N.` •::•= r . 4. • ... SAE UAL WRIGHT. Editor and Proprietor. VOLUME XXXIII, NUMBER 1 .1 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AIORIVEVG. (Vice in Carpet Hall, Arorth-westcorner of iFront and Locust streets. Terms of Subscription. Copyperancum,i f pai di n advance, 411 if not paid withinthree Jnontlisfromeommencemen white year, 411. C7a3aitssi a Dopy. "Ides übscripinen received for a less time than sts =oaths; and no paper will he discontinued until all A.Ftearage sarep atd,uales sat the option° f the pub- irrhioncymaybcremittcdbymai Ia it cp üblish cr s risk. Rates of Advertising. quartUk ines]one week, three weeks, eaelHubsequerninsertion, 111 [l2ines]one week. 50 three weeks, 1 00 eaebluipsequentinsertion. 25 argeradvertisementrin proportion. Ali ernlliecou.ntwilibc mude to ouarterly,lialf early.orfearly td vertise rs,udto are swetl3eonfincd otheir business. DR. lIOFFER, 'D ENTIST. --OFFICE, Front Street 4th door tram Locust, over Saylor & McDonald's Book store Columbia, Pa; 11:71;ntrcusce, same as Jolley's Pho °graph Gallery. [August 21, 1353. THOMAS WELSH, J ' IISTICE OF THE PUCE, Columbia, Pa. OFFICE, In Whipper's New Building, below Black's Hotel, Front street. wre u Pr r tn p t attention given to uIl business entrusted o November '29,18.57. H. M. NORTH, ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW Columbia,Pa. Collections I. rompllymade,i n Lancastcrand Yorl bounces. Colutubla,May 4,1950. J. W. FISHER, Attorney and Counsellor at Law, S. Atlee B ckius, D. D. S. MRACTICES the Operative, Surgical and Meehan 1 Mal Departments orDentistry: Deems —Locust street, between he Franklin Donn and Post Office, Columbia, Ptt May 7, 1859. Harrison's Conmbia.n Ink. IniTHICLI is a superior article, permanentle black, TY and not co rrodiar, the pen, can be had ill any . uantity. at the Panaily Medicine Shorn, and blacker yet to that English Boot Polish. Colurabia., .1 non 9,1859 We Have Just Received DB...CDTTER'S Improved Chest Expanding Su.pender and Shoulder Bruce. for Gentlemen, 9111 e Patent Skirt Supporter Bud Brace for Lathe., iIIFI the article Mutt In wanted at this time. Come and see Mem at Family Medicine Store, Odd Peilowto (April 11.1559 Prof. Gardner's Soap WE hove the New Englund Soup for those who die nor olituin it (rota the :soup 111.1 j it is pleasant Co the akin. and will take grease spots from Woolen foods, it in therefore no limnlmg, for you get the worth of your motley at the Family Medicine Store. C01U11161.1, inter 11,1639. QRMIAM, or, Bond's Boston Crackers, for Dy.pepties, road Arrow Root Criteker-, viLlick nod ebildien—new unieles in Coluurinu, ut the Faintly Medicine Store, Anrilleh QPALDINC'S PREPARED GLUE.--The want of such an oracle us felt in every funnily, and now it can be supplied; for unending furniture, china ware, ornamental work, toys. Se., there is nothing superior. We have found it useful in repairing man) articles which hove Uteri useless for months. You Jun.:lt-in it tit the ta.ouniAz, - FMILY MEDICINE STORE. IRON AND STEEL! lIG Subscrther4 have received a New and Large J. Stock of all ki nth, and , arav of . . BAR IRON AND STEEL ! They are constantly supplied with stock in this brunch of Inc business. ond can (wash it 10 customers /II large or small quantities, at the lowest rows J. RUM & SON, Locust street below Second, Columbia, l'a. April 28, 1100. pITTER'S Compound Syrup of Tar and U Wald Cherry, for Cough., Cohli,&c. Fa. 3 ale n he Golden Morizar Drug,Store, Front et. L lul y 2 PER'S Compound Concentrated Extract Li. Sarsaparilla for the cure of Scrofula i r King's Evil. and all scrofulous affections, a fresh al.—de Just received and for mile by • R. WILLIAMS, Front et., Columbia, cept. 24, I8:10, FOR SALE. Cnoss Friction Matches, very low for cash. J.ane R. W 11.1.1 AM'S Dutch Herring! ANY one fond of a goad Herring can be ' , implied at ta. F. EBERLEIN'S . . Nov. 19, 1.459. Grocery• Store, N 0.71 Locust st. LYON'S PORE 01110 CITAIVBI BRANDY nod PUKE WINES. especially for bledictues lid Sacramental purpose., nt the riIAIILY MEDICINE STORE. NICE RAISINS for 8 els. per *nil, are to be had only at EBERLEIN'S (roeery Store, March 10, 1560. N 0.71 Locum .treet. GWEN SEEDS.--Fresh Garden Seeds, war milted pure, of nll ktitti.ou.t received at ELIESLEIN'S I rocery Store, March 10,1.560. N 0.71 Losust street. POCK ET BOOKS AND PURSES. A LARGI4 lot of Fine nod Common Pocket 13oolca nod Puraes,at from 15 cent 4 to. two dollar.' each lit tilquarters and Newts Depot. Columbia, April 14,1 360. A. OW more of those beautiful Prints lett, which will he •old cheap, R SAYLOR Lir. McDONALD'S Columlrin. PR. April 14 Just Received and For Sale. -15rin SACKS Ground Alum Salt, in large vv or small quuuti ties, at A PPOLD'S Warehouft . Calm! Basin .51u45, , Go, COO CREAM OF OLYCBRIIVE.