.
" Back ! back—awa' ye! it is na sac
written !"
Under the encouragement and direction
~ f the curate, the body was re adjuNted.
lie proposed to the people that they should
bury it at once; but they would nut violate
the old Highland custom, especially since
" it was but one night mair."
The news had by this time spread in
every direction. People came from Edin
burgh and Glasgow. Crowds poured in
from the neighboring towns and hamlet.
until, at twelve o'clock, the streets of Had
dington could not hold them. No doubt
more than a thousand persons visited the
room up stairs in the blacksmith's house,
and hundreds offered to watch with Mr.
Handyside, and accompany him into the
dead man's chamber at the first unusual
sound, (for such was the curate's purpose,
frequently avowed in the course of the day,)
but when. that good man, a few hours after
night fall, mounted the stairs with his can
dles and his Bible, only four men followed
him. Seatad at a table, he calmed the
fears of his companions by boldly investi
gating the awful facts subjected to their
consideration. Ile acknowledged Lis belief
to be that a supernatural agency was at
work, and insisted that the citizens of Had
dington should treasure up the circumstance
as a warning against dissoluteness. " Per
haps," said he, with hesitation, as if the
idea he wished to advance was incompre
hensible even to himself, " perhaps, in this
case, death has been too eager—so that dig•
ease could not complete its office of bodily
punishment, and there is yet in the distur
bed corpse a soulless sensibility, over which
conscience and Satan have control—not
that I wish to judge Andrew Allan. God
forbid !"
Ire read such passages from his Bible as
had a bearing 'upon the personality of the
Infernal Being, and impressed them upon
the minds of his bearers, by repeating, with
a happy emphasis, the sublime paraphrases
of Milton,
••Fortlvitli upright he rear+ front °lithe pool
Ilia nu.hty .lalure ; on t;344 . 1111:111;1.:)..; flule.t
llrrva•n hacks% h irpuniting ynnt, and rolled
In billow. have m ph , rout-t a horrid yule,
The, in gill he tutor• tot night
.loft. iuc•umheut on the do-k) art—'
Mr. Handyside thought it tvas in the ad
joining room—his friebds that it was, per
haps, in the street, among the crowd—but
there was a wail—a subdued sound like
ventriloquial shriek—a voice pronouncing
the words " back ! back !—awa' ye !
I'm not to be bruised—l'm the seed o' the
woman !" Almost SI 111 lilt:111CM) sly with this
there was a crash. The benches were all
dashed away from under the boards, and
the holy rolled upon the flour. The curate
started to his feet, but his companions held
him back. Clinging to one another they
listened in a sort of asphyxia for what was
to follow. They heard a step, as of a be
ing barefooted—heavy. The house shook,
and the sound would have been much louder,
if the footsteps had not been cautious,
stealthy. But they soon heard another
noise, like the dragging of a human body
over the floor. The four men cried in a loud
voice—but such a cry! In its spasmodic
quivering it sounded like laughter, and from
the thronged streets a yell of horror rose upon I
tho midnight air, such as never yet hail
been heard ; for the doomed corpse was
dashed against the partition, separating the
two rooms with a force far above human.
When it fell it was dragged away, and again
hurled against the wall—at each repetition
the concussion producing a sound more and
more dull. The curate looked every moment
for the wall to be dashed down. Ile had_
now no ono to restrain him ; ho took his
candle and rushed into the room, exclaiming
as he did so, " it is my duty !"
The noise continued sometime after Mr.
Handyside entered the chamber, but at
length they ceased.
The people became alarmed for their
pastor, and several of them went in• to his
assistance. They found him in a swoon,
from which they soon resuscitated him.
But they gazed around—what could they
expect to see! • There lay the body of An
drew Allan, bruised—beaten into a quiver
ing, gelatinous clot of gore ; while upon the
floor, printed in blood, where footprints of
gigantic dimen , ions.
Mr. Haudyside bus never told Nvbnt he
saw. His only answer to the importunities
of his friends has been, " I thought it vas
my duty, but I was mistaken,—l committed
a sin. Heaven for; me."
Parisian Pickings.—Honor
In one of the beautiful ralleysof Auvergne,
there is an old chateau, surrounded by a
magnificent park, and hedged in by thick
woods, which, for many centuries, has be
longed to the Count de Monfort, and which
is inhabited still by his representative, the
Count Henri. This family, keeping aloof
from court, favor and politics, had kept
their fortunes unimpaired, so that the present
Henri de Montfort kept up state and station
as great and as honorable as the de Mont
forts of the middle ages.
