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SAXITEL 'WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
, _ _
VOLUME XXX, NUMBER 173
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING
- Office in - Carpet Halt, North-teestcorner of
Front and Locust streets.
Terms of Subscription.
sieCCoPypernanumor paidin advance,
•' if not paid within three
nkontharrora commencement ofthe year, 200
etizt .. Copp.
No aubBcription recall/cafe, a lee. time than six
Mamba; and ire paper will be discontinued until all
arrearagesa re paid,unlesaat the optional" the pub
i skier.
IlD'AloneYmaYberealittedbrmailinthepublit3l
apps risk.
Rates of Advertising.
squareffitines]one week, $O3B
three weeks, 75
etteh.ubsequentinsertion, 10
112:inesione week. 50
three weeks, 1 00
each subsequentinsertion. 25
LargeradvertiseMenuan proportion
A 'floral discount will he mode to quarterly t haW
'early oryeatly tel vertisers,who are strietl3conEned
o their business.
DR. HOFFER,
TPNTIST.--OFFICE, Front Street 411 door
loom Locunt, over vt:tylor ar. M c Doi, ald'g Honk store
C ° 1 " 411 " , Pa . El:rEistratuce, betweex the Book and
Dr. Hero's Drug; ZitOtC. [August 31, MB
THOMAS WELSIf,
JUSTICE OF THE PEAR, Columbia, Pa.
OFFICE. In Whipper's New Building, below
illack , s Hotel, Front street.
V.—Prompt attention given to all business entrusted
to trts CAM
November 28. 1857.
OIL G. W. MIFFLIN,
TiENTIST, Locust street, a few doors above
„Er
the Udd Fellows' Hall, Columbia, fa.
Columbia.!Nay a. Mil
H. M. NORTH,
ATTORNEY AND consiatoa AT LA{[
Columbia. l'a.
Cutlecooue-g.romptly rrtacir.i n Lancaster and YorV
Joutaiea,
Columbia, !Way 4,1850.
.1. W. risaca,
Attorney aad Counsellor at Law,
coiumbm, 6. iN - 6; q _
----
C. P. HOTTENSTEIN, M. D.,
LTG ON AND MUSICIAN, -Columbia.
$..1 (Mee in Om towns lately occupied by Dr. L. S
Ftlben. May indg.tt
S. /Alec Bockius, D. D. S.
TAA.crtc.F.s the Operative, Surgical and Meehan
ival Dew rurp•ntm of Dentailry,
Orrice I.oeuiaiiireet, between the Franklin lieu
sad pipit Office. Columbia. Pa
May 7 P• 51)
SllMiElt CORN.---A. -
fresh tot`of Slta.ker
Corn, for .ale by I/P;VIIY C pYUau.
Nov. 13. 185 H Corner Inc Et
_tree
Gr,ofti,;E J. susTil,
WHOLESALE and Retail Bread and Cake
Bake,r.—Coastronly on hand a variety of .
700 numerous to mention; Bruokets; Soda, Wine, Scroll.,
►r•3 Sugar Biscuit, Confectionery, of every description,
ke, ke. LOCUST snunir,
Fob. 2,'56. Between the Bank and Franklin
TUST recnved, three dozen Dr. Brunon'h
ity vegetable Fh ters, a errtattt Cr't/ for 13).spsitsut
also. a fresh 1..,t of •ap Sago and Yuto .Apple etuuse.
n u q u a and cora Starch, ut D.III=.II.IVS
Sept S, 1557. Groesry and Liquor Store.
IRO RECEIVED, a beautiful assortment of
hoc Stuitila, at th Headquarters ami
XNewA tlepot.
Columbia, April IS, TS!".
CHEWING TOBACCO
A T HENRI' PFAIILEIFi , , Locust street-opposite the
It Franklin ilouse.ttast he hod CUBA LEAF, CON.
.f; RE:3 4 , and s everal other brand• of the best Chewing
'Tobacco, to whiels the attention of Chewers is invited,
May L LOSS.
TNIVORTF.D Lob: 'g, KIP°, GiCll/05 Double tiraractl,
.1. for the 1I ndlcercluer, ut
II ARRA" a}:tcs , s.
oppo .i tc cola. 13rulge. Front SI.
Pr b. ift. '..10
BAGLEY'S GOLD PENS.
AFIIESII lot of lot G. Bagley's Cold reln,
ocaitrereittreeepyti, at
SAYLOR /r, McIJUNALIPI3,
Mu.) CIURTACTO mtd Nowa Depot, Front Street, See
and door above Lee
111:trelt 27. I,,nai _ -
Blarnig:::-Ticrn )01. 1311141 a, at IVFlesale
or Retail. at H. PFAHII.I.:M'S.
