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i^UUJQUR WAL OF m yNITED STATES ^fpcisi IQURNAL OF NEW ORLEANS " tell me how. BY B. ». IPTuDDAKl'. .. Ton row yon love me, deiuie t Bo iuHiiy a man miglit vow; But now, before I tru»* V ou „ Suppose yon tell me bow r •• I love you as tbe wind does >f The beauteous summer rose. " I know ; lie stoops to match a kiss, And then away be goe*. Bo wind's love fcr me, sir ; I can not be your t ose. ** J love yon as tbe bee does The purple meadow clover. " 1 know ■ he drains it of its sweets, And tbsn its day is over. Bo bee s love for me. sir; I will not be your clover." " J love you as a lady does Her wreath of orange flower. » i know ; she only wears it once, To grace her bridal bonr. Ho lady's love for me. fir ; I'm not youi orange iioweT. '• 1 love yon as a man doea Tbe woman be loTea best.'' » J know ; a piettv plaything she, To wear upon his breast. Still—if there's nothing better— I like man's love tbe best. • So, if you love me. dariiDg (But do you really, uow f). Here ia tbe kiss I promised— Because you tola me how." bashful, boots. "how "Tell me, Bashful Boots," I said, far is it to Whitby f' "Please, tbir, my name itlin't Bathful Booth," answered the child; "it'h Mary ■Cumru." I was just eighteen, and, alter having taken my degree in the time-honored Uni versity of Pennsylvania, was making a pe destrian tonr through the eastern counties of my native State. For several hours I bad been traversing a wild, wooded region that the inhabitants called "the forest," and which stretches for nearly thirty miles, from the northeast to the southwest, back to the Blue Ridge between Whitby and Heidelberg. It was a primitive, picturesque distriot, with small farms scattered through Hie valleys, while the hills on either side •were densely clothed with the original forest trees. There were so many little lateral valleys, and so many cross-roads, that at last 1 began to fear I had lost my way. Suddenly there rose before me. over the erest of a low hill, the chimney and roof ot m time-worn, stone farm-house. The fences were moss-grown, , the woods around were bushy and wild; lush 'grasses grew in the meadows, and the whole air was fragrant with the scent of water flowers that bloomed in the little brook near by. A scientific agriculturist would have turned from the scene in disgust. But a poet or painter would have oeen charmed bv it. The tan gled, luxuriant growth carried the imagina tion back for a century to tbe landscapes that FieldiDg described and Ganesborough painted. Crossing the field between me and the bouse, and advancing in my direction, was a little girl. She wore an old sun-bonnet and loose sack, and carried an earthenware pitcher in her band ; yet in spite of these comparatively coarse accessories there was a bright, intelligent look in her eyes and an air almost of refinement in her face. Ob serving a stranger, she stopped shyly, with her finger in her mouth, it was then I ad dressed her. We soon managed to get quite well ac quainted. Whitby, she told me, was "just over the mountain, not more than an hour's walk." She lived with her maternal uncle, who owned the farm-house, which bad been her grandfather's and her great-grand father's before. "Papa was minister," she said. "We lived in the city till he and mamma died." I was about to walk on, when she asked me slyly if I wouldn't like a drink of milk. She was going to the spring-house, she added. I assented most gladly, and she tripped gaily before me, flitting aioDg like a free, happy bird. Have you ever, my dear reader, seen a real old-fashioned Pennsylvania spring house—a one-storied, one-roomed stone edi fice. bnilt over a natural spring, generally shaded by a weeping willow or some an cient forest tree, and floored with brick and stone! My little hostess, kneeling down, dipped some milk up from a pan that floated in the ever-running stream which made the circuit of the spring-house inside. Never, before or sinoe, have I had a draught so de licious. Afterward I sat down on the low, turfy bank outside, and chatted with my little friend. "Do yon know," said she, artlessly, "I like country better than town ! You'hear the birds at daybreak; you can hunt for wild flowers. Oh! such violets, and blue bells, and quaker ladies we have here." "And buttercups, too, I hope." "Yes, yes. buttercups. Do you know bow to tell if you like batter ?" she asked, gleefully. "Don t I! You hold the buttercup to your chin." She clasped her hands, and laughing