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[April 12,114. J:
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FIRST NATIONAL BANK,
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A FEW COPIES OF THE ROAD
LAVI . r3 cam be bid ektble Office.
00ORICH & HITCHCOCK. Publishers.
Brown children of the autumn wood,
you tell me of Um olden time.
When o'er tho hillside paths I roamed,
In bright October's golden prime.
liihen Meath the maples all aflame,
. 3 1. ' dreamed the pleasant lungs away
While round me like a picture fair
The ethodlande In tt etr eauty
And the white, mist-like fairy veil,
Como slowly creeping up the bill,
!rem whore the slyer hastened on
To the broad pond beside the mill.
There *mid the grass and fragrant ferns,
- Just parted from their burry home, •
And the leaves all saffron dyed,
The chestnuts lay around me strewn.
then what joyous task was mine.
311 basket with brown nuts to-Ail;
White 'mid the boughs the light-winged jay
Gfres me a welcOme loud and shrill.
flow well I lord each woodland voice,
• The . aquirrers chirp, the.brook'a low song,
The music of the air-harps wild,
Borne by the wondering winds along. .
That mossy seat beneath the trees, •
The wood with . splcy perfume sweet,
Tlei carpet golden. green and brown,
By Nettie() spread beneath my feet.
I ne'er shall see such woods again,
Those autumn days can come no more;
For life has drifted nip away
From youth's enchanted lioaery shore.
How strong the tie that binds the heart
To all it ioved when life was new I
The hillside path, the otehard slope,'
. The pastures where the berries grew.
♦nd hero In commerce-crowded mart;
Amid this restless, busy life,
Where all the wurid seemsmet tome 't•
Who shall ho foremost In the strife,
‘lll4 all the sounds that rill the street,
These small brown nuts in boxes piled,
Bring back to me my vanished youth, •
And I am once again a child.
• —Carrie in Forest and Stream
-. . PART I.
They called us ' the Wolves, • us
tlitee brothers, we and our old father,
Baron Wolfgang von Wolf. They
say. that we look like
which desolates the fold of the steep-
herd and carries a terror to the heart
of the wandering boy and girl. Cer
tainly w — Co:11 had rather sharp teeth,
except my brother Ludwig, who had
inherited the beauty of ray mother,
and her melancholy blue eyes; fine,
high-sculptured . nose,and small, even
white reeth - , not . at.al . like a welt's.
We_ lived in a great castle, near to
Szegazard on the river. Sarvis, south,
May 1, '7
of i'esth, and not far from thePan
ube, with a view from our Winiows
Which had not its equal in the W orld
fOr picturesque beauty. No, there
are no such hills, such skies as those.
My, mother was a Roumanian, and
differed from my father in religion.
She had died when I was .born.
have nothing of her .but her picture,
a tress of her long, golden hair, and
her book of prayers.
Some great tragedy had happened,
some terrible ntisfolnne, to my fa
ther, we never knew• what. Gloom
and severity were_ his two inseparik
hie companions. He used the whip
freely upon..ds, as boys, and upon all.
his servants and laborers.' He was
feared and• hated as few have been,
-and women ran when they saw him,
for . they said that he , bad killed his
own wife and would blight their chil
dren. He had, bOwever, an , old
monk: to teach us t 6 read. and write,
a most excellent man called Frere
Frani, who taught us Greek - and
Latiri and•mathematicsiand how to
paint and to draw, for be could
mina his Breviary like Fra. Angell
co. t: Frere Franz took us to church
and' taught us •to pray before 'the
image of the Blessed Virgin. We
owed to this man everything, and
particularly that in summer he used
to take us to his convent, which was
near that lovely nethborhookwhere .
the 'spurs of the mountain chain, de
scending . from • Transylvania, unite
with the great Alfold plain. ~ There
with the holy minks we stayed in.
comfort, being•allowed to ride*t will
over a vast green basin of rirairie,
once an inland sea, where thole. were
to roads, having for thetime the in-
estimable boon of liberty and the
privilege of getting_ lost, so_dear -to
boyhood, yet always bringing up at,
night at some village or market town,
sometimes going even on to Erdio-i
szeh (where Ernest 'found' his ro
ma ce), and where we all had some
wild , adventures. Yet we .. always
found ourselves, and got back to the
holy calm .of . the convent and the
serene companionship of those Monks;
who. had been noblemen.and sOldiers .
in their day, and seemed to loye . us
well. Frere Franz was the great
blessing of ourselVes, mitigating the
troubles and the - peculiarity- -of a
destiny which we could - not under
stand ; for we were noble but poor,
our: only wealth the uncertain yield
of vineyards, which gave usually a
rougish red, spirituous, fruity-taSted
wine. There-was a I;etter hillside
vineyard (seldom sat isfabtory),..whid,
we had heard belonged` to Ludwig.
ThiS yielded a white wine; - with a
fresh, cool taste, and pleasant faint
' bouquet, but we - made very little of
that, except in good years. One old
woman, called. -Felehaza, who . . had, a
black mustache and severe features,
was our cook and nurse, , the only 1
woman whoni we ever saw in our'.
house. Our table was served with
heavy soups, big joints, and fish from
the Sarvis, and vegetableS in great
bowls: MY fathei , ate like a wolf;
we were not far behind, and we all
drank of the heady, red wine—my
brother Ernest too ninch,.so that he
was. first silly, then quarrelsome, and
then sleepy—every day 'at dinner..
Ludwig was not so -easily excited,
. but when he was made angry he and
Ernest fought horribly, and my father
would get the whip t , separate them',
like two' angry dogs. I was not as
strong as my brothers, nor 'could I
eat and drink as they. did. Some
tenderness always seemed %to follow
me, as a child whose mother had died,
and old Felehaza had ever a bit of
kid boiled for me, or Fere Franz
gave me some of his lentil soup on
fast.days,-or my father told Ludwig
to. pour water in my wine, when I
could not attack the heavy dinners
which the other Wolvei ate.
to Study and. read, and - particularly
to Paint with Ludwig, who had a
.great-room in the, north turret of the
THE WOLFS DEN.
