1 1 1 TT tU A dLr r `itt \ cat SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor. VOLUME XXXIII, NUMBER 18.] PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. Office in Carpet Hill, North-westcorner of Front and Locust streets. Terms of Subscription. flue Coryperannum,i f paidi n advance •M. i• if not paid withinl advance, Jnoathstromcommencementorthe year, 200 C34333.t05i cscap3r. Not übserapt ton received for a I can time than SIX months; and no paper will be d i +continued um it all Areearagesare paid ,unleaeat the optionofthe pub isher. tErSlone pnayt, e.• mittedb y mail an hell üblish er a risk. Rates of Advertising. 4. 1 n r.t 6 inelgone week, three weeks. ettehtultin•quentinnertion, 10 .I.l.l."ineejoneweek. 50 three weeks, L 00 euelt•mipiequeniinsertion. es InergerAdverti.sement , i is proportion At iberelliseoun twit lbe mode to quarterly,ltelt ea,ty.or,rearlyLdvertidernintho arc stricilLeonfined co thet r baaistese. Vortrts. Autumn. BY THOMAS HOOD Who sings of pallid primroses that fringe Departing Winter's mantle, and the gust Of hidden violets; or lauds the tinge Of roses, hymned by toiling bees, a-dust With golden spoils—his music is insju ,, t, If in the wiser measure of his hiys. Sweet matron of the year, he has no song To speak the ripened glories of thy days, When through the evening long The sunlight strong Wrestles among the meshes of the haze, And o'er the deep blue garments of the Night Sheds ruddy light, And spangles all their edges with its rays. Mother of Earth, whose full-orbed bosom feeds The sons of men—the hungry round thy knee Gather in hope; with grateful trust in thee. A-field with crescent keen the reaper speeds, Plunging at early morn Among the billowy corn, Lite a bold swimmer in a golden sea. Of things inanimate thou know'st the needs! And from the trees, before the Winter &car, The dead leaves, bronze and brown, Thon shakest down Among the ferns and mosses at the roots, To grow again in fruit., And glad the branches of another year. The winged Grid downy seeds thy gales bestow In cuing nooks, beyond the search of fro .q. That in the corning seasons they may blow, And not the situp est wild-llower e'er be lost— Nor tiniest foundling, by hard parent tool Into thy gentle lap, play ever hap Upon a grave untimely in the snow;— such is thy tetuler providence. Nor yet float thou ut all forget The Present in the Future's care,! For crowded With to uit and flowers and corn, Thy plenteous horn Scatter, its o'erbritutwd rtelten on the ground: I love thee, Autumn; whin, thy drowsy air Trembles in concert with the aspen's leave•, %Then lards are piping down among the sheaves And en the berried hedges everywhere. AA, fain would I to some dun bower c.cape, Where round the musky gripe The sunlight With the .hadow intel weave.; There would I knit such um-ie in my lines To frame a minstrelsy That should he worthier thee And mould my fancy to a nobler shape, Singing beneath the corona! of vines, Tojo 3 fat string., Giver of all fair thing•, Grille delights that to thine empire live, How wanner suns flood thee with lavish ray., How broader moons upon thy harvests gaze— So Heaven gifts greatly those who greatly give: gritttiono. [From Once a Week The Tale he told the Marines. Now mind, I will not guarantee the truth ef this. I can only tell it you as he told it us. It sounds improbable, certainly, but no one can say it is impossible. What is there to prevent a lady if she is so inclined, from —? But that would spoil the. story.— And there is no law of nature, I suppose, to restrain a man who is so devoid of gentle tlemanly feeling matte is---. But that would tell you what is coming. It is no good say ing he was intoxicated, for I defy you to get drunk on sherry and soda-water; and to lay it to the heat of the evening is abuard, fur it was a remarkably cool evening for August. No! Jonkyns is a man who has had some strange experiences, and this wasn't the least strange among them. Still, mind, I will not guarantee the truth of this; though, by the' way, you don't often find a man tell the same tale twice in exactly the same way if it is not true, and I have heard him tell this twice. The first time was at a dinner at Lord Well it does not matter where. It is sometimes advisableltat t, mention proper names. I don't think mentioning this would do any harm, though—at a din tier at Lord's cricket ground, and the second time was on the occasion of which I am speaking, when I found him drinking sherry and soda-water and smoking