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VOL. XXVII.
MIFFLINTOWN, JUNIATA COUNTY, PENNA., AUGUST 28, 1S73.
NO. 35.
are i A
unless atthe option of the ijabliaher.
' S ' ! l' -''i ll' l'
IIiNot?lIii,y
1
. it a l M o T ll E if s
i.e icv.
Isliit my eves, am I dreaming? I
open ttiem agnin, O, no ! it is a bright
reality The elose-cut grass stretching
ont fra my window, down to the over
grown j plantation, is the same across
wt hioh liny aneestorn tripped in their
high-ig-eled sfcoes, before the red tide
of ti4 revolution swept them away.
The o stone fountain, with its broken
Tritonj and mouldring dolphins, then
threw its silver spray far into the sunny
air; aow, a few slow drops trickle
amongthe motses that fringe its edge.
Ilavo yon ever lived where there was
not sotiething that reminded yon of
the de j ? Thre is the chair in which
they wj-e sitting, lout? years before I
was bom. Yonder is the couch where
they w.tte lying when death opened for
thein ti door of life. Their eyes saw
what I tin seniiip ; their ears heard the
pong of the bird's, as I hear them now.
The blse periwinkle stars in the glass
on my table:, I gathered them this morn
ing under the oaks in the plantation ;
and so, 1 amis that have been dust for
ages g.itiiered them on some sweet
ppring noruiug in the past.
I am i'.ting in the little, dark-paneled
room where, one sunny morning, my
grandmother sat with her child in her
arms, when a courier arrived, panting,
breathless: "Hie Q leen is guillotined 1"
There was no more hope ; my grand
mother aust fly. Clasping her babe to
her heutt, she arose ; horses were
saddled a rapid flight to the coast ; a
tearful mteting with her hnsband, dis
guised as g fisherman ; trembling haste;
a crazy beet on the stormy sea ; a land
ing on tge shore of Scotland poor,
friendless, with aching hearts. Such
was the story 1 had often heard from
iny grand anther's lips.
Left an Irphnn in my babyhood, she
was fathet, mother, all to me. Hour
sifter hour 1 have sat at her feet, listening
to her ta!w of "beautiful France"- of
the gay cort, the beautiful Queen, the
old chateau, where her happiest days
were spect, "You were not born there,
pauvre peite," she would say, softly.
"Ah! thatwas wrong ; but you may die
'here I tltink you will. You will be
tliaukful fi that, Mignon ?" And her
eves wonldwauder over the bleak Scotch
moors, seiiig bevond them the blue
sky and lbwery fields of her sunny
France. Foes she know that her half
prophecy Ins been in part fulfilled?
loes she know that at last my feet
tread thegmss-grown paths in the quaint
old garden? tiiat for me the birds sing,
and the tries shake out their tender
l-.-aves? A new generation of leaves,
I ut fctill tie same her eyes saw and
loved. Tlare is little changed. A
friend remembered ns ; the estates were
saved, and 1 inherited them. Not much
money; but the gray walls, the trees,
the fields, art mine. I look around ; I
say, "My vn." Does she know all
this? 1 belie she does. Her picture
looks down Jfipon me now ; not as I
retneniber l?,yith silvery hair shading
" her delice, highborn face, but young,
wi'h ii.tghiug eyes, and ripe lips just
purled iu a jyua smile.
in the long salon beyond are rows of
haughty facts, blooming faces, stern,
' wicked, saintly faces. One after auother
they lifted the burden of life, bore it a
while, then laying it down, crept away
to their long, dreamless sleep, under
tlie stones in the little chapel. Now
there is only one weak woman's hand
to lift the banner of the name they bore
so long and nobly. Stretch out your
shadowy hands, that its folds trail not
in the dust I Strengthen me, shades of
the dead, that I bear it not unworthily !
The air is still with that stillness that
speaks of life, not death. Somewhere
in the distance, Jean is drawing water.
The creaking of the wheel becomes
musical through faiutuess. In the farm
yard the busy hens are cackling, and
oue loud-voiced cock is crowing lustily.
Lisette is cluttering about her kitchen,
ninging a plaintive little song; the
chorus reaches me "Marie! Marie!
je vons uiuie tuujours." I am idly
wondering who was Marie? and did the
singer love her always ?"
Presently Lisette's heels click along
the ball. "Madamoiselle'a keys," she
says, with a flash of her white teeth,
.lean has found them among the peri
winkle stars. I take them from her
hand. One, smaller than the rest, has
slipped otf the ring. A little leather
box, clasped with iron, stands before
me on the window-seat. A few days
before her death, my grandmother gave
it into my keeping. "Take it, mon
enfant : it contains the life-secrets of
many of your race. Thero are stories,
too, from other lips, as they were told
to me. You nay like to read them.
Yon will keep it for my sake." My
life has been a busy one, and I have
never opened it. Now, as I fit the key
into the rusty lack, and raise the lid, a
cloud of dust salutes me, and a musty,
mouldy sniell. 'Ihe papers are mildewed
with age; the characters almost illegible.
ue is tied with a black ribbon ; choos
ing this, I unroll the closely written
sheets. One fells out; it is in my
grandmother's tlear, firm hand. Ah 1
liow long ago fas that written ? The
date is 17 . j
"A strange ling has occurred. I
was ill very ll a year ago. Dear
Henri begged ihe Moorish physician
( so he is called jto see me. He came,
tall and grave. I was frightened. He
was gentle to ie, and I grew to like
him. He is allays among the poor ;
he will receive fa
othing from any one.
Henri offered hti money ; he refused.
1 gave him m4
hand ; ho touched it
with his lips,
he comes, or wh
his name. He
o one knows whence
he is. Tbe poor bless
Inever smiles, l was
mire he had soni
great sorrow.
"One dav a
an came to me, and
handed me a letar
"I am ill. W
yon come ?"
"I went with
enn. lb room was
hung with blao
L Tie phvsioian was
fcokiig out npon the
l,y a window.
court ; it was fut of jeoplo poor,
many weeping, pie itretftlied ou
and
many weeping, tie itretfflieu out nis
hand and smiled "I iaveeent for you,
raadame, to say arevell,t and to ask
your husband to prootre passports for
my servant he i to t'te lie home."
