t *\\ /.- I t - . . • - • I‘. •••'. - M r I • • 0/U =L WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor. VOLUME XXIX, NUMBER 46.1 i I UBLISRED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING Office in Carpet Hall, Sortth-west corner of ,Front and Locust streets. Terms of Subscription Coe Copy perannurn„if paidin advance, 14 if not paid within three anonthstrom commencement of the year, 200 -5L CtemLitsss .n, C:1 c,l?-5,. Nosubscriptton received for a less time thnn six snontits; andllo paper will be discontinued until all Acrearagenare paid,UnieSSat the optionof the pub •isher. Irrhloneymay beremittedby mail attliepublish .er's risk. Rates of Advertising, maitre [slinex]one week, three weeks, each .rbsequentinsertion, 19 [l2liaes] one week, 50 three weeks, 1 00 enehiuhrequenfingertion. :45 Largeradverti<ement,in proportion. Aliberuldiecount will he Conde to quorterly,half .early oryearly.tdvertieers,who are strictly confined • their Verbless. egtittry. From the London Times, May 11th The War. 17 ALTRED TENNTSON. There la a sound of thunder afar, Storm in the South that darkens the day, storm of battle and thunder of war,• Well if it do not roll our way. Storm! storm! Riflemen form! Ready, be ready to meet the storm• Riflemen! riflemen, riflemen form! Be not deaf to the sound that warns! Be not gull'd by a despot's plea! Are figs of thistles, or grapes of thorns? Hour should a despot set men free" Form! form! Riflemen form Ready, be ready to meet the storm! Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form! List your Reforms for a moment go, Look to your butts and take good aims Reiter a rotten borough or so, Than a rotten ffret or a city in flames! Form! form! Riflemen form! Ready, be ready to meet the storm! Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form! Form, be ready to do or die! Form in Freedom's name and the Queen's! True, that we have a faithful ally. But only the Devil knows what he means. Form! form! Riflemen form! Ready, be ready to meet ihs storm! Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form! The following improvement on the above is politely dedicated to such of the rcatlera of the Spy as it may 12:E=1 There is no sound of silver anear! Nary red in our pocket to-day, God of battles! oh thunder! oh dear! That a subscriber would roll our a•ay! Pay! pay! gentlemen pay! Bill and receipt are ready this day! Gentlemen, gentlemen. gentlemen pay! De not deaf to the sounds that warn! Be not gulled by rmmer's plea! Are figs of thistles? Ye', in R horn! Arc promises payments? No sir•ee! l'ay! pay: gentlemen pay? gill and receipt are ready thin day! Gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen pay! . Let other debts for a moment go! But me no buts, but settle arrears; Better a grumbling tradesman or so, a'han a muzzled press or a printer in tern...! .Pay! pey! gentlemen pay! Bill end receipt are ready this day! Gentlemen. gentlemen, gentlemen pay! Pay, that you he ready to the! Pay, that we be able to live! Pay! or our very faithful ally, The Devil,. will get you without reprieve! Sock! sock! gentlemen socki step to the Captain's office and sock! Gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen SOCK! •Gentlemen not heeding this appeal are notified that they will be "ghosted" by oar Darn. forthwith. gritttinito. Girlish Fancy Some years ago "all Europe," as the pa pers had it then, or "all the world," as they write it now, having condescended to in clude America in the artistic hemisphere, was driien perfectly wild with enthusiasm about the beauty, voice and talent of a ,prima donna called La Toresilla. Engage ments' followed closely upon each other's thesis; the public thronged the houses wherever she went; money flowed like a Pactolian stream into her coffers; poets .celebrated her beauty, and of course, and above all, lovers of every degree knelt, fig uratively and positively, at her feet. Now La Teresina was as tender-hearted as she was beautiful, suffering her indolent and tender nature abhorred; therefore she con soled a good many of these suffering and unhappy men, who all declared that the thappiness of their lives depended on her exclusively. Some, however, she was obliged to make .eternally miserable. She had really not much time for love, for the labors of a pri ma donna do not, as the public are apt to iimagine, consist exclusively in dancing. picking up bouquets, and curtseying in re durn for applause. There is a great deal more than this to be done; rehearsals, long and tedious, hard study, and, above all, a studious and systematic care of the voice, Abe most delicate of all human luxuries and endowments. La Teresina, therefore, meter lost sight, even in her most passionate moments, of "1a rxia voce." An extra glass .of champagne, or an extra lover, was inex orably refused if la voce signified, by a 13 us picious hoarseness, that its limpidity was menaced. Amongst the adorers to whom La Toresilla was inexorably crud was the -Count do Sellieres, a young French noble man, handsome and distinguished, with whom La Toresilla became acquainted, in The height of her glory, at Naples. where he was secretairo d'iunbassude. At