THE LANCASTER INTELLIGENCER,
PITDIASILED arEnT WIWNESDAT By
H. G. SMITH at CO
A. J.,STEINMAN,
GI. SMITH.
TERMS—Tam Dollars per annum, payable
all eases In advance.
THE LANCASTER DAILY INTELLMENCER IS
Published every evening, Sunday excepted, at
per unman in advance.
OFFICE-.S3OI7THWEST CORNER 07 CHIME
QUA RE.
Voettv.
A LEAF FTIOM LIFE.
I lent my love a book one day;
She brought It back; I laid it by
'Twos little either had to say—
She was so strange and I so shy.
But yet we loved indifferent things—
The sprouting buds, the birds In tune—
And time stood still and wreathed its wings
With rosy links from Juno to June.:
For her, what task to dare or do?
What peril tempt ? what hardelip bear?
Ilut what with her—alt! the never knew
My heart, and what was hidden them •!
And she, with me so cold and my,
Scented, little maid, bereft of sense
But In the crowd, ull life and Joy,
And full of blushful Impudence.
She marrled—well—a woman needs
A mate, her life and love to share—
A And rel little cares sprang u
er e p like
chairs
played around hlbo
And years rolled by—hut I, content,
Trimmed my one lamp and kept it „bright
Till age's touch my hair besprent
With rays and gleams of "diver light.
then It chanced I took the book
Which she perused In days gone by
And as bread, such ptuislon shook
I:22===
For here and there her love was writ.
In old, half faded penell
As If she ylelded—lilt by bit—
Iler heart In dots and andel-1111CH.
Alt! silvered fool! too late you look!
know It; let zne here record
ThiK MaXl,ll; 101.1 nu girl n I.lok,
UllieNS you read It afterward
frirlisrellatirottz.
A Souvenir of the Retreat from lfo4eow
On the Pith of October, ISI 2, Napo
leon, accompanied by the Prince d'Eek
mold, better known It.s Marshal I)avoust,
commanding the lirst division, com
menced that eventful retreat from Mos-
cow, so disastrous to the immense army
that had followed him. At the close of
a march that had been rendered more
ditlicult by the state of the roads and
continued rain, the Emperor arrived on
the 3rd at Borowsk, mid there passed
the night. The next morning, while
indicating the order of march so as to
gain Marco-J aro slavitz, where he de
pended on making some stay, he learn
ed that, at the distaime of four leagues
before lihn, the Delzian division, under
the Prin•e Eugene, had found that vil
lage, with the surrounding woods and
!Heights, unocieupiud. This was lilt
; for tilt'
Russian I Plural, Kutusoir, who march-
ell parallel with the French army,
might mi it, and thuv CLIC
all' tile route to I(alouga. Wishing to
==l
• ..
of this point, the Emperor rode to the
quarter from %%Ilene° it was expected
'the Russian I kneral would make the
attack ; and, despite the torrents of
rain, tranquilly examined the ground
which might ere long heroine a field of
battle. Suddenly the sound of brisk
tiring struck on his ear. Ile became
restless; and, pressing his horse, as
condol a hißock to reeonnoitre, but the
twit of wood intercepted any extended
view.
" feat t h e ittl.Ni:/11,1 have been before
hand with us'.' demanded ho of Davonst
. .
who had not quitted his side. " We
have not niarched quick enough. I
should not wish to repass the left wing
of Kain.,tr."
. .
"Sire," replied the
11111111, " perhaps, in the inaineuvre pre
beribeil by your inaesty, the troops may
have manifested a little of that d u llues.•
whii•h usually tievoinpanies great. fa-
igue."
" Believe you so, Monsieur le Mar
shal? Nevertheless, we have already
passed Inure than six leagues."
It is true, Sire; but Moscow to nut
Inure than one hundred and sixty versts
from :11areo-Jiro slavitz. Four days'
march are sufficient to clear that dis
tance, and thiAjS our stxttt day. ICutu
soir has been in allValiCe Of IN."
" It is then a battle," said Napoleon,
impatiently, as the cannons were heard
more distinctly, and seemed to be ap
proaching. "(;o, Davoust go; quicken
your troops, and infuse a little more
spirit into them; for we must act now—
not to eonquer, but solely to preserve."
Notwithstanding the haste with which
the marshal executed the orders of the
eutpero:•, he did not arrive on the scene
of the aclion until the success of the
French troops had been assured. How
ever, the emnbat raged with fury at the
extremity of the village, and when the
second division of the first corps, coin-
mantled by Eryant, attempted to take
possession of one of the heights, t h e
Russian cannon played upon them with
redoubled vigor. Davoust immediately
. despatched one of his aides-de-camp,the
Colonel Eloblinski, to Prince Eugene;
but in traversing the hill', that officer
was struck by a bullet, which shattered
his thigh, and instantly fell front his
horse.
Un the night or that brilliant combat
the Prince d'Eckmuhl was still uncer
tain of the fate of his aide-tle-camp, and
sought him on the tiel,d of battle, which
presented a most horrible spectacle.
Delzon and his brother general had also
.fallen while leading the last attack.—
" While sadly thinking on the blighted
:hopes of his Emperor, and mourning
:the sail fate of his brave companions,
the attention of Davoust was arrested
by the voice of a soldier who, covered
with blood, and endeavoring to extri
eate himself from a heap of carnage,
that surrounded hint, feebly exclaimed,
"Heavens! have my friends left me
here to die without succor""
It was Kloblinski. Davoust imme
diately recognized hint, and leaping
from his horse, gently raised him in his
arms, cheered his drooping spirits and
despatched a messenger for the surgeon
general. tin his arrival with his assist
:nits, lie examined the wounds, and a
glance with the marshal, told more elo
quently than words could convey, how
slight were the hopes entertained for the
recovery of the unfortunate Pole.
" It is a soldier's fate," said Davoust,
with emotion. "Gentlemen, exert your
skill to the utmost."
The ellbet of the bullet had been
such as to make amputation necessary,
which the brave Pule bore with forti
tude, the prince remaining by his side
(luring tin. operation. The wound be
ing dressed, he embraced the sufferer,
and spoke in tones of hope and encour
agement ; and having recommended
him to the care of a few whom he could
confide in, mounted his horse to join
the Emperor, who waited with impa
tience.
Alter attending a council of war, co
posed of the principal generals of the
artily, and having received instructions
:LS to the future line of March, Davoust
retired to his quarters. Already the
two first divisions of the two first corps
were in movement, when an officer,
whom he hail sent to enquire after the
state of Koblinski, returned and in
formed him that he still survived, and
with proper care, might recover. The
marshal was overjoyed at the intelli
gence, but he was perplexed as to the
best means of conveying hint to Smo
lensk, the wagons being in the rear, and
already filled to excess. A sudden
thought started to his mind, and plac
ing himself in front of the forty-eighth
regiment as they defiled, he addressed a
eompany of old grenadiers of the first
battallion:
"Orenadiers," smd he, "my aid-de
camp, Colonel Koblinski, WILY yesterday
severely wounded while showing you
an . eitunple of courage and obedience.
He is a Pole. Would you wish to leave
him to the Russians
"No, no! Long live the Pole!" cried
the soldiers.
"Vive l'Empereur!" cried they who
had not fully comprehended the worils
of the marshal.
"Listen, then," said Davoust. "Are
there amongst this company, which I
have selected, four men who are willing
to undertake the responsible task which
I shall impose?"
At this invitation a grenadier stepping
from the ranks, exclaimed, briskly,
"Here?" He was immediately follow
by a dozen others : all the company did
the same.
The marshal addressing the man who
had first spoken, demanded his name.
"Joseph Trigaud."
"Well, Trigaud, it is to you that I
confide my aide-de-camp. Thou and
thy comrades shall be answerable for
him. Soldiers guard him as you would
your colors!"
"Yes, yes! Vive l'Empereur! We are
responsible!" cried all the grenadiers.
A litter was immediately constructed,
-on which the Pole was laid and carried
to the centre of the company, which
-soon after continued its march.
In the mean time, the retreat of the
main body of the army, commenced at
first in good order, soon presented, from
the intensity of the cold,s, frlgtful aspect
-of disorganization, selfishness and
misery. The company of grenadiers
; ;1 ( 1 -{. ' ";•
111111 P/
VOLUME 71
slowly pursued their course, and were
soon isolated amidst the immense
plains covered with the wrecks of the
army. Sometimes in a square, with the
litter of Koblinski in tho centre, they
repulsed with the bayonet the dragoons
of Miloradowitch, or returned the uns
expected attacks of Platow with a with
ering fire—ever acting on the defensive
but always calm, silent, and steady. By
these means their numbers had gradual
ly diminished ; and when, on the 30th
of October, they reached the Viazma,
out of the entire company ofgrenadiers,
not more than thirty survived. Still
these brave men, abandoned and left to
themselves, preserved amidst the gen
eral discontent, that moral force, which
conquers even events. It was their
honor and not their lives that they
sought to defend. It was sufficient for
them that one of the most illustrious
marshals of the Emperor had said to
them, "To your honor and bravery I
confide my aid-de-camp ; you are to re
store him to me." These words had act
ed as a talisman, which had not lost its
force under the pressure of misery,
privation and even death.
