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SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXIX, NUMBER 291
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ligt-tris.
Death of the Old Year
ST ...EXULT) TENNYSON
Full knee deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds ate wearily sighing;
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a dying.
Old Year you must not dir;
You came to us so readily.
You Ivied with us so steadily,
Old Year, you shall not die.
lie lieth still: he cloth not move:
lie will not see the dawn of day,
Ha hath no other life above,
lie gave ma a friend, and a true, true love,
And the New Year will take 'ern away.
Old Year you must not go;
So long as you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen wtth us,
Old Year, you shrill not go.
He frothed his bumpers to the brim;
A Jollier year we shall not see;
But, though his eyes are waxing dim,
And though his foes speak 11l of him,
He was a friend to me.
Old year, you ellen not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you;
rye half a mind to die with you,
Old Year, if you monadic.
fie was full of joke cud jest,
But all his merry quips ore o'er;
To see Lim die, across the wa. to,
Ills son and heir doth ride post-Mete,
put he'll be dead before.
Every one for his own.
The night is Pinery and cold. my friend,
And the New Year blithe and bold, my friend,
Comes up to take his own.
How hard he brevhes: over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock
Tjta shadows Bicker to and fro;
The cricket chirps: the light burns low
, Tjs nearly twelve o'clock.
Shake hands before you die.
()Id year, we'll dearly rue for you:
\Visalia it we can do fcryau'
Speak out before you dle.
His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone.
Chute up his eyes: tie up his chin:
step from the corpse, and let him in
•That stantleth there alone,
And watteth at the door.
There's a new foot on the door, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A oew face at the door.
EllEEtiEit .
A Christmas Eve
it was Christmas Eve and the snow lay
.deeplin the streets of Steeberg, a small mi
ning town in Germany; but the neighbor
jag peasants came down from their peasant
"mountain homes and sought to forget the rig
or
of the season in innocent festivity.—
family groups assemble together, the voice
of song and childish merriment resounds
from many a humble home, and preparations
are being made for a grand illumination.
Christmas Eve, in Germany, is welcomed
as a season of rejoicing by the poorest pea
sant, as well as by the wealthiest noble of
the land. But amidst all time happy
homes, there was one lowly dwelling, at
least, where no feast had been prepared,
where no sounds of merriment could ho
heard.
Veronica Model, for some time past, sup
ported her blind father and little brother by
lace making. Once they had known better
days. The father had been a slater, an in
dustrious man, butbed;ost,kis:sycsight from
gt,e streets of a conflagration widoh he had
bravely helped to extinguish, ills wife!
did notlong survive this calamity, but died,
Fartly of grief, partly of over exertion, cow:
initting her blind husband and her infant
.boy to her daughter Veronica, herself still I
a child.
Veronica's mind, however, bad been pre
inaturely ripened by the care and sorrow
which had so early fallen to her lot; and mita
well fulfilled the ;charge committed to her
by her dying parent.
An this Christmas Eve of which we speak,
the young girl had been seated before her
lace-pillow, working without intermission
from early morning till night closed in; then,
poor child, she was forced to pause in her
liihors, for she could not afford a light.—
She made, however, a good fire in the stove
to warm her bligd father; and, baring placed
him in his easy chair close by by its side,
she yielded to her brother's entreaties that
she would take hips ogt to see the illumine-
tions.
The two children accordingly set forth to
gether. Already the town was astir. Mi
ners in their characteristic costume marched
along in groups with bands of music pro
ceeding them; and ever and anon they
p4tise4 before the door of some wealthy cit
izen, and carolled forth their Christmas
greeting. Then the door of the house so
honored might be seen open, and the master
himself would generally step forth and re
ward the leader of the serenade by pre
senting to him some small gratuity. Chil
dren following the example of their elders,
wandered also in little bands from door to
door, singing their Christmas Carols; and
seldom were the young singers dismissed
without some trifling present, accompanied
by a kindly word.
As Veronica passed on her way, holding
her little brother by:the hand, and gazing
on these varied groups, a new thought sud
denly suggested itself to her mind: "Why
should she not seek to win same trifling
Christmas gifts for her poor blind father?"