cheroots with three officers of Marines, one of whom, with five gloves (lady's six-and-a-half) and a with ered rose before him, was telling how— "after leading me on in this way, after gain ing my young affections in this treacherous manner, by Jove! sir, she throws me over and marries Blubber." "It's like the sex," said the second Ma rina. "It's woman that sejnicee all mankind," said the third Marino.' "It reminds me of what once happened to myself," said Jenkyni; "you know the story," be continued, turning to me. "So just order yourself some sherry and soda 'Water; ab! and •while you are about it order some for me too, and you can pay for them both when they come; then I sha'n't ho put out. Paying fur anything always puts me out. Thank you! I'll try one of your se• gars. Well, gentleman," turning to the Ma rines. "Some time ago I was staying with Sir George P—,l' House, P—shire. Great number of people there—all kinds of amusements going on. Driving, riding, fish ing, shooting, everything in fact. Sir George's daughter, Fanny, was often my companion in these expeditions, and I was considerably struck with her. For she was a girl to whom the epithet 'stunning' applies better than anything that I am acquainted with. She could ride like Nimrni, she could drive like Jehu, she could row like Charon, she could dance like Terpsichore, she could run like Diana, she walked like Juno, and she looked like Venus. I've even seen her smoke." ei 50 =1 "One good roint in her character, at any rate," said the third Marine. "Just like the sea!" said the second M iL- EEO "Alt! she was a stunner," continued Jen kyns, "you should have heard that girl whistle, and laugh—you should hare heard her laugh. She was a truly delightful cum. panion. We rode together, drove together, fished together, walked together, danced to gether, sang together; I called her Fanny, and she called me Tom. All this could have but one termination, you know. I fell in love with her, and determined to take the first opportunity of proposing. So one day, when we were out together fishing on the lake, I went on my knees amongst the gudgeons, seized her hand, pressed it to my waistcoat, and in burning accents entreated her to become my wife. "'Don't be a fool!' she said. 'Now drop it, du! and put me a fresh worm on.' "'0 Fanny,' I exclaimed; 'don't talk about worms when marriage is in question. Only say—' "'I tell you what it is now,' she replied angrily, 'if you don't drop it, I'll pitch you out of the boat.' "Gentlemen," said Jenkyns, with strong emotion, "I did not drop it; and I give you my word of honor, with a sudden shove she sent the flying into the water; then seizing the sculls, with a stroke or two she put sev eral yards between us, and burst into a fit of laughter that fortunately prevented her front going any further. I swan up and climbed into the boat. •Jenkyns!' said I to myself, 'Revenge! revenge!' I disguised toy feelings. ° I laughed—hideous mockery of mirth—l laughed. Pulled to the bank, went to the house and changed my clothes. When I appeared at the dinner table, I per ceived that every ono had been informed of my ducking—universal laughter greeted me. During dinner Fanny repeatedly whispered to her neighbor, and glanced at me. Smoth ered laughter invariably followed. 'Jenk yns!' said I, 'Revenge!' The opportunity soon offered. There was to be a balloon as cent from the lawn, and Fanny had torment ed her father into letting her ascend with the xronaut. I instantly took my plans, bribed the wronaut to plead illness at the moment when the machine should have ris en, learned from him the management of the balloon, though I unda.stood that pretty well before, and calmly awaited the result. The day came. The weather was fine. The balloon was inflated. Fenny was in the car. Everything was ready, when the aeronaut suddenly fainted. lle was carried into the house, and Sir George accompanied him to see that he was properly attended to. Fan , ny was in despair. "'Am Ito lose my air expedition!' she exclaimed, leaning over the side of the car. 'Some one understands the management of this thing, surel)? Nobody! Tom!' she called out to me. 'You understand it, don't you?' [St. James' Magazine "'Perfectly!' I answered. "'Come along then!' she cried, 'be quick; before papa comes back.' ''The company in general endeavored to dissuade her from her project, but of course in vain. After a decent show of hesitation, I climbed into the car. The balloon was cast off, and rapidly sailed heavenwards. There was scarcely a breath of wind, and we rose almost straight up. We rose above the house, and she laugt.ed and said,— " 'How jolly!' "We were higher than the highest trees, and she smiled, and said it was very kind of me to come with her. 