that time her ciciebeo was a jealous Spanish Hidalgo; and, though Toresilla admired the *int, it was far too much trouble for her to try to deceive the Spaniard, and plunge herself and her voice into the horrors of a secret intrigue; therefore was she cruel to the Count. lie, however, followed her with silent admiration, content to be received on sufferance, and consoling himself by lavish ing the love which the mother disdained, on a lovely little girl of some two years old, the offspring of the invisible husband La Toresilla was supposed to possess. In due course of time La Toresilla went from Na ples to Milan. Here again she encountered M. do Sellieres—but again he came just too late. A solemn Austrian general gravely held La Toresilla's shawl, carried her lap- dog, and looked to the throwing of the re quisite number of bouquets. Sellieres was again reduced to the society of the little girl, and Ninetta, more constant than her mother, recognised him, when she saw him, with a cry of joy, and, with the premature grace of womanhood, set about adoring and tyrannizing him in a way which did honor to her birth and her feminine instincts. 21 50 SO 38 All this was very agreeably aranged, and for some two years the Count, always hav ing a knack of arriving too late, followed in the wake of the prima donna. Thenra change in diplomacy sent the Count to South America, and it must be confessed that be fore he reached Rio, La Toreeilla had faded from his mind. La Teresina, however, pursued her career with uninterrupted success, until at last, getting rich and lazy, and being warned by tho success of many new prima donnas, in the height of her glory she retired from the stage. At this time she was forty-two—old for a prima donna, old for an Italian, old fur a woman who had exhausted all the emotions of the heart, the pleasures of va riety and the senses. La Toresilla in abdi cating her theatrical throne, abdicated also youth, beauty, love and ambition. She at once settled joyfully and comfortably down into all the privileges of an old woman. It was to her as great a delight to be freed from the necessity of being charming and beautiful, as it was to other women to achieve the conviction that they were both. It was such a rest to go about all day in a loose dressing gown, to twist up ber hair as she pleased, to eat whatever she liked, and to follow her own humors. After all she was a kind-hearted, harmless body, for be ing left to herself, La Toresilla manifested none but the most peaceable and harmless qualities, and was a great deal more love able than in the days of her triumph. She, however, had probably considered love as ono of the peculiar privileges of a prima donna, and retiring into private life had left love behind her. She would talk of herself as though she were talking of some one else, and always mingled the accounts of her artistic triumphs with the account of the particular lover each particular tri umph had entailed. She, however, regret ted none, and hearing that the last admirer she had had in her theatrical career, was an adorer of the prima donna who had suc seeded her, she felt no pang of jealousy, but on the contrary imagined the singer had as good a right to him as she had to La Toresilla's mock mantles, crowns and sceptres. La. Toresilla had settled in a charming villa, not on the lake of Como, but on the borders of the Buis de Boulogne. Here she slumbered, ate and drank, took a quiet ride in her own comfortable carriage, went to mass every Sunday, and to the opera every night, and enjoyed life as she had never done before. All the affections of her heart warm and true too they were, consentrated nom on the only being with whom she could claim affinity, on her Sellieres' little play fellow, her daughter Nina. But Nina would scarcely have now been a playfollow for Sellieres, for she was now fourteen, a beautiful, spoiled, noble hearted, wayward child, bright and intelligent, educated by fits and starts in the convents and schools of all the countries in which her mother had sojourned, but with true and pure in stincts with which Heaven had endowed hcr, unspoiled by all. It was, perhaps, one of the very luckiest events for La Ninetta, as her mother called her, that by the strangest chance, one night on cloning out of the "Italians," La Tore silla encountered and recognized the Count de Sellieres. It must be acknowledged that though the pleasure of meeting was mutual, the recognition was not, for Sel lieres' imagination could not recognize in the expanded old woman wrapped in a slovenly shawl and buried in an unbecom ing bonnet, tho diva of his admiration and his adoration. When she spoke, however, he remembered her, and also recollected that twelve years had elapsed since they had met. It was easy to reckon; there stood Nina, a living record; she was four years old when be had left her, now she was sixteen; her mother was now fortytwo as she ostentatiously proclaimed, lest be should think it necessary to bore her with declarations and give her the trouble of trying to be agreeable, and the Count him self was forty-four and three-quarters, a fact which ho studiously kept