eSefci , ' " - r , A rv-- ; i' iiiifi feitfid jflk nil B. F. SCHWEIER, THE OOI8TmjTI0I-THE DTTOS-ATD THE EXF080EMEIT OP THE LA8. Editor and Proprietor. VOL. XXXVIII. MIFFLINTOWN. JUNIATA COUNT V. PKNNA.. WEDNESDAY. NOVEMBER 5, 1884. NO. 45. nuKH will. lr Be? r 0; u, !-vr, nil1-', siaml V w 1"" brejkii: on ileatba ,i:l:K S-;.v.i.!, Li Unit II' Ul til ailrtit UuJ r,.-.tr lbe o'h-r away. V b . b oil' it be? PrUcu'i L'iii' n ;n:t roue mit nuiro t i't.J -.tv' i an-l le-olate, where f'lf -rtn1 iu life's fait day, J. v.-in arrl lln. 0r- di'.ci or 1 Mui tie mandate, "Tliy I'lleuit mttil l.e ' i.: ten i i'b ;j:::'.!tg cry I li i! only jo1 can bear, Jj .!i ttiil it lie? a no .w ma-t .-to; tbe ryes Ot' it.? o'he:" ternler, loiut( even 4oi 'J f ' thai lel'orw us Ilea ; I I e lace so caiui, so dear h ! ftcny ! tiIir i cu the oilier U gtme :,i ieaa ou 'be cold uieuioiLal alone, AcJ broken y miIi, "Alone alouel AlJ tbe niu.ls iiill ttgh Over you or we. Ai.'! ki grown old and gray, f exi '. atice walk liU earth's toilsome way, i5;faia of tbe ioe that lires for aye. As :be ytars roll by, Which wul it be? I HAT W1LFCL CIBl.t A:e e arrived at Victoria Lou den "The urxt stoppage will be Victoria Station. You are i London already." Tue question bad been asked timidly, a :V.i a French accent, by a girl near the sunny window of a rail way -carriage. ' Ti.e ladies who answered bad cast many a curious giauce at her llht traveling costume, she wore a summer cottou orrs-f pale blue aud a simple straw U'. Tim re was something sweet and .lisotue iu her face, though the mouth, Lke the lips of a spoiled child, decid ed hlrted possible fits of wilfulness. The energy of an active will shone iu hri Jmfc eyes, though they had a softer aiixious iook as ihe railway-journey Jre litur to an end. Her hair was ilaik rtui'inu i eddish gold where it caught t!.e li'hr. ; and the fairness of let lace uouid have contented even r" b it for oleiinate freckles that a.itly e!r ever saw. The two trou Ucs of tiiis jouiif; traveler's life had Uvti treckW-s and flerre Bruu. Sc:e I.arijue had just left a French jct;i'!. Xliere, in the land where mar-r-iiTcs aie s.) often arranged by the par en:, s!ie had often received ou visiting-da- nut oi;;y her father, the old silver- :ui:ili liiiui t ans, but with him his ljart;ier, t'lene Unin, her destined uus- ba:id. Old Laiique. who was full of jokes and good humor, had always laUL'I.ed at Sophie's objections. "i vant to chxse for myself." sue HoulJ sav. "A pretty reason that for not wish- u.4 to uinriv riei re, my wilful &-.iiUie! Ler oiJ !a:her would laugh. "Just be-oiux- 1 will, you wont 1 But 1 know our beari letter than you do ; 1 know li&causa I love you best. Have vu any more reasons to urge against uiv choice, little one?'' "It would be some humdrum life over tie hop." "What else would suit you, Sophie ? Castles, titles, and adventures ?" At this Sophie smiled ; life in a castle. ith a t:tled lover to woo and wed her this had lieen her dream all her life or at least all her life till she met Lud wi2 Holz, the art -student. "Any more objections ?" her father would aak ; and, if Sophie only blushed, Le would bezin to joke and tease her about Ludwig ilolz, whom she had met obct wlien she had taken a fancy for studying art at the Louvre too. "You need not laugh at poor Lud witf's romantic attachment,'' Sophie would say at last, with a sigh. "He is of asood Bavarian family; lie has sworn fidelity.'' "Ai.J he will go back to Munich and uihrry !" her father would finish. "He won't !" ' X'msense I You will see I" Then, kiting; her. wit a loving persuasion, while Lis white locks lay against her auburn hair "You will l happy if you marry Pierre Brum Why not ?" "He only drones at work and !ays he loves me." 'Then you shall come home next week. I .shall have a holiday soon, and you shall have a wedding." "I won't I" Aud with that, at the last interview with her fattier on visiting-day at school iphie had run out of the draw in g-rooin. l'lioiigli still at school for her freaks aid vi.i ul ways had kept her back in everything she was past nineteen, an I ter chief friend was one of the teach ers, Ma'lenioiselle Melanie. Just as Sophie had rushed In a tem per out of the drawing-room. Madem oiselle Melanie had met her, and asked playfmly "Wt :it is the matter now ? Is it the freckles or Pierre Brun ?" "Doirt iauirh at me 1" cried Sophie ; th-n, with a stamp of her little foot "Take me home next week ; indeed he shall not get me S He shall not !" "If you will stop talking to yourself," said M.uiemolselle Melanie, "I will tell you something. I was out on the beach just now, and I thought I saw you at another of your freaks, perched on a rock. It was your Ggure, your hair, your fare, even your eyes ; but" slyly "m I drew near I perceived that then were no freckles not even a microscoe could find them ; and the young lady was very handsome. I had even called Jour name, and I felt it so awkward that I ajiouigized and ran away. She is the girl from that lonely house far up the coast. 1 declare, Sophie dear, if you could ,tliy manage to be handsome, yon would lie nearly as charming V "(io ;:way !" said Sophie, half laugh he. but like a child in a bad temiier. LaVri in the day Madame Dupm, the oid uuMrers of the school, shook her cap sadly and shrugged her shoul uprs, as she heard worse and worse "re ports of Sophie. "That wilful girl ! What cau be done? "er father will take her home next k, iiid she will be married, and we 'l l ave peace ; but somebody else ''t '. Alas, it is very sad I lt her sent t j,e,ti'rence to "the music-room till snpper-timg, to occupy herself with t"e piano." At siiprr-iime no sound had been heiirj. The music-room was strewn with key, levers, little leather-covered hammers, every bit of ivory and wood that made the.mechanism of the instru nt ; and even the case was in pieces. Phie was sitting in the middle build ig a castle w ith all the bits. "I have been occupying myself with the piano," she said can put it to gether again, though perhaps not the nehtway." Aad this little outbreak wad the last of Sophie's scrapes at school, for she uau nireauy