'We were so high that the people below looked mere specks, and she hoped that I thoroughly understood the management of the balloon. Now was my time. "'I understand the gning up part,' I an swered, 'to come down is nut so eas;, , ,' and I whistled. "'What do you mean?' she cried. "'Why, - when you want to iv up faster, you throw same sand overboard, I replied, suiting the action to the word. "'Dun% be foolish. Turn,' she said, trying to appear quite calm and indifferent, but trembling uncommonly. "'Foolish!' I said. 'Oh dear no! but whether I go along the ground or up in the air I like to go the pace, and so do you, Fanny. I know. Go it you cripples'.' and over went another sand-bag. "'Why you're mad, surely, she whispered in utter terror, and tried to reach the hags, but I kept her back. "'Only with love, my dear,' I answered, smiling pleasantly; 'only with love for you. 0 Fanny, I adore yonl say you will be my wife.' "NO EXTERTAINMENTIS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 30, IS6I. "'I gave you an answer the other day,' she replied; 'one which I should have thought that you would have remembered,' she added laughing a little, notwithstanding her terror. " 'I remember it perfectly,' I answered, 'but I intend to have a different reply to that. You see those five sand-bags. I shall ask you five fmes to become my wife. Every time you refuse I will throw over a sand bag—so lady fitir, as the cabmen would, say, reconsider your decision and consent to become Mrs. Jenkins.' "'I won't,' she said; '1 never will! and let me tell you, that you are acting in a very ungentlemanly way to press me thus.' "'You acted in a very ladylike way the other day, did you not,' I rejoined, 'when you knocked me out of the boat?' She laughed again, for she was a plucky girl, and no mistake—a very plucky girl. 'How ever,' I went on, 'its no good arguing about it—will you promise to give me your hand?' "'Never." she answered; 'l'll go to Ursa Major first, though I've got a big enough bear hero, in all conscience. Stay! You'd prefer Aquarius, wouldn't you?' "She leoke 1 sn pretty that I was almost inclined to let her AI was only trying to frighten her of course—l knew how high wo could go safely well enough, and how valuable the life of Jenkins was to his country); but resolution is one of the strong points of my character, and when I's e begun a thing I like to carry it through, so I threw over another sand bag, and whistled the Dead March in Saul. "'Come, Mr. Jenkins,' she said suidenly, 'come, Tom, let us descend now, and I'll promise to say nothing whatever about all this.' "I continue.' the execution of the Dead March. • "'But if you do not begin the descent at once I'll tell papa the moment I set foot on the around.' "I laughed, seized another bag, and look ing steadily at her, said,— " 'Will you promise to give me your hand?' "'l've answered you already,' was the reply. "Out went the sand, and the solemn notes of the Dead March resounded through the car. " thought you were a gentleman,' said Fanny, rising up in a terrible rage from the bottom of the ear, and looking perfectly beautiful in her wrath; 'I th night you were a gentleman, but 1 find I was mistaken; why a chimney-sweeper would not treat a lady in such a way. as you know that you are risking you own life as well as mine by your madness?' "I explained that I adored her so much that to die in her company would be perfect bliss, so that I begged she would not con sider my foaling.; at all. Sae dashed her beautiful hair from her face, and standing perfectly erect, looking like the Goddess of Anger or B isvlice.t—if you can fancy that person in balloon•—she said,— "'I command you to begin the descent this instant!!' •'The Dad March whistle I in a manner essentially gay and lively, was the only re sponse. After a few minutes silence, I took up another bag, and said.— "'We are getting rather high, if you do not deathie soon we shall have Mercury com ing to tell us that we are tresspassing—will you promise the your hand?' "She sat in sulky silence in the bottom of the ear. I threw over the sand. Then she tried another plan. Throwing herself upon her knees, and bursting into tears, she said 'Oh, forgive me fur what I did the other day! It was very wrong, and I am very sorry. Take me home, mil I will be a sis ter to you.' "'Net a wife!" said I. "'I can't! I can't!' she answered. "Oyer went the fourth bag, and I began to think she would beat me, after all, fur I did not like the idea of going much higher. 