to himself. But if gears had changed La Toresilla, they had not stood still for the Count. They had made him as handsome a man as Paris could produce renowned for his high-breed ing, his dignity of manner, his wit, and his diplomatic skill, as well as for his unboun ded success in the female world of fashion. But years had done•more for the Count in another way than for La Teresina, who, at forty-two years, was a complete tabs , sin knowledge of the world, and they had taken from him all the illusions of youth, all be "NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING,. JUNE 11, 1859 lief in feeling and affection, and numerous passions be bad inspired. had utterly de stroyed his reliance on the love of women, for whom it must be confessed he enter tained a sort of well-bred contempt. lie was, however, delighted to meet La Toresilla, and as delighted as herself to find that she did not expect him to play the lover. As for Ninetta she was for him an exception to all other woman; not that he was in love with her, the Count was incapable of such a feeling now; but remembering her in for mer years, and looking on her now, he con sidered her something exceedingly-delight ful, fresh and amusing, a cross between a babg,and an angel. As for Ninetta, she pretended to remem ber bim, and treated him exactly as she had done twelve years ago, except that she was more exacting, more passionate, and more capricious. To the Count, blase with great ladies and great society, La Toresilla's flow ery villa at Autenel was aheod of Eden, a rest from the wiles of the worldly serpent which had coiled itself around his life.— Gradually he got into the habit of coming every day and staying a little later, spend ing not only the greater portion of the day, but most of his evenings in this haven of rest, where he was more at home than in his own house, overrun with fashionable friends. He bacatne the companion and confident of Nina, who managed the whole household, beginning by her mother, arroga ting to her self liberties and privileges that would have sufficed to shock the susceptibili ties of the least prudish of Parisian mothers. The Count, who really felt the deepest in terest in this:beautiful girl, fought hand to hand against some of the most audacious of Ninetta's fancies,and interposed between the mother's indulgence and the girl's inexperi ence. Ninetta. and the Count, when they were not in open warfare, were the very best of friends. One day the Count finding La Toresilla comfortably asleep in the bou doir, proceeded into the garden to Ninetta. lie found her reading a letter; as he ap proached she looked up, her eyes flashing, and her lip quivering with indignation. "Look here," said she, "I wish I was a man," and she shook her tiny fist, "would not I settle this impertinence." The Count took the letter; it was a dec laration of love, couched in the most re spectful terms, and signed in full. "Well," said the Count, "how did you get this letter?" "Over the wall to be sure, round this stone, and I know who threw it." "That is easy, it is signed Rodolphe Mar cel." "Yes, a painter." "An artist of great renown." "That's his studio then at the end of the lawn:, he is always looking out of the win dow instead of painting as ho ought." "Marcel is young, famous and rich, I he. Hove too, he is very handsome." "Is he? I never looked." "He is not a bad match for you, and he solicits—" Hero the Count was interrupted by Ninetta snatching the letter from his hand, and tearing it into pieces. "How dare he write such things, impu dent and insulting things, and you who pretend to he my friend, stand calmly by? A good match—does he think I wn.nt a hus band?" "Well that is not an extraordinary thought to come into a man's head. You mean to marry one day, I suppose?" "You have no business to suppose any thing of the kind; 1 shall never marry." "Never, Ninettal bah! You will fall des perately in love some day." "I shan't. I don't even know what love "Why, then, I'll tell you." So taking her hand they sat down under the portico, side by side. "To love, though the world is full of men of equal merit, ie to see in it but one image." "yes., "To feel in the presence of that being as if God bad created the world for him and fur you." "In hie presence," said Ninetta, almost unconsciously, "to understand God better, to see the beauties of nature doubled, to comprehend poetry, music as it has never appeared before, to feel created anew, to hear his voice when he is away, to watch for him when he is expected, to feel any torture would be light compared to that of not seeing him, to know that without him, life, existence, and youth, all would be vain. Is that love?" "Yes," said the Count in astonishment; "yes, who taught it you so well?" "You," said Ninetta, gazing with her pure, steady eye'up at him, and taking both his hands in hers—"you; if that is love, it is love I feel for you, and if you say I must love and must marry, then you see how happy I am, fur I will marry you." "Nina," said the Count, "is this one of your jukes?