After three weeks of continual hard
ship, the few men who remained of the
heroic and devoted company scouted
with disdain, and looked upon as an
affront the repeated prayers and solici
tations of the Pole, who, seeing himself
the cause of so many sacrifices and suf
ferings, had besought them to relieve
themselves by at once putting an end to
his misery.
Thou art but a coward," said he to
Trigaud, "who will not dare to do what
1 ask—to shoot me through the head."
"Colonel," said Trigaud with , stoical
indifference, you may charge me with
such, if you please, but I laugh at it.
Dead or alive, we shall carry you to
Smolensk. It is the order of the mar
shal, and lie ever:requires that his order
should be obeyed."
" If you had buried me yesterday in
the snow, when attacked by the Cos
sacks, I sh o uld ere to-day have suffered
no more."
" The Cossacks would have disinterred
and have burned you alive," replied
Trigaud, who during the previous night
had made his own body a protection to
the wounded man. "These eaters of
eandles would rejoice to have your skin;
but they must take mine first—it is
ready for them. Oh the savages."
" You are but a coward," repeated the
Pole in a feverish transport which shook
the litter on which he lay.
" Be calm, be calm, my colonel ; you
know that the carbines of the marshal
have ere now taught the necessity of
obedience. Why then do you wrong
us by speaking these disagreeable
things? However, it is all equal to me,
I shall not reply to you."
Ile who had spoken thus nearly per
ished, with all his companions, in the
passage of the Voss, while endeavoring
to protect the sacred deposit confided
to them. The waters of the torrent
were, within twenty-four hours changed
into sharp and bristling masses of ice;
owing to that circumstance, but a few
of the grenadiers reached the opposite
bank. Some days subsequently, when
Trigaud awoke after a few hours' re
pose, he found that but four of his com
panions survived, the others having
perished from the stupefying effects of
the frost—a miniature of what the
great body of the army was at that
moment suffering, and which Me:
left in the military annals of Napo
leon such horrible reininiscences.—
Before the day closed, they disti ago ished
on the edge of the gloomy horizon, a
line of houses, the route of which was
marked by the dead bodies left by the
immense army which had preceded
them. It was Smolensk, the land of
promise—where the things looked to as
great luxuries as might be procured—a
tire, shelter, and a little bread. A cry
of joy escaped the five brave men, who
still supported the litter of Koblinski.
Three, however, fell to rise no more
when within sight of the town ; a fourth
soon after. shared the same fate; and
but one grenadier—Trigaud—was left to
brave the elements with the now inani
mate body of the Pole. Not being able
to carry him, he slowly dragged him
along, and at length perceived some
men at a distance, whom he called to his
assistance. They soon came to his aid,
and he reached Smolensk in a few hours,
after twenty-two days of fighting, fatigue
and misery. He entered, it is true, the
only survivor of his compaity ; but lie
cared not, since lie had redeemed the
promise made to the Prince d'Eckmuld.
Tire next day Trigaud learned that the
marshal had arrived but a few days
previously, and was then in town, which
presented the appearance of one vast
hospital, protected by sentries, and ex
tending to the very suburbs. The skele
tons of horses which had been convert
ed into food, were scattered in every
street, and the doors and windows of
the houses had longsince been consumed
ed as firewood, the frozen and furnishing
soldiery. It was in one of the houses in
the outskirts a the town that Prince
d'Eckmuld had established his quarters,
and thither Trigaud, assisted by some
soldiers, bore the insensible body of
Koblinski, and laid it on sonic straw in
the doorway. On entering the house,
he perceived an officer on guard at an
outer room, enveloped in the ragged re
mains of a cuirassier's cloak, of whom
lie demanded to speak with the mar
shah.
. .
"What seek you of him?" asked the
officer, without changing his posture.
"I come to render an account of a
mission with which he charged me at
Moro-Jaroslavitz, and to deliver up the
deposit confided to me."
"The prince is at this moment in
council; you can remain and rest your
self until it is concluded."
" Certainly," said 'Prigaud, who spoke
in a tone of sadness : " but mayhap, iu
the meantime, you would make known
to him that the grenadiers of the second
company of the forty-eighth regiment
of the line, Fryant's division, first corps,
to whom he entrusted the care of his
aide-de-camp, Colonel Koblinski, have
fulfilled his orders, and that the compa
ny are awaiting the honor of passing
under his inspection."
At the name of Koblinski, Davoust,
who had entered and heard the latter
part of the conversation, but who had
not recognized in the worn and emacia
ted being before him the once noble
looking grenadier, advanced, and de
manded of him, "Where is my able
de-camp ?"
" He is here, at the door."
"Anil thy company," said Davoust,
hastily.
At these words Trigaud took the pos
ture of a soldier without arms, placed
his heels in a line, and slowly raisins
his head, replied in a grave voice, "All
present, my marshal !"
" I have demanded where are the com
pany of the forty-eighth," repeated the
prince in a tone or impaience.
" I have replied. Here !" and Trigaud
placed the back of his hand to his fore
head.
" But thy comrades,—where are
they?"
"Alt, that is different, my marshal.
You ask where I have left my comrades"
That is your question—is it not?
Davoust made a sign ill the affirma
tive, impatiently striking his foot on the
ground.
" Well, that is soon told. The last of
them are at the bottom of the Voss close
by ; the remainder are under the snow.
All!"
" How. All
"All, without au exception," replied
the soldier, as his haggard and sunken
eyes filled with tears.
The prince could not repress n move
ment of terror and pity, seizing the arm
of Trigaud convulsively, he repeated in
an agitated tone—" All say you?"
" Yes, all except me,-1 am the last."
Without speaking, Davoust moved to
the place where Koblinski lay, while
Trigaud raising himself to his full
height, proudly exclaimed, " He is here
alive, it was I who brought him !"
The Horse's Petition
The following is "The Horse's Peti
tion to his Driver," as published by the
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals. Every person having any
thing to do with horses should commit
it to memory, and act upon the pretty
appeal :
Up the hill, whip me not;
Down the hill, hurry me not;
In the stable, forget me not ;
Of hay and corn, rob me not;
Of clean water, stint me not ;
With sponge and brush, neglect me
not
Of soft dry bed, deprive me not ;
If sick or cold,. chill me not;
With bit or reins, jerk me not;
And when you are angry, strike me
not.
More lives have been lost during the
last two storms than ever were lost un
der similar circumstances in Minnesota.
Mr. Peters' First Wife.
"Dear, dear ! no toast ; eggs boiled as
hard as brickbats, and the coffee stone
cold."
• • .
And Mr. Peters rose from the table in
a - temper by no means amiable, and I
rang the bell violently. There was no
answer. He rang. again, a third, a
fourth time, and still no answer! Out
of all patience, he went to the door and
called—" Maria! Maria 1"
A slight, pretty little woman, dressed
in a soiled, tumbled wrapper, with hair
in a state of direful confusion, answered
his summons. She had one of those
bright faces which Nature intended
should be decked with continual smiles ;
but now, all its roses in bloom, it was
drawn to its full length, and the large
blue eyes had a serious, or rather doleful
expression, totally at variance with its
usual joyous look. Her voice, too, had
lost its melodious, ringing sound, and
was subdued to a dismal whine.
"What is it Joseph .."'
"Where's Bridget?"
"Gone out for me. I want more
white ribbon for my ascension robe."
Mr. Peters said a very naughty word
and then continued : "Cold coffee, hard
eggs, breakfast not fit to eat."
'Wish," whined his wife, " you
would take less of temporal mattersand
turn your attention to the great end of
life."
"Hang it all, madam, I like to enjoy
my life while Ido have it. Here was I,
the happiest man in the United States,
with a pleasant home, a chatty, cheerful
loving wife, and good quiet children ;
and now, since you have joined the
Millerites, what am I ?"
"Oh, Joseph, if you would only conic
into that blessed circle."
"Oh, Maria, if you would only come
out of it. Where are the boys ?
sure I don't know."
"Are they going to school to-day?"
"No dear Joseph."
" For what reason, madam?"
" My dear, their teacher has given up
the school, and is turning his mind to
more exalted objects. Oh ! Joseph, turn
now, while there's time. You still have
a week for preparation and repentance!"
" Repentance ! - Well, when I take up
the subject, it will take more than a
week to put it through."
And Mr. Peters put on his coat and
took up his hat.