1 would not give in jolt yet however. 1 whistled for a few moments, to give her time for reflection, and then said,— "'Fanny, they say that marriages are made in heaven—if you do not take care, uur's will be solemnized there.' "I took up the fifth bag. " I said, •my wife in life, or my companion in ::eath! Which is it to be?' and I patted the sand-bsg, in a cheerful manner. She held her LCC in her hands, but did nut answer. I nursed the big in my arms as if it bad been a baby. "'Came, Fanny, give me your promise' "I could hear her sobs. I'm the must soft-hearted creature breathing, and would not pain any living thing, and, I confess, she had beaten me. I forgave her the ducking; I forgave her fur rejecting me. I was on the point of flinging the bag back into the car, and saying. •Di.trest Fanny, forgive me for frightening you. Marry whomsoever you will. Give your lovely hand to the lowest groom in your stables—endow with your priceless beauty the Chief of the Pan- Ki-Wanki Indians. Whatever happoos, Jenkyos is your slave —your dog—tour foot stool. his duty, henceforth, is to go whith ersoever you shall order—to do whatever you piton command. I was just on the point of saying this, I repeat, when Fanny suddenly looked up, and said, with a qo eer ish enpression upon her face,— "'You need not throw that last bag over. I promise to give you my hand!' " 'With all your been?' I asked quickly. "'With all my heart,' she answered, with hat same strange 103 k. "I tossed the bag into the bottom of the car, and opened the valve. The bailor' de scended. "Gentlemen," said Jenkyns, rising from his seat in the most solemn manner, and stretching out his hand, as if he were going to take an oath; "Gentlemen, will you be lieve it? When we reached the ground, and the balloon had been given over to its recov ered master—when I helped Fanny tenderly to the earth, and turned towards her to re ceive anew the promise of her affection and her band—will you believe it?—she gave me a box on the ear that upset me against the car, and running to her father, who at that moment came up, she related to him and the assembled company what she called my disgraceful conduct in the balloon, and ended by informing me that all of her hand that I was likely to get had been already bestowed upon my ear, which she assured me had been given with all her heart. "'You villain!' said Sir George, advanc ing towards me, with a horse-whip in his hand. 'You villain! I've a good mind to break this over your back.' "'Sir George,' said I, 'villain and Jenk yns must never be coupled is the same sen tence; and as fur the breaking of the whip, I'll relieve you of the trouble,' and snatch. ing it from his hand, I broke it in two, and threw the pieces on the ground. 'And now I shall have the honor of wishing you good morning. Miss P---, 1 forgive you.' And I retired. "Now I ask you whether any specimen of female treachery equal to that has ever come within your experience, and whether any excuse can be made for such conduct?" "As I said before, it's like the sex," said the second Marine. "Yes, all mankind is sejnieed by woman,' said the third marine. "It's just my case over again," said the first Marine. "After drawing me on in that way—after gaining my affections in that treacherous manner, by Jove! sir, she goes and marries Blubber!" Well, it does sound improbable, certainly —very improbable. But, I said before I began, that I would not guarantee the truth of it. Indeed, if you ask my candid opin ion, I don't think that it is true; but yet the Al:trines believed it. Pauline Pauline was an only daughter adopted by some worthy citizen of the Rue St. Honore, Paris, who, having brought her up to the age of sixteen, had placed her in his shop—a perfume warehouse—to dis pense his goods at the counter. Women in Trance are almost universally and practi cally heads of commercial establishments. The master of the house, when he does not lounge life away in a cafe, play billiards or cards half the day, or walk about like one living on his means, is contented to oc cupy a retired and dignified position, attend ing, not to sales, but to wholesale purchases. But such was not the case with M. Donlan], the adopted father of Pauline. Both he and his wife shared the labors of the shop to