said— "How do you know that T" "Oh, I know more than you think," I answered coolly, but feeling a young man's pride, nevertheless, in her admiration. "Can you tell me, for instance, what is tliis f" I had been, as my habit was. poking with my stick into the turf, and now l had losened a heavy, rusty-looking bit of stone that rolled at mv feet. "No," she said, with some contempt; "I don't care for dirty rocks; I care for flow ers and trees." "But this dirty bit ot rock," I answered, "is hematitic ore," quite willing to shot? off my geological knowledge, and forgetting that she would he wholly ignorant of the matter. "If there's a vein of it on your •uncle's farm it will make his fortune. I shouldn't wonder if there was," I added. "This ore is always found in just such lo calities, where the trapdykes," and I waved my stick in the direction of the ragged, knife-edged hills that rose in front, "break through the sandstones. Why, it's as good as a gold mine, mv dear." "A gold mine!" Her eyes were bigger than ever now. "Yes, as good as a gold mine. If the farm was mine, I'd sink shafts at once. Is your uncle at home ?" "No. He has gone to Whitby." "Well, then, mind you tell him when lie comes home to-night. It will do no harm, at aDy rate." As I spoke I rose to go. She looked down and put her finger to her mouth again. At last with a shy blush she said: "Would you mind writing it down 1 the big word, fmean." "Oh! the name of the ore. Certainly not," I said, laughing. I tore a leaf from jay memorandum book as I spoke, and wrote the word as Bhe requested. "Do you often come this way !" she asked, bashfully, as I offered my hand and eaid good-bye. "I was never here before, little one, and don't know that I shall ever come agaia." Her face fell. "But I should like to come. I will tTy next summer," 1 added, ~5be brightened up again. "Oh, do come," she cried. "Do you know I like you—ever so much ?" When I reached the turn of the wood, at the top of the hill above, I stopped to look back. My little acquaintance stood just where I bad left her, gazing wistfully alter me. I took off my hat, she curtesied, and then I plunged into the forest. That, night, at Whitby, I had occasion for mv pancil-case, a thin, golden one, with my name engraved on it. I could not find it anywhere. "Where have 1 left it 1" I had quite forgotten that I had used it in the sgringhouae, and might have dropped it I never returned to the old farmhouse. The next wihter I went abroad, for I had a. competent fortune, and 1 wished to finish at it German university. Afterward I became an attache, and subsequently traveled ex cesftiyeiy. Ten years m Europe had only made me love the institutions of my coun try tie more. But before I returned to /America 1 went to Rome bn a farewell visit. . 0" me, as to many others, that wonderful city wae the one city ol the world, to which to go back again and again, with ever-in creasing affection- . , T __ The morning after I arrived, I walked to St. Peter's to bear, in Pf no . n • the music of Plestrina. While listening to the chanting, I happened to glance up at one ot the private galleries on the lelt, and saw there a woman's face, so wrapt, so ex alted that for the time she looked like one of Fra Angelica's angels. "It TO »'t do." said my friend, Charley Hargrave, putting his arm into mine, when the congregation was dispersing. "I saw whom you were looking at, but she s above even vour reach. She's been the belle of the season, my dear fellow, and has had lots of earls and counts disputing her smiles. Stop, here she comes and Prince Borgia is with her, to whom many say she is engaged " We had by this time reached fhe aisle outside. As the lady passed she looked up, as if some instinct had told her she was the subject of o'ur conversation. For one mo ment our eyes met. A thrill went through me. Never before had I known what love was, but from that moment 1 tfas hope lessly lost. "Who is she!" I stammered, when she and her escort had passed out of hearing. "Miss Vonberg, a great heiress." "German 1" "No,'American, though of German de scent, as the Dame shows. The gossip of the last week, that she has finally made her choice, must be true; for that was Priuce Borgia, as I said before; and only some in fluential person, one of the Pope's guard, as he is, for example, could have cot a per mit to that gallery. The stately old dame with thsm. too, was his mother; the other was Miss Vonberg's chaperon, for she is au orphan. You'd have known all this if