--For the cure arul prey,ention ro chopped bend.. &c. For Bale et the GOLDEN 31ORTAR DRUG STORE, Dec. 3,1830. Front street. Columbia. Turkish Prunes! TOR a Om rate aruche of Prunes you mu.t go to S. P. Eli _ Grocery Store, No 71 I..ocuptt et No v.:9, 1959 GOLD PENS, GOLD PENS TUST received a large and film assortment of Cold Al Perm of Newton and On•uold'v manufacture, at • SAYLOR dc AIcOONA LP'S Hook Stow, Atoll 14. Irroat street. above Lute FRESH GROCERIES. E continue in sell the best .Levy" Syrup. While VP and Brown Sugure,goott Coffees and choice Teas, to be had nt Columbia at the New Corner Store, op posite °di Fellows - /tall, and at the old mond n.hom ing the ink. It . C. roNDERSAI rr t. Segars, Tobacco, arm. A LOT of firat-rate Segars. Tobacco and Snuff will be found at the snore of ilie eubmribcr. fie keeps only a firnt-rate article. Call It. SI. F. EBERLE:II%PS Grocery store. Locust at., Columbia, l'a. 0c0, , e) CRANBERRIES, NEW Crop Prunes, few Citrou,ut Oct. 2U. It 1. A. M. RAM BO'S., SARDINES, Wareexter.bire Sauce. Refiner! Cocoa. ace.. jaut re eeived und for sale by S. P. BIER LEIN. ISGO, No I.nro•t St. CRANBERRIES. yllWr received vi (rep!) lot or Cranberries antlNese Carillons, at No 72. Loeust Street. • Oet ' ll Irmo. S.F. 1:1311,11.1:1:1 gstry. The Old Couple at 0 It stands in a sunny meadow, The house so mossy und brown, With its cutnlnous old stone clunineys., And the gray roof sloping down. The trees fold their green arms round it, The treeq, a century old; And the winds go chanting through them And the sunbeams drop their gold. EMI The cowslips spring in the marshes, And the roses bloom mi the hill; And beside the brook in the pastures The herds go feeding at will. The children have gone and left them; They sit in the , tin alone; And the old wife's cars ure As she harks to the well known tune— That won her heart in her girlhood, That has soothed her in rainy a care, And praises her now for the brightness II er old face used to wear. She thinks again °flier bridal -How, dressed in her robe of while, She aloud by her gay young lover In the morning's rosy light. Oh, the morning is rosy as ever, But the ro,e from her cheek it tied; And the sunslihie sun is golden, But it falls on a silvered head. And the girlhood dreams, once vani,hed Come back in her winter time. Till her feeble pulses tremble With the thrill of spring -Mlle's prune. And looking forth front the window, She thinks how the trees have grown, Since, clad in her bridal whiteness, She crossed the old door stone. Though dimmed her eyes' bright azure, And dimmed her hair's young gold; The love in her girlhood p:ighted Buz never grown dim nor They sat in peace in yhe sunshine, Till the day was ahno4t done; And then, at its close. an angel Stole over the threshold stone. lie folded their hands together— He touched their eyelids with balm; And their last breath floated upward, Litre the close of a solemn psalm. Like a bridal pair they traversed The unseen mystic road, That leads to the beautiful city, "Whose builder arid maker is God." Perhaps in that miracle country They will give her her lost youth hack; And flowers of a vankhed spring time, Wilt bloom in the spirit's track. One draught from the living waters Shull cull back his' tnatiltood's prime; And eteriail years -hall measure The love that outlived titne. But the shapes that they left behind them, The wrinkles and silver hair, Made holy to us by the kisses The ungel had printed there, We will hide away Meath the willows, When the day is low in the west; Where :he sunbeams cannot find them, Nor the winds disturb their rest. And we'll suffer no tell-rule tombstone, With ite age and date to rice O'er this Iwo who are old no longer, Lithe Father's Mute m the shies. grafttituto. An Offer of Marriage By an almost unconscious audacity on my part, when a very young man, I do believe that I was nearer the possession of a young, and rich, and beautiful wife, than I have ever been since, or am ever likely to be again. I certainly was a very young man when I knocked at the door of old Mr. IVigley's house in Harley street, with the intention of formally applying fur the hand of Miss Fanny Wigley; and lam very much astonished now when I consider that old audacity. Ile was an early man, I had ascertained. He took his breakfast at half-past eight every morning in the back parlor, which he chose to call his study, chiefly, so far as I could discover his reason, because he there kept his stock of boots. These were all of the Wellington pattern, and were ranged in front of the fireplace