'"Not now ?" I fied ; jot are ilL"
"No, not now.'pe sail ; io-morrow."
"I had flowers ir hint, rfes, delicate
f uchias, and purefchite lilf s. He took
them eagerly, intalei tlir perfume,
fondled them, an.ltoid ni the legends
of their birth. J
"This is my flo ?r W said, lifting
a lily from the res "If aas returned
to ua. He held i dots against his
heart, saying, soft, 'Ills an omen of
good ?" He sat HUang1 long time,
gazing at the blue etv. ',
"Au revoir," IsHtfl bent over
him. He looked uilrighty :
"At the door I turned again ; he
waved his hand, tl
raisel the lily to
his lips, nd smUeJ
hia serv ant came, al
In tie morning,
gave ne a packet ;
it contained the manuscript I inclose.
On tbe outside was written :
"Thi ia the atory of my life. No one will know it
dui you. Auieu. -
"The man was weeping. His master
had died in the nigbt."
I unrolled the yellow sheets. There
was no heading to the story they con
tained. I looked at the end ; there
was no name. It commenced abruptly :
"I come of doomed race. A enrse
hung over me at my birth. In conse
quence of a horrible crime committed
by one of my ancestors, the good genius
of our race deserted us, and a demon.
fierce and cruel, shadowed as with his
black wings.
"The first-born child of every genera'
tion was doomed, if a boy, to an early
and violent death ; if a girl, to a life of
misery. Generation after generation
the curse had fallen. By water, by hre,
by the sword, the first-born son had
perished ; and the mother wept bitter
tears when a girl was placed in her arms.
There was a legend that the curse would
cease when one was found, bold enough
to foil the demon, then, and then only,
would the guardian of our race return.
"There is Moorish blood in onr veins.
In the third generation our remote
ancestry shows itself. Men call me
'the Moorish physician.' True to my
instincts, I have devoted myself to the
study of Eastern lore. The volume of
the heavens had long been open to my
gaze. Earth's deepest mysteries have
yielded to my touch. The voices of
the deep breathe mighty secrets to my
ear, and in the war of the elements, the
flash of the lightning, the roar and
thunder of the waves, when man shrinks
back appalled, my spirit finds its wings.
"1 was tbe second son. My brother
was assassinated by an unseen hand.
"I returned to my home, and plunged
deeper and deeper into tliat abtruse
studies I delighted in. Why could
they not suffice ! Alas 1 I loved. Ah,
fatal power ! When we willed it, our
love must be returned. As I knelt
before an alter, I looked upon the fair'
creature who had yielded her pure heart
to me, as the priest may look on the
victims at whose throat he holds the
knife. I was pressing the enp of anguish
to those ruby lips ; those sweet eyes
would soon overflow with bitter tears.
And yet, madman as I was, with eager
haste I clasped the fair blossom closer
to my heart, knowing that my fatal
grasp must blight its bloom forever.
"For one short year, earth's fairest
hues spread out before me ; and then,
in darkness and in tempest, onr child
was born. There were vague mutterings
in the air. as I took my infant daughter
in my arms. Do you wonder that 1
could not answer back her mother's
happy smile ? My rose and its sweet
bud grew day by day in loveliness. I
suffered tortures. O, that she might
be taken before her gentle heart should
bleed for the sufferings of her child !
"Years passed. She began to fade
my beautiful flower. I watched her
anxiously. Tbe wind and the waves
saw my sorrow: they reveal no secrets.
Her sweet life ebbed so slowly would
it be too late ? With a sigh of thank
fulness, I closed her beautiful eyes.
"I wandered from land to land, taking
my child with me. I watched her every
step. In agony, I waited the time when
the doom of onr dark race should fall
on her innocent heart. In Madrid, a
Spanish nobleman saw her. Her beauty
charmed bim. Humors of my wealth
had reached his ears. Artfully, selfishly,
he wove his chains around her. How
I hated him 1 From the first, I knew
him. The woe was ever worked by a
human hand, and as I watched the
baleful light in his hard eyes the close
pressure of his thin, cruel lips I
gnashed my teeth in impotent fury.
My darling ! can you not see how that
strong, fierce hand will crush all the
i sweetness out of your fresh young life?
I And she loved him. He would turn to
1 me with a smile of scornful triumph
! when her innocent eves told him this.
Madly jealous, if she displeased him he
would cast a cold, hard look upon her,
whispering harsh, cutting words of
anger.till she paled and tretubled.lifting
pleading eyeB to his. And I was power
less t
"I took her home. The Spaniard
followed ns. Onr German winter chilled
him ; but he persevered. The spring
came. Step by step he was forcing me
back. In vain I nightly lifted despair
ing eyes to the proud stars ; tkey smiled
down coldly on me, but no voice came.
"Again I read the mouldering parch
ment which recorded the dire curse,
and the mysterious words of prophecy
regarding its fulfilment. By fasting
and by watching, 1 strove to read their
meaning :
"The red hand shall in, while the white hand ehall
fall.'
The cypreas-crowned cup aball confer immor
tality." "Both of these images forshadowed
death.
"Then followed a legend :
"A flowe- bloomed in the cleft of a rork. The fierce
waves saw it ; they cureied ita beauty, but the nx-k
laughed down on them, aa they aunt i and foamed
at it feet. The temeet woke ; the wavee aroae ;
tbev danued their sprays tar up in the face of tbe
rock. Then the roca cried. "O. Azrael ! take thou
the flower, for I can ahelter it no longer." Then
Azrarl heard, and, stretching out his strong ritflit
hand be plucked the flower, and bore it to sunny
plains, where long it bloomed iu iace and beauty.'
"In the watches of the night, the
meaning was made clear to me. I
knelt and cried, "O, Azrael ! I give my
flower into thy keeping. See that thou
bear her tenderly to sunny plains, where
angel hands shall welcome her.' Then
I called my child. She came, and laid
her snnny head upon my shoulder. I
gave the cup of death into her hand ; I
watched her drink it. I spoke playful
words to her ; I told her it was the elixir
of life, and she smiled as she took it
from my hand. I drew her to the case
ment: she lay in my arms, and I spoke
to her of the things she loved of the
flowers and stars ; and of the heavenly
plains where her mother wandered. She
listened dreamily. I forced my lips to
smile as she clasped her arms about my
neck. Her breath fluttered a little, and
her startled eyes sought mine. I turned
away. Suddenly she said, "My father,
there is some one standing in the moon
light, holding out to me a fair white uly.