you had been here through the winter, as I have b«en. Why, the young English swells used to crowd to the table d'hote at Miss Von berg's hotel in the Corsojust to catch a sight of her at dinner. At last she had to move to private apartments in the Palazza Gol dona, to avoid being stared out of counte nance." Why was it that, notwithstanding this friendly warning, I went back to my hotel to think of Miss Vonberg l Was I mis taken in fancying that, in passing, she had looked at me with evident interest ? All that dav her image was before me. At night 1 dreamed of her, dreamed she had male me happy, and woke to find out my delusion, and to wish I could have slept on forever, with dreams so blissful. But sleep would not come again. Be sides I bad an engagement with an old di plomatic friend to accompany him, his wife and bis wife's mother on a drive out on the Campagna. There had been some remarkable excavations made lately at tbe Seava, which he wished me to see. So I dressed, breakfasted and joined my friend. We had finished our investigations, and were about to re-enter our barouche, when I heard shrieks and the rush of wheels, and, glancing np the road, saw a carriage approaching at full gallop. In vain the coachman tugged at the frightened steeds. On. on they tore, tbe barouche bounding from side to side behind them, threatening the lives of the two ladies who seemed to be the only occupants of the carriage, and from one of whom came the shrieks. It was but tbe work of an instant for me to rush forward, seize the nigh horse, twist the hit until I threw him against his fellow, and stop tbe carriage with a lurch that snapped the pole and sent the coach man reeling from his seat. In another instant my friend had come to my aid, the traces had been cut, and all danger was over. I stepped to the door, hat in band, to as sist the ladies to alight. The one nearest me, an elderly woman, whose shrieks had rent the air, fairly tumbled into my arms. It took both my friend and myself, she wae so helpless, to carrv her to the bank by the roadside, where we put her down. Then, leaving my companion and the ladies of tbe party to attend to her, I hurried back to the barouche. But before 1 could reach it the other occupant, springing lightly out, had met me half way. Apparently, she was as cool and composed as if in her drawing-room at home. As I began to apologize for my delay she threw back her veil and smiled, revealing the face of Miss Vonberg. 1 felt as if I walked on air. " How can we thank you sufficiently ?" she said, in the softest, most musical of voices. " I bad given ourselves up for lost, when you rushed forward so bravely." Never shall I forget the emphasis on these last words, or her looks as she spoke them. " It was nothing," yet my heart beat high and proud. "Nothing more than any other would have done." Pardon me," she answered, " I do not think so. It was an even chance that the horse would trample you to death, and only heroes take such risks as that." Her great Juno-like eyes blazed as she uttered these words. She had stepped in her enthusiasm. But now, as if sensible she had been too frank, she colored violently and moved quickly forward, saying, " Excuse me, hut aunt, I perceive, is calling me." "How shall we ever get hack to Rome ?" cried the poor old lady, who had recovered from her faint. "I never, never can trust myself behind those horses again." "If you will accept them, the seats of my friend and myself are at your service," I said. "But you will have to walk back to Rome.'' "That is a trifle," I replied. "The distance must be four or five miles. But for my aunt I could not think of ac cepting." She hesitated. "I suppose there is no other alternative. How can we ever repay you ?" She gave me her hand in part ing, smiling bewitchinely. The long miles hack to the Latearn gate seemed but a few steps, 1 was so intoxicated with happiness. Intoxicated with happiness, and with dreams that 1 soon found to be, alas I hope less ones; for, calling the next day at the Palazza Goldona, the first person I saw in the saloon was Prince Borgia, to whom Miss Vonberg introduced me. He had heard of the event of the day before, and he scowled at me asff I had interfered with him. Miss Vonberg herself was ill at ease. She watched the Prince anxiously—so anxiously that in a little while I rose to go. 1 think I never was so aDgry. Miss Von berg was evidently engaged to the Prince, aud, moreover, was afraid of him. She was as different in his presence