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BRAINS AND TEMPERAMENT.
Slanders in Determining: Char" actcr by tbe Face. lha Female Countenance a Beautiful Mask. Spurzhelm’s Classification of Tem- peraments. We all form rough judgments of each other, as bright or dull, cheerful or melan choly, sluggish or energetic, stupid or intel ligent, Bat none of oar judgments are more emphatically of tbe class called empirical, and nene have more frequently to he revised or repented of. We begin to exercise this critical judgment very early in youth. The shrewdness of extreme childhood, in deter mining the character by the face, is prover bial. Yet the errors made are continual. The symbols, by which childhood judges, are sample. A pair of curled moustaches means £erceness; depressed eyebrows mean ill temper; foil red cheeks stand for good tumor ;|and what, in after life, we shonld all agree to call a tinirk, moans benevolence or tenderness. These inferential mistakes in regard to character are not confined to juvenility. £ Ten. to those of advanced years mere regu larity of feature, with quick, glossy eyes, peem to indicate intelligence, and moist blue eyes, good-nature, cheerfulness, or tender ness. Some of the surprises that await ns in these or similar particulars are often pa thetic or even tragic. At ffve-and-thirty we Bee that the errors of thirteen were inevita ble, bat how we regret them! There was a certain face made sad through suffering of a nature yon were too yonng to understand. Von stood aloof from the man, though be Wished yon well and clung to the knees of a smooth-faced scoundrel, and so on, and om, without end; for old people make these blnfidera as well as young ones. And there is a certain tract of moral country in which we have all gone astray. Is there, was there ever, will there be ever a man who. to the last day of his life, will, not be liable to be fooled by the exquisite, inscru table promise of the female race f The word “fooled” slips from the pen, bat it is not because he who holds the pen believes that unselfish faith is ever really fooled. Bat the burthen of the matter lies not here. So a man, a tolerably fair female face sug gests so much that is unutterably sweet and attractive, but that does not seem jus tified by his experience of life, when he comes close to the possessor of the face! It >iß not long since a young married man told me all his allusions were gone. Let not the reader suppose, in haste, that I am driving at a commonplace; the point we are aiming at, is not an obvious one. This young man was well educated, good natnred, incapable of (more than passing and casual) nnkind ness, and was better pleased with his wife and hi** first child or two —for it is early days with him yet—than most married men. But, though he made this communication to me with a laugh, its real meaning did not escape me, and, in fact, it was easy to see that he made it to me because he knew I should catch that very meaning. Only it is, of course, out of any man's power to open for another those inner depths of human experience, which justify some people, if they live long enough and seriously enough, and if the right thing happens to them, that promise of the female face of which I fear it most be said that the immense majority of men find it simply disappointing. .And there are certain particulars in which it is really a cheat, taking women in detail. tVhat sweetness, what tenderness, what modesty, what delicacy in the handling of unpleasant facts, what sense of mystery, yon can hardy fail to see in the fact* of many an ordinary pretty woman, let, if von take the rule, is the average yonng wom an kinder, more thoughtful, nay, is she even cleanlier, than theaverage yonng man. There is a great deal to be said ter the nega tive—-a very great deal Compare the yonng vromt-n whom yon tee in streets and public conveyances, in the morning and evening going to or returning from, employ ment, with tbe young men. I declare, the fact has forced itself on my senses, that the young men are the cleaner and bet ter-kept animals. As for tend-rness and thought-taking, though every form of mal waiting and hand-service is to me utterly hateful, I would rather, if I must be nursed, have Corporal Trim at my side than the or dinary woman. The reader may safely as sume large as he may think the assumption, that I have present to my mind all that is to bo said in the way of extenuation or expla nation here; but the fact remains, that by the majority of men,in the majority of cases, the female countenance is found a beautiful mask. 1 merely me the fact here as one of the strongest illustrations of my own partic ular point. , . ~ It is often said that, in a mixed assembly, the “clever” men and women cannot be dis tinguished from their duller companions by any external signs. This is partially true only, and is open to the question, “What do Ton mean by the appellation ‘clever, intel lectual,' or ‘successful V ” It is not people of the finest intellectual fibre always who get into the best positions, yet it is true that 2 70U get together a class ofmere Gibeomtes and men whose pursuits have been purely intellectual, the difference is at once appar ent. The mind becomes assimilated to that which it works in. Those who have had to €a m their own living, from protracted fam iliarity with sordid things, must show it in their manners, and those whone associations have been elegant and refined, retain some thing of the odor and the glow of the atmos phere in which they have lived. In the second place, what are the external signs yon begin by looking for * Most like ly itis the flashing eye, the broad brow, the illuminated air, and all thereat of that sort of upholstery. Now. these yon may not nod among successful! men of talent even of very great talent; nor by any means neces sarily among men of genius. With regard to these latter, tbe proper course, one proper course, is tostndy tne essential peculiarity of the upholstery sign when you happen to come across it. It will be admitted, for ex ample, that the eyes of Goethe and the eyes of Keata were very striking. But yon might find eyes as large and as fine in color among very common people indeed. The point then is, to find out what were the essential pecu liarities in the eyes of those two men of genius,—the thing which so set off the form, size, and color of their eyes as to give them the essential expression of genius. And then, when you come upon eyes inferior in form, size, and color, you may yet chance to find signs of genius in them. I mention the eye m passing; but. in point of fact, I know of no merely facial signs of a high temperament, which are so Constantsa those to be found in the hair, the lips, and the nostrils. The temperament is the best way of ar riving at the true theory of the bram. Iwo men, very similar in regard to size and shape of the brain, will differ materially in re spect of energy and cleverness. The era qi oseopist will tell yon that this variation is caused by difference in tbe quality of the brain, a thing exceedingly indeterminate. - The following is Spurzheim’s classification of temperaments: .. , I “The Lymphatic, or phlegmatic, tempera ment is indicated by a pale-white skin, fair hair, ronndness of form, and repletion of the •cellular tif sue; tbe flesh is soft; the vital actions are languid, the pulse is feeble, and the whole frame indicates slowness and weakness in the vegetative, affective, and in tellectual functions. . , . , “ The sanguine temperament is proclaimed by a tolerable consistency of fi«sh, moderate plumpness of parts, light or chestnut hair, blue eyes, great activity of the arterial sys tem, a strong, full, and frequent poise, and an animated countenance. Persons thus con stituted are easily affected by external im pressions, and possess greater energy than those of the former temperament, “The Bilious temperament is character ised by black or dark hair, yellowish or brown skin, black eyes, moderately full but firm muscles, and harshly expressed forms. Those endowed with this constitution have a strongly marked and decided expression of countenance ; they manifest great gen eral activity and functional energy, “ Tbe external signs of the nervous tem perament are fine thin hair, often inclining • to cnil, delicate health, general emaciation, and smallness of the muscles; rapidity m the muscular actions ; vivacity in the sen cations. The nervous system of individuals go constituted preponderates extremely, and they exhibit great nervous sensibility.” • Now, all this is open to comment, both as to its essence and its applications. Bat that f i find I must deter, and will only add now that the hair is, on the whole, the sign upon which 1 have found most dependence is to ; be placed, and that it must he borne in jnind, in making observations, that tbe hair of women is, as a rule, thicker than that of wbich is seen many germs of truth, al though all of the definitions admit of much ,■ .discussion and limitation. The Travel* .f a Gold Pen. A qneer tale about the travels of a gold ■pen is supplied by the Genesee (S. Y.) Repub lic. It says that a Major Murdecwell h« for some -weeks past suffered from violent irri tation and swelling of the neck. This was i supposed to indicate a severe boil, bat two or three days ago, something appeared to show that the trouble originated in a caose lar more novel. This “as nothing leas than , T>j ece of gold pen that oorked its wav throned the swollen parr, which afterward beeanto heal, and the explanation la made as follows; In one of the battles In the West, Minor Morderwell was shot square through ibe body. The ball entered his stomach, wept through the intestines, ami oaesod out of the baek close to tbe spinal column. It is said that tbe Major was one of the very few so shot during the war who recovered. But line is not the only exceptional feature of bis case. The ball carried along with it a gold pen and part of the pen-case that held jr. and which, when he was hit, were in the wounded man’s vest pocket; and the ball. In passing out, left the pen and case in the Ma jor’s body behind it. Since then, those ar ticles have been wandering about, probably trying to pass ont too; and, finally, pare of tbe pen, at least, has succeeded. From this curious story it would appear that, whereas it is in the highest degree dangerous to be slot through the stomach, the ri-»fc is con siderably obviated if yon can only contrive to adjust a gold pen so that it will go la with the ball* THOUGHTS. BT BUFF PORTER. He who wonld know the truth, and move others to renounce the false, must, in the incomings aud outgoings of his own life, be unwaveringly upright’ and consistent. Truth dot s not finish np her work in an instant, like a flash of lightning, but rather like tbe chisel of Time on tbe faces of God’s eternal mountains. In the darkest clouds there are rifts that let through little gleams of golden sunshine, or fhow the glimmering of a star. In true conversation, words take off their gloves when they shake hands,* and, when they kiss, their faces are not covered with a veil. The power that tints the petals of the most delicate flower, or flushes the folds of the tenderest snnset cloud, is not less law than the force which with mighty hand controls the thundering floods of Niagara or moves tbe restless tides of the infinite deep. Health gained, the whole world is a har vest-field ; without it, there is nothing but a desert-barrenness, a withering waiting that makes the heart sick. Day by day, through tbe long, countless eyces of Eternity, souls shall be moulded, and fashioned, and formed. The centnries shall be as ponderous hammers, beating them into shape. The eyes shall be as chisels, cutting and polishing, and finishing, till they shall be fitted, living statues for that spiritual temple, not made with hands, eternal in tbe Heavens. There i- a communion with Nature that leads our thought* and souls upward until lost in coutr-mplation, as white-winged doves ate hidden in the silver and violet