Then I knew the guardian of our race
had come for this, his child.
"In the morning came the Spaniard.
I bade him follow me. We stood beside
her. He wrung his hands and wept
I had foiled the demon.
"Do you wonder that while others
smile, my lips are grave ? Do you marvel
that I keep vigil by the couch of pain
and sorrow ? I have no remorse. I did
no wrong, Her pure white soul went
np to God without one stain of earth to
mar it loveliness. But, O, my child 1
my child I Faint voices call to me a
hand has beckoned from the stars my
time is short 1 My angel ones, I come 1"
I laid down the manuscript with a
shudder. Could this be? I looked
around me fearfully. There, in her
dress of green, God's beautiful earth
smiled up at the sky. The birds were
singing overhead ; in the kitchen, Jean
and Lisette were laughing; the beea
hummed in and out of my window. Life,
busy, beautiful life, waa all around me.
Turning the key on the ghostly story,
I went out into the sunshine.
Secrets of the Sanctum.
The humorist of the Detroit "Free
Press," observes that there is always
one vacant chair in the sanctum of every
daily paper, or it would be vacated for
the right man. It is the position of
man. When a yonng man, wear
ing a very exultant contenance, walks
into the editorial rooms with a bundle
of manuscript under his arm, all the
staff know what is coming. He has
been writing an ode to Spring, or a
poem on the fast-disappearing Indian
race, or five hundred verses on the power
of love It is really wonderful bow san
guine he is. He has selected this par
ticular paper as a great favor to the pa
per, and he is "certain that the pub
lishers won't think of offering him less
than a dollar a verse, and that after
they have handed him the money they
will pat him on the back and say : ''Go
on, young man ; there is a wealth of
laurels for you in the future." He walks
around the room a few times to collect
himself, and then goes to the nearest
man. He ia referred to the "man in the
other room," and the man in the other
room heaves a sigh as he sees him enter.
"Here's a few verses on Spring-time
which I dashed off the other day," says
the young man, as he deposits the roll
on the table ; "you can look them over,
and I will call for the money Saturday."
He goes out, and the recipient of the
roll unrolls it ; feels his hair raise np aa
he sees that some lines have ten "feet,"
others six, and that a pile-driver could
not pound the metre into shapa. He
puts it away, and begins to dread Satur
day. Saturday comes, and with it the
young man, who expects a check and a
compliment. He aits down, and there
is a long pause. The editor would
rather tackle a Bogardus kicker than to
say what he must say, but he finally
gets around to it. "Very good season
able well written but, ah ! ahem ?
we haven't room for it at present ; you'd
better send it to the New York Post.
That young man gets up with an awful
look of contempt and revenge on his
face, siezes the roll, and goes out feeling
that he shall be an enemy to the pap?r,
editors, reporters, compositors and ap
prentices forever after. This is only an
illustrative case. There is the woman
who has written nineteen verses on her
dead baby ; the old man who has hashed
up a ballad and wants to be brought
out as the author ; the young man in
love who has written a poem on his
Hannah, and five or six others. Each
one must be refused in such a manner
as not to wound his feelings, and yet
his feelings will be wounded. If he
hadn't a cent in the world, and was in
need of bread, he wouldn't feel half so
bad to be refused a cash' loan as he
would to be told that his poetry wasn't
first class, and that he'd better turn his
attention to a trade. The poets are not
alL There is the man with the "Essay
on Sober Second Thought," the man
with two columns on "The Degenera
tion of American Politics," and the
scores of men with essays on this and
that, which no one but the writer wculd
read. They must be met, repulsed and
gut rid of, and though the editor is as
tender aa a lover, the chances are that
within three days he will receive a letter
reading something like this :
"Dcaa Sta : Owing to the fact that my article on
the 'Rejuvenation of Mummies' did noi appear In
your issue of Wednesday, yon can stop my paper. 1
shall snips- ribe to the ''Ark," whieu is a lively, go
ahead daily, fully up to the times.
"Vuure Caio."
Alligators.
There are some very large alligators
on the Eed river. I have seen several
myself,, though not of the largest size.
Their favorite posture is to sit or lie on
the bank or on logs, basking in the sun
shine. The pretty creatures seem to
like a genial climate.
An alligator is rather smart about
some things. He knows as "inch about
strategy as a major general of militia.
He will poise himself on a log, open nis
mouth wide, by elevating his upper jaw,
aud remain perfectly quiet. Iu a short
time his mouth will fill with mosquitoes
and flies, when down will come his jaw,
taking every mosquito and fly prisoner.
He swallows them, licks bis chops, and
elevates his jaws to catch another floor
full. This dish is regarded by tbe alli
gator as the most delicious that the
country affords.
An alligator uvea to a green old age.
Indeed, it is a question among those
who have given the subject profound
attention, whether he ever dies until
somebody kills him.
An alligator grows a foot a year. This
has been demonstrated. Some years
ago a gentleman sent an alligator from
Mobile to Knoxville, Tennessee. The
animal was three feet long. This side
"3 Knoxville the train stopped for din
ner. The alligator sighed for liberty,
broke out of his cage aud made for the
Houston river. Just as he got to the
water's edge his keeper was upon him
and grabbed him by the tail. The alli
gator turned sharply around and dis
played about a foot and a half of mouth,
at which the keeper thought he would
let go.
Well, just three years afterward the
alligator was killed near the same place
and measured six feet long showing
that he grows just a foot a year. This
is a contribution to natural history
which I hope will be duly appreciated
by the scientific world.
'Parties freanentlv hunt alligators
along the banks of the Bed river. It is
rare and exciting sport, especially if the
ambitions hunter accidentally lets one
of the animals get hold of his foot.
I will close this letter before the
reader is sufficiently fatigued to wish
an alligator would get me, foot and alL
Cincinnati Commercial.
Tradesmen's Tricks.