Timidly, and with a beating heart, the
poor child bent her steps toward that part
of the town where she was but little known.
The character she was about to play was
very new to her; and her heart well nigh
failed her when it came to the point; but
love to her father nerved her to the task;
and, drawing her hood closely around her,
sho stepped closely under the window of a
house of lowly aspect and sang in clear,
though subdued tones, the following verse:
•"Cheer up, ye miners bold;
Nor let your courage flag:
For earth her wealth untold,
Yields to your patient toil,
Then Joyous dig beneath the sail,
And still be your gatbertng•cry,
Cheer up, brave hearts, cheer up!'
EEC!
EIIM
Veronica's voice was tremulous with fear
when she began these simple lines; but she
gained courage as she proceeded; and she
repeated the burden of the song with spirit
and energy. She then paused and anx
iously awaited the result of her efforts.—
Two or three minutes elapsed, the time
seemed long to poor Veronica; she felt hu
miliated and confused, and was about to
withdraw; but at last the door turned on its
hinges, and a woman came out and placed
in Veronica's trembling hands a small cake
and two-penny piece.
The poor child could scarcely contain
herself for joy. "Oh, my dear little
George!" she exclaimed, "see what a happy
beginning I have made! You shall leave
the sugar plum; but the cake and money
are for father, that ho may be. able to keep
his Christmas feast."
Tho night was now far advanced; and
Veronica thought that she would make but
one trial more before she turned her steps
homeward. This time she determined on
trying her chance at the door of a rich
man, an inspector of some mines. Clear
and firm her young WACO now rose through
the still midnight air; and when her song
ceased, the window on the first floor of the
opened, and an arm was stretched out,
holding a slender pair of tongs by means
of which a piece of money was deposited
in Veronica's open hand. But scarcely
had she received this Christmas gift erg
cry of pain escaped her lips, a cry which
was responded to by a laugh of insulting
mockery from the heartless wretch who was
still standing in the open window. The
penny which he had handed the poor child
had been drawn red hot from the fire. Ve
ronica hastily dropped the perfidious gift,
and with many a bitter tear retraced her
steps to her lonely home.
When Veronica returned to her father's
side and told hint of the Christmas gifts she
had brought, it oust the poor girl a severe
struggle to conceal her sufferings and speak
to the blind man in:cheerfnl tones. He, un
conscious of the pain she was enduring,
asked her to sing for him before she retired
to rest; and then lie kissed his darling, be
stowed on her his Christmas blessing; but
Veronica's hand pained her much, and she
went to bed with a heavy heart.
In the mountain districts of Germany,
the schools aro very large, one master not
unfrequently having charge of two hundred
children. Under these circnmstances be can
scarcely be expected to have any particular
acquaintance with the disposition or tastes
of each individual scholar, unless some
casual occurrence chances to bring it to his
notice.
"Is not your hand healed yet?" one day
inquired Mr. Rosso], the parish school
master, addressing his pupil Veronica Mo
del.
Veronica unfastened the bandage which
she daily tied on as well as she could with
bur left hand; and the worthy schoolmaster
seeing the inflamed state of the wound,
became vary indignant, when he learned
bus; it had been produced. "Shameful,"
he exclaimed "thus to injure a child singing
her Christmas carol! Will you let me hear
your song, my little maid? I love music
myself. You know lam the parish pre
centor, as well u the schoolmaster."
Veronica timidly obeyed. The school
master was to her a formidable auditor, but
the good man's kindnos soon set her at
ease; and she sang with so much expression
that Mr. Rossel was not only surprised but
deeply moved. "Who taught you to sing
thus my child?" he inquired when the young
songstress paused.
"No one," she replied; "my father is
blind: he often finds the days very long, and
I sing to him to amuse him. It is almost
the greatest pleasure ho has, and I am so
glad of that, for we are poor and he cannot
itiford himself many other pleasures."
"slut the melody itself and the method—
where did you learn all that?" inquired the
schoolmaster.