Ccastle, where he bad a roll of canvas
see_ oil paints, and who had covered
the_ :walls with fresco. _
Often I wondeied where hegot
hitt_ saintly women's faces and his
beautiful fancies. The peasant girls
whom we flirted with at the village
fairs, the high-born ladies whom we
sometimes saw at church, none of
them looked like the women in Lud
wig's pictures, and he; great, hand
some fellow that he was, never seem
ed to care for women, either. Ernest
and I *ere the Lotharios of the fam
ily, , biit Ludwig.. was sombre and
gloomy, and seemed to have some
thing in his character like my father,
with whim he had a strange relation
ship. They rarely spoke together,
add yet we hearif at times long, seri
ous and angry" discussions between
them, when they , would shut them
selves up in a room and lock the
door.. Ludwig was the only creature
on the face of - the earth that my fa
ther feared. I began to notice all
these things, as I grew to 136.16, and
so on all these years we lived; as
wild a set of barbarians as could be
found in the neighborhood of the
Danube. We were all fearless, ex
pert horsemen; could shoot and fish,
and, in the season of the vintage,
help to gather the grape, flirt with
the pretty girls who came to work in
the fields, followed , up the somewhat
pastoral business -of shearing and
killing the sheep. and not entirely
neglecting Frere Franz and his books
and paints. That , we had any , future
never seemed to occur to us; altho'
the boys with whom we had played
went off to be soldiers. We had once
heard Ludwig ask my father to let
him go to Vienna and become a sol
dier-also. My father had answered
angrily, and told us we were not to
leave Szegszard unless we wished to
be Insulted, to get into an Austrian
fortress, perhaps. Then we beganto
suspect that lie had been guilty- of
some political offense; that we were
ostracized, and bore a tainted•name,
a dreadful thing I'm boys to suspect. .
I was 18, Ernest was 20, and Ludwig
was 22 when the great event of our
life happened. little carriage
drawn by three fleet Hungarian
horses, hung with bells,came trotting
into Szegszard one fine morning, and,
in it was the President of the Komi.
fat, and by his side a young lady.
I was on my shaggy pony, stop
ping for a moment at our wine mer
chants to gather his account to carry
to my father, when I heard the Pr
ideut speak out in a grand, pompo ms
voice, and say :
'Can you tell :me where lives the
Baron Wolfgang von Wolf?'
; • I
,took off my cap and bowed to
the lady and hiinsell,, and answered :
'I am the Count Erody von Wolf,
at your service,' said I. 'Can I con-.
duct you to my father, the Baron
von Wolf?' 4 ,
'Politely Spoken, my golden haired
youth,'" said the PresidenWpolitely
spoken ; yes,: I bring'you a cousin
from Paris, • Mademoiselle Marie Lu
cille de Zicby.'
I felt all the blood in my body go
to my face. ''Zichy l' that name had
belonged to - my mother. A cousin
from . Paris,and coming to our Wolf's
den 1 ..
Erody does not seem glad
.see me ?' said' theyoung lady in
the most sweet, frank, pleasant voice,
'but I 144 comecome to make you
a visit. you must make--really you
must make the best of the'
I suddenly felt I was dressed in
slice psk Ina; that my boots of untanned
leather were raggedi that my hands'
were brown, coarse and dirty, that I .
,savage. I thought of Case
Wolf; what's( place for a lady l and
such a lady ! . For as I stole a4ook
at her 'I saw a slender, delieate, tall
girl, with smooth,lilack hair folded
back front' her-white brow; dark blue
eyes with long lashei ; , a red mouth
full of mischief and smiles.. She' was
dressed l ' in dark:-blue cloth, with
bright buttons doivn the 'front, and -a
little hat; with a long 'blue feather
floating beak from. her heavenly face.
I - noticed her hands, they were so
small, long and. lithe, and her gloves
fitted her like her
,skin. She looked
like no woman that I . hadi - ever seen
in my life, but she did look like—
like, what ? Yes.
' Like LudWig's pictures_! . - -
When I had shoWn the President's
driver the road up to the castle, I
told his Excellency, with' a bow, that
I would spur, on my pony, and go to
prepare my father for the visitors.
I saw Frere Franz in the court
yard and . told - him the astounding
news, leaving him' to- break it to the
Baron, while I dashed up to my room
and washed my face and hands .and
combed my long hair. Then I called
to Ludwig, Who was painting in the
turret. Ile, too, made himself de
cent, and we' both reached the 'door
as my father was helping the young
lady to alight.-, She did not. notice
Us much, being taken up with our
dogs, ezilagy and Mards, two ,splen
did wolf ;hounds, who had barked at
every visitor we had ever had before,-
savage beasts, but who now were
'actually kissing tier gloved hands,-so
sweet and.gentle was she. ,
'Oh l what lovely dogs, what dear
dOgs,' said cousin Lucille, who evi
dently- knew how to win man and
beast Baron. Wolfgang
. Von ,Wolf
was a gentleman, a man of Sixteen
quarterings and although he had
just been killing iiJ sheep, he did re
ceive the lady with a stately Civility.
We were more like.sheep than wolves'
before her 1 She, however, soon gave
me her hand, and looked up in Lud
wig's - handsonie, melancholy. face,
with a - serene,comPosure which - was
reassuri, and said : 'Forgive me
for sha g hands 'with the dogs
first;' en, as
approved of her, she blush
ed most beconiirglyandlecepted his
proffered arm with a' little *able,.
which put them at once in the Proper'
position of man and woman, of - pro,
team' , and protected.