sonieircularly, very much as Caspar disposes the skulls in the incantation scene in Der Preischutz. I re member that similitude occurring to me on the morning of my visit—the opera being then in the heyday of its popularity. Mrs. Wigley and the young ladies breakfasted at a much later hour in the front parlor. But as my object then was to see Mr. Wigley, and have with him a certain private discus sion, of course it was advisable for me to call upon him at his house in Harley street, before he started upon his daily pilgrimage into the city. Having made up my mind to this course on the previous evening, need I say that I was kept awake by the thoughts of it nearly all night, and arose at an ab surdly early hour to carry my plan into ex ecution. Concerning myself, I must disclose that I was at that time an articled clerk in the house of Messrs. Blotherstoue S. Blackland, the eminent solicitors in Now Square, Lin coln's Inn Fields—that Iliad occupied a stool in their office fur about two years—that I was entirely dependent for my support on the remittances I received from my relit tires in Cheshire—and that I occupied sec ond-floor lodgings in the house of a boot maker in Gre.,t Russell street, Bloomsbury —pleasant apartments enough, but for the all-pervading smell of loather that pervaded them. I know that one seemed to cat, drink, and breathe leather there, and the fits of sneezing with which visitors were seised at their entrance,—were really re markable. I was a young man as I have said. I shaved a good deal; it was not at all necessary, but I "did it; I had lively "NO ENTERTAINMENT'S SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER hopes concerning a sickly-looking tuft on my chin. I was prone to pomatum, and partial to side-curls, urought round with elaborate care well over my ears and on to my temples. I was fond of musk and ber gamot, and trousers very tightly strapped under my boots—tightly strapped trou sers were then quite de rigneur. I hu mored fashion to the top of her bent; my straps were so tight that walking was diffi cult, and sitting down perilous, if not im possible. Fortunately we yere then in the old broadcloth and buckskin days; we had not fallen into the present epoch of flimsy tweed and general shoddiness. People dare not trust themselves with tight straps now. The bobtail, skimping, and indecorous coats in which young gentlemen appear, were not worn then. You put on the first thing in the morning what would now be regarded as an evening coat—a grand, sound, expen sive, uncomfortable garment, high and hard in the collar, tight and long in the sleeves, with several buttons about the wrists, cuffs (that could be turned over if you so listed, and thereby exhibit a lining of velvet) long and streaming swallow-tails, needling to the calves, and with the mysterious horizontal semicolon of buttons high up in the small of the back. Such was a coat in the times of which I am narrating. Tailors do well to designate modern attire evasively as wrap pers, Talmas, Paletots, &c., fur indeed such things are not coats by the side of the coat in which I wont to call on old Wigley.— There were other shaped coats even then.— You could wear, if you pleased, a superb pelisse, with rich silk lii.ing; or a magnifi cent surlout, in which you wore at liberty to go any lengths in the way of fur collar and cuffs, or thick silk braiding up the front, as worn by the gracious monarch then sitting, rather heavily, upon the throne of Groat Britain. Mr. Blotherstone was an old friend of my father's. Almost as a matter of favor, and in consideration of that friendship, I was received into the office of the firm in Lin coln's Inn Fields at the ridiculously low premium of three hundred guineas. For this amount, I was at full liberty to work as an unremunerated copying-clerk for five years, I remember that Mr. Blotherstone had promised my mother most faithfully to watch my progress and 'ook after me in London, as though I were h own child.— Ire fulfilled this undertaking by shaking hands with me once, asking me to one din ner-party, and to two evening parties at his house, and by losing sight of me alto gether afterwards. But the fact was, there were four articled pupils in the office, and I don't think he ever knew precisely which was which. It was at the evening parties that I first had the pleasure, the happiness, the intense and inexpressible delight of meeting Fanny Wigley. My presence at Mr. Blotherstone's seemed to be a sort of passport to other °vetting, parties, at which I also met Fanny Wigley, danced quad rilles with her. I wore pumps and ribbed silk stockings, after the fashion of the pe riod. No gentleman would then have dared to enter a drawing-room with his boots on. I danced quadrilles with Fanny Wigley, and the dear delicious old triple-timed waltz.