Veronica looked perplexed, but, after a
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY fr
a moment's reflection, replied: "I have often
heard our minister sing that air."
"My child," said Mr. Rossel to •he little
girl, "I see how God often overrules the
wickedness of man for His own wise pur
poses. The burn you received on your
hand has caused you much suffering, and
has prevented your working ut your lace to
earn money fur your father; but if it had
not been for this accident, I should never
have noticed your voice which will, I hope
prove to you a mine of wealth, and enable
you to procure more comforts for him than
if you had been working night and day at
your pillow.
Veronica did not very well understood the
good man's meaning but she felt gratified
for his kindness, and anxious to do her best
to please hint. Front that day forward,
Mr. Rossel gave her regular instruction
in the art of singing, whilst at the same
time, he contrived to interest several be
nevolent people in the fate of this deserving
family ; and his little daughter was thus
enabled to pursue her studies with a cheer
ful heart.
Twelve years passed away. It was a
fine autumn evening, and the wealthier in-
I habitants of Seoberg might be seen in full
toilet flocking to the town-hall. An event
rare in this somewhat secluded region has
set the whole town astir; the first eantatrice
of the capitol, one who enjoys a European
celebrity, is about to give a concert in con
junction with her brother for the benefit of
the poor of Seeberg.
At the entrance of the ball might be seen
the old schoolmaster and precentor, Mr.
Rossel who was filling the office of cashier
on the occasion. His eyes beamed with de
light as the money accumulated on his desk;
and when ho recognized an acquaintance
among the numerous arrivals it was: with
no small pride that the good man produced
a golden snuff box, and offering his friend a
pinch of true Virginian, at the same time
whispered in his ear: "This is a gift from
a grateful pupil. See! it is graved on the
lid ; and when it was given to mo it was
full of golden pieces. And look at this too,"
ho added drawing a handsome repeater
from his fob; "this, too, is the gift of my
former pupil."
"Yon aro celebrating your triumph to
night Mr. Rossel," observed one of the now
corners.
"Yes, it is a day of triumph for me and
for the town of Seeberg too," rejoined the
schoolmaster, "for she was born amongst us
here, and I was her first teacher."
At last all the company had arrived, the
hall was thronged to the very door, and, at
the appointed hour, Veronica Madel appear
ed upon the platform accompanied by her
youthful brother, and with her blind•father
leaning on her arm. A burst of enthusias
tic plaudits greeted the young cantatrice us
she gracefully courtesied to the assemblage.
A band of mountain musicians supported
their part admirably, and exerted them
selves to the utmost to do honor to their
countrywoman. Geo. Madel accompanied
his sister on the violin, to the admiration of
all present, and Veronica herself sang as
she had seldom been heard to king before;
her voice reached every heart and charmed
every ear.
All the pieces named in the programme
bad been performed, a moment's pause en
sued, and after repeated acclamations, the
assemblage were about to disperse, when,
suddenly Madel touched his violin. A fa
miliar air arrested every car, and Veronica
with a Voice as pure and clear as in her
childish days, commenced the verse so well
known to all the miners of Seeberg—the
same she bad sung on that eventful Christ
mas Eve. At this moment the whole of the
assemblage present started to their feet, as
one man the band of musicians laid down
their instruments and every voice joined in
the chorus—
'•Cheer up, brave hearts, cheer up!"
The celebrated cantatrice was for the mo
ment forgotten; and Veronica Model was
only remembered as the young mountain
peasant, the dutiful daughter, the loving sis
ter, the obedient pupil. The good old
schoolmaster, oblivious of his dignity, rush
ed to the platform and, with tears in his
eyes folded to his heart the pupil who had
thus far surpassed his utmost expectations.
Veronica, turning towards the assemblage
with a simple grace and humility of man
ner which touched every heart owned that
to this good old man, under God, she owed
her success.