gether, he keeping the books while Pauline and Madame Woolard attended to the details. The young girl was very pretty and very modest, and her presence contributed nut a little to the success of the business. The good couple, having no children of their own, had manifested their intention of mak ing Pauline their heiress, and this added to the charm that hung over the perfumer's store. Pauline had many lovers, a great m iny— as young ladies who are pretty, modest and virtuous are apt to have, especially when rich; for, although the world is not half so selfish and wicked as certain persons fancy, yet a grain of interested love will always peep out among the truest suitors. Two lovers were chiefly assiduous in their at tentions —the one a rich shoplceeper of the same street; the other, a p ior frollear: b ith were young and tolerably g to Hooking, and very devoted in their attachment, and it would have been hard to say which was the most deserving. But Monsieur Alexis Imp ; l arant was rich and Jean Provost was poor. It will be readily understood that the pa-, rents of Pauline would not have hesitated in 1 their choice; but they know only of the af fection of Alexis; that of Jean was concealed even from himself. Alexis came often to the house under one pretence or another, and was always favorably receive]. The Boulards were highly !littered at this pref- 1 erence; Pauline liked his frank open man ners, and always greeted him with a smile. The /*rot/cur—one who waxes and shines by means of rubbing the wooden Ilion; of rooms —came to the house in the exercise of his trade. lle always bowel low to Pauline, and asked her how she was; and eren on hey fete day had brought a single rose, which was gratefully received. Jean was also a commissioner, and ran on errands, and often came to the house to buy perfumes, soap, &c., for his employers, who, appreciating his honesty and desire for work, freely trusted him with purchases. now happily Jean was if Pauline only served him; and how gentle and respectful was his tone, and how little lie concealed his happiness if she gave him a good natured word. Pauline could scarcely be blind to the open love of Alexis, or the concealed affection of the poor I frotteur; but, however this may be, she said nothing and appeared to notice neither. But young Laparent had spoken to old Boul tad and be to his wife, and his wife to the young girl, but she kissed her adopted moth- er so affectionately, and said so gently that she wished not to leave home that the worthy woman was silent, and put off a little while any serious discussion of the matter. Jean, meanwhile, became sober and thoughtful, he dared not hope, he dared not even think of making an offer; he a poor workman with uncertain means of livelihood, and so far beneath the position of her he loved. Had she been an unfriend ed orphan, without home, he would joyfully have offered his heart, and the only fortune he had—his honest labor. While thus de pressed an event occurred which drove Paul ine completely out of his thoughts. One day he was sent for to wax the floors of a house near the Palais Royal, the opal t ments of which were generally devoted to the pleasure parties of the courtiers. Jean, who was well known and trusted, was told to wax the floor of every room then unoccu pied. Ile obeyed, and soon found himself in a chamber of luxurious appearance, sur rounded by pictures which told of rural love and happiness. Jean had seen them often before, but they had never affected him so much, and, forgetting time, place and his duties, he leant on the stick which held the wax and fell into deep thought. Suddenly he was startled by voices in the next loom; a horrible sentence caught his ear, and jus tified his listening. Pale and terrified, he hearkened to every word, and moved not f u r fear of being discovered. Ile had discovered an awful and frightful secret, and ho was a dead man if found in that room, the ill-joined wainscot of which allowed everything in the next room to be distinctly heard. "What shall I du?" thought he to himself; "to-morrow is the fete day of St. Lluis, I have no time to lose." Jean left the roam on tip-toe, and with the utmost caution; then, descending the stairs, feigned to leave for dinner. No sooner was he clear of the haus& than he made for the Prefecture of Police, and entering the hotel asked to see the Lieutenant. The servants replied that he could not be seen. It was one o'clock and the fashionable Paris dinner hour of that day—now six hours later. Nat a valet dare disturb M. de Bel lisle from his meal; but Jean insisted, stormed, implored, .tnd at last, as they seized him by the shoulders to put hint out cried, "Da not drive me out. I must see II msieur de BA.