The litrht wit for which the French
nations is remarkable, says the Pall
Mall Gazette, is noticeable in tbe wbole
literature of Parisian trade circulars,
puffs, and advertisements, and even in
the arrangement of articles in the shop
windows. In one of those passages
which invariably attract foreign visitors
by their glittering display of articles
de Paris was a linen-draper and hosier's
shop in which just before the assump-
. , , - .. , v i
tion the imperial aignuy oy japoieon
III., a bust of the President was dis
played, adorned by an Imperial diadem
composed of a shirt-collar with the
points sticking np. me enect was ir
resistibly suggestive, notwithstanding
the homely nature of the crown. A firm
in the same line of business in the Pas
sage de 1 'Opera has now made a grand
coup by the simple expedient of em
blazoning nis Bnop-iront a aay or two
airo with suns and lions a la Persane.
The bait took ; three of the Shah's at
tendants entered the glittering trap.and
gave what a French journal calls "a
pyramidal order." No doubt by this
time the boulevards are biasing with
suns and swarming with hons, with a
view to attractino; the buyers whose or
ders take so symmetrical a form.
A LITTLE CRT H PLED LETTER.
A remunerative job for the solemn
visaged undertaker, an effective crape
around a highly polished hat, and a
wailing, saffron-tinted, helpless atom of
humanity, "by nurses overlaid," pro
claimed a tale of mortal suffering and a
holy peace for one more weary souL
Yoa see my story begins where ro
mance ends. At the altar, scarce a year
before, a little lady had given her life
and happiness into the keeping of Mal
colm Elliott, trusting, loving, and con
fiding, sooner doubting the goodness of
her Creator than the integrity of her
handsome husband.
To be sure, people wondered why this
brilliant, ambitious social star should
have turned his dignified back on all the
sweet eyes that were wont to seek his
own, and plead for a deeper glance;
why wealth and position could not lure
him from marrying a wall-flower.
The climbing rose and the stately
sun-flower could not stoop to a compre
hension of the modest beauties of the
violet. Its unobtrusive fragrance did
not reach them. Three months of bliss
for my wee woman, and she too ques
tioned, "Why did he marry me ?"
Mine is not the comprehensive mind
that can understand the caprices of our
vacillating male creatures.
The novelty had not worn away for
the little wife, and every morning the
pleasure of helping the dear owner of
self with his toilet, holding his coat
ready for him, and performing such
trifling services, that satisfied the man,
tickled his vanity, and proclaimed her
worshipping love
On this particular morning she dis
covered a bit of treacherous tailor work
in the lining of his coat, as he was about
to relieve her of it, previous to his de
parture for his office.
"Wait, let me mend it, dear."
"Oh, I havn't time this morning I'll
stop at the tailor's during lunch hour
and get it done."
"Please let me do it for you. I can
not permit a stranger to do that which
is such a pleasure for me."
"Bun, then, and bring me my other
coat. I have a client waiting for me at
10 o'clock sharp, and it is important
that I should see him."
Hastily brushing his bearded face
over her mouth, that was intended for a
kiss and received as such by the adoring
little matron, he rushed from her sight, j
Her loving, soul speaking blue eyes
followed his form in spirit for a while,
then the treasured coat was carried to
her room and neatly mended. Uncon
sciously then her wee hands slid first
into one pocket, then another ; bye and
bye, she smiling at her own curiosity
and the result so far a match safe with
nothing in it, a theatre bill, two soiled
handkerchiefs, innumerable business
cards, a railroad time table, a handful
of tobacco perfuming the whole, and
that was all ? No ; here in this catfish
mouthed side affair is something.
Dear child wife, why did not some
spirit-hand control your busy fingers ?
Where, oh, where was the spirit of
Thomas Gray, who so sensibly wrote
"where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be
wise, that he did not make a practical
fact of his words and jave this innocent
heart the agony of lost confidence in her
loved one ?
Alas ! like so many other bright in
tellects, is he, too, roosting in some
medium's wooden table ?
She finds some matches and a letter.
Pink tinted paper ; its original perfume
is lost in the sulphur of its present as
sociations. A lady's chirography, dated the day
before. She reads :
My Pkisce of Mes : The most ex
cellent baldpated owner of my charming
self has at last condescended to pass me
over to the fond embrace of my five
hundred friends. Welcome home has
lost its fervency. One greeting was
wanting, one pair of hands are fondling
other cheeks, one pair of eyes are look
ing into other responsive ones and 1
I am forgotten ; the gulf is greater now
that separates us and you have done it.
Six mouths of torture in a foreign coun
try, for me the only light breaking my
perpetual misery was perusing your
dear false letters, that said not one word
to prepare me for the shock, the dread
ful news of your marriage married t
My ambitious, glorious eagle, mated
with the sparrow? I could laugh to
ridicule at the incongruity of your
choice. 1 certainly wish you happiness,
I imagine I see you a little while hence:
"Malcolm, dear, do put away that stu
pid book ; Malcolm, dear, is the baby
wet? etc., etc."
"Oh, God ! I wish my loving heart
could grapple with your misery, when
you realize tbe chains that hold you to
the simple woman who would faint to
look at "Byron," and cross herself
should she chance to touch Festus, who
would drown Dryden in holy water,
think Voltaire was a song, and Tom
Paine a rag picker. Well, console your
self, she will bear you a nice family of
children, "who will rise np and call her
blessed," and you where will you find
the cooling waters for fevered mistake ?
And I life can offer me nothing now ;
since becoming the property of my good
natured owner, my only happiness has
been in intercourse with you, my grand,
noble love. Too late we met ; but as
we gaze at the stars and receive pleasure
therefrom, so did my soul delight in
your presence ; and none the less did
yon love me. Our tastes were alike,
and believe me not too vain when I say
my intellect was sufficiently lofty to
appreciate and inspire yours.
One more conversation I beg you to
grant me. Once more I wish to look
into your heart through your dear eyes;
and then farewell. I shall drive by your
office to-morrow at ten o clock. Come
with me if you still love me. L .
Like turned to marble sat his heart
sore wife.
"At ten o'clock 1" she whispered.
"At ten o'clock 1 And he has an impor
tant appointment And this is my pure
honorable husband. Too true, I can
offer him nothing but my unbounded
love. I am only a sparrow, but the
dear God in heaven will have pity on
even me."
No tear dimmed her eye. Only a wild,
hunted look told of the suffering within.