The worthy citizens of Seeberg had pre
pared a banquet in honor of the young can
tatrice, but, during the interval which
elapsed between the concert and the ban
quet Mr. Rossel drew his former pupil
aside, and speaking to her in the familiar
tone of earlier days, he said :—"Will you
come with me, my good Veronica, for one
half hour? This money you have intrusted
to my care is weighing down. my pocket.—
I should like to distribute some of it this
evening and to deposit the remainder of the
sum in safety at my own house."
Veronica, then& somewhat wearied af
ter the exertion and excitement of the day,
could not bear to refuse her old master's
request, and committing her fnther to
George's care, she sot forth, under the es
cort of the kind-hearted schoolmastdir: The
darkening shades of evening prevented the
young singer from distinguishing surround
ing objects; and she allowed Rossel to guide
her as he pleased, unconscious whither he
was leading her.
"I should like you," observed the old man,
"to see some, at least, of those on whom
your bounty is to be bestowed. On the
ground fluor of the house we have now
reached, we shall find a family in deep dis
tress.
Entering a dark passage the presentor
followed by Veronica, lifted the latch, and
passed into a spacious, but gloomy apart
ment, lighted by a single candle, and offer
ing a striking contrast to the brilliant con
cert hall they had just quitted. A pale,
careworn woman miserably clad 19113 pacing
the room, vainly striving to lull her infant
to rest. Two other children, about three or
four years of age lay sleeping on a tattered
mattress in one corner of the room; whilst
on a pallet, near the stove lay a sick man
supported by straw pillows. The two
strangers were received by this unhappy
wife and mother with that cold indifference
which is so frequently the companion of
despair.
“Is your husband asleep;” inquired Mr
Rosso!.
"Asleep! oh no!" replied the woman.—
"I know not what will become of us!"
The schoolmaster then approached the
sick man's bed, and, addressing him kindly
said:—"How are you to day Kunkel ?"
"Just as I am always," replied the suf
ferer," and so long as I feel that piece of
money burning in my throat, I shall nerer
get hotter."
"Cannot you dismiss that delusion ?" in
terrupted Itossel. "The doctor and I have
told you a hundred times that that burning
sensation in your throat is a natural result
of your disease; and what is the use of in
dulging a fancy which only aggravates
your malady ?"
"I ought to know what I feel, better than
either you or the doctor can tell it to me,"
rejoined the sick man, somewhat impatient
ly; "and 1 kno,r that I feel one hard, burn
ing spot in my throat, just as if I had tried
to swollew a piece of red hot copper. No
water can cool that spot; it is always the
same, always burning."
Veronica's thoughts recurred to the suf
fering she had experienced when her hand
was burned, and her pity for the poor man
redoubled.
"Well, Kunkel," replied the schoolmaster,
"1 can only repeat what I said before—this
is all a figment of your own imagination.
How in tho world could a piece of burning
money find its way into the centre of your
throat?" _
"Oh, I know id I know it well!" exclaim
ed the sick man. "It was just Christmas
Eve that I felt, for the first time, that burn
ing spot."
"You felt it on that evening because the
ulceration of your throat had just become
more acute and widely spread."
"Oh. no! no! there was another reason
than that!" groaned the unhappy man. "It
was on a Christmas Eve, twelve years ago
—stop! do you hear that cry under the win
dow? It was just such a cry as that the
poor child gave when I rewarded her
Christmas carol by dropping a piece of
burning money into her hand. Oh, I de
serve all my sufferings richly, I too well
know!"
As Veronica beard these words, a cry of
dismay burst from her lips. It seemed as
if the retributive justice of God had fallen
upon this unhappy man before her very
eyes. It was to her a solemn and over
powering emotion: and the young singer
covered her face with her hands, and burst
into tears.
The old schoolmaster, deeply moved,
turned towards Veronica.
"Kunkel," said the scooltnaster, in a tone
of deep solemnity, "here is the very hand
which, twelve years ago, you were so cruel
as to burn. This hand is now hold out to
you in token of forgiveness; and see! no
trace remains of the wound you then in
flicted; and no unkind thought harbors in
the bosom of her who has now come to
minister to your wants."