— How the swallow-tails used to fly out in that beautiful dance! I had met her six times, when I determined to ask her hand in mar riage; of course, I had been passionately in love with her from the first moment of my seeing her. She was a beautiful creature, with deli cate features, and gazelle-like eyes. Her flaxen hair was twined round her high carved tortoise-shell comb, and interwoven with blue ribbon and sprigs of forget-me nots.— She was small in stature, and perhaps, at that time, alittle too thin fur abstract beauty, though it seemed to me that her ethereal and sylph-like figure was absolutely perfect. I could not forget how slender she once was, when I saw her, the other day, panting and rather overcome with the heat and with her walk, a very stout lady,. standing with her tall daughters near the house of the elephant in the Zoological Cardev4, and inspecting the grave deportment of that animal. But I ant anticipating. It seemed to me the height of earthly bliss to waltz with Fanny Wigley, and minister to her wants at sup per-time. These were simple and beautiful. She ate only of blancmange and macaroons, though she did not object to her plate being filled and re-filled with those luxurious con diments. I deemed them quite an nppro priate food fur her, and that they supplied all the nourishment that birds and angels could possibly require. I made no secret of my passion; youth is ever confiding. I blushed and stammered, and tote my glove; still. I avowed my love. She turned up the lovely gazelle eyes, and said: "Thank you," and then asked gently for a little sherry and water. I pressed my suit upon her. She said I had better speak j to her papa, and added that she should like "just one more umear.on." Could a lover's prayer be acceded to in a more touching and exquisite menLer? I spoke boldly of my love everywhere; I was fund, perhaps of giving my affection an airing. I -was proud of possessing a passion:, it seemed a grand and manly sort of thing—very nearly as good as whiskers. I talked of it at the office, rather looking down on the other articled pupils, in whose limited experiences there were no affairs of the heart. I took counsel on the subject even with old Biggins, the common-clerk, who had a general reputation If fur knowing everything. lie was not, strictly , speaking, a very gentlemanly person, bat 1 ho was very wise and wary, "Take my ad vice," ho said solemnly, after a huge pinch of snuff,• "make love as much as you like, but don't you trust yourself near a pon and ink. Don't write no letters—none of that; then, you can't hardly commit yourself, and they can't get hold of you with a breach of promise, or anything of that kind. Do you see all these papers? Well, they're all the letters in a breach of promise case. We're for the plaintiff, and shall make a good thing of it. , By the by, there's a copy wanted, on brief paper, for counsel. You may as well make it; you don't seem to be doing much." I thought at the time that he took rather low views of human nature, but then, you see he was a common-law clerk. I took for granted that every ono I en countered on that eventful morning knew all about me and my mission. It seemed to me that my character was stamped all over me in large letters, just as a bad note is marked with the word "Forgery," at the Bank of England. "Lover" was written on my glossy hat, on my shining curls, on my tightly-strapped trousers, on my velvet lined coat-cuffs. The early milk-women were conscious of my proceedings, and the postman; and the baker with hot rolls in green baize, and the sweeps, and the beg gars who proffered me lavender, pressing it upon me as though it were a necessary of life, and bergamot and musk were by no means perfume enough for one man. All know that I was journeying to Harley street to ask of her parent the hand of Fanny Wigley—even to the cook, who was cleaning the door-steps of Mr. Wrigley's house—a massive woman, with whom it was difficult to arrive at an understanding as to whether she purposed that I should pass on the right or the left of her, until it was almost neces sary, at last, to.gain an entry to the house by clearing her as in a hurdle-race. She knew why I came to Harley street, as did also the tall footman, who appeared to be full-dress as to his legs, encased in white stockings and sulphur-colored plush, and in dishabille as to his body and arms—for he wore a, soiled gray jean jacket—and who ushered me rather unceremoniously, I thought, into the back parlor, where Mr. Wigley was sitting at