Dee 12. 1 357 Laeu-t
SINE'S Compound of Syrup of Tar, Wild
Cherry and Haarhouild, far thc rune of Cough-
Colda, Whoupiug Cough. Croun.Se. For alai, at
nire:Mcl{l.l , . DF.I.I.E.TVS
ruMilY Malcom b'ture. Odd Fellows' Hall
Oe'ober 23, 1a53.
Patent Steam Vrasil Bolters.
THESE well tioim Boiler* ueo I opt eauotu n ay au
hand at 111.11 N It I' 111.1.:12 , S,
1.0C11.1 rf el, 11pP651 le the Frau I, II 'louse.
Columbia. July 1 FL I 5.57
nuts for salt byttit bushvi r larger (man-
Vilify by B. F. APPOI.D.
Co'Laub is Dec 25, L 958. CII on Ba-in
T`XTII and Snprrfine Flour, Buckwheat
vsiow.. Coral Meal. anti whole Curia 1111 d ()RI.. at
.Confer of Valtd and Union sireem. [Jan. t!, '49.
MIMC:RN'S Flx:ract of Copitiba and Sarsaparilla, far
1 Pule at the. Go/den Monar Drag Store.
March 27. )858.
-TOBACCO and Segars of the best brands.
wholesale and mug, lit
/WM.. BRUNER'S.
Stove Polish.
,k SUPERIOR snit le of Stove Voll.h. that require.,
A
Mess labor, and produces a polish uttattantad by
utty Whet.
For sale at the Golden Mortar Drug Stare, Front st.
_ S:pt 44, /859.
JUST in store, n fresh lot of Breiwg h rronficid't
celebrated Vegetshlc Cattle . Powftder. onl.lAd for stile by
- Wll.
itt,.nt 17. 16.50. Front strret, Cotutnina.
Soap.
(ph Boxes of Duffey Brown Soo or) hand and for
Zi) sale low at the cornet of Third and Citnou Ste.
August 6,1659.
IRST Received another treen,lful lot of Vanilla
al Beans, at J. s. Itgi.LETT & CO'S
Golden 'Stoner Drn: Store. From Sweet.
Suffer= longer with Corns.
T the Golden Mortar Drug
to
yont can procure
A ATI article which i* warranted to remove Cents in
4..4 hours, without pain or soreness.
- •
Fly Paper.
•
lI44I3PERTnit amide arty Paper, far the deetrue
gory of ,Inies,..k.c, Las krA been teemed et the
J3tug Stare of
WILLIAMS, Front street.
Colualbia. July 30,18.59"
Harrison's Colombian Ink.
... urrlic „ i s a superior article, permanently black.
and not corroding the rEll. ran be bad in any
quantity, at the Family' Medicine Store , and blacker
y.tia War 6nglisb Boot Poliab„
Columbia. /noel). WO
On Hand,
UR.I3. WINSLOW's s,,eottiolt Syrup, ofitiet: Wiu
.111..greatty teeth; to the proeesu of teething by re
ducing inanzontion. totin..pa‘modte action,
le i is very.sbort time. " Ear sole Er. WILLI AMA,
-Sept, 1.7,1860. Frei; ' , tree, Columbia,
REDDING & CO'S Russia Satre! This
..ex
tremely popu l ar remedy rot the cure of external
Ailattinsi is new for .ale by
IL WILLIAMS. Front at., Columbia.
sept. 41,1339.
GBMN GLOWERS can carry on their bad.
SIOC*6 most •occepolsilly R. timameaten, free
from from& acme forty vineystrek set out the past
sealtem - See advertisement of framnronlon Lands.
autother column.
pgitSBSl3 waltiag . cbangs of climate for
health. See,adverusenteut of Liagranoutom Lends
issotbra cplumn. Valy e, 1.05.Vai
Org.
Hera Castle.
Item cacae stands by its own broad tando,
Nett to the inland and east to the sea;
The I.toutent him labia quesuing flight
NVill Bag ere he erotica the fee.
$7 SD
And the Baroness Laßoche' bath gold and vasFels,
And winters and pprings forlydoar,
O'er daughter Grace is the pride of her race,
A waxen check—and no more.
Bir Hugh de ray hath a palfrey gray,
And early morn you may see him wait;
To the weary page it .ICCITIA an age,
As he 3 awes at the castle gam.
But Which of the twain Sir Hugh would gain,
Wiih In , equal mile and hie equal how,
That widow and maid of each other afraid,
Would give the wLole world to know.
The bower-maid Alice, who hands the. chalice
Of Gsscon wine to Sir Hugh the Knight,
I guts- could tell. on I.he holed
Which way his choice would light.