Kunkel raised his head and looked at
Veronica. "No' not" ho replied, sighing
heavily; "it is impossible; that fine lady can
not be tho same as the poor child whom I
so cruelly injured twelve years ago. You
are making a mock of me, Mr. Rossel."
"Believe me, Kunkel, what I hare told
you is true. Through God's goodness, that
burning penny has turned to a mine of guld
in the hand of Veronica Madel; and here,"
added he, laying a pile of crowns upon the
table—"here is a share of her gains, which
she has brought to you."
Kunkel, with an air of bewilderment,
gazed alternately at Veronica, at hie wife,
who stood weeping by his aide, and at the
money which lay upon the table. "I wish
I could believe what you tell me," he ex-
claimed; "but it seems to me impossible.
Do you remember, lady, the song that was
sung beneath my window that Christmas
Eve? That song and the cry of anguish
which follow it, still ring in my ears. If
you can repeat it to me now, I shall believe
that what Mr. Rosso! tells me is indeed the
truth."
Veronica, with a Voice tremulous from
emotion, Bang the well-known miner's song;
and as she sang, the little infant'n cry was
hushed, the broken-hearted mother listened
in admiring silence, and the sic: man fold
ing his hands across his breast, and raising
his eyes to heaven, exclaimed; "God be mer
ciful to me a sinner!"
Veronica seated herself by his side, spoke
to him of pardon and peace, until at length,
a ray of hope beamed from the sufferer's
eye. Ile stretched his wearied limbs, as
ORNING, JANUARY 22, 1859.
though seeking that repose which had long
been denied to him; and then, with a gentle
sigh, he fell asleep.
The schoolmaster, familiar, by long expo
rienee, with scenes of suffering and of death,
quickly perceived that the vital spark had
fled. Me laid his hand upon the marble
brow of the departed; and, repeating the
burden of the miner's song, he said, turning
towards the weeping widow—
Chearup, hearts, cheer tip !'
"I trust, my poor friend, that your bus
band is at rest after his long struggle ; and
you and your children shall not be forsaken.
Put your trust in the God of the fatherless
and the wi,low ; and to-morrow I will come
again, and see what can be:done for you."
Veronica Madel, and her old instructor
now quitted the house of sorrow ; and it
was with very full hearts that they repaired
to the hospitable banquet which had been
prepared for them by their fellow citizens.
A Conjugal Race
Oa the 10th of June, 195—, there stood at
the foot of the grand staircase of the chat
eau de Morbihan, a group composed of two
ladies and two gentlemen. One of the r iwo
gentlemen was the Marquis de Chelles, to
whom the chateau belonged; the other was
the Count do L'Estang. Of the two ladies
the one beautiful, elegant, refined, and not
over five and twenty, was Mme. de Chelles;
the other was the aunt of Monsieur de
Chelles, an agreeable, neat, bright-locking,
high-bred dowager of fifty.
Good nights were exchanged by all, and
all separated, taking tho road to the apart
ment allotted to each. On this day, Mme.
d'Elbac, the Count's aunt, had arrived from
Italy, and this was her visit to her nephew
since his marriage. It so happened that
on this evening, as she walked along the
gallery which led to her room, she heard
steps behind her, and turning suddenly
round, found herself face to face with her
nephew, the Count Regis do Chelles.
"Pray, Regis, don't take any trouble on
my account—l was brought up in the chat
eau; I consider myself at home; therefore,
ceremony is useless; prny, go to your room."
"That is just where I am going," replied
M. de Chaos.
"Why, your wife turned down the other
gallery."
"She was going to her room; between her
room and mine there is a desert, a sort of
carpeted Sahara; I never cross it."
• "And yet Anselie is charming, and you
have been married only two years."
"Oh, yes, Madame de Chelles calls me
her best friend, her kind friend; you under
stand that all the duties of a more friend
and at midnight, so from midnight to mid
day Mine. de Chelles and myself aro stran
gers."
"So much for your nights; hoW do you
pass your days?"