clouds of tbe morning. Soothing as a mortier's kiss pressed upon mouth ot a startled babe. Fiom the heacou-heights of home, God’s eternal watch hies cast ont paths of light that lead to Heaven. Love is Faith’s elder child, and she has a multitude of graces from her mother. Every tonl has a Mecca, to which, like a pi I giim, it toils to pay the vows it made in come arear garden of sorrow. Man i* a grain of sand between the mill stones of circumstances, and is ground into new forms with every turn of the ponderous wheels. For years, with tears, man has sought to know God and be comforted with commun ion with Him, oft crashing with his knees of prayer tbe lilies whose lessons, read aright, would fill the aching void and give him peace. The night was tone unbroken web of sleep, not clouded or figured by asingle dream orlancy. Earth was chastened by the farewell kiss of tbe sunset, wrapped in the soft gray robe of twilight, and laid on the yearning bosom of night, while the day went down to slum ber. It 1b only the ebbing tide that leaves tbe shining pebbles bare; so our thoughts are not made visible by words when it is full tide in tbe soul. Load words drop upon their knees where a child sleep*; let them fall upon their faces, in the i Uhb of silence, where a soul com munes with its Maker. ‘“Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night eboweth knowledge.” But it is nnto him only whose eoni is open to receive, that tbe Babel voice** of the day will utter intelligible speech,aud the myriad influences of night show knowledge that con be under stood. No one can live and speak ont his highest conceptions of Goa’s eternal truth, and stand long alone. Every form in the infinity of God’s crea tion is a finger-board of truth pointing to ihe golden 'mile-stone within the shining gates of the Eernal City. Where a ciond, by some agony, had been torn, there shone a single star, dazzling and bright-. There is something sacred in the mutual revelations of soul that constitute true spir itual frier*.ship. Let bleescd Chanty fill our hearts so full oi her spill* that we can kneel oa the altar eteps -wi'b tb© old, iearful prater of the pub lii-toi?, “God he merciful to me, a sinner.” by tbe side of those even whom the world has scorned and cast ont. Nature is always true, aud she ever stands wi*h finger pointing toward God. The noise and bustle of Day glide down aud are lust in tbe bosom of night, as a sing ing rill is hashed in the foldings of the mighty wateis. (Sonis wait for love’s sunshine to blossom the world hack to Eden. Man, following in the path of the blind traditions of the past, has failed to see the angel standing in the way which the dumb beai-t aud all below have seen. We yearn for the great unknown; we would fly to the mountain tops; but, through tbe haze, dimly we see that the way up is by little, slow, toiling steps, one after another. THE STRANGE COUNTRY. I have come from a mystical Land of Light To asttange country; The land I have left is forgotten quite In the land I see. The round earth rolls beneath my feet, Ana the still stars glow; The ou rumoring waters rise ana retreat, Tne winds come and go, Sure as a heart beat all things seem In this strange coon try, S 7 sure, so brghc, m a glow of dream. AH things flow free. It is life, all life, all awful and plain, In the sea and tne flood. In tne bearing heart, in the wondrous brain. In the flesh and the blood. Deep as death is the daily strife Of this strange country; All things move up till they blossom in life And tremble and flee. Nothing is stranger than the rest. From the pole to the pole— The world in the ditch the eggs In the nest, The flesh and the soul. Look in mine eyes, O man I meet In this strange country ! Come to mine arms, O maiden sweet. With thy month hiss me! Who goes by with a crown on his brow % K..ng Summon t He is a stranger, too, I tow, And most journey on. O wondrous faces that up start In this strange country 1 0 identities that become a part 01 my soul and mo I Wha» are ye building so fast and fleet, O humankind 1 “We »ie Duiidiug cities for those whose feet Are coming behind. Onr stay is short; we must fly again From this strange country ; But others are growing, women and men, Eternal y." Ay, what art then, and what nrn I, But a breaking wave i Hlftlrg ana tailing, swift we fly To the shore of the grave. 1 have come from a mystical Land of Light To this strange country; This dawn I cam©; I shall go to-night; Ay, me I ay. me 2 I hold my hand to my head and stand ’Neath the air'e om- arc* 1 *'?,'? the “yatl'cal Land, Butalllsdaik. And all around me swim shapes like mine. In this strange country • They break in the glamour of gleams devlne. And they moan, •• Ay, me Leaves J? silvern breath They gather»rd roll— Each crest of white a a birth or a death. Each sound ns a soul. * O what is the Eye that gleams «n bright O’er this strange country I “ ° It draws an alorg wUh a ohain of Ueht As the Mocn th* 8«*»! ® —Robert Bucnanan, in Good Wordt. A I»«f*nce of Pretty Women. Frrm the Saturday Review. Afterall.is the world so very ab-nrd in its love of pretty women? Is woman go very ridiculous in her chase after beauty? A pretty woman i 9 doing a w Oman’s work in the world, but not making speeches, nor making padding*, but making life sunnier a nd i. ore beautiful. Man has forsworn the pursuit of beauty altogether. Does he seek It for himself, he it- guessed to be frivolous, he is guessed to b e poetic, there are whispers that his morals are no better than they should be. Id society regulate to be may there Ip no post for an Adonis but that of a model or guards* man. But woman does for mankind what mq n has ceased to do. -Her aim from childhood h to be beautiful. Even as a school girl she notes the pro grossof herebarms, the deepening color of her hair, the grow ing symmetry of her arm, the ripening con tour of her cheek. We waicb, with silent the royttenoup reveries of the maiden : she is dream ing of a coming beauty, and panting for the gloriea of 13. Insensibly, she becomes an artist; her room is a studio, her glass an academy. Ihe joy or her toilet Is the joy of Raphael over his canvas. 0 f Michael Angelo over Ms marble. She is creating beauty in the silence and the loneliness of her chum, her* she grows like any art-creation.the result of uatience. of hope, of a thousand delicate touchings and retouchings. Woman is never perfect; never complete. A restless night undoes the beauty of tlie dav sunshine blurs the evanescent coloring of her cheek; frost mpa the tender outlines oi her face into S wshness. Care plows its lines across her brow ; mo herhood destroys the elastic lightness of her form: the bloom ofhercheek, the quick fl*ah of her eves fade and vanish as the years go by. Bat “ omVn fa “ill tree to her ideal. She won’t know when ©he is beaten, and she manages to steal fresh vicToricpcvcn In her defeat. She invents new con ceptions of womanly grace; she **o, Ironts us with the beauty of womanhood; she makes a last stand at CO, with the htantyofage hue falls like Cssar, wrapping her mantle roand her “ buried in woollen I ’rwonld a saint provoke 1” Bunk listens piUlully to the longings of a lire-timc, end ibc wrinkled face smiles with something of the prcttlccss of 18. niE CHICAGO TBIEtnSTE: SUNDAY, JULY 21, 1872. —EIGHT PAGES. AFTER THE COMET. HowFlantamour’s Comet StrncU the Earth on the 10th of August, 1873. A Paper Bead Before the Hew York His torical Society, April 1, 1932, From the Aldine, for July. You have asktd me to tell you the story of the Plantamour Comet. It la no w sixty years since the same of M. Plantamour first became known by his famous prediction that the earth was to be destroyed bya wandering comet. Of the re sult of that prediction you, of course, know the main facts. They have passed into history, and given rise to a special department of literature, with whloh the book-shelves of our library are loaded. My narrative may thus seem trite and unnecessary. It Is nevertheless interesting to listen to the story of the veteran who fought at Gettysburg or Five Forks, even though the most thorough and minute histories of those battles are easily accessible. I fully compre hend that you have requested me to rehearse tbe familiar tale of tbe comet because lam one of the few actual wit nesses of the great calamity who ftUl survive. If I am garrulous and dull, you will consider it. if you please, but the manner or an old man who is at once proud of the honor of addressing you, and fearful that he may weary your patience with the reiteration of faots already familiar. When M. Plantamour first announced that a comec was on its way to destroy the earth, bla iropheoy was received with universal Increduli ty. Indeed, had it not been for the fact that toe topic was one which pleased tbe fancy of the' “light article” writers of the press, little atten tion would have been paid to It. Tae age prided Itself upon its knowledge of solenoa, and there was such a general belief in tbe safety of all things connected with mathematics, that the public declined to consider seriously the promo tion that an astronomical body, moving in an or bit capable of accurate calculation, could so far forget Its duty as to depart from that path In whloh it had previously travelled. Moreover, comets had ceased to he A MARVEL AND A BUGBEAR. Scientific men had assorted that all comets were composed of infinitely attenuated gases, and that, should one come in collision with the earth, no perceptible result would follow. In point of faot, an airy contempt for comets had become the mark of a truly scientific mind, and all persons who desired a reputation for astro nomical knowledge affected to sneer at them as the harmless, though demonstrative Trains of the celestial firmament. White, therefore, the humorous and satirical writers ridiculed Plan tamour and his comet, and thns brought the faot of that philosopher’s prophecy to the knowl edge of nearly everybody, and occasional scien tific man thought it his doty to publish on pa per both the prophecy and its author. No such comet did or oomd exist was the ground taken by tbe scientific writers, and no posalnle comet could work any Injury to the eartn,even were the two to come in contact. Moreover, several well-known astronomers denied that Plantamour had any existence, and asserted that the entire story was the invention of a reckless newspaper Bohemian. Upto the Ist of June, 1872, the foregoing statement is a fair description of the result produced by the prediction of th# learned Swiss. No one felt any nneaainess on the subject of the oomlng comet, and few believ ed that the story has any foundation in truth. Early in June, however, one of cn *B6 respecta ble old gentlemen, who write Important letters, signed “ A Constant Reader,” *• A Father of a Family,” &o, to the daily papers, saw Id an ob fcoure report of the Smithsonian Institute a men tion of the result of a spectroscopic examination of the comet of 1661, which, the report alleged, was again visible. The old gentleman, who was, perhaps, secretly nervous in regard to the Plant amour prophecy, instantly wrote a letter to the Herald calling attention to this report, and asking if the oomet therein mentioned was the one referred to by Plantamour. Tbe Herald at onoa took tbe matter np editorially, and discussed it in an ar ticle of over a co.umn m length, profusely strewn with references to Romulus and Remus, the siege of Troy, the eligibility of Grant for re election, and other kindred matters. The result was that Professor Harsne-'B, of the Smithsonian Institute, felt oa'led upon to give some explana tion. The great oomet of 1861 was certainly visi ble through the telescope, he admitted, and would probably pass quite near the earth. Ha was, however, confident that it would not oome within the sphere of the earth’s attraction, and that NO DANGER WHATEVER . was to be expeoted/xom it. Ha wo«i unable to say whetheror not it possessed a solid nucleus, i.nt be or the opinion, from a close study of the spectroscope, that it was wholly