resolved on flight to her grandmother in England; and with tiiat indulgent old laay she would beg to stay till her father for love of her would change his mind, and fetch her back to ch wse a husband for herself ; and she would wed none other than the romantic art-student Ludwig Holz,who was 10 oe eiernany aevoted to her. The next morning Sophie Larique climbed the garden-wall and fled. She wore the best cf her school uniforms a black silk dress and a broad hat with white and black feathers. But the thought struck her that she would be described, discovered, and brought back before she could even reach Calais. "Ah," she exclaimed, seeing a bright colored heap on the shore, "some one Is having a sw im ! If they pursue me, I shall outwit them. It cau be no rob bery can it ? to leave silk aud feath ers instead of this cotton dress and straw hat." So Sophie made the exchange, and, drivinir in country ami rM-ttitir ur cottages, felt safe enough In her perfect 1 .1;. ...... .1. uisguiae uuui t-ue reaciieu Calais. She crossed the Channel safely, and bad completed her journey from Jover, and was naturally feeling nervous at the thought that she would uext have to Inquire in IndHi, the great bewil dering foreign city, for the house of Madame Verueau iu Great Wimpole Street. She was terrified and exhausted, and hardly knew where to turn when the train stopped and she stood aloue among the rushing crowd on the plat form. All at once two men In a dark livery and a brown-faced Frenchwoman seized her and began leading her away. "l)o not give trouble, mademoiselle. We are the servants sent for you. Yon will come with us at once to the return train." Sophie struggled, argued, screamed. Tbe woman whispered to the crowd, who fell back without interfering and let the group pass. Sophie, was not even sure who these people were ; they would answer none of her questions ; and, lift ing her into a railway-carriage, they were soon being carried back to lKjver. "1 am fainting !" she cried. The woman gave her something to drink from a flask, aud presently Sophie sauk back against the cushions and passed from falntnesa to deep sleep. Her next sensation, after awaking to life, was a strange one. With the tirst flash of memory, she hoped the flight was a horrid dream. But no it had been reality ; and she was not back at school again, but in some place that she had never seen before. She was lying on a conch in a dingy shadowy room hung with tapestry, and an old womau in a peasant's high muslin cap was knit ting in the failing twilight near the window. It was a small window in a deep recess of a thick wall, and from the couch one saw across the polished floor to the hearth, recessed too. like a cavern, under a high old mantelpiece of carved stone. Sophie sat up, weak aud frightened. "Valerie dear, you are awake," said J the old woman, hurrying to the couch and kissing her forehead. "You silly child to run away ! But they have brought you home now ; and how glad I am to have you again ! It was a long rive years, child, and I felt for you. Take this drink, my little Valerie, and say you know your old nurse ; it will lighten my heart." "Her kind face guaranteed that the drink was no sleeping-draught. Sophie took it and stared about, asking, in a frightened voice 'Where am I ?" "At home, dear child, at Kergadec. You remember home, Valerie It Y'ou make me tremble, child ; you stare as if five years have made you forget us all 1" 'This is not home 1" cried Sophie. "Let me get away 1 My father is in Paris I My name is not Valerie I" A look of anguish passed over the old woman's face. Poor child 1" she said, at the same moment urging Sophie to remain sitting on tbe coucb, and stroking the auburn hair that had now fallen loose. She touched a belL A servant in II very brought in a tray, and with one searching curious glance at Sophie, set it on a little table near her, said, "Mon sieur desires mademoiselle to come when she is able," and retired. The old nurse woald not allow Sophie to ntter a word ; but she pressed her to a delicious little feast cold chicken, dainty bread, an omelette, and fruit. "I got it ready for you, my Valerie," she said. "I am sorry to say your un cle is aa hard a man as ever ; he would have called it folly, so I said nothing. No do not speak it might be bad for your poor bead, my child. But I wished to give you that little warning, as you will have to go down to him now. Do not make him angry ; humor him about the Marquis." "There is no use in try ing to talk to this kind old woman," thought Sophie "she will not let me ; but I will ex plain when I see this 'uncle' of whom she speaks." At sight of the supper the girl re membered that she was hungry ; and she was presently strong enough to of fer to go down to see this uncle, or whoever he was. The old nurse told her that she must put on a pretty dress first, and, again stopping all protests, she led Sophie into an adjoining bed-room, where there was a vault-like atmosphere, as if it had long been disused, and a ghoetly bed with a pointed canopy of a pale saf fron color, now faded and fringed with black, which a better light would have shown to be tarnished gold. "Yrour dresses were sent arter you immediately by order. No hush! Y'ou must not make yourself ill with saying silly things. Hush I" And forthwith Sophie's blue cotton ur chanced for a white summer dress that fitted to perfection and floated light as a cloud. The ow woman's ca resses and admiration gave tbe girl con fiilinci She could not hel? smiling and peeping into the glass an old mir ror framed In tarnisnea suver. ixunm it then was another deep-set window ; outside an ivy-clad tower wit a roun 1 roof rising to a point evidently iormeu nart of this same building ; and she could see in the distance -the niglit clouds coming up ragged and brown over the sea. 