breakfast. The street door being open, there had been no occasion for my using the knocker. Does ho con ceive that I came with a ring? I asked my self, for Mr. Wigley did not appear to heed my entrance, and the footman had not an nounced, nor, indeed, asked of the my name. Mr. Wigley was bent upon tapping his sec ond egg, breaking the shell very neatly all over the top of it. I was disappointed at the reception, I confess. I had flattered myself, and my glass had flattered me, that my appearance was irreproachable, if not positively commanding. I knew that I was red in the face—very red, I may say—and that my cravat felt at that moment a little too tight for me, somehow; but, with these exceptions, I was conscious of nothing die entitling me to a gracious welcome at the hands of Wigley. I made use of the opportunity afforded me for contemplating my presumptive father in-law. I detected at once a singular like ness between the shape of his shining bald head and the egg he was so busily tapping. A picture, for a moment, appeared before me of a giant form, with a monster spoon, standing over old Wigley, tapping his cra nium into a number of neat compound frac tures, just as lie was tapping the egg. He wa sportly but pale, with a sandy fringe of hair at the back of his head, and two sandy tufts of whiskers, triangular in plan, on his cheek hones. Ile had sandy projecting eye brows over his pale, blank-looking blue eyes and a white frill, fastened by asandy-colored Scotch pebble brooch, guttering out over his large protruding sandy waistcoat. I could not find a trace of resemblance to my angelic Fanny. Still ho was her father, and to be venerated by me accordingly, and loved and tended affectionately. I may us well say that I think, upon the whole, Mr. Wigley was rather a dull man. Ile was the head i of the emminent firm of Wigley, Bi,gley Co. bullion brokers, Ingot Court, Great Winchester street, City. I did not know then, and I do not know now, anything about bullion brokers and their proceedings. I associate the occupation with the idea of immense wealth, though I cannot imagine any talent possessed by old Wigley in any way resulting in money. But then there are certain businesses that are popularly supposed to work themselves, merely re quiring the presence of an elderly gentleman, to sit in a snug of and read the news paper the while. Perhaps the business of a bullion broker is of this sort; for such an occupation Mr. Wigley was clearly formed by nature. I had met Mr. Wiglcy on two or three occasions: he was generally to be seen at the evening parties adorned by the presence of Miss Wigley, either losing half-crowns at the whist-table, or in a torpid state in cor ners of rooms waitingfor supper or Lis car riage to take him home. I think we had once shaken hands feebly and flabbily, from not knowing exactly what else to do with ourselves, on the occasion of an introduction to each other by Mr. Blotherstone. But he evidently had forgotten all about me now. I took a chair. Ile started at this, and looked hard at me. I bowed with a winning politeness. ••i've come, Mr. Higley—" I said. "Oh! ab! yes: but, perhaps, you'd better see Mrs. 'Wrigley," be interupted, nerirously, tattooing on the table with his fat white finger. "Mrs. Wrigley always attends to those sort of things. I never interfere— never." "But I thought it desireable." "Yes, of course, but it isn't," ho said.— "Yon don't seem to me to look very strong," he continued abruptly, staring at me. I thanked him, informing him that, on the contrary, I was very strong indeed, much stronger than I looked perhaps, and availed myself of the occasion make in quiries concerning his own health. These, however, ho quite disregarded. Ire fixed his eyes steadily on the bright silver tea-pot. "How long have you been in your present situation?" he asked, rather of the tea-pot thon of mo. "Two years," I answered. "I have three more to serve." "Oh, three more to serve!" ho repeated wildly, eyidently not in the lent understand ing me. "I shall then have done with Mr. 