"Oh, very agreeably. Amelia gets up
early, (bill bear her piano before I am
out of bed. She always breakfasts with me
I read the papers, she reads a novel. Then
I am out, either fishing or shooting, or look
ing after my steward; then we meet at din
ner, and in the evening. I confess I doze a
little, but Amelia amuses herself in her
own way; and we often have some of the
neighbors to dinner."
"How often does M. de L'Estang come
here?"
"Very often—evory day; he's a capital
fellow."
"Humph! Regis, what abominable boots
you have, and how absurdly your coat fits."
"Good enough for the country, my dear
aunt. Pin not a dandy like de L'Estang;
he dresses three times a day, and Amelia,
too; but then she's a woman."
"Yes! Well, Regis, if it were not so late
I would like to tell you a story, a true story.
You, my dear nephew—however, it is late;
good night."
This conversation made no impression on
M. de Chelles; he slept and snored emphat
ically; in his dreams beheld his grannaries
well stored and his hay well stacked.
The nest evening all were assembled in
the saloon, Mine. do Chelle was leaning
over a tapestry frame; M. de L'Estang,
turning over an Album, was seated close by
her. Apart, at a distant table, was Mum
d'Elbac, industriously knitting. M. de
Chelles was walking up and down the room
occasionally opening the window and put
ting his head out for a minute or two, then
going up to a barometer that hung in the
room, and then pacing up and downlas be
fore.
"The almanac and the barometer say the
same thing, rain, rain; this is dreadful."
"M. de Chelles," said his wife, "if you
are walking for a wager, tell me eo; I will
get out of your way."
"Do I bore you, my dear." With this M.
de Chelles threw himself down on the sofa
by the aide of L'Estang. .At this moment
Mine. do Chelles looked up, and she could
not but contrast the two men as they sat
bide by side.
Pint, the neat, well-shaped foot of M. de
L'Estang, seen to great advantage in his
patent leather boot. M. de Chaise had
groat, thick-soled, square-toed shoes, In
which it was impossible to divine the shape
of the foot within. His hair was disordered;
his shirt the one be had worn in the morn
ing; his whole costume shabby and obsolete.
De l'Estang's dross was the very modol of
unaffected elegance and sipmbeity. Then
the hands! M. de l'Eetang's at this MO-
Dent rested on the dark green velvet cover
of the album. llow white they were—how
$1,50 PER. YEAS IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
pink and well eared for the nails! The
Count's were beside them, sunburnt, stained
with gunpowder, hard, with short broken
nails—the bands of a laborer.
Mine. de Chelles turned away with a sigh.
"Did Auguste bring my music?" said she,
addressing her husband.
"Music, indeed! Do you think I could
send a servant ten miles off for music, in
the midst of harvest time?"
"I have 'your music, Madame," said M.
de l'Estang; "I sent my valet for it."
"You are a good fellow," said M. de Chel
les, slapping him on the shoulder; "1 am
much obliged to you."
M'me do Cholles, with a smile and a
slight shrug of the shoulder; rose from her
seat.
"Shall we try the new music?" said she.
M. do 1' Estang followed her to the piano.
"How de Chelles is changed," said de
l'Estang, as they turned over the music.
"Changed?" murmured Amelia. "We
must be of very little value, for when once
we are one, we are neglectod,scorned; there
is no effort made to keep us."
"Amelie!" sighed, rather than said, M. de
l'Estang.
"Maxence!" murmured Amelia, and then,
striking the chords, they sang together a
new duet with a very old beginning--
"T'amo, T'atno."
Meantime, Madame d'Elbac knitted, and
as for M. deiChelles, he lay at full length
on his wife's sofa, snoring delightfully, with
his mouth wide open.
The next morning Madame d'Elbac and
M. de Chelles wore seated side by side on
the garden terrace overlooking the park.—
d'Elbae, placing her hand on her
nephew's arm, said gently to him:
"Do you think you can entirely trust M.
da l'Estang?"
"Of course. Why we are old school
friends—tried friends. You are quite wrong
in pier suspicions. You see there is no dis
guise about them. Amelia and do l'Estang
are always together, but they don't seek to
hide theirpreference. It's innocent."