"Joseph," said his wife, "you need
not send home any dinner. I shall be
out, and I'll take the boys over to their
uncle's to dinner."
Joe made no answer unless the vio
lently emphatic trimmer in which he
closed the door was one. Muttering
with anger, he strode into a restaurant,
to make aln eak fast. Eyre he was hailed
by one of his friends, Fred Somers, who
looked up as lie he:lrd Joe's order.
" Halloo !" he cried, "you here?
What are you doing here at breakfast
time? Wife sick ?"
" No."
]{ad n quarrcl
No."
Coins to town*."'
No."
"Then n•hy don't. you hreahlast
home? Chimney on lire?"
"\o."
Servants all dead
No."
Well, what in thunder's to pay
Alqril's joined the Millerites!''
,
Fred • - •ave a long, shrill whistle, and
then sai d;' "Going to meend flex
week
" Yes, acid if I don't commit suicide
in the meantime, you may congratulate
use. I ant almost distracted. Can't get
a decent meal, children running riot,
servants saucy, house all in confusion,
wife got the blues, either quoting the
speeches of the elders at me, or sewing
on a white robe, and groaning every
third or fourth stich. Hang it all, Fred,
I've a great mind to take poison or join
the army.
" ! ! you give an enchanting
picture, but I think I can suggest a
cure."
"A cure
"Yes, if you will promise to take my
mlvice, I will make your home pleasant,
your wife cheerful, and your children
Ita Pl) 3 O ." it!" tried Jot'. " I'll follow
your word like a soldier under his
superior otlicer. What shall I do?"
At tea time Mr. Peters entered his
home, whistling, Maria was seated at
her sewing, and there were no signs of
preparation for the evening meal.
" Maria, my dear," said Mr. Peters,
"is tea ready ?"
" I don't know," was the answer,
" have been out all -day attending meet
ing."
" Oh, very well ; never mind. Attend
, ing! You are resolved, then, hi leave
rhea t week ?"
"Oh! Jos,ph, I must go when I al
called."
. .
" Yes, my dear, of course. Well, I
must resign myself, I suppose. By the
way, my dear, has it ever occurred to
you that I shall lie left a widower with
three children?' I think I am handsome
man yet, my love," and Joe walked
over to the glass, passed his lingers
through his hair, and pulled up his col
lar. Maria looked up rather surprised.
" You: see, dear, it is rather a relief
for you to go quickly, you know. It is
so wearing on the nerves to have long
llness: and besides, my dear, there
will be no funeral expenses to pay, and
that is quite a saving."
Mrs. Peters' lips quivered, and her
large blue eyes tilled with tears. Joe
longed to quit his heartless speech and
comfort her, but he was fearful the de
sired effect was not yet gained.
"So, my dear," he continued, " if you
must go, I have been thinking of get
ting another wife."
"What"" cried Mrs. Peters.
" Another wife, my love. The house
must be kept in order, and the boys
cared."
[lie grief was gone from Maria's fac
Jut he? teeth were set with a look of
fierce wrath.
"Another wife, Joseph! Another
wife!" 4
" Yes. I think I have selected a good
successor. I have deliberated a long
time, when I was a bachelor, between
her and yourself. You will likelier; she
is your bosom friend !"
" What ! Sarah I ngra ham "
" Yes, my dear. I think that on the
day you ascend, I will marry Sarah In
graham!"
What, that good-for-nothing, silly,
empty-headed old maid, the mother of
mv children! What!"
r ' Well, my dear, it seems to he the
best I can do. I don't want to leave my
business and go a-courting, and she will
have me, I know."
"No doubt! Oh, you great brutal,
hateful—"
"Stop, my dear, don't fly into a fury!
We will try to spend our last week in
happiness. Oh, by the way, I have a
proposition to make."
"Go on, sir! Do not spare me!"
"All, yes, that is the very thing I
wish to do. I know your mind is en
tirely engrossed with your ascension,
and I wish to spare you the rare of the
house. Suppose you invite Sarah here
to-morrow, to stop a week !"
" What!"
"'Then I eon arrange our matrimonial
preparations in the evening, while you
are at the lecture."
" What !"
" And you can leave the house in her
charge all day. That will give you
plenty of time to go out, and she can
learn the ways of the house."
" What!"
" And, my dear, one little favor. It
may be the last I shall ever ask of you.
Stay at home one or two days, and show
her around, where you keep things, and
so on, so that she won't have any trou
ble in keeping order after you go. You
will do this to oblige me, won't you '?"
Mrs. Peters, for an answer, rolled up
the ascension robe into a ball and fired
it at Joe. The cotton, scissors, work
basket and table cloth followed each
other in rapid succession, and he was
unable to fly. Then Maria's.rage found
vent in words.
" So ! you are going to.marry Sarah !
That's the reason you whistled so nice
when you came in! But you shan't
marry her, sir! You shan't have that
gratification ! I will stay, if it is only
to spite you! I won't go ! I tell you,
Mr. Peters, that I won't go!"
" But, my dear, you must go, if you
are come for."
" I won't go !"
" But consider, my dear."
"I won't go !"
"But what will Sarah Ingraham think
of it?"
" Sarah ! Don't dare to mention Sarah
to me again ! I—l am fairly
choking !" and the little woman threw
herself into a chair, in a fit of hysterics.
Next morning Mr. Peters met Fred in
the street.
" Well, old boy, how goes it?"
"Fred," - was the reply, "I am the
LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING APRIL 13, 1870
happiest man in the world ! I have re
gained my wife, and domestic peace,
and got rid of a busy, tattling old
. maid,
who, under pretence of loving my wife,
was everlastingly interfering in all our
household arrangements."
"Then Mrs. Peters will not ascend,
will she?"
" If Sarah is to be my second wife and
stepmother to my children, Mrs. Peters
has concluded that, on the whole, she
won't go !"
A Mysterious Ylstt
III" MARL: TWAIN
The first notice that was taken of me
when I "settled down," recently, was
by a gentleman who said he was an as
sessor, and connected with the United
States Internal Revenue Department.
I said I had never heard of his branch
of business before, but I was very glad
to see him, all the same,—would he sit
down? He sat down. I did not know
anything particular to say, and yet I
felt that people who have arrived at the
dignity - of keeping house must be con
versational, must be easy and sociable
in company. So in default of anything
else to say, I asked him if he was open
ing his shop in our neighborhood.
He said he was. [I did not wish to
appear ignorant, but I had hoped he
would mention what he had for sale.]
I ventured to ask him " how was
trade?" and he said " So-so."
I then said we would drop in, and if
we liked his house as well at any other,
we would give him our custom.
He said he thought we would like his
establishment well enough to confine
ourselves to it—and he never saw any
body who would go (Aland hunt up an
other man in his line after trading with
him once.
That sounded pretty complacent, but
barring that natural expression of vil
lainy which we all have, the man look
ed honest enough.
I do not know how it came about, ex
actly, but gradually we appeared to melt
down and run together, conversation
ally speaking, and then everything
went along as comfortably as clock
work.
We talked, and talked, and talked—
at least I did. And we laughed, and
laughed, and laughed—at least he did.
But all the time, I had my presence of
mind about . Inc I had my native
shrewdness turned on, " full head," as
the engineer says. I was determined
to find out all about his business, in
spite of his obscure answers—and 1 was
determined I would have it out of him
without his suspecting what I was at. 1
meant to trap him with a deep, deep
ruse. I would tell him all about my
own business, and he would naturally
so warm to me during this seductive
burst of confidence that he would for
get himself and tell me all about his
afhrlrs before he suspected what I was
about. I thought to myself, my son,
you little know what an old fox you
aro dealing with. I said :
"Now you never would guess what I
made lecturing, this winter and last
spring?
"No—don't believe I could, to save
me. Let me sec—let me see. About two
thousand dollars may be? But no—no,
sir, I know you couldn't have made
that much. Say seventeen hundred
maybe ?"
" Ha-ha! I knew you couldn't. My
lecturing receipts for last spring and
this winter were fourteen thousand,
seven hundred and fifteen dollars. What
do you think of that"."
" Why, it is amazing—perfectly amaz
ing. J will make a note of it. And you
say even this wasn't all? „
" Alt ! Why, bless you, there was my
income front the Buffalo Express for
four months—about—about—well, what
should you say to about eight thousand
dollars, for instance?"
" Say ! Why I should say I should
like to see myself rolling in just such
another ocean of affluence. Eight
thousand! I'll make a note of it. Why,
Horn!—and on top of all this I am to un
derstand that you had still more in
come
" Why, you're only In
the suburbs of it, so to speak. There's
my book, "rule Innocents Abroad'—
price $3.50 to iz! , !-1, according to the bind
ing. Listen to me. Look me in the
eye. During the last four months and
a half, saying nothing of sales before
that—but just simply during the four
months and a half ending March 15,
IS7O, we've sold ninety-five thousand
copies of that book! Ninety-five thou
sand ! Think of it. Average four dol
lars a copy, say. It's nearly four hun
dred thousand dollars, my son. I get
half !"