The present Count, left early an orpliant,
had been brought up tinder the care of his
uncle, an old soldier, who knew nothing
either of the world or of sotliely—military
discipline and the code of honor being his
only guides. A private tutor had educated
the young Count at Montfort, in Auvergne,
and it was not until he had attained the age
of five and twenty that,efter a tour through
Europe and tile East, he had been introduc
ed into Parisian society. In Paris, of course,
he had the traditional position of his flintily-,
which secured him a welcome in the most
exclusive ranks of the Faubourg St. Ger
main. Henri de Montfort never became
what is called rqil.ir in society: though
handsome in person and high-Iwo' in roan.
ner, his cold aspect and proud hearing ch Hied
:he men o f hi s own age, who feltinstincti‘ely
that Henri had no sympathy for their
pleasures, and rather felt as if in him they
had a censor rather than a companion.
Neither Henri nor his uncle liked Paris.
ft was but nut of deference to his node that
[Tour; had consented to remain titer e dur
ing a whole season. Lut his uncle, during
this season, accomplished the purposes for
which he had introduced his nephew to bis
family connexions. He found him a wife•
Clotilde du Harlai was, in all ways, worthy
of his hephew. Somewhat melancholy in
' disposition, she had never mingled in the
pleasures of Parisian life; at once proud
and gentle, she was, in every way, suited
to Henri, the Henri whom her cousins cal
led the Montfort of the middle ages. Clotilde
consented to become de Montfort's wife
without repugnance. To one whose heart
was disengaged, Henri de Montfort could
inspire nothing but admiration and respect,
ifnotlove. Clotilde, who, like himself, was an
orphan, readily agreed to live in the stately
magnificence of Auvergne—but her aunt,
to whom Paris was too essential for her to
sacrifice it even to her heirs, made all ex
press condition with the bridegrooM that
Clotilde should pass the three winter months
with her in the capital. M. and Mme. de
Montfort had now been married three years.
The first year Henri had spent the alotted
three months in Paris with his bride; each
succeeding year he had contented himself
with taking her there and fetching her back.
It was now autumn, the autumn of the
third year of their marriage. M,Ldame de
Montfort had been back from Paris about a
month, and for the first time her aunt, the
Viscountess de Cherzy, had accompanied
her.
They were sitting one lovely morning in
I he old library, hung with ancestral portraits,
the long windows of which displayed the
magnificent views of the wooded valleys
and barren hills of Auvergne, when a ser
vant entering, roused the ladies from a state
of silence and abstraction into which they
had fallen. Mine. de Cherry bad gone to
sleep over her Itnittin,g, whilst Chtdlde,
leaning her head on her ham], appeared lost
iu thought.
"What is it, Jean?" said the Viscountess.
"Your usual box. of books and papers
from Park Mine. la Viseounte ,, ," said the
servo t, placing a pared on the table.
"Eli! Clotilde, open it, let us sec the last
fashions, my maid is considerably puzzled
fur a trimming to my uce dress."
Clotilde obeyed, and having found the
Courrier deg damcv, handed it to her aunt,
securing for herself, at the same time, a
copy of the last month's Revue dw dcux
Mondes.
Leaning back in her chair, she turned
over the leaves mechanically, opening the
book at a place were the leaves appeared to
have been cut. All at once a burning blush
suffused her cheek, her hand trembled, and
she heaved a deep sigh. Now, spite of the
genius and talent expended on the Revue
des deux:Mom/es, it must be confessed that it
was not the article her eyes were fixed on
that caused the emotion of the Countess; no
—close beside it on the wide blank margin
was a neat little pen and ink drawing of a
falcon; on that she gazed, at that she blush
ed, while to herself thus she spoke;
"Ilow imprudent; ho is here, then; how
will he see me? how ingenious; how he loves
me; how dreary has this month been with
out him—Maurice!"
Here the Countess turned. another page
and blushed,. looking closer down to the
book as she beheld the number &yen un
derlined, and towards the middle ofthe page
the word wood with a pencil mark upon it.
"Aunt, dear, have you found a pretty
trimming?"
"Well, yes—come here and see; but how
Rushed you are, Clotilde."
"Yes, aunt, I am going into the garden,
and perhaps into the grove. I will scud
Suzanne to consult with you."