"Here is a letter he has written to my
niece, who was at the same convent with
her. I wi.lonly show you a few words:
"M. de Chelles is snoring in the next
room. He is getting fat. I am perfectly
tired of seeing him always ill-dressed, al
ways talking of his friend.. Ahl Juliette,
how different is his n iend, M. de l'Estang.
If he had been my husband! I see him
nearly every day, the days I do not see him
do not count in my life. He loves me. Is
M. do Chelles changed, or did llsee him be
fore with the eyes of inexperience, and what
my girlish fancy called lore? Now I am a
woman, and I know what love is."
"By Heaven, I'll kill do l'Estangl 4
"That your wife may moron him all the
days of her lifo, and turn her indifference
for you into hatred. No, no; we are too
clever now-a•days to use these trite old rem
edies. Moral honacepathy—'sintilibus,' etc.;
you understand. You must become the ri
val of de l'Estang. Get a tailor, get a bar
ber, send to Paris for noby's boots; and if
you must bunt and shoot, why do it in the
costume of a vignette in a keepsake, with
yellow kid gloves. Then take Amelia to
Paris--solitude nourishes sentiment; excite
her varsity; get her to flirt; turn author if
you can—women are proud of their'povrer
over intellect; turn politician—your wife
will got ambitious, and give audiences in
stead of rendezvous. Save your honor—
you have yet time—and your happiness will
come with it."
Monsieur de Chelies announced that eve
ning, as Monsieur de l'Estang and his wife
were 'engin& that he was going to Paris the
next day. Then leaving Arnelie to think
and wonder, and M. de l'Estang to condole
and sigh, he retired to his sofa, but this time
ho did'nt snore nor close hie eyes, but look
ing through his eyelashes, watched.
For some months after their arrival in
Paris, M. de FEstang and M. do Chelles
both ran a race against each other in the af
fections of Awelie. Apparently, they were
as good friends as over, but each were aware
that the other suspected him. M. de Chel
les had entered the list the same as M. do
I'Estang. Ile felt to assert a his authority as a
husband would be forever to alienate his
wife. lie resolved to win her over again:
for this ho followed in do FEstang's wake.
M. de FEstang was no better looking than
M. de Chelles, but he knew how to display
all his advantages. In a short time Id. de
Chelles was one of the best dressed men in
Paris. NI. de Chelles, who had imagined
when he married he should lead a quiet
patriarchal life, had neglected to manifest
any interest in the affairs of government.
Now he rallied to the Emperor, and the
Emperor, glad to find the old families gath
ering round him, conferred on NI. de Chelles
the order of the Legion of Honor. Mme.
do Chelles did not disguise how much she
was flattered by this distinction. A few
days after, M. de l'Estang appeared with ;
the order of Wartumberg in hie button
hole. Amelie, with the keenness and quick
ness
of a woman, had discovered the race
of which she was to be the prize; her fancy
was captivated by de I'Estang, bat sbe felt
more curiosity with regard to M. de Chellls• ;
oonduct; she was more flattered too, by his
attentions, for he had alres.dy won her;
therefore, there was not, as thpre might
be in de l'Estan's passion, a selfish
motive. A short time after, some ably
written political articles appeared in one of
the leading - papers; curiosity and adtaira-
[WHOLE NUMBER, 1,486.
tien soon discovered the author to be M. de
Matting.
, Very little time elapsed before a pamphlEs
on the diplomatic queetione of the day made
its appearance. Who was the author? M
de Chelles, of course. Now, Maze. de
Chelles, like all those educated from the
cradle in the midst of refinement, luxury,
lin the midst of prejudices of caste, and in
an artificial life, could not but mingle the
world in all her feelings and sentiments.
She would have been capable of a great
sacrifice with the world for an audience,
but it was out of her power to love medi
i ocrity, to devote herself to duties and to
obscurity. Madame de Chellea wee a
woman, such as fashion and extreme civil
ization create; as such she had to be was.
M. de Chelles and M. de l'Estang by this
time had a violent hatred for each other.
