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Piortilaittotto.
The Shoeinaker's Daughter.
The Rue St. Honore, in Paris, is one
of the longest streets in the world. It
is the Oxford street of the capital of
France, and has more shops and houses
than even the Boulevards.
At no great distance from the Palais
Royal, and between it and the Church
of the Oratorio, was, during the Reign
of Terror,'a small shoemaker's shop. It
was kept by a Uerman—a dry, droll,
middle•uged man, who, during those
times of revolution and alarm, when
heroic France, attacked by the whole
civilized world, was apparently perish
ing in death throes—expiring in ago
nies, which were, however,,to save, to
raise and glorify it—paid little attention
to anything save his business and his
pretty little daughter.
M. Leopold Mayer was a selfish man
—a very selfish man. So that boot
making prospered, he did not care for
anything else. If the country were
attacked on all sides, foreign armies on
every frontier, he little cared. The only
inconvenience he did care about was the
taxes; that was unpleasant; but, other
wise, public affairs was nothing to him.
There are hundreds of such men every
where; men whose native town might
he desolated by the plague, and who yet
would be happy If they remained un
touched—unhurt.
Leopold Mayer had a daughter—a very
pretty girl, about twelve years old, with
rosy cheeks, laughing eyes, a warm, ex
pansive heart, and a Character the very
opposite of her father. She was us gen
erous as he was selfish ; as keen In her
sympathies for the world as he was fur
his own private laitiltiesii—mhe hail a
corner in her heart fur every one. Her
mother had been like her, having sacri
ficed every consideration to that of
pleasing her husband, who would not
be pleased--of making happy a man
who would not be happy.
M. Leopold Maycr rl,d a very good
business, and, it is sal 1, hail u great
deal of MOIL* S , MleWilt:l2—but no one
knew where.
-Katerina Map_ r sat in her lather's
shop, and took the money; but, having
plenty of leisure, she read, during the
Intervals of business, such books us she
could lied at a neighboring circulating
library. German in her nature, with a
warn' but somewhat, eontemplutive
character, she devo ur ed history, phil
osophy, poetry, and the drama; but
she had her favorite author, too, and
that was the author "hives of Plu
tarch."
Of an evening she would lead out to
her father while he smoked hie pipe, to
which—like Germans and Dutchmen—
he was a great devotee. Very often they
were joined by a young officer, a lodger,
who 11111th ot long been removed from a
-military school to a commission In the
army, but who was, as vet, unattached.
Paul Lublond was a young man who
hall -profited by his education; and a
better guide for the girl could not have
been found. Of course he was a Repub
lican ; all young men, not onigres, were
in those days; and the contagion spread;
for "a more audacious little sans-thillotle
than was Katerina," would old Mayer
say, "never stepped in shoe leather."
The Reign of Terter very nearly shocked
her, but she had good sense enough not
to confound the bold crimes of Dan ton,
d- the atrocities of Murat, with the prin
ciples of the true friends of freedom.
Paul Leblond and Katerina Mayer
were the best of friends. The young
girl, so early mistress of a house, and
so precocious in her studies, played
the little woman, which made the man
of twenty laugh, and declare that, were
he not a poor devil of an officer, with no
other fortune than his sword; he would
carry her before the Mayor and marry
her: at which Katernia laughed and
bid him go and win the epaulettes of a
General first: and then she alight listen
to him, but the idea of a young adven
turer, without a penny, talking of roar.
rying the :heiress of the richest shoe
maker in Paris, was terribly audacious.
Aud Paul called her,an aristocrat ; they
laughed, and the matter ended.
About three montl ,after the young
man received his con Aission, he enter ,
ed the shop of Cit Pie. 'Mayer in compa
ny with a brother °nicer ; Katerina
was at the counter, Citizen Mayer was
overlooking his young men.
'Well, little wife," said Paul, smiling.
" Mr. Saucy, pray who are you talking
to'? replied Katarina, looking hard at
him and his friend, a pale, dry and
thoughtful-looking youth.
"To you citoyrnzw," continued Paul;
" I have come to bid you adieu. We are
ordered off to the army this very day.
Here, dear Katerina, is your father's
account, which being paid, I hove conic
to ask a favor of you."
" What Is that.." asked Katerina,
with a tremulous voice.
"The fact is, Katerina, we have, our
bills paid, not one penny left. We have
our uniforms complete; but we want a
is of shoes each. We are in the army
of the Souffireet-Meuse, to which the
government,having heard their demand
for shoes and stockings, 'said: The
Republic has many thanks for you, but
no shoes and stockings.' "
"Poor Paul ! " said Katerina, turning
her head toward the dark end of the
shop. " papa.'
" What is it?' asked Citizen Mayer,
advancing to his daughter.
" Why, papa, here is I'.llll going
away; and here Is the money he owes
you ; and the poor, dear young man
wants a pair of boots for himself and
friend on credit until the end. of the
campaign."
"Exactly, papa Mayer ; and you, us a
gohd citizen—"
" Humph ! humph! nail citizen or
good citizen is neither here nor there.
Money is the question. .My principle,
you know, In Di) money, no boots."
" Well, citizen," said the grave-look -
ing youag, man, who had not yet
spoken, that is enoeuh. If we cannot
buy boots, we will take them—"
" Citizen !" said Mayer, in an alarmed
Lone.
"From the first Austrian or Prussian
we kill," continued the sallow young
man, drily ; and he turned on the heel.
'lStop a minute," exclaimed Kate•
rina, quickly ; " you do not understand
papa, citizen. lie means that he would
refuse boots without money to strang
ers; but to you, a friend of Paul's lie
will be most happy—rather two pairs
than one."
"A. pretty business girl you will
make!' said Citizen Mayer, with half
a grunt and half a smile ; " but to your
.friend Paul and to his friend I will not
,use credit. M. Paul, do you and
your friend choose two pair of boots
each."
"We thank you, citizen," replied the
sallow young otilcer, while Paul patted
Mayer on the back, "and you shall be
repaid."
Mayer looked at her incredulous, but
he loved his (laughter and it was for
her he made the sacrifice of four pairs
of boots, which naturally enough the
young men chose. 'then they shook
hands with Mayer, Paul kissed Kater
ina, and then made his friend kiss her:
and, putting their packets tinder their
arms, went away.
Years passed away, and the saucy girl
of ten had become a beautiful woman
of three-and•twenty. All this time not
one word of Paul--and worse, said
Mayer the shoemaker, no news of his
boots. Mademoiselle Katerina had ,
many suitors. Persons in a very eleva
ted position overlooked, in those demo
cratic days, the fact that she was a
hoot maker's daughter,and many sought
her hand and heart. But the girl of
twelve still lived within her,, and she
refused every offer, however brilliant,
remaining still her father's cashier, and
aiding him in adding to that rather large
fortune which he had now invested in
the 'French funds. He sometimes press
ed
her himself on the subject of mar-
I rlage ; but Katerina was not to be moved
by any one, even her parent.
Things were in this state. Katerina
had just refused a colonel whom she
met at a great party, who talked to the
father rather sharply wherprejected,and
M. Mayer had taken Katerina to task,
when one morning, they received a
laconic epistle requesting their presence
at the office of the staff, of the Comman
, der-in-chitf of the forces of the first
military division.
"I will notmarry him," said Katerina;
quickly.
" Who ?"
"The officer, Colonel Peterman. I'm
sure he's complained to the Commander
in -Chief, and that he Is going to threaten
ua."
" But be cannot make you marry him
agatnat your will," cried M. Mayer.
"I,don't know that. Since this Em
parqr, Napoleon 'Bonaparte has taken us
ali by corm, papa, the sword Is 'not
VOLUME 69
very apt to yield when it wishes any
thing."
"We will see, my dear.', replied the
shoemaker. "To begin this request
must be obeyed at once. Make haste,
girl, add put on your finery,"
Katerina smiled thoughtfully, and
went away. The girl expected a sermon
from the Commander-in-Chief on the
impertinence of a daughter of a shoe•
maker refusing an officer of rank ; but
she was determined to bold out and
yield to no threats, persuasions or seduc
tions. She remained faithful to the
memory of Paul. She was romantic ;
she loved and wrote poetry; and she
preferred a beautiful dream to any idea
of fortuneandmaterial happiness which
might be offered to her.
In half an hour the father and daugh•
ter were ready; and away they went
arm in, arm, on foot to the Tuilleries,
where the.Commander-in•Chief of Paris
had apartments. They were soon at the
palace, and were met by the sentries,
who asked themlwhere they were going
M. Mayer showed his letter of invita
tion, which served at once us a pass,
and they were admitted.