composed of flaming olefiant gas. Professor Harkneas' let u r to the above effeot was published on the 6th of June. From thin date a real excitement in regard to the oomet became manifest. The public having learned that a comet actually was approaching the earth, and that although it might be com posed of nothing more weighty than gas. it was. nevertheless, a celestial fireship that might prove a most undesirable neighbor, immediately began to repent of it-* belief in M. Plaotamonr. Bnll the press, with the exception of the Herald, which, havieg a good sensation, naturally made the most of it, persisted in us refusal to believe in Piamamour’a existence, and treated the ap pearance of the oomet of 1661 as a mere coinci dence. The tribune showed most conclusively ■ bat British free-traders were at tbe bottom of ibis attempt to disturb the publio mind and un settle toe business of Wall st eet. Tbe Times saw in tbe publication of tbe Plantamour propu-oy another recklessness of the dlspff-oted Repub licans who opposed Grant’s re-election, and the World, while disbelieving the story, preacht-d from It a solemn lesion on the perils in >o which the country had been brought by tbe advocates of a protective tariff The question of M. PJantamour’s existence being thus forced in to notice, It could not remain long unsettled, and within a fortnight after tbe appearance of Pro fessor Barknets’ letter, a communication was sent to the London Times by Professor Huxley, who stated that be bad personally known Profes sor Plantamour for many years, and that he was a man of eminent scientific attainments. The . distU goished French astronomer. Le Terrier, also wrote to the Paris Seicle, the highest terms of histoid frl-nd P ancamoar— though both Huxley and Ls Terrier placed no faith in the prediction of the coming collision. The public* however, had learned enough to change its opinion with characteristic rapidity. Plantamour was really a living astronomer, and a fiery comet was in telescopic sight. These two facts were sufficient. A b-lu fin THE APPROACHING COLLISION became universal, except among those who bad publicly derided the prophesy, and, lor the sake ot consistency, wore compelled to uphold their original views. Nevertheless, there was no very active alarm on the subject. People were anxious ro believe that the comet would really do no damage, and that, at the worst, the only effect of a collision would be to somewhat iucreate the temperature of August. This was the sta r eof feeling np to nearly the middle of June, when a new discovery was made Professor Elarkoess announced that he had ascertained, from the spectroscope, that the cornet had a nucleus. IC is true that other observers contradicted him, and a fierce scientific quarrel was the result. The Professor's view, however, proved to be the true one, for the comet soon became sufficient ly visible to demonstrate that no star could be seen through Its nucleus. It being thus settled that, it was, to some extent, a solid body. It only remained to test the accu racy of Pjantamonr’s calculations as to Its orbit. So profound had become the publlo interest In tbe matter, that the Importance of at once allay ing the excitement by a matoematlcal demon stration of the Impoßfilollity of a o illisloa was apparent. The Signal Service Bureau, therefore, appointed a commission of savans to make a re poi t upon the true path of the comet. This Con mission was appointed oa the 16 f h of Jute, and their report was presented on the 20th. Unfortunately it settled nothing. Thecommla- Bloners, who were eight In number, ware divided. Four held that the comet had clearly turned from its former orbit by tue attrac tion of some distant planetary body— probably the moons of Jupiter, and that it would therefor* pass nearer the earth than It bad for merly done. They, however, assorted that it could rot come nearer than about fifty millions of miles The remaining four oomml-slonerst on the contrary, decided that M. Plantamonr'a oal eolations were entirely accurate, and that the comet would strike tbe earth In the following August. They nevertheless argued that no seri ous danger was to be anticipated, and the collis ion would not produce any result more impor tant than that caused by the fall of a very large meteoric stone. The substance of the comet would be condensed, they held, by tbe pressure of our atmosphere, and would very possibly prove to be no more than a few feet In diameter. Of oonrsetbis only increased the alarm, and the comet became the universal theme of con versation. On tbe 28ch of June it became visible to the naked eye, and from that time onward the streets were thronged at niche with gazers at tbe alarming phenomenon- Toe p**ess devoted a large space dally to •* Comments on the Comet," and cases of insanity produced by fear of the coming catastrophe became frequent. Tee illus trated papers made a harvest by the publication of frightful pictures of previous comets, and the number of men who erected battered telescopes on the sidewalk after dark, and reaped a harvest by shown g telescopic views of the comet, in creased week by week. . By the Bth of July the comet presented a ter rific spectacle, such was the velocity with which it neared the earth. Its head was then near the star “Alpha Lyra,” and Its tall, which was lan shaped. expanding at the end, covered an arc of eighty-five degrees. I t s light ontehooe that of the moon, and the lighting of the street lames was unnecessary. Business was not peroeptioly affected and theatres were more crowded than ever before. It was also noticed, op, the other band, that the churches were unusually full, and though no especial meetings were yet held, ex cept by one or two obscure seote with second ad ventist views, there was apercootlbie increase in public InterrJt in religion The oomio writers i still Joked upon tbe matter, and the papers ! that had previously disbelieved the prophecy , were still Incredulous. The Kmc* however, began loadmlt that a collision might i be possible, were eome unknown comet to ap pear, but stoutly denied tbat there was any dan ger from tbe comet thou visible. As for the World, it demonstrated t j its own satisfaction that the comet, instead of approaching, was ACTUALLY BEOBDXKO, _ and in the fervor of us arguments recalled the splendid oaeuiatTF with German war, it. won French victories dally until Pans fell. In Europe the excitement was great er than here. In all the Catholic countries fast days and penitential procea-lons were oprnly or der ed by tbe Cburoh to avert ibe impending ca lamity. In England there was a great uaeafil ness manifested among the working classes, and the Methodists, who held ft-. Id meetings over the country, made converts by the thousand. It la unnecessary to dwell upon the steady in crease of the excitement h-re daring the month of July. By the first of August all hops that we should escape a collision had been abaa “°s e( kt except by the World, which never omitted its daily proof that the comet was receding, xae only question which now diviied soi«a'lfio m* a was the hour when tbe collision would ta K5 place This became a matter of the utmost im portance. wet eit to occur during the day. the comet would strike sombwhere on the opposite hemisphere, and it was then hoped that the people of the' Western world might escape all In jury. Most of the scientific men as-arted that ihe blow would fall ot 6 a m. on the loth of August, and that tbe immediate point of con tact would be the PLAINS OF SIBERIA. An unfortunate astronomer wbi took the oppo- Bite view, and claimed that tbe comet would strike near Washington, was denounced as a traitor by tbe. friowne, and narrowly escaped mobbing Toere was yet no apparent falling off ia the comber of customers at toe shop* sad brokers' offices, or la th* throngs which filled the theatres. It was known, however, that few large purchases'of goods were made by retail merchants, and th\t Tmsiness in real estate was almost at a Stand still Tl e Catholic* were how boldlnv daily ser vices In their churches, an* 1 many of the Protest ant scots were following their example. There was. In fact, a strot g revival of religion In prog ress everywhere, hut at the same time the thieves and burglars were unusually active. The police had relaxed their strictness, and many of the patrolmen negb cted their beats to attend religious service*, thus giving the dangerous classes an opportunity of which they at once took advantage. . t . On the 9ih of August, for the first time, there was* gereralneglect of business. The steamer for Liverpool carried bnt two passengers, and the railway wains were but thinly patronized. Da ring the cay The cbnrol.ea wei e all open, and tne BtereS for tbe most part ••!(>,ed. Wall street alone kept op its interest in worldly things, and bought and *o das though no comet had ever nude Its (.ppeßrence. Singularly enough, a very large number of marriages were celebrated on this day, though during tbe previous tinea weeks there bed been fewer m*arriHges than at any time riu »ingthelast twenty years. The comet was now a stupendous eight. Its nucleus was nearly as brilliant as the sun and ITS TAILAW'EPT BELOW TEE HORIZON, while the part which was visible was folly 130 degrees in length. The press on ihe morning of tbt- 9th. admitted the collision to be inevitable, w |th as usual, the exception of the World,wnioti still assertro tbat The 0.-met was receding, and that the astn nomtra who asserted the contrary were ignorant persons who had n<*t read tbe Wald Almanac During the nigh* of tbe 9th haid»> anyone in toe whJe city, and probably f*w persons In this country or in Europe, dreamed of going to bed. Tbe etrrete wrrecrowded, and wntie some nffoted to keep up their spirits, the majority acted as •h> ngb reath was Inevitable. Tbo Women were, for the most part, cooler than the men. many of the latter feeing beside Themselves with terror. Here and •b'-re street preachers organized Mayer meetings, ana >he sound of hymns, sang by tnoueands of voices, eoboed with a wild, de spairing sound tarough tn« night. Men were ob< erved, as a rule, to e*ek the companionship of rbeir families, and forming little groups on the doorsteps ola»p-d their wives and chil dren silently. Now and then a troop of drunk ards paraded the streets, howling parodies of pions hymns. The theatres were open, but ibe> were nearly deserted, and the burglars and pickpocket* plied their trade unmolested. Thus the night wore on, until tbe comet passed be low the i or Izon, and the paler light of dawn be gan to mat ifestlr*elf. many wearied men and a omen had dropped asleep and thousands of i yomg children were sweetly sleeping in the arms of their anxious parents. Suddenly the City Ball clock etrnek 6. and a murmur from tbe lips of tne Whtchers annour.oed that ihe crisis of their fate was at band. The clock, however, was wrong, ann not until five minutes afterward did Trinity and its sister olooke strike the fatal hour. F«r a moment the mo*t oppressive alienee weighed open the city. Then the SBBIEK OF A HYSTERICAL WOMAN, who could to longer bear the strain to which she bad been subjected, or the wild prayer of an ex cited fanatic, Df ke tbeeliero© Suddenly, at pre cise ly four minutes af er 6, a hardly (perceptible Jarring of the ground was felt, as though a heavy piece of aninery had passed along the street. The comet had struck os, and we were still un hurt The tumult that ensued was indescribable. The vbM 'orwods at once separated. People broke into unmeaning langbter. and frantically clasped hands with perfect strangers. A boy detected la Btebltng a handkerchief was seized upon and olnbfeen with joyous enihn»lasm by a policeman, who a moment before had been upon his knees. A general rush in tbe hotels and eating-houses for break fast took place, and In half an hour the oi>y resumed its soou*tomed appearance. The morning papers appeared three hours later than usual, the presses having been kept waltlrg till after the collision. They contained no news from Europe later