For every day, erehe rides away,
• There's a whkper'd word for her private ear,
And a mach to her lip—Jest her memory slip—
When there's taste of the vassals near.
come compliment to the mother sent—
Some county hhr .se to be daught.•r borne;
"No more. L. (MOO gave a hint, ••.he earth,
'We may pass to•ntorroto morn:,
And below the keep dot, o fair trait, sweep,
hi, a bride and a bridegroom gay;
Bern Cr,szte's the pr , de of the Country-side—
But neither look that w.. 7
The Baroness stenos with clenched hands,
I n A wrath that would lulu burs , free;
ttud the pale proud fuer of ihe Lady Grace
(irowepolider yet to see:
Thews a riddle rend end a day-dream fled,
And a bower-ned's °Mee undone to-day;
While -Te Lady After:" limy alma use chalice
It. On, Hall of Sue theue de kite) et
gtltttiia It 5 .
Inexorable
"There is no plate in the world in whici,
non get so tired of Loring or hutiog the sii to
twig. Theca ore un pe..ple on the ea YII/
.e.rdy mitt nal: their atfeet loos or the ti
um of their garniems. N. a here is it OM
easy to get ut, au eni hiu.ousm us la Paris:
nowhere is it so easily oi si quickly extin
guished. The exuberant ardor arid avidity
of ;die French character, so quickly followed
by satiety, ;Sects alike affaii a of the heart
and :he ur ne s. ricus utfitirs R life: ever,
taste ai.cl religious faith are'aifected try
peculiarity of the French character. There
is no place in which the mania for a o al
urine, or the admiration fur a pretty face
passes so quickly, no place in which the
funds go quicker up and more suddenly
down; what is sublime to-day, is ridiculoid,
to-morrow. An ardent desire of change.
an imagination that analyzes and enjoys
with lightnitieike rapidity, perhaps a
superabundance of intellect, talent and
genius makes us eager after novelty, after
new emotions, after exaggeratel sensations.
But, my dear Paul, you will wonder why 1
begin my letter with a philosophical dis
cluisition with you, my intimate and tried
trientl, when, without any circumlocution,
I, who left Paris with en utter contempt for
its social follies; I, who have fled from the
positive ovations society capriciously chose
to offer me in return for fame; I, who hared
and despised le beau monde; I, who left Paris
on a serious art mission which was to en
rich the archives of our country; I am
actually staying as a visitor in one of the
gayest, most fashionable chateaux, in the'
midst or the most refined, noble and fash
ionable men of the day, and surrounded by
the very elite of lovely, capricious and
coquettish Parisian belles."
So wrote Ilorace Bouvien, from the
chateau of the Marquis of Melonet, in Nur
maudv, to his friend, Paul Ilersent, in
Paris.
Horace Bouvien was one of those artists
whose fame, founded on real talent and
on steady industry, inspired by a true vo
cation for art, depends neither on fashion
or country. Ilis paintings of all the great
cathedrals of France, engraved and litho
graphed, had sent his name and fameall over
the world. Horace Bouvien, however, was
not one of those artists who are chosen as
heroes of the modern plays and novels of
France; he did not belong to the gilded
Boheme, in which most of the modern
celebrities of Paris pass their lives. All the
world knew liarace Bouvien's works, but
iew knew the artist.
The only son of a poor woman who be
longed to the class of petite bourgeoisie in
which beauty is, indeed, a fatal gift, be had
intuitively comprehended at a very early
age, from the tears and blushes of his
mother, that his father bad never existed
for him; perhaps never known of his ex
istence. Ills mother was a gentle, tender,
loving, humble nature, and as soon as nor
ace could comprehend all she bad suffered
and endured, a stets hatred for_ the men
who could deceive and desert so trusting a
nature took possession of bin,. Re felt as
though no love or devotion on his part meld
suffice to compensate his mother for all the
sorrows and humiliations through which she
had passed. Vaguely, as years wanton, he
gathered the particulars of her history--one
told a thousilnd times—of the seduction of
a young girl, humble and unprotected, by a
rich, bigh•born, fascinating man of the
world. Ile knew, ton, that his mother had
never appealed for pity when love had van
ished. Re knew, too. that now her seducer
was dead, and never had he inquired his
name. During hie infancy his mother had
worked for him; then her father and mother
had died, and the small income they be
queathed her had !sufficed her to live in
peace and to bring up her son. This son,
Horace, was endowed with genius; but had
be been merely possessed of average talent.
that would have condemned him to the
routine of mediocrity. his determination to
"NO ENTERTAxNAIENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE' SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY KORNING, NOVEMBER 26, 1859.
render his mother's latest days happy, to
surround her with luzury to compensate her
for all that was past, Would have given the
power, having so strong a will to achieve
fortune. Ile devoted himself to his mother.
Hie home as he prospered became one of ele
gance and comfort. It was his pride to see
his mother the honored and respected mis
tress of his house; to see her an object of
deference of all who approached her. Proud,
too, was he of her pure classical beauty,
which, still in its prime, attracted the atten
tion of all, whenever leaning on her son's
arm she appeared in the public promenades
or the theatres.