They entered in the anti-chamber oc
cupied by officers of various grades,
several who raised from cards, or smok
ing on benches, to greet them. A young
man, an aid-de-camp, respectfully ad
dressed them, and inquired their busi
ness. M. Mayer again produced his
letter. The officer bowed profoundly,
and said lie was at their service. Mov
ing through thecrowd of officers, lie led
them by a staircase upwards, until he
reached a large open landing. He tap
ped gently twice, and the door 'opened.
A servant in a rich livery appeared,
who made way for the party, and pass
ing on, with the theatre of the palace to
the right, they turned round and
entered the real Palace of the Tuilleries
of which they had hitherto only visited
the wing.
"Monsieur will be hind enough to
wait, one moment," he said, as they en
tered au ante-chamber. "1 will
,pre
cede you and return in an instant.'
" Where are we going 'I" asked hater-
Ina, of her father, in a whisper.
"I don't icouw, but my head begins
to grow dizzy; I begin to suspect that
we must give way to circumstances."
"NeVer!" exclaimed the young girl,
firmly.
" Will you walk ?" said the aid de
camp, returning, and standing with the
door fu one hand and his hat in the
other.
M. Mayer and Katerina obeyed me
chanically. They advanced with eyes
dimmed by excitement, with a singing
in their ears, with a fainting at the heart
—a doubt—a fear—a dread—that left
them, a minute later, standing In the
middle of a small room, unconscious
whether they were in the presence of
the Emperor of China, the Khan of
Tartary, or the Grand I of Th bet.
"Well, Monsieur Mayer," said a
somewhat gentle voice.
M. Mayer and Katerl na now saw that
they were in the famous private cabinet
of the Emperor Napoleon—who had just
been crowned—with its rich ornaments,
its maps and charts, and its splendid
furniture. By the fire stood, his back
turned to it, a man of middle height,
neither stout nor thin, with a look of
power and genius, but tinged by haugh
tiness, pride, and a spirit of insolent
domineering.
"His Majesty the Emperor," cried
M. Mayer, to his daughter bowing, as
if lie were very much inclined to kneel;
while Katerina stood erect, respectful,
but firm, and resolved to oppose even
the will of .Napoleou, where her heart
was concerned.
"Monsieur Mayer," said the Emperor,
who was iu one of his moments of good
humor, "I have sent for you on .a mat•
ler of business. Mademoiselle be seat
ed."
Katerina courtesied profoundly, and
seated herself; M. Mayer stood by her
chair.
" I am informed, M. Mayer, that
your daughter has refused the hand of
one of my bravest officers, Col. l'etel•-
man. sow, as all my subjects are my
children, I have sent for you to ask an
explanation. It seems inconceivable
to me that a daughter of a tradesman
should refuse the hand of a distin
guished officer, 'who may beCome a
marshal."
"Please your Imperial Majesty," said
Katerina, firmly, and without a note of
hesitation in her voice, "it is not the
daughter of the obscure shoemaker who
refuses the hand of 'ol. Peterman, but
the poetess Clelia."
Oh!" exclaims the Emperor,
a
Ildsh of pleasure cro sing his cheeks—
for a poem on his ca paign had deeply
gratified, perhaps, the vainestman the
world ever produced—"you are Clelia !"
"I am known to the public under that
came," skid theyoung woman modestly.
"Then I pardon you your refusal of
Col. Peterrnan ; but"—and his Majesty,
the great usurper, smiled—"if I allow
you to reject a Colonel, I cannot a Gen
eral, and that General Is the Comman
der-in-Chief of thell'Arrny In the First
Military Division."
As he spoke, Napoleon rang, an officer
appeared, who received au order in a low
vine, and disappeared.
"Your Majesty," exclaimed Katerina,
warmly, "must excuse me. Not all your
mi. , hty power, not all the deep respect
1 bear to one who Is making my country
Illustrious with victory, eau make me
marry where my affections are not."
"But, obstinate girl, where are your
affections ^O said the Emperor, with a
provoking smile.
"With the dead," replied is:aterina,
sadly.
"Explain yourself."
Haterilia thought a moment, and then
briefly told the story of the past—of
Paul, of his departure, of the boots.
"The Commander-in-Chief of the
Army of Paris," said au usher, as the
girl finished her story.
Katerina turned around just in time
to be caught In the arms of the dashing
young General, who had darted towards
her the instant he entered.
" Paul !" " Katerina!" were words
uttered in the same breath.
Napoleon took up a letter, turned his
back on them with a grim smile, as if
lie thought them childish, and yet had
uo objection to let them have time to
express their feelings. Paul drew the
shoemaker and daughter into the em
brasure of a window, and rapidly ex
plained himself. He had never forgot
ten them ; hadalways intendedto write,
but had put it off—taken up as be was
by his military duties. He had only
been three weeks in Paris as a Com
mander in Chief. A few evenings back
he saw a lovely woman at a ball, asked
who she was, heard that it was Made
moiselle Mayer, the "intended " of his
Colonel Peterman ; and angry, he knew
not why, at this, he avoided being seen
by her. Hearing, however, that she
had refused the Colonel, he had taken
this mode of again claiming his little
wife.
" But, friend Paul," said the Emperor,
who had advanced nearer to.them at the
conclusion of the conversation, "the
young lady has refused the Commander.
in Chief of the army of Paris."
"But, your Majesty," exclaimed
Katerina, blushing, ' I did not know
that it was my old friend Paul."
"Oh !" said Napoleon ' • " but how
have you settled about the boots ?"
" Why, your Majesty exclaimed Paul,
laughing, ' I fancy it is as much your
affair as mine."
" True," said Napoleon, laughing
heartily. " How much, M. Mayer, do
I owe you for those two pair of bootsynu
were good enough to give we credit
for ?"
" What !" exclaimed Mayer, con
founded; "it was your Majesty ;
" It was Lieutenant Bonaparte," said
Napoleon, smiling, "to whom you
would, but for your good•natured little
daughter, titive refused credit."
" What ! your Majesty wore boots on
your first campaign! I enjoyed the
honor ?" began Mayer. "I am lost in
amazement! That young man that ac •
cornpanied Paul, and who talked of
taking boots from a dead Austrian—.
To think of the Emperor Napoleon
making his first campaign in a dead
Cossack's ugly shoes! .oh, Katerina,
what an eye you have got! Your Majes•
ty, you will allow me to—to--"
" To call yourself bootmaker to his
Majesty the Emperor Napoleon," said
the ex-lieutenant of artillery, smiling.
"Oh, your Majesty, I am over
whelmed."
" Very well, Paul, I shall sign the
contract of marriage between yourself
and Clella."
" Clella," said Paul.
"It appears so. And now, Paul, run
away, send Caulincourt to me, and don't
be carried away by the women to neg.
led your duty."
Paul, Katarina, and Mayer went out,
after again expressing their thanks, and
adjourned to the apartments of the
Commander in Chief, where, again, at
full length, and over a dinner, they
talked over the past. Mayer was lost
in ecatacles at having furnished the
future Emperor and his friend, on credit
with boots! but his delight was a little
abated when Paul insisted on Mayer on
the epoch of his marriage with Katarin a
shutting up shop and retiring from
business. The good German grumbled
excessively, but a smile from Katarina
soon set aside all scruples, while the old
man himself smiled grimly ate thought
which illuminated his brain suddenly.
A month later, Napoleon being about
to leave Paris, the marriage took place,
apd Katerina became a General's wife.
Paul—a thorough soldier, a,brave and
noble character—rose in his profession
even higher, and proved a good husband
and an excellent father. Neither he nor
his wife ever changed their principles,
serving Napoleon only from the con
viction that, after the Revolution and
the Coalition, his reign was indispensa
ble. When he died, they remained
faithful to his memory, and refused to
serve the Bourbons.
A few months after the marriage of
Paul and Katerina, the grim smile of
Mayer was explained. The ex•ehoe•
maker had retired trom business, as he
promised, and purchased a cottage on
the road to St. Cloud. One day Paul
and Katerina, in an open carriage, with
the Emperor and Empress Josephine,
stopped to speak with him a moment,
as he stood smoking his pipe on a little
eminence overlooking the road. Paul
and Katerina blushed up to their eyes
and looked confounded and confused,
but both Napoleon and Josephine
laughed heartily.
On a large brass plateau the door was
engraved, "Leopold Mayer, late Shoe
maker to His Majesty, the Emperor
Napolean."
Professor Newton, of Now Haien on the
Celestial Display.