- lisle; the King's life is in danger." It was the eve of St. L 1738, and the King was Louis XV. The servants hesita ted, looked at one another, and an agent of police, struck by the inan'ii tone, made them pause. "Go, repeat his words to Nlonsieur le Lien tenant," said he, "an I slow this person in to his private cabinet." Jean, recovering his breath, followed 1114 guide, and soon found him 461 face to lace with the magistrate, whose mien was severe and inquisitive. and even incredulous. He bade the frolleur sit diwn, and asked his business in a somewhat petulant tone—the tone of a m:in disturbed in the midst of -his dinner. "I come here," said Joan, firmly, "to in form you of a plot against the King's life." "I am informel of such plods every d ty," replied the Perfect, who was used to pre tended denunciations from persons aiming at exciting attention and getting money.— "But let me hear the detail.." Jean related all that the reader knows, added that the attempt on the King's life was to be made that evening at the reception on the occasion of the eve of the fete St. Louis, whet. it wa4 usual t present the monarch with bouquets of ti 'were. oto of these was to contain a p ;dim) so subtle th tt the King. on smelling it, wool I fall as if struck with apoplexy. Banish° halite! at Jean. !!is mien was agitated;;;he was pro foundly moved. llis handsome and honest features were excite I as if with deep indig• nation; the pallor of horror was on his coon• tenance. But the Prefect of Police, realm beringlthe pretende I revelations of Lt To le and others, was still not wholly c un•inced. "Are you sure." said he to Jean, "that you have heard what you tell me? Bt care ful. If you have done this from mere mo tives of cupidity, and invented a fable, you will pay dearly for it; the Bastile fur life,"--- "Put me to the rack, if you plc Ise," cried Prevost, "it will no: alter my worlt. I re peat that the King is in danger. I will of• fer my life as security for my truth!" "Enough. I believe you. We will gn to gether to Versailles." It was a very shirt time aftervraids, when M. do BsMile an I Jean P:avost catered the Palace of Versailles by the stairs of (E I de Bceuf, and arrived secretly at the King's private apartments. livery precaution was taken to conceal the pre :once of the Itlinister . of Police from the courtiers, as thus the conspirators uniAht guess the discovery of their atrocious plot. L 33113 received the Lieutenant, and had with him a long and secret interview. In fact, they parted only when at eight o'clock the monarch went in the nail of Treaties to receive the respectful homage of all the em. bassaders and courtiers. who on this occa sion were all received in state. The Lieu tenant of Police joined Jean Provost, guard ed in a private chamber by two rcempts, and sat down to a hurried meal, in which he invited thejrolleur to join bins without cere mony. Meanwhile L.mis XV. had entered the f Treatie4, and seated hinp.elf upon his throne at the end of lii appartment. Before him was a magnificent round mosaic table, given to Louis le Grand by tbe repub- $1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE lio of Venice, and which was now destined I to receive the splendid and and rare bouquets offered on this occasion by the royal family, the grand officers of the household, and the members of the diplomatic carps to the King. The crowd was gay and georgeous. Every variety of costume—rich, bright and respledent—shone beneath the blaze of light, which showed of the brilliancy of the dia monds on the women. The King, who, de spite his frivol-y, bad great courage, if not a fund of good sen•e, which, with other oda c stunt, would have mtdo him a different mat, was by no means moved, but smiled gra ciously on Madame de Pompadour, and ca ressed his favorite spaniel, which sat upon a stool at her feet. The ceremony commenced. The King, as was the custom, took the bouquets one by one, thanking every giver by some sprightly word. Pretending to play with the spaniel, and to repress its indescreet caresses, he placed every bunch of flowers near the ! spaniel's nose, and then laid it on the mosaic table. Madame de Pompadour laughed, but hid her laughter with her fan. "If they feel hurt!" said she, in a whisper. "1 t is your spaniel, Countess," replied the King gallantly. The foreign ministers had the precedence, and had presented all their buquets. The members of the royal family came nest.