" The suffering, Moses ! I'll set that
down. Fourteen-seven-fifty—eight—two
hundred. Total, say—well, upon my
word, the grand total is about two hun
dred and thirteen or fourteen thousand
dollars. Is that possible*.'
" Possible ! If there's any mistake it's
the other way. Two hundred and hour
teen thousand, cash, is my income for
this year if I know how to cipher."
Then the gentleman got up to go. It
came over me most uncomfortably that
maybe I had made my revelations for
nothing, besides being flattered into
stretching them considerably by the
stranger's astonished exclamations.—
But no ; at the last moment the gentle
man handed me a:large envelope and
said it contained his advertisement ;and
that I wouid find out all about his busi-
ness in it ; and that he would be happy
to have my custom—would, in fact, be
>mud to have the custom of a man of
such prodigious income; and that he
used to think that there were several
wealthy men in Buliblo, but when they
come to trade with him he discovered
that they barely had enough to live on;
and that in truth it had been such a
weary, weary age since he had seen a
rich man face to face, and talked with
him, and touched him with his hands,
that lie could hardly refrain from em
bracing me—in fact, would esteem it a
great favor if I would let him embrace
This so pleased me that I did not try
to resist, but allowed this simple-hearted
stranger to throw his arms about me
and weep a few tranquilizing tears down
the back of toy neck. Then he went
his way.
•
As soon as he was gone, I opened his
advertisement. I studied it attentively
for four minutes. I then called up the
cook and said:
"Hold me while I faint. Let Maria
turn the batter-cakes."
By and by, when I came to, I sent
Clown to the rum-mill on the corner and
hired an artist by the week to sit up
nights and curse that stranger, and give
me a lift occasionally in the day time
when I came to a hard place.
Ali, what a miscreant he was ! His
"advertisement" was nothing in the
world but a wicked tax-return—a string
of impertinent questions about my pri
vate affairs occupying the best part of
four foolscap pages of tine print—ques-
tions, I may remark, gotten up will
such marvelous ingenuity that the old
est man in the world couldn't under
stand what the most of them were driv
- _
ing at—questions, too, that were calcu
lated to make a man report about four
times his actual income to keep from
swearing to a lie. I looked for a loop
hole, but there did not appear to be any.
Inquiry No. 1. covered my case, as gen
erously and as amply as an umbrella
could cover an ant hill :
" What were you profits, in 1869, from
any trade, business or vocation, where
ever carried on V
And that inquiry was hacked up by
thirteen others of an equally searching
nature, the most modest of which re
quired information as to whether I had
committed any burglary, or highway
robbery, or by any person or other secret
source of emolument, had acquired
property which was not enumerated in
my statement of income as set opposite
to inquiry No. 1.
It was plain that that stranger had
enabled me to make an ass of myself.
It was very, very plain, and I went out
and hired another artist. By working
on my vanity the stranger had seduced
me into declaring an income of $214,000.
By law, $l,OOO of this was exempt from
income tax—the only relief I could see,
and it was only a drop in the ocean. At
the legal five per cent., I must pay
over to the government the appalling
sum of ten thousand six hundred and
fifty dollttes, income tax.
[I may remark, in this place, that I
did not do it.:
I am acquainted with a very opulent
man, whose house is a palace, whose
table is regal, whose outlays are enor
mous, yet a man who has no income, as
I have often noticed by the revenue re
turns ; and to him I went for advice in
my distress. He took my dreadful ex
hibition of receipts, he put on his glass
es, he took his pen, and presto ! I was
a pauper ! It was the neatest thing that
ever was. He did it simply by deftly
manipulating the bill of "DEDucTIO,N"
He set down my "STATE, national 'and
municipal taxes" at so much ; my "loscs
by shipwreck, fire, etc," at so much ;
my "losses on sales of real estate"—
on "live stock sold"— on "payments
for rent of homesteads"—on"repairs,
improvements, interest"—on "previosu
ly taxed salary as an officer of the
United States army, navy, revenue ser
vice," and other things. He got aston
ishing "deductions" out of each and
every one of them. And when he was
done he handed rue the paper and I saw
at a glance that during the year 1869 my
income, in the way of prohts had been
one thousand two hundred and fifty dol
lars and forty cents.
"Now," said he, " the thousand dol
hirs is exempt by law. What you want
to do is to go and swear this document
in and pay tax on the two hundred arid
fifty dollars."
[While he was making this speech his
little boy Willy lifted a two-dollar green
backs out ofhis vestpocketand vanished
with it, and I would bet anything that
if my stranger were to call on that little
boy to-morrow, he would make a false
return of his income.]
"Do you," said I, " Do you always
work up the ' deductions' after this
fashion in your case, sir"'
" Well, 1 should say so! If it weren't
for those eleven saving clauses under
the head of 'Deductions' I should be
beggared every year to support this hate
ful and wicked, this extortionate and
tyrannical government."
This gentleman stands away u p among
the very best of the solid men of Buffalo
—the men of moral weight, of commer
cial integrity, of unimpeachable social
spotlessness—and so I bowed to his em
ample. I went down to the revenue
office, and under the accusing eyes of
my old visitor I stood up and swore to
lie ofter lie, fraud after fraud, villainy
after villainy, till my immortal soul was
coated inches and inches thick with
perjury and my self-respect was gone
for ever and ever.
But what of it? It is nothing more
than thousands of the highest, and
richest, and proudest, and most respect
ed, honored and courted men in Amer
ica do every year. And so I don't care.
lam not ashamed. I shall simply, for
the present, talk little and wear fire
proof gloves, lest I fall into certain hab
itsirrevocably.—Buffalo Erpress.
The Miser's Story
" Ily the grace of (10d, I am what I
am." I was born in London, and re
member nothing but poverty—stalking
crime and absolute want. The houses
where I lived were all in various stages
of filth and decay. Whether the old,
blear-eyed' man who kicked and com
manded me was my father I never
knew. Whether the woman who some
times fed and often beat me was my
mother, 1 cannot say. All I know is,
that I had a miserable, drag-about life
of it, going round after cold victuals,
knocking smaller boys down to get the
contents of their broken baskets, and
hunting for rags in the gutter.
I suppose I was rather a good-looking
boy ; they call me good-tool:Mg now for
an old man. I know I was smart, com
paring myself with children as I see
Of course I was like the rest of my
class, I could light a little, swear a lit
tle, and steal a little, and eat a good deal,
that is, when I got the chance, which
was seldom. I was ignorant—l didn't
know one letter from another, and
didn't want to. What did I care about
education—l, who never saw a hook
from one year's end to another? And
love, gratitude, hope, I could of course
understand neither. Nobody loved me,
therefore I loved nobody. Nobody had
held out hope to Inc.
Some strange impulse was given me
one day. I waked up, sprang from my
bundle of straw, and involuntarily the
words came from my lips, " lam going
to do something to-day." What that
something was I had not the remotest
idea, but I put on my apologies for
clothes, and sallied out in my vagabond
way whistling, caring for nobody.
It was about noon, and I had not yet
tasted a mouthful of foAl. I was hun-
ry and skulked about grocery shops,
loping I could get an opportunit2, - to
ake something that would stay my ap-
petite, till I felt in the humor fur beg
ging. Passing round the' corner of a
public street, 1 saw a genteel looking
man, standing at his horse's head, gaz
ing about him somewhat perplexed.
"Boy," he cried, " won't you take care
of my horse for half an hour'."'
" Yes sir,” said I.
" I think it \VaS the first tima that I
ever put on the "sir."
" There's a man ! " he exclaimed.
I've got considerable fruit here and you
must guard it well. " Here's a couple
of peaches for you; just stand here
quietly—nobody'll disturb you."
He went away, and I stood for a while
till I was tired. Then, thinks I, "I'll
get a hat-ful of the fruit and rum" But
for the first time I felt an instinct of
shame at [lie suggestion.
"He trusted me—he saw I was a
meanlooking fellow, too ; but he trusted
me and I won't abuse his kindness."
Something like this reasoning ran in
my head, and I squatted down on the
curbstone, feeling the importance of an
honorable trust as I had never felt such
a thing before. Presently some of my
fellows came along and hailed me. I
told them to go on. They peered about
the cart, and saw the sunny faces of the
peaches. " We'll have some of them,"
they said.
"No you won't," says I. " I'm put
in charge here, and I won't see the first
thing stole." With that they began a
rumpus. They reached over the cart.
I struck them, and used such ettbrts
that they all came pellmell upon me,
and we fought till the blood came; but
I vanquished them.