I1•'rom the New Haven Journal, Nov, laf
The meteoric display which took place
last isaturday morning was a very beau
tiful and brilliant astronomic exhibi
tion. As Professor Lyman was not well
enough to make observations at the
Scientific School a few of the students,
merely fur their own gratification,
watched the heavens until two o'clock
in the morning and made an imperfect
count of the meteors that were to be
seen. They counted only 000. Profes•
sor Newton, with a corps of assistants,
took observations from the top of the
Alumni Building, and succeeded in
making quite a satisfactory record of
what took place in the visible firma
ment. They occupied their places, ready
for observation, soon after 11 o'clock,
but it was not until after midnight that
the earth reached such a position that
the meteors could be seen. It was then
found that the shower was in full activ
ity. How long it had been in progress
cannot be told until intelligence is
received from those who made
observations at other points on
the globe. During the first hour
froth 12 to 1 o'clock. Professor
sor Newton and his assistants counted
757 meteors. The number increased
through the night until dawn prevented
their being seen, when nearly 1,500 an
hour were counted. The shower was in
fullactivity when the daylight prevent
ed further operations, and how much
longer it lasted cannot be known until
those who took observations further
West shall report. The total number
counted was about 7,000, and it is esti
mated that the number that appeared
in the six hours during which the
heavens were watched was about 10,000.
The first meteor was seen at 12 o'clock.
The shower proceeded from the usual
place in Leo. Professor Newton says
" the shower was in full action as early
as we could see it—that is, at 12 o'clock—
and it showed no sign of cessation
even into dawn. We could see signs
even in the strong twilight. The in
crease of numbers towards morning was
due to the height of the radient. Last
year there were hardly any meteors,
only for an hour or two before sunrise,
when they came pell mell. This year
the fl ow was very steady and much
longer. When it commenced or at
what time it ended we cannot tell. As
to individual meteors, they were not
quite as bright as last year, but, owing
to the absence of the moon, they ap
peared much brighter. They seemed
much more brilliant in the first hour
than they were afterward, because their
course approached the perpendicular,
hiding their trains. Last year there
was a moon when the shower took
place. The largest number counted in
any five minutes was 214. A single in
dividual counted in five minutes 60 or
70. One counted 78. The average
number seen was not often more than
ten or eleven a minute by a single per
son. The color of the meteors was of a
greenish tinge. One had a reddish ball
as it approached a termination. As the
dawn approached those seen. against
the strong twilight had a beautiful red
dish color. There were some that had
a red color in them, and some with rose
and red colors, mixed with the green.
The nucleus was rather reddish. The
stream of meteors was much broader
than when we cut through it last year
and the year before—at least two or three
times broader—but it was not so thickly
tilled as it was last year at the densest
part." We also learned that the stream
where we passed through it last year
was 20,000 miles wide, and where we
cut through this year it was at least
120,000 miles wide, which accounts for
the meteors not being thicker, and the
shower, so to speak, heavier.
It is supposed, as we understand it,
that this group of meteors is led by a
comet which passed the earth's orbit in
January, 1866, which occurrence many
will recollect who saw this flashing ball
of fire in the skies. In 1565 the meteors
were seen very much as they were Fri•
day night. They were the advance
guard or picket line of the innumerable
army. The stream bas now been pass•
ing our orbit a little over two years and
ten months. It passes at the rate of
twenty-five miles a second, or between
500,000,000,000 and 960,000,000,000 of
miles in year. The size of it may, per
haps, be imagined from this. The show
er in 1866.7 was very similar. We pass
through the stream, not straight across,
but at an angle.
Prof. Newton thus speaks of some of
the more brilliant meteors that he saw:
"At just before five o'clock a star went
down to .the left of Pleiades with a flash
that :nape every one look around. It
lighted up everything. The time it was
seen was at forty-five minutes past four
o'clock. The train remained visible for
several minutes in this case. At sixteen
1 minutes after one o'clock a bright one
went down vertically, twodegrees to the
right of Jupiter, leaving a bright train.
The upper part of the train floated to the
right and the lower to the left, forminga
letter S, which gradually elongated until
it assumedan entirely horizontal form,
and it was still faintly visible when the
clock struck two. The cloudy train was
twenty miles long at that time. As
usual, the upper and lower parts of the
trains curved so as to look like the letter
S. In some instances, three, four and
five were visible at once. One gentle.
man saw sixty that did not belong to
the group. At seven minutes past five
there was a bright star went down just
south of Gemini. The centre part of
the train floated south and the upper and
lower parts floated north. It was very
beautiful. At twenty minutes * past
twelve a brilliant one passed bet Ween
Gamma Pegasi and AlphalAndromedie,
nearly through our zenith. It made a
long train, which looked exceedingly
brilliant. The whole train was nearly
forty degrees long."
The night was beautifully clear and
still, making the occasion one of the
most admirable for taking observations.
A Blight MlRtake
There is a magistrate named Heiser,
in a town in Indiana. A clergymen of
the same place was called upon by a
young couple not long since, who wished
him to join them in the holy bonds of
matrimony. He asked the bridegroom
(a soldier by the way) for his marriage
license. The man in blue responded
that he had been engaged to the girl
four years, and thought that would do.
Clergyman thought not, and remarked
as the speediest way to obtain a license:
"You had better take your girl and gu
to Heiser! "
" You go to hell yourself r" retorted
the angry veteran.
And seizing the bride by the arm, he
dragged her from the house, wondering
what manner of a profane minister he
had met with.
LANCASTER PA. WEDNESDAY MORNING DECEMBER 2 1868
Making Money to Die With
1 Shakespeare somewhere says, "since
no man of aught he leaves, knows what
is it to leave betimes," and he adorned
his own doctrine. He was the greatest
of practical philosophers, as well as the
poet for all time ; and his plan of life
was 'eminently wise in securing true
happiness, the proper end of existence.
He refused to exhaust his life In the
mere means of living, and had the ea
gacity to know when he had enough,
and contentedly to resign the tempting
and treacherous solicitations of avarice
and ambition, to scrape together and
grasp at more. And what are we doing
in this high noon of civilization, as we
vainly call it? Take professional men,
for instance. They toil on, and toll on,
almost without exception, until weary
mind and body refuse to toll longer.—
They preach sermons, argue cases, feel
pulses, spur on their jaded faculties
along the narrow pathway of tradition
al and artificial meditations, until the
spur is answered ao more.
And what is the effect of this upon
themselves, and the society of which
they form a part? Every man's pur
suit, exclusively followed, draws a
limitedportion of humanity within the
focus of its light, leaving all outside
, unseen and uncomprehended. We see
what we look for in this world, and not
much else. Niagara Is one spectacle to
the artist or poet, another to the geolo•
gist, and still another to the man with
the water mill. The physician thus
lives in a world whose occupants are
patients, and the human phenomena,
which he chiefly notices, are of the class
called symptoms. To the latvyer, hu•
inanity takes the aspect, for the most
part, of wrongs attempted or resisted.
.His contemplations are of the morbid
subject generally, like the physician's.
His occupations are of a sort which it has
been wisely said, may "sharpen the edge
but are eure to narrow the blade." So,
too, the clergyman is apt to look at the
world to which he ministers, only from
the point of view of the transgressions
which render such ministrations need
ful. It is to him exclusively au abat
ing place of sanctity and sin. He is
therefore apt to see more of both in it
than perhaps the facts will justify,—
'thus it is with all callings by which
men's lives and faculties are monopo
lized. Mr. Weller only exaggerated
slightly, but in a perfectly natural man
ner, when he represented the undertait
takers regarding mortality in the light
of an luetitution intended for their
benefit.
Iu Holbein's Dance of Death—that
marvellous series of grim portraitures—
is
painted the coming of the fatal mes
senger to men of every condition, as
they are. He arrests the lawyer, an ill
favored varlet, and drags him away (In
a direction happily not indicated) just
as he Is about to dispute the authority
of the summons, and is producing pre
cedents to the contrary. He turns back
the physician, who, with the cup of
healing in his hand, is hastening to stay
Death's own career elsewhere. He
comes behind the merchant, who is
weighing the golden proceeds of
some venture, and flings a human
bone into the opposing scale. The
moral of these strange pictures is
that of everyday experience and
life. It goes beyond the plain one which
the vulgar eye sees in them. It is the
folly, the absurdity, the wantonness of
dedicating life, and all the hopes and
enjoyments that may be in it, to one
absorbing sole pursuit—the madness of
wasting existence itself in the search
after' superfluous means of existence,
Instead of dedicating whatsuffices, when
found, to the rational ends of our being.
bleu of all professions and pursuits let
greed master them. Like the spiders,
they spin their entrails out of their
brains, to be hurried by paralysis or
imbecility out of existence, without
having known an hour of real enjoy
ment.