— The King took the bouquets from the nearest of the blood royal, who, afterwards, stepped back bowing. Ile held the flowers to the spaniel's nose; the poor brute snuffed it reel ed, and tell dead!—Madame de Pompadour turned pale and would have shrieked, but the King had warned her by look. "Not a word," whispered he; "it is noth ing. Drop the folds of your dress over the poor animal; it has died to make true the saying, 'San of a King—brother of a King —never King!' The ceremony proceeded, Louis XV". com pletely concealed his emotions, while Mad ame de Pompadour smothered her alarm and curiosity. As soon as all was over, the King rented to his chamber, and sent fur the Lieutenant of Police, who nt once was struck by his solemn manner. "Am I to arrest the guilty?" "You were correctly informed, follicle. Last year the dagger of Amiens, this time a bunch of flowers; and always from the same quarter. I cannot, nor ought I to punish. I order you to desist from inquir ing into this mystery. Where is the man who saved me?" "Close at hand, sire," replied the Lieu tenant, who knew well whence the blow came, and also that it deseendel from too exalted a hand and too near a relative tl be noticed. "Bring him to me?" "1 am at your orders, sire," and the Lieu tenant of Police I».cel. If. B3rtin de Bel lisle was far too honest a man to do as most of his predecessors would have done —used the discovery, and kept all the credit to themselves. "I have brought this young man with me, sire," emtinned [While; "he is in the guard room, confused and alarmed at being in his rude working dress." much the butter," said the King; "it is at least an limiest occupation. Bring him in, Monsieur de "I will receive him better than I would a courtier.'• Bertin do hlillisle went out, and returned leading the frotleur by the hand. Jean Pro vost—bold, stout fellow though he was— tremble], held diwn his head, and turnel and twisted his cap in his hand:, quite una ware that be was pulling it to pieces. "Embrace your King," cried Lmis NV. with a grateful tear in his eye; "this is your first reward." "Sire," said Jean, failing on his knees; "I ask no reward but the feeling of having saved your Mijesty." "Came hither," and the King seize,] and kissc I him on both checks. "1 am univarths such harior." •'lVhat can I do far you?" nskel Luis, who was capable of g and emotions. '•1 asked nothing. sire." "Bat 1 insist. Whatecer you may ask you shall have." "If your M ijesty could give me Pauline," whispered Jean Proveq.. "0, 0," laughed Luis XV., Wilt) was now once more himself again, "e love affair. Come, the frott•ur shall sup to-night with the King, whose life he has saved, nod tell his story. Be!lisle, Pend a coach for hint in the morning, or rather come yourself. I will give you further lost• actions about this matter. Bat silence, my f lend, nut a word." The Lieutenant of P dice retired, and Louis XV., who was al - ova delighted with novelty and an unexpected amusement, took the frollenr jest as he wns, to the Trianon, whero he was to sup with Madame de Pomp adour; and there, in the presence of the court favorites, made him tell his story, which Jean did with a naive:c truth and sincerity which deeply interested the King, used wholly to another atmosphere. Next morning Lends, after shaking Jean warmly by the hand and holding a private conft.r eace with Bellisle, said: "You shall havo a house in the park, my friend, near the Trianon. You shall be honorary head gardner, with a hundred lonia a month for your salary, and every morning you shall bring me a bouquet. 1 shall thus never forget you, nor the cause which compels my everlasting gratitude." Nest morning, at an early hour, before the business of the day commenced, and while a porter was taking down the shutters of the shop, bl. Beulard called hie wife and [WHOLE NUMBER 1,632. Pauline in his little office. The good man's air was grave and a little annoyed. He had gone out the previous evening, and re turned at a late hour. Pauline had long since retired to rest, but M. Boulard had held a long conference with his wife. The excellent citizen spoke with animation, and not without a little anger, but finally cooled down before the soothing of his wife. "Besides," said he triumphantly, "she can never hesitate. Bah! prefer a wretch ed frotleur to a substantial citizen—never." "Pauline," began