'One word,'' she Deggea. "i" iet me say it ! Am I in a castle ?" "Yes, my child ! Y'ou know old Kei gadec ?" "Ah." cried romantic Sophie, "wha. . , ..i :. .,it oh.uiM lilrn a pity 11 IS BU Uliaiat to live here always.' "Y'ou shall live here always," an swered the old woman, brightening, "or close by when you marry the Mar- qUSophl was silent, willing enough to see what would happen. To wear a beautiful white dress iu a castle by the sea, to be expected to marry a marquis 1 Ah, what a pity it was all a mistake ! she was led by tbe old dame along a corridor and down a winding staircase. Her guide knocked at an oaken door, pushed it open, and withdrew. Sophie was received by a thin sharp-featured niau with iron-gray hair. He was pol ishing the barrel of a fowliug-piece,aud two digs lying at his feet looked up and growled, but were silenced by a kick, at which, stranger though he was, Sophie could not help raising a cry of protest. His angry look chauged to one of surprise snd evident admiration when he turned to her. He leu her to a chair, saying 'Y'ou look well. So you rau away, Valerie f But, you see, we brought you back to France in double-quick time " "Monsieur," cried poor Sophie, it is all a mistake ! Have the kindness to pardon the trouble I have given and to enable me to go to my home in Paris. It was foolish and wrong of me : 1 ran away from school, aud you are all mis taking me for some one else, whose dress 1 put on." "Don't you begin your tricks again!" thundered the supposed uncle, sliakiug a warning finger at her, while a cloud of dust tlew from the leather rubber in his hand. "They did well to make you took charming. 1 dout care to make you cry with that pretty white dress on; so I will say no more about your run ning away if you give up your tricks and marry my friend the Marquis." "I know nothag about it. I am " "How could you know much, when I hardly ever dared to let him see you, lest you should begin in your headstrong way to pretend madness to frighten him off ? But marry him you shall. I tell you. Valerie, it is a necessity. Kerga Jec is mortgaged to him , if you are to be his wife, he will give me good terms any day. lie is as ready for you now as he w as rive years ago ; so don't play at madness again." "I am not mad !" Sophie protested, springing to her feet. "I am not the girl you think me; I was not here at all five years ago. I am the daughter of Monsieur I-anqiie, the silversmith in fans, aud 1 Insist on going ' "Y'ou cannot escape from Kergadec ; so dona make a scene," interrupted the old man coldly. "1 know you are not mad ; I always said you were not wheu everybody else said you were. But you have come back the same w ilf ul girl you alwavs were. And look here, Val erie if you have not been cured by your five years with Doctor Moritz aud his rcallv insane patients, I shall send you back to the mad people again !" Sophie implored him to believe her ; every word only enraged him. At last she was led up the winding stairs again by the old curse. Any assertion that she was uot Valerie made the oli wo man so wretched that Sophie resigned herself at last to a sleepless night tuthe ghostly bed-room. A clock in some re mote turret ch.md the hours: the sea iu the distance sounded always. On the couch in the next room the old nurse was keeping watch ; but, when Sophie heard that "Barbe" had come to keep guard instead, and when she recognized the voice of "Barbe" as that of the harsh woman who had brought her from London, she lay silent in terror, even fearing to stir. Daylight only brought fresh proofs to Sophie that there was no escape, and dreary days and dismal nights made her understand her terrible plight. She learned beyond doubt that she was truly believed to be Valerie de Kergadec, a young girl of unsound mind w ho had been for five years under a doctor's care not far from her own old school. Doc tor Moritz bad sent tbe news of herdis appearance to her home in Brittany, and traced Sophie's flight by her general de scription and dress. Valerie de Kerga dec bad been fond of the sea, and was permitted to bathe at a safe part of the shore ; but twice before her disappear ance she bad wandered down tbe beach to Pontignon, where the rocks were dan gerous and the water was treacherous in its rise. Doctor Moritz, in bis let ters of excuse, cited these rambles of Valerie de Kergadec in self-defense, for, after those two expeditions, she had been found and brought back. The letters of the Doctor only made the Barou de Kergadec exclaim "That w ilf ul girl 1 What trouble she took to foil me 1 She has actually sim ulated madness well enough to deceive the Doctor. She would do anything ou earth to have her way. But I'll break her In; she shall marry Itougemont 1 '' Whether she was called Sophie or Valerie, Sophie heard her owu charac ter described. Had not her dear and kind old father often spoken of her too as 'that wilful girl" ? Ah, if shecould but get back to him again I A bright idea struck her. She ceased to entreat and argue, and sent word to the Baron de Kergadec that she would act as reasonably as could be wished, if be chose to present the Marquis to her. She saw a way to escape. This Marquis de ltougemont would understand her I position and take her part. j After tbe message, she was allowed to leave her rooms and range through the chateau at will She might cross the broad moat full of leaves, but the walls and locked gates could not be passed. Still it was a relief to breathe fresh air In the mossy court-yard where the sun-dial stood, or to wander through picture-galleries, panelled halls, suites of rooms where the furniture had be come faded by tbe wear of a century or two; or better still it was to walk In the neglected garden, looking up at the gray towers and pointed round roofs, aud building for herself other castles castles in tbe air. For romantic Sophie began to dream that she might marry the Marquis, after all. Yet do dreams could give her rest, torn as she was by the thought of ber poor father, broken hearted, mourning, and searching all tins time for bis lost child. That thought and her fear of tbe harsh Baron de Ker gadec were tbe troubles of ber new nightmare life very different troubles from those light and easy ones,ber freck les and Pierre Brun. "Look your best to-night," said the Baron one day, overtaking ber in the garden wilderness of grass and weeds. "De Rougemont is coming to dinner. Remember, he is under the impression that you have spent these last years at school, making up for tbe ignorance caused by your wilful ways. When you refused him before, your last wicked resource was to feign insanity. 