than midnight, and, oonseqmniiy. we wire left to imagine the possi ble remit of the shook on the hemisphere. Abont 9 o'clock the wa*er about the dooks began to fall, and as the ebb rapidly continued it was evident that the sea was receding. A tremen dous current toward the Narrows and the sea swtptwith it hundreds ot small craft, and In half an hour New York Bay, the harbor which bad made this city the commercial centre of the New World, had vanished. It Its place there stretched A VAST MED FLAT, dotted with stranded vessels and forgotten wrecks. The East River totally disappeared, leaving only a few pools of water la the midst of its channel, while the North River wandered sluggishly through the dreary waste of mad where was oroeihe outer bay. and reached the sta tome three mites beyond Sandy Hook. The vessels at the docks lay toppled over and against one another, hopelessly stranded, and fit for nothing bnt to be broken up. New York was no longer a maritime city, but had suddenly became almost as much an Inland town as Phila delphia or P,»n*hkeepsie It was at first feared that this subsidence of-the sea was only prelimi nary to its return in irresistible force to sweep away the last veetlge of the city. Anew excite ment thus sprung up, and there was a frenzied rofch for the rail ways on the part of panlo-Atrlok . n people, wbo sou. ht fo fly to tbe mountains beyond The reach of toe coming flood. Tbe day wore on, however, and the sea showed no s'. roptuns of returning,—the sceptre of maritime New York had passed away forever. An hoar after the sea began to fall a strong wind sprang up. which soon increased to a hur ricane. and blew wit a tremeadaoas foroe until 8 o’clock in the afternoon, when it gradually died away, to be succeeded by another hurricane of almost equal violence, from the east. Mean while, from every partof the coast—from Cana da to Mexico, ann from Portland to San Francis co—came tbe same telegraph story of THE WITHDRAWAL OF THE SEA. It waa now plain that sumo terrible catastro phe tad followed the collision, and the news from Europe woe looked for with painful anxi- I tty. The Atlantic cable, however, remained dumb. Toward evrning a dense mist came up from the west, whiou spread rapidly inland, and at nlgbt completely obooorad the heavens In the morning there was no change, except that 4 the wind bad died away. Tho fog con tinued, and no vessel dared attempt to navigate < the new charnel to the eea under suoh disadvan tages. No «ord came over the cable, and tne operator at Heari'a Content announced that both cables wtre evidently broken. Various oon jjeotuies were made as to the nature oi the injury it ilicted by the comet, and the opinion of a lead ingtcientlflo man thatthe comet had fallen into 1 the Atlantia, and, by its immense heat, evapo rated an enormous quantity of water, was gener ally accepted as at least eminently probable. The fog continued for three weeks, aud follow ed by ur.intenupted rains for a week longer. During that time the White Star Line seat out < their small steamer ** Corsica/' the larger steam ers having no ouance of clearing the shallows in the nver near Bandy Hook- Tae 14 Corslot.” cleared for Liverpool in ballast, and with no pas sengers «-xo*-yt three t-nterpiiamg reporters, who were determined to ascertain the natnre of the great calamity. No arrivals from Europe bad taken place at any Atlantic port since the collision, except a single steamer, which leached hereon the morning of fh iOthof August, just before the sea began to > recede. The return of the “ Corsica" was looked for with Intense anxiety, especially on the part of those who had friends aboard It was thought she could make the voyage out and back in dr- ' teen days, but we were to hear from her before that time had expired. On the tenth day after her departure, the news waa telegraphed that she baa arrived at San Francisco. At first this announcement was received with utter mcieanlity, bat despatches from the Cap tain and the reporters soon placed the fact be yond doubt 8: 6 had steered the usual course for Liverpool after leaving New York, but the fog, which prevailed during the entire voyage, rtndtred it impossible for the officers to obtain an observation to determine her latitude accu rately. Lend was sighted on the tenth aay, and, as it was believed to be the highlands of the WEST COAST OF IRELAND, tie ship was headed to the southward in order t> . ound Cape Clear, The month of the Saora uj*nto River was soon reached, and the Captain bell e utterly at a loss to know his whereabouts, entered the river, and soon found himself at San Francisco. The i emit of this voyage established the ter rible certainty ihut the great continent of the Old World had vanished, and that unless some portion of Southern Asia and Africa had es caped, America was the only habitable part of the globe that bad survived. It was also evi dent that the disappeatance of the land of the Eastern hemisphere was not merely the result of an ovei flew of the sea, but inasmuch as the •• Corsica ” nad made tho voyage from New York to San Francisco, thus nearly clronmnavigatlng the globe in ten days, nearly one half the planet must have been totally destroyed. We were not to be kept in ignorance of the fate of the vanished world.. On the 6th of September, for the first time since the collision, the fog and rain had anttioiently abated to permit the heav ens io become visible. Oa the night of the 6th a new phenomenon waa presented to the millions of America. The moon was nearly fall, and shone with ht-r accustomed brightness, bat two new moons,one twice the apparent size of the old moon, and another nearly as large, appeared in company with her. Subsequently three smaller satellites were discovered, out they were so small as to easily escape notice We now knew that Planta moor’s comet had done its work, and that the earih had been broken into fragments. The scientific men immediately sat themselves to calculate the distances of the new satellites, and to compute their oroits. It was found that they were less than hall the distance of the moon, and that they revolved about the earth in fourteen and fifteen days respectively. It was calculated from their comparative nearness to the earth, that, witn the largest tele scopes yet constructed, objects of twenty feat io length could be plainly .discerned. Unfortu nattly the large English, telescopes were n longer available, but with the Detroit and Har vaid inetrnmei ts it was soon ascertained that the larger satellite included part of Southern Europe, while the smaller one was the former continent oi Africa No traces of Eastern Europe or Asia could be found, while England had either vanished, or had become one of the three small and nearly invisible satellites. The blow of the comet had fallen, as was predicted, somewhere in Siberia, or China, and the teeming millions of the latter had undoubtedly perished. Wi>h the instiuments at our command, the City of Paris and other large towns situated be tween the Meolterranean and the Baltic, could be easily perceived. The Spanish peninsula, aud Italy, south of Rome, had disappeared, alcoough the dome of St. Peter's still Bbone like a brilliant diamond point of light. A part of Poland was visible, but Russia and Turkey were blotted out. Oo the other satellite, the great lakes of Central Africa could be defined, bat little of interest was visible. Of course no human beings could be distinguished, but It was hoped that life on the new satellites, ‘‘Enropa” and “ Africa,” still survived. Ur. Alvan Clark, of Eopton, immediately be gan the construction of a huge lens for a new tel t-t cope, of thi ee r> et gi eater focal distance than any ien* yet before oast. Thin task was triumph antly finished before the winter waa over,aud the fi.rt observation through the new telescope showed us that <* Europe ” and “ Africa ” were ; Ab DENSELY POPULATED A 8 EVES, . and that the great catastrophe had sepa rated them foiever from ob, ana not apparently ■ effected toelr pnrsu te or their habits. The French were still occupied with drilling and ; marshalling troops, and the Germans were cul tivating their fields and thronging their beer gar dms. as in former days. The diamond regions or Africa were crowded with busy miners, and the wilderness <>f Central Africa were as luxu riant and solitary as ever. Iq the disruption of i the globe, the fragments that were drawn into i space bad canied iheir own atmosphere and a l part of the neigbb<irlDg oceans with them. They » had. now settled Idto their new orbits, and there was no reason to behevo that their Inhabitants , wculd suffer any serious Inconvenience from tne , accident beyond that of being shut out from in ) leicouree with the earth. . When it was understood that objects of 30 feet c, in diameter could be perceived on either satel- I lit©, the question of opening communication with • them became a elmp.e one. Oongretß imoiedl utf lj proceeded to construct on the prairie west of Omaha, in letters of 40 feet lu length, the sen • lance » “ all’s well.” i The letters were formed of ridges of earth, ten i feet high, and carefully covered with smooth f sheets of tin to rellrot the livht. Three weeks af , to ' r the sentence was tlni-hed the same words i ber«mevi>ibleonthepMns of Holland Afort t nicht afterward w© could distinctly read the • words, “ Make your lett* rs ton feet long ” This t polite suggestion saved us an immense amount ot labor until Mr. Boggles invented hn* “movable loner telegraphic type," which made communication easy, rapid* and Inexpensive. The nature of this invention. which was remark ably simple, feting explained to the people of Europe, tbt-y at onca adopted it, since which time communication with tbat satellite has been regular and frequent. Up to the present'lme, no answer has been obtained from Africa, although it is hoped that communication Will sooner or later fee opened with that benighted region. I have bow given you a trustworthy, though I fear a rather Cull and prosaic, account of the great catastrophe. You will, of ooaree. find fuller and better coconuts in the enoydopmiias atd in the newspaper files of the day. My story, however, has the advantage of being the experience of one who lived through the ex citing scenes of the collision, and who Is one of the few men of that generation who still sar vive. Ido not encumber the narrative with a history of the * ffeot upon the industry and trade of the Old World. The country has now fully re covered from the disaster, ard is, perhaps, in a better condition than ever before. Two things are certain ; we have no longer to dread that perpetually-impending war with Ensiand, which formerly disturbed ns; neither duea the question of Chinese cheap-labor complicate our politic*. Great Britain and china have both ceased to ex ist, and the few thousand Chinamen in California are the sole remnant of that once innumerable people, _ SPHINX—A POEM. To the Editor of The Chicago Tribune: SiR: la the man who nowadays seta up claims as a poet justly to be suspected as slightly crazed f In this intensely practical age, and in this severely-earnest city, is not the poet a personage superfluous, and born out of dne season ? To this there can be but one answer: Yes;—except the poet has per ception enough to note and become the mouthpiece of the Spirit of the Age. Then, indeed, the poet is as much the natural and necessary accompaniment of the times as the telegraph, the rail car, the newsman, the lecturer, the singer of musical notes, the inventor, etc, blast he be a Milton, a Sh&k epeare, a Byron, a Borns ? If he dares to be different from all predecessors,—to think his own thought, and do it in his own way,— ten to one bnt he will be hooted and ma ligned, and that, too, by the very critics who have fallen easily into the chimes in praise of the *• standard” poets,because they nave survived the persecution and laughter of their own day, and at last had their claims allowed. *' Sphinx” is the name of a new nnnub iisbed poem now before me. It proposes and attempts to answer the vexed question ot Good and Evil as they exist in the world. Yonr space will not permit me to enter into any statement of the plan of the poem. 1 will merely cull a few Thoughts from it. Any person of literary tastes can tell whether ibe poet has any faculty, after reading twelve lines, and need not go digging, and digging, and assaying, to test whether he has found Ms man. Have we an unknown poet in Chicago? “ The dewdrop trembling on the morning spray la beautiful. 