Thus hallowed and protected, Horace's
life had been free from all the wild excesses,
the irregularities peculiar to artist life.
The time not given to his art was his moth
er's. The uncomplaining, humility oft, his
mother; the sufferings she bud endured; the
love she had retained for her seducer; the
faith she had kept, as \cell as the guileless
purity of her Me, had given Horace a pro
found d,staste of the society of those bril
liant, deceitful, heartless, attractive and
accomplished women of the demimonde, to
whom so many artists consecrate the noble
Love of their youth, sacrificing often for
them, fame and fortune. Horace was al
most unknown in the delni-monde. His
prod and independent spirit had revolted
from all patronage, therefore had he ever
firmly refused all the advances made to him
by the soeiel circles of a class which deemod
itself shove him.
ly in ihe nut utnn of 1858 he had gone
, at a government c, mtnismork to sketch the
rums of on old abbey which bud mom be
longed to the crown, and situated on the
horders of one of the deep forests in south
ern Normandy, in a quiet and isolated
valley. There WEIS at) town, or e%:en
within Gre miles, so Iforace was forced to
establish himself as well he could in the
of it charcoal burlier, where. haw
n.er :is lija rai (I,,tiatiffits to the wife' of his
em,. , led the goad is‘ririall to C.S.
ruJisdi ban to hi , satimittation.
The task t,e, had ~we to at:comp/WI soon
ab.torlied all hia attention. Ilorttee was too
much of an artist not to live in his work
and to forget the abs - cmoe of all the material
e '11.1f. 11 t°. 1 1 .1.n)11!:` , ..vere nut only
heauliful 111 an 'artistic point of view, Out
ii,teres.tiniatid curious from historical as
sociation, and in the truces that still re
mained (in inscriptions and quaint sketches
on the walls of the cells) of those whose
lives bad passed into oblivion in this re
mote convent.
llorc.co one day hud just prepared his
' easel and drawing appatams in one of the
most picturesque portions Of the ruins, when
all at once a shadow fell over his paper,
and. looking up, ho beheld standing before
him, gazing with a strange look of curious
wonder on him, a lady in a riding habit.
Horace returned her somewhat rmoking
gaze with an air of indifference, and in
without paying any further atten..
Mon to her, looked down and proceeded
with his work. The quick eye of the artist
had, however, time to discover a
graceful 'figure. the must beautiful speaking
eyes he had ever beheld, and a face full of
archnessa and expression. The air, dress
and attitude of the intruder revealed a
woman of distinction; there was, however,
one peculiarity which shocked his goad
taste; that was, that her hat was over
shadowed by a quantity of sky-blue plumes.
After a short inspection the shadow
passed away from Horuce's paper, and the
noise made by the trailing dress, amid the
lung grass and fallen stories, told hint that
his visitor had retreated.
Presently the sound of many voices in
eager conversation, intermingled with much
laughter, startled the artist. In his quiet
valley, without any neighbors who could be
the intruders? But alt conjecture was soon
sopped by the appearance of a whole troupe
of gentlemen and ladies, amongst whom he
distinguished the waving of the plumes, who
entered the ruined cloister in which he had,
for the day, established his studio.
Within a few paces of him the whole
party stopped, and a gentleman, detaching
himself nom the group, advanced courteous
ly towards the artist.
"M. Iforace Bouvieu, I am the Marquis de
Malunet. It is very easy fur the man of
genius not to know of the existence of a
chateau within one league of him, and not
to care about thuse who live in it; but
believe cue, it is impossible for us to remain
long in ignorance of the vicinity of so great
an artist as yourself. We have long known
of your presence, and have daily sought
excuses for addressing you, hut have failed
in all till to-day, my niece, Mate. de Palate,
volunteered to invade your sanctuary."
Horace could not but make a courteous
reply to such a polite and flattering speech.
They were soon well acquainted, and the
group gathering round him, soon fell to
adiniring his drawings, showing, at the
acme time, so perfect a knowledge of his
other works, that Horace felt almost as if
he, were aipong old friends. Thus be was
induced gradually to give ttp the shelter of
tho charcoal burner's cottage, and to ao
eept the hospttality of the Marquis, the
pretext being that in the library of the
chateau were historical. documents that
would much help the great work in which
he was employed.
As the party were about to start, carr3r
• i n g off with them the artist that very day
to dinner, the lady he had first seen Md
♦anced to the Marquis. Taking on' her het,
she deliberately began to take out the blue
feathers one by one, and to give them to
him.