1 kept him from being deceived and frightened off ; you have me to thank for persuad ing him that it was all nonsense. Now promise that, when the Marquis de Rougemont comes, you will act sensi bly." Sophie said "I promise" so earnestly that the Biron gave i p his threatening tone, and muttered complacently "Tamed already 1" The womau Barbe, who seemed to act as housekeeper, was not without clever ringers, for she had drawn frvm some antiquated wardrobe and fitted and decked anew before evening a cor geous brocaded dress of thick aiik such as V alerie de Kergadec's great-grandmother wore bronze-green and gold. With plenty of soft lace that bad turued veritably brown with years, it made a rich quaint setting for the graceful girl ish figure, aud showed 'o perfection the auburn of her hair, while the flush of i excitement gave color again to theuark- i rjwi 11HD "It may be like a fairy tale on both sides, after all. The Marquis de Rouge mont will admire me and rescue me, aud it will be better for him to marrv a silversmith's daughter thau poor u.ad Valerie de Kergadec And I shall be married to a Maiquis, and live in n i .id tie by the sea as beautiful as this place would be if they had nutlet everything in it go to rack aud ruin. How ad and amazed my dear father will 1 I And Pierre he will make a pair of sil ver bracelets for me, and say, "II w ould I have hoped to marry a girl who is now La Marquise V Aud my faith ful Ludwig Uolz he piouiised so fer vently last summer to be devoted to me alone I Ah, I am sorry for Ludwig Ilolz I" Sophie was thinking thus when the Baron met her at the foot of the turret-stairs, told her that she looked charming, and, with a grim smile of satisfaction, bade her follow him. Just as they reached a tafed drawing room, the Marquis stepped in froL a garden-terrace, by one ot the windows that stood ou to the ground, lie bowed and kissed her hand, after a leer of admiration, exclaiming, with coi.rse flattery "Mademoiselle Valerie, all destined brides should be sent to that schvoL They have taught you to be more and more beautiful." Sophie, instead of blushing, tuiued pale; she was even more trighteued than angry. The Maiquis de Rouge mont was a coarse heavy-looking m iu, with a face bloated and blotched fi m a dissipated life. It was only in let first bewilderment thatSophiehadst.oJ lifeless while he seized and kissed ter hand. When he offered bis arm, vne turued to the old Baron and clung to him; aud De Rougemont follow. d, laughing loud, and asking tif she Lad learned baslif uiness too. Not a moreel of dinner could Sol liie touch. After every stolen glance, che shrank more than ever from the rep jl sive man with the red face aud the un steady hand. As soon as she could, she withdrew by the terrace to the dr-tw-iug-room, leaving tbe Marquis laughing loudly at his own stories aud drinking glass alter gla.-s of w ine. In the drawing-room Sophie found a crumpled news paper that he had brought from Paris. She would have shrunk from it- tt in stinct, as from everything tlse beA.c;. ing to him ; but in oi.e of the columns she caught sight cf her own name. There was a paragraph telling ot the fatal accident to the only daughter of Monsieur Larique, of the well-known firm of Larique, Brun, et Cie. Madem oiselle Sophie Larique h.id been at school at Pontignon. While bathing, as it was supjiosed, for a venturesome freak at a dangerous spot and out of the usual hours, she was accidentally drowned. The body was found three days after, and was conveyed to Paris, "where, the report concluded, "the fu neral took place yesterday at Pere La chaise." A loud cry broke from Soph'e "My poor father 1" At that moment he was grieving for her. In her anguish for his sake she was almost mad. It was all clear to her. They had found her dress, and Valerie de Kergadec had beeti drowneJ. The Marquis had stpped out on to the terrace. Sophie run straight to him. "If you ate a gentleman, listen 1 Don'i let Monsieur le B iron interfere. Rescue ine I" The Baron came rushing from the diniiig-ioom aud tried to stop her ; but Sophie cried out the louder, t ven above his angry voice "I have been kept here against iuy will. I am not Valerie, but another girl. I ran away from school, weariug Valerie's dress I found it on the beach, and changed mine for it to escape. No, no" to the Baron "you cannot silence me; I will be heard 1 Valerie de Ker gadec was drowned ; they found her and my dress, and think 1 am dead. It w as only to tell you this that I consented to meet vou. Monsieur le Marquis Oh, if you have any feeling of goodness or kindness, believe me help me 1 Write to my father, Monsieur Larique, in Paris, or write to M.ulame Dupin, at Pontignon do something for me 1" screamed Sophie, with clasped hands. "My poor father is mourning for me as dead. I am wild wild to send him word, to get back to him I" "What a tragic actress she would make !" said the Marquis, with a roar of laughter. "She is playing the old tricks with me. Ha, ha, ha, it Is as good as a play I My little beauty, y u need not try to confuse our wits and laugh at us. I happen to know you have just studied your part out of tbe newspaper iu the uext room." "But," said the Barou, after a mo ment's hesitation, "she has told that same story since the came. Ah, yes, I know now 1 We have a clever coquette, as well as a wild one. to deal with. Of course Valerie, ling at school at Pon tignon, beard of that other girl." "You must let me go t" cried Sophie desperately. But they only laughed at ber. "I see,"' said the Marquis de Rouge mont. they gave my pretty Mademoi selle Valerie, at Pontignon, not only beauty, which she had before, but tem iier and freckles. But she will lose the wild freaks aud the temper and freckles at Kergadec, as 1 perceive by the eyes of my friend. Monsieur le Baron, that he does not mean to give Mademoiselle Valerie too much sun or sun-breeze till she stops romancing ; aud then she will