'TIb there, and lam here- How shall we two be one 1 If still dissevered,— If it can bring no message to my hears. No ceep appeal forth singing from the Throne, Nor give It* iridescent rays to light My way Into the Holiest of Alt,— Then I will here consent to shut mine eyes And look on Beauty's glances never more." ••Write! Write! a voice says Write ! Wistful I listen. Is there yet a place Where poet may command the world's rever ence ? Then aid me. God. to find the way to It, And grant me light, and prudence, and success. Bo it that I shall carry forth rebuke : Point out the way to all victorious truth ; Explain dark mysteries; vindicate the living. And read the lessons left us by the dead;. And all in love and blessed charity." “ I looked up to the vaulted canopy; Pi-p't-ntrion shines as erst it shone Ou Cmeat’a tent-uoor on the plains of Gaul, Or Abrahsm's fey far Becraheba's well. The eternal things of God smile on os still, And breathe their stilly calm upon onr brows. Beating in feverish aims and petty whirls. Yon llamiog orb. an boar ago that shone In SLul-embraclng beauty from the West, Great ringleader of many changeful moods. Plays each fantastic tricks thro' Earth and Heaven, Lives in all life, and metes ont all decay,. Lord regnant of the world, we marvel not That rapt spectators, looking on the play, (Ab! Is It worth the candle ?) should forget, Absorbed in shows, the greater in the lees." “ Pure, honest souls there are enough to bless us. And vindicate this heritage of God, Wbo sigh and yearn for other works and ways; Nor shall they hope In vain. But now. the past, with domineering spell, Demands allegiance to its fixed conclusions, With tl>-rce, uplifted scourge, and hold, us down I Pnecnpuve custom, ana prescriptive thought. Refare to let us go, but claim our service, Against our better Judgment We rebel in undertones, yet nalf-condemu ourselves For daring to look forth upon the sun, Ho much onr manliness has been suppressed; Yet we wilt dare,—for daring gives ub daring. Is there a way In all this subject world. Untried, untrod, that way we must explore, Determine, mete, and test it to the scrapie. l ' ” Oh. Jesus fairest type of Charity Lov«d of toll lovluk hearts, one great ensamplel Onr refuge from the bitter bloats of Hell, Which overleap the boundaries of the pit. And KH'Tct and wither In the bowers of Earth! Hock of Defence*. Sweet (hade on and sands I Blf et Cczulorter when sorrows surge aloft. And wav«i their Taunting streamers o’er our head! Sun of all hearts, with genial, searching beams, Ri-eilng not only on the congregation,— The Whiting hearts who v in fail concert, call For life and light, and blessings on their way,— But streaming in upon the lone, dark wastes Of onr poor life, when sadness sits aloof, Forsaken of all human aid and sympathy.— Filling the void, and with triumphant songs, L'nklng tbe deary desolates of Earth With the fall chorus of the Seraphim 1 Poet generations, vanquished or victorious. Have left ns masters of the grand arena, For farther teaching on eternal shores. May we not hope to penetrate the gloom Which closed upon. Oh! many a proud career; Ana that the lesson taught us ny their fall, t omMned with Hashes from the farther day. Shall light ns to conclusions more direct. More potent to conduct our feet aright. Than any heretofore; and that the glow Of Heavenly Love, which streams in steady ray, Upon up, thro’ the Gospel of Toy Grace, e*hall leaven aU our life, ere we too go. Unlock the mystery of the Good and Evil, And eo the problem of all hearts be answered. In presence of the sun, and moon, and stars, And this green Earth, and yearning flesh and bloou ] Such is onr faith, and hope, and fair assurance, oh. Bon of Man I we also are Thy kin; Descended, as Thou art, from Light aud Love, Into this murky life and veiled exterior. The love we bear Thee, and resounding praise, All teaTfy the oneness of our fibre, (I 1 wtver feeble be onr life's repose. For we are tossed and driven to and fro. And onr best alms, and purposes, and acts Suffer desnlte, coninmeiy, and ecUpae. By strange environments and ftlse attractions. So sremeth it to ua; bat Oh I oar brother! Bone of onr bone, we shall not fail to trust Thee, Id hope and cor flaeroe that all is well; That, by the long and dangerous detour, Wo yet shall reach oor Father's bouse and Thine, Strengthened by all the trials of.the way.” But, Mr. Editor, I musfe here pause. You and your readers must be tho judges. ■ Cutes. FAME. For The Chicago Tribune* Tall mountains meet, and giddy greet The clone* in their exalted homes; ’ 'What may they show, save ice and snow, Unto the fleets that pass their domes 1 Their crests are bold with solar gold. Their shimmering cliffs enchant the eye; YetE«rth shows not more dreary spot Than toilers in their heights descry. There points a peak which mortals seek,— Fraught art its crags with human woes; Shrill through its fast* shriek Envy-blasts,— Forever drift Hate's blinding snows. Its towering height beams with a light,— The wondrous blaze of Glory's orb; Still those who gaze feel most the rays, While they who climb no warmth absorb. Contentment creeps—Renown climbs steeps Where contnmmutions ne’er appease; Below, how oft. when Care's aloft, Unhappiness In dismay flees. John McGovern. Father Baal, That the primary religion of the race was mono theistic it would eeem there coaid be no doubt, since all religions which have bad any history go back to one original uncreated and controlling cause. The prolegomena to the special history oi the children of Ebcr. which is contained in the first eleven chapters of the Book of Genesis, or all that precedes the com ing of Abram into Palestine, belongs to the general history of the race. It is the account, handed down to us Through the Hebrews, of an original religion, forming the background of the traditions of every primitive people. The original monotheistic God of tho Semites and Bandies was Kl, worshipped as 44 Ab El," or 41 Fath er El.” It is easy to see how out of this the appella tive Bel, or Baal, would arise in the worship of tho sun. as the father of physical life. The name El early became to the natnre worshippers Bel or Baal. Traces of the very early rise of Baalism are probably found in the fonrth chapter of Genesis, where the term El, a constituent, of names In other families, suddenly changes to Bel or Baal la the lino of tho Calmto Lamech, in the names Juhal, Tubal, etc. The S'Bter ofTubal-Caln Is spoken of as Naamah, "the lovely.” which name appears In the lineofthe Boalaths from earliest antiquity. The goddes Ash taroth of Tyre, the original of the Grecian Venus, vas Asbtaroib Naaroah, "the lovely star,” and the flower named after her nemanum, "anemone," waa consecrated to Adonis. The original El worship seems to have been like the church in tho wilderness at the period of the coming of Abram Into Palestine. Baalism then reigied supreme, not only throughout the great empire of Chaldea on thelower Euphrates, from which be came, and that of Egypt on the Nile, bur it bad p» of the whole of Arabia and of the land of Syria now held by the Ganaanltes, bringing with them their form of Baalism from tho shores of the Persian Gulf. The El worshippers were at this time a scattered band, represented by Abram himself in lower Chaldea, an Ef worshipper in a Baalist family. In the land of Uz, on tho borders of Sabma, dwelt Job. amlQ another group of El worshippers, who pleads that when he had behold the sun in his glory and the moon walking in brightness, ho had not kissed his band, and so denied the El who is above. Mel chisedek. in the land of Canaan, was an old mono theist. a high priest of El, officiating in that capacity probably, according to the patriarchal custom, to a limited number of H worshippers, remnants of the primitive Semitic inhabitants of that pa.t of Syria, or descendants of Shem, before the arrival there of the nutnitlc Canaanitca, or descendants of Ham. When the Israelites, under came into the land of Canaan, the worship of £*♦ one¥sh God, bad been fairly extinguished, the sun, as lord ot nature, being everywhere worshipped as the great Baal, and each particular locahty or Mparato .mam fceiation of nature-force haying'lts own Baal with its special symbols. The Mosaic i* a V tnt £? under ibis external pressure of objeetthe restoration of the worship °/ Jy- P ™° 1 * i ed hy the personal and local Jehovah.a.flf medto be 1 btehor than all the Baals, and defined to become ; flUlvcrealAdoa or Lord.— Galaxy* MANUEL. A Story ot the Mexican Border. BY COLONEL ALBERT S. EVANS. The long. hot September day was drawing to a oh te at mat, and the nerce sun of the dea«r: sinking down on the horizon, whan oar lUtle cavalcade wound round the bend In the trail, and weighted the little adobe tnoloanre half lore, hail corral—called by courtesy "Tat?Bca tion, '* near the Pioacho, on the old overland robo, between Tucson and San Xavi'-r del B*o in Southern Arizona, and the Pinna Villages on the Glia. We had left the upper valley of the Bto Grande too early in the season by a month, at least; and our trip thus far, on the road to California, bad been a bard one. The coarse, dry bunott-dtaaa or Qaieia, never abundant on this route, was un usually scarce that summer; and, as we were lorcea to guard our animals night and day, to prevent a surprise and capture oy th« Apaches, they got scarcely enough of It to keep life wltain them. We were harrying on as rapidly as possi ble for the Gi o, where we could purouaseoorn lodder and barley from the inendiy Indians,and proposed to camp for some time and recruit our worn-down stuck before turning west ward toward the Colorado and the Pacino Coast. As we were unpacking that evening on the Ploaoho, 1 miesed a pschbge containing a valuable sot of mathematical and drawing instruments, and some Important papers, which I coaid net afford toiote- They hau been pu r , with other articles, on a paoh-mule.in the miming: bat, having been carelessly corded, hao worked loose and fallen iff on the road, without being noticed. Finding I could borrow a fresh horse at the station, I de termined to ride bach op the trail In the cool of the evening—preferring to trust the chances of beirg captured by the Apaches to losing the package The night wa* clear, and the roll mo m light* dup the landscape so that every tbiug of any size for miles around was almost as distinct ly visible as at midday. I had ridden at a gallon some ten or twelve miles, when I saw the pack age, lying brel-ie the road,noder aaoroDmcr* quite tree, which had rated it off, as the mole r-n under It. Dismounting, I secured the package upon the bdot ef my saddle, aud, having tighc t tied the ct nch, was j use mounting again for the return ro the station, when my horse gave a load snort and jumped backward, looking np the road toward Tucson, wiih elating eyes, nostrils dls ended, and ears pricked sharply forward 1 knew wbat this meant in Apache Land, and was on his back in an Instant, and out Into an open space beyond the reaoh of arrows, which might be -shot from behind any shrub or rook. Death haunts yoor steps, day and night, la that lono of biood; and man and horse acquire habits of the most iniense vigilance. L>okin< up the road In the diieotion indicated, I saw something moving ah-ng th* trail. a*iont a Joutth of a mile distant, which locked like a small buy. Proper caution would have prompted me to torn and ride straight back to the station; bat jut then I remembered that we had eeen, some distar.ee back upon the trail, the footprints of a human