"Here, uncle, I pay my wager; here, I
give my precious blue feathers. You, sir,
are the cause of my sacrifice (they are eo
pretty); for I wagered I would first make
the savage of the forest speak (that is what
we culled you), and as you spoke to my
uncle first, I lost my wager. I wish you
bad not spoken at all; it was so pleasant to
have a mystery. Now we have solved you,
and there is an end to the interest; besides,
I lose my feathers•"
"Madame," replied the artist, "I am
very shy of ladies; but, as an artist. I ap
reciate beauty; therefore, I cannot but re
joice that I am the cause of your being
obliged to take off those hideous, unbecom
feathers,"
"Indeed, sir," replied she, with a haughty
air, "I Shall wear scarlet to- morrow."
"You must not mind what she does,"
said the Marquis, reining in his horse side
by side with the one Iboreme rode. "Mme.
de Palma is a privileged person. A. great
heiress, motherless from her birth, she has
bad her own way almost befeze she could
speak. She married her guardian for fear
she would nut find a husband who 'would
give her her own way as he did, and he
continued, as a wife, to spoil her as he had
dons when -he was his ward. Now she is a
widow, freer than ever; young, enormously
rich and tolerably good looking; we cannot
chanEre her now; we have to put up with
hem, She has a restless, ardent spirit, Which
nothing -eenis u, ,ati4y. She rides forty
miles a dAy; A pl,ry• . la emiaceaei
until she tweak-. tte Mink; our is site
bed if she does not sing or dance until day
light. Disdainfully familiar with a en, in•
s•rleut and sarewatic with women, she is ex
posed to the impertinent advances of our
sex, and to the envy and mitred of her own.
She dashes through life as though life were
a steeple chase: it seems as though a. serious
thought, a moment of rest, or a movement
of good sense, would destroy her. The
world, of course, has talked much about her;
but she devises the world and its opinions,
and I believe she is as pure and innocent as
an infant, But she has never known a sor
roo•; she has never been thwarted; her for
tune gives her the powerto gratify her most
extravagant wishes; too much prosperity has
been her bane, but we have known her from
her birth; we are accustomed to her; she is
a privileged person."
"By which," mentally ejaculated Horace,
whilst he only replied by a low to the Mar
quis, "you mean, in other words, that she•
is a frivolous, selfish woman and a heartles's
coquette."
Horace wits now established at the chat
eau. flare the heroine of everything was
the young Countess de Palme; but [brace,
who really felt a ontempt for her, entirely
ignored her presence, and rarely even spoke
to her.
Madame de Malonet, a kind and courteous
hostess, probably the confidante of Madame
de Palma, one day quietly alluded, 'Aug
alone with Horace, to the aversion he ex
hibited for her niece.
"Madame," said Horace, '•I only show
what I feel—pity and contempt for a young
woman who so selfishly wastes her life and
her fort une."
"Nay; Eloise does no harm."
"No, but she does no good. Rich, en
dowed with talent", young, beautiful, she
fritters away her life, forgetting even to pre
serve her own good name. The world—
your world, Madame la Marctuise—may ad
mire such meterorio characters; we, in our
world of truth, usefulness, and high art,
love other qualities and other beauties in
woman."
At this moment a light laugh and the
rustling of a silk dress were heard, and from
the deep recesses of a window the Countess
de Paline emerged.
"My dear aunt said she, "here's a bouquet
have been arranging. I never sat quiet
' so lung in my life; but your conversation
was so very edifying." Then, with a mock
curtesy, the young Countess, launching into
a brilliant roulade, glided out of the room.
In the evening, when the dancing began,
she deliberately advanced to Horace. "Win
you dance the cotillon with me?" she said.
cannot dance."
"I will teach you."
"No, I will not make a fool of myself for
any one."
"Nut even to please ate?"
"I have never aimed at so great an honor,"
replied Horace; and Mine. de Palate, after
a moment's silence, turned gaily away, found
another partner (one of the many she had
refused), and joined the dance.
The nest day Horace was surprised, at
his studies in the library, by the entrance
of Mate. de Palate in her riding dress.
"Although yin cannot dance." she said to
Horace, in a gentle, aubdued tone, "I know
you ride. Aty uncle and his party have left
me behind them; Ism afraid to go after them
alone; will you come with me?"
Homes could not refuse; he bowed his
assent.
"Yon see," said Mme. do Palute, with
her habitual harshness, "I have not got the
offensive blue feathers, nor even the scarlet;
yon need not be ashamed of me."
florace did not reply, but, helping her on
her home, they started. Their way lay
through the forest:- sl,ne. de Palme seemed
to have lost her taste for the galt.ping pa , *
at which she usually rode, and. walking her
horse by the side of Horace, they proceedta
for some time in silence. All at once she
turned her radiant eyes full upon florae.
"Tnu cannot but confess," said she, "thai
at least I am a gond•natured woman, fox
you know I overheard your opinion of me."