'Mother stone," I continued. "Oh, you come from Mr. Blotherstone?" he cried, with an amazed expression on his face. "Yes," I said, "I'm his articled pupil, and I've come here, Mr. Wigley"—and I,m sure I spoke with much feeling—"to ask your consent to my union with your daughter Fanny. Mr. Wigley, I love her." "My daughter Fanny!',' and he started up. "Bless my soul! To think of this!" and ho fell to rubbing his bald head to a brilliant polish with his handkerchief. "Mr. Moth erstone's articled pupil! My daughter Fanny! Marriage! Dear me! love you any means?" he asked. "Nono whatever," I repliel. "But I love her Mr. lYigley, to that extent—" There came the flutter and rustle of a mus lin mornir,g-gown, and a lady of large mould entered the room. She was a brilliant look ing woman even then, though she was Fanny's mother, with a tendency to dark red in her brunette complexion. "0 Charlotte," cried Mr. Wigley to this superb lady, and an air of intense relief caine to him at a moment when, in his em barrassment, I felt sure he was about to say: "Take her, then, you dog. Bless you, Fanny, my darling; 'Ass you both; may you be happy. "Won't do at all," Mrs. Wigley said firmly, after a glance at me—"won't do at all; will never match Joseph." "My dear," cried old Wigley, in an agony "it's not the new (my impression is that he said fbobnan, but, as ho lowered his voice, I cannot be quite sure.) "It's Mr. Blotherstone's articled pupil come to pro pose for Fanny!" Mrs. Wigley looked at me inquiringly. I felt my checks burning, and wondered they did not set fire to my shirt-collars, they were 90 hot. She gave a hearty laugh. "Stuff and nonsense!" she said. "Pooh! pooh! What a foolish boy you must be! I remember you now. We met you at Mr. Blotherstone's and somewhere else. Fanny goes to school nest Monday. You mustn't chink of such things. llnve you breakfasted? Let me give you a cup of tea. There's cold fowl there. Or will you have some broiled ham?" She , blew away my offer of marriage with one breath. I don't know how I got away from Har ley street; I only know that, on leaving, the footman in the sulphur plush whispered, grinning; "You must be a jolly flat to think you could come after me!" To this day I have had a difficulty in un derstanding that singular observation. I have hinted that I have seen Fanny Wigley since. Perhaps I kept my offer fur nine years, or longer, and then did not pub lish it. Don't suppose that my passion was too suddenly suppressed. A single frosty night will sometimes destroy a whole sea son's fruit; and, if you take it in time, a fire that else would burndorvn your whole house, may be put out with a pail of water. Mrs. IVigley was my frosty night, my pail of water. A Legend of Cologne No stranger over enters Cologne without going to see the cathedral, and nobody ever looked upon that fragment of the mightiest Gothic design in Christendom, without doing three things—without regretting that it never was completed; without asking who was the architect, or without listening to the legend of the builder. Mighty was the Archbishop Conrad de liochstenden, for he was lord over the chief city of the Rhine—the city of Cologne; but his thoughts were troubled, and his heart was heavy, for though his churches were rich beyond compare in relics, yet other towns, not half so large or powerful as his, had cathedrals, whose fame extended over Europe, and whose beauty brought pilgrims to their shrine, profit to the ecclesiastics, and business to the towns-people. After many sleepless nights, therefore, he deter -1 minel to add to his city the only thing want ' ing, to complete it, and, sending for the most famous architect of the time, he com missioned him to complete the plan fur a cathedral of Cologne. Now, the architect was a clever man, but he was more vain than clever. fle had a dreamy notion of magnificence which he de sired to achieve without a clew conceptiot of bow he was to do it, or without the will to make the necessary sacrifices of labor, care,. and perseverance. He received the commission witl greatgludness, and glcst•el for some 'days upon the forme which would 81,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE. 9, 1861. be his as the builder of this structure which the archbishop desired; but after this vision of glory, when he took his crayons to sketch out the design, he was thrown into the deepest despondency. He drew, and drew, , and, added, and erased, and corrected, and began again, but still did not succeed. Not a plan could he complete. Some were too mean, others too extravagant, and others, when done and examined, were found to be good, but not original. Efforts of memory instead of imagination, their points of ex cellence were discovered to be copies—a tower from one, a spire from another, an aisle from a third, and, an altar from a fourth, and one after another they were cast aside as imperfect and useless, until the draughtsman, more than half crazy, felt 'in clined to end his troubles and perplexities by a plunge into the Rhine. In this mood of more than half despair he wandered down to the river's edge, and sit ting himself upon a stone, began to draw in the sand with a measuring -rod, which served as a walking-stick, the outlines of various parts of a church. Ground-plans, towers, finials, brackets,windows, colunins,appeared