Dear, noble woman ; she met her hus
band with no reproaches. She placed
her arms abont him, and searched his
eyes as if to read his soul, and simply
said :
"Malcolm, tell me, husband, do you
indeed love me ?"
His answer was her death-knell.
"What a 'question, you little tame
sparrow you ; why else should I marry
you? That reminds me, a friend of
mine has just returned from Europe. I
think you have met her as a girl, for
merly. She is quite anxious to have
yoa visit her. I chanced to meet her
this morning, and she expressed a wish
to that effect"
Did he ever once dream why the limp
figure in his arms remained in such a
long swoon that the retired nature
could feel such anguish and not utter
one word ?
She left bim to hia inclination ana
society, her condition and delicate
health, her exense to withdraw from all
eyes but her few intimate friends, feel
ing convinced that with the birth of a
new life, hers would be demanded, and
hoping to this end, she assumed a
cheerfulness to her husband that quite
satisfied his requirements.
She could not worship an imparfect
idol. Her nearness to divinity gave her
a clear insight into the character that
seemed so noble, and resigned her to
give np life, having no further use for
it
The learned doctor could nee no rea
son for this exhaustion, this want of
holding on to life ; so this little spar
row died, the wintery blasts of a selfish
soul crushing her into eternity.
Happy little sparrow, you were amply
avenged when the man for whom you
died found the little crumpled letter
amongst your few treasured papers,
could you have seen the remorse that
prompted him to utter the sentence of
separation between its writer and him
self. "Too late I" he said, "I will never
look at you again. Your flattery and
my vanity have murdered the sweetest
woman that man ever had for comforter.
Her pure mind was so far above your
selfish heart, and my love for her was
purer and better than the miserable
attachment my blinded eyes mistook for
love of you. You have broken her
heart"
. Alas I In the Garden of Eden the man
also said, "The woman tempted me."
Oh 1 strong-minded, creative creature,
had but the Lord forgotten to make
tender woman from frail man, what a
world of nice objects there would be to
shout His praise 1
Strange such a blunder should have
been committed, the male progenitor,
Father Monkey, would have been suffi
cient company, I should think.
Let this be a warning then, troubled
husband. Your coat might also have a
rent, and curious hands delight to dive
into pockets. We all do. And never,
never, never stuff. anything into them
that will make sore hearts.' The result
might be more dreadful to yon than a
funeral ; every man's wife is not a good,
silent-tongued Bparrow.
A Japanese Hotel.
In imagining a Japanese hotel, good
reader, please dismiss all architectural
ideas derived from the Continental or
the Fifth Avenue. Our hotels in Japan,
outwardly at least, are wooden struc
tures, two stories high, often but one.
Their roofs are usually thatched, though
the city caravanseries are tiled. They
are entirely open on the front ground
floor, and about six feet from the sill or
threshold rises a platform about a foot
and a half high, upon which the pro
prietor may be seen seated on his heels
behind a tiny railing ten inches high,
busy with his account-books. If it is
winter he is engaged in the absorbing
occupation of all Japanese tradesmen
at that time of year warming his hands
over a coarcoal fire in a low brazier.
The kitchen is usually just next to this
front room, often separated from the
street only by a latticed partition. In
evolving a Japanese kitchen out of his
or her imagination, the reader must
isjast - away the rising conception of
Bridget's realm. Blissful, indeed.
is
the thought as we enter the Japanese
hotel that neither the typical servant
girl nor the American hotel-clerk is to
be found here. The landlord comes to
meet us, and, falling on his hands and
knees, bows his head to the floor. One
or two of the pretty girls out of the
bevy usually seen in Japanese hotels
comes to assist us and take our traps.
Welcomes, invitations and plenty of fun
greet ns as we sit down to take off our
shoes, as all good Japanese do, and as
those filthy foreigners don't who tramp
on the clean mats with mnddy boots.
We stand up uushod, and are led by
the laughing girls along the smooth
corridors, across an arched bridge which
spaus an open space in which is a rook
ery, garden, aud pond stocked with
goldfish, turtles, and marine plants.
The room which our fair guides choose
for ns is at the rear end of the house,
overlooking the grand scenery for which
Kuuozan is justly famous all over the
empire. Ninety-nine valleys are said
to be visible from the mountain-top on
which the hotel is situated, and we sus
pect that multiplication by ten would
scarcely be an exaggeration. A world
of blue water and pines, and detailed
loveliness of the rolling land, form a
picture which I lack power to paint
with words. The water seemed the
type of repose, the earth of motion.
Lippincott's Magazine.
iMentlelssoh n.
The Pall Mall Gazette says, in review
of the "Life of Moscheles," by his wife,
just issued, of all Moscheles's recollec
tions, none are so interesting as those
of Mendelssohn. Their strong personal
attachment, extending through the two
families, is known to every reader of
Mendelssohn's letter ; and the pleasant
ness of the picture is brightened by
Moscheles's account of their intercourse,
for their admiration and love for Men
delssohn was unbounded. One inci
dent in Mendelssohn's visit to the
Queen at Windsor is worth repeating,
for the benefit of those who may not
have heard of it before. Moscheles
gives it as he had it from Mendelssohn
himself. When Mendelssohn rose to
depart, the Queen thanked him and
said, "You have given me so much
pleasure, now what can I do to give you
pleasure ?" Mendelssohn deprecating,
she insisted ; so he candidly admitted
that he had a wish that only her Majesty
could fulfil. He himself the head of a
household felt mightily interested in
the Queen's domestic arrangements ;
in short, might he see the royal children
in their royal nurseries ? The Queen
at once entered into the spirit of tbe
request, and in her most winning way
conducted him herself through the nur
series, all the while comparing notes
with him on the homely subjects that
had a special attraction for both.
The Man Without an Enemy.
We believe in the man or woman that
"has enemies." This does not sound
sound, but is sound. Your milk and
water people, who content themselves
with simply doing no harm, at the same
time never doing any good they are
merely negatives. Your man of force,
who does not wait for a stone to get out
of his heaven-appointed way, bnt man
fully rolls it over, may unintentionally
hurt somebody's toes in the act ; bnt
thousands who will have to travel that
way will thank him for clearing it The
man or woman who has no enemies is
generally a sleek, creeping, cowardly
creature, caring for no one but himself
smirking and creeping in his unchal
lenged way to the obscurity he merits.