make a most beautiful, tractable, charm ing little wife !" He bowed with this speech. Sophie saw that he was hot and foolish with wine. She gave him one angry glance, and lied into the house, and away up the staircase to her own rooms ; but, when tbe old woman with her tall mus lin cap came, though Sophie flew to ber with prayers and tears to be helped to write to her father or to be let go, even her friend could not be jiersuaded. "Poor child," she said, trying to ea less and soothe her, "do not allow things In the papers to get into your mind Uiey confuse that poor little bead 1" When Sophie rushed down-stairs agaiu aud tan through the corridors, hoping to find the seivant-men, and then out into the couit-jard to make a despairing search for some outlet from the fiarden, the hard faced strong wo man Barbe followed her, with jingling keys at her side, ami forced her back and up the turret-stairs again. "It is a paroxysm," Barbe explained, making her lie upon the couch ; and, despite the old woman's entreaties, Soptiie found a haudkerchief dung over ber face, and then consciousness was gone. Happily for poor Sophie, the Baron, for his own interests, would not allow De Rougemont to see her again till she h.id become, as he called It, less obsti nate. He pleaded to the Marquis that his niece was not well enough to see any one ; so the most dreaded figure at least did not reappear in this nightmare of reality. But Sophie's health gave way. In her first acblnK and burning nights of fever she saw no hoi. A doctor would be called, and she would appeal to him ; but no doctor came she had Barbe day aud night instead, with nauseous drugs. "I shall die here 1'' she cried out one night, sitting up suddenly, with the strength of fever. "My poor father he will never know t" Her cries brought the servants from the basement, aud even the Baron him self up tbe turret stairs; but Barbe sent them down by calling out "It Is a parotysui that is alL, She Is ravin; ;" aud Sophie fell back on the pillows, faint and despairing. But Sophie did not die. She at last grew better, and she sat all day iu a large airy room, looking out at the bright line of the distant se.i and pray ing for deliverance. "Do let me have a little walk ou -he shore," she pleaded, with a coaxing smile, raising her pale face to the old nurse, who sat knitting beside her. She hoped to find some fisherman or some countrywoman into whose hand she could slip a letter. "My child," said the old woman sad ly, "your uncle would be angry If 1 took you out, and then your life would be harder; but it is sad to refuse. My poor Valerie, you were always fond of the sea. Listeu ! Do not oppose this marriage any more. After the marriage, vou need not see much of the Marquis de Rougemont ; but you could live a nice quiet life, aud feel more free than here. He has a beautiful chateau, with a large garden and woods, and " "Oh, never, never, never I" was So phie's answer, with all her strength. "That wilful girl Is obstinate still I" roared a voice from te terrace outside tbe window ; and tbe iron-gray head of the Baron appeared. In answer to Sophie's passionate ap peal at this first sight of him since her illness, he only said "If that ridiculous tune about Sophie Larique begins again, off you go to Pontignon the moment you are well to Doctor Moritz and the mad people." At that moment Sophie saw a way to delivciaiica. She kept Up Ui6 "lidlCU- lous tune," aud at last was sent off to Pontignon to the lonely house which she had often seen from tbe old school windows. The moment D.ctor Moritz saw her, he exclaimed "There is a mistake I I never bail this young lady under my care 1" And her appeal to him was not in vain. He sent a telegram to ber father, to break the too great shock of joy, and then he took her to Paris. Late that evening, after the bliss aud excitement of the return, her father 'aid, when the auburn head was resting happily against his shoulder, close to his white locks "Three months ago Ludwig Uolz heard of Sophie's death ; two mouths ago he went home to Munich ; one month ago be was married." Sophie broke the silence at last, "Why do you not tell me about Pierre Brun ?" "He went to a lonely grave at Pere Lachaise." Sophie, with a startled cry of grief, looked up Into his face ; but iu a mo ment she saw that her father was iu one of bis old jesting moods. "He went several times I did uot say it was his grave it was, iu fact, the grave of a stranger, who we thought was Sophie '" . "And then ?" she asked. "Well, then he said be should work no more, as he had worked only for So phie ; but he would be a soldier and die for his country some day and be went." Sophie's tears began to trickle down on to tbe old man's baud that held both hers. "Ah, father, I loved him I would have been his wife ! Hoor brave Pierre! I know the worth of love and work now tbe worth of home." "Little Sophie," said the old man ten derly, "I think that wilful girl that I knew at Pontignon went down into the sea, and a sweeter Sophie has come from an enchanted castle. I said be went not to be a soldier, child ; he must not go now. The telegram came one hour before he was to leave us ; and, when my child was coming, I said, 'Keep out of the way, Pierre Brun, till 1 try her heart ; and he went, though his own heart was breaking to see ber." "Father dear 1 But why does that door creak ? Is it the wind ?" Go and close it, child." "But when will Pierre come my dear brave Pierre ?' "Now, Sophie I" It was the voice of Pierre Brun ; aud the creaking door oiened wide. So there was a happy wedding, after all I Wmtr Palace, There is the Winter Palace, in Rus sia, and to what thoughts does it give rise. Within this is the Romanoff por trait gallery, where one sees the tablet upon wnich are the rules that Catherine enforced at her conversations. These are quaint, and here is the tradition of them: 1, Leave your rank outside as well as your hat, and especially your sword. 2 Leave your right of prece dence, your pride, and any siiniliar feel ing outside tbe door. 3- Be gay, but do not spoil anything; do not break or gnaw anything. 