being—apparently those of a little boy—in the dust of the road; and noticed that they fiaally left the track andtmned away Into the chaparral There were no other footprints with them; end this foot, in such a locality, had caused us to in dame In considerable speculation and conjecture a s to who bad made them. Remembering a<l chU. my curiosity was excited; and, after a few mo meats' hesitation, seeing that the object, what ever it was, had stopped and oroaohed down, hating apparently noticed me jnst tnen for the first time, I rode cautiously np the road toward it. I had arrived within ten or fifteen reds of the object. when it sprang up and darted into the chaparral, and, as it did so, I saw what appeared to be a young Indian, dressed in Mex ican costume—loose shirt aod wide pants of cot ton gooes, and a broad sombrero, aii was quiet lor a moment, and then I called oat. in English, “who is there?" There came m response. I then repeated the question in Spanish. A little, weak, frightened voice replied, in the same lan guage, this time: “ Only a poor ohristiano tenor! And you are not an Apache!" “No; lam a friend," I replied. “ Thanks be to God; lam saved I ” was the de 3?H?. r< r 8 * > “ 1 ¥ e » the little fellow ran out from his hiding-place, and, coming directly np to me, seized my nano and covered it with kisses, pray ing and uttering thanks, ana orying hysterically, all at onoe. He was a boy of apparently twelve or thirteen years of ape, email and slender, and dressed In olothc s much too large for him. It took me some minutes target anything like a connected account ot his troubles from him; bat I finally gathered that he had been on hla way from Hermoslllo, In Sonora, to Ixw Angeles, in California, with a party of Mexican friends, consisting of a man and Ms wife, another boy, and two mozos. They had turned oat of the road to camp, where there was eome grass; and while preparing for the night, they had been jumped by the Apaches, and all shot down but himself. He happened to be a few yarns away from the camp when toe attack was made; and, concealing himself escaped detection. The Apaches had only re* maiiifcd at the camp, after committing the mas* saore.bat a lew minutes, being evidently afraid of having drawn the attention of some stronger party by the firing; and alter scalping their victims, rode away in haste upon the captured animals. The poor hoy had waa* deied away from the road, in his terror and de spair, and for three days had been travelling around at random, endeavoring to regain the trail, or discover a station where he wonldflad shelter and protection Late that day he had I md the trail, and followed It several miles; but, becoming faint and exhausted from long ex plore ana the want or food, he had turned oat to ile down for a rest under a tree; and, having fallen asleep, had missed us entirely as wepassro, only a few hundred yards from him. He had lonnd water once, and had eaten a few mesquiu bean-pods, which had fallen in hla way, ttiu sus taining Ule. His clo'hmg was torn to shreds by the thorny shrubs through which be had passed; hie leet were swollen from long walking on the hot, dry earth, and filled with cactus spines: and, between wearlnees, hunger, and thirst, he was so nearly dead that It Is doubtful if he would have had strength enough to leach the station, had he not fallen In with me, almost by a miracle, aa he did. I always loved children, though I had noneoi zny own ; and my heart's warmest sympathy was enlisted lor this poor, suffering boy. X bad some water with me, in my canteen, ani, by the greatest good look imaginable, a handful of dry soda-crackers in my pocket—the remains of my afternoon lunch. He swallowed the water with trembling etgernets. and munched the dry crackers, In spite of bis sore mouth, swollen tongue, ana bleeding lips, as he rode back to the station behind me on my horse, telling his story, little by Uctle, aa he coaid collect his thoughts and call to mind the incidents. Be was a half orphan, hla mother having died a year before at Hermoslllo. His father bad gone to Alta California, three years before leaving him and his mother In Sonora, to follow him when his circumstances would warrant sending for them; and, on the motaer’s death, he had written for the boy to come with the first party of friends who might be going over the road, to join him at Loa Angeles. The party which bad been mur dered were not relatives, but kind friends; and, Spanish like, he had become so attached to them that he mourned their fate so deeply as to al most forget his own fearful peril and helpless, lonely condition when he spoke of it, with tears coursing down his sonbnmed, blistered face, and sobs and sighs ohokibg hu» utterance. Before we reached the station, I had already come to look npon him as my peculiar oha r ge~-a weir thro wu In my way by Providence, which I was bound to care for and protect; and the idea of adopting him Into my family, In case I could not find his father at Los Angeles, more than once occurred tome. All my travelling companions, save one —a big.xough brute, known as Waco Bill—took a kindly interest in the little unfortunate, audoon sen ted to my adding him to the party. Thataieht ■we succeeded in finding him a pair of shoes, which would keep his bleeding feet from the sun and the rough rooks of the road, and a blanket to wrapt around his shoulders while travelling; and; after a hearty meal of the best we could prepare for him in camp, he fell asleep. I had a large black dog—hall-hound, half-mastiff—which bao accompanied us on the trip, and -was very useful in watching the camp, and guarding os against surprise by toe Indians. He was as sav age as a tiger, and could scent an Apache a mile away. Butcher went np to little Manuel—the boy's name was Manuel de la Cruz—as soon as I brought him Into camp, and, to the surprise of everybody. Immediately manifested the warmest (rienshlp for him. Thenceforth the boy and the dog were almost insup erable companions. Tnat night Manuel slept near me, with Butcher lying watchfully at his fedt; and, time after time, the little fellow would start up, suddenly reach oat his hand to touoh me, and make sure that I was still there, then, reassured, ourl down again under his am ple blanket, and close his eyes in slumber. Next morning, I rigged a temporary saddle for my protege* and, mounting him on one of my pack mnlts, installed him us a member of the expedi tion, as we took np our line of march again for theGi!a. Big Waco Bill was a thorough Texan outlaw, who haa joined out party more because none of us oared to insist on denying him per mission to do so than because any of us really wanted him long. He despised everthlog Mex ican, and frequently alluded in no friendly man ner to that d little Greaser” which I had picked up on the road, and was taking with me to California. Batcher, who had taken so kindly to Manuel, had hated Bill frcm the start, and this fact served still more to awaken bis enmity to the boy. How ever.w© sot on pretty well for several days. Mao uel—though, curiously enough for a Mexican boy, a poor xioer, and not at all skilled la pack ing horses, lassoing mules, or similar accomplish ments, on which his countrymen generally pnde themselves- thowed a genuine anxiety to make himself useful; he was aoapltal cook, ingenious ly adding a number of dlthea hitherto unknown to our bill of fare in camp, and with a needle he was as good as any w<man, cheerfully setting himself to work to sew on buttons, patch ana re pair our tattered clothing, whenever he had n moment's leisure. To me he was completer de vcted. and there was nothing he would not try to do if I a“ked bird. On tbe other hand, ho seemed to shrink instinctively from the presence of Bill, and repaid all the hatred ana contempt of that worthy with interest, in his own qoiet was? His complexion, though Mj bMi was scorched and burned by expo-ure to tbe sav age desert sun. was much lighter than moat Mex icans of the lower class, and his features indi cated nure or nearly pure Castilian descent. He wm n?t skong, and quite timid and nervous or dlnarllv. but, in pretence of danger, would sud denly develop genuine pluck and courage, such as constitutes the hero m the Gila, we camped near the Pima Villages, with the intention of remaining there some ten dava or two weeks, to thoroughly recruit our anl- SJ3S. Q ole day I had been out with my ehot-gua after email and rabbits, leaving Manuel and Batcher in charge of tbe camp, and, re limning lust before nighfall, heard, while still some ranee a away, a noisy altercation going on. A®l afterward learned, Waco BUI, who had be a?n*s? all day, had returned late, ba liL and in a quarrelsome mood- On com ing Into ostnp, he had ordered i l® to the river for a pail of water; end the boy. who would have brought it instantly had £ mated a wish for him to do 80 ;j5 8^® ing with the command, resented it, with the sewing upon my clothing atwaioane was busy, showing only by larce. lustrous, dark eyes, and the qmvertngot hia red llns over his snow-white teeth, .tha. he had heanfwhat wao said to him. BUI. tajorlated at this, ran toward the bo? to him. when the latter S?he«it catching thecoflee-pot from the coals, wnereic SlSs. threw It ltU at Mm. a portton of the scalding contents the breast and neck, ftnd oaaßing h m wriy to howl with rage and pain. As I came in signc, ine hov stood a few yards from, the fire with the hnwher-Snlfe/which we used for enninj bacon. In hia hand prepared to defend himself to the d°atn thonsh tremhiinff from head to font She a loat from excitement, while BUI was comitaontof tbs tent with hie hi* Colt’s slx ehoofer in his hand, andmalloe whioh would stop nothing sbort of murder, convulsing, his tenancy Butcher, the dog. ea if comprehending at a filarre the condition of affairs, dashed for ward at Bdl as he came out, and tbe latter stum blic«r over him. both rolled on the ground. Bill waeon bis feet in an instant, more fairly bssida himeelt than ever; but I had by this time reach ed within striking distance- and seeing rhat he miant mircbltf o? the murderous deeotlpUon, without a moment's .-efleotion dealt him » blow vith mv full eirer-gtb vritli the Dutcofmy gun* mdh^e«de-nl.Se»^nllook ; effect partly on hi» neck, au4, though 16 broaMt mm down, It did not disable bim, and he, still bolding the revolver Id bis band, almost t ®shSs£ b f tee?before I could rereat It. Jhe second blow woke hi* rijjbt aim near the e!bow, causing the pistol 10 drop bis ***&*—!s£ bund; and, a: the same momfnr,tn« dog. which had made several savage snaps at him, laswnea bis tetth flrrnls in tne muscles of his 1-g, & “ be bung lor *evrr»l with a grip • vise before I could break bishoid and relea’to the now helpless and half dead bally. Wien me row was all over, and Bill a wounds dressed as well as possible under tbe olrouiw* etarces, anlet settled d>wn <m the camp. Theff Masutl came, ard. crouching down on t&e ground hv ay side, seized my hand and kissed it, and, bis voice half choked with sobs, exclaimed, over and over again: ** Oh, my father, my friend, my hfte’Hctor, why did not the Apaches kill me be fore I brought this trouble upon yon f I would 2 have died for yon—l would, in troth—and here I have potyr.nr Ufa in peril I Bat, father of mr heart. drn f t drive me away from you f I will go ihirnghfire to serve yon 5 let me have the op* pormntyto prove to you my devotion, my ©ter ra! gratitodb V* I was not angry with the boy ; bow could I be? I told bim so again and again, and. having quiet ed him at last, went and consulted with my partners on the situation. They agreed with me that it was beetl should leave the party and pash on to California ahrad Waco Bill was disposed of for the tun* fie-ng, buche might recover In a rew days snifi«*lently to do me mischief; and we all felt sur* that it was In his nature to stop at rorhlrg in the way of obtaining revenge. The party could rot move on for some two week!