M. Boulard in the morn ing, "I have to speak seriously to you. It I seems your marriage must be decided on at once, since high people have troubled them selves about it. But that I have spoken myself with the Minister of Police-1 should think—never mind; I am not a fool. But of course I should be wrong. Well, Pau line, you must this morning decide. Two lovers are at your feet—Alexis and, you will ! never believe it, Jean Provost, the froUctir! Isn't it ridiculous?" "Dear father, excuse poor Jean," stam mered Pauline. "I knew you would forgive him, child. But now you must decide freely, of your own will between them. We have our wishes; but this is nothing; we leave you unbiased. Speak out like a good little girl, and speak frankly." "But, my dear father, I have no wish to marry." "But, child, you must. You shall know the reason at another time. So now, child, you must speak out. Who is it to be—Al exis orJean?" "Must I speak now?" said Pauline blush- "Yes, child," said Madame Boalard, "it is absolutely necessary." "Then, dear papa and dear mamma, if it is all the same to you, I like Alexis—" "I knew it!" cried the delighted Boehm'. "Very well; but—l—love—Jean." And Pauline buried her pretty, blushing, pout ing facc..in her hands. Tho perfumer looked at his wife, his wifo nt him, and both cried, "I never could have thought it." "But," said Madame Ballard, resignedly, "perhaps it is for the best." "Perhaps," replied Ballard, with rt mel ancholy shake of the head. "0, woman, woman!" A knock came to the door, and then Jean Prevost catered, so well dressed, so proudly happy, so handsome, that all started. "I am come to know my fate," cried lie; but the rogue had heard the last words of the old couple through the half open door. "She is yours," oriel M. ]foulard, with n sigh; "though what a poor frolleur can want with such a wife is more than I can fin- agine." "I am not a poor frotteur," said Jean Provost; "I am honorary head gardener of the royal garden of Versailles, with a hun dred louis of a monthly income, and a house large enough to hold us all, if you will come and live with us, and sell your business.— That you may understand my sudden rise, I may tell you my new parents—but never repeat it,—that I have luckily saved the King from the attempt of an obscure assas sin, and that Lluis XV. has shown his grat itude to the frottear." "Monsieur Jean—" The young man smiled, he had never been called Monsieur before. "Mon..lean, here is my hand. Wo ac cept and aro very glad, since Pauline loves you. It was for her sake that we hesitated. There, take her, and may you both be as happy as we have been;" and the old man looked affectionately at his wife, and at the young couple, who had scarcely looked at one another. They we:c married, and they were happy. They went down to Versailles to live in the house the King gave them, and lived there long after Louis XV.'s death, the place be ing kept for them by Louis XVI. Jean be came gardener in reality; nod for the eleven years that the King lived he never wanted bouquet of some kind at the Palace of Ver Faille+, and far more wonderful; ho never forgot the action of the frolleur, nor ceased to bear it in grateful remembrance. At his death there were two who shed genuine tears, and cast many a garland on the tomb —and these were Jean Provost and Pauline hiE wife. Old Stories We most of us tell old stories in our fami lies. The wife and children laugh for the h undredth time at thejoke. The old servants (though old servants nre fewer every day) nod and smile a recognition of a well known anecdote. "Don't tell that story of Grouse in the gun-room," says Digger'? to Mr. liardenstle in the play, "or I must laugh." As we twaddle, and grow old and forgetful, we may tell an old story; or, out of mere be novoleace, and a wish to amuse a friend when conversation is flagging, disinter a Joe Miller now and then; but the practice is not quite honest, and entails a certain ne cessity of hypocrisy on story hearers and tellers. It is a sad thing to think a man, with what you call a fund of anecdote is a humbug, more or less amiable and pleasant. What right have I to tell my "Grouse and the gunroom" over and over in the presence of my wife, mother, mother-in-law, sons, daughters, old footman or parlor maid, con fidential clerk, curate, or what not? I mimic Jones' grin, Hobbs' squint, Brown's stam mer, Grady's brogue, Sandy's Scotch accent, to the best of my power: and the family
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