4. Sit, stand, walk as you will, without reference to anybody. 5. Talk moderately, and not very loud, so as not to make the ears and beads of others ache. 6. Argue without anger and without excitement, 7. Neither sigh nor yawn, nor make anybody duU or heavy. S. In all innocent games, whatever one proposes, let all join. 9. Eat whatever is sweet and savory, but arink with moderation, so that each may find his legs on leaving the room, 10. Tell no tales out of school;, what ever goes in at one ear must go out at the other before leavingthe room. Charity is a universal duty. EnbUout i. f Liberty. C. a. The device on coins emblematic of liberty is no doubt devised from a sim ilar device on the coins of the Roruan Republic, anterior to Agustus, and has much of classic authority in its favor. Its adoption does not seem to have been determined by any specific act or in structions, and iu fact, tbe journals of the Senate and other proceedings of Congress show that tbe Lead of the President was at first intended as the device for one side of tbe coins. The first coins struck were cents, In 17v3, on which the emblem was a fe male head, with hair flying wildly be hind. In 1795 the cap ot liberty was introduced, supported on a wand pro jecting behind tbe head. In 1790 or 1797 the cap was discarded. The first silver coins were struck in 17iM. The bead of Liberty, with flow ing hair aud without the cap, tornied the obverse. This style was retained with slight modifications, until about the year 1S0S, wheu a more pleasing ueal ot Liberty, with hair dressed and rap, was adopted. lhe device was taken from life, and was considered a model in good taste of the fashion of the time. The inscription of the word Liberty was at the time transferred from the margin of the coin to the baud of the cap. The first gold coins struck in 17y."i were ornamented with a head of Lib erty and a cap head dress corresponding with the fashionable head dress of that period. This coutinued until 180", when the head dress on the gold coins was made to conform to that on tbt silver. Upon the change of standard in l.H.il the liberty cap of the goddess was removed from the bead and thx hair confined with a band inscribed with the word "Liberty." The next change took place near the end of tbe yeai l3S, the hair being looped up behind and entwinid with braids, a couple of stray curls hanging loosely upon the neck and the front ot the head euibel isbed with a tiara inscribed "Liberty." Sincethen tbe changes In the artistic devices and designs upon coins have been few and unimportant. Tue re verse of all our larger coins has always presented to a certain extent the her aldic elements forming the arms of the Union, and no doubt in accordance with the almost universal usage of the independent sovereignties, of present ing a device on tbe reverse or their coinage bearing heraldic allusions more or less elaborate, to the arms of the government or sovereign authority. In the various changes made from time to time every effort has no doubt been made to present as beautiful coins as the limited suee would permit and also to secure designs whbli would pre sent no difficulty in mechanical execu tion. The head of Liberty ou the standard dollar, designed by a young Knglish engraver. Is chaste aud beauti ful, and is considered by artists the best executed head that has ever ap peared upon United States coins. It is so well distributed as to be susceptible ot easy work under tbe die, and like its predecessor of 1303, was taken from life. Tlie Temple at Jeraalem. The dimensions of Solomon's Teinpltj were insiguiucant as compared with those of many other ecclesiastical struc tures of later days, and even as con trasted with those of noted heathen temples. It has been remarked that the dimeusious of the Jewish sanctuary were just double those of the Mosaic tabernacle, the erouud-door of the tem ple being 110 by feet, and its height .V feet. (Knc. Brit.) The second temple doubled these dimensions-, and the temple erected by Herod In tin n greatly enlarged the latter. The foundation of Solomon's Temple was laid B. C. 1012. and the edilice was completed B. C. 10U.-, having beeu 7 j years in building. The temple was surrounded by an Inner court, this by an outer court, and this again by the court of the (.entiles. Chambers for the use of the priests, for the treasury, and for other purposes connected with the temple service, were constructed within these courts ; and iu popular usage the entire enclosure embraced by the exterior wall was often sjioken of as the temple. Solomon's Temple was destroyed by Nebiichadnezzer B. C. o.-58, and the Ark of the Covenant, with its sacred contents, is supposed to have become the spoil of the plunderers. The sec ond temple was reared, amidst great tribulations, by the Jews on their retnm from the Babylonish captivity, the foun dation being laid, B. C. o.14. This, though larger, lacked .the glory ami magniliceuce of Solomon's and a still greater loss was the Ark and the Sheki nah. This temple was destroyed by Herod B. C. 37, and the foundation of a third temple was laid by Herod the Great B. C 20. Of this temple the Jews said (John ii : 20) "Forty and six years was this temple In building." It was destroyed by the Romans under Titus A. D. 70. Subsequent attempts to rebuild were ineffectual. A Beuiarkable Bridge. Distant about an hour's ride by rail from Avignon is the Pont du Guard (or 'Bridge of the Guard"), a great bridge, or aqueduct, built by tbe Romans at a time when this part of France was occupied by the soldiers and colo nies of that people ; and next to the Colloseum at Rome, it is considered the grandest and most perfect piece of Roman arcbitectnre now standing in the world. It is au immense stone bridge, stretching across the whole valley. It consists of three rows of arches, one aliove the other. In the lower row there are six very low arches ; above this is a longer row of eleven smaller arches ; and over this, thirty-five arches still smaller. On the top of tbe upper row, and forming the summit of tbe bridge, is a covered aqueduct, or water way. At a little distance this vast bridge seems