—it is unseemly in a young girl." "It ;Is not a joke; it is the truth; my mother will be happy; come —" "Nina, do you know how old I am?" "No; / know / am over sixteen; that is old enough to marry, is it not?" "But I am forty •five—older than your mother." "Nonsense; but I don't care. You love me, I know you do." - "Yes, Nina." "Then Irby not lot us be married at °nee" "Let me speak to your mother." Nina consented, and the Count walked back into the house, not to speak to La Toresilla, but to reason with himself. He felt within his heart a volcano burst ing forth. In years gone by he believed in the flames that issued forth; now he know such flames were but ashes; he doubted not Nina, but himself. Had he not loved ardently before—had he not vowed to love eternally? Often and often, and believed it when he vowed, and could scarce recall the names of those he had loved. Had he not, too, been told that his inconstancy would bring death and misery--and had not beings, as fair and pure as Nina, sur vived and loved again, and been happy? Would not Nina be the same Nina? The bride of sixteen might love him one, two, five, say over ten years. Then she would be twenty-six; a woman, in beauty, mind and passion; and he would be fifty-six. - Five more years, and she would be still in the prime of life and beauty, and he would be sixty, an old man. Yet Count Goutrau do Sellieres was astonished to find how the buried illusions of his youth all came clustering back again; how easy it would be for him to deceive himself, and plunge into momentary rapture and years of jeal ousy, misery, and probably ridicule, which last, as a Frenchman and a roue, he dreaded most. Having thus reflected, he awoke La Toresilla. "Arnica," said he, "what do you think of Nina finding a husband?" "I should not like her to go away from me." "She has found one." "Who is it?" "Myself." "How delightful. When will you be married?" • "Toresilla, do you remember how long it is since I first made love to you?" "Ohl a good many years ago; how lucky I never loved you, was it not?" "Perhaps, Toresilla, but that- is not the question. Do you know lam an old man? I shall not marry Nina, but Nina must be married." "Puverina, if she loves you." "A mere girl's fancy; there is a worthy man loves her—rich, talented, of an age suitable to hers; Le will cure her of her love for me. May ho come?" "Just as you like, snip taro, only don't make her cry; and tell your friend that ho must not expect me to dress, or to keep awake. Povera Ninetta:" upon which La Toresilla, plunging her fat, white hands-in to the clustering wool of her monstrous poodle, relapsed with it into a comfortable slumber. The Count, meantime, left the house and proceeded to the atelier of 31. Rodolphe Marcel. "Sir," said be, as the young painter :ad vanced to meet him, "I am the guardian of ,I'lle Nina, to whom you wrote this morn ing." "I am glad, sir, you have come to me, my views are most honorable—my love equal only to my respect. All I ask is an introduction." "You shall have it this vary evening. Nina is a spoiled child, M. Marcel, and she has taken a fancy into her head, I think it right to toll you of—it is a mere girlish fancy—she thinks she is in love with me!" "A. girlish fancy, indeed," said Marcel; "of no consequence, of course." Certainly not; such a fancy to a sober mind is perfectly—" "Ridiculous," interrupted Marcel, sup plying a word that did not come readily to the Count. "I shall not even allude to it to Mlle. Nina." Tho Count having agreed to take Marcel that evening to the villa, returned home.— On his way he pondered over the whole mat ter. "Such a fancy is ridicalous," said the young man, alluding, of course, to the die parity of years, "I knew that would be the way the world would judge me. Poor Nina, if I had only been twenty years younger, but she will get over it, and I shall get over it, fur I really love Ler; but then so I Lace many others." Marcel made but little progress in Nine's affection; however, as the Count was always with him he was always civilly received.-- At length, however, Nina took the Count aside. "Matamina has told me all," said she "you will not be my husband, but," said she, "I eball love you all the same." "Yes, dearest Nina, as a father." "I shall love you always in the way I love you now, but I will marry Marcel if you like." "Yes, darling child, it will please me, and in a few weeks you will thank me for your happiness °' "I am as happy now as I shall ever be, Goutrau; for though you will not love me, you have given me something to do to please you. I shall tell Marcel Z marry him for your sake." Marcel received the confession which Nina made to him with becoming gravity, but said, like Goutrau, that in a few weeks he would make her so happy that she would love him better than any one else in the world. "I hopo so." said Nina; "now I dont love you at all. I Lace simply no aversion to you." This strange marriage was, however, Con cluded. The Count, who directed all, judged it best that immediately after the ceremony the young couple should proceed alone to Italy, leaving La Toresilla to her poodle and himself. They were absent about three months.