Just then out came the proprietor.
" What's the matter? " says he.
" Oh, nothing; only I had to fight for
your stuff here," says I.
"You did, oh? You've got a black eye
for it."
"No matter," says I. "I meant them
boys should't steal a peach runt they
dian't neither,"
"Well, you've good pluck—here's
a crown for you."
My eyes. tood out. "A whole crown."
says I.
'Yes; do what you please With it,
but I'd advise you to buy a pair of
shoes."
"Thank you," says I, with a beating
heart. "It pays to be good, don't it?"
He smiled a curious smile, asked me
several questions, and ended by taking
me home with him.
Home! I thought I was in heaven,
albeit I had seldom heard of such a
place. My heart beat heavily every
time I dared to put my foot upon those
rich carpets. The mirrors were some
thing new to me. The next day there
came a man to see me. I was washed
clean and had on a good suit of clothes.
Says he "Youngster, I am going to
where you live, and probably I shall
make a bargain with your people. I
want a boy, just such a bold clever boy
as you are, and if you behave yourself,
I promise you that you shall have as
pleasant a home as you desire."
Well, that was good. :I hardly dared
to speak or breathe, for fear of breaking
the illusion. I never was so happy as I
was that day. They gave me light
tasks to do, I wished they were more
important. urn that day I was treated
as one of the ousehold. The man was
a widower, and had no children ; conse
quently, I became to him as a son. He
educated me handsomely, and when I
was twenty-one he died, and left me
three thousand pounds.
Well, I considered myself a rich man.
I gloated over my wealth ; it became as
an idol to me. How to increase it was
now my first desire. I consulted com
petent men, and under their counsel I
put my money out at interest, bought
stocks and mortgages.
I grew wealthier; my business (my',
benefactor had stocked me a fang
shop) prospered, and I was in a fair
way, I thought, to marry Lucy Man
ning.
Sweet Lucy Manning ! the most art
less, winning maiden in all the world
to me. I loved her deeply, dearly. She
was blue-eyed, auburn-haired, her dis
position was that of an angel, and I had
plighted my vows to her.
One night I was -invited to the house
of a prosperous merchant, and there I
met a siren in khe person of his niece, a
black-eyed girl, whose charms and
whose fortune were equally splendid.
She was an heiress in her own righ'
she was beautiful and accomplished.
Heaveis, what a voice was hers-
pure, clear, sweet, ravishing! I Was
charmed, and she was pleased with me,
Alas, I met her too often:! In her pres-
once I forgot my gentle Lucy ; she mag
netized, railed me.
It was triumph to feel that so beauti
ful, gifted, and wealthy a woman loved
me—me, who had been brought up in
the purlieus of a city, who had known
misery and corruption all the first years
of my life.
Gradually I broke off my intimacy
with Lucy. I received no token from
her, she was too proud. But that cheek
grew pale, that eye languid, and though
I seldom met her, I knew in my heart
that she was suffering, and I branded
myself a villain.
At last she knew with certainty that
I was to marry Miss Berlair. She sent me
a letter, a touching letter, not one word
of upbraiding, not one regret. Oh, what
a noble soul I wounded . But she could
calmly wish me joy, though the ellbrt
made her heart bleed ; I knew it did.
I tried, however, to forget her, I could
not. Even at my. magnificent wedding,
wheu my bride stood before me, radiant
in rich fabrics and glittering diamonds,
the white face of poor Lucy glided in
between, and made my heart throb
guiltily. Oh, how rich I grew! Year
after year I added to my gold. My mis
erable disposition began to manifest
itself soon after my marriage. I carried
my gold first to banks. and then to my
own private safes.
I put constraint on my wife, for very
generously she had made over her whole
fortune to me, and began to grumble at
the expenses. I made our living so fru
gal that she remonstrated, and finally
ran up large bills where and when she
pleased. Against this I protested, and
we had open quarrels more than once.
My clothes grew shabby. I could not
afford to buy new ones, although the
interest of my Investments was more
than I could possibly spend for rational
living.
I grew finally dissatisfied with every
thing but my money. I neglected my
wife, and grew careless of her society.
Several gentlemen came to my house,
among them a would-be author and Ce
lebrity. He came, I thought, too often
for my good name, and I ordered my
wife to discontinue his company. She
refused, and I locked her in her room.
How sho managed to set herself free I
never knew ; but in the evening, when
I returned, she was gone from the
house. That caused me some uneasi
ness; not much, for I was soon ab
sorbed in taking accounts of my gains.
It was, perhaps, nine in the evening,
I had just managed to take up a paper
for a moment to read out its business
details, when the door opened, and in
came my wife, dressed bewitchingly, as
ifj ust from an evening concert, followed
Iby that moustached celebrity. "Good
evening, my dear," she said in the cold
est way imaginable, and Placed a chair
for her friend. "Stop!" I cried; my
jealousy aroused ; "that man sits not
down in my house." "That man—a
gentleman and my friend, shall sit here
if I please!" said my wife, firmly.
My passion was excited then as it
never was before, and I collared the
scoundrel. He was my match ; but my
wife put a dirk-knife that she drew from
a cane into his hand, and he stabbed
me. I fainted, and I remembered noth
ing more till I found myself on a bed in
my own chamber, watched over by my
housekeeper.
Where are they ?" I gasped.
" Gone !" was till she said.
It occurred to me then, like a flash Of
lightning, that somebody was near me
at the time I was wounded, that my
keys were about my person, and that I
had been robbed, perhaps, of all my
available property.
The thought threw me into an agony
of fear. I ordered my clothes to be
brought to me. The keys were there.
Taking one of them out, I told Mrs.
Hale, my housekeeper, to go to my safe
and bring methe papers that were there.
She returned, her face white with ter
ror, to say.there was nothing there, all
the little doors were open.
"Robbed! robbed!" I yelled with im
precations, and again my senses desert
ed me.
Brain fever ensued. For weeks I lay
deprived of reason, literally treading
the verge of the grave. One morning
I was conscious only of a sinking,
deadly:feeling, as I feebly opened my
eyes. Was it au angel I say standing
beside me, her •soft eyes full of pity,
looking down upon me with the most
commiseratin , gentleness. For a mo
ment I thought I might be in heaven ;
but no, I reasoned with myself—l loved
money too well. My treasure was all
of the earth, earthly. Again I opened
my dim eyes. The vision seemed
wavering now, but oh, did it not wear
the beauty of sweet Lucy Manning'? A
quiet, unutterable peace took possession
of my entire being. I forgot wealth,
health, everything. My past life seem
ed blotted out, and I was again innocent,
untouched by the griping hand of ava
rice, true, loving, and loved—and Lucy
Manning was my idol.
But I recovered slowly and at last as
my strength surely returned I missed
her. As soon as she saw I could be left
with safety, she had left me; and oh,
the blank—the dreadful blank ! I wan
dered around my rooms, now so desolate,
and saw the many evidences of my mis
erable habits.
I know not why, but towards my wife
my feelings seem to have undergone a
revulsion. I fear I hated her. the lied
nearly beggarded me, had deceived and
shattered my health, destroyed all my
hones.
Months passed before I was able to
estimate the damage that had been
done me. Every means that could be
put forth were used for the discovery of
my money, but all in vain.
One night I sat by the tire, a cheer
less, disappointed, and lonely roan. I
had been thinking thoughts that only
burned my brain, but did not purify my
heart, "If I had only married sweet
Lucy," I said, again and again, " all
this had not been so."
My housekeeper came in with a letter
—an unusually large package it was,
and as it bore a foreign postmark, I
opened it with a trembling hand ? What
was that ? A rustling, crumpled bank
note ! Another and another came forth,
until there laid upon my knees twenty
bills of the largest denomination. A
few trembling lines accompanied them:
"Mv Ht - snAND: I am dying! My
disease—there is no need in telling you.
Forgive me, and accept this enclosed as
a faint etliwt toward restitution. It is
not much over half of what we took
from the safe. The rest is—l know not
where. lam deserted. Farewell, fore
ever !"
An icy chill thrilled me. It seemed
as if her spectral presence was near me.
I shuddered its I rolled the bills togeth
er, and threw them across the room.
" Lie there, curse of my soul!" I
cried. " Lie there till I have conquered
myself! ay, if the victory is not won till
you are rotten!"
I shut the door up and sealed it, and
for six months I toiled like a peunyless
man, till I partially redeemed myself.
By managing cautiously, I placed my
business on a successful footing, and be
gan life again, a new man.
It took many a year to wear off my
old habits of parsimony, but every ef
fort gave me a new and agreeable plea
sure. Meantithe Lucy Manning became
dearer to me than she had ever been in
the flush of youth. I entreated her for
giveness! humbled myself to a confes
sion, tested myself in all ways, and con
vinced her at last that I was as worthy
now as once I was only in seeming.