He adds nothing to the common stock
does no good in the world, and is
lowered into his six feet of earth without
one sincere regret from any one. He
has had no enemies, but has he had a
friend ? A place is vacant, bat not in
any warm, grateful heart A fig for
such people I
Styles and Titles of the EnzHsh
Kobility.
Foreigners ol raun. are half amused
and half provoked at the mistakes made
by Americans, even of the traveled and
cultivated class, iu regard to titles. An
English nobleman, who passed many
mouths in this country, lately told a
friend that he had scarcely ever received
a letter properly addressed, and he was
greatly amazed at such ignorance of the
usage of polite society.
It is really as improper for an Ameri
can to address a nobleman wrongly as
it would be for President Grant to
address the queen as Mrs. Guelph ; and
it is no reason, because we do not have
titles here, that we should not pay a
proper deference to the customs of
another country. In Switzerland there
is as complete an absence of titles as in
the United States, but Swiss ladies and
gentlemen do not on that account neg
lect to give visitors from other countries
their right style and title ; aud what
makes foreigners the more severe on our
neglect is, that they declare we are quite
as appreciative as the people of any
couutry in the world, of such dignities
as we do possess, and that colonel, gene
ral, captain, admiral, judge, are paraded
especially in connection with the wives
of officers, having such a prefix to their
names to a much greater degree than
elsewhere.
The truth really is, however, that
Americans blunder about titles without
the slightest intentional want of respect,
but from their ignorance on the subject.
We propose, therefore, as the British
peerage is the rock on which onr people
often split, to explain very briefly the
usage in regard to it.
There are in the British peerage seven
gradations of honor, viz : urch bishops,
dukes, marquises, earls, viscounts,
bishops, and barons. Prelates sit for
life only. They are termed spiritual
peers, and neither wives nor children
derive any rank or title from them.
The eldest sons of the first three orders
of temporal peers take their father's
next interior title. Thus, the eldest son
of the Duke of Sutherland takes the
title of "Marquis of Stafford," that
being what is called the "second title'
of the Duke of Sutherland ; and should
the marquis marry and have a son born
during nis father s lifetime, this son
would be called "Earl Gower," that
being a third dignity of the dukes.
These titles are called courtesy-titles,
inasmuch as they have no recognition
in law.
A duke and duchess are (with the
exception of archbishops) the only mem
bers of the peerage who have the style
of "yonr grace. lhey are always
spoken of as duke and duchess, and it
would be a mirk of ignorance of the
usages of high society to speak of the
Duchess of Norfolk or Sutherland, for
example, as "Lady Sutherland," or
"Lady Norfolk."
Ou the other hand, it is not customary
to speak of the wives of peers other than
dukes by any title but "lady." People
"in society" would pass a mental com
ment on the man who said, "I saw the
Marchioness of Lansdowne," instead of
saying "I saw Lady Lansdowne."
The younger sons of dukes and mar
quises have the courtesy styles and title
of right honorable and lord athxel to
their Christian name. Thus, the Duke
of Beaufort s younger son is, by cour
tesy,"The Right Honorable Lord Henry
Somerset," aud should be addressed b
letter, "The Lord Henry Somerset,"
"The" meaning "The Bight Honorable.'
The younger sous of dukes and mar
quises are addresse.!, when spoken to,
as "Lord Henry," "Lord Charles," not
as "Lord Somerset, or "Lord Manners.'
The sous of these younger sons have
no titular rank at all.
The younger sons of viscounts and
barons are styled "honorable." and are
addressed by letter as "The Honorable
Frederick Stanley," "The Honorable
Charles Edgecombe." In talking to
them, they are addressed, "Mr. Stanley,'
' Mr. E lgecombe," and they do not
even style themselves "honorable" on
their visiting cards.
The daughters of dukes, marquises,
and earls are styled "nglit honorable
lady," aud are addressed by letter, "The
Lady Mary Bruce," "The Lady Emily
Lennox," "fhe" standing for "The
Kigut Honorable." The daughters of
other peers are styled " I'he Honorable,"
as "The Honorable Emily de Grey,"
"The Honorable Charlotte Eden.'1 In
speaking to the daughters of the three
highest ranks of the peerage, yon would
call them "Lady Jane," "Lady Emily."
In speaking to the daughters of vis
counts and barons, you would say,
"Missde Grey," "Miss Eden," and, if it
became necessary to distinguish between
two sisters, you would give name and
surname. It is not usual, as with us,
to say, "Miss Emily," or "Miss Char
lotte." The custom of saying 'my lady,' 'your
ladyship," has entirely gone out of
fashion, and, except to an old nobleman
or a bishop, it is, unless you wish to
be found formal, quite unnecessary to
say, "my lord ;" indeed, nothing bores
a lord more than the constant reproduc
tion of his title.
No peers of Scotland have been created
since the Parliamentary Union of that
country with England, in 1707; but
Scotland has, by the terms of that mea
sure, sixteen representative peers to
represent her in the British Parliament
The remaining Scotch peers have no
seat -in Parliament Scotch peers are
elected for each Parliament
Irish peers are still created, because,
by the terms of the Irish Union Act,
their number muBt be kept up to a
hundred, over and above those who en
joy seats as peers of England. They
have twenty-eight representatives in the
House of Lords, who are elected for life.
An Irish peer may sit as a member cf
tbe Honse of Comm'ons for an English
constituency, and Lord Palmerston did
so all his life.
There are a few "peeresses in their
own right " These ladies, if they marry
and have children, transmit their honors
to their eldest son. If tbey have no
son, but an only daughter, the honors
pass to her. If a "peeress in her own
n ght" in the English peerage left several
daughters and no son, the peerage would
what is termed, fall into abeyance"
among the daughters. The abeyance
can be terminated by the sovereign, who,
however, does not often take this course
unless there seems a prospect of all the
heiresses dying ont save one, or unless
one has a male heir, and the others
have no prospect of one. In the Scotch
peerage, on the other hand, the honors
of a peer or peeress, whose titles are
descendible to female heirs, are inher
ited by the daughters in succession.