If ever a country needed the existence
and services of a class whose habits and
influence should counteract the feverish
tendency of all classes to excitement,
and the frenzy of gain and competition,
ours is that one. We must cease wor
shipping men merely because of their
wealth. Men who merely live for the
purpose that men may say, " he died
rich," are generally of very little use in
the world, and the sooner they are out
of it, and their wealth scattered, the
better for the community in which they
resided.—. Newark Journal.
The Doors of the National Capitol
The new bronze doors, cast at Ames's
foundry, Chicopee, Mass., for the Sen
ate wing of the capitol, have been placed
position, and are already attracting
much attention from visitors. It Is im
possible in a limited space to give a
proper conception of what these doors
really are. The main ideas of the ornate
design are peace and war, and to con
nect as far as may be the Father of his
Country with the two eras, and as the
door is a double one, a side is properly
given to each. Each side is divided
into five sections or panels--those
at the bottom being a little larger
and those at the top a little smaller
than the others. The two upper panels
are alike, and are intended for lighting
or ventilating. They are composed of
open or tracery work, showing a star in
the centre, surrounded by a circular
wreath of oak and laurel, the four cor
ners being occupied by oak leaves and
acorns, and the whole forming a beau
tiful and appropriate combination. Then
follow the typical or historical scenes.
The upper one on the right hand side
represents the battle of Bunker Hill,
with Gen. Warren in the foreground,
falling mortally wounded. Next comes
Washington rebuking Lee at the
battle of Monmouth, which is fol
lowed by a representation of the
battle of Yorktown, with Alexander
Hamilton on foot, leading the charge.
In corresponding space on the opposite
side come the views—first, the laying of
the corner-stone of the capitol by Wash
ington, next Washington taking the
oath of office as President, followed by
the entry of Washington into Trenton.
The two base panels are general rather
than specific in their design and signi
flcation—the scene on the one side
showing pioneer farmer defending his
home, wife and child from the assaults
of a foreign soldier, while on the other is
represented the husbandman in time
of peace, surrounded by his family
and the Implements anti fruits of
his industry. The figures through
out are in high relief, and the
portraits and costumes of the distin
guished personages prominent in the
different scenes are intended to be his
torically correct. Artists think these
doors compare favorable with those on
the House side, and which were cast
abroad. Each door weighs 4,ooo„and
the entire work, doors, moulding, soffit,
&c., weigh 14,000 pounds. Including
the repairs to models, four years have
been consumed in their casting. Tile
designs were made by Crawford, though
he had not fully completed the models
when he died. The models then re
mained untouched for a long time, un
til Rinehart, the celebrated sculptor
finished them. The doors ware ordered
in the early part of President Pierce's
administration.—Batt. Sun.
Well-Equipped Smoking-Boom
The New Orleans Picayune describes
a visit to a house in that city in which
there is a sumptuous smoking roem :
" We confees to being surprised on en
tering the room• dedicated to the weed.
Ascending a short flight of steps, covered
with matting, we found ourselves in a
room built something in the shape of a
tent and covered entirely—floor, walls
and ceiling—with parti colored matting.
Around the room were the most inviting
and comfortable lounges covered with
dark morocco, easy chairs with backs
made for the double purpose of resting
one's back or arms, and every comfort
that the cultivated taste of a gentleman
who has traveled over Europe and the
East could suggest. Hung round the
walls of the room, and lying upon curi
ously-wrought tables and Shelves, evi
dences of travel were seen in profusion.
There were pipes from every nation
almost in the world, antique weapons
and trophies of all kinds, together with
a few choice oil colors, each one of
which was a gem in itself. The window
of this cosy and delightful apartment
opens upon a yard filled with tropical
evergreens, among which are many rare
and costly plants, and du? whole pre
sented a scene of Oriental beauty which
only needed the silvery moonlight to
have made it absolutely entrancing.
That we enjoyed our cigar, under these
circumstances, may be well imagined.
Over $lO,OOO was expended in keeping
alive the John Allen_ prayer meetings in
New York, and now Water street is worse
than ever before.
WILLIAM B. ASTOR
Interesting Sketch of the Richest Man
In America
William B. Astor is a very noticeable
exception to the rule, that the sons of
rich men squander what their fathers
spent their livas in earning. Economy
and thrift are hereditary virtues in the
Astora, and the immense wealth that
old John Jacob accumulated is likely to
remain in the family for generations.
William B. Astor 's life is little, but
his property is great. His chief dis
tinction Is that he is John Jacob Astor's
son. As such he is known ; as such he
will be remembered. If it required, as
has been claimed, as much capacity to
take care of money as to make it, then
the son is equal to the father. William
B. has been preserved by his tempera
ment from all extravagances and ex
cesses. He has the cool head and calm
blood of his Cierman ancestors, to whom
irregularity was unknown, and temp•
tatlon Impossible.
Associated in business with his father
from his early years, he learned his
habits and followed his example. The
power and benefit of money being one
of the first things he was taught. it is '
not strange he has remembered his
early lessons through all years. Instead
of decreasing the wealth he inherited,
he has largely increased it, and has been
for years the richest citizen of the Uni
ted States. He is as careful of his vast
property as if he were not worth a hun
dred dollars; and to•day, in his seventy
sixth year, he takes more note of a tri
fling expenditure than a clerk whose
annual salary is not much beyond his
hourly Income.
Every one knows how John Jacob
Astor, at the age of twenty, left his
village home in Baden, so poor that he
walked to the nearest seaport, with a
small bundle containing all his worldly
goods, spent his last penny fora passage
in the steerage, sailed for New York,
and would have arrived here with noth
ing but youth and health, had he not
sold ou the voyage a half dozen flutes
given him by his brother in Loudon.
For the flutes he received twelve dollars,
and having made the acquaintance of a
furrier on board the ship, and talked
with him about the trade, he invested
his small capital, ondebarking, In furs.
From that small beginning he steadily
and rapidly arose, until he founded the
American Fur Compsny, sent his ships
to every sea, and died worth $:;0,000,0011.
But few know how William, the son,
has, during the twenty years since his
father's death, devoted himself con
stantly to swell the fortune, whose in•
come is more than any man should
have. He has little life outside of his
mortgages and investments, and at an
age when most good citizens are sleep•
lug quietly in their graves, indinrent
to securities for titles, he Is hard at
work in his back Mike, closing every
crevice through which a dollar might
slip.
Many persons wonder why men of
great fortune continue to labor, instead
of resting and enjoying themselves, and
attribute it to mere love of gain. They
do not remember that long habit be
comes a second nature; that such men
find rest in constant occupation, and
that the enjoyment prescribed for them
would be the severest punishment that
could be inflicted.
For more than fifty years Wm. B.
Astor has been a daily worker at his
desk. Sentence him to idleness to.
morrow, and before the Christmas
chimes were rung from Trinity the
family lot in Greenwood would have
another occupant.
Astor was born in a small Mick house,
built by his father and occupied as a fur
store, but long since torn down, at the
corner of Broadway and Vesey—the site
of the preseut Astor House. He has
seen wonderful changes in the city and
the world. When he was a babe New
York had a population of not more
than thirty thousand souls; our revolu
tion had just ended ; George Washing
ton was still alive; Thomas Jefferson
was President of the United States;
Bonaparte was unknown ; Frederick
the Great had recently died ; the French
revolution was thrilling the time with
horror; Vesey street was in the coun
try; Bowling Green was the centre of
trade; Wall street and its vicinity the
quarter for fashionable residences, and
the republic itself a handful of feeble
States that were still suffering from the
struggle that had given them their in
dependence.
Astor was carefully educated by his
father, and, after leaving college, travel
ed in Europe, where, it is said, he spent
less than a quarter of what his parents
had allowed him. After his return he
went into business with Joh El Jacob, and
became more watchful of his Interests,
and more careful of his money than the
old man himself, who was never accused
of any carelessness in that respect.
Though presumptive heir to a large
estate, he lost no opportunity to look out
for himself, and, at his father's decease,
was individually worth $6,000,000. He
is declared, by those who ought to know,
to be less liberal than his father—no
spendthrift by any means—and a man
of less kindly feeling and less gener
ous sympathy. He is reported to be
very charitable on occasions ; but
he rarely gives to those who solicit
charity, and his brusque refusal of
the constant petitioners for assistance
of all kinds through a series of years
has earned for him the reputation of
extreme closeness, if not penuriousness.
To common beggars and seekers of sub
scriptions he turns a deaf ear, and the
fact is now so well known that ho es
capes much of the annoyance to which
accessible rich men are perpetually sub
jected. He makes it a rule, lam told,
never to give anything during the hours
of business, and always to investigate
any and every case brought to his no
Lice. If he finds it worthy, he is rea.
sonably liberal, but privately so, having
no ambition to gain a reputation that
would prove troublesome, not tosay ex
pensive.