"Madame"----
"Don't justify yourself, but tell Inc. what
right base you to judge me? What is it to
you if lam giddy—nay, guilty? Are you
a saint or a reformer? Hare you never had
an intrigue? Are you so much better than
ocher men, to have a right to judge me?"
"I have none, madame; but with regard
to women every man has his standard and
his ideal; every one, too, has his own way
of understanding life; and your ideas and
mine are so different that I believe a mutual
antipathy arose between us as soon as we
met. I ought rather to have said I could
not understand you than openly to have con
demned you. This must be the apology for
my rudeness."
At this moment the riding party they
were in search of appeared in sight, and no
sooner was the Countess perceived than all
the gentlemen rode towards and eagerly
surrounded her, whilst Horace joined NI. de
Malonet.
It was evening:before they all returned to
the chateau. Horace was riding alone,
apart from the rest, when Mime. do Palma
abruptly came up beside him.
"You are lost in the contemplation of this
beautiful scone," said she; "perhaps you
think I cannot understand its inspirations
or its beauties. You despise me as much
for my ignorance as far my giddiness and
"Jla'ioute'. pray do not think I have a
contempt for you. I do not either believe
in your ivoraoce; but have a holy venera
tion for purify and virtue in women. I
think life too serious to be danced through
from the c:•adlo to the grave. I think—"
"OU, I never think,l never have a thought;
a single hour's reflection would kill me; but
soineticnes I am so tired of life that I wish
I wish I had been a man."
"You, the most courted of women?"
"BA! E despise all that. But if I had
been a man I should have had a friend; per
haps you would have been my friend?"
•'Why should we not be so now."
"Da you think me capable of friendship?"
"Capable of everything"
"Even of falling in love with you?"
"Do not let us break our friendship as
soon as formed."
Madame do Palme extended her band to
iforace, who pressed it in his as ho would
have done a friend's, and then she rode off
From that time Nline. do Pahne's manner
no brace assumed a strange aspect. She
has gentle, almost deferential to hint; in her
wildest tirades of nonsense a glance from
Horace would stop her. She still flirted
but she was no longer guilty of those im
prudences which had so often compromised
her, and given cause for the world to talk
liorece, though he still pitied her, began ,
to feel deeply interested in her, and began
to persuade himself that whatever trivial
cause had given him influence over her,
it was his duty to use it for her advantage.
Mote. do Patine did not disguise her es
teem and preference. She would break
away abruptly from her admirers. She
would suddenly stop waltzing, or refuse to
ride, in order to sit by the side of
and talk to him. Every one, of course per
ceived this new fun.,,, and spoke of it; but
Mine. de Patine was too much accustomed
to brave the world's opinion to be debarred
feorn any fancy, even by its censure.
This state of things could not last. Bore
fare himself felt that his feelings were grad
ually changing from friendship to love. Ile
resolved to break off suddenly, and to leave
the chateau. Maui. de Palma penetrated
his intentions. The night previous to his
intended departure there was a knock at
his door, and on opening it the Countess
entered,
Mr mother was softened and reservod,
her cheek was pale, her eyes full of tears.
"You are going away, Monsieur," said
MI
"Madame," replied Horace, "what im
pudence to venture here at this hour,
"Oh!" said the Countess, with a scornful
smile; "do you moan for the sake of the
world? 1 scorn it; it has too often misjudged
me. [foram you are the only man whose
esteem I have desired, and yours I here not
obtsitted. Do not forsake me; you could
make me better than I am; all the good
feelings bidden in my heart have risen to
ttio surface since I have known you."
"Madame, our lice.; are oast in ouch dif
ferent circles of society that, once away from
here, we should never meet."
"But I am rich, I am free, I love you;
yes. Horace, it is the only true, good feeling
of my life, and I avow it without a blush.—
A.hl you do not believe me? Ohl Horace,
how all the follies of my past life are atoned
for now that they rise up against me, and
destroy me in your heart. But indeed I
love you truly, purely."
"I telieve you, Eloise; I believe that in
this moment of feverish excitement you love
me. Your imagination pictures a phase of
life yet unrevealed; but that curiosity satis
fied, disappointment Would come. I should
cease to be an ideal; you would find your
self humbled, wearied, wretched. No, mad
ame, let us be friends."
"We can he that always—but you will
not understand me. Cruel Horace, I would
not ,dfer you a lore that was not holy. You
say that paltry distinctions, that wealth di
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE,4
vide us; I throw them all aside, and here to
the only man I ever loved I offer my hand.
0! let me be your wife; give the mother you
adore a daughter that will I-ve her, and 0.
yourself a slave, a grateful friend, a devoted
woman's heart; save me from misery, from
the world, from myself."
As she spoke she threw herself into the
artist's arms, and her tearful eyes were
raised to his, whilst he felt the pulsation of
her heart against his.