..; . .
All ire were told was that this lady\
was our; 'distant cousin, that we were
to make the castle as comfortable as
possible for her, and that we were to
ask no questions .1, saw the Baron
later, taking the whip to Fetehazi,
- who, with the privilege of 'an old ser
vant, was 'growling over, the
_ comer, so lasked.none.. , - ,
TO*ANpAi - •.BWFORD-: -.. qpiTF#i. ;._? - 4,i ,. .; i lH*,to4Tii-moVii,G,.',..:.:.,ltompEA -,; 3, .1881.-
My mother's 21X1111, long closed,
was unlocked for the guest, andshe
came down in a few inpments,
freak- smiling, composed, praising
the prospect, praising eveqthing.
It was not long before. Lucille had
won Felehaza , a confidence, and the
dinner table boasted again a table
cloth. Old trunks and table linen
were unlocked, and the Baron's, silver
chest yielded its treasures, the sound
of hammer and chisel was heard in
the rooms, and I became an upholster
in her Service, nailing up old tapes
tries and curtains. Lucille insisted
that Ludwig should fresco her room,
and she bought muslinat the village
which soon fluttered in- the. thinning
breeze from , her casement, giving a
refined air to our donjon keep. . Oh,
how she liked the dogs, the puppies,
the ponies, and what a horse-woman
she was a little timid at first, but
soon a seat across country that was
- marvelous. She would not hear of
our making a change in our toilettes.
she said ; 'those sheepskins
were so picturesque and suited to
the landscape.' She soon got out of
Ernest the fact that be loved a young
girl at Erdioszegh ; she taught him
how to write and fold his love letters;
she reproved him for drinking too
much ; she corrected our French,
which was something. archaic; she
ab§olutely "trimmed ' the Baron's
beard ! A, .young girl from the vil
lage was introduced as parlor-maid;
or waiter ' or what-not, and Lucille
soon had her in cap and - apron wait
ing upon the Wolves, at table. We
were, all being changed from animals
to men. A woman's band, what was
it not to the sad, flay-civilized and
neglected h9ys, who haa t . grown up
in the old stone castle t , without the
sight of a woman?. •
Lucille found joy in oUr),noble
landscape, happiness in our ,Out-of
door life ;" She seemed always to be
discovering a bit of carving, a majol
ica 'jug an old mirror; or curious
chair, w hich was before unknown and
unnoticed: She brought in taste;
that best of visitors, and :love and
beauty Snd refinement to our den.
The W:9lVes in her presence forgot
all their grossness. The young girl
carried with her an atmosphere which
repelled while it. allured, and altho'
alone in our Wolves' den, she was as
safe as if she bad been in the moon.
Something of the boy mingles in
the character of such a woman as she.
The Rosalinds, the Violas of great
Sbakspeare give us. the keynote. Her
jolly companionship with us for a
season shut the dangerous door of
sentiment. I had no mysterious fear
of her, as I had heard-that men had
of the woman whom they loved; 'and
although her Parasian fineries and
pretty boots and-gloves charmed my
senses like a new perfume, I still felt
capable of gayly criticising her g owns
and ribbons, if they did not alt ogeth-
er isuit her surroundings. Ludwig
told her that her favorite pink dress
was horrible ; she was equally frank
iu despising his one broadcloth, badly
wide suit. We
,Were comrades as
well as cousins , and joked each other
But Pandora's box had been open
ed, _and the troubles were sae to
-‘l.Auciile goes away to-morrow ; she
goes back to Paris to be married,'
said the Baron one day, as she bad
departed to the kitchen, to instruct
Feleliaza in the manufacture of a new
salad. She had -been with -us all
summer—a golden summer for the
I felt as if' an. icylleart had
thel place 'of that warm viscera. which
before had beaten in - my bosom, and
I looked up at Ludwig. He was as
pale. as :death. : Ernest - could only
. 'So the sunshine goes out of the
Wolves' castle, does it ?' said lie. .
"Yes!" . said, the Baron, gloomily.
'Lucille: has been very .charthing.
She will make a noble wife—an omit. - -
ment to the - rich and fathous family
which:she enters.. Women love lux
ury. They must have it. She . ,,be
longs to _your mother's blood 1 he
loved luxury. I could not give it to
her: We are. poor.'. - • -
Why. hat she • come here—this
daughter of the gods? . Why had she
entered our mountain fastness? That
we dared not ask. We only heard
ani remembered that last sentence . —
'We are poor' The:Baron permitted
no questions. . • • . .
It was; Ernest who had the courage
to speak to her of -her marriage. It
'Was a .family arrangement, she said,
li and that'she supposed :it was all righC
She seemed tor be, as we were, ignort
ant of all that most immediately con
cerne.d herself, The Zichys were a
queer family, as, we Could not but
reflect. And then I
up the hi h hill that looks over .to
thewall - __of
,t . .he . Danube, arid cola ;
muned h my own heart, and' was
still.' I for the first time knew that
I was a than and not a boy ; that II
Toyed her, and must win her, else my :
heart wbuld._, break—and. yet,. what
-.had Ito offer her ? -,
As •.I came home ;at nightfall I I
heard in, the wood . ` near me 'two.
horses come slowly along I Stepped
behind a mighty:pine tree and hid
myself. It - was Ludwig, ' and with
him,.Lucille; be had his- hand on her
bridle-rein; she was weeping bitterly.
He was telling her that he loved her;
and Oh! hoW manly and handsome
he looked as he bent his pale, grave
rue over her.