I have no reason to doubt this; in•
deed, I am inclined to believe lt ; for
many persons give from their vanity,
while others who are silently charitable
pass for the very opposite in public
opinion.
Still, Astor can not be regarded as a
liberal man, considering his immense
wealth, and the superabundant oppor
nities it gives him for doing good in his
native city, where the Greeks are even
at his own door. Of course, he has a
perfect right to do as he chooses with
his own. He knows that too, and fol
lows his humor. The public is very
exacting of the wealthy, who are round
ly abused when they decline to open
their purses as it directs. They are so
beseiged and badgered with applicants
and applications, so imposed on and
cajoled, that it is not strange that they
grow callous. Even Astor and Stewart,
if they respond to the calls upon them
for aid, would be beggared in a twelve
month. But there is so little probabili
ty of their responding that it is not
needful to expend any sympathy in an
ticipation.
Astor's office is in Prince street,
Broadway, a one-story brick, with heavy
shutters that remind you of a village
bank. The office has two rooms, and
he occupies the rear one, very plainly,
even meagerly furnished, which he
enters punctually every morning at ten
o'clock, rarely leaving the desk before
four in the afternoon. He is not shut
away as Stewart is His back can be
seen by any one entering the office, and
any one can step in and see his face also,
if he be so minded. To those who pay
him a visit he is so chary of words as to
seem impolite.
He usually waits to be addressed, but
if he is not, he turns a cold face upon
the visitor, and says, "Your business,
sir?"
If it be an application for charity, in
nine cases out of ten he cuts off the
story before it is half told with, "I can
do nothing for you, sir," and resumes
his work.
If it is an application for reduction of
rent, or for the sale or property, he gen
erally answers "No, sir," and relapses
into silence from which it is difficult to
arouse him.
If ;;te, is annoyed by further speech he
says, curtly and brusquely, "I am busy
—have no time for talk," and there the
interview ends. Few persons feel en•
couraged to stay in his presence, which,
to strangers, is no more inviting than
the morgue at midnight, or a,tombstone
on a winter's day.
Astor has none of his father's liking
for trade. He deals altogether in real
estate and in leases of property owned
by Trinity Churoh, a corporation worth
$100,000,000. He has a wonderful
memory. He can tell every sauare foot
of property he owns, the exact date at
which eachleaseex nlres and the amount
due on it to a penny. He very rarely
sells any of his property ; he Is buying
constantly, and will be to his dying aay,
though it can not be many years before
he will be obliged to exchange all his
valuable sites and acres for a three•by
seven lot on Long Island. He scarcely
ever improves any of his real estate. He
buys it for au advance, and lets it go
only when he thinks it has reached its
maximum rate.
Astor lives in Lafayette place, not far
from Astor place, in a handsome though
somewhat old-fashioned brick house,
adjoining the Astor Library. His resi
dence was built for and given to him
by his father. Most fashionable and
wealthy people have moved up town,
but he is conservative, averse to change,
and will breathe his last under that
roof. He is temperate In all things, and
has always taken excellent care of . h is
health, but he likes a good dinner and
a bottle of wine, and sits long at the
table. His is not a very sociable or gre
garious nature, but he gives elaborate
dinner parties, and often has company
at his nouse. As an entertainer few
surpass him. On a social occasion his
plate is the most massive, his viands the
costliest and his wines the richest to be
found in New York.
He is very fOnd of walking, going from
his home to his office and back almost
invariably on foot. He is a tall man,
fully six feet, of heavy frame, large and
rather coarse features, small eyes, cold
and siuggish•looking, much more Ger
man than. American. nothing distin
guished or noticeable about Lain, whom
no one would suppose as old as he Is by
at least fifteen years. He has a strong
constitution, and Is In vigorous health,
and may see his hundredth birthday.
He has two sons, John Jacob and Wil
liam B. Astor, Jr., both of whom are as
close applicants to business as their
father, anti several daughters, all mar•
tied to wealthy gentlemen. Dirs. Astor,
who is the daughter of General Arm
strong, James Madison-s Secretary of
War, is a woman of culture and ac•
compllshment,• and lends grace and
dignity to her husband's hospitality.
Wm. B. Astor's wealth cannot be ac
curately determined. He does not know
himself; but it is probably $95,000,000
or $70,000,000, perhaps $80,000,000. It
increases largely every year, by reason
of the advance lu property, and may
nearly double in value before his death.
His Income is greatly disproportionate
to his fortune, because he owns a large
amount of unproductive real estate.
He has much property which even his
eons know nothing of, and, like his
father, seems unwilling to have any
one understand the immensity of his
riches. It is said he Is very anxious to
live, to see how many of his Invest
ments will turn out; but, at seventy
six, that rare pleasure cannot be forever
toyed. J. 11. n.
Are You a Counterfeiter
What use do you make, reader, of a
counterfeit fifty-cent postage "stamp"
which you find in your pocket-book,
and do not know where it has come
from?
Do you invariably tear It up, or burn
It up—are you careful that it does not
get out of your pocket, into circulation
again?
Have you not sours time rolled up
such a bit of fractional currency, aua•
pectin(' It to be counterfeit, and willing
to "get rid of it "—by chance or acci
dent, as it were—and so keep square
with your conscience?
We have seen men—men whom we
would have trusted with our pocket.
books—return a counterfeit fifty cent
piece to their pockets after they were
convinced that it was spurious. What
does such au action mean—provided
that the man is ignorant, as is generally
the case, where he got the counterfeit :'
It means that he is not ready to bear the
loss of fifty cents like an honest man.
The action is a dishonest action. He
has no right to put a counterfeit where
there is any possibility of his passing it
into circulation again. The only honor
able proceeding is to burn it or tear ltup
the very moment its worthlessness be
comes evident. Do not hesitate a second.
If you have not this habit fixed upon
you, cultivate it! Without it you are
in league with counterfeiters. You are
oue of the "gang"—you are not an
honest man : Let this rule apply to a
ten cent "stamp" and to a ten-dollar
greenback equally and rigidly. There
are only two questions to be askedi Is
this a counterfeit? Yes. Do I know
who gave it to me? No, Burn it—
fear it up—do not return it to your
pocket as you value your honesty !
There is a law in Michigan, and in
some other States, we suppose—com
pelling every bank to stamp the word
counterfeit " in large black letters
across every spurious bill presented at
their counter, for whatever purpose It
may be presented, under whatever cir
cumstances, and upon whatever bank
In the United States It may be a coun
terfeit. We once saw an apparently
respectable man present a twenty dollar
bill to the teller of the Michigan Insur
ance Bank, in Detroit. He merely
wished to know if ft was a
counterfeit. The teller made no
answer, but simply brought down
a powerful stamp upon its face,
and handed It back, with the word
"counterfeit" staring its astonished
proprietor in the face. We never saw
a darker cloud pass over a human coun
tenance. Oath followed oath In an in
effectual effort to express the man's
indignation. Every oath stamped
" counterfeit" upon that man's charac
ter In letters as large and plain as those
upon the bill. Not that he would have
acted as a direct accomplice of profes
sional counterfeiters—but he was not
prepared to do what common honesty
demanded—destroy the spurious bank
note and meet his own loss honorably.
Of course, says every reader, he in
tended to pass the bill—and that would
be dishonest.
And what is your practice, reader—do
you destroy every little piece of postal
currency us soon as you discover its
worthlessness?—or do you put it in the
roll in your vest pocket and let it take
its chances with its companions when
you are paying car fares, or for lunches
and cigars? If you do not destroy it,
you are absolutely dishonest. This com
promising with conscience Is more con
temptible than unflinching robbery.—
N. Y. Evening Mail.
Foul Weather
A Rainy Day is a jubilee to an indoor
man, and could we only select the time
of its coming would he so to every man.
Happening to speak with a man doing
a large retail trade, of throwing out the
lure of lower prices to tempt customers
in stormy weather, he replied "that the
stormy weather was really a necessity to
them, as many things could not be prop
erly attended to In the rush of business,
and such days were needed to catch up
with and regulate the more or less disor
der inevitable." Might not we all do
something of that? Life with the best of
us is always a littlebehind, and wesadly
need catching-up days, liberally scat
tered along, that we may in part patch
that which we have neglected to make
in the weaving seemly and unseamed
cloth. Many a mother rejoices in the
rainy day that she may "put things to
right," and could we manage instead of
grumbling about it, and so really find
ing fault with the divine laws govern
ing the universe, to use the time in a
general putting of things to rights with
in us as well as about us, the close of a
rainy day would show that unawares
an angel had walked with us.