De l'Estang would have given the world
for an open quarrel; ho knew the advan
tages of a duel; but M. de Chelles knew
theta too; knew that they would be all tor
his rival; and, therefore, was courtesy and
cordiality itself, unprovokable, as de l'Es
tang was obliged at last to acknowledge.
Meantime, M. do l'Estang, to outrun his
rival, got into the Senate; ha spoke; his
eloquence filled the papers, was the theme
of the salons. M. do Chelles responded to
this move by obtaining (after all sorts of
manteuvers, intrigues and flattery) a place
in the cabinet. At this juncture the Paris
season terminated, and Mme. do Chelles
went down to her country seat. By this
time, however, the lover and the husband
had changed places with each ;other. M.
do l'Estang had grown jealous of Monsieur
do Chelles, and not having the securities of
his rival, became irritated, sombre and
morose.
"Ono would think you were the husband,
M. de l'Estang," said Amalie, one day, to
him, after a scene of supplication, way
wardness and reproach. "M. de Chalk's is
so free from suspicion, so good tempered;
he always was good tempered."
M. de Chelles, though ho did not hear
these words, understood his position per
fectly; bland and amiable; yet tender and
attentive, he gained on his rival every day.
Now Madame de Chelles was alone at her
chateau. M. de Chelles was detained in
Paris by his duties. M. de l'Estang, of
course, could not oome alone. She re
flected much on her strange position; her
heart, the heart of a Parieienne of high
society, wavered; but her vanity was ex
ceedingly gratified by the result she had
inspired.
"I have made two great men," said Ame
lia, to herself. "I could influence the af
fairs of the nation."
At this moment a letter was placed in
her hand; it was from M. do l'Estang.
"Aantz—l am in the village. I have
left Paris at the moment when to be worthy
of you I had achieved the height of my
ambition—l am Secretary of State. But
I knew you were alone: I knew you were
away from all who could betray you, and,
unknown to all, I came. There is nothing
to fear: I am disguised. I will see you
once again alone—here, where all must re
call the past. Does not so true, so constant
a love deserve reward? I am sot certain
now that you love me; a year ago, here, in
this very place, I did not doubt. I will
come to-night; leave a light in your window;
that shall be my guiding-star.
"Poor Maxence: disguised, too—poor
Maxence! After ail, he loves me. How
could I think of M. do Cbelles? All he
has done was for himself. /f Masence had
been my husband he would have lived for•
ever with me here, Poor hlaxencel"
A little before dark Mme. de Chelles re
ceived, by special messenger, a letter from
her husband:
"Amelia," said the Count, "/ have to-day
received the appointment from the Emperor
of Ambassador to the Court of St. Peters
burg. I have till to-morrow at ten o'clock
Ito accept or refuse. It is now time' should
open my heart to you. Amelie, I lone you.
You are my wife, I know; from you my af
fections have never wavered; but I know
yours were estranged for me. It was my
fault. I determined to win you again or
lose you forever. Amelie, I love you.
Amelie, I have changed my whole life fur
your sake. Amelie, I have left you free.
Not having, as your husband, known how
to keep your love, I have left you free as
though you had yet to make a. choice. And
you have. Amalie, do you love him or met
That none may know you induct:wed my
decision. I will come alone to-night across
Ithe park; the light from your window shall
;guide me."
Madame de Chilies let fall the letter.—
By what strange chance—Loth on th• same
eveniog. What was to be done? She had
Ino means of replying—there was nothing to
do but to wait.
And now it was night. The servant bad
retired, the chateau was still. ?dam de
Chelles sat alone in her room, her hands
clasped and her heart beating.
"Which will come—will they meet—wbat
is to be done?"
She looked forth through her open win
dow into the night; it was a still, balmy,
:summer night: the white, vaporing decide
veiled the rising moon, bat the bright stars
shown down, throwing into distinctness the
lawns, the trees, the lakes, and even the
slumbering flowers. There was a low wall,
too, dividing the pleuure-ground from the
perk ; on this Mom de Chills intentl
111.tzascz."