Sometimes the course of descent is
specially laid down in tbe patent creating
the peerage. Thns, the daughters of
the late Marquis of Antrim became, by
virtue of this, in succession, Countess
of Antrim in their own right, in the
peerage of Ireland. Scarcely any peer
ages granted since 1600 descend to
female heirs.
Baronets are not noblemen, and do
not in any way belong to the peerage.
Sunday Mercury.
Pseudo-Lords.
Every now and then there is news
paper mention of the arrival in this
country of some distinguished member
of the British peerage not un fre
quently followed by a statement that,
atter having been made much of in
"our best society," the noble lord turn
ing out to be an impostor, had sloped
off to parts unknown having first
fleeced his credulous friends out of
cash, or valnahles, or both. Two lines
in Samuel Butler's "Hudibras" exactW
express the truth in such matters. The
poet tersely said .
"Donbtie.a the p'eanr Is as great
Of being cheated, a to cheat."
The avidity with which onr people
fall into the trap establishes the truth
of this. Last year we were favored.
first in the West, and afterwards in
New York, with the presence of a young
man who passed as ' liord uordou-uor-don
;" this year the pseudo-nobleman
turned np at Cape May. with his yacht
moored (out of sight) in adjacent At
lantic waters, but, with more than un
usual rapidity, "Lord Massy," as he
called himself, bolted away without
having succeeded in victimizing any
one but a hotel-keeper, and the place
that knew him now knows him no more.
At the present rate of exhibition, a new
mock lord turning np every season, so
cietyor that shoddy section of it which
takes such mock diamonds to its bosom
will probably feel personally insulted
when any person piously says "the
Lord be with you 1"
The Gordon-Gordon affair showed
our gullibility very completely. The
young Earl of Aberdeen, a Sootoh peer,
had been drowned at sea, aud the titles
and estates were claimed by tbe next
kin, his only brother. The case was ro
fered, as ususl, to the Committee of
Privileges of the House of Lords.whose
decision since given in the claimant's
favor had been delayed a little by the
want of a slight link in the chain of evi
dence required to establish the fact that
death had taken place as was alleged.
Whild the case was thus; in snspense
before the Lords, but with a certainty
of a decision in favor of the late Earl's
brother, a young man, who declared
that his name was "Gordon-Gordon,"
who called himself and allowed others
to call him. "Lord," who wrote notes
as a "Lord," and whose letter-paper
and seal bore a peer's coronet, pre
sented himself in New York as the
missing Earl of Aberdeen, and pretend
ing to have vast sums of money at his
command, succeeded in imposing upon
Horace Oreeley and some credulous
capitalists.
He endeavored to draw Col. Thomas
A Scott into the net, bnt did not suc
ceed. His claim to the Earldom of
Aberdeen being dissolved by the deci
sion of the House of Lords in favor of
the true heir, Gordon was fain to be
content with the title of "Lord," which
was freely given him. Circumstances
brought him before a legal tribun.d in
ew lors., and 11 was proven there i
that he could not have been a legiti- j
mate member of that branch of the Gor- j
don family which has the Earldom of 1
Aberdeen, nor of the late and last Duke
of Gordon, who died, childless, in 1836,
before "Gordon-Gordon" could have
been born, nor of the Marquis of Hunt-
ley (also a Gordon), all of whose sons
were born in 1817. In the law c.mrt the j
"Lord"waa asked whose son he was, but !
the very astute judge who heard the
case decided that this was an improper '
question I As the world knows, "Lord" j
Gordon was liberated on bail, went to :
Canada to be out of the jurisdiction of j
the Uuited States, and is now tho sub
ject of a legal, which a little more harsh
ness on the part of tbe Canadian au
thorities may fan into an international,
dispute. Gordon is now best knowu as
"the Lord Knows Who." No doubt.he
is a smart aud clever fellow, with a
large share of assurance and a consid
erable amount of plausibility.
The Cape May pretender seems to have
been neither smart nor plausible. He
is said to have endeavored t-j pass for
"Lord Massy" to which was added "a
sou of the Duke of Leeds." He overdid
it. Hail he simply claimed to be "Lord
Massy, "it might have answered, for
there is Baron Massy in the peerage f
Ireland, the title dating from the year
1776, but the Duke of L eds (who is
also Marquis of Carmarthen, Earl of
Danby, Viscount Latimer, Viscount
Dumblane, Baron Osborne, and Baron
Godolphin) never was "JLiord M -sy,"
has no connection with the Missy
family, and, his eldest son being Mar
quis of Caermarthen by courtesy, none
other of his kindred can bear any of the
above titles.
It appears to ns, seriously reflecting
on these matters, that iu future the
landlords of leading hotels iu our wa
tering places and great cities will have
to be provided, in self-defence, with
the latest edition of Burke's peerage,
with a view of ascertaining whether any
noble lords who wish to bed and board
with them are genuine or fictitious
peers. Ten minutes' examination of
"Burke" would have enabled hotel-
keepers, capitalists, and fashionables in
XT V 1 . . : . 1 , l f 1 !
iaejw xorai w ascentm wuvmer uuruuu
Gordon was or was not the Coroneted
individual he was taken or mistaken
for.
Birds of Germany.
The birds of Germany, like the crows
of Ireland, are the pets of the people,
both in the city and the country. They
are protected by law, bit no law is
needed for their protection. They are
so tame that many of them build their
nests inside of the houses, and are never
disturbed by old or young. Throw
down a few crumbs and they will come
down from the trees and almost eat of
your hand. The consequence is that
fruit growers never suffer from the in
vasion of worms, and the plum and
damson, which has almost disappeared
from our markets grows here to the
greatest perfection. The holidays are
not distinguished, as with ns, by a
throng of boys with shot guns pouring
into the couutry and slaying out of
mere wantonness the feathery tribe,
which is regarded here as an efficient
co-laborer to the agriculturist.
Mr. Jons Bomch is the proprietor of
a tobacco and confectionery store, at
1039 Cotton street, Reading, is the pre
cinct of Irishtown. When he arose this
morning he found his wife absent from
the house, and the following note lying
npon tbe kitchen table :
"John Bolich, I am going to your
father's, and I am married to John Fare,
for yon was too cross to me, and beat
me for the last time. From your father
I am going to New York and work there.
I think I can make my living. Good
bye, John."