A few minutes later Mine. de Serizy was
deep in consultation with her maid, and
Mme.'dc Montfort was in the dark shaded
grove of the park, weeping, yet smiling, in
the encircling arms of Maurice Faucounier.
"You see, Clotilde, I have triedone month
without you—l cannot try another."
"Life has changed without you, Maurice,"
murmured Clotilde; "but this is so impru
dent."
For two hours the lovers—for such, in
deed, they were—sat beneath those trees
and talked; then they separated. how they
decided to meet again may be inferred by a
servant towards evening—when M. de Mont
fort was sitting beside his wife end his
aunt—throwing wide open the door and
announcing:
, "M. Maurice Pauconnicr."
"Mon then! how charming!" exclaimed
the dowager; "we were sn dull. This is my
nephew. Clotilde, you will be so glad to
welcome Al. rauconnier. M. de Montfort,
this gentleman is one or our mo , t distin
guished mrcelict., which. or coarse, pm
know—ccerybody iltaN. lie is one of the
habitues of my society. I hope you are
going to remain sonic time."
"Mine is merely a morning Nisit.
should not have token the liberty—"
"31onsionr." said M. do Mohtfort, " W e
pay no morning, tisits in Ati ergue, thet-e
Indies w ill FLOW yUll the scenery of our
valleys, and I will nlinw yo.l the sport
among our Lill. I trust you will remain
sometime With
So Maurie Fanconnior aehiereti hia pur
pose, and in a short time became as much
a favorite with his host as he already was
with his wife and his aunt.
M. de 'Montfort had too much pride to Ipe
either suspicious nr jealeu.. Clotilde and
Maurice were nnt troubled even by- a fear.
M. do Montfort was a great deal from home.
and under the pretence that Lb+ Parsian
constitution would not stand the rams
fatigue as that of Montfort, Maurice was
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANC E
exempted freqnently from joining in hi,
sports.
One day it happened that Henri de Mont
fort, who had just started fur a fishing ex
cursion, in crossing the groso near the house
caught his line in one of the bushes and
broke it. Just at this spot there was a
small summer house, kept in especial order
and repair for Mine. de Montfort, with
whom it was a favorite resting place. Here
Henri entering, sat down to repair the dis
aster to his ftshing-line—all at once he found
he wanted a piece of silk or thread.
" Clotilde frequently brings her work
here, I think," said he, "there may by
chance be a stray thread on the floor."
The Count looked about ; at last, opposite,
under a bench, he sees a piece thick
green silk ; he clutchos it ; to his .t.itaze
ment, after resisting slightly, with another
pull this thread raises a board in the floor.
Much amazed, the Count goes down on hit
knees, throws aside the board, and. disco era
a hollow place beneath, fur there is some
thing white at the I»ttoni, and draws forth
a bundle of letters tied with the gt zen silk,
of which the end had led to this discovery.
On his knees as he is, the Count paa. es :
the light is dim, yet he could see to I,ad:
but he hesitates, and he knew nut IN hy he
trembles.
At last, however, da , hing away the long
hair that falls over his brow, grown coil
and clammy, he pulls one letter from be
neath the string, opens it, and reads the
first line—" my own, my deare , t Clot ilde
With a ferochntsshriek do :N.lo:ltrOrt Sta . :qv
to his feet. 1.4 near, hr qi , I;;N: it.
he rushes to the door, but there his strength
I.tils. him ; he eluteheQ at the side, he sinks
d own , and hurying his 'Nee in hi- hands,
the proud, time strong de nmtfort wceps.
Thlt sun this one last tender emotion is
over. De Montfort rises calmly; now he
looks at the letter;: there is nn signature,
-hut at the bottom of each is a small es:-
quisitly drawn figure of a faleon.
This does net enlighten De Montfort,
unused to love devices end intrigues, but
the presence of Fauconnier sends his
thoughts wandering towards him.
When they all met at dinner, though cold
and silent. there was something in the
Count's manner to reveal the agitations of
his heart.
At the conclusion of the repast, the
I"ISeM/I1 tecg, :19 she was eating her grape,
turned to Maurice with an arch smile, and
exclaimed :
" What reward will you give me for what
I have found ?" •
" What have you found ?" replie Mau
rice. "Do you mean to imply by that, that
it is what I have lost ?"
" Yes, I know it belongs to you : see—"
and as she spoke she put into the hand , or
Do Montfort, who sat between Faueozmier
and herself, a golden stud.