- :1 011 1 Ladwig! Ludwig l' said the
g'rrl, looking up through tears, like
Anslaga, 'l—hove loved' you every
hour since 1 came to_ Castle Wolf
gang—bat. I.t . cannot be—it ,cannot
The wind and rain beat heavily .
about Castle Wolfgang. The autumn
-came with sighs and tears to th(
Valley of the Sarvis. Our grapes
were all gathered, however, and the
.vintage had been better than usual;
1)4 the Baron, my. father, seemed
Wrapped in a greater gloom than
ever before, for the bailiff bad seized
some of his wine in payment of an ,
old debt: The Baron, alas! was no
I heard high words between him
and Ludwig one night.
•The hillside vineyard and the
swam= OF brainiclavrioN FROM ANT QUARTER.
white wine are said Lndwig,
'and you have never,alloweit me the ,
.yield. grandfatbeileft it me in
his will, and you have kept it from.
me. - Now I want it. I tun going to
Paris; I tun going.te study painting;
and I claim what is, mine.'
'Yes, going like a fool to follow
Lucille!' said my father. 'Love haS
always been the ruin of us. It I bad
not loved your mother I should not
now be the man - who broke his parole,
'the Austrian officer who surrendered
his trust; the 'disgraced and pro
scribed nobleman. All .fOr that face'
(which you have got, Ludwig), I
gave up that which a than should
hold sacred above all things—his
honor—and now you turn upon me,
ruined that I am, and ask i me to give
yOu money to go to Paris that' you
may commit the folly ofl trying to
win Lucille from her promised hus
band. No! stay here, and when . I
die it Shall be yours. o, and I curse
Ernst had gone off, we knew not
where.. perhaps to see, again that fair
face a t ' Erdicszegh, which he had
once fallen in witb, on one of our OS
its to Frere Franz, at the convent.
Lucille bad been away'three months,
and Ludwig bad grown every day
more pale, more haggard, more som
bre. We bad not told each other
our secret, but in our long mountain
rambles, in for silent hours over the
canvas, in the turret, - it told :Itself.
Sometimes he would put.his hand on
my head, arid smoothing my hair,
Ludwig would suy to me ; 'Poor boy!
poor boy!' as he walked up and down
the room; and I would take his hand
'and kiss it, for I loved this brother;
this grave, silent, noble brother, bet
ter than all in the world or in' heaven,
save the image of our dead mother ;
better than all I , loved Ludwig.
But in our silent misery we would
go together to the chapel and kneel
there for hours before the image of
the Blessed 'Virgin, as Frere Franz
bad taught us to do when we were
little boy s. eboys.
Ludwig fell into, dead
faint on the stone floor - of our , turret
room, and when we brought him to '
life be was in a ragin g
- Old. Felehaza: and I beetled his
head and gave him the simple bever
age made from the sweet verhens,
and she wept as she' saw , how he
looked like his mother, but the old
Baron glared at him with his red
eyes, and said that lie was sham
ming—the fever, he had it not—no ,' .
and yet he paced the room like an
angry wolf all night.
The nest week Ernst came Lome,
and we had.a long consultation.
I.' bad more learning and more
knowledge of business than my
brothers; and in the sales of our
winos I had becornd acquainted with
a wind merchant of l'esth, who had
once offered to send me to Paris
on his . business. Leaving Ludwig
in the care of Ernst and Felehaza, I
lode off to see him- ohe day, and af
ter an hour's talk I' was driVing over
the hills to`a railway station, on my
•way to Paris. The world opened its
great walls for the boy of nineteen
to look at, and-the past and present
mingled in a curious dream. :Some
times my mother came asl - encircled
-me in her arma; sometimes: the old
'father Ambrose, at the convent, came
-and put a crucifix at my lips; Sorne'-!
thaws I saw Ludwig dying, and again
I saw Lucille, the woman I loved=
the woman he loved—and •A great
darkness came over me. • -
It was in wbeautiful - salon in Par
that Lucille received me. She did
not know me in my French clothes,
my hair cut close to my head,', nor
should I have known her but for her
voice, so pale and sad and sh idowy
she looked. • •
' Oh ! Frlody 1 Erlody 1" said she
sadly—and she .threw herself into
- my arms, and kissed me. The first
and the last time!
- Iler mother came down, a fine
,French lady, all crape, and very
grand, Madame Zichy: .
'lt was I who was so romantic,"
said she ; " I was. the French com
panion who induced yOur -mother;
my lovely' schoolmate 4
to run off with the gallant Atuitrian
officer, your thtlierl Ah, dear, dear
It led to sad trouble.- I am wiser
now, and I have - made 'a 'better, much
better arrangement for my
Yet she droops, she droops. It was
So kind of you to take her as a visi
tor when we were so disturbed here
last summer. Iler father (you - know, i
Elrody, I' mean Count Zichy) was a
causjiktwice•renioved, of yoarsdear,
deatother—yes, . you have - her
golden hair, your mother's, though
you area' Wolfe—yes, a Wolfe—as
'lfe is not one at heart,' said Lu
cille.: . •
There was in my luggage a roll of
canvas, and .in my. care a consign
ment of wine from the hillside . vine
yard, a letter from Frere Franz and
one from:the wine merchant at Pesth.
It was not. long before the widow.
Zichy was convinced that Lucille
would. never marry the gentleman
whom she_had picked out s for .her,
and that her .daughter's health re
quired. a change of air. •
• It was not long before Ludwig's
pictures were sold, and- some . of his
Wine had been tested Parisi. - that
market of the world, • and c.had been
pronounced a, choice variety.
With my 'pockets full of gold
turned my face towards Vienna. One
more act ta be .donei and then , —and
The, story which my father had
never told me was fully told : me by
the mother of Lucille._ Ile. had been
imprudent, Init not guilty, ;11e . had
been deeply wronged. •It WO possi
ble that the_ cashiered offleer
be restored td - his place in society;
that *as my - errand to,
It was spring when the Wolves
met again, and I,udwig was sitting
by the window looking at a .young
larch tree full of blue birds, which
made him think of- the blue cloth'
dress which 'Lucille- had born when
she came first to the cast. He was
pale and weak from • long suffering,
land eNen Ernst was less ruddy than
of, *pie. The , old Baron, with one
htid paralized i sat by the firer -which
i '3 _
still' glowed hi th'e 'broad, Old-fashion
ed eblmney - -plice: Heaven bad struck
down hitherto untamable, bitter, ag
gileved and violent : ,umn.: 4 it was a
sad ei)ectacle. ' .