Salt with Nate
One time, while enjoying a visit from
an Englishman, hicory nuts were served
in the evening, when my English friend
called for salt, stating that he knew of
a case of a woman eating hearty of nuts
in the evening, who was taken violent
ly ill. The celebrated Dr. Abernethy
was sent for,,but it was after he had be
come too fond of his cups, and he was
not in a condition to go. He muttered
" salt salt!" of which no notice was ta
ken. Next morning he went to the
place, and she was a corpse. He said
that had they given her salt it would
have relieved her ; and if they would
allow him to make an examination, he
would convince them. On opening the
stomach the nuts were in a mass. He
sprinkled Balton this, and it immediate
ly dissolved. I have known of a sud
den death myself, which appears to
have been the effect of the same cause.
I generally eat salt with nuts and con
sider it improves them.—Cor. Ger.
Telegraph.
A few friends of Mise Alice Carey bays
shown their appreciation of her works and
worth by presentingher with one thousand
dollars. The gift was made through Mr.
Greely In a very delicate and pleasant man•
ner,
Ji Quaker Wedding—How Friends Marry
Th6oselves.
A Quaker wedding is a novelty to the
World's people, and as such we present
our readers with a detailed description
of one which recently took rlace In the
enterprising town of Harrison, West
chester county. In spite of the persecu
tion which the Quakers suffered in ear
ly times at the hands of the Puritans,
New England, and the border lands
still retains many of them, who exactly
resemble their ancestors in every par
ticular save that they have larger and
better tilled purses. But there is the
seine simplicity of dress, language, and
manners, and when a young Friend
marries a young Friend (less ?) maiden,
he does It in the simple style which
prevails among friends and Quakers.—
In other words he
Last Tuesday evening, at the resi
dence of Friend John Semen, iu Harri
son, Westchester county, Mr. Eugene
V. Lorton, of this city, married himself
to' Miss Amy T. Mosher, of Greenwich,
tit. , Be it known to all of our readers,
then, that this was a regular, old fash
ioned, democratic, New England Qua
ker wedding, which took placeat grand
father's great square country house, in
the midst of all the relations on both
sides, from the oldest grand parent to
the youngest baby with its thumb in its
mouth. The relatives of the young
Friends who were to be married came
together from all parts of the compass,
even from the towns of New Jersey,
the hills of Orange county, the city of
New York, New England, and West.
cheater county. There was a plentliul
sprinkling of world's people too—young
ladies iu Pompadour waists, and young
men in swallow-tailed coats and fancy
neckties. But.toall intents and purpo
ses, the wedding was of Quaker origin,
conduct and conclusion.
During the day of Tuesday guests
were arriving upon every train, leaving
the cats at Port Chester. Coaches and
carriages were at the depot to convey
them to the house, some four or five
miles distant, and one four in•hand
team was loaded down with something
like a score of men and women. (rand
father Semen came down to the station
in his family carriage for the special ac
commodation of particular friends from
the metropolis. Such heaps of boxes,
trunks and traveling bags, with nurses,
dressing maids and babies, was a sight
to behold.
Arriving at the mansion, the guests
were ushered into the parlors, where
bright fires of wood were blazing in the
great open fireplaces.
The ceremony was to take place at
eight o'clock in the evening. Long
before that hour, the parlors were
crowded, with the exception of a pas
sage-way left through the oentreof each.
The Friends lu their peculiar and well•
known costumes, were seated in the
front parlor, In solemn silence. The
gentlemen were, for the most part,
dressed in black with white neck-ties,
while the ladies wore small lace caps
with little peaked crowns, and lace
under•handkerchiefs. The prevailing
colors of their dresses were brown, a
deep, rich, mulberry, and black. When
ever a Friend entered the room he or
she shook hands with each one present,
saluting them by their given names.
THE MARRIAGE,
Beneath the mirror In the front par
lor a sofa had been placed for the bride
and groom, and upon either side were
chairs for the best man and woman.
The friends and relatives being assem
bled, the best man and woman entered
the back parlor, followed by the bridal
pair. They walked the entire length
of the parlors, and amid a profound
silence took the seats designed tor them.
For about live minutes, during which a
silent prayer is supposed to have been
offered, no one spoke or moved. The
bride sat like a statue, with downcast
eyes, but blushing perceptibly. The
whole scene appeared more like a tab
leau than au ordinary wedding cere
mony. After enduring the silence as
long as seemed desirable, the bride
groom and bride arose, taking each
other by the right hand, when the
bridegroom said :
"In the presence of the Lord, and
these people, I take thee, Amy. to be
my wife, promising by the Divine as
sistance to be unto thee a loving and
faithful husband, until death dab part
• /I
Then Amy said the same words to
Eugene, stumbling a little at the word
" husband." At the conclusion of this
part of the ceremony the company was
again seated, and silence reigned pyo
found, The bride' was dressed after the
ordinary fashion, in a white satin, pom
padour waist, lace underwaist,
orange flowers, etc., etc. •
During the silence succeeding the
ceremony an opportunity was offered for
any of the Friends to address the
couple if the spirit:moved. After wait
ing for some time a quiet, motherly
looking lady made 4he following ejacu
lation:
"This is indeed a very solemn cere
mony, and we will all need the Divine
assistance in living nil to lip require
ments."
Another period of silence and the
bridegroom arose and kissed the bride,
whereupon the best man and woman
did the same thing.
STONING THE CONTRACT.
At this stage of the proceedings the
best man brought a small table
into the room, upon which Wai a mar
riage certificate in the shape of a scroll,
a pen and an inkstand, and placed Ulu
front of the bridegroom. He signed
his name to the contract, and then the
bride assumed for the first time the
name of her husband. Immediately
after the signatures had been affixed to
the document a gentleman took the cer
tificate and read it aloud to the company
as follows :
WHEREAS, Eugene, of the city, coun
ty, and State of New York, (sou of--
and—his wife) and Amy, (daughter
of—and—his wife,) of Greenwich,
Fairfield county, State of Connecticut
having declared their intention of mar
riage with each other, and having ob
tained the consent of their parents.
Now, the Beare to certify whom it
may concern, that for the ;full accom
plishment of their said intentions this
tenth day of the eleventh month of the
year of our Lord one thousand eight
hundred and sixtyelght, they, the said
Eugene and Amy, appeared in a meet
ing held at the house of John Seman,
of Harrison, and the said Eugene taking
the said Amy by the hand, did on this
solemn occaiidon openly declare that he
took her the said Amy, to be his wife,
promising with Divine assistance to be
unto her a loving husband until death
should separate them; and then the said
Amy did in like manner declare that
she took the said Eugene to be her hus
band, promising, with Divine axsistance ,
to be unto him a loving and faithful
wife until death should separate them.
And moreover they, the said Amy and
Eugene (she according to the custom of
marriage, assuming the name of her
husband) did as a further confirmation
thereof, then and there to these presents
set their hands.
Eugene
Amy
And we, whose names are also here
unto subscribed, being' present at the
solemnization of the said marriage and
subscription, have as witnesses there
unto set our hands, the day and year
above written.
Peter --'-.
John ---.
Naomi
Ruth
And scores of others.
THE CONGRATULATIONS.
The contract having been signed and
read it was now taken to the back parlor,
where it remained throughout the eve
ning, during which time the signatures
of all who witnessed the maii•lage were
affixed. The people now pressed toward
the newly-married pair, the nearest
relatives going firer, and others following
in their appropriate order. As the uncles
and elderly gentlemen relatives kissed
the bride they slipped a fifty dollar bill
into her hand, as part payment for the
kiss!lmmediately after the congratu•
lations the dining•room was thrown
open, and the wedding-supper an
nounced. This was much like that at
any other wedding, only the bridal
party sat at an elevated table, and the
bridal cake was not cut.
The whole ceremony consumed about
one hour. Between fifty and sixty sig
natures of the relatives of the bride and
bridegroom were appended to the parch
ment. Thia las goodicgstom,.and serves
to call to mind paoh.,side present at the
wedding. a little curious that the
marriage certificate has to be procured
in Philadelphia. It is afforded at the
reago t ible price of five dollars, A new
gold n and case is always ,purchased
for signing of the oontrit9t.p,This
NUMBER 48
may be presented by the husband to his
wife: .
Before the final performance of the
ceremony several rehearsals are gone
through in private. Old Friends shake
their heads and say, that usually the
woman goes through with her part of
the ceremony with more grace and cor
rectness than the man. Some women
break down, or speak only in a whisper.
The Friends receive presents like
ther people, but no cards are issued.
Besides the usual presents of silver
ware, jewels, laces, etc., they give
household goods, such as blankets.
counterpanes, linen, etc. These are
displayed with the rest.