All at once the rumors of her wild freaks
—he had heard the accounts of her intrigues
—the many imprudences told against her.
flashed upon memory. Ile loved her,
his heart yleaded fur her; the task of giving, 1
happiness to this tender, loving woman,
seemed to him a noble task. But ho would
not marry ono who, perhaps, had given to
another the right to despise ber, or to look
on him with mocking pity. Ills mother, too,
whose life had been sacrifice and atone nent.
he would not remind her of the sin of her
youth by bringing a degraded Woman t<, her
hearth. Yet he knew the judgments of the
world, and he too despised them.
Taking Eloise's arms from his neck, round
which they were clasped, he put her gently
1 from him, and holding both her hands in
his, he fised his eyes on hors.
':Eloise," said he, "I will take this hand:
my mother shall have a loving daughter; I
will love you, cherish you as my wife. I
care not fur your title, nor your riches. I
have achieved a name—l have fortune in my
grasp--I care not that the world should say
I married you for that. But the world has
spoken of you lightly, harshly—you hare
been accuse I. No matter, Eloise; I know
the jailginenta of the world, and for them I
do not care. It is but the truth thatoan touch.
Look in my eyes as I gaze in yours, and
tell me, Eloise, this holy truth, that makes
or mars our lives—truth that may divide u•
now, but that, revealed as it one day would
be, 'would in future years bring misery and
disgrace. Is there in the word no man from
whom, if you meet him, you, my wife,
would turn away? Is there no man that, as
he gazes on your blushing brow, can know
what memories call it up? Is there, Eloise,
—for we speak here the fiat of our fate—one
who, when I call you wife, can, with a bit
ter smile at me, call you in his heart 'mis
tress? Speak, anti above all the world I
will believe you."
Eloise, as he was speaking, gradually
turned her eyes from his; her hand grew
add and trembled, till, as he enneluded, she
fell at his feet, snatching her hands front
his, and burying her face, burning with
bushes, in thcm. lluraco r gazed down on
h•r with tender pity; her subs rent his heart.
lie understood her—they were forever sep
arated.
At length Eloise rose. "I cannot justify
:myself; I did not love him; caprice, vanity,
wilfulness were my motives; but I will tact
deceive you; there lives one whom since I
have Beorno3 who could bring disgrace on
b•Pth. Farewell; I have poser loved but
you, never. Ilorace, farewell, farewell."---.
She rose. Ilorace turned away his head,
nor did she seek to meet his glance, and so
she glided from hie sight.
Il.urace left the chateau without seein. ,
Mine. do Palms. Ills duties obliged him to
remain in the ruins, but a word to Mine de
M:tlonet kept all intruders from him. So
passed three weeks; then a few lines came
from Mine. de Malonct:
"I know not what passed between ynu
and Eloise. She has beau eery ill. dying.
In the delirium of her brain fever she raved
of you. Now we cannot rouse her from the
languid, silent apathy which has followed
heefever. Will you see her? Do you think
(1 cannot be a judge between you) seeing,
you would save her mind and bring her
back to life?"
Horace, with a heart overflowing with
sorrow and pity, replied, however:
"It is better we should never meet again."
That night one of the wild equinoctial
tempests set in. Horace, oppressed with
grief, his heart yearning towards the poor
wayward, misguided Eloise, could not rest;
rising from his bed, be opened the window
and found some relief to his fevered brain
as the cold wind and the heavy rain passed
over it. All at once, through the clarkties4,
he thought he beheld a moving mass, darker
than the rest. and presently, mingled with
the noise of the tempest, a despairing, wail
ing voice pronounced his name.
A. wild thought rushed thr.aigh his brain; I
filled with Eloise, hd thought the voice
sembled hers. lie rushed down the short
wooden stairs, and raising the latch, on the
the very door sill, falling half into the hum
ble kitchen of the cottage, when the support
was taken away, lay the form of Eloise.
lie rained her in his arms, aroused with
his cries his hostess, and by her care Eloise
was laid. still insensible, in the best bed of
the house—Uorace's. At dtylight Tiorare
summoned Mme. de Nialonet and the physi
cian.
There ass no hope. She bad, in a des
perate desire to see 'Horace once again,
stealthily loft her room and dragged herself
through the tempest to his door. N,,thing
n,nv could Aare her. At length, however,
they roused her from her insensibility, She ties and powers," whose home is not here on
odened her eyes end gazed around her. our humble planet. Who does not see that
"Ilorace," said the, as her eyes eneorm- this being interlinked by such bonds, with
tered his, kneeling as he was beside her, 1 holy ones so great, yet so littio known, must
"this is your room; so I should hare died serve to heighten exceedingly our interest
with you betide me had I been your wife. in the Bible. both as intelligent sad sa so-
Oh! Horace. I bored you truly, passionately. vial and moral beings?
I could not survive your contempt,"
"Oh, Eloise!"