De Montfort almost started from his sent
as he held it in the palm of his hamb z7 -it
was the representation in gold of a falcon,
designed evidently from the drawing he had
seen at the bottom of the letter.
"Oh:" exclaimed Maurice, without heel
ing tic Montfort's emotion ; " it i , my sleeve
button ; see, here is its fellow; they are
very precious to me, t Loy were a gift."
"A love gift?" said he Montfort.
'' Well, yes," t.aitl Maurice, laughing, "a
love gift, ingeniou4, ton, the Mea—a falcon ;
you know the crest of my family—Paucon
nier."
`• I understand," said Do Montfirt, and
looking np, Ile gave one long gaze at
Clotilde—his last look of luve.
When it began to grow ,lark that evening.
De Montfort asked Maurice to take a walk
with him. As soon a: they were out of
sight of the chat can, De Montfort abrublly
stopped, and dropped Maurice's arm, which
be had been bolding,
" M. de Fauconnier,•' said lie," I have
found otit your secret : it authorizes me to
fell you here at my feet—to take her life
too ; but that shall not be. We cannot both
live, lint the honor of the Dc Montrurt's
shall be sated."
" Count!"
"Do not speak. Yon love Clotible and
cannot live. A duel, however, non t be
tray me, dishonor her. We mu , t he nveti
god by chance. I have known of this since
morning ; since that time I have reflected
on what was to be done."
"I submit beforehand to all your condi
tions," said Maurice.
" To-morrow we will go out with our
gum; together, under pretext of sheeting
game. On yonder mountain theie is a
small plateau; it meaqures just fort:. feet.
I hate chosen it today ; there we will gi
to-night, \VC', can Inensure twenty. mace:.
:nark them to-morrew : standing on that
!-pot we can fire: but one of IN NI ill return
to the chateau. Do you eut.sent i"
" TO all."
" 'Then' let n; part ; an more wor 1= are
needed. 'l'o-tan:row, :,t ten o'ol
The ne , :t
the toloinn ro.re: of the n ni.d
-xatelte.l the two spertsmen tiny 14. ft the
chat can. She ~, titifin,zly threw n line T -411 of
rocs 01e held after them, and one •f the
flowers fell at Maurice's feet. Ile stormed
to pink it up, trio hat memory of Collide.
hut Dc Monti . ..rt. ertt;hing it beneath him
foot, :ternly mathmed him to proceed.
Some hour• afterwards Madame de Mont
fort was reading Maurice's last novel nlnnd
to her aunt, when n great nnise and eon
fused Satin& were heard in the hall. Muir.
de Montfort put down her took.
CIVITOLE NUMBER, 1,472.
" i, ?" tl
" I will go and. sec," rep:ied the euuntet! , ,
a suthlen an;; eros , ing her heart.
But ere tike coul.l leave the room the
folding door; were thrown t - pen and four
men en tercd Leering the Count do Mont
fort, palm and bleeding, en a shutter.
The Comite•t• .-tag;.,cietl, and hiding her
[ - Ace in her haml4, sail:: into a chair.
Oh, heal end aimed the V iseoun
rmdling forward, " what Nothis
"An aceldent, the grime
keeper. tt We found my mte,ter lying at
the foot of the plateau, after he had Leen
shot; he mtu , t hare fall,m from it."
" Ia there danger r
" There i-, no hope, I fear," t•aid the old, es-
perieneed gamekeeper.
" Put inc down here,'' said do Montfort,
in a low, hu,k,y voice, " and lea u n c with
the COUllte.-5,."
They obeye.l. When they were alone
Clotilde ro-ie, but die did not 'dare to ad
vance. She had a fatal pre::entilneut of the
Effil
" said Henri, in an imperative
voice, "come hers ; 1;10,1 by my side,
wretched, faithle , i \V in in, and look on
your work. land 3 ing ;it was your lover's
Ii: tai that me. Asttc n ill ever know
it but you, and let it be an eternal renter-Lt
to you. Nay, lot k me in the nice you
shall. I WW.dtl. not publi-b my dklmitr,
but I %I-011111,e to. pn.r L We mi , t tho tt gl l
Lc ae •ident --WC lire 1 bath together—and
I :on
"
"'What! tvretelled woman, do 3-ou dare.