I biabeen too late with my Ines
age fioto Vienna. He 'could never
again go to- 'salute hia sovereign, to
claim again those
. trapping! which he
bad forfeited. H is sixteen quarter-
WO could .now 'do him no goi4 in
Would they in the next? Frere
Franz sat by hia chair and talked and
read 'to him,,and led lam to . pray to
be forgiven for his injustice ta. his
sons: Topray that the cruel reeldess
ness of youth and the bitter severity
of age might he atoned. for,
And who is this who drives up the
long, winding road to the castle, with
three Hungarian horses hung with
bells, in a light carriage? A lady in
a bine cloth dress and a hat with a
long feather. By her , aide sits an
elderly lady. I see -them coming,
and again, with our noble wolfhounds,
Czilagy 'and Maros,.l. go down to
meet them. As I pass a great mirror
in the hal), I see myself, a young
Parisian, in modern clothes, I remem
ber the savage in sheepskin, with
long, golden curls—that I was last
year; a sharp sword cuts to my
heart, as I. wish that I were again
there !—that young barbarian. The
knowledge of the world had not
brought to me 1 - happiness. Alas I
when did it ever?
, I go up with dear Lucille, and see
Ludwig extend his arms to her, I
see her fall upon_ his breast as he bends
over to kiss her.
I'hear faintly their thanks, their
blessings, sie I haveheard all things,
in a dream: -
- .• * * . *
I have two dear sisters and many.
nephews and nieces - , for my Ludwig
and Ernst are both- married. The
old . ,Baron died long ago. I come to
them from my convent in the neigh
borhood of the Ermeitek. For when
you look , for the name of the Frere
Frantz of to-day, as you visit my old
convent where I spent- my boyhood,
and to which I came after the world
ceased to be my home—this spot
where I hid the sorrows of childhoO,
and where thave soothed ,with pray
er the heartlireak of manhood—you
will that when the old one died
the Bishop gave that title to the
young neophyte who had been Count
Erlody Wolfgang von Wolf.
WHY ,ORANGE NOBLE SHOULD NOT BE
ELECTED STATE TREASURER.
FitA—He is incompetent. He is
nothing more , nor less than a good,
kind, old man who acquired
suddlin wealth by a piece of good
lucklnany years ago He came out
of the oil country , with a million of
dollais in solid cash, received from
the stile of a celebrated oil property.
Had he the shrewdness even of an
ordinary business man he should, by
this time, have at least doubled his
original resources. He is not worth
t r o-day.q, fifth of what he had fifteen
years ago. Victimized bk, sharpers,
and drawn into foolish and worthless
investments, by a set of bangers-on,
his once ample fortune has steadily
dwindled tonothing more than a mere
Secondly—He is not a true Demo
crat. -Disappointed in his aspirations
for office in. the Republican party, he
came over to the Democracy in 1872.
A candidate for State Treasurer be
fore the Democratic convention - in
1875, and failing to obtain the floral
nation, he bolted the nominee:of his .
own convention, and, openly; with
his entire fiock.of parasites, worked
for the nominee of the Republican
Thirdly—He is 'a Democrat for
Revenue only, of the Boss Kelly and
Wallace pattern. On the defeat of
Governor Robinson in 1879, through
the treachery of John Kelley,- his
clique threw their caps high in the
air and called' for three cheers for
John Kelly. It is also well known
that Mr. Wallace, the Democratic
Cameron' Senator from Pennsylvania,
comes to this faction of hungry-Dem
ocrats, to aid him in carrying out. his
bargains with the enemy in this sec.
Mon of the State.
Fourthly—He is a mere figure
head, behind and under . cover of
whose name a parcel of leeches,
knaves and hypocrites, with no
brains but brass, and with no, ability
but that indicated by low 'cunning
and trickery, hope to fasten them
selves upon the treasury , of the peo-
Fifthly—The management= of the
finances of the great State_ of Penn
sylvania, whichfor twiny _years =has
been - under the control of the worst
ring of thieves, and speculators a
country, has ever been cursed with,
needs a man of boldness, prompt ac
tion, stern will, unflinching zeal, and
commanding ability. Not a single
one of these qualities belongs to Mr.
Noble. He is wily': a 'kind, simple,
old man, hardly able to compute -a
question of simple interest, and of
the_ stuff such' as knaves and sharpers
would rub their hands over in high
glee.—Erie Herald, (Don).
Five Good Reasons
The Boston Girl's Woe.
'The snow has drifted around my
heart,' sighed a fair young Boston
girl, as she and her Brooklyn hostess
sat on the floor, lacing their boots
the other morning. 'No longer does
the spring violet blossom in my life.'
'May' enquire what has chagrined
?' asked the Brooklyn girl sym-
'l. will tell you all, from cosmos to
omega. You shall know why my
existence is henceforth like a burnt
prairie to , me. Ah, the dream has
flown. i fie grasses are bending,over
the grave of that bright hope.'
'Did he leave you ?' invoked the
Brooklyn damsel in tears.
•Not voluntarily. We tiro segre
gated, but through no fault of ours.
it was the dispelling of a viAion.'
'But won't be come back ?'
fear me nay. -Slush a differentia
tion, is not to be overcome. J will
!Atli you: We loved; The moon
I 'couldn't beam, but - he'd bitch up a
~:;-,i, -:.,. 1 '::,,,,.. * .
i• ',- - , ' ,. ,--,, , r r- :- /." : . '
• ' ' ' .\''''' .'