from the bright, trank, enthusiastic girl of the Campagna as it was possible to be. "Another sacrifice to rank,"! said, wrathfully. "What fools our American girls make ot themselves!" You see, I had gone there expecting a warm wel come, dreaming impossible dreams, and this was my revenge. Now came days and weeks of intolerable misery. Angry as I was I could not get rid of Miss Vonberg's image. Her blushing, eager lace, as she thanked me on the G'arn pagua, was rising up before me constantly; anil at every recurrence of that seductive Vision 1 was more madly in love than eyer. More than this, whenever I happened to find her alone she was graciousness itself, natural, trank, sympathetic and charming beyond words. But if the Prince happened to come in, she froze toward me at once. Was she a flirt 1 Everything contradicted this idea. No, she was pledged to the Prince, and was afraid of awakening bis jealousy. Yet I loved her in spite of all. The reader will say it was insanity. Per haps it was. Perhaps all love at first sight is. Again and again had I laughed at such a passion; had called it boyish; aDd said it was impossible tor a man qf sense: yet here I was, at eight and twenty, as much a slave to love at first sight, as the veriest lad of seventeen. Night and day I thought only of Miss Vonberg. I haunted every place I thought I might meet her—the Pinciau hill, the Bergese gardens, the ^ file Pamphilia, the opera, the Coreo. Her sweet, low voice, her enchanting smile, her divine lace and figure were alwavs in vision beiore me. At last came a crisis. The Prince s orig inally cold hauteur deepened into almost surly insolence. Once or twice Miss \ on berg, I thought, feared an explosion. I shall never forget the imploring look she gave me at a ball, w hen the Prince, finding me at her side, quite forgot he was a gen tleman. That look was the last drop in my cup of bitterness. "She is grateful to me for that day on the Campagna," I said to myself, "and has not the heart to refuse me an occasional dancej but she throws herself on my mercy; she begs me by her looks not to incense the Prince. W hy do I stay here to complicate matters? I can not'trust myself much longer if tbe Prince continues to be so rude? there will be an affray and a scandal, for her name will be dragged into public gos sip. Had I not better leave Rome, and so relieve her from anxiety I* I lay awake all night revolving this sa crifice, and fell asleep in the earlv morning, having resolved upon it. There was a train at midnight by the way of Civita Vechia— I would take that, and put the Atlantic, as soon avtaigbt be, between me and my hope less love. "One last glimpse," I said, "is all I ask. I can not even trust myself to a farewell. Mrs. Townsend told me they were going to a concert at the Barberini palace this eve ning. I am not asked there, but I will go to the Golden, about the time they will re turn. and catch, unseen, a look at her as she descends from the carriage. Tbe Palazza Goldona is one of the small est of its rank, and has not even a court yard. It is situated on a side street that runs at right angles with the Corso. Up and down this narrow street I paced between ten and one o'clock that night. Once or twice 1 fancied that another eloakea figure was engaged on the same errand; as once or twice before, when watching for a light in Miss Vonberg's window, I had also fancied I was not alone. At last the rumble of ap proaching wheels was heard, and I had just time to conceal myself behind one of the huge columns that flanked the portal, when the coach came rattling up. In another mo ment Mrs. Townsend, followed by Miss Von berg, had descended;, the great entrance swung wide open, and theelaeily lady dis appeared under the glowing archway. But her companion paused for a moment and looked up and down the street, as if ex pecting some one. Had the Prince prom ised to follow them home ? Or had he been prevented from attending the concert; and aid she hope that, even at this late hour, he would pay her a visit ? As she stood there, her rounded white Bhoulders gleamed like Parian marble in the doorway; never had she looked more dazzlingly beautiful. A jealous pang shot through me. It was only lor a moment, however, that she waited. After a hasty glance up and down the street, and an instant of eager listening, she turned and entered the portal, the car riage, meantime, driving rapidly away. As she went in, I stepped noiselessly forward, my eyes hungry to follow her till she