”Iluoh, my child; we love you, wo blase By our very eunstitutiun, we must be ra
yon." said dime. de Matenet, tionally iutorested in whatever ef£•cte oar
[WHOLE NUMBER 1,5_,!7_.
"Farewell, liorace; forgive me the deep
sorrow I henceforth have tainglid with year
life. for yen will rernetubct nie—remember
my love."
A deep sigh, a faint, flickering smile; a
tremulous pressure of the hand, and all Rita
over—Mme. de Palate lived nn more. --
She lies in the ruined cloister. Horace
never left the Abbey till he had raised:a
monument to the eternal memory of one
who had lote.l hint until death. Then be
returned to Parta with this eternal regret
and sorrow buried deep in his heart. His
mother saw her son was changed—saw that
some deep liftily on had passed over his
life—but she asked no questions, and her
love fund a thousand indirect coosolatiune.
Horace, too, devoted himself inure thaniever
to his art. The views of the ruins of the
Abbey appeared at the exhibition in the
spring. lu the principal el.nater it had
been a melancholy ple.t.mre for Horace to
repriment um-lern sepulchre that reared
itse.f in the memory of Eloise de Patine
maid the dez toinh.i um the deeeased Gf
-
One tap llorace was standing beside this
picture, when kvoice pm:mullein!, the name
ot Eloise, attracted his attention. There
were two fi , hiiinahle and distinguished
men standing, before the pietere.
"Eloise, the little Counresn do-you re•
member, Emile, what mad feats she used to
ley?"
"Of course i do, who better? Was I not
one of her caprices, her wild freaks, as .you
call it?"
`Oh, I hare heard Iter accused a B.
many ."
"Oh, so have I, but I can give yeti proofs.
Why I have letters from her that - would
coinpromise a dozen women. Poor Eloise,
the monks must be startled by such a
strange, wild creature in their quiet ceme
tery, for I cannot think she can rest even in
her grave. P.mr Eloise."
"Then you really love bar?"
"Nut at all. Our liaison lasted but a few
weeks; and to do her justice, I believe hallo
she who gave me up."
At this juncture the Marquis de Malonet
came up to Horace. .
"Do you snow those gentlemen?" said
llorace, pointiug to the two young met.
"I du. One is the Count de laerbault, a.
great admirer of poor Eloise; the other—"
"That is enough," said Ilorace;"vrillyou
honor me by looking on these pictures?" "
Some days after Ibis circumstance the
papers resounded with accounts of 11 111111 i
duet between the great arsiet, Horace Boo•
and the Count d'llerhault. The
Count had been killed on the spot. No oue
know the cause of this duel between two
trieo who were strangers, and who moved
in such difleront circles. Some said it was
a political dispute, others that the artist
had resented the opinions thrt the Count
had, in his hearing, expressed of his
pictures.
fiurace cared not f . ..)1" :he werld's opinion;
but, hiding away the pistol which had
killed the Count in the recesses of his
atelier, he nturtnered:
"Tilers is no ono in the Nr °rid who can
despise her memory now."
Selected fur the Spy
The Bible.
No other book in the trorhd bears reading
and re-reading like this. Of no other is it
true that it may be road over and over every
year, yea, every month of a lung life, anti
yet never become state, but, on the contrary,
oven grow more interesting at each re-pe
rusal. Of tie other can it be said that, -the
' more thoroughly you study it in these fre
quent and long-continued re-perusals, 'the
deeper will be your interest, and the•rieher
your profit. Truly, it is a mine of wealth,
of which none has ever fathi.med the depth
mine in which the deeper you . go,,the
richer sees the golden ore become.
Ttlese statements are not more rhapsody.
Valid reasons can be piton to confirm every
word we hare said.
1. For, intelZectually. no reader ever gets
to the bottom of this mine. There is al
ways a vast wealth of gold yet unwrought—
a treasure of knowledge yet unacquired.—
In ane direction, the truths of God's word
wand related to the science of mind—a sci
ence which, those who best understand it
I are most reedy to admit, has neveryet been
fully mastered, even by the profoundest
thinkers of any age; how much less, then,
by those who bare given it only an inciden
tal attention. All the great practical truths
of the Bible interlace with the—truths of
mental science, so that no man'cen- fethow
the ore, until be has fathomed the-et-lad.
2. In another direction, these'reveletkns
stretoh abroad into realms where no font of
man bath ever trod. They look towards.`the
throne of him that liveth forever'and ever,
and the interests of a kingthint whose sub-
jects are fir mare and other than mortal
men, higher and nobler than Aciarreason4
and daughters. "We area spectacle to an
gels." The steps taken to save lost men are
expected to reveal God to the "prineWi.
3. Need we refer to our revealed relations
to a most eventful and momentous future:
GI
BEE 9
Ig