...` s '
V'.: - : . 1 ,
i \ 1 :27. - .: 4 ,.
_. ' ... ;... .
team and drive into my-outstretched
'My I' ejleulated the Brooklyn girl.
'Always. Ile came, until I looked
for him as fopthe stars.. Every night
until, one. Then he came no more.
And my heart is sad and weary.
Listen. I have a father. Pitiless,
cold, relentless but still be is my fa,
ther, though lie has frozen up my
blood. assure- you it is' nearly all
'Did he say the young - , man musn't
come any more?' asked I the breath.
'He did not.. He welcomed him
like the whirlpool's rings that swallow
up all sorts of things. Give him ei
garsand talked with him. Pa was
too awfully sweet at first, and , that's
what Wakes me sit sad, sighing; and
feel as though I am dying.: I'm just
perfectly terribly cut up about it.'
-.'Then how did he come to go away ?
I'm crazy to know.
'You shall heaVlow the disintegra
tiorriiriginated. All the time pa sas
treating him so nicely be didn't like
him.-; Ile was making up his mind to
have.' him leave. Oh! the saddest
word Of tongues or.pen is the terri
bleness of these male men. Pa sep
arated,us. Like the pouting of the
vengeful sea, he separated my own
'How did hp do. it ? What steps
did he take?'
'Give me your attention. You shall
know the facts from the protoplasm
to the finish. I will tell you of my
awful doom, right here in your cheer
ful little bed-room. I wanted an
Easter hat. .I said to pa, "Must have
it.". Was coming to see you, you
know. Says pa, "Give up the lover
or the hat. Can't have both."'
:'And you ?' •
'Give him up, of course. How
could I help it? The hat is lovely,
but my heart. is stone. I move alone
without any comfort. It was hard to
.wreck him, but there was no alterna
tive. Pa made. me chooSe. Don't
you think it pretty ?'
The two' girls went down to break=
fast, l the forlorn girl singing, in a
low, sweet voice; 'The good sword is
raised, the good knight, is busted.'
A Missing Party.
It is not often that a political par
ty strays away and beconkes abso
lutely non est inventus during a cam-.
paign. But something very like it
has happened in Pennsylvania. A
case somewhat similar was noted in
the State of Maine two years ago,
when the Democratic party got
up in the Aroostook region, and had
not been heard of when the votes
were counted in November, 1880.
The Democracy. of Pennsylvania ap
peared by its •delegates in Conven
tion at Williamsport some weeks
ago, and after announcing that it
liad not, changed its mind since 1832,
presented Mr. Orange Noble, an
Erie millionaire, as the representa
tive of the horny-handed bone and
sinew of the State, kissed all around,
and melted away into the 'body poli
tic like a lump of sugar under the
seductive influence of a summer rain.
Since Oen nothing has been heard
from the party as a party. Mr. Bull,
as chairman of the committee, - has
been fumbling around the Mayor's
office with a few friends, and the or
gans have played some fugitive
pieces for the delectation of the rank
and file, 'who have - scarcely missed
their leaders. We have waited to
hear the bugle sound the call to ra
tions, and waithd in vain. It was
confidently expected that Mr. Noble
would put a barrel on tap; but this
expectation does not seem to . lijave
been realized. There is so far none
, of the bustle of preparation which
usually follows after rations are serv
ed, nor have we re .d any speeches
explanatory of the -management of
State finances prior to.. 1861. It
would, we think, have been quite
proper for the orators of the party
to arise and hnlarge upon . the : beau
ties of Democratic financial manage
ment. A solemn science reigns in
the fastnesses -.of .Clearfield, where
tte siren voice_,..of Senator Wallace
used . to arouse the echoes in the
good old Democratic fashion.. A
silence reigns in the Third Congress
ional district, where biennially the
voice of a Randall 'is wont to re
The only active Democrat we' can
discry at this juncture is Mr.
L. Scott, of Erie, ; and he -seems
to have-lost his reckoning somewhat,
as Union commanders did . in ' the
early part of the war, when Union
regiments used to come unexpected
ly out of the woods upon other
Union regiMents and whack away at
each other by mistake. Mr. Scott
has come.out of the woods and fallen
upon Mr.lNoble tooth } and .nail, no
doubt mistaking him for a Republi
can... This all :results, from getting
lost in the woods, a thing that no
party should 4O; or suffer to be dAine.
The Republicans are 'having a fair
scrimmage in the open, meanwhile,
and the methods employed by Mr.
Wolfe are so exactly like those of
the party before it got
-lost in the btish, that ,;a good many
Republicans have arrived at the con
clusiim-that; they are , confronted by
that party under Mr. Wolfe's leader
ship.• It lopks very little like it in
deed. The Republicans of Pennsyl
vania will do well to assume that the
Demo.crits will manage .1,6 be on
hand fon election day, no Matta how
they May be: 'wandering • a abont in
search of their, old .leaders just now.
No errer-should be deemed trilling. A
small; light cloud is harmless• - but if not
soon dissipated, it rises and bl4ckens, and
-descends in rain and thunder. •
• MEN are so credulous that they believe
any amount of evil told of a neighoor and
at the same time so incredulous that
can't possibly believe any good.
THREE is nothing that has so much au
thority, and it entitled to so little, as cus
tom. It rules all the fools, with a rod of
iron, and tlueatns oven the wise.
WRONG, doingds a road tit a may open
fair, but it leads to trouble. danger.
Well-doing, however rough and thorny at
first, surely leads to pleasant pluos. ,
DR. Homes!) olserves : "I have nev
er seen a MAU . who' waa really remarkable
for acquiring •niascular power, and at the
same time remarkable for mental power."
1111.00,per Annum In Advance.