almost as entire and per fect as when first bu lt, and we can hardly realize the fact that it has stood there lor nineteen centuries. It was erected solely for the purpose of carry ing water across the valley, and was part of an aqueduct, twenty-five miles long, constructed by tbe Romans to conduct the water of the springs of Airan to their town ot Nemausus, bow the French town of Nimes. Great stones project at regular inter vals from its sides, to tbe top of tbe second row of arches. These served as supports to tbe derricks and other machines by which the massive stones were raised as the building progressed. We can also see the square indentions in tbe stone-work which were made there to support the scaffolding of the Romas masons, r-' A llear Mother. Tbe winter of the year 1703 was one of extreme cold. Never was a coldei winter known in Europe. In Fiance many people froze to death in their beds, not only among the mountains, but every where in the villages and cities. The hottest fire was not suffi cient to keep a room warm. While the stoves were red hot, the water would freeze but a few feet from thern. The trees in the forest and by tbe roadside became so frczen that some of them burst, and made a noise as if a small mine h d exploded. sparrows and crows and jackdaws sometime fell down dead while flying in tbe air. Large flocks of sheep and cattle froze in the barnyards. The bats, which usually slept during the winter, were awakened out of their torpid slumbers, fluttered around a little while aud fell dead oil the ground. The d-er in the forest could uo more run switlv, but crept slowly out of the woods and came near the dwellings of meu Fi- j milly spring came, airl a multitude of them were touud dead in the woods. The little lakes aud brooks and rivers, after they had been thawed by the sun, emitted a very unpleasant o 1or,becau?e nearly all the lisU in them had been fro zen to death. The people suffered from extreme poverty, for the cold had de stroyed mauy of tlieir meausof support. Tbe wheat that had been sow n in the autumn, their sheep, fow s, tt.-h and vegetables that had beeu buned in the ground, were completely destroyed by the frost. Dining this winter a poor little Sav oyard boy was wandering in the streets of Luneville, in Lothringia. He ws a pitiable orphan. His older brother, who had taken care of him, had now gone on a message to the city of Nancy to earn a few francs. But he Buffeted the fate of many travelers, and was frozen to death. Many of the passen gers on the stage and on horseback were frozen to death, thoeyh coveted w ith furs and cloaks. Tue drivers lost their lives, and still held the reins iu their stiff hands. The little Savoyard boy wandered about from Louse to house to get a lit tle employment or a piece of bread. He was glad "to blacken boots or shoes,;! ust clothes, clean dishes In the kitchen or do anything that w ould give Lira a sou But whea night came ou his suffering became intense. He had slept with his brother in a carpenter shop, where the two had covered themselves with aa old foot cloth, on w hich they plltd sha viuirs very high. They lay very close together, and by this means managed to be protected from the severity of tile cold. But now be was alone, and he would certainly freeze if he should at tempt to sleep in the carpenter shop. The wife of a hostler took compassion on him. She showed him a little sleep ing place in one of the stills in the sta ble w here the horses of a certain prince were kept. In this stall there stood an iron cage iu which a lanje brow n bear was confined, for tbe beast was very wild and angry. Tne little Savoyard boy, who bad come in the darkness of the night into the stable, neither knew nor cared for any wild beast that might be near by. He lay down upon some straw and stretched out his hand to pull more. As he stretched out his hand be put it between the wires of the cage in which the bei-s. was, aud found that a large pile was there. Thinking it was better to get in where the straw was, he crawled up to the cae and squeezed in through the iron bars. The bear grumbled a little, but d d no vio lence. She took the tittle stranger be tween her iaws and pressed him near her warm breast aud against her thick ski n so softly and comfortably that he who had not slept for many iiights with any comi'ort now forgot all fear and soon f, 11 into a sweet, deep sleep. In the morning the boy waked up with renewed strength and crept out of the cage, and went forth to the city to attend to his business and seek his daily bread. At night he returned to his strange mother. Beside the bear there lay a great mauy pieces of bread which had been brought from the table of the prince; but the bear bad ea:eu all he wanted, and these were left. So the Savoyard ioy helped himself to all he ueedeil. He then lay quietly down be tween the paws of his thick-clad moth er, who pressed him to ber as she had done before;aud he slept there as if iu the warmest feather bed. In this way he spent five nights without anybody knowing it. On the morning of the sixth he overslept himself.so that. whea the hostlers went around with lanterns in the early morning to attend to the many horses in the stable, they saw the boy lying between the paws of the great bear. The old bear grunted a little as if she was very much offended at anyone seeing her taking care of her little fa vorite. The boy sprang up,and squeezed through the cage, to the great astonish ment of tbe bystanders. SlOO Worth. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he entered a livery stable tbe other morn ing and proceeded to look over the horses. When he had made the rounds the proprietor asked: "Looking for a horse?" "Say. I've one of my owu.but a neigh bor is continually bothering me to loan bimtherig for a drive. Have you an animal w hich you will warrant to run awavV" "Y'ou bet I That old roan there will make a break before he is driven tw o blocks." "Then I want to borrow him this af ternoon. I'll give that neighbor all the buggy-riding he wants for a year to come." The horse was sent to his barn at the hour agreed upon, aud hitched up for the neighbor and his wife. Lucky for the wife the horse ran away before ahe got in, and she was thus saved from a big scare if not a case of broken bones. When the animal was returned to the stable the proprietor inquired: "Well, I warranted him to run away or no pay." "Yes, he ran away." "And your game succeeded?" "Y-e-s, I suppose to. That Is, I've got to sit up nights for tbe next two weeks with a man with a broken le?, aud 1 suppose my buggy was damaged about i 100 worth." Whenever you commend, add your reasons for so doing, it is tnis which distinguishes the approbation of a man of ser.je from the flattery of sycophants and the admiration of fools. A generous, a brave, a noble deed pe; formed by an adversary, commands our approbation; while in its conse quences it may be acknowledged pre judtcalto our particular intees. NEWS IN BRIEF. Alaska is to have a newspaper. Maine has C4.Q0U farms. General Gordon wants ll,"00,000 in Egypt. Cleveland, Ohio, Is troubled with dre-bugs. At Chicago corn is steadily improv ing in price, Spain he'ds first rank as a lead pro ducing coun ry. Ca3t-iroa chillei tools wi'.l aooa take tbe place of steel. American cattle and breadstuffi are wanted in England. The French are making leather to imitate alligator hide. Femile horsethieves ate surprising Pennsylvania farmers. "Mvamo fires are lay :ig wk5te Ney Jersey cranberry bogs. In trnde circles, business is letter lo anticipation than In fact. The Norristown, Pa., Insane Asy lum has organized a brass band. There ate said" to be 1,371,217 illit erate voters in the United States. Tne Emperor of Austria Las the fiuest collection of pipes in Europe. The Russian Government has bor rowed 5A,WJJ,000 to build railways. Two whales were captured at Mon terey, California, on a recent Sunday. Tho Mormon Church Iu Utah re ceives about SJ.UijO.WO a year iu t.thes. The students of Yale College smoke between. 2,0') and 3.0) cigarettes a day. The number of oxen in Vermont m ISoO was 4'uj; theie are cow only "Graveyard" insurance cas-4 keep turning up in some of the Lasieru States. The laige lt.il.au ironclads aie now Lronouuced utterly uaseaworUiy and unwieldy. Oi;ea;iary iu Texas has already furnished 0 WjO pcui.da of honey this season. Pittsburg proposes to prohibit tha election of w oodeu buildings within tne city limits. It costs t.'ie bank of England 5-30, OijO a year to feed its clerks during ousi uess hours. So far this season no less than 33 horse thieves have been hanged by Ne vada vigilantes. There are niiie establishments tu the cnited States produciuj 3,0-30 watches a day. Pennsylvania wool growers esti mate their loss by tariff redaction at over 52,luU,'Jt.iO. Iu 1?Sj the Ua tcU suites exported 4-k,15J 01U gallons of kerosene Oil val ued at t iJ.i' Jo-i. The desertions in the British army last year wee 3,717, almost exclusively very young soldieis. A certain cotton planter in south east Arkansas Las betw-wu S.'JjO ad 9,Wd acres undtr cultivation, Mexico pays iG-3 premium for coo lies, and expects 12,0ijj of them this year to work ou the railroai-. There are 419 type-set teis, besides the apprentices, iu the Oove. nment PrintiLg Office at Washington. Out et 17,oj Canadian cattle sold Iu Glasgow last year, 4,'J were taken ty farmers for feeding purposes. Theprojiortion of the trade of New York for l-s'i was of the enr:;e trade of the United States Aj per ceat. Ezjpt has to pay itllOX'M in demnity to propel ty-hjMers tor the Kntish destruction of Alexandria. The charter of Atlanta, Ga for bids any ;erson from holding the otiica of Mayor for two consecutive terms. The Carlos Theatre in Naples ia sa.d to be the largest, and La Seal a at Milan the next largest theatre In the world. The outlay for ti e Royal Agricul tural show at York. England, last year, reached s0,tiuo, vet thev made a profit of j.li.lMKJ. A Washington lady is having madt into a bell the bkiu of a rattlesnake that she killed while on a summer trip to North Carolina. Nelson Miller, of Stcpbc-ntowa.N. Y'., who is reported to be l'.'t years or a;e, recently waiked ten mi.es to attend a camp meeting. Frezich journals allege that mei chants in China have trie I bard, sinje the Tonquin difficulties, to export poi soined tea into France. The number of cattle slaughtered ii Chicago for the year end.n March L 1S-4, was l.lDjo.ascouipared with 774,57s for the previous year. Earlham College, at Richmond, Ind., the leading CJuaker college in the West, is to have a new ii,ijO building and three addition il professors. Dishonest milkmen to the number of twenty-two were Lned from jilo to HMJ each recently in the New York Court of General Sessions for watering milk. From Jan. 1 to May 2J, the Union Pacific Railroad sold 1,43'J,IM) acres ot land for i V-.bW; this land has been considered U irien and w as sold to cattle men. Toruadis, it is stjt'.el, occur ex clusively in the afternoon, and when the temperature is very In.'h, saturated with moisture and charged witli elec tricity. The furniture interest in the Uni ted States is enormous. Three years ago it amounted in New York to 30j factories and a product of nearly $10, 000,000. The Empeior of China recently authoiized the destruction of S4,lMA), 000 worth of opium, aud emphatically refuses to accept any revenue from tha odious traffic. A Connecticut company manufac tures 17,000,0o0 pounds of liquorice an nually, 1,000,000 pounds being used for coufectionery and medicines, the bal ance in tobacco. Gold was discovered in Dennison, Texas, a few days ago by workmen en gaged in digging a well. On testing small fragments .of rock gold to the value of forty cents wa3 extracted. The city of Paris has leased 27,000 acres of the low-lying forest of St. Germain and the adjoining meadows, for the purpose of expei interning in utilizing the sewage of the capital. A Dakota farmer, in 13-31, planted a single grain of wheat in one of bis oat fields. From it grew twenty-two stalks, each one bearing a full head. These yielded 850 grains, 7C ) of which were planted the next year, producing one fnth of a bushel of splendid, wheat.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers