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113 o ettp.
TUE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET
Up with the'sun at morning.
Away to the garden he hies,
To see if the sleepy blossoms
Have begun to open their eyes
Running a race with the wind,
With a step as light and licet,
Under my window I hear
The patter of little feet.
Now to the brook he wanden,
In swil6 and noiseless flight,
Splashing the a. a kllog ripples
Like a fairy water-sprite.
No sand under fabled river
Has gleans like his golden hair
No pearly sea-shell Is other
Than h Is slender ankles hare;
Nor the rosiest stem of coral
That blushes In ocean's bed,
Is sweet 11.11 the flush that follows
Our darling's ulry tread.
From a broad wlndow • my neighbor
Looks down till stir little 4,1,
And watches theJiro, o'isian's
I cannot. envy ids lot.
He Imo pliqures, books and
Bright hoots los and nonic
Mowers that blossom In roses,
Birds from beyond the seas;
But never dints Cilikii'iltilllloll.4,
ails lannewitril footstep. grei,i.
H Is stately halls suer 1,0111
'To the tread of innocent fret.
This child IN our nsparilling
A I,lrdHug that. chat orm uutl slug
-
Sometimenn,.leepingeherub
(Our other one has wings.)
Ms heart Is an wined ea,iet.
Fill! of nll that's equun, q , 1.111 SW.
And no harp-Ntrlngs hold
As (0111,00 his l.winlilll,4
When. the glory of 11111 . 11 S
The highway by angt•bi It od,
A nil sreolx to 11111,ar 110. city '
IS bo.I
Closc• to the rryntnl pot 101.
I see by the ga' es g/1
1'1101:y4, 1.1111 . 14.111.1 . 11.1/14 , 1 - -
twlii-born ILI glit.
Amt f naked to n !might and dot% I•,I
'I o guide his footstep. aright,
So that I could he 111 . 1,1.111 . 1 i wore ty
walk to saiiii.da in light,
And hear struld songs of WVil."1111.
h•rom niennettgern I nod y hill Ilm•l,
the marry floor of Heave.,
The patter or little le,. •
flaiscalanco us
Marie of Wlllernincht,
IMEGIEffiII
It was a cold, snowy day when I went
Lo see Marie; the villagers had their
heads tied up in brilliant colored hand
kerchiefs, contrasting pleasantly with
the white snow, and they shuffled quick
ly over their errands in their clinking
sabots. There ‘vas a g l / 1 /1i drat of talk
and laughter among them, but all the
faces looked !ditched and ....dd.
" Where did Marie la Vetive live
1 asked. All It new, and all were will
ing to chew me the way, for " \l: u •ie
was the village favorite," as one of the
gossips explained to me: "she kept it
silent tongue in her head ; had been
a good daughter, sister and wife; was
helpful to all those in trouble, and joy
ful with those who rejoiced ; but things
were going badly with Marie since the
birth of her fatherless child, and there
was no hope of peace, and these and
VoqUiliS (1, frussiens were eating air the
land.
\Vhen I entered Marie's room she
was lying on her bed, white and still,
with a little swaddled bundle beside her
"'Phis is my baby," she whispered,
setting upright the little stiff image.—
The baby opened its dark eyes, and
looked at me with that entire want of
speculation in its gaze summon to its
kind. Marie said no more, but her face
was as speaking in interest as her child's
was vacant; she took my hand and
held it in both a hers. There was not
silence in the room, for beside the bed
stood the voluble little mother-in-law,
telling toe all the symptoms; how there
was no milk for the little one, how fev
erish the mother was, what sleepless
nights, what, exhausting days. "The
doctor says it is because there is trouble
on the mind. or course there is trouble
with the husband dead, shot down be
fore the eyes of his brother, on the
heights above Sedan, on that fatal day
of August 31st; of vourse there is trou
-He, with nothing to eat, and all the lit
tle savings going; is it not all true, ma
mtere !" And the little old woman turn
ed for corroboration to a bent figure sit ,
ling at the further corner of the room,
stretching out lean, long,, thin lingers
towards the glow front the little stove.
Yes, yes," murmured this other, " it
is the war, famine and fever that have
done it all. I have just this and that,"
taking up the hem of her dress and pet
ticoat " just this and that, all gone; and
then the smell of powder and blood !"
" Never mind her," said the other to
me apologetically; "her mind is gone,
hut she is Marie's mother, and in her
day was Ihe belle of the village; she
married well, and had a farm of her
own, plenty of linen, and three great
mottles. Marie was not the only.
child ; there was another, a boy, hump
backed, and of weal: intellect, who
showed no love for any one but Marie,
and her - " was devoted to him
duitil he son never laughed
village lads did, l,ut
hours in sin ising
at him a. 4
would sp
him, and as never stubborn or
wilful wit ?.s. And then Marie
married my son, and all the village said
she might have done better, but a man
who is gentle with children is sure to be
gentle with women, and a son who is
thoughtful for his mother is likely to
make a good husband; and so I told
Marie; and to Jacques I said, 'Never
leave off askin '
t , her until you gel her;'
and in the end he did win her. And
now he had died lighting for his coun
try, and I am proud and satisfied, though
I am not happy." The brave little
woman paused mere to lilt the corner of
her apron to the dim old eyes.
All this time Marie lay back upon her
pillow, tearless anti still. silie was mint
a strikingly pretty Nyonian, but there
was a supplicating sadness ,n her large,
dark eyes, softly veiled by black lashes,
and there was a weakerof - sweetness and
tendetness about the full, slightly com
pressed lips, that lent to her whole face
a strange, fascinating interest.
Had this,
sweet silent woman, I won
der, drifted unknowingly into matri
mony,— was it "juxtaposition in
or was it that deep, sensitive gratitude
that grows so near akin to I've in a
woman's heart':
Jacques had not ridiculed the idiot
boy, and she, so loving to her brother,
and too young to sound the depths of
such asacrifice, had given herself to Jac
ques for recompense. And now trouble
had come, and she had been near to
death, and, as the woman said, all the
little savings had gone. The case was
bad, but Marie was not so downcast as
I had expected; perhaps she had at this
moment forgotten much that she had
soll'ered ; perhaps, also, she was expell
ent:Mg a great and undefined relief
What if there should dawn a new life
for her, with health, and her child !—a
life without. threads, or suppressed wea
rinesi, or smothered incompatibilities.
" If only I could live" said the speak
ing eyes. So, at least, I read her story.
Otherwise it might seem almost strange
that she should wish for life, with noth
ing to look forward to but widowed
loneliness. She LUM I 111 M hardly ut
tered a word together, but as she held
my hand in hers, I felt arising between
us a sudden sympathy that, springs up
between two people, recognizing a spon
taneous trust that needs no outward ex
pression.
The door was now opened softly to ad- '
mit a German soldier, one of those co
quina tie I',•uasicns, carrying an armful
of small-cut logs of wood. I had not no
ticed Min, as I came in, chopping them
up in front of the door. He gave me a
Military salute as he passed on tiptoe to
the little stove, where he began to re
plenish the dying flame, moving about
silently and softly. There stood a little
saucepan of milk on the hearth, which
the women were neglecting ; he moved
it to a little distance from the fire, and,
stirring it, saved it from being burnt. He
then opened a cupboard, and drew out a
little packet ofcorn-dou rwh ich I hadsent
to Marie the previous day. "Ah ! I had
forgotten," cried In belle mere, quickly
drying hereyes ; "sheought to have had
that au hour ago. Go and get some
water from the well, Heinrich, while I
mix some in a cup." Heinrich reached
her a cup and spoon from a shelf, and
passed out as quietly 113 he had come in.
He was a powerfully built man, with a
great head set rather clumsily on square
upright shoulders; there was a gentle
dignity in his manners, and a good res
olute expression in his deep, gray eyes.
One felt he was the reposeful element
in that little household ; the woman had
taken the part of requisitioning the en
emy, and making full use of his kindly
helpfulness, while he, the -strong one,
was being bu Illed, because of h Is strength,
by the weak once.
"Do you not think there is danger,"
' whispered la belle mere, as she accom
panied me to the door, " having that
ot)e Warna,s/ce $/ittelligene
VOLUME 72
great Prussian In the house, with Marie
so young?"
" What do you mean?" I asked, as
tonished.
" I don't say that he is not all that is
convenable, and Marie Is entirely en
grossed with her baby ; 'lrma? aprcs?
How long Is It to last ? I asked myself.
When are these Germans to be sent
away ? Marie is a good woman, and he
a good man, notwithstanding that he is
our enemy. He has, too, such a way
of doing things for me before I ask him,
seeming to divine all we want. My
Jacques was always willing, but not
forethoughtful as this one is. I have
nothing to complain of in Marie's con
duct; she scolds him and he never an
swers her back, and she sends him
about and he al ways goes. ibis apre.l?
In my day it was an impossible thing
fur a young man and woman to live to
gether without falling in love, but the
young are more reasonable now.—at
least, Marie, I know, is reasonable; she
and Jacques were very different from
me and my man. Whoever would have
thought that I should grow to be an old
woman, living on all alone
"I don't think you need anticipate
anything," I said ; "Marie's baby is her
great interest."
"If only he were like the rest of them,
cruel and exacting, I should feel easier,
and could complain," ehe muttered to
herself, as she re-entered the cottage.
tNIUIAtI
On the following day I journeyed to a
neighboring town, to pay a visit to au
ambulance in which I had nursed dur
ing the troubled Limey that followed the
capitulation of Sedan, and I almost for
got Marie's little household, in the in
terest of renewing old acquaintances.
As I arrived at the door of the well
nowil, sombre-looking honse, a young
man hobbled up to me, and, seizing Illy
haul, sbouk it heartily.
" ltou'tymu know nie lie:tidied. "1
uio tan• one out of the five amputated
th.t survived in that crowded little
room. Imok here! what a splendid
support I have got." Be went on dis
playing a clean woollen stump strapped
on to his shattered limb. "And
too," pointing to a decoration on Ills
breast; "yes, I can hold up my head
proudly among all these Prussian dogs,
or I fought wildly for France; but to
what use Is it? What has come of it?
We are betrayed first by our Emperor,
then by our generals; and even our
women cringe und snigger to these loaf
ing barbarians.' Few Frenchmen can,
like me, hold up their heads, and feel
satisfied they have done their utmost for
their country." And cif stumped my
quondam patient, followed by a little
troop of gamin admirers.
"The wind is tempered to the shorn
lamb" thought I, as I watched the poor
maimed lad limping about so gayly.
I found things in a progressive State
inside the walls ; the French came up to
tne, voluble and liem ty, recognizing, in
me a friend whose pocket might possi
lily be filled with tobacco and cigars, if
not the bearer of important news from
the outer world. The Germans were
silently dignified, and gloomily hopeless
about their own recovery. "Could I
write a brief poem to a distant lady
love? " " No." " Well, would I ask
the doctor to prevail upon the cook to
make some stronger soup?" Yes, I
would do that." Had I by chance a cold
sausage in my pocket ? " "No ; could I
do anything else?" I inquired. " Yes.
Madame might make some."
Smile weeks after my return 1101110
from nly visit, I went again to see Marie;
I had heard she had been getting on
well, and 1 found her up, and much bet
ter, with a new and brighter expression
on her face Her mother had just been
discussing the advisability or retiring to
bed; she had tired of her coffee-roasting,
and knitting, and the afternoon was
gloomy and cold. I helped the totter
ing old woman Into all inner room,
where, ill a sort of berth hollowed into
the wall, she lay down and soon fell
asleep. While I was with her, the
lerman Heinrich came ill and went
straight up to Marie. " Why don't
you tell her ? You can trust her,
and she might help us." I knew
he meant me. " Speak, Marie," he
went on, bending over her his great
head, with the strong, short-cropped
hair. Ile was all-powerful; iris
would have done anything hir
and he knew it, and she knew that he
knew it; and yet he was pleading and
tender, and gender than she was. ller
eyes had falren under his gaze, and her
lips pressed themselves together •, she
had struck pettishly the great big hand
that enclosed hers. It is only the strong
and the great who are gentle; it is the
weak who strike out cruelly and reck
lessly to save themselves from falling.
I came out from the inner room, and
sat down in the old mother's chair, on
the other side of the lire. Heinrich
came and stood before 111 e, erect and
resolute. " Madame," lie began, "
love this Frenchwoman, Marie, of YU
lefranche, and I wish to marry her; but
if we made our intentions known in the
village, either she or I would be torn
into pieces by the people,for at this hour
there ism) love lost between the despoil
ed and the despoilers. In loving Marie,
I do not forget my country, nor does she
renounce hers. I only find that love,
when it comes, triumphs over all other
feelings and considerations. Could you
not speak to the cure for us, and get
him to marry us privately'?" " But,"
I interrupted, "surely it is too short a
time since the death of Marie's hus
band." '' I have been in the house for
months, and have to-day received
marching orders," he put in. n And he
has been everything to me, and done
everything for me, and I cannot bear it
any longer," added Marie, ill her low,
passionate voice. Then the big 1111111
knelt down, and kissed and stroked the
pale hands that held with effort her
baby's weight.
On Illy way home that evening I
called at the cure's house. I gave nly
naine,.and he came shuttling along the
little garden walk, with sabots pulled
over his shoes, so as to open the gate to
me himself. We bowed and scraped to
one another, and remarked on the
depth of the snow as we made our
way to his sanctum. In the centre
of the room stood a writing-table,
covered with greasy looking volumes,
thin lett er•paper, ink, and sand ; there
was an open fire-place,filled with ashes,
and two logs placed ready for lighting.
'Mecum immediately stooped down and
lit a match (though I protested), and the
room was soon lighted with tile spark
ling flames. On the mantel-shelf stood
small, dusty images of the Madonna and
the Crucifixion, balanced by a pine and
tobacco-pouch ; a cupboard happened to
be half-open, and on is shelves were
ranged flasks of various sauces and
spices, and mouldrold bottles of sealed
wines. He motioned me to a chair, and
drew a little mat in front of it for my
feet; and with his snuff-box in his hand,
and his head meekly bowed down, he
listened to my tale. It was a difficult
story to tell, and I stuttered and stam
mered over it; but the priest WAS all at
tention. "Phut is all very right," he
said, iu a re-assuring way; "there are
much more complicated cases than that
in the village. And so you think they
should marry ?" he went on, lifting his
sleepy eyes to mine.
"Yes, indeed, I do; and any little ex
pense Marie may incur, I shall most
gladly—"
"Of course, I understand," he inter
rupted, waving his hand in a deprecat
ing way. "Poor Jacques, he could
neither read nor write, but, as he said,
that did not prevent him from serving
his country. Well, we will try and ar
range mutters iu a quiet way, some time
soon, and in the mean while Marie and
this Cierman must keep quiet and bide
their time."
And then I rose, and he, bowing low,
pu ton his sabots again, and accompanied
me to the garden-gate.
On the following day I called again
at Marie's cottage. She expected me,
and had put the little coffee-pot on the
stove, and had sent Heinrich out to get
some new bread for me, talkingof every
thing but the one subject nearest to her
heart. She was lookingcharming, and
was making a great effort to be energet
ic. 1 was being warmed by her hot
coffee, and we were waiting for Hein
rich and the bread, when the outer door
opened, and a great dust of cold wind
swept through the narrow passage.—
Marie was holding a sauce-pan over the
tire; the pan shook and trembled, and
I feared for the fate of the milk as Marie
turned her eyes, so fullof lustrous light,
to the door. I was feeling a little shut out
and aggrieved about the probable loss of
the milk destined for my cup, as I no
ticed Marie's distraction, when—thud
thud, came along the passage, and—
thud-thud echoed through the room.
As I looked at her, I saw that suddenly
the love-llt eyes waned and paled, and
from her clenched white lips came an
agonized shriek. She staggered for
ward, and fell into her husband's arms.
"Marie, mignonne, c'est moie, re
gardes ton Jacques," and he tried to lift
up the blanched face to his. "Ah! it
was you who saved me," he went on,
turning and recognizing me. "How
much I owe to you ! Figure to yourself,
my Marie ; a party of live brought from
the field ; all had to undergo amputa
tion, and I alone survived the surgeon's
knife. I thought it was all up with me
when I fell pierced by two balls, and
with those riderless horses careering
over me, and knew nothing more until
I woke to find myself in au ambulance
without my leg; and now I walk with
my head as high as any of those Beeler
cde de Prussiens."
I looked around bewildered, and saw
Heinrich in the door-way ; he stood like
one petrified, holding the loaf of bread
listlessly in his hand ; his face and form
seemed to shrink, and all strength ap
peared to have left him; he gave one
despairing look at the head crowned
with its glistening braids of black hair
and silently quitted the room.
I•laid Marie upon her bed, and watch
ed beside it for many miserable hours,
while she passed out of one fainting-fit
into another. It was a totally different
home-coming to what poor Jacques had
anticipated; he had meant it to be a
triumphal entry,—an unalloyed pleas
ure,—instead of which it had only been
a scene of consternation and distress.—
He found, however, a heavy welcome
front all his neighbors, who, when
Marie got better, came flocking in to
express their congratulations.
I returned home that evening with a
very heavy heart ; on the road I met
Heinrich. "I am going to try and get
other quarters inside the town," he said
to the us 1 came up to him. We walked
together side by side, sadly and silent
ly. A party of Prussian officers came
riding joyously along the road; they
were returning rout scouring the coun
try, on the pretence of an alarm from
Franco-Tireurs. All were noisy,ruddy,
and full of life; they looked curiously
at my companion us he returned their
military salute. Why should a con
quering German look so downcast?
they seemed to say. A little further on
came rattling at full speed the Feld
post, bristling with soldiers and bay
onets, each curt driven by a sullen,
scared-looking French peasant. AS we
passed them, the men called out friend
ly greetings to Heinrich, but he did not
raise his bent head, as with long absent
strides he waded through the snow. As
we passed through the gales leading into
the town, with all the bustle and con
fusion around us, he began abruptly to
talk aloud his inmost thoughts.
" And how my mother will grieve fur
me!" he said. "1 have written to her
from time to time, telling her about iny
love for Marie, and she has so well un
derstood—she has all a man's chivalry
lor women. At first she wrote, 'Do not
give your heart to a Frenchwoman, my
son,' but hi her last letter she said,
'When the war is over, and if your life
is spared, bring Marie with tier babe and
the two old women to our valley of the
Wisperthal ; the house is roomy, and
with us there will be peace and plenty,
and we shall together forget all that has
been,'—and now," he went on, Hinging
up his arms, "it Is all like some wild
dream that is passed. You are tired,"
lie said, looking down at ine with his
kindly penetrating eyes, "but your will
sleep to-night and get rest, while I-1—
my life now will be one long restless
night, when wakine a tind her not."
"You are a soldier; you can tight," I
said, feeling more Pity or Marie.
"Yes, I can do that," he Said, laugh
ing hoarsely.
Some days atterWards I was in the
doorway or a house oPposite to that of
Jacques, when my attention was at
tracted to a little crowd collected round
his open door.
Two [;plans had conic riding down
the street, and stopped to join Heinrich,
who was mounting his horse and bid
ding farewell to his hosts. Jacques held
out his hand and gave Heinrich's a
kindly shake, for the wounded French
man could afford to he polite to his ene
my ; the old mother had come tottering
into the light, and, while shading her
eyes with her hand, was giving a limit
earnest lock at the departing guest. The
bustling little mother-in-law was call
ing out her last farewell to Henrieh,who,
though he was one of the detested in
vaders, had proved himself a 'helpful
and kindly inmate. Marie was standing
with her baby in her arms at art upper
window; she was full in the 9lght, not
partly hidden, as at girl might lie, look
ing her last on the man she loves. She
was gating down with her Madonna
face, full of a high purpose and a calm
serenity ; the war within her had been
sharp and fierce, but the struggle was
over, and she had accepted her fate as
I kid had willed it. She had come for
ward into the window to bring peace
and encouragement to Heinrich..
There was a divine tranquility about
her whole bearing that struck him, as
he glanced up with a sad, disturbed face
into the calm above him; he looked
again, long and earnestly, and the shad
ow of a great grief seemed to pass away
and the drawn, hollow lines about his
face softened into repose. She, out of
her despair, had taught him that hard
life-lesson, "Tie libcrte csl obcis-
Nance volontaire." We are not sent into
the world or rest in the haven of a great
love, to seek and win our individual
happiness; love conies, •as Spring
comes, to renew all life, to cover the
hard, cold earth with softness and
sweetness, to bring the tender buds to
blossoming perfection, to till the clear
air with fragrance and light. What if
the Spring passes? is there not the
long Summer of twilight and peace?
Marie bad loved, and her love had made
tier stronger and better; she had suffer
ed, and the suffering had raised and pu
rified her whole nature; she was going
to "live the life," not as she had plan
ned it for herself, but as fate had decreed
it. The beauty of renunciation shone
out of her clear eyes, and in the majesty
of her figure there breathed the restful
calm that follows upon the tumult of a
storm subdued.
"'They are not men, they are ma
chines !" exclaiMed a young girl scorn
fully, as she moved away from the little
group at the door, She had threaded a
red ribbon through her ebon hair, and
had lifted up her bright eyes laughingly
to look into Heinrich's free; Ire was ad
justing his long, glittering lance in the
stirrup at the time, and had either not
noticed her glance, or had gazed at her
vacantly with his dim, grietrul eyes.
I stood and looked after the three
figures, sitting square and upright on
their powerful horses. As they passed
out from the village street on to the
straight highway, bordered with stately
trees, whose frozen branches, entwin
ing with one another, formed a trellised
arch in long perspective, one heard the
clangof the horses' hoofs far up the road.
The scene as I saw it, with the shadows
of evening softening all harsh outlines,
seemed like some dream picture, bathed
iu the rose and amber light of a waning
sun *here was no joyous, rippling sound
of running water, all the fountains were
frozen dumb, thin clouds of vapory mist
wreathed slowly up into the air from
above the rough-hewn crosses that bor
dered the roadside, marking the resting
place of those killed fighting for their
fatherland. Heinrich turned to give
one last look, and then the three horse
men passed out of sight.
Jacques crossed the street, and caught
sight of Marie at the window. She
smiled, and held up the laughing baby.
Jacques' face became radiant as he stood
leaning on his crutches, watching the
mother mid child, and then limped
quickly back again into the house. Then
Marie leant out for a moment, her whole
face involuntarily changing as she look
ed for the last time into the misty dis
tance, beginning perhaps to realize with
s , mething like despair tbe level dullnets
of her future daily life—itwas a passion
ate farewell look—a helpless, wistful
gaze; she was young and eager,
with throbbing pulses and au aching
heart, that revolted against the wo
man's relentless will. The child look
ed up into the altered face, its
gleeful crowing changed to a weak
scared cry; Marie started back, and
bending her head low over her baby,
hushed its wailing sobs. And in the
fading light I saw the indistinct outlines
of Jacques' good-humored, meaningless
face ; he put his hand lightly on Marie's
effmulder, and drew her into the room ;
he shut elle window, and began to trim
the evening lamp with his deft hands.
And from behind the lamp I saw Marie's
grand figure passing to and fro, as she
hushed the child to sleep; there was
silence in the room, and in the blessed
stillness I knew that she would gain
strength and calm,—that peaceful calm
that steals its way into a woman's soul,
LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING SEPTEMBER 13, 1871.
when she holds in her firm arms the
sacred burden of a sleeping child.
When the snow had melted, and the
tender blades of grass had sprung out
from the brown mould in the fields and
hedges, and small buds had dotted the
slender shoots of the trees, I went to bid
farewell to the villagers of Villefranche.
It may be in the coming years I shall
see them again in times of peace and
plenty, when war is no longer devasta
ting the rich gardens of the Ardennes,
and fever and famine are passed away as
a tale that is told. But never can I for
get France as she appeared to me then,
"beautiful amid her woes," her proud
spirit un broken, her faith in her old pres
tige unshaken, her children silently suf
fering in her cause; how bright, how pa
tient, how proudly uncomplaining they
were; how soft, how winning, how
warm-hearted ; what quick sensibili
ties, what flashes of keen humor, what
dignity and grace. Are the French in
deed so callous and frivolous?—these
earnest, devoted husbands, these ten
der, helpful wives, supporting with
their united, unwearied elbrts large
families of bright-eyed children? What
a rich study were the faces of the old
men and women! Life had not slip
ped Idly past them ; their old age was
stored with rich memories. We wept
for their sufferings, but no tears came
from their eyes ; they suffered in silence
waiting and hoping it was but a black
cloud passing over the blue breadth of
their sky,—it would break and disperse,
and France would appear from behind
it brighter, greater, more glorious than
before. So thought the simple peasants
as they faced starvation in their ruined
homes.
I found Marie's old mother sitting
spinning outside the door, in the check
aed sunlight. "And so you are going,
rid Heinrich has gone: nothing is left
—c'esl la guerre, c'esl la guerre."
Within, Jacques was seated at a table,
having a writing lesson ; Marie stood at
his elbow, guiding his pen.
" It Is never too late to mend," said
Jacques, as he rose to give me his chair.
"I ought to know how to write ; I ought
to have written to Marie when I was
away. She has told me all. I do not
blame her; the fault was mine."
I put into his hand a letter that I had
just received from an unknown corres
pondent, announcing the death of Hein.
rich, who had been shot at ()deans.—
When he was dying he asked his doctor
to write me a few lines ; " he wishes
you to know that he is at rest, Marie,
and that his last prayer was for happi
ness of you and Jacques."
Marie wept as she read the letter.—
Jacques drew her close to him, and shel
tered the tear-stained face. " Marie,"
he said gently, " I suffer such pain, such
constant gnawing pain, that I some
times wish I too had been killed out
right."
Marie quickly raised her head ; the
hot tears ceased to flow.
" No, dear Jacques; no, it is much
better as it is."
She supported him to a couch, and,
sitting down beside him, held his thin
suffering hand in hers.
"When you touch me, Marie, the pain
seems to pass away from me."
"I am so glad," she whispered, bend
ing over him her wistful, smiling face.
I went out softly, I bade them no fare
well ; but as I left, I, too, like Heinrich,
prayed that Marie and Jacques might be
happy, with such happiness as God gives
to those who do not question, nor strug
gle against destiny, but work and wait,
earning that long rest which is the end
of life.
A. Stroll on Shlng,leton Beach, and
What Came of It
It was easy enough to see that the
post-bag which had just been deposited
upon the breakfast-table at Poynings
had not brought any particularly wel
come news. The intelligent domestic
who came up within a few minutes of
the arrival of the letters to ask at what
hour the carriage should come round,
opined at once, and opined rightly, that
something was wrong. The Rev. Mr.
Poynings—the master of Poyn i rigs was
a clergyman who considered that he
had rendered sullicient service to his
church, and had now retired upon his
laurels and his private means, which
were more than considerable—found
fault with the coffee. It was Lind riuka
ble, he said, and life without coffee was
not, in the opinion of his reverend crit
ic, worth having. Mrs. Poynings ex
hibited her general dissatisfaction with
censuring the atmosphere. Such a June
she declared she had never known.—
Mr. Poynings' footman—a shrewd ob
server—felt quite satisfied with himself
that when his master condemned the
mocha and his mistress the climate, the
true and real ground of grievance was
something different front either. Au
open letter lay before Mr. Poynings,
and an untracked egg was on Mrs. Poyff
ings' plate. Directly John, the footman,
reached the servants' hall and put a lead
ing question to the butler. " 'Arris,
did you see who the letter was from ?
Master's in a regular taking with some
thing this morning; and I 'pest it's
that post-bag." But the sagacious Har
ris could not explain why it should be
the post-bag, for the only letters which
it contained were, he declared, trades
men's circulars, with one exception,
and that was an envelope directed in a
lady's hand, and was, he thought, from
Miss Minna.
Nevertheless John was right and Har
ris was wrong. It was, as the penetra
tive footman had so shrewdly suspected,
the post-bag which was the cause of the
discomfiture in the breakfast-room. The
coine was, as usual, excellent, and as
for the weather, well, it was not worse
than in England June weather very
often is. That envelope, directed in the
feminine MS., from whom did it come?
Both Mr. and Mrs. Poynings, if they
were favored: with a very abundant
share of the good things in this world,
knew also not a little of this world's
sorrows. Two sons, and two only, they
had. Each had "gone wrong," and each
was now removed beyond the possibility
of repairing his errors on this side
of the grave. Dick Poynings, whom
his father hoped to see at least on
the Episcopal bench, achieved when he
was at Oxford the reputation of being
the best steeple-chase rider that the un
dergraduate world had ever known.—
But here the academical distinction of
the young man ended. When he took
his degree the only substantial evidence
of university education he took with
him was a very pretty number of debts.
They were all paid by Mr. Poyning,
who went up to Oxford with his solici
tor for the occasion, and whose out
spoken opinions on the iniquity of en
couraging mere boys to run into debt
are still remembered by more than one
tradesman on the Isis. Eventually Dick
Poynings went to the Cape. His fate
was not an unusual one. The hero of a
hundred fights is run over and killed
by a hansome cab ; and the man who
has returned home alive and untouch
ed by the most trying climate in the
world by degrees succumbs to the
slow poison of his friend's cham
pagne. Dick Poynings, who had braved
the perils of endless steeple-chases on
the most incurable of Oxford screws,was
riding over some land which he had
bought for farming purposes, when a
dense fog came on ; his horse stumbled
and fell ; the rider was precipitated
against a stone, and was killed almost
instantaneously. The end of Charles
Poynings, the other son, was more
tragic. The lad had always exhibited a
penchant for play. One tine morning,
about ten years ago, the body of a
young Englishman was found in the
Black Forest, near Baden, quite
dead; with a bullet through his
head. The young Englishman hap
pened to be Mr. Charles Poynings.
It was known that he had played heav
ily and lost seriously on the previous
night. There would probably have
been a scandal, but the prudent author
ities hushed the matter up, and nobody
thought any more about it, except in
deed his fattier and mother. Now the
effect of sorrow is to sour—the effect,
that is, on every -other temperament
than the purely angelic; and sorrows
are souring—it may seem strange, but
it is very true—in exact proportion to
the worldly prosperity of their victims.
The death of our two eons hart quite
caused the gladness and joy of their
parents'lives to be utterly extinguished.
No doubt there was wild blood in the
Poynings' veins ; but that was no con
solation to the bereaved father and
mother. It was a strange and perhaps
unfortunate coincidence which gave
them when their sorrow was darkest
and most hopeless, a new object for care
and thought. Mr. Poynings' sister,
Mrs. Temple, died, and dying left her
only son, Harry Temple, to her brother's
care. The charge was accepted with a
certain sense of relief, and the boy be
came a kind of son to his uncleand aunt.
But his subsequent career was far from
satisfactory. He, too, 'allow ed himself
to have inherited a dash of the Poynings'
blood. But there had been as yet noth
ing disastrous. He was in debt already,
but that was a matter of course. He had
left Oxford with a character that may
not have been beyond reproach, but a
character which was still the reverse of
discreditable. But the worst of Harry
Temple was that he would not settle
down. Professionally a barrister he was
in reality a lounger, and he was nothing
more. He betted a little and played a
little; he was popular and he was ex
travagant. But he was only five and
twenty. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Poyn
logs expected of their nephew, towards
whom their heart yearned, more than
they ought. They certainly expected
more than the result justified.
"I can't understand it, upon my
word of honor I cannot," said Mr. Tun
ings, on the morning to which we
have already alluded, taking up the let•
ter contained in the envelope directs
in the feminine MS
" It is very bad indeed, very !"
peated Mrs. Poynings; " And yet
might have been worse. Do you not
think, Richard, yourself that it might
have been worse?"
" Worse !" echoed the old man,
gloomily, " can anything be worse than
black ingratitude such as this?"
We will just look at the letter which
had given rise to these observations. Di
rected, though the envelope was, by a
writer who was not Henry Temple, the
communication which ;t contained was
from that gentleman for all that. The
writer prefaced the epistle by a state
ment to the effect that he was well aware
that the news which he had to convey
would surprise, and possibly pain his
uncle. That he ithe writer) admitted
fully and unreservedly, that he had
acted hastily, perhaps wrongly. Still
he hoped fur pardon. In a word, he had
married; he - had known theyoung lady
for some little time, and he hoped that
his uncle and aunt would accept her as
niece.
" Astounding impudence," Mr. Tun
ings had murmured, when he came to
this portion of the letter. " ' Perfect
lady,' of course. When a young scamp
marries In haste the first girl he sees, of
course she is a ' perfect lady,''' sneered
Mr. Poyn lugs.
But the sneer was misplaced. For
Ethel Temple, who was last week Ethel
Nesbitt, was a lady in every sense of
that word, thought her mother had been
an actress—she had gone to her rest
when Ethel was scarcely three years
old—and her father was a half-pay cap
tain, the independence of whose life was
only tempered by his impecuniosity.
By mutual and tacit consent, scarcely
another word was said that morning by
Mr. or Mrs. Poyuings on the subject of
their nephew's letter.
" I suppose this is her writing," said
the reverend master of Poynings, read
ing the envelope, which as has been
said was not addressed by Mr. Henry
Temple.
Change of air, that was the necessity
Mr. Poynings' medical man impressed
upon his patient.
"My dear sir, there must be complete
and entire change of air. Ttie sea would
do you a world of good. Take my ad
vice, Mr. Poynings, and go to Shingle
ton. It's just the climate to add twenty
years to your life.''
It was an odd thing that the letter
which Mr. Henry Temple had addressed
to his uncle, and which was still unan
swered, was dated Shingleton. The
medical recommendation was accepted
and acted on. And in less than a week
Mr. and Mrs. Poynings were installed
at Shingleton.
A pretty spot, and one which has, as
all the world knows, acquired a mar
vellous amount of popularity in an in ,
credibly short time. Invalids repair to
Shingleton for its invigorating breezes ;
young men and strong for its pleasant
society, and its wonderful opportunity
to the yachtsman. Singleton is also es
pecially favored by wedded couples who
are in the full celebration of their honey
moons. There is enough of distraction
to prevent Edwin becomLng heartily
runup , with Angelina. But not so much
that he is tempted away prematurely
from Iles side. For the wedded couple,
fresh front the altar, complete
solitude is an utter blunder. The face
which would bore you in a desert ac
quires additional charm when set oll' by
human accompaniments. If you de
cide upon spending a week at Shingle
ton this Summer, you will act wisely if
you put up at the Mere Hotel ; It over
looks the sea; its arrangements are ex
cellent ; it is always full, but it is never
crowded; mine host is obliging, and
the waiters know their work. It' you
wish fur seclusion you can have it, and
if you wish for society there is a table
d'hote, and the most improvisedolances
are subsequently devised in the saloon.
Mr. and Mrs. Poy Mugs had sent on a
servant to engage rooms, and by a lucky
chalice they were obtained. Not, how
ever, those which exactly suited the
somewhat whimsical temperament of
the reverend gentleman. Mr. Poyn
ings was placed on the drawing room
floor, and he would have preferred the
ground. But the suite on the ground,
the waiter informed Mr. Poynings, was
already occupied by a lady and gen
tleman—Mr. and Mrs. Temple.
A very agreeable little dinner party
was going ou that night on the ground
floor at the Mere Hotel. In Mr. and
Mrs.Tetnple's apartments—Henry Tem
ple, for It was in truth he who had an
ticipated Mr. Poynings, and who was
then staying with his bride at Shingle
ton—had met more than one old friend
on the Shingletou beach. Frank Mar
tyn was there and Frank's two sisters,
staying with their married sister—Mrs.
Massarene ; and Bob Kennedy had most
unexpectedly turned up in Sir John
Sutherland's yacht. Henry Temple, as
well ho might be, was most undisputa
bly proud of his wire, and he had expe
rienced no small satisfaction) when he
had introduced her that afternoon on
the Shingleton beach to his friends. By
a kind of intuition Ire knew at once from
the reception accorded her that she was
a success.
a No answer to the Poynings' letter,"
thought Henry to himself, "rather bad,
certainly ; but it will—it must be—all
right. Only wait till they see her. I'd
give a thousand pounds—if I had it—
could some chance bring my uncle and
aunt to Shingleton.
Frank .Martyrs was an old college
friend of Mr. Temple's, and the pair
smoked a bachelor pipe tete-a-tete that
evening after the little party was con
cluded. Frank had congratulated his
quondam chum on the newly-made Mrs.
Temple.
" Yes, Frank," observed Mr. Temple,
"she's as good as gold every inch of her.
But that only makes use the more anx
ious. If my uncle takes it as I expect
he will, I don't see how we are to exist.
I have written to him, and he has an
swered me not a word. What, in heav
en's name, would you advise me to do?"
" See him, Harry, see bins by all
means at once, and let him see her, and
then all must be right." But the inter
view was that which of all things, Mr
Temple dreaded.
Foolish ! Yes, he had been foolish, no
doubt, and wrong, too. But it was too
late to deceive what would have been
the proper course to pursue. He could
only hope that the fair young creature
whom he had made his wife might never
have cause to repent the oath which she
had plighted only a week since. Then
there was the financial aspect of the
question, and that was not re-assuring.
The exchequer was already low, and
Henry was by no means clear as to how
its replenishment was to be managed.
They had probably done wrong in going
to Shingleton ; and the Mere Hotel was
pleasant but not especially economical.
These were the thoughts which occu
pied Mr. Henry Temple as he sank to
sleep. But with the morning came light
and hope,and new happiness. It surely
would—it must be all right; and as
Harry came from his dressing-room he
kissed his wife and said, "Courage, dar
ling ! I dare say to-day's post will bring
us good news; and if it doesn't—well, I
have a head and I have a hand."
Mr. Poynings' first night at the Mere
Hotel, Shingleton, was not restful.
"Mr. and Mrs. Temple's almost the
very first names he heard in the place.
Who are they ?'' Well, the waiter's de
scription left no doubt on that htad.
Photograph could not have been more
faithful than the sketch given by the
intelligent menial aforesaid of Mr. Poyn
ings' nephew. The Mere Hotel waiter
was loud In their praises. It was the
old story.
"Harvey the handsome had wedded
The beautiful Molly LepeL"
When Mr. Poyninge, the following
morning, inquired whether Mr. and
Mrs. Temple were In their rooms, he
was informed that they had been gone
out about an hour.
It was pleasant to sit ou Shinglet , •u
' beach in that glorious July weather;
pleasant to watch the waves idly advanc
ing and receding on the sand; pleasant
to see the children at play; pleasant to
note the loungers as they strolled by, and
pleasant to inhale the glorious breeze
that came straight away over the At
lantic. Both Mr. and Mrs. Poynings,
seated on a bench on Shingleton beach,
observed all these things and enjoyed
them. They said little, but there were
more thoughts in the mind of each than
were spoken. It was a scene full of ani
mation, for the morning was bright and
Shingleton beach was covered with
loungers. Mr. and Mrs. Poynings were
both absorbed in thought, and, beyond
gazing abstractedly at the sea, paid little
attention to external objects. By those
who gossiped and promenaded along
the shore, however, the pair were not
unnoticed. Frank Marlyn knew Mr.
Poynings well ; and great was his sur
prise on turning suddenly round—he
was with his sister and the two Colches
ter girls—to see the uncle and aunt of
his intimate friend seated a few yards
off.
" Laura," he said to his sister, " look
there! As I live that is Mr. Poynings,
Temple's uncle, and his wife I And
here is Harry himself! Now for the
recognition !"
Very much occupied with each other
did the newly-wedded couple, to whom
Mr. Martyn pointed, seem. Henry
Temple and his wife it certainly was;
and close beneath the very eyes of Mr.
Poynings did the pair pass. It was the
accents of a well-known voice that ar
rested Mr. Poynings' ear :—" All will
come right, child"—those were the
words. He looked up, and he saw before
him his nephew and his wife. "All
will come right!" There was a look of
tranquil and loving confidence on
either's face which was very pleasant to
note. As Mr. and Mrs. Poynings watch
ed them, they both thought that they
had never seen two people whose faces
were eloquent of happiness so perfect.
Henry Temple was forgiven from the
first moment that Mr. and Mrs. Poyn
ings knew that they were in the pres
ence of Henry Temple and his wife.
A long ramble, past the merry groups
on Shingleton beach, went the newly
wedded couple. It was late In the after
noon when they returned to the Mere
Hotel; and a note from Mr. Poynings lay
on the table addressed to 'Henry Tem
ple, Esq." Yes, it had all come right;
and the uncle was prepared to forgive
his self-willed nephew, and to accept
his newly found niece. In the interval,
however, since breakfast, other good
agencies than those of Mrs. Temple's
bonny face had been at work for the
nephew. Frank Marty!' had had a long
interview with Mrs. Poyulngs, and
Frank's powers as a special pleader on
his friend's behalf were exercised with
as much of effect as they were of energy.
Within live minutes of the receipt of
the letter from Mr. Poynings, Henry
Temple was in his uncle's presence.—
What passed there we need not say. It
is enough to know that one of the re
sults between uncle and nephew was
that Mrs. Temple was in a very little
space of time in her uncle's presence—
an accepted niece. As Harry himself
had declared would be the case, ' it had
all come right;' and when Mr. Martyn,
who had dined with the whole party,
bade his friend, some hours subsequent
ly, good-night, he was able to say that
he had not taken too sanguine a view of
mutters on the day previous, and that
as much as ever he could wish had collie
of the stroll on Shingleton beach.—Lon
dolt Society,
A RECHLEA , S DINPERADO KILLED IN
HARRISON VILLE, MO.
Ile:Borders Two Citizens Before He Is
,From the Ilarrisonvllle r,moerat, Aug. ;0.1
One of the most fiendish and horrible
tragedies ever recorded in the grim and
bloody annals of crime was enacted in the
streets of Harrisonville on Sunday last.
Its terrible and atrocious details will be
best understood from the evidence and pro
ceedings before the Coroner's jury upon
that occasion. After Esquire Holloway
had empaneled a jury, several of our
citizens were called and sworn as wit
nesses, who testified that one S. T. Sabin,
on the afternoon of that day, without
any provocation or apparent cause, drew
his revolver in front of Dr. Barrett's and
attempted to shoot George Meyer. Parties
then got him away a short distance and
tried to pacify him, but to no purpose. He
again drew his revolver and brandished it
about, cursing and swearing and threaten
ing to shoot; then went south along the
public square, with revolver in hand; then
turned back where a number of persons
were standing, in front of the new build
ings on the west corner of the public
square, and fired at them as they tied into
the building; thence he went up stairs
into Rogers J.: Sloam's office, when Capt.
Whalen vainly attempted to pacify him;
loaded his revolver, tired at Captain
Whalen, the shot missing him, but passing
through the door and slightly wounding
Joseph Button, who was on the outside.
He next climbed out of the office-window,
on the shed or awning over the pavement,
which extends nearly the whole length of
the square on that side; traversed it to the
south end, then turned; went to the north
end of the atoning, entered the window of
Mayor Benight's office and came down the
stairway to the pavement below—started
south along the pavement, cursing and
shouting wildly, and ordering everyone to
clear the sidewalk,wbich order was prompt
ly obeyed by the unarmed citizens. By
the time he had got in front of Houghton
& Craig's drug store, Mr. Button, who was
in the store, who had succeeded in getting
a revolver, approached the door and tired
at Sabin after the latter had passed the door
about six feet. The ball missed Sabin, Wilo
instantly turned and tired upon Mr. But•
ton, the ball striking him immediately
above the right eye, terribly shattering
the skull and passing into the brain. Mr.
Button instantly fell, blood and brain
pouring from the wound. Ile continued
to breathe half an hour. Sabin then turn
ed soutivagain, and at the same time a Mr.
Haines, who was standing some ten
feet south of Sabin, received a pistol
shot.
hfill a Beale They Make
A letter from a lady correspondent at
Newport, relating the later gayeties of the
season, gets off the following:
Sitting on the hotel piazza the other
morning, watching a group of young la •
dies, I overheard a curly-headed little
maiden, who was frizzled and pannlered
and puffed in the height of the style, ex
claim, "Oh, I like the Independent best!"
A moment before I could have sworn that
in petite never looked at a newspaper, and
somewhat surprised I took the liberty of
listening further. "The Tribune suits
me," said her black eyed companion.—
"I take the Evening Post," chimed in
a stylish, saucy-looking girl, who was
pelting somebody over the railing with
pond lilies—a beautiful bunch, by the
way, which five minutes before I bad seen
a gentleman carefully selecting for her
front a little urchin's basket. And when,
I wondered, do you girls get time to read
the newspapers? "Fold them four double,
of course," was the next sentence I caught,
and more puzzled than before, I very im
politely walked near the group, when
everything was made clear to me by the
blonde little one saying, "I had rather
have a newspaper any day titan the best
pannier that was ever made in Paris." I
tell back into my Beat, uncertain whether
to laugh or to feel provoked with the chat
ter-boxes, who had strolled off to lay siege
to a party of gentlemen just from the
beach. Think of it, Mr. Tilton! think of
it, Mr. Greeley did it ever oxur to you
what a bustle you make in fashionable cir
cles?"
A Fly in the Ear
On Sunday a gentleman went with his
wife and children to see the grave of one of
their relatives at Calvary cemetery, and
while there a large fly forced its way into
the gentleman's ear, and caused intense
pain. Some one brought him an instru
ment to draw out the intruded but with
out avail. His wife came to his aid, and
the fly emerged from his hiding place.
After going home he went to sleep, but
was awakened with a sensation of excruci
ating pain. He went yesterday to Dr.
Dudley, and on examination It was found
that the insect had deposited its eggs in his
ear, and these developed Into a kind of
grub which caused the pain he complained
of. The entire brood were removed.—.S't.
Louis Republican.
Strange Frees of Nature
A strange freak of nature has taken
place in the track of the severe hailstorm
that occurred in Rockingham county, Vir
ginia some three weeks ago. We are not
aware of anything of the kind occurring
heretofore. It is this: that all the orchards
in the track of the hailstorm have come
out in 101 l bloom. Some orchards are In
as full bloom as they were in the Spring.