with your hudaluel biec!din;l.-, d)lng lefuro
cut, think or hi.? We fired tog. T
; why should he live? 'flier()
mint b. in 111.11VVII
Clotiltle, kneeling on the tlntr, her eye
streatning, her (dee ciniked with %ohs,
seemed searee'y to hear when all
at once, clear and distinct, giving rapid
orders to the servants, Tancennier's voice
wirß li en 1,1 wit bent,
"Oh:" shrieked Clotilde. do Bing the
hair from her race. and shinpinq amid her
suh "he lives! he lire,:
Ily a supreme off t the Count raised him
self on one arm, and with his powerful hand
clutching Clotilde by the throat, he drew
her toward him. Ills hooting knife was at
his girdle, he had yet strength to draw it
forth and plunge it in her side.
"You shall not speak his hateful name
again within my hearing—nor shall you
lire to be happy when lam gone;" and as
he:uttered these wordshe expired. Clutilde
was dead already, and when Maurice. hav
ing heard that de Montfort was alone
with Clot:tide, ru , hed in, at all risks to save
her front his fury, he only dragged one
corpse from the eintwa,, 4,1 the other.
"I am not think clotillie loved her hus
band to such an excess as to kill herself for
him, M. Fa ueunnier," said Mine. de Chersy;
" ilid 3 . 0 u ?"
" No," replied Mattrier, a= Le turned
33ut the epitaph on the nmrble
monument in thc de pel records
how, in a 5,41,M0n tit of hove an.l frenzy cud
aezpzir. the t•uun„ C0nn;, ,,, , nut lieing able
to SIII'ViIe her hubliarol, 1:11‘.1 her: elfon his
dyad Ludt.
11255
The Rats of illontfateon
Tho tito , t tnagnificent rat I.uhtz4 in the
worh.l ari• hull at inter‘al , at :NT , ntrau,loti,
out,ide :11 ,, otraucou i; an C.tablish•
znent, 111.1:or goy,: nunecic i•lnie:iittendenee,
here worn-Alt are slain, stray toga
are male :in end k , f, :Tad other i,e
iiret sic ;ire iiii—Gaipli•he I. When
:11,,ip•ictir 'l'h• ellar::e of the
puldie salulirity—whiiii gave hint tile cum
(.f :Akin will a: of the
French sewers—lie invited the great
French notcli.t, to it field-day, which ttas
eagetly hy that
writer, and the 101 l 'whit; ae.aatiit of a seeae
witties.sed there i , the.- de.,crihi
It waq agtee.l th zt the in pc-t,,r of Fn11:-
brity, :1 , 1.1 another
goutienian :-110:11,1 ze.ich their d.••ti:lntion at
three it/ r22:whing. The pwy v•ere c[-
net at the rendez%au , . A a '3.t711 men em
-1.102.-ed on the place procce.l.-1 them with a.
d egree o f eirenia4peethui, e a eh
hating a lighted inqin tureli in his right
hand, and a Ling ladder en his left sivailder,
four others, having ladders only, fill..tved
pith the silence of By the
t.ide or the party there tr.t:ole pack
dog-, of the sane' a , the eienly eight.
had their own prit atr , re.t, ,ns f, , r join-
in", the oinv c .my the
tho:r Th( v N\ Or , T i r vAlfr q
:,;01 LtiN d hy e.moral
iron' tho f an I n.lnowl
ra v.ira :In-
I
..,11.ir !!!..11-
nrul
, •1" elPphant-
I •
Inv feet
..lrri‘e.iat t;ie 0ne7,1 , a10 f r tlicrarpnco.
r- t titr tv fll
na , l after a •11 - t . th' party an,l
t , u , •11-I,oal or , their •pla, ea
Cal the tup uf the 17:id . r0. , 1
them vas a tint enel.) , ure, ap, , r ,, priat,.l to
the Ilau7,llter of e,e,detnne,l horses. neap.;
~f Reatteroilv.re;:r. , l there, irelier.tr..l
this funeral 0.e , t.:11:11L , n. It reqa:- , ..1 a. few.
minute , : to nc..7u-t ,, rn the eye t 1 the gloomy
Foo , ll'. /fr f“re 01'2' e, Iro;1 nt:t jt.4
T;ie of ;1;-p :use I tub
wag traver , T.ll.v 1 , -14 an I irrei., , alar ' , tone
gutters, n:l viti.;ll radiatel t..war.l the
eirottn,eriLin, wall, - reaching which
titre Were Ckl,Cd by iron doors, consisting
VI =countess