On the day of my wedding, I opened
the sealed door. The bank notes lay
where I had flung them. I took them
up with the pride of a conquerer, and
placing them in her hands, exclaimed,
They are no longer my masters ; use
them as you will."
Now I am a man!—redeemed from
the thraldom of covetousness. I have
three blooming children. Lucy is an
angel of goodness, and I write myself
as I did at the beginning. "By the
grace of God, I am what I am."
Lazy Farmers
Laziness prevents a man from getting
off his horse to put up the first rail that
gets knocked air the fence, and through
this lazy neglect a whole held of corn is
seriously damaged.
Laziness keeps a man from driving
one nail when one would do, and finally
costs a carpenter's bill for extensive re
pairs.
Laziness allows a gate to get off the
hinges and lie in the mud, or stand
propped by rails—or a stable to wreck
and damage hundreds of dollars worth
of provender.
Laziness, in short, is the right and
proper name for nine-tenths of the excu
ses given for bad farming. But by the
moat prolific of the many wastes that
are due to laziness is the waste of igno
rance. But the waste is in itself so great,
and has so many ramications, that we
shall have to defer its discussion for
for another time.
The Spring Fashions
The Net. Styles—The ]laterlals—•The
Changes and Novelties to Dressy.;
--Bonnets and Hats—lLld
Gloves, ParasoLs,
Etc., Etc.
The advent of Spring and moderate
weather brings renewed care and activ
ity upon the ladies by reason of the ne
cessit) for fashioning new dresses, bon
nets, hats, wrappings, and the where
withal-to-be-clothed generally.
In view of the event it becomes them
to prepare early, so that when the mild
and sunny days do come they may be
found ready, and may be able to give
-attention to other things uuharassed by
the care of all-powerful Dress. The im
portations of spring goods show a great
variety of new and beautiful fabrics.—
The rage in silks Is the light and dura
ble "Japanese," which have a most ex
traordinary power of keeping free from
rumples and creases. The majority of
these silks are in dull colors, but some
few more brilliant ones can be had. A
certain shade of blue in this article is
pretty.
Blue-black silks are still the fashion,
and will in all probability increase in
popularity as the season advances.
Black silk of sonic sort is at present the
most universal thing for walking dress
es. A new variety
of water-proof silk
is now introduced, which is destined to
become a favorite. It is heavy and has
a satin gloss, which it never loses,
on account of the caoutchoue solution
used in its manufacture. It resists the
rain completely. The price is from $3
to $5. There are many Light neutral
tints of silks, among which a silver
grey is conspicuous. In many of the
grey shades the distinctive color is
given by means of tiny figures in stripes
on cross-bars of black and white, in
stead of the usual mixture throughout
the material.
The general prices of silks have been
much lowered by the fall in gold.—
Those over $5 have been reduced about
$1 on the yard. Lower priced silks are
about fifty per cent. cheaper.
A good, desirable change from the
heavy winter materials is a serge foul
ard of silk and linen, which is the same
as a Japanese poplin, but soft and with
a satiny appearance. It comes in gray
and blue, and is twenty-seven inches in
width. The price is s'2. It is rather a
thick material, but it feels cool. It does
not crush easily, and is used both for
suits and house dresses, A feature of
the spring goods is the use of bright
colors in fabrics which before came only
in dull tints. In cotton goods and al-
pacers the brightest colors, fls pink, blue,
purple and green, are found. There is
a great variety of delaines and alpacas,
with large printed borders, but none of
very especial beauty. Among the wash
goods seine handsome percales conic
with printed borders, a delicate border
design of imitation lace being remarka
bly tasty. They :come in light, buff, and
drab linen colors, and are either plain
or striped.
The ladies are warned against the pur
chase of the Japanese poplins. These
are made of thin silk and wiry cotton.
The silk is said to wear through imme
diately, and the black of the cotton
stains front perspiration. The cost is
nearly the same as for light summer
silks.
Out-door dresses are mostly in the
form of the old short round suits just
touching the instep. This fashion, com
bining both healthfulness and comfort,
will long be worn in sonic form or the
other by all ladies with good common
sense. For the house, round skirts with
court trains are worn in full dress, and
the train is removed for dancing. Half
trains only are worn for ordinary home
toilet, and many discard the train alto
gether, except for state occasions. For
street dresses ; round waists are alto
gether worn, the throat lower than in
winter, with a band stitched on the out
side flat, not standing as before, The
pointed throat is not so open as last year,
but is preferred by young ladies. When
low, it is filled with the Robespierre
handkerchief of silk in solid color, with
border of white lines. Shoulders are
high, without trimming, save a flat
band ; the back as narrow as possible.
The length of the waist is natural, and
low darts are made to preserve the free
outlines of the form.
Sleeves shaped to the arm are still
worn for the street, but the old-fashion
ed pagoda and flowing sleeve are reviv
ed; and sleeves composed of two puffs,
with cross-cut fold between, and finish
ed with a ruffle, are employed for rich
dinner-dresses, and, indeed, for hand
some in-door dresses of any description.
Jackets fitted to the figure, and cut
away from the front to display a pretty
vest, are in high vogue for house wear.
The vest is often trimmed with narrow
bands of velvet, edged witle gold cord
across the front, and is fastened with
small gilt buttons. The jacket may be
of black satin cloth, embroidered and
bordered with fringe. The bodies of
many of the summer muslin and grena
dine dEesses will be open to the waist,
and a chemisette of lace inserted, deco
rated with narrow ribbon bows.
A minature mantle, of the same de
sign as the "Metternich," is a very
fashionable out door covering. It af
fords a change for the bisque.
Plated flounces, twelve inches in
depth, are worn upon the skirts of wol
len dresses, cashmere, alpaca, and the
like. The plaits are single, laid chose
together, and turn all one way. They
are known as ''kilt" plaits.
Ruffles will, however, be universal
this summer upOn lighter materials.
Some are fluted, but the majority are
gathered, and arc put on only moder
ately full.
The skirts of gored pique dresses dif
fer from others in being laid in large,
Hat, hollow plaits at the back instead of
gathered, the material being too still'
for gathers.
Woven embroidery, in open designs,
is a handsome trimming for pique and
cambric dresses. The pattern is woven
in cambric, and the interstices between
the work are cut out, leaving a very
pretty trimming, as showy as lace and
as substa4ial as the close Hamburg
work. I tcomes in double edged-bands
a yard and an eighth long, making two
yards and a quarter of ruining. The
)rice varies from 1;5 cents to $3.75 a
band, according to the quantity of
work. lusertions may he had in pat
terns to match the frills. Double bands
of French machine work, far better
than those usuallyshown, arc $3. Ham
burg insertion an inch wide, attached
to a pleated frill of cambric, forms a
beautiful trimming, .costing from 50
cents to 80 cents a yard, according to
width. The pleats are all ;turned one
way, and are not tucks stitched down,
but merely ironed flatly, and held in
place by a tiny braid stitched on the un
der side near the edge. Machine-tuck
ed bands of tine cambric, with four
tucks in the group, are useful fur insert-
lug between the ruffles and puffs of
white dresses. The tucks are even and
regular, the stitching is admirahly done
and the material Otte. A piece
ten yards costa from $1 to $1
according to the width of the tucks
Fluted ruffles of Swiss muslin and o
cambric, stitched to narrow bands, are
sold in three widths, in pieces of six
yards, costing. from eighty cents to a
dollar a piece. Puffings of cambric, of
Victoria lawn, Swiss, or linen, consist
ing of from four to eight puff in a strip,
are convenient for making puffed yokes
and blouses. A strip of four cambric
puffs, each puff over an inch wide, is
sixty cents a yard; with eight puffs,
$ . 1.2.5. A very substantial and pretty
braid for pique dresses is called snow
drop trimming. This is a cotton galoon
with both sides alike, and sometimes
with fringed edges. It is from half an
inch to an inch in width, costing from
.S 5 cents tsi) $1 a piece of twelve yards.
Pearl-2dged cord for braiding in pat
terns is wider and heavier than star
braid, and far more effective on pique
and Marseilles. Thirty-six yards are
sold for $l.
The French mode of facing silk dress
skirts instead of lining them throughout
is being introduced here. Wigging is
no longer used:as stiffening for the bot
toms of skirts—it was found so liable to
cut through the silk—but an inner fac
ing of alpaca, or some other material of
the same shade as the dress, is generally
used.
For the house there are two styles of
waist. The pointed corsage with Ra
phael neck is becoming to full figures,
and is stylishly trimmed with bands
across the front, and braces over the
shoulder reaching from the end of the
side darts to a point behind. Elbow
sleeves are worn with this, or very close
long sleeves. The round waist with
heart-shaped throat is pretty for slender
figures, especially If the fiat bertha is
worn with it, and large puffed sleeves.