Not only the apples are in bloom, but
the locust trees in many places are also in
bloom. A gentleman came to my house
last week and told me on his road here he
saw an apple tree with several bushels of
ripe apples on and thousands of blossoms
on the same tree. A very pretty but strange
eight.—Baltimore Sun.
State Politics
Spe.reh of Hon Wlllltun A. Wanner, nt
Ebensburg . , Pn., September .1. 12471.
After some remarks addressed especially
to the citizens of Cambria county, Mr.
Wallace discussed State affairs:
A. clique of corrupt men control your
State Government, manage and control the
finances of the Commonwealth and run
her Treasury in their own interest and to
the great prejudice of the people.
WHERE IS THE MONEY?
Within the ten years ending December
IS7O, more than tifty millions of dol
lars have gene into the Treury of the
State, much of it wrung bytaxation from
the earnings of the people, whilst the State
debt, which, on December Ist, laki, was
less than thirty-eight millions, stood on
December Ist, 1870, at over thirty-one
mil
lions. Seven millions of debt has been
paid and more than forty-three millions
remain to be accounted for. Reckless ex
penditure, extravagance in administration
and misappropriation of assets are the see
erkil heads under which this money can be
found. It Is for those In power to show
clean hands to the people, or vacate their
places.
. .
In this contest it is our business to close
ly scan the doings of the men in power.—
Let us see in what they have been laith
less.
VIOLATIONS OF OA.TIIs-3116A1'PLICATION
OF EL - NOS-TUE STATE DEBT TOO LARGE.
This issue directly involves the manage•
ment of the State finances. If your Auditor
General's office ,be watchful, vigilant, and
pure, it is a check upon every department
of the Government,and a perfect safe-guard
against petty stealing, embezzlement, or
rubbery. In its pure administration alone
tan the people rind protection for their
treasure, and speedy payment of the State
debt. lithe people place the control of
this department in the hands of a weak or
corrupt man, or give the Vast revenues of
the Commonwealth into the keeping of
one, who, from personal interest or politi
cal sympathy, serves and obeys those who
make the treasury a source of profit and
of power, they will find the sad lessons of
the present hour recur in rapid succession.
Stern integrity, watchful vigilance, fidelity
of the loftiest character, and Implicit obe
dience to the law, as written, should char
acterize the incumbent of this important
place. We charge that some of these vital
qualifications have been found wanting in
those who now manage and control our
finances. We charge that the Republican
candidate for this office is connected, by
personal interest and politicol sympathy,
with that " Ring" of the Republican party
that runs the State treasury, and misman
ages its finances.
We charge that those who administer
the finances of the State and audit its or
colllltS have broken their oaths to support
the Constitution, have violated a plain
statute and have misapplied the assets of
the Commonwealth.
These are grave charges. Let us see the
proofs. Under the last Democratic State
administration, the Constitution With
amended by a provision that looked to the
gradual but certain payment of the State
debt; by the Constitution itself, certain as
sets and revenues belonging to the State
were devoted to that purpose, and it order
ed the Legislature of 1058 to seleit and ap
ply other resources to the same important
end ; and the Constitution, in section 4 of
Article XI, exprl,sly ordered that none of
i/woe re,unrce.r should be used ur applied
othern.i.se than in fv.tingui.ehtryd of the pub
lie debt, until it was reduced beton. fire mil
lio~t.x
(kot tar s. The Legislature of 1058
did designate these resources, and under
these provisions all of the money arising
from the proceeds of the sale of public
works, their net annual income, the in
come or proceeds of stocks owned by the
State, all license fees, collateral inheritance
taxes, taxes on bank charters and divi
dends, on corporations, on auction com
missions and entries, on writs, Act., on
public offices on foreign insurance agen
cies, on enrollment of laws, on pamphlet
laws, on loans or money at interest, on
tonnage paid by railroads, all fines and
forfeitures, revenues from land, escheats,
accrued interest, refunded cash, and gifts
to the State, was to be inviolably applied to
payment of the State debt. The Auditor-
Deneral and the State Treasurer each swears
that he will support the Constitution of this
Commonwealth. That oath required them
to apply all these moneys to the payment of
the debt. Have they done so? This can
best be settled by examining their own
reports, and ascertaining what they have
received from these resources, and what
they have paid upon the State debt.
Taking up the rive fiscal years that com
menced December 1, 10135, and ended No
vember 30, 1070, we find that in the year
ending November 30, 1866, they received
from these sources, the sum of $:3,757,796;
in 1007, the sum of $3,015,017 ; iu 1060, the
sum of $3,423 504 ; in 1009, the stun of $l,-
564 560 ; in 1570, $3,151,064 ; total received
in live years, $10,271,011, every dollar of
which, under their official oaths, shout
have been applied to payment of the .' to
debt.
has this money thus been applied ?
On Dee. 1, 1565, the
whole debt was
On Dee. 1, 1870, it was
Whole debt paid tz;i3,361,596
Interest paid on the
debt during those
years was,
In ISitti 1,592,10,5
In 1667 .
In INtS 1,979,690
In Ittzlin I,B9li,'_':ltS
IttiTU 1,46.1,011
Total interest paid
Whole debt and inter
eat paid
Whole assets received to
pay with were
caving a balance of.
which, in violation of law, of the Constitu
tion, and of official oaths, have been wrest
ed from their legitimate purpose and other
wise disposed of.
These facts cannot be denied, and they
demonstrate the light consideration that a
Republican official places upon his oath 01
office. If to these figures we add the $667,-
000 they received from the General Gov
ernment in 1060, which should have gone
to payment of the State debt (for the mili
tary loan is included in the figures I give),
and $690,000 for the one per cent, of inter
est they added upon the $23,000,000 of six
per cent, loan unnecessarily. placed, dur
ing the three years-186S, 1000, and 1670
and the cost of placing the same, we find
that the State debt should have been re
duced by at least three and a half millions
more than it is, if the plain policy of the
amendment of 1657 had been carried out.
I set out to prove violation of official
oaths and misapplication of trust assets,
and these facts and figures are the evidence.
Upon the men who now run the finan
cial and Executive branches of the State
government we charge either wanton neg
lect of their official duties, or corrupt
connivance in embezzlement of public
moneys. If either proposition be just,
they are unfit to lilt the places they hold,
and they and those they seek to place in
power should be repudiated by an out
raged public,
The Evans-Jou is too recent and too
plain In its glaring depravity to need de
tailed explanation. That,5291,000 of the peo
ple's money is now and has been for months
past In the hands of an employee, pet or
partner of State officials, or in the hands
of those officials themselves, is a tact
that they do not attempt to deny. That
they refuse to account for or pay it over, is
equally clear. That no legal right or claim
or shadow of claim exists for this is gen
erally admitted. That, until within two
months, neither the State Treasurer, the
Auditor General, nor the Governor, at
tempted to secure the money to the Treas
ury is undeniable, and is not denied.
Can any good reason be given for the:ab
solute silence of the Auditor-General and
the State Treasurer, fur four years, in re
gard to the doings of this man Evans,whom
they and their political associates entrust
with power over millions of the money of
the people? Why was he not cited to settle
his accounts long since in the office of the
Auditor-General? Whv has the State
Treasurer been so lenimit with this large
public debtor? Are they in the job, or are
they simply incompetent for their places?
Why is it that civil process is issued, with
tardy and leisure-like alacrity, and the
debtor warned before the process reaches
the Sheriff? Why is such a process taken
at all? Is it that the State may compel him
to take the insolvent laws and she pay the
costs? Is it that, in the tedious
windings of "the laws, delays," public
opinion may be blunted and dulled by
lapse of time and the debtor and his ac
complices both go free? Is it that the
"short, sharp and decisive" remedy of a
warrant and indictment for the palpable
crime would disclose to the wronged peo
ple the names and places of those who have
shared the plunder and who planned the
robbery? Why is the man who has told
the people of the wrong done them re
moved from the place that earns a liveli
hood for himself and family? If his state
ments be false, confront him with the crim
inal and prove him what your cowardly
attack upon him asserts him to be. The
truth is patent; the job complete; the
"Ring" has robbed:the Treasury, and four
years' silence, and tardy and inefficient ac
tion, when pressed to the wall, demonstrate
that the financial officers of the State are
either deep in the plot, neglectful of their
plain duties, or incompetent for their
places. They will be equally comlortable
In either horn of the dilemma.
Are these the men possessed of stern in
tegrity, watchful vigilance, faithful to their
trust and obedient to law, to whom we have
entrusted the finances of the State? Can it
be that the people design to place in the de
partment that passes and finally adjudi
cates their own financial transactions, the
pet protege and nominee of these mon
Who does not know, who so blind as not
to see the gross outrages upon the people
that such a combination can, and, judging
by the past, will perpetrate. Stanton is the
nominee of the "BMW' that runs the Treas
ury, of the men who misapply the assets of
the State, who aid and abet embezzlement
and wrongs upon the people
Elect him and you initiate a carnival of
fraud, an era of corruption, such as this
Commonwealth has never seen. The con
trol of vast financial resources, without
direct accountability, places your seats of
honor and of trust within the grasp of the
very men who dishonored our State, dicta
toted the nominations of Governors and
Senators, and, with the money of the peo
ple, controlled elections, by contributing
to wholesale frauds therein, by debauch
ing and manipulating election officers and
by the foulest means maintainiugand per
petuating their own power.