— On their return Goutrau hastened to see them. As he gazed on Nina ho started back. How changed! The freshness of youth had faded like the bloom from a gath ered fruit; the buoyancy of spirit was gone; the voice was cold yet deep, the eyes lan guid. "Poor Nina, are you ill," said the Count, his own heart feeling a pang ho fan cied he had schooled it to forget. "No Goutrau, but as we are alone I will tell you that I have not found the happiness you promised, though Marcel is kind and loves me." "But Nina, do you not love him?" "No," said Nina, with a deep blush; "when I married him I felt indifferent-;-now I hate him." "Hate him, Nina—your husband!" "I know ho is my husband, therefore I will not say why I hate him. I married him for your sake alone. Now I have seen you again, Goutrau, I know how wrong I was—how mistaken you were." "Nina," said the Count, rising in uncon trolable agitation, "say no more; if we were wrong, it is irrevocable now. I will never see you again, I will leave France." "Yes," said Nina, "never let me see you again. Farewell now forever. All is irre vocable." Nina turned from him without even ex tending her hand, and left the room. The "Count, scarcely believing his own feelings, yet felt that he was wretched, and resolved to fly from the temptations that as sailed him. "I will never see her again; yet how I love her I did not know till now; could we then have been happy?" The Count gave orders for immediate de parture. At daybreak the next cloy he was awakened by his servant. "A letter, sir." Ile opened it; it was from Nina. "When you receive this, Goutrau, I shall be cold and dead. I tried the happiness you had prepared for me; it was torture.— ' love you now, not with the fancy of a mere girl, but with the passion of a woman. But, as you say, all is irrevocable. 'You will all soon forget me, and I cannot endure life.— Life would bring bring strife, misery, and perhaps depredation; therefore, I die. Con sole my mother, entreat Marcel to forgive me, and, in after years, do you, the only being I ever loved, remember me when all others have forgotten me." 'With the speed of lightning the Count hastened to Autenel. It was too late; as she had said, Nina was dead and cold. "Was I wrong?" said the Count, the first time he felt strong enough to think, after the severe illness which followed the shock of Nina's death. And with feeble step he rose and paced the room. Suddenly as he turned he beheld his image in the glass.— For some moments he gazed steadily at it. He was an old man, sickness had destroyed the outward beauty which had cheated the world of twelve or fifteen years. "Was I wrong?" repeated the Count Joicy, walking slowly up to the glass. "No, this tells me I was right," as he spoke he passed his r withered hand through his thin locks, now completely white; sooner or later she would have been miserable. Better she should die pure, with all youth's illusions for me, than after years of passion, regret and so: row, perhaps disgrace, for another. Peace be with you, my Nina, we both are happier thus. Yes, I was right." An Illustrious Exile A few years ago I made the acquaintance of an elderly lady, whose husband, so far back as 1798, held an official position, both civil and military, in the colony of New South Wales. Many anecdotes she told mel of celebrated characters who had, in the words of one of them, "left their country for their country's good." 'With most, if not with all of these celebrities, the old lady had come in contact personally. "One morning," she began, "I was sit ting in my drawing-room with my two little children,' who are now middle aged men with large families, when a gentleman wasl announued. I gave the order for his ad mission and on his entering the door of my npstrtment I rose from my chair and greeted him with a bow, which he returned in the most graceful and courtly manner imagin able. Ills dress was that of a man of fash ion, and his bearing that of a person who bad moved in the highest circles of society. A vessel had arrived from England a few days previously with passengers, and I fan cied that this gentleman was one of them. I asked him to be seated. He took a chair, opposite to me, and at once entered into conversation, making the first topic the ex treme warmth of the day, and the second the healthful appearance of my charming children—as lie was pleased to speak of them. Apart from a mother liking to hear her children praised, there was such a re finement in the stranger's manner, such a seeming sincerity in all he said, added to such a marvelous neatness of expression, that I could not help thinking he would form a very valuable acquisition to our list of acquaintances, provided ho intended re maining in Sydney, instead of settling in the interior of the coleny.. "I expressed my regret that the major (my husband) was from home; but I men tioned that I expected him at one o'clock, at which hour we took luncheon; and I fur ther expressed a hope that our visitor would remain and partake of the meal. With a very pretty smile (which I afterwards dis covered had more meaning in it than 7 was $1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE at the time aware of,) he feared be could not have the pleasure of