*, chtir animals being far more worn than mine; so 1 deter mined to go alone next day with Manuel, and trust to luck to fall In with another party on the trail to Fort Tama. It was a risky venture, but the bt*s we coniu do under the olroamstan ore. We were off bright and early next mom trg. ABsnon as we were out of sight cf the parry Manuel gave a sigh of relief,- and arhed, with affecting earnestness. “ Will jouo/ipoi/5- be my friend, Oapifan V* He asked me the question a hundred times In the course of our journey down the Gila, receiving the fame answer every time. Alone with me, his styress, which had been eo marked while with The party, disappeared; his spirits rose day by Cay, and he sensed tohave almost wholly recov ered m m the terrible ebook caused by the butch-* ery of his friends. I had found some cheap elothieg at the Pima Tillages, which he had quickly razeed 10 fit bim; ana with this, aad with uis giueey biack hair—which, when I found him. bad the appearunoe of having been backed off with a Call hmfo-neatly one. Ms appearance had changed wonderfully. Abater littlefigure than he now presented you would have to go far to see. We slept every night at or near cue of the old stage ttatlots. and, by care and good for tune, escaped attack by the Apaches, through the whole trip down the Glia to Fort Toma At the latter place we stopped tomb days to rest and recruit, and wait for a party which was bound inside,” like ourselves. There weii, quite a number of Manners coun trymen and countrywomenhere, but he seemed to avoid them as far as possible, never leaving my company for a moment, if ha could help ic. A pxleat. who happened to be at the post, was to say mass there on Sunday ; and Manuel told ms, with satisfaction beaming on his countenance, that we could now say our prayers, and thank God at d ihe saints for our escape from the many dangers of our journey. He looked both but pji-ed and paloeu when 1 told him that I was not a Catholic, and could not | ?ia him In his devo ijons ; bur, after a moment, remarked, “ Then, with yonr permission, friend of my heart,l will pray for yon!” and I am sure that he did eo with the earnestness of a simple, trusting soul, and a falrh which know no shadow of doubt. From Fort Yuma to the settlements near Los Angeles, our journey was devoid of special dan ger and excitement, as we were out of the hostile Indian country and had little to fear from horse* thieve*, even, with snob indifferent stock as we travelled with. As we drew near onr journey’s end, Maauel’a spirits began to sink again, and I saw that he looked upon the fast approaching hour, when we must separate, with sadness and arprehention. As we rode along be talked with me of my family, and my prospects in life. He was partloalarly anxious to know how he could always he certain of reaching me, or bearing In m me. When I gave him my address, minutely written out, he immediately sewed it into his jacket, so that it could not work eat and be lost, ana I saw bim pressing bis hand against It, over and over again, to be sure that ha was not mistaken, and bad It safe. He would, mceed. like to go to the great city of Ban Francisco with me. and always be my son, but then bis father was old, and would, now that his mother was dead, find It bard to f>art with him; and his slater—of whom he knew ittle. as be bad not seen her lor years—would need bis protection. Bo he could not go with me to the grtat city, bnt he would never cease to pray for me, and if ever I needed his company or assistance, be would leave father and sister, and all. to come to me: I might be sure of that. I look+d down Into bis trusting, tearful eyes, and was sure of it, and felc more kindly and charitably toward all the world for the assur ance. On the last day’s journey toward Los Angeles, Msnnel hardly talked at all. His mind seemed to be filled with sad thoughts which bis tongue could not utter. It was nightfall when we came In sight of the “ City of the Angels.” and I realized that my long journey of Thousands of miles on horseback, from Texas to the shore of the Pacific, would soon be over, and I should, in a few minutes more, be in com munloatiOD with home, and wife and friends in San Frenchco, Just then Manuel called me back to the rear of the party, and, with quivering vole-, t« Id me that I most not think hard of him If to left me immediately on arriving iu Los Angeles Bis father bed not seen him for so long a time that he was in du’y bound to seek him out atocoe. As be said this he held my band with an eager, trembling vraap in both his own, and ’ook* d up, with a- longing, mournful expression, into my face. 1 unOeifetO /d and respected his rttling. He wirbed 10 bid me good-by, then and there, when no one was looking at ns. I bent down from my ssodl*. and, throwing bis arms aroondznyneok.be kissed me with passionate energy ; then. with.the exclamation,” Oh, Oap itan, Capilan,atd lam going to see you no more!” released me. commenced robbing convul sive ly, stopped it with a strong effort, then rode f t rward and rejoined the train, without another word. I Lad do sooner arrived in Loa Angeles than X went to the express office and got my letters. Everything was going wronir. My poor wife, whose health had been declining for years, was growing steadily worse; my business was enflering from neglect and the need of momy, which my partners hoped I would bring from Texas. My trip to Texas had been a fail* nre,for I bad fonnd it Impossible to sell the greater portion of the lands from which I had expected to realize a handsome sum, and what money I had obtained bad nearly all beenab sorbed in paying taxes on the lands nnsold, and the expenses of the trip. The steamer would sail from San Pedro next morning for San Fran cisco, ana I determined to lose no time, bat go at one**, leaving my horses to be sold by a friend as soon as they had so far recovered from the effects of the trip as to be salable. Mannel bad disap peared as soon as we arrived atthe hotel, bat 1 felt sure he would come around in good time in the morning to bid me a last good-by. Morning came, but no Mannel. No one had eeen.him. since we rode up to the door of the hotel. The stage for San Peorowas ready, and I re luctantly got upon the box, wondering all the time why Manuel neither came nor sent me any woid. The hostler from the stable came at the last moment to tell me that the dog Batcher was abo missing. He had howled andaoted like a mad creature from the moment that Mannel left, and, sometime daring the night, had knawedln two the rope by which he had been tied in the stable and ran away, no one knew where. They thought he must have gone to dad the boy. bat no one knew the family of Da la Crnz, and so they old not know where to look for him.- There was no time to wait, and I left, feeling more dis appointed than I oared to admit. I had believed that Mannel was a living and triumphant contradiction of the vulgar theory that gratitude had no place in the Span ish heart; and yet he had deserted me at the first opportunity, when there was nothing more to be gained from my friendship, and had even seduced my faithful dog from hia allegiance to me. Reflection would suffice to dispel anoh ideas for the moment, but they came back again and again with redoubled force, and at last I came to acquiesce in them, and doubt that snoh things as disinterested friendship and real gratitude were to be found on earth. My business, by patient care and attention, be came prosperous once more; but my dear wife grew daily weaker and more wan, despite all that loving kindness could do for her; and a year afttr my return I stood by a new-made grave, alone m the world, still under the middle age, a childless, downcast, disappointed man. Once only timing all this time had I heard from Mannel. A Spanish lady, well ad vanced in years—lor whose children I had once used my Influence with somd success, and who thereafter always regarded me both as a friend and a son—returning from Loa Angeles, called at my house and said to me: " Oapitan, I met the sister of your little protege , Manuel, at Los An- Seles, and brought you a message from her. She i very grateful to you for what you did for Man uel, and bega you to accept a little gift In token of her regard. 1 ' In the package I found a pair of fine handkerchiefs, delicately and elaborately embroidered, and bearing the initials, “ M Be la O-,” and a note in a neat tittle hand, but indiffer ent English: “Bon't think too much hardly of yonr little Mannel, who will never forget that you were his friend and benefactor, and will pray for yon always. He did not wished for leave yon, and sometime yon will know why he did. He would not if he ooold help it.—Mandela DE LA CBDZ ” 1 was teo much occupied with other thoughts and considerations then to pay much attention to this, bat I feit glad to learn that Mannel was not ungrateful, and was sorry—probably ashamed—for having left me so abruptly. After my great loss, I was much alone, and my mind reverted to the subject many times; , and the more I thought of them the more satis fied 1 became that there was some mystery at the bottom of the whole affair which I had never fathomed. Two more years passed away, and I beatd no more of Mannel and his slater. I drank at the club, gambled now and then in a email way at curds, and, In short, tried—as lonely* disappointed men will try—to forget the past, kill time in the present, and avoid thinking o *Ona oat riding on the San Bruno Road, In company with a friend. We had both been drinking a little, bat only enough to make us feel like driving a tnllemor© recklessly than usual. As we were coming home along the bay, beyond the Saven mile House, we came up with a party who had alto afastteam, and a trial of speed ensued. Joat as we were passing them, we rounded a sharp turn in the road, and I saw another team coming from the opposite direction, right before twenty feet off I had time to see no more. When I regained consciousness, I was lying in bea in my room on Stockton street, in Smx Francisco, m> leg broken, three ribs fractured, and a terri ble gashmmy scalp, which extended halfway across my head. They said 1 hadnarrowly missed instant death, and it might—probably would— t»ke me six months to recover. As good fortune ■would have It. my old .Spanish lady friend had seen me brought m, and was attending me assid uously. The fever came on, and lor days I was raving in delirium, or tossing in dis tempered sleep, which brought no rest or relief. One day I was lying half asleep, half unconscious, with my head as It were on fire, and my ideas all distorted and confused by tbe fever beat which ran my brain like molten metal, when I felt, or fancied 1 felt, a cool, soft hand upon my burning forehead, and the touch of mourt» vel vety lips on mine. It was some seconds before l was fmly awakeredto consciousness; and then, when I turned my head painfully on my pxuow, I saw that there was no one else in the room. I was sure that I could not have been wholly mis-, taken; and, reaching the bell, I rang it for n*,y kind volunteer nurse, who came at once. ‘ There wa* somebody else in this room p, mo ment since V* I said, with a positlveneas i did not wholly feel, bat with a determlna.aon to know the truth. •• Yes, Capitan, you are right!” Tb'.n, coming to n e, she took my band and said. *• H you prpm i?e me not to be angry I will tjii you some thing.” I gave tbe premise. , , *• Well, the*. I have taken a liberty. Manuels, tbe sister of the boy you found upon tbe desert, baa come t'o attend upon you, now that you are in trouble ul need nflld.” 