one after another, were erased, as unequal and insufficient for the purpose, and un worthy to form a part of a design for a ca thedral of Cologne. Turning around, the architect was aware that another person was beside him, and with surprise the disap pointed draughtsman saw that the stranger wan also busily inventing a design. Rap idly on the sand he sketched the details of a most magnificent building, its towers rising to the clouds, its long aisles and lofty choir stretching away before the eyes of the gazer until ho mentally confessed it was indeed a temple worthy of the Most High. The windows were enriched by tracery such - as artists never before had conceived, and the lofty columns soared their tall :en,gth to wards a roof which seemed to claim kindred with the clouds, and to equal the firmament in expanse and beauty. But each line of this long-sought plan vanished the moment it was seen, and with a complete conviction of its excellence, when it was gone not a portion of it could the architect remember. "Your sketch is excellent," said he to the unknown; "it is what I have thought and dreamed of—what I have sought for and wished for, and have not been able to find. Give it to me on paper and I will pay you twenty gold pieces." "Twenty pieces! ha! ha! twenty gold pieces," laughed the stranger. "Look hero!" and from a doublet that did not seem big enough to hold half the money, ho drew forth a purse that certainly hold a thousand. The night had closed in, and the architect was desperate. "If money cannot tempt you, fear shall force you;" and springing towards the stranger, he plucked a dagger from his girdle, and held its point close to the breast of the mysterious draughtsman in the attitude to strike. In a moment his wrists were pinioned as with the grasp of a vice, and squeezed until he dropped his weapon; and he shrieked in agony. Fall ing in the ?ands, he writhed like an eel upon the fisherman's hook, but plunged and struggled in vain. When nearly fainting he felt himself thrown helpless upon the very brink of the stream. "There! revive and ho reasonable. Learn that gold and steel have no power over me. You want my cathedral, for it would bring you honor, fame, and profit; and you can have it, if you choose." "llow?--tell me how?" `•By tigning this parchment with your blood." "Avaunt, fiend!" shrieked the architect; "in the name of the Saviour I bid thee be gone." And so saying, he made the sign of the cross; and the Evil One (for it was he) ' was forced to vanish before the holy symbol. lie made time, however, to mutter, "You'll come for the plan at midnight to-morrow." The artist staggered home, half dead with contending passsion., and muttering •'Sell my soul," "to•morrow at midnight," "honor and fame," and other words, which told the onward struggle going forward in his soul. When ho reached his lodgings, he met the only servant ho had, going out wrapped in her cloak. "And whore are yon going so later said her surprised master. "To a mass for a soul in purgatory," was the reply. "Oh, horror! horror! no mass will avail me. To everlasting torments shall I be doomed;" and, harrying to his room, he cast himself down in tears of remorse, irresolu tion and despair, la this state his old housekeeper discovered him on her return from her holy errand; and, her soul being full of charity and kindly religion, she begged to know what had caused such grief; and she spoke of patience in suffering, and pardon by repentance. Her words fell upon the disordered car of the architect with a heavenly comfort; and he told her what had passed. "Mercy mel" was her explanation.— "Tempted by the fiend hiraselfi—so strange ly, too:" and so saying she left the chamber without another word, and hurried off to her confessor. Now the confessor of Dame Elfrida was the friend of the abbot, and the abbot was the constant counsellor of the archbishop; ' and so soon as the hoisekeeper spoke of the wonderful plan, he told her ho would soon see her master, and went at once to his su perior. This dignitary immediately pictured to himself the hosts of pilgrims that would seek a cathedral built with skill from suet [WHOLE - NUMBER 1,626. a wonderful sketch, and (hoping iiimself.to be one day archbishop) ho burried.off,to the bewildered architect. He found him still in bed, and listened with surprise to the glowing account of.the demon's plan. "And would it be equal to all this?'• . "It would." "Could you build it?" "I could." "Would not pilgrims come to worship in such a cathedral?" "By thousands." "Listen, my son! Co at midnight-to the appointed spot; take this relic with you" and, so saying, the abbot give Lim a holy morsel of one of the Seven Thousand Vir gins. "Agree to the terms for the design you have so long desired, and when you have gut it, and the Evil One presents the parchment for your signature, show this sacred hone."