partaking of the hospitalities of my table, but, with my per mission, be would wait till the appointed hour—which was then near at hand. Our conversation was resumed; and presently he asked my little ones to go to him. They obeyed at once, albeit they were shy chil dren. This satisfied me that the stranger was u man of kind and gentle disposition. He took the children, seated them on his knees, and began to tell them a fairy story, (evidently of his own invention, and ex temporised,) to which they listened with profound attention. Indeed, I could not help being interested in the story, so fanci ful were the ideas, and so poetical the lan guage in which they were expressed. "The story ended, the stranger replaced the children on the carpet, and approached the table on which stood, in a porcelain vase a bouquet of flowers. These he admired, and began a discourse on florticulture. I lis tened with intense earnestness, so profound were his observations. We were standing at the table for at least eight or ten min utes, my boys hanging on to the skirt of my dress, and every now and then compel ling me to beg of them to be silent. "One o'clock came but not the major. 1 received, however, a note from him, written in pencil on a slip of paper. He wou!d be detained at Government House until half past two. "Again I requested the fascinating stran ger to partake of luncheon, which was now on the table in the nest room; and again, with the same winning smile, he declined. As lie was about, las I thought, to depart, I extended my hand, but, to my astonish meat, he stepped back, made a low bow and declined taking it. "For a gentleman to have his hand re fused when he extends it to another, is em barrassing enough, but for a lady! Who can possibly describe what were my feel ings? Had lie been the heir to the British throne, visiting that penal settlement in dis guise, (and from the stranger's manners and conversation lie might have been that illustrious personage,) he could scarcely have, under the circumstances, treated me in such an extraordinary manner. I scarcely knew what to think. Observing, as the stranger must have done, the blood rush to my cheeks, and being cognizant, evidently, of what was passing through my mind, he spoke as follows: "'Madam, I am afraid you will never forgive me the liberty I have taken already. But the truth is, the passion suddenly stole over me, and I could not resist the tempta tion of satisfying myself that the skill which made me so conspicuous in the moth er country still remained to me in this con vict land.' "I stared at him, but did not speak. "'Madam; he continued, 'the penalty of sitting at table with you, or taking the hand you paid me the compliment to proffer me—yourself in ignorance of the fact I am about to disclose—would have been the forfeiture of my ticket-of•leave, a hundred lashes, and employment on the roads in irons. As it is, I dread the major's wrath; ' but 1 cherish a hope that you will endea vor to appease it, if your advocacy be only a return for.the brief amusement 1 afforded your beautiful children.' "'You are a convict.' I said, indignantly, my hand on the bell-rope. "'Madam,' he said, with an cspression of countenance which moved me to pity in I spite of my indignation, 'hear me fur one moment.' "'A convict felon, how dared you enter my drawing-room as a visitor?' I asked him my anger again getting the better of all my other feelings. "'The Major, Madam,' said the stranger 'requested me to be at his house at the hour when I presented myself, and he bade me wait if he were from home when I called. The major wishes to know who was the per son who received from me a diamond neck lace which belonged to the Marchioness of Dorrington, and came into my possession at a state ball some four or five years ago— a state ball at which I had the honor of being present. Now, madam, when the orderly who opened the front door informed the that the Major was not at home, but that you were, that indomitable impudence which so often carried me into the drawing rooms of the aristocracy of our country, took possession of me, and, warmed as I was with generous wine-1 determined to trend once more on a lady's carpet, and en ter into conversation with her. That touch I felt the Major would forgive me; and, therefore, I requested the orderly to an nounce a gentleman. Indeed, madam, I shall make the forgiveness of the liberties I have taken in this room the condition of i my giving that information which shall re store to the Marchioness of Dorrington the gem of which I deprived her—a gem which is still unpledged, and in the possession of one who will restore it on application, accompanied by a letter in my handwrit ing.' "Again I kept silence. "'Madam!' he exclaimed, somewhat im passionedly, and rather proudly, 't am no other man than Barrington, the illustrious pickpocket; and this is tho hand which in its day has gently plucked from the ladies of rank and wealth jewels which realized, in all, upwards of thirty-fire thousand pounds, irrespective of those which were in my possession, under lock and key, when fortune turned her back upon me.' [WHOLE NUMBER 