One of the travelers fore a new,
fresh, dry-goods bottle arrived at a
town in the interior of the state, to
find that one of his best customers
was to transfer his custom toa Bos
'Didn't we always do well by you?'
asked the 'New Yorker, as" he sat
don for an explanation.
Yes, I believe so.'
Didn't we ship goodi promptly ?'
And did we ever press you in a
'Did you get lower prices of the
Boston house ?'
- 'No, I can't say as he did. .
' Then I can't understand why you
should leave•our house all of a sud
den after buying of us for several
years?' • -
'I know that some explanation is
due; and I will make one,' replied
the merchant. You know that I
'Yes and so do I.'
'Do yo? I didn't know that. I
am looked upon as a Christian.'
'So am I. I've got the ^ date o - f
my baptism right in my' note-book.'
'ls that so? Well, our church is
in need of repairs. We were talking
it over the other day, when the Bos
ton drummer was in here, and he at
once subscribed slo.'
'Ten dollars!. Why that's only-two
kegs of hails Put me down for $3O
cash, a new silk hat for every season,
and a full suit of clothestor the min
Do you really-mean it V
Of course I do ; and if , that 2-cent
Christian froth Boston dares sign
another $5, I'll send you down a $6OO
church organ; and pay a man $5OO
per -year to play it. We are a house
which never makes any great display
of gospel hymns and religions tracts,
but when a Boston drummer bluffs
we - show our religious hand and take
in_the pot every time.'
The merchant will still continue to
dealt with therNew York house.
Cotopaxi, in 1738, threw its fiery'
rockets 1,000 feet above the crater,
while in 1754 the blazing mass strug
gling for an outlet roared so that its
awful voice was heard at a distance
of more than GOO miles: In 1797 the
crater of Tunguragua, one of the
great peaks of the - Andes, flung out
torrents of mud, which dammed up
the rivers, tipened new lakes, and in
valleys 1,000 feet wide made depos
its GOO feet deep. The stream from
Vesuvius, which. in 1737, passed
through Terre ilel Greco, contained
33,000,000 cubic feet of solid matter,
and in.,1793", when Terre del Greco
was destroyed, a second time, the
mass of lava amounted - to 45,000,-
000 cubic feet. In 1760 „Etna pour
ed forth a flood which Covered 84
square miles of surface and measured
only 1 000,000,000 cubit feet. On
this occasion the- sand and scoria
forined the Monte Rosini near Nick.
olosa, a cone of two miles in circum
ference, and 4,000 feet high. The
stream thrown out by £tna in 1810
was in motion At the rate of a yard a
day for nine months after the erup
tion; and it is on record thal, the
lava of the same- mountain, after a
terrible eruption, was not thorough-
ly,cool and consolidated for ten years
alter the event.. In the eruption of
VeSuvius, A. D. 79, the scoria and
ashes vomited foith far exceeded the
entire bulk of the mountain ; while
in 1 - 060 .Etna disgorged 20 times its
own mass. Vesuvius has sent its
own stiles as far as Constantinople,
Syria, and Egypt; it hurled stones
eight pounds in weight to PoMpeii,
a distance of six miles, wbertiSinkilar
masses' were tossed up 2,000 feet
above the summit Cotopaxi has pro
jected a block of 100 cubic yards in
volume a distance of nine
Snmbawa, in 115, during the most
terrible eruption - on record, sent its
ashes as far as Java, a distance of
three hundred tines of surface, and
out of a population of 15,900 souls
only 20 eseopecit
• Tim best lightning rod for your
protection is your own spine.,
There is no pleasure but that some
pain is nearly allied to it.
Frinciples like troops' of
are undisturbel and stand. fast.
Our deeds:determine us as much
as .we' determine , our deeds.
Won Him Back.
What a Volcano Can Do.
Words of Wisdom.
Those who never retract their opin.
ons love themselves more than they
ove truth. -
Knowledge, like religion, must be
'experienced' in order tobe known.
-Gen'nine suffering often jests best,
for it knows no idle longing for tears.
Virtue dwells at the head of ECTiv.
er, to which we cannot get but by
rowing against the head of a stream.
Poverty often deprives a man of
spirit and virtue. It is haid for an
empty bag to stand upright. ,
Great men should think of- oppor
tunity and not of time. Time is the
excuse of feeble and puzzled spirits.
Envy is a passion so full of cow
ardice and shame that,nobody ever
had the confidence to own its posses
It is with you as with plants; from
the first fruits 'they bear we learn
what may be expected in the future.
Memory can glean but can never
renew. It brings us joy faint as the
perfume of flowers—faded and dried
of the summer that is'gone.
Lying and deceit between man and
man is a great wrong, but when ex
ercised in s the daily association with
children, is increased a thousand
No persons, be they in ever so
humble circumstances, but what have
some, quality,of Mind that entitles
them ,tu an equality with their fellow
To succeed in any of life's endeav
ors, be our talents what they may,
we require perseverance, decision and
tenacity of will to reach the full
measure of 811(33C83.
THERE 18 nothing . that strengthens a
man's honesty so much as to trust him ;
suspect him, and you weaken hi 3 faith in
hiMself and in everybody else.
Photographs in Natural . Colors.
The announcement 'Lapin. made
that a process 'has been discovered
for taking photographs possessing
all the brilliancy and delicacy of the
natural Colors, and an exhibition of
pictures thus naturally colored has
just been held in LOndon. Accord
ing-to the reports, the colors ire pro
duced by the action of light alone in
the camera, and owe nothing what
ever to the 1 artist's brush. In - the•
photograph lexhiblted, the coloring
appeared to.be quite true to nature,
and delicate tones! and shades were
clear to vie*. The flesh tint was ex
act to life, and full justice was done
to gorgeous regiment:Whs. The pro
truded tongue of a dog in one of the
photographs possessed the exact col
or ,of nature. Some of the guests,
says the English Mechanic, inspect
ing this collection, and not fully ac
-quainted with the character of the
latest invention; took it for granted
that the work was done by skillful
artistic hands on, ivory and other
.material, and coull scarcely believe
their eyes when • informed that the
color, as much as the form• and out
line, was produced by the light of
day. Careful invcstigation, howev
er, would then show that human
handicraft was not, in it; 'for there
were touches ancttffectS which na
ture's pencil of light could alone ac- ,
complish. The' contention_ is that
photographs colored by artists, how
ever clever, mustA be more or less'
"monothnous, hgrd, untrue to na
fifre, and to the originals."