08- ** But I botbt saw hsr In my leaio. • ** Yon have *eOQ her brother, and b690 friend; and for bis sake, aba is derated t» r “ a Batwb7 did not Manuell come 1" I Mied. *• Their father died recently; ood be at tained at borne/; . . T **a r «*i* «n*u Hardly knowing what I did, I said,, uaa Manuela in, then V* . .. mr , e The girl came in, and stood, with oneek* eos fthJtd and downcast eyes, quietly by my bedame. Sbe was taller than Manual, and of Ugfcter com plexion, bat bad the same glorious eyesof liquid black, the fame dark hair with the ting* of purple when the snnllghfi rested on it, the same bright, expressive countenance, and oniok, graceful movement of the little taper hands when a peaking. She was very fair to look upon,—aa the young palm-tree by the desert spring,—and there was goodness, as well off beauty, in her face. . - «• jprom that day I began to mead. Mannel* stopped with my was ever at ray bad- BldorOr ready to ooma at my call. and taste* were In all she did, and a. her touch all thing# grew Beautiful, She practiced reading EngUe&r hour after hour, every day. to amuso mef profiting, at the same time, by the lesson*, Her naod prepared little dufces and other dunes to tempt my slowly returning appetite. Her hand arranged She dowers which filled my room with fragrances and he? hand bathed my aching brow, and arranged my pillows whoa sleep grow heavy noon my eyelids. Yon can guess too rest. When I was able to alt up once more, and to begin to bear my weight upon the broken limb andmove about the room with tna aid of a crutch and the chairs, I wan madly, hope lessly In love—despite the aespartty of our yearr —wlth Manuela,and determined that she should not leave me. If I'coold prevent it. The floe 1 came'when she told me that she must go horns; I that I Old not need her oaro and assistance 1 lonaer. Then I poured fourth all which was l* ! my heart; told her that I should always need ■ her car© and sympathy and assistance, and mad© her the offer of my hand and heart, in all good faith end sincerity, confident of acceptance. *•Andshe accepted yon, of course I No; sberdld not. Bha broke from me, with a startled look, as if something whlsh ahe had long dreaded had come upon her at last, unexpect edly; and answered me, proudly, but sadly: Love mef* Yes; she could love me-did lava me—would always love me. She was piood to receive a true man's love, and to own that she retnrned’lE. But she was an or phan,—thelrfather had died since I left Manuel m Los Angeles; poor; almost uneducated, and lacking ail of what we call toe necessary ac complishments. She could- not do me credit ia society; and would not risk the chance of seeing me regret my folly, and feeling ashamed of my hasty choice. She loved me toe much to make Q8 miserable* fbr life; but would pray for mo. sight and day. as the dearest and truest friend she had ever found on earth, and would ask me to continue to lovehor »» • oiotor, or daogfctar <U I preferred it), and believe her worthy of my affection. She had *come to prove her gratitude to me and to do her duty, not to entrap me into a marriage beneath me; and ahe wished me to and more, she told me; then broke down wholly, and wept paßslonately.rejeotingaU my attempts to comfort her. She must, and would, so at once, now that this had happened; and she left me—half stunned, bewildered, and utter ly downcast at this crashing blow—to make ar rangements for her journey back to Los Angelos. My other nurse came in soon after, wltu her eyee full of tears; but 1 could not talk even to her, of the great sorrow which had come upon me, it was too sacred for others than Manuela and Ito speak or. even though, as I suspected, eh© knew It all. That sight I never closed my eyes in sleep. I formed a thousand plans, buc abandoned each, in tun. as Impracticable, feel ing that if Manuela had decided ou her coarse nothing would turn her from it. Manuela cacao In the afternoon to bid me good-by. She was pale, sad. and silent. She took my hand: and I. no longer able to suppress my emotion, turned my head away in speechless agony. She stood a moment irrefolute, and then, in an mstanW a wondrous-change swept over her. Her ama were around my neck, her head waa upon my bosom, and her warm tears falling thick and fast upon my hands. When, at last, aha looted np Into my face, she said : “ i thought that I was doing my duty, and had the strength to bear it, and go away alone; but I bad not. I cannot part with you again I” “ Again V- 1 repeated inquiringly. . _ “Yea,—my true, nay toly friend,—again'. Thft first time was at Los Angeles. lam the lima Mannel whom you found on the Arizona desert, and oared lor and protected at the risk ef your life God brought us together then, and now ■again, for some good purpose; and I will net leave you more! You know all now; andlwili be your loving wife, to honor and to serve you. always, if you still desire it !”■ _ She said this with trembling eagerness. In truth I wished it. Then she explained how she had oome to deceive na in Arizona, and so long heptup the deception. There was a boyln the par ty, somewhat older than herself—ahe was four teen then—and when the Indians charged upon the camp ahe was sitting in the shade, a littla distance away, mending some of his clothing. When ahe realized that her companions and pro tectors were no more, and the toll horror of her situation broke upon her mind. Instinct told bar that her chances of safety would be better with whoever she might meet, if she donned the ooa tume of the other sex—which she lost na lime In doing. When we reached Los Angeles, she hurried away to meet her father before tha secret of her sex should be discovered by others, and succeeded In assuming again her proper cos tume, without the story becoming known to any one hut him. Meeting our mutual friend—nay old Spanish nurse—she had confided the whole story to her. and ahe had kept the secret well. Htaven reward her! . The dog Butcher was hunting for Manuel fur two days, and recognized Manuela In hla place the moment tnat he found her. He was with herstill; he is with, u* now. That la hla bark—the noble old. leliowt This is my ranch; that is our house, tinder tna madrono-trees up there at the entrance of the canon yonder; and that is Manuela—God bleaa her!—coming down to the gate-war to meet ns, with little Mannfel and by bay aide. I tell yon what it is, old friend, 1 am Just the hap piest man in all California, and moat contented* yon may believe me! I went in with him. and there, in the quiet sum mer evening, when the whole air was fragrant with the breath of flowers, saw him sitting be neath hla own vice and fig-tree with his bright er ed, laughing children on his knees; and Manu els, whose fair face was radiant with love and. pride, leaning trustingly on his shoulder, as ona who knows whence comes the strength which, through all trials, shall sustain her; and I did. believe him,— Overland Magazine tor August, A TRIUMPH OF ORDER. From the Atlantic Monthly for August. A squad of regular Infantry, In the Commune's closing days. Had captured a crowd of rebels, By the wall of Pere-la-Chalse. There were desperate men, wild women. And dark-eyed Amazon girls, And one little boy, with a peach-down cheek And yellow clustering curls. The Captain seized the little waif. And said “ What dost thou here I” “tapristi, Citizen.Captain I I'm a Communist, my dear I 1 * <v Very well. Then yon die with tbe others I" ** Very well. That’s my affair I But first let me take to my mother, Who lives by the wine shop there, “My father’s watch. You see it, A gay old thing Is it not i It would please the old lady to hare it. Then 1M come back here and be shot.** ‘‘That Is the last we shall see of him,” The grizzled Captain grinned. As the little man skimmed down the hill. Like a swallow down the wind. For the joy of killing had lost its-zest In tbe glut of those awful days. And Death writhed gorged like a greedy soaks From the Arch to Pere-la-Chaiae. Bat before tbe last plantoon had fired, The child’s shrill voice was heard I “Soup-la! the old girl made such a row I feared I should break my word.” Against the bullet-pitted wall tic took his place with the rest, A button was lost from his ragged blouse. Which showed his soft, white breast. ” Now blaze away, my children I With yonr little one—two—three I” The Chassepots tore the stout young heart. And saved Society 1 Ratable Innstlcf, Much of the tyranny and depotism of the world have been the result of cerebral disease, and, if jus tice had been done, not a few of the rulers of his tory would have been confined in asylums for the insane. Caligula, thejbeastly Roman Emperor, was certainly a lunatic. His accession to tao throne was greeted with joy by the Roman people, and he afterward became so popular by the generous and conciliatory acts of his reign, that when he was at tacked with sickness, sacrifices were offered in the temples for his recovery. Bis brain undoubtedly became diseased during bis sickness, for from that time be became a changed man. Tbe remaining four years of his reign were disgraced by some of the most unnatural and capricious tyranny recorded in history. He put to death a large number of hia Senators. Every ten days he delivered human vic tims to be devoured by wild beasts, and jocosely termed this horrid act ” clearing hia account.” He caused divine honors to be paid to himself. In a temple erected t x’presaly for that purpose, and under tbe superintendence of priests of bis own appoint ment. He invited bis favorite horse, ineitatus, to dine at the royal table, where he was fed oa glided oats and drank wine from jeweled goblets, and but for bis premature death this animal would have been raised to the Consulship. In a more enligbtenedand liberal age Caligula would have been deposed and sent to on insane retreat. The Romans endured his cruelty for four years, and then put him to death by a well-planned and successful conspiracy. The career of Nero was somewhat like that of Caiigala. In youth he was notably clever, kindly and amiable, and for the first five years of his reign be ruled with clemency and Justice. He was at this time so harrasa cd by the attemptsof bis mother to wrest thescreplxe from hia hands, that hia brain probably became dis ordered, and be was metamorphosed into a tyrant. He poisoned his own brother at a feast to which he bad invited him. Hia mother, Agrippina, he murdered in her own bed. He relentlessly persecuted the Christians, on the plea that they had set fire to Rome. He caused to be executed Lucan, the poet, and Seneca, the philosopher, and kicked his own wife to death. Nor was his insanity manifested by acta of cruelty alone. He had a silly rage for music, and in hia morbid ambition to be the greatest singer of the : world, he appeared on tbe stage in tfao character of an operatic, performer, Domitlan Heliogabalna, and possibly also some of the tyrants of Rome, most have been of unsound mind. Domitlan, like Caligula and Nero, began to reign with generosity, and under the pressurcaand worryinga of government he developed into a monster. Helfogabalus made hia horse Con sul, appointed a Senate of women, forced tbe Ro mans to worship a black stone, and prepared golden swords and daggers, and cords of silit and gold, In oider to pat an end to his own life whenever he saw fit. All thes'a were the freaks ofa madman. Alexan der the Gr*at behaved like a lunatic in the latter days of hi?, reign, and the supposition is plausible, that if b.e had survived a few years longer he might have berime a most implacable and capricious tyrant. From "oeing very abstemious he gave himself up to debauchery, pi* lust for power became a disease* and. he strove for gigantic Impossibilities. Robes pierre and some of the other leaders In the French devolution were probably made more or less insane by the exciting events in which they took part. It is certain that Robespierre was natively kind-hearted and considerate, for he began life by endeavoring to procure the abolition of capital punishment. Loula XI. of Franco was insane both in his despotic cruelty and in his caprices. He shut up hi* oobie* in cages or bung them on the trees oftnatoreai. He lived in constant fear of death, kept in seclusion in his castle, was on intimate terms with hianang man, amused himself by watching fats and cats drank the blood of yoang children, ana tried various and abominable compounds in o a . lengthen his life. Jeffreys, the »■>“■*>" “Sf bT- Jndge, was a ravin? maniac - anil COM ment lowed to preside at the clrcnitf is » political on the scientific r craeltyof the oge.-i»nWi« VmMTikt * 5