John Fare is a young man, about 22,
and Mrs. Bolich is about 31 years of
age.
It has been discovered, recently, thst
the organ of rational language lies in
the third convolution of tbe left ante
rior lobe of the brain.
The Dollar we don't Spend.
We have to calculate pretty close at
our house, yoa know; and the whole
family are called into council when any
important expenditure is to be made.
Well, the other evening we were con
sidering the small remnant of tbe Quar
ters' salary, and Mrs. Dobbs was trying
to reckon how it could be made to cover
everything. There was her new dress,
and a new coat for me, and a new carpet
for the best parlor, and a new hat for
our (at present) unmarried daughter,
besides a great many other things, with
which I will not occupy your valuable
space. The main point was the new
dress, and Mrs. Dobhs was thiukinp of
this shade.aud scrutinizing that pat' el j,
wishing she could buy them all, doubl
ing if she could buy any of them ; and
our faces grew louger as the salary
grew shorter. Prsentlv, with om of
my happy inspiration, I said to her :
' Mrs. Dobbs, there is no dollar that
does you so much good as the one yoa
don't spend."
She looked at me a little perplexed,
and presently she said : "Why, Doctor,
i aou t understand vou
So I said : "The handsomest dress is
the one you don't buy."
"Oh, yes, that's true. The best dress
I ever bad was the silk that Mrs. L irge
head gave me when she came from Phila
delphia. She bought it ou Chestnut
street, and it couidu't have cost less
than"
"Mrs. Dobbs," said I, interrupting
her ; "the handsomest and every way
the best dress is the one that yoa don't
have."
She was more Duzzled than ever, and
I was forced to explain.
"Mrs. Dobbs," said I, "all the dresses
vou ever bought have worn out haven't
they?"
"Yes," said she, very promptly, "all
of them. I haven't a decent thing to my
name. There is my bombazine "
"Wait a moment," I said, for I was
mortally afraid to have her get up that
topic ; "and did you ever buy a dress,
did you ever have a dress any w-ty, that
yon dida't have some misgivings over ;
that you didn't see some defect in ; that
yoa didn't rather wish that you had
bought the other?''
"I believe you are right," she said,
thoughtfully.
"But," I saiil,"thedress thatyoudon't
buy has no faults ; you are never tired of
it; it never grows old; never fades; never
wearsout; you neverwish you had chosen
some other ; or if you want to change,
how easily the change is made !"
"Why, yes," said Mrs. Dobbs, "I
never thought of that before."
"And so," said I, "of vour dollar. Yoa
never spent a dollar in yonr life that yoa
didn't feel at least a doubt as to whether
you had spent it wisely. Yoa wish yoa
had bought something else. But the
wish was vain ; yon couldn't make a
change. The dollar that you spend yoa
can spend but once, bnt the dollar that
you don't spend you can spend a hundred
times. You can buy a d.tzen things with
it every time vou so out If vou are
dissatished with any of your purchases,
you can go back and begin all over again,
And so," I continued, "the dollar that
yon don't spend does you a greal deal
more good than the dol'.ar that you do
spend; and better than all.it brings
with it i o rerTets, no misgivings, even."
Mrs. Dobbs looked as though she
didn't know just how to answer me, but
at the same time as though she wasn't
quite couviuced. Presently sha said:
"Vell, Doctor, I don't know that I
see through it all, but no dourityou are
right, for you are a great deal wiser
than I am. And so we will go on that
principle. I will take the dollar that we
do speud, aud you shall have the dollar
that we dou't spend, which is, as yoa
have showed, so much the better of the
two."
Wants it lotel Here.
The Chicago Times thus addresses
the leading dry goods merchants in that
! city :
I Vou will please provide a lunch coun
' ter f r your lady purchasers, without
further delay, or hide vour diminished
heads. Tue ladies of Chicago cannot
long be kept iu ignorance of the fact
thut the most fishionnble dry goods
house in Paris keeps a collatiou spread
to refresh run. lame after the fatiguing
labors of shopping, aud it is not to be
thought of for a moment that Pans
should b ahead of Chicago in any such
matter. True, the uou-lunching pur
chaser might not altogether relish the
thought that he or she was paying for
some one else's lunch ; but so sensible
a consideration as this cannot be ex
pected to obtain against the practice of
importing Parisian fashions; else we
might have no Parisian fashions what
ever. Then there is another trick of
the dry goods trade at the French capi
tal which is noteworthy. A prominent
dry goods house g:ves to each customer
as he departs a toy balloon, such as
children carry about, on which is
priuted iu large letters an advertise
ment of the establishment. The peculiar
adroitness of this is that after these as
piring playthings have palled upon tbe
youthful senses, their earthly ties are
loosened, and they go up to advertise
the store among the celestials.
The Siege of Paris.
An exhibition of the siege of Paris is
shortly to be opened. It has been pre
pared by the Minister of War. It is a
plan of Paris and its environs to a dis
tance of twelve miles ; it will be fifty
yards long and forty yards wide. It will
exhibit the surface of the ground with
its hills, valleys, water-courses, the
principal monuments of Paris, the for
tifications with their cannon, tbe forts,
the batteries, the German camps, their
fortifications and batteries, all the battle-fields,
with the respective positions
of artillery, cavalry, and infantry. The
Museum of the Louvre has been en
riched with a curious Dutch beaker of
the eighteenth century. The beaker is
a child in silver, standing on a hollow
hemisphere. When wine is poured into
tbe beaker the child rises, raises the
lid, and makes its appearance. This
beiker was used to drink th health of
women about to become mothers.
The Philadelphia Press tells this:
At an elegant dinner party given in this
city the enfante terrible of the family
was permitted to occupy a seat near one
of the most distinguished guests. This
bete noir is much given to conundrums,
which are not always appropriate. More
over, the young man has a sister who is
a shining belle in snci-ty. Eliza is the
name of the young lad r, but the young
scape-grace will call her Lize. The com
pany were startled the voice of the
youngster asking, ' Way is father like
the devil ?" An awk ard pause ensued.
Then'he shouted out, "Because he is the
father of Lize 1" (lies.) That boy did
not get his dessert, for he was sent to
bed.
One of Brigham Young's wives, Ann
Eliza Webo Young. Uaus left lum and
entered a suit for divorce.
J;
t