( - • • After long pondering, the priest's advice was taken; and in the gloom of night the architect was seen, tremblingly hurrying to the place of meeting. True to his time, the fiend was there, and with a smile compli-' mented the artist on his punctuality. Draw ing from his doublet two parchments, to opened ono on which was traced the outlines of the cathedral, and then another, written in some mysterious character, and having a yellow, brimstony space left fora signature "Let me examine what I am to pay • dearly for." "Most certainly." said the demon with a smile, and with a bow that would have done honor to the court of the emperor. •• Pressing it with one hand tohis breast, the architect, with the other, held up the holy thumb-bone, and exclaimed "Avaunt, fiend! In the name of the Father, and tho Son, and the Holy Virgins of Cologne, I bid thee, Satan, defiance!" and he described the cross directly against the devil's face. • In an instant the smile and the graceful• I civility were gone. With a hideous grin ho approached the sacred miracle as though 110 would have strangled the possessor; and., yelling with a sound that woke half thei' sleepers in Cologne, be skipped round and round the artist. Still, however, the plan was held tightly with one hand, and the relic held forward, like a swordman'a with the other. 'As the fiend turned, 'so turned the architect; until, bethinking himself that another prayer would help him, he called loudly on St. Ursula. The demon could stand the fright no longer; tho chief of the Eleven Thousand Virgins was too much for him. "None but a confessor could have told you how to cheat me,"he shrieked in a cyr& cal voice; "but I will be revenged. You' have a more wonderful and perfect design than over entered the brain of man. You want fame—the priest wants a church and pilgrims. Listen! That cathedral shall' never be finished, and your name shall be forgotten!" As the dreadful words broke upon his ear the cloak stretched out into huge black wings, which were flapped over the spot like two dark thunder clouds, and with such vi olence that the winds were raised fro.n their. slumber, and a storm rose upon the waters of the Rhine. Harrying homewards, then relic raised at arm's length over his head,. he reached the abbot's house in safety. But the ominous sentence rang in his .ears —unfinished and unknown.. Days, months, years, passed by, and the cathedral, commenced with vigor, was grow ing into form. The architect had long be fore determined that an inscription should be engraved upon a plate of brass, shaped like a cross, and be fastened upon the front. , of the first tower that reached a good eleva tion. His vanity already anticipated a tri umph over the fiend whom he had defrauded lie was author of a building which the world could not equal, and in the pride of his heart defied all evil chances to deprive him of fame. Going to the top of the build?, ing to see where his name should be placed. he looked over the edge of the building, to decide if it was lofty enough to receive the honor of the inscription, when the workmen were aware of a black cloud which suddenly enveloped them, and burst in thunder and hail, Looking round when the cloud had pissed away, their master teas gone! and one . , of them declared that amidst the noise of the explosion, he heard a wail of agony, which seemed to say "unfinished and for gotten:" When they descended the tower, the body of the archLteet lay crashed upon the pave ment. Thousands of travelers have since, beheld the building and sought in vain to learn the name of the architect of the eathet dral of Cologne. Such is one of the traditions of the cathe dral; but that building has not the monopoly of such tales, for scarcely a church in Co logne but has its mystery, its marvelous saintly story, or its legend. A QCARRICL. WITII A WM.—Wait until she is at her toilet preparatory to going out: " She will he sure to eek you if her bonnet is ' straight. Remark that the lives of nine tenths of the woman ere passed in thinking whether their bonnets are straight, and— wind up with the remark you never knew but one who had any common sense about her. Wife will ask you who that - You, with a sigh, reply, "sill you never; raind.7 Wife will ask you why you did not marry her, then. You ray abstractedly, , "Ah! why indeed!" The climax is reached . by this time, and a regular tow is sure to—
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