M=3il=Ml
In the success of the Democracy we find
the solution of two questions of grave im
portance; the repeal of that practical denial
of the capacity of the people of Philadel
phia for self-government, embodied In the
Registry law for that city, and the settle•
meet of a Congressional apportionment
Just to both parties and equitable In all its
details. Resides those, we win the vantage
ground for the great battle of 1872, in
which we choose a Governor and a Presi
dent. Victorious now, we are inspired
with courage and with hope, and the bat
tle will be easily won against a despondent
and demoralized the ; defeated now, we
face an uphill contest with the prestige of
success against us. I speak plainly, for all
thinking men reeoguizo the truth of these
practical propositions, and I seek to arouse
you to earnestness, to energy, tu deterntiu
ed work to win this tight.
('A N wE (WV Ens ou ELv
The Registry Law under which you vote
commits no wrong upon your people; it
leaves to you the free choice of your elec•
lion officers In the manner that ancient
usage and familiar statutes pointed out.
The people with the ballot select. their
Judges and Inspectors iit Eleetions; the
party that preponderates is entitled to the
majority, the fewer in no to the mi
nority upon the Board. This has come to
lie recognized as a fundamental privilege
among us, and the potpie of the State would
submit to no law that would take from them
the right hi choose these officers, and their
inherent sense of Justice grants to the mi
nority their plain right of representation
upon these Boards. Tine is nut the law in
the great city of Philadelphia. The people
there have no right to vote for election offi
cers. They are disfranchised and Una r power
is vested in a Board of Aldermen, elected
'or an entirely different purpose. Hrre,
he peo p le Meet the Amsessors, and they
nuke out the registry list and place upon
I. the mulles of the voters. There, the
Board of Aldermen, appoint the men
to make out the registry lists, and In
variably appoint two Roptibileitilii and one
Democrat. Here, the Democrats alert a
Democratic Assessor in a Denioeratio
The,, the Board appoint two-Re
publicans and one Democrat in every tile
[riot., whether Republican or Democratic,
and the majority controls. 1 - nder the dic
tation of corrupt anti desperate mon, thin
power has grown up to 118 ft must Proitful
source of impurity in the elections of Phil
adelphia. Men are appointei as canvass
ers who know no law, and recognize no
system of morals, but the success of their
arty and the iittallinloot of their own self
ish ends and those of their designing lead
ers. They, without hesitation, strike from
the registry lists the names of voters who
are duly qualified, and ail,' thereto the
113111 es of those Who have no shadow of
right to vote.
No legal power exists to preecnt these infa
mous wrongs.
Here, in a Democratic district, you elect
the Judge and one of the Inspectors, and
the Republicans elect the caner. There., the
Board of Aldermen select the election offi
core In every district, and Invariably choose
the men who do their bidding and suit the
purposes of the Republican majority of the
Board, and in the selection of officers the
Board of Aldermen take especial care to
choose astute and unscrupulous Republi
cans, who will do the bidding of their party
friends, and almost invariably select illiter
ate, weak or corruptible men as Democrat
ic election officers. By the electi in of
shrewd and unscrupulous men upon one
side, and of incompetent or corruptible
men upon the other, the door to fraud and
wrong is widely opened, and the purity of
the ballot is utterly destroyed. Such has
now come to be the case in the city of Phil
adelphia, and tIW voice of her people is
stilled by the wiles and machinations 01
lawless men, acting under the forms of an
unjust statute. Canvass lists are "doctor
ed ;" ballot boxes are stuffed ; returns are
altered, forged, and manipulated, and fraud
and violence in their worst forms are re
sorted to in order to maintain the political
supremacy of desperate and evil men.
The true remedy for these wrongs con
sist in restoring to the people the rights
taken from them, and in making the gent
• al law applicable to the city of Philadel
p 0.
In the recent session of the Legislature
we sought to amend this law by allowing
the votes to be counted in the presence of
the Judges of the Courts, by giving the
Courts the power to put on names left off
the registry, by mistake or fraud, and by
giving the minority of the Board of Alder
men the right to select their duo proportion
of election officers for each election district.
31,1111, 2
Under the dictation of the men who are
now upon the ticket in Philadelphia, this
was refused by the Republican House of
Representatives, and we now come to the
people to demand the repeal of this unjust
law. Its gross injustice is so patent that
nearly every Republican paper in Phila
delphia lots condemned it; but it serves
their purposes of fraud and false counting.
So reckless and bold have these men be
come that they condemn public opinion
and openly proclaim their Intention to
count themselves in. They reckon without
their host if so daring a game be attempted.
'rho Democracy of Philadelphia are aroused
and determined, and with publicsentiment
upon their side, they will do what is neces
sary to secure a fair count. Wo have the
votes and we have the physical power of
the city, as well as its moral support and
popular voice, and we would be worse than
fools to permit a gang of desperate knaves
to count us out. Fraud, false counting,
forgery of returns, riot, bloodshed and
murder, all and each in turn, have been
perpetrated at the command of the lawless
men who run the Republican organization
in that city, but public patience is at last
exhausted, and those who respect order
and love law, are upon our side and will
give us their support and encouragement
in their preservation. In the performance
of a just act; or in the prevention of a gross
wrong, public opinion sacrifices the means
employed.
To repeal this vile law, and give those
people the rights that you pOnNONS, will be
one of the first fruits of the victory to which
we invite you. To re-endorse thin funda
mental principle, and to vindicate the right
of the people to govern themselves in every
locality, will be an achievement that will
reflect honor upon all who aid in its ac
complishment.
,IS,° - 1,111
DMZ
The struggle of last session for a just
Tegislative apportionment warns us that
we will be mercilessly treated by our an
tagonists in the event of their success, in
the matter of a Congressional apportion
ment, and to those who aspire to Congres
sional honors, or love fair play, this adds
an additional argument for zeal In the con
test.
Under the infamous gerrymander of 10432,
we have been disfranchised and outraged.
Its practical workings during the last four
terms, when reduced to an average, dem
onstrate that it required 35,802 votes to elect
a Democratic Congressman, whilst 17,800
votes were enough to elect a Republican.
The difference between the parties in the
whole vote polled at the, elections has been
but about 31,000 votes, yet during these
four terms sixty-four Republicans have
been sent to Congress. whilst but thirty
one Democrats have tilled their place.
Can I adduce any more potent argument
for the necessity of work than there figures
show,?
Our enemy plumes himself upon our al
leged distractions and divisions, and ar
gues hence an easy victory. Let me tell
him to "lay not this flattering unction to
his soul." The so-called distractions and
divisions of the Democracy are settled in
their own ranks and in their own way.—
They will bring neither aid nor comfort to
the enemy. Taat which they are pleased
to call "a new departure" we do not so
regard. There is no such word in the vo
cabulary of Democracy as abandonment of
principle. Their alleged " new departure"
is a simple recognition of the doctrines they
have always maintained; to obey that
which has the forms and sanctions of
constituted autimrity, until relieved from
their obligation to obey, by the consti
tutional tribunal or the power that en
acted the law. In this we differ now as we
always have differed, with our antagonists;
tee obey law; they nullify their obligations,
and preach a higher law. We have made
no departure from our universally received
and recognized doctrine, that the control of
the question of suffrage within the States
ought to belong to the States and the people,
nor does either our practice or our theory
warrant the charge that we would nullify
any enactment by fraud or violence. The
principles we advocate are those upon
which the government grew to great
ness and to power, and which the Democ
racy has always enunciated and main
tained; obedience to law, the right of
local self-government and sound practice
of constitutional government, economy in
public expenditure, and the just rights of
the States and of the people. The Democ•
racy of Pennsylvania have closed up their
ranks and will come to the polls with un
broken front, buoyant {with hope and in
spired with confidence, proud of their can
,ffidates, who belong to no ring and have
no affiliation with corrupt cliques,
Whose personal, civil and military re
cords are above reproach, whose gal
lantry has been tested on many battle
fields, where they were trusted leaderg in
r,ISTATE OF ROBERT CONNELL, LATE
or Lencook township. Lancaster county,
deceased.—Letters Testamentary on said ea
tate having been granted to the undersigned,
all persons indebted to raid decedent are re
quested to make linmedlate Settlement, and
those having claims or demands against the
estate of said decedent, to make known the
sonic to Henry Barton without delay, residing
in Leacoeic township, Lancaster county.
/Able.. 4 M. BARTON.
SA WL BARTON,
Executors.
NUMBER 3r
NOTICEI
To the Hel,rs and Legal Reprencntaf Ives
of Michael Flatok, late or East Earl township,
Lancaster county, Pennsylvania, d e ceased:—
You ate hereby notified, that by virtue of an
ord, of he Orphans' Court of Lancaster
county, Pennsylvania, to me directed, I will
hold an inquest to divide, part or value the
real estate of Michael Ranek, deCessed. on
FRIDAY, the alit day of OCCOBEtt, PM, at
o'clock, •. it., at the public house of Martin
Grebe, in East Earl township, Lancaster
county, Pa., when and where you may attend
if you t h Ink prope-. F. MY ERS, Sheriff.