disap peared entirely. I was so absorbed that I did not observe another cloaked figure which had been concealed on the opposite side of the porta], and which sprang lightly forth alter me. All 1 noticed was that Miss Vonberg suddenly turned, as if detecting footsteps behind'her. To escape recogni tion, I darted to one side, throwing the cloak over my face. A dagger, that would have penetrated my heart if it had gone where it was intended, struck me on the shoulder-blade and glanced off; hut it was driven with such force, that coming unex pectedly as it did, it prostrated me prone on my iaee. A piercing shriek cut the still night air, there was a rush of woman's garments, and Miss Vonberg was kneeling beside Hie, en deavoring to Tift me up. "He is murdered!" she cried; and never shall I forget the agoDy of that voice. "The Prince has done it." Then in a whisper, as her arms clasped me frantically, "Oh ! my love—" Could I believe say ears ? Was it me shfc called by that endearing epithet 1 For a moment I remained passive in the dear arms that encircled me. till, hearing the footsteps of the porter and Mrs. Townsend, 1 was compelled to rise. "I am not hurt, darling," I said: "I was only stunned for a moment—" "Thank God!" she cried, with a Ions, eager look. Then she started back, the color deluging her face, her haads went np to bide it, and she burst into tears. My arms were around her immediately, in spite of the spectators. "You knew me," I cried; "you return my love—oh! merciful father! what happiness." She looked up at me timidly. "Yes, I knew you," she replied softly. "1 have seen you watehing my window some nights. I wanted to warn you against the Prince, but I never had a ehanee. I knew your life was in danger-" and she broke down again. The next morning found me an early vis itor at the Palazza Goldona, for, as the reader may suppose, I did not leave Rome by the midnight train. My mistress met me, all smiles and blushes. "In love with Prince Borgia," she cried indignantly, when I confessed my jealousy. "I am too thoroughly an American ever to have married anv foreigner, least of all Prince Borgia. For weeks I have done everything short of rudeness to get rid of him. His mother, before he came to Rome, was very kind to me, and I eould not, for her sake, treat him as I otherwise should. Ever since that day on the Campagna. or rather the day after, when I saw his man ner toward you, I have dreaded some such attempt as this, for I know his jealous, vin dictive nature." "It was just that anxiety I misinterpret ed," I cried. "It made me sure that you loved him. I thought it was for him you were anxious/' She laughed lightly. "You ought to have a better opiuion of yourself I declare !" she added suddenly, starting from my side, I do believe it was I that proposed, after all. Fie on you ! 'Faint heart never won fair lady,' sir." But I drew her again to me, and kissed her, and she nestled on my bosom, blushing and happy, and forgiving me. At last she glanced up, shyly. But I have a confession to make," she said. "You won't be aDgry !" "Certainly not. How could I ?' "Promise." "I promise." "It is something you ought to know be fore I become your wife. Perhaps—per haps—perhaps—it may make you change your mind." ■ She bid her face on my bosom again. "Nothing can make me change my mind." "Not if I tell you," and she spoke in a voice so low I could hardly hear her, "that II was—in love—before V' I started. Her hesitation, her whole manner sent a sudden chill through me. Was it but tbe ashes of a heart, then, that I had won ? "You promised," she said hurriedly, "not to he angry. And it may make a difference if I tell you it was a long time ago." Ah !" I cried, forcing a smile, but no words can describe my torture. But—but—" she resumed, "I kept on loving him. Nay ! don't start—forgive me. It was a sort of youthful dream, you see. He was my ideal of everything great and noble—my Bayard, my' Sidney, my Sir Lancelot." I winced more and more. What was the rack to this ? But, darling" (she had never stopped, but went on, hurriedly), "it is yon I love now—remember that! Only I must tell you all. I worshipped my youthful fancy till till the day on the Campagna. And now I have something to return to him—not ex actly a love token, but what I have kept as a memento——." "And you wish me to write to him and send this—this memento?" I interrupted curtly, and quite withdrawing from her. I came'very near saying, "never." If you please," she answered demurely, rising