The New Dining Cars on the Chicago
and St. Louts Railroad.
The present week has seen fully in.
itiatetl a new and marked era ill rail
way annals, in the introduction of the
Pullen dining cars on the Chicago and
St. Louis route. It was that energetic
and wide-awake management that ear
liest co-operated with the creation and
introduction of the Pulien palace sys
tem, and they were the first to realize
among our American roads the full per
fection of a sleeping car. After careful
Investigation they have now adopted
the dining ear as the twin feature of
progress, su that hereafter passengers
between Chicago and St. Louis will both
lodge anti feed while speeding forward
on their journey. This shortens the
running tune to St. Louis about fifty
minutes. It gives the passenger a free
don front the penalties and pains of
wayside feeding•places. lie can eat
when he likes. He need not "get some
thing to eat before leaving," but will
reserve himself and his gastric forces
against such time as he leisurely takes
his seat at the elegant table and dine in
a sixteen-wheeled restaurant parlor at
thirty tulles an hour.
The new line went into operation on
Monday, and consists of the sp'entlid
new cars, "Son therm" the "Tremont,"
and the " Brevtiort," named for popu
lar hotels. liarli has two saloons that
will seat twenty• lour passengers on
either side of the cuisine department,
which occupies the center of the car.
Thus forty-eight diners may be busy at
one time. The cur Is to run In the cen
ter of the train, and is open at all hours,
with a bill of fare that enables these
ears to amply justify their names in the
substantial reproduction of the hest fea
tures of our hest hotel tables, and which
we reluctantly forbear presenting entire
just to show what railroading has be•
come on the prairies. The traveling
public are already loud in the praises of
the new system, which is certain to be a
favorite on all through roads.
Row to Become a Millionaire
The writer of an article In the t ialaxy
on the Now York Millionaires thus
sums up what is to be done by a man
who would join the order:
You must be a very able man, as near
ly all th.. millionaires are.
You must devote your life to the get
ting and keeping of other men's earn
ings.
You must eat the bread of carefulness,
and must rise up early and lie down
late.
You must care little or nothing about
other men's wants, or sufferings, or dis
appointments.
You must not mind It that your great
wealth involves many others in poverty.
You must not give away money ex
cept for a material equivalent.
- You must not go meandering about
nature, nor spend your time enjoying
air, earth, sky or water, for there is no
money in it.
You must not distract your thoughts
from the great purpose of your life, with
the charms of art and literature.
Yuu must not let philosophy or re
ligion engross you during the secular
Lime.
You must not allow your wife or
children to occupy much of your va!u•
able time and thoughts.
You must never permit the fascina
tions of friendship to inveigle you into
making loans, however small.
You must abandon all other ambi
tions or purposes; and, finally—
You must be prepared to sacrific ease
and all fanciful notions you may have
about tastes and luxuries and enjoy
ments. during most, if not all of your
natural life.
If you think the game is worth the
candle—you can die rich—some of you
can.
Served Right
Deacon \V was a staid and hon
est deacon of an interior town in :New
York, who had a vein of dry caustic
humor in his composition. The deacon
had a boy of some dozen summers, who
was inclined to be a little ugly when not
under the parental eye. In school, es
pecially, John was a source of constant
annoyance to the teacher. line day the
teacher punished him for some misde
meanor, and John went home to enter
his complaint, and told his father that
the teacher had whipped him.
" exclaimed the deacon, ele
vating his eyebrows, ' been whipped
" Y•a-a.s," sobbed the boy.
' And did you let a woman whip y&P
shouted the deacon.
Y•a-a s. I couldn't help It."
." Now, John, you little rascal, you
go to school tomorrow, and If Miss—
undertakes to whip you, don't let her
it you can help it. Don't take a stick
to strike with, but ye may strike, bite
and kick us much us ycu have a mind
to !"
The next day the boy went to school,
and, emboldened by the permission
given by his father, was HOOLI brought
before the tribunal of violated rules.—
The teacher undertook to correct him,
anti he did as his father had told him.
The result was that John got a most
unmerciful thrashing, and was thor
oughly subdued. When he went home
he went to his father, crying:
" Well, dad I got an orful licking to
day."
" What!" said the old deacon, "have
you let that old woman whip ye
again'?"
Y•a•a•e,'' whispered John. "I kick
ed her, and struck Ler, and lit all I
could, but she lammed me orfully."
" Alia!" chuckled the humorout . old
'deacon ; "you 'Lama! fool, I knew she
would ; and she'll give you a trouncing
every time she undertakes it ; and I
would advise you to behave in future "
John began to have some perceptio
of his father's motive, and ever after
was a better and wiser boy.
Partlenlitnt of the Pollard !Murder
RICHMOND, Nov. 2l.—The following are
the paruculars of thu tragedy this morning:
On Saturday a report was published In the
Southern Opinion it-dative to the elopement
of the dsugnter of Win. 11. Ore m, a wealthy
tobacconist of this city. This morning
about ten o'clock, as LI. itives Pollard ed,
itor of the paper, was near his office door,
corner of DI nth and Fourteenth streets, go
ing In, a shot was tired Trots the upper
window of a buildingopposite. Mr. Pollard
fell dead, eleven buckshot having entered
his body, one passing through his heart.
The police searched the building and found
Jas. Grant, brother of the lady named, In
the room. lie surrendered and wine taken
to the station house, A doubled barreled
gun, one barrel discharged, was found In
the room. The affair caused great excite
ment heTo and a large crowd gathered
around the Opinion office since its occur
rence.
Ru.sian Engineer..
The Emperor of Russia has sent to this
country two civil engineers, with instruc
tions to make a complete examination of
the workings of the Pacific and other great
railways in the lin ited States. The Emperor
contemplates building a railroad from China
across the country of Asia to the capital of
Russia, for the purpose of preventing the
United States, with Its railroads and steam
ships, from monopolizing the whole China
trade. These agen is of the Russian Emperor
are now here preparing for a winter's cam
paign in New England and on the Plains.
They will spend a month or two in New
England to learn the manner In which the
railroad tracks tl mere are kept free from the
severe snow stormsprevaield in that section
of the country.
Therorn Fr orteitiliN
he liveat West.
A gentlemantwriti from Illinois to a
friend In lio 'n Hays.
.:Nylfile ou ' ting, two weeks ago, I
wlte oluad
in some n fields w bleb belong to
anam ,t. ullivan. He probably
owns re lamp t un any farmer In the
i
State. I e is ttlk.e pl'oprietot • of nine town
ships, each six **lles sous re. This year
he has 25,000 acres of corn. This seems
like a big slot y, but 'it is nevertheless ,
true. It was ft at the easiest. thing In the ,
world to get test In his t two fields. I
strayed into ono field and wt Liked four and
a half miles before I came to the end of
the row of corn Which I folio wed. A party
of six of us wete absent four days, and
during that time killed two dozen geese,
=mallard ducks, besides ohl oicons t oranes,
eta., that we did not count."
RATE OF ADVE • • ' •
I Bueugsse Anvsanazaaavan, $l2 • year per
quare or tan lines; SO per year for each act.
ditlonal square.
HEAL INerWrz ADVKISISIIII7,IOceuta e lice for
the first, and 5 cents foreach subsequent tn•
Button.
• . •
(3 RNERAL Any ItRTIBING Teenta a' line far the
first, .m11(.01)(4 for each 1111RieqUellt. 1111101.
lion.
SPECLA.I. Names Inserted In Local Colump. r
-16 neat/ per line.
81.r.olAt. Not preoedlng =MIPS end
deaths, 10 cents per line for Wet Insertion
and 5 cents for every subsequent insertion.
LLOAL AND OTH e 8 ti0T1613.-
Executori`
A.dministrators' n0tice',....._........_.2. 110
Assignees.' 7.60 .
Andltors' n0tt0ae,...—... --...—... 2.00
Other " Noticea," ten lines, or lOU,
Tit . INDIANM
General Sherman:. Report—A o Ipt
lox llireali.-ent.
General Sherman's annual report gives a
spirited history of the origin and progress
of the present Indian war, which , it is
alleged, was provoked by no wrong coin
mined by the settlers, but Is the savage
protest against oar traversing the hunting
grounds with military routes and railroads.
General Sherman thinks there Is no hope
of permanent peace, and no chance of sav
ing the Indian race from destruction, unless
wu adopt the advice of the recent team.
commission, and place all the tribes on
reservations ; and to du this, he say., Indian
affairs inust he managed by the army.