1,503. "'Barrington, the pickpocket!' Having heard so much of this man and of his ex ploits, (although, of course, I had never seen him) I could not help regarding him with curiosity; so much so, that I could scarcely be angry with him any longer. "'Madam,' lie continued, '•I have toll you that I longed to satisfy myself whether that skill which rendered me so illustrious in Europe still remained to sue iu this country, after five years of disuctude. I can conscientiously say that I am just as perfect in the art, that the touch is just as soft, and the nerve as steady as when I sat in the dress-circle at Drury Lane or Covent Garden.' " do not comprehend you, Mr. Bar rington,' I replied. (I could not help say ing :Ifisicr.) "'But you will, madam, in one moment. Where are your keys?' "I felt my pocket, in which I fancied they were, and discovored that they were gone. "'And your thimble mid pencil-case, and your smelling-saltq They are here!' (Ife drew them from his coat pocket.) '•l\ly linger was again arLu<ed. It 'me indeed, I ti,,,ught, a frightful liberty for a convict to practice his skill upon ate, and put his band into the pocket of my dress. But, before I could request him to leave the room and the house, he spoke again; and, as soon as I heard his voice and looked in his face, I was mollified, and against nay will, as it were, obliged to listen to him. ''Ala, madam,' he sighed, 'such is the change that often comes over the affairs of men! There was a time \Allen ladies boast ' ed of having been robbed by Barrington. Many whom I had never robbed gave it lout that I had done so: simply that they might be talked about. Al..s! such is the weakness of poor human nature that some people care not by what means they associ ate their names with the name of any celebrity. I was in power then, not in bondage. "Barrington has my diamond ear rings!" once exclaimed the old Countess of Kottlebank, clasping her hands. Mir ladyship's statement was not true. Her diamonds were paste, and she knew it, and I caused them to be returned to ,her. Had you not a pair of very small pearl drops in your ears this morning, madam?' "I placed my hands to my ears, and dis covered that the drops were gone. Again my anger returrred, and I said, 'How dared you, sir, place your fingers on my face?' "'Upon my sacred word And honor, madam,' he replied, placing his hand over his left.breast, and bowing. did nothing of the kind! The ear is the most sensitive part of the human body to the touch of another person. Had I touched your ear my hope of having these drops in any waistcoat pocket would have been gone. It was.the springs only that I touched, and the drops fell in the palm of any left hand.' Ile place] the ear rings on the table, and made me another low bow. "'And «•hen did you deprive me of them?' I n9ked him. " 'When I was discoursing on floriculture, you had occasion several times to incline your head towards your charming children and gently reprove them for interrupting me. It was on one of those occasions that the dead was quickly done. The dear chil dren were the unconscious confederates in my crime—if crime you still consider it— since I have told you, and I spoke the truth, that it was not fur the sake of gain, but simply to satisfy a passionate curiosity. It was as delicate and difficult an operation as ever I performed in the whole course of my professional career." g "There was peculiar quaintness of humor and of action thrown into the speech; I could not refrain Srom laughing. But, to my great satisfaction, the illustrious pick pocket did not join in the laugh. .TIo re garded me with a look of extreme humility. and maintained a respectful silence, which was shortly broken by a loud knocking at the outer door. It was the major, win', suddenly remembering his appointment with Barrington, bad contrived to make his escape from Governinent louse, in order to keep it. The Major seemed rather sur prised to find Barrington in my drawing room; but he was in such a huiry, and so anxious, that he said nothing on the sub ' ject. "I withdrew to the passage, whence I could overhear all that took place. "'Now, look here. Barrington, said my husband impetuously, 'I will have no more nonsense. As for a free pardon, or a oon ditional pardon, at present, it is out of the question. Id getting you a ticket of leave I have done all that I possibly can; and, as I am a living man, I give you fair warning that if you do not keep faith with me, I will undo what I have already done. A free pardon! What? Let you loose upon the so ciety of England again? The Colonial sec retary would scout the idea, and severely censure the governor for recommending such a thing. You know, as well as I do, that if you returned to England to-morrow, and had an income of live thousand a year. you would never be able to keep those fin gers of yours quiet.' •' 'Well, I think you are right, major,' said the illustrious personage. "'Then you will write that letter at once"' "'I will. But on one condition.' "'Another condition?' " 'Yes.' "'Well, what is that condition, Ycr! Darr so many conditions that I begin to
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