Wide ribbon sashes, from eight to twelve
inches, are worn in all kinds of ribbon,
but dark Roman sashes in ruby, sultane,
NUMBER 15
imperial blue and black lighted by a lit
tle white and gold, are preferred to wear
with the light grey and white suits.—
Some sashes with embroidered flower
designs are really artistic,
There is no longer any option as to
the uniformity- of color in garments for
street wear. The patriot, bisque, man
tle, or jacket may be of a different ma
terial from the rest of the dross, but it
must be of the same color. Nothing
vulgarizes a street costume more than
au outer garment of different style, ma
terial, and color from the rest of the
dress. Shawls of lace and cashmere
are draped over trained dresses very
gracefully, and a square, single shawl
may be arranged over a short dress as a
tunic, or in some other pretty way, but
it must be either of lace, or else corres
pond in color and style with the dress
to make an admitted costume.
Lace shawls are just now inure avail
able than any other kind, and, in black
or white, will be in immense vogue
during the coming summer.
With spring suits, short sacks and
jackets will be worn, with the sailor col
lar, or with a pointed hood, trimmed
with bows to match the trimming upon
the suit. These will be the especial fa
vorites of young girls, but the "Metter
nich" will undoubtedly be the popular
design instead of the worn-out Basque.
The "Metternich" is better adapted this
season to popular wants than when it
was first introduced. In addition to the
ample mantle si.s it first appeared, there
arc several sizes and modifications which
arc graceful and becoming to younger
persons than the middle-aged nitrous
to whom the "Metternich," proper, es-
peciallv commends itself.
For exceptional occasions, such 11,1 ev
ening wear at a theatre or opera, the re
are souse very elegant velvet jackets and
hasques cut coat style, and enriched with
fringe, embroidery, or gold braid.
The use of lace ruffles it the neck and
wrists is a revival of an old fashion.
Coats of velvet, lined with colored
satin, and accompanied by a satin
waistcoat, are now worn over a remova-
ble train of velvet, the satin petticoat,
which is sometimes quilted half way up
the skirt, being the exact color of the
waistcoat and coat lining. The coat
sleeves are rather small at the wrist,
and have lace milks falling over the
hand. This costume, completed by a
necktie, or cheinistte of ruffled lace at
the throat, and a velvet hat, turned up
at the side with satin and ornamented
with plumes, constitute a most elegant
visiting toilet. In the opinion of some
these coats, especially when cut with a
long skirt behind, are vastly more be
coming to would-be wearers of the
breeches than to lady-like ladies. In
light materials for summer wear, jackets
will be made to correspond with the
dresses. White muslin embroidered
mantles will also be worn, and square,
thin shawls.
In wrappers the shape mostly worn
is the Polonaise of calico, snugly-fitted
to give the appearance of a gored dress.
The skirt should just touch the floor.
The sleeves are coat-shaped. A turned
over collar of the same is around the
neck, with a narrow white frill worn
above. A separate belt of the calico is
made over muslin. It is fastened up
the front with buttons. It is best to
leave the waists of wash-dressed unlined,
merely strengthening the armholes and
seams under the arms by facings of
muslin. Striped wrappers are prettiest
scalloped and hound with worsted braid,
or with a bright-colored Chambery cut
bias. For small figured prints without
bordering, red worsted braid, serpentine
and with rough surface, to imitate coral,
is used for trimming; or else wide braid
is stitched on, with colored braid be
neath, showing at each edge like a
piping. Of course all worsted braids
should be scalded in hot water before
using.
The grotesque appearance presented
by some of our would-be fashionables in
regard to crinoline presents the very
natural inquiry, Ilas crinoline been
discarded We are happy to say, so far
it has not, nor is there any prospect of
its disappearing. Skirts are worn small
er in many instances, but the comfort of
the hoop-skirt is far to great for it to be
given up. The time can hardly be re
membered when something was not
worn as a substitute for the hoop-skirt,
and with far less comfort. The oming
warm weather makes that article a ne-
eessity. Though the fashions may
change, it is generall..y t Je..evet.'t_t_ this
will remain in some form. Those who
like it need not be seriously alarmed at
the prospect of its continuance.
The bonnets, as far as the styles are
decided, are very much the same as
those which have been worn, higher
than they have been, if that is i cci
A novelty, in vogue abroad for carriage
wear, is a eapulet or veil bonnet. This
is merely a bandeau over the forehead,
from which falls a large veil, that is not
arranged by the milliner, but is draped
about the head by the wearer. 'lids
style of bonnet will, no doubt, be adopt
ed here later in the season.
Milliners commend for spring bon
nets light split straw, yellow-tinted Hal
ian braids, and a white braid half-trans
parent, but thicker and more substan
tial than crinoline straw. The combi
nation of color used in trimming an
- ieculiar, and require an artist to blen(
them harmoniously. Palest tints are
most used, yet black appears on every
bonnet in the guise of jet, lace, or velvet.
Green and tea-rose color with black
is a fresh spring-like combination for
blondes ; straw-color, pink, and black,
a :Spanish grouping of colors designed
fur brunettes; turtle-dove, grey, rose,
and black, a refined choice; black, blue,
and rose-color is an eminently French
fancy • wldlo violet with almond-buff,
and black forms an harmoniouscontrast
becoming to a clear complexion with
good color and dark-brown hair, some
thing between a brunette and a blonde.
There are many ladies of taste who
follow the foreign fashion of wearing
black bonnets unrelieved by a color.
For these there is unusual variety this
season in the black figured tulle and
black China crape bonnets with jet or
naments. The material is laid snumth.
I•on a Marie Antoinette frame. Tli..
face trimming is of black lace. Nar
row ribbon strings tie beneath the chin,
and a scarf of black tulle or crape droops
under the chin, sad is fastened to the
ribbon strings on the left by a jet slide.
If a color is introduced at all it is usually
n plume of dark shaded green cock's
feathers, or a tea rose cluster.
A model bonnet fur an old lady is a
large black Neapolitan with curtain
band and close at the ears, a purple gros
grain facing in front, and clusters of
Parma violets amidst tulle pull's on the
head-piece.
The newest thing in bonnets is the
"Capulet," introduced last season, and
which has reappeared in a variety of
forms, all partaking partly of the nature
of the veil, partly of the mantilla. The
specimens seen last season were arrang
ed more or less in the bonnet, form, arid
required little arrangement on the part
of the wearer. The Capulet bonnet of
the present season, however, consists of
a veil arranged picturesquely upon a
superb hair coiffure, fastened back with
a rose or a spray of flowers, and depends
altogether upon the taste and fancy of
the wearer for its grace and beauty. Of
course such a coiffure can never become
common ; it is not even likely it will
ever be adopted to any extent by any
class of ladies in this country, the preju
dice in favor of sonic sort of bonnet be
ing very decided.
There are many pretty spring bon-
nets, however, to which veils are at
tached, which will be likely to be
come favoriteS ; among others the
"Princesse." This consists of two puff:
of crape fronted by a band of small I erns
upon quilled black lace. A water-lily
forms the ornament, and a square veil
is attached which fulls over the chignon.
One of the most becoming• shaped of
bonnets has a small, Hated brim at the
back, and one standing up from the
front; yet so small it is that they seem
to be close together.
The plain diadem bonnets have m
peared in straw, but they are becoming
to very few faces. Nearly all have a
fall of lace or lace veil at the back.
The styles of hats arc more numerous
than those of bonnets. They are univer
sally higher, and many shapes rise
either to au absolute point or Me creas
ed down the middle. They are usually
turned up on one or both sides. The
flat forms have almost disappeared.
One of the novelties in this line is
the fancifully-colored straw, of which
many are made. Light blue is com
mon and other bright colors. Some few
have been noticed, which are made of
different and contrasting colors worked
together. Flowers predominate in the
trimmings. The hats are generally
very small. Ono of the newest styles
is a sort of hat-bonnet, very much like
the small end of a sugar-loaf with the
top-cut offi The.ylateau thus formed
RATE OF ADVERTISING
131111INIWI A lIVERTISE3fENTR, tt2. 3 year -pill.
squre of ton lines; $8 per year for emelt sddl
tlonal square.
REAL EsEATE Ai:manna!No, 10 cent,. a lino for
l lctfat i t, F4 , 1 - ,v1 ,!. trittf?ffota.auboueat,
tNERA-T. A nvErailqw, 7 cents a lino for the
ftrst, and 4 gents for each aubeequent
lucex
tlon.
SPECAVICOTICF.ii Inaerted In rAcal Column'
Ii °culla per Mo.
SPECIAL Norrer.n preceding marrlitimi fl
death, 10 cents per line for find Insorticti
and 6 dente for every anbaequent Insertion.