" You will observe says Lieutenant Gen .
era! Sherman, "that while the country
generally has been at peace, the tuople eta
the plains and the 1M1.01,8 of toy eeminami
hare been constantly at war, t•Liti Urlllg ail
its dangers and harriships, with none ~r, ra
honors or rewards." General Sherman's
report consists of u history' of these dith
culties and their causes, is brief account or
recent military operations, a series of sug •
gest tons regarding the solution of the ind,im
problem, and a number of metioratilia
❑Pita appropriations ituti disbursements. It
is the first clear and intelligible, account we
have yet seen of the Indian "situation,"
and us such is well worthy of perusal.
In speaking or the ritual's which have
" made a state of war the normal condition
of things on the piano'," he rays he has
"studied to tind some lasting remedy, but
thus fur without success." Emigrants,
settlers and gold!hunters continue to push
out mall the exposed punnet on the (mutter,
and as vast SUrlactsiara In possession of wild
Indian trill., It must be expeeted that col
lisions will constantly arise. Altar survey
lug the grouno lie comes to the conclusion
that it Is Idle for is to Intent pt to occupy the
plaint In common with the Indians; that a
Joint occupation by two races with such op•
posing interente is a 'simple impreuilanitty,
811,1 that the Indians moat - yield. :fie
np
pruves, therefore, of the plan anggested l y
the Indian Pets) Commllanon in Its 111.4 t
111111M11 report to the Prexident, that to main
lino a perm intent peace with the I inflatiallkat
or the Rocky Mountain,' they should alf, at
the earl lost possible 1110111S111, hol`ollStlted'oll
reservations en far removed as ponxible front
the white nettleinents and lines of travel,
and that there they should bodamintatned
at the cost of the lisped Mimes until they
could wholly or partially provide tor them
sole.. In eonneetloll WWI tills point ho
/601110 of the propositions wade by
the Putt. Comininnioners, and approves of
the two principal reservatione which they
Indica tod—one North of Nebraska and the
other West or Arkansas. " These dletrlcts,"
he says, "are the only parts ml our vast
National Domain at all adapted to the pur•
pose not already appropriated, and there
sort of Indian tioverument should be pro•
vided by law, looking' to time In future
when all die 'whims would he reduced to
the peueolill condition of shepherds, herd ,
ern and rmers." IL will be rernembet ad
that the proposition to set apart these re-
MerVatilliel, and compel 1110 rellloVal of Ihu
[Millais, was before Congress at Its laatmes
sion, bet for some reason or other It was
not acted upon. General Sherman refers
to this tact, because many person' attribute
to it tllO reason why we billed to Stletlrti to
lasting peace, and why we art, at this Mo
ment engaged In n coolly war with four or
the prinCipal tribes with wind' we had to
deal, viz: the Cheyennes, Arrapahoeti, l
owa." and Comanches.
General Sherman's narrative of the origin
of the present difficulties with which Gen.
Sheridan is dealing puts the blame upon
the Indians. Last year certain tribes made
reprementatlons which led our military au
thorities to abandon the Powder Raver
country. and then, attributing our action In
fear, other tribes began warlike operations
to compel our adandonment of the Smoky
1111 1 country, which cotnantes the vt , Q,
heart of the buffalo region, and the best
hunting grounds or America. Gen. Sher
man narrates their plans and describes
their barbarities, wide!' were of the most
shocking character. Ile exculpate' the
white settlers from all blame, and refers to
their ellorte to placate the savages., its alto
exculpates' tile troops from all' charges
against them. The soldiers, not only from
a natural aversion to an Indian war, which
will work no glory, but under positive
orders, had borne with all manner of
provocation In hope that very Soon
the peace commission would culminate
in the Withdrawal of the savages from
the neighborhood of our post- matte
and settlements, and thereby end all further
trouble. But at last the conduct of the In
dian', wan such an to compel the Governor
or K Inue, to call upon the Suva forces to
take the field for the protection of the people
againet their outrages. lie fret to work
organizing two cavalry regiment," of picked
men, well mounted, for volunteer service,
and the Secretary of War has authorized
the acceptance of one of these mounted
regiments for six menthe. With a good
force of regular cavalry end the Kansas
volunteers, Oen. Sheridan will take the
field, and he experts, during this winter, to
punish the hostile Indiana In his depitrt•
went sot hat they will not egain resort to war.
'• Such as are not killed," says General
1 Sherman, " will be collected by force on
their reservation and bo made to remain
there."
General Sherman reiterates his Weep( the
necearity of it measure , which has been
approved by the highest 'unitary authori-
I !ifs' of the country, which was proposed to
Congress by the peace commission and
which has been urged upon It by near'yy the
whole press of the country. He argue' that
the management of Indian affairs should be
transferred back to the War Department,
where it belonged prior to Iftal. That de
pertinent of our government Is the only one
that can ueo force promptly, without the
circumlocution now necessary; and no
faller department can act with promptness
and vigor enough to give any hope that the
'plans and purposes of the peace commission
will be carried out. General Sherman,
however, doubts the success of any plan of
dealing with the savages. He doubts If the
Indians themselves will make the necessary
personal efforts to succeed, and fears that
they will at last full upon our hands a mere
[mow of helpless paupers. But at Lao stunt,
! time he believes the only hopeof Having any
part of them from utter annihilation is by a
lair and prompt execution of the scheme
suggested by the peace commission, which
can alone be done by Congress with the
'occurrence of the Indians themselves.
i The whole prospect, as seen by General
!Sherman, to eel tainly not very cheerful. It
is war in the present, vexatious difficulties
In the future, and n final result dubious and
grlevoue.
The Stn of Disfranchisement
Some (Jaya ago we suggested to the Demo
cratic State Committees of Virginia, North
Carolina, South Carolina, tieorgia. Florida,
Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas,
Missouri, West Virginia, and Tennessee,
the extreme importance of procuring the
mtatistica of diafrunchisement within their
Revere' States, and are gratified to learn that,
it least in one of the Stales mentioned, the
matter has been taken In band. An arti
cle from the Anzeiger des Westerns, gives
sono solid reasons for thinking at leant
70,000 citizens dimfrunchlaed in Mismouri.
Commet.ting on these figure,' the St. Louis
Republican think,' that from 0,000 to 8,000
should be added, PO that as a reseonebie ap
proximation we find from 741,004) to 78,0d0
citizens disfranchised in ono State alone.
The Memphis Bulletin (Red.) On the DIM
inst., also furnishes an estimate of the die
franchised in Tennessee, though the matter
comes up rather as having been provoked
by Brownlow'm lute message than T
World' a cull for Information. " There are
"
not more than 122,1168 disfranchised voters
in the State of Tennemsee," may!' the Bul
(Win. That is quite enough, it la submitted.
Adding the Bulletin a figures to those fur
welled by the Anzeiger and Republican, it
well lie neon that in out two out of the Sill.-
tee,' mistimed States there are at least 195,-
00S citizens disfranchised because their
vote's would certainly be cast against the
party now in power. It was but the other
day some Radicadabeet was endeavoring
to make It appear that there were- not over
100,003 persons in all disfranchised in the
United States, and yet here are nearly
double thtet number in twoStatee only, and
neither of those what are popularly termed
" reconstructed," in which clam of States
alone it is a prevalent impression that din
' franchisement exista.,-.Y. Y.' World.
I=l
Femora Iran la Coal Trade
The anthracite coal tonnage continues
large from all the coal regions. The Rend
ing railroad reports a tonnage for the week
of 103,731 tens, and for the year 3420,744
tons, against 3,347,758 tons to same time
last year—an increase of 72,0181 tons, The
Schuylkill canal reports ehipmenta for the
week of 31.850 tons, making n total tor the
season of 878,400 tons, being 38,443 toneless
than to the same time lent year—making a
net loss of production in the Schuylkill
region this season, as compared with last, of
34,543 ton.. The tonnage of all the coal
carrying companies In the State for the week.
MO 388,755 tons, and for the year 12,572,244
tons, against 11,0111,209 tons to the came time
teat year—showing an Increase of 950,035
tone. We are now within about a week of
the time of iclosing navigation last year,
though Ice Wan then unusually early. It i.
not expected,:however, that the boats will
venture from home at this advancidperiod
of the season more than one or two more
trips, Ice or no lee. The boatmen will not
risk being caught with their boats far from
home. The demand for coal to slacking off
a little, and the price of stove and egg coal
has receded, In order to keep the trade
moving. The fall in stove from the highest
point has reached nearly two dollars a ton,
It Is generally expected that the rates will
he much lower at the next than at the last
Scranton sale; in fact, the market is now
anticipating the result. The supply of ves•
Reis durirg the past weak ,haa been good,
with no material chaugsp,in freights, except
for light draft vessels, fdr whidh ea tea have
advaneed.—Pldiadeipaia Ledger.