The process was discovered, it •is
said, by a French scientist, but has
since undergone improvement by the
proprietor of the process in England.
If the new syatem proves an unqual
ified success, they reward will not
have been reaped ;without much la
bor in' the past, Ifor numerous at- -
tempts hay.e been made to induce,
the sun-pencil. to fix colors in the
picture it draws in the Camera; but
chemical and mechanical difficulties
have stood in the way. In the new
process colors arc said not only to
be faithfullyi produced, but protected
from the aetion of light by being
passed through a boiling solution, of
which g,elitine forms the principle
ingredient, and some of the photo
graphs so treated have been exposed
for months to the sun without; being
in anywise affected by the ordeal.
Unfortunately the process is yet tin :
known, as it is likely_ to be for some
time,—„lfanufacturer and Builder._
A Great Shot .
A-Paris letter to the Philadelphia'
Press tells of a wonderful shot.
There is a, man giving exhibitions in
shooting at one- of the
in the Champs Elysees who is ; the
peer in skill of any-marksman I ever
saw, and I have seen the' best of
them. His name is Leo, and 4-is a
Belgian. He became a &Mons marks
man when a boy. At twenty he drew
" a bad number " and went into the
army, where he.got to be an officer,
whereupon, there being no wars,- he
resigned and rushed off to India to
shoot panthers and tigers - and ele
phants. He used to "knock 'Cm
cold," but, one day a lion which he
had, shot through the brain revived
sufficiently to break Leo's thigh
bone with one blow of his paw, and
the " mighty hunter" returned to
Belgium. On his
_recovery he went
into the show business, and, as I
have already stated, is now in Paris
giving exhibitions which '
' wonderful.. I have seen him shoot
three balls into one place on top of
the, other, and so accurately that it
seemed as though one- bullet had
passed the. iron. I have seed him
cut in twain a telegraph wire at
-ty paces, which was so line that I
could jusrseeit at th - o-same distance.
He is not a trick shooter like. Dr.
Carver, nor a pigeon slaughterer like
Captain Bogardus, nor a long range
rifleman like Bruce and Sumner and
Gregory and Rathbone and nearly a
hundred others whom - I could men
tion, but he is at short rang one of
the most skillful - in the world; and
his attempts .are nightly watched 'by
late and interesting audiences.
A CHICAGO ROIANCE.-" And we'll
be Married in the fall, my sweet."
"Yes; Oscar, in ;the rich, hazy, sen
suous day of Indian summer, iwhen
the low note of the. farmer's boy,
seeking the lost cow is heard as he
sits on the vine embroidered stile
and blasphemes until - the fire-83i
leaves for a cool spot. You • must
take all my m , tney, Oscar ; it must
be yours to tltt you will :with it.
SUrely you itarti an ambition?" "I
have,", said Osc=.tr, kissing her while
she'held her bieath. "And you let
.any false pride stand., in the way of
.using myJnoney to- attain the_height
you fain would reach ?" "%No, dar
ling, I will' not. YSti say you have
sloo,oooin four per eents. It is enough.
To-mdrrow I will act, and in less
than a day my name will be as famil
iar thrdughout the world as that. of
England'S proud queen." "Oh, Os
ear, what will you do?" "I shall
Purchase Muad S." • * * * *
Two milnutes later a human form fell
with a dull thud on the front porch
of the' ,haughty pork packer's resi
dence. I'. was Oscar Harris. The
old man had fired him.
AN unkind word from one beloved of
ten draws the blood from many. a Mart
which would defy the battle-axe of hatred
or the keenest edge of the vindictive sat
Icy you hate your enemies, you will con
tract such a vicious habit of mind as by
degrees will break out. upon those who
are friend; or those who are indifferent
to you. .
THE man who does not make new az
quaintances as be advances through life;
be will soon find himself, left alone. A
man should keep his friendship, in con
stant repair. •
BEN Bun. E n -scouts the idea of his hav
ing accepted a retainer from Guiteau, and
says he hasn't fallen low enough to do
that yet. As Guiteau's wealth is at pres
ent confined to a bruised nickle and a
quarter wiika: hole in it, lien Butler's
head isevidently as level ais
TREY who aro weary o( life, snit. yet
are, unwilling to die, are thoeo Who taro
lived tn. no,purpose—who have, rather
breathed than lived.
NOT [IMO MOM Impairs authority than
a too frequent or indiscreet use of it. If
thunder itself was to be continued it
would excite no - more terror than the
noise of a mill. - -
ORDINARILY we know from what coun
try most people come - by the language
they use ; but in the case of the swearer
it is different. Ile uses the language of
the country to which be is going.
THE grandest . and strongest natures
aro over the coldest. A fiery restlessne:,s
is the symbol of frailties not yet on:.
°Town. The repose of power is :its rid.-
est phase and its clearest testimony.
YouNo mac, beware of stock and grain
speculations If you want au “optiou t "
that is safe, get_the option to the has of
a good sensible girl of marriage,ible a c.,1
and put up a lot and a neat Mile cottnel
as a margin. It will be the graillest spec-
Illation you evcrmade, and w h.tai ing yin
big profits. You can stake your I ist dol
lar on that and be safe.—Berlingteis