LEGAL AND (MIER NOTICED—
Executors' notlces..,
Administrators' notce--
Assignees' notices
Auditors' notices
Other "Notices," teu or
constitutes a crown upon which, to-
W.trds the; lack, all the trimming is
placed, and to the edge of which a
'square veil is attached. A mountaineer
hat of white ehip, or Neapolitan, has a
crown four inches high anti a brim with
a width of three Inches. It is usually
trimmed with flowers and a how of rib
bon at the side, with streamers falling
behind. It resembles somewhat the
old Puritan masculine hat worn in the
days of the " Mayflower." Mlle best
that can be said of it is Unit it is re
markable (ally for its ugliness. A
becoming lint for sonic people is the
" L'lmperatrice" of English Ininstable,
with high crown land rolling brim. It
can be tastefully trimmed with velvet
and ostrich feathers set in a bullet' of
•
French rosebuds. The " Lorraine" hat
of fine Leghorn has a crown raised on
the left side and sloping to the right.
with a heavy roll it the brim. It Call
be trimmed with Gulf ribbon laid in
plaits round the high side of the crown,
and falling in streamers brill:id. A
piping of black velvet Should bind the
ede of the brim, and a black ostrich
tip, set In a bunch of buff and black
flowers, coil be set in the hack of the
crown, the whole surrounded by a large
head of ‘vhent.
AMMtI!MM=ME
devilled in the centre, is shown for tin
:eashore and for country wear but for
utiles and children. Lithe centre 0,
the hat is a rosette of velvet with a few
rose-buds ' or blue periwinkles, or wheal
ears, or else (Ville a belU lllel el rO,CSatitl
wheat. Around the edge is a border of
tiny Wheat ears sewed down flatly, or a
pulled binding of ribbon, or else narnry
velvet is laid on in diagonal straps or in
a pattern like braiding.
Ihe Napolitaine, a picturesque hat for
afternoon drives at the watering-places,
is a facsimile in shape of the head cov
ering worn by pleasant women about
Naples. It is long, with square corners,
and a roll above the forehead, the back
curved slightly, and consists merely of
a lappet of black lace on a lace frame,
a wreath of June roses and trailing mos
sy buds on top, a rosette of ribbons and
jet balls at each side above the ear, and
black ribbon strings.
For croquet and lawn parties there
is a tine leghorn but With Wide straight
brim and it crown. A scarf
of sky blue China crape is wound annuli]
the outwit with careless grace, and in
termingled with the tips or wheat cars
and a blush rose and buds.
'rho fashion of slippers continues.-
'Fltey are made with high heels and
with a raised point at the hack. The
front Is covered with a large shield or
how coming above the edge, with large
buckles in the centre. Th, , buckles
are silvered or gilt. Bronze slippers
look well with gilt buckles. A shape
called the "Marie Antoinette" has very
high heels and a front trimming of
puffed silk. For common use the bows
and shields aro made of leather Willi
buckles. The buckles are either in a
solid oval or are open in the middle with
large teeth or catches, the ring being
both oval and square.
The newest in parasols is a somewhat.
smaller size than last season with the
edges cut in scollops or trimmed with
points. The points are sewed to the
edge all around, and are bound with
various colors. A drab parasol looks
well with the points hound ill plaid, or
a blue in pink. Some pretty patterns
of neck bows in all colors:ire out, which
have points cut In heart shape. They
are hound with fringe, and are trimmed
with gilt cord and ornaments. 'the
rage of the season in kid gloves is said
to he light green and pink, which colors
certainly cannot be accused of dullness.
Wonderful Escape from [Moth
In Now Orleans, recently, a street car be
longing to the "Rampart and Dauphine
streets" lino, filled with passengers, was
■truck by a locomotive moving, on the
Pontchartrain Railroad. The ear was
completely lifted WI the track by the foreo
of the collision, but no damage accrued to
the passengers. There are not wanting in
stances to indicate that a locomotive may
lift from the track the objects with which it
collides without °evasion Mg serious injury.
This happened in Maine a few evening.
ago, where a horse attached to a sled with
out a driver, was crossing the track near
Oak llill station, Scarbero. The sled was
utterly destroyed, but the horse, frightened
though uninjured, was found lying Oh the
platform in front of the engine. There
was a case some weeks since on the Penn
sylvania Railroad, at the Willtinspur{,•
crossing, which still further Illustrated
this possibility. A farmer, in his wagon,
drawn by two horses, undertook to cross
the track, through :mere foolhardiness in
front of an advancing train. In this In
stance, also, the wagon was demolished ;
the horses wore shoved aside not much the
worse for the accident ; but the man was
found after the train Wag stopped, sitting
on the locomotive unharmed, though HolllC
what stunned. His explanation of the oc
currence was of no particular value in the
way of elucidating. his novel position. The
question arises whether n slight change or
structure would not enahle a leeolllotire to
pick up instead of dashing aside any ob
stacle in Its path, whether the cow-catcher
could tint be made of such a shape that it
would justify its name.
••rap Thontan"-An Interesting Incident
of the Late War.
The death of Gen. Get,. 11. Thomas was a
shock to the people of Louisville univer
sally, whether they liked the :nail or sym
lpathized with his war career or not. lie
oft us so little while ago, full of manly and
quiet vigor-a man who looked the imper
sonation of a fifty years' longer lease of life.
'Po the readers :domed it may be necessa
ry to say that Colonel Watkins married
the, daughter of General Rousseau about
the 00,10 of the war-died in New Orleans,
and his body was brought, with that of his
distinguished father-in-law, a few months
ago, for interment in our beautiful ceme
tery at Cave Hill.
Just after the battle of Nashville, Colontl
Watkins, on General 11101111a14
preached the General with n free and col.
dial manner, as If the request he was about
to make could not be denied: "General.
you know I have n sweetheart, Miss
Rousseau, whom I have not seen for -
months. A leave of absence, Hymn please,
for - weeks." To the dismay of poor
Watkins, Thomas shrugged his shoulders.
Watkins, seeing that some intercession
was necessary, reminded the General of his
youth, the ardor of such years and such
tut achinents, and referred to some prol
able history t,f, the General in such mat
ters. General Thomas quietly and soldierly
replied: " Watkins, I've been there; and
the truth Is that I too have a sweetheart;
and I have not seen her for more months
than you have yours for so many weeks.
And what is inure, I have been married to
my sweetheart and want to see her as 11111 , 11
as you do yours, and it is likely more. Lint
I won't let her come to camp. A camp is
no place for a wife. She is out of her ele
ment. And I won't go to see my wife till
my duty is ended and the war over. What
I will not do myself I will not allow you
to do. - Besides, I have a " raid" to make
in Mississippi and Alabama, and I decided
this morning that you were the man to lead
it. You will please report for duty at ti
M.-Louisville Courier.
A Diplomatic Strike
Her Britannic Majesty's representatives
at foreign courts are just now on a sort of
diplomatic strike fur higher wages, on the
plea that the cost of living In the various
countries to which they are sent has largely
increased within the last few years, and that
the existing scale of compensation therefore
ought to be revised in their favor, else it
will be a problem to snake both ends meet.
According to estimates submitted by the
British Diplomatic corps, the expenses or
embassies in Europe have increased from
seventy all the way up to three hundred
per cent. within twenty years and It Is
stated that "a good deal of t he present
dearness of living is also attributed to the
number of Americans who aro accustomed
to the high paper prices of their own coun
try, and are too apt to observe that every
thin g is very cheap, which induces
sh opkcepers to raise their price according
ly.'' The American mission is also
impreecdentedly expensive, and in China
such is the difficulty of obtaining anything
lit to eat that sovereigns aro expended
where shillings were a few years ago.
The Iniernationnl Yacht Race
The preliminaries of this contest between
the Dauntless and the Cambria, the repre
sentative yatchs of the United States and
Great Britain, have after a year's discussion,
been settled. Three races of sixty miles
each are to be run in the English Channel,
the vessels to have a flying start. May let
is the time agreed upon. The owner of the
English yacht Cambria has agreed to waive
all (Luc:Atolls of time, allowance for differ
ence of tonnage, and to sail return matches
with the Dauntless in Now York bay, in
case she should be defeated in the Edglish
Channel. Mr. J. Gordon Bennet, Jr., the
owner of the Dauntless, sailed from New
York for England on Saturday.
A Novel Paraisol.
A now parasol has boon invented. It is
so contrived gs to answer alternately the
purpose of a parasol and a screen. The rod
is not, as in ordinary parasols, inserted In
the middle of the circle which forms the
shade, but near the circumference, so as to
give the person carrying it tho whole bone
lit of the shade it casts. Touch a spring,
and the little instrument is a parasol ;
touch the same spring with anothor motion
and it is an upright screen.