Sheriff's Office, Lancaster, Pa., Aug, :IS, 1071.
aus3o--ItwC,
fnl the Court of Common
Pleas of Lancaster Co,
Abraham Nixdorf, Alias Snomna for
Divorce
Mery I to August Term, MI.
Ho. at
T D NARY IVIXDORF.--.YOU ARE.
hereby notified that depositions of witnes
ses IO he read in evidence In the above east,
on the part of petitioner, will ho taken before
the Commissioner appointed by the Court for
the purpose. At the Wilco of Wel:031111118,0014-
er, 3 Court Avenue. In the 'City of Lane..
h,r. on Monday, November P.d WI, between
he hours of 9 A. M. 111111 4 I'. M. of said day,
when and where von may attend If you think
proper. SAMUEL. H. PRICE,
sett w3O Commissioner.
A C('OICSTS OF TRUST ESTATES. fie.
Tin] Accounts of the following named Es
tates will be prevented for confirmation on
DAY, tiEPI'EM 'LER 10th, ;
Edwin :11111,1i' Assigned P . :l4de, Cooper
et Al. Assignees.
:StarlinCi. Keller's Assigned Estate, I. F. lion,
Berger, et Al. Assignees,
Levi Bon's Assigned Evicts, Joins M. A in
weg, Assignee.
Joseph R. Myers' Assigned Estate, J. H. Shu
man, Anivignre.
John C. Coehritn's Assigned Entitle, lier.lav
min Snavely, Assignee.
Mary Lelli's Trust. E,tnle, Jaeob I. Steinman,
Committee.
fiugin-ftw3l
W. I). ST AUFF ER,
Prothonotary
Prothonotary's 0111,,,, Aug. 21, 1871.
DEGISTER'S ACCOUTM
11 of the following persons era filed In the
Hegistees intl., of tam-aster county fur eon
firmat lon and allowance at an Orphatne Court
to be held In t he City MU...aster, on Monday,
September lab ti, 1071, at 10 o'clock, A. Id.
Alexander Danner, Executor of Charles I'.
(Muhl.
John Strohm, Jr., Guardian of Levi Cobol.
Moses Ilea, nut log Executor of Christian Hess
John Kreider, Testamentary Guardian of the
minor children of John M. Horst, deceased.
Levi K. Brown, Guardian of Mary E., Esther
If, nail Samuel L. Jackson.
John Solltionnrhige, Executor of Wm. Harsh.
yllrhncl U. }tarnish and 311(.01) Harn lull, Tes
tamentary Trustees of Nancy 'famish.
Jacob S. Trout, Administrator on Catharine
Swart ley.
John Strohm, Jr., Executor of Fanny Thomas,
George D. eprevher, Executor of C. Elehel
bonier.
11, F. Rowe, Guardian of Franklin Kreider,
Elias K reltier, Mary Kreider and Susan
k reider.
Wilhelm's.. Huebner; Ailmluistral. lx of
Philip Huebner.
Charlotte Peek, .Administratrix of George
Woad ngton Perk.
Edwin Konl gmacher and Samuel Wolf, Uttar
.l M.O. of Edwin 1...10A,
Edwin Kmn igmaeller and Hain net Wolf, Guar•
dial. of Wlll lum.J. Landes.
Mary Ann Ashton, Administratrix of Eliza
beth Wilhelm.
11. M. I ireneumn, Administrator of Edward T.
Mellinger.
Charles swolgart and Jacob S. Shirk, Admin.
IstratorsofJohn Sweigart.
Samuel Wolf, Guardian of Susanna Kemper,
Math. Kemper and Elizabeth Kemper.
Wm. Enek, Guardian of Addison Zartnnan.
Abraham U. Brenner, Administrator of Henry
B. Brenner,
Christian Hartman, ....Inninistrator of John
Hartman.
Jlllll. 11l boon and Samuel Gibson, Executors
of James Wham..
Charlotte Hacker arid Dr. Joseph S. 7111110,
AIIIIIIIIIstrator,.I John S. Hacker.
Maria Bowman and Christian E. Bowman,
Administrator.. of Rev, Jacob Bowman,
John Musser, Executor of (leo. W. 'ferry,
Benjamin Herr, (tanner), Guardian of Jacob
Rohrer.
Albert F. Eborman and E. M. Eberman, Ex
ecutors of Samuel F. Ebernmn,
Christian Hackman, Exeeutorof Peter Cramer,
Philip Meek, John Meek and David Meek, Ex
ecutors or Ueorge Meek.
Rudolph Rauch, Administrator, dr hoofs
710n11rem trsturrirtalo watac.ru of Christian
Smith.
George Long, administrator of Jacob Fell.
Andrew Charles, Administrator of Abram...,
Stetter.
William Wilson, Athol n istrator of Amanda
McClurg.
Amos L. NVlLmer, Guardian of George Newton
Le Fevre.
Elizabeth Hawk, Administratrix of Lorenz.°
Hawk,
C. M. Morgan, Administrator of Barbara .More
gan.
Adam Oberlin, Jacob Oberlin, 'Samuel Eiger,
and Jacob blacker, Executors of John Ober-
Rev. Samuel Harley, and Ed win IConigmaellerj
Administrator...if Marla Harley.
John It, Witmer, Administrator of Elizabeth
Witmer.
Benjamin II Charles and Breneman U. SM..
man, Administrators of Benjamin Charles.
Benjamin Bauman, Administrator cf Magda
lena P. 1.11111.1.
John Hastings, Executor of Clark Phillips.
Joseph Frantz and Hem Eby, Executors of Ja
cob Frantz.
David L. Glacken and Martha Ann \V1...e1,
(late Cilacken.,) Executors of Patrick Glacken.
David L. Olaelren and Martha Ann, U lacken
Executors of Patrick Illacken.
Julio W. Mend err and Catherine Frantz, Ad
ministrators .q.lacol. Frantz.
Elizabeth U. Eshleman, Administratrix of
John Gyeer.
A. P. M'llvalu, Testamentary Guardian, of
Simeon S., Attalla, Viola, Sarah Jane, A MUM
M. and Ida Hockey.
George K. Reed, Adult n ii.trator, with line will
annexed, of Elizabeth F. heed.
Peter McConomy, Executor of James Ward.
A. II err Smith, Trustee, appointed by the Or
phans' Court to hell real rotate of Julia A.
Posey, deceased.
Jacob C. Pfahler, Guardian of Mary B. Shu
man.
Dr. John Rend Ig, Guardian, of Mary Ilan.
Daniel U. Brown, Wm. O. Brown and Isaac
Shirk, Executors of Win. Brown.
Susanna Martin, Executrix of Peter Martin,
deceased, who was Guardian of Louisa Hahn
Jurob 1.. Stehinan, Guardian of Eugene A
Burnett.
John M. Steinman, Guardian of Serena A.
Spick ler.
Nieholm Executor of Simon Kind.
Jacob B. Fileic Inger, Adrn In iutrator with the
Win annexed, ofJacol. 11. Flickinger.
liannuth Ferguson, Adrululstratrix. of William
S. Ferguson.
=ED
BAILEY ate CO},
CHESTNUT AND E2TE STREETS,
I I. A.DELPHIA.
Jewelers and Silversmiths,.
Have completed arrangements with leadin g
Makers In Enropin'. by which they are now an
abled to Mier
FINE WATCHES,
AT MODERATE PRICES.
Sathdrietien guaranteed in all cases.
Goods sent by Express am approval.
Strangers are cordially Inv lied to visit our
establishment. my2l-lyw2l
WATC H E S •
CARD!
J. E. CALD WELL & CO.,
No. 902 CHESTNUT ST.,
PHILADELPHIA.
Desire to Invite the special attention of par
eliasers and others visiting the city, to their
unusually large and varied assortment of
NE IV JEIVELI,F,
FINE WATCHES
OP MOST RELIABLE MAKERS,
GOLD CHAINS,
ARTISTIC SILVERWARE
For Bridal and other Presentations,
TABLE CUTLERY, ELECTRO PLATED
GOODS OP FINEST QUALITY,
French Clocks, Bronzes and Mantel
Ornaments,
Received DIRECT FROM PARIS during the
present season.
Courteous and polite attention is extended
to all who may be induced to accept a cordial
invitation to visit their beautiful store,
Julystfw27
No. 902 CHESTNUT STREET.' ,
PATENT PORCELAIN LINED
IRON CYLINDER
FARM PUMPS!
FOR CISTERNS AND WELLS
OF ANY DCPTEI TO lOC IT. •
No. 31 EAST KING STREET,
nue() WM. D. SPRECHER. "'9mw•33
a fighting corps that has been and will be t,.
pride of every true Pennsylvanian. The
Democracy will be at the polls an harm°•
nious, united and determined party, ready
to meet an effete,oorropt and degraded or
ganization, whose chief bowitictbat they
have made the negro their equal, whose
great power is the corrupt use of tbe public
moneys, whose most trusted leaders are
disgusted and recalcitrant, whose present
loaders are mainly Federal officials and
whose organization, in almost every lead
ing Republican county In the State, is
broken into fragments,cliquas and sections.
R is a shell, full of emptiness and rotten•
nese, and it will collapse and stink when
punctured and broken by:the serried ranks
of a victorious Democracy.
LEGAL .N OT.ItLeS.
aug3o Gtw•33
!HENRY S. HRENCK.
Regllitur
WATCHES AND JEWELRY.
FARM PUMFd