and courtesying. As she spoke she drew from her pocket a small laded bit of paper, that had apparently been torn from a memorandum book, and a thin, worn, gold pencil case. For an instant I was dumb witn amaze ment. I looked at the pencil-case, and then at the merry face, which was now rippling all over with fun. Like a flash everything came hack to me; the wild, wooded hills; tbe stone farm-house; theilusli grasses; the water-cresses; I saw the shy, bashful child, with her milk-pitcher, i' recognized the lace, too, at last, in the one before me. "How could I fail to recognize it before ?" I said to myself, half angrily. All my jealousy was gone in an instant. For it was I who bad been her ideal through all these veais; it was I who had been her Bayard, her Sidney, her Sir Lancelot. 1 gazed like one transfixed, stammering : "And you are--" "Bashful Boots," with another courtesv, and so roguish a look, "or Bathful Booth, as I believe I said in those days." Thensbe told me how it all came about. She had given my memorandum to her un cle, who began immediately to look for ore, and was happily rewarded by finding a vein. He was soon a rich man. "We all shared in the good fortune," said my mistress. "My cousm and I were sent to the Moravian school at Bethlehem, and my uncle's two sons went to oollege. We often thought and spoke of you as our bene factor," she said, nestling close to me, "and even inquired after you in the city, hut found you had gone abroad." "Three years ago," she continued, "a terrible calamity befel us. My uncle's health failed, and he was ordered to New Orleans for the winter. The family all went, except myself, for I remained at Beth lehem in order to perfect mysell in my studies. There was an explosion," she shuddered all over, "you may have heard of it—and they were all lost, father, mother, sons and daughter." "It was in that way," she resumed, after a while, "that I came by the name of Von berg. It was my uncle's (he was my moth er's brother), and I was to take it, with the property, till I married; for my uncle, strange to say, as if by a presentment, had made a will for this very contingency." "This is why I never recognized you," said I. "The name threw me off the track completely." "That won't do, sir," she said, "for I recognized you at once. I knew you the first day, when I saw you at St. Peter's. But a woman is always the most faith ful." Prince Borgia left Rome that morning for an indefinite period, as was given out. His sudden flight confirmed our belief that he had hired a bravo to assassinate me. Some one is looking over my shoulder as I write. "It is a shame to tell all that nonsense about your wife," she says. "People will say I made love to you." But I answered with a kiss, which brings blushes to her cheek, for, though she has been married for six years, she is still my "Bashful Boots." ___ A Visit to Laura Fair. A San Francisco correspondent of the St. Louis Democrat writes: By peculiar good luck, and the help of some friends, three of us obtained an inter view yesterday with Mrs. Laura Fair, of the famous Fair-Crittenden murder case. Mrs. Fair, it will be remembered, was tried and convicted; an appeal was made to the Supreme Court, and a new trial was given her. This will commence early next month. For the present she is an inmate, as she has been since her first incarceration, of the county jail. To reach it you toil up, through evil look ing streets, one of the steepest hills in the city. The jail is a narrow, cramped struc ture, not uninviting externally, but ill ven tilated and poorly arranged within, sug gesting that, like the boy of the fable, who was admonished to steal shorter fish or* wear a longer coat, San Francisco must soon decrease the number of her criminals or build them more commodious quarters. After rambling through the corridors, past cells where halt a dozen persons we hud dled together, and where strange Chinese names adorned the portals, we gave our cards to the sheriff, a good-natured, gentle manly fellow, who spent without a murmur the better part of half a day in our service. The sheriff disappeared through a plain doorway, aud after a few moments absence returned, with an invitation for us to enter. A young girlish-looking woman advanced to give us kindly greeting. It took a sec ond thought to be convinced that this was Mrs. Fair—a fair-haired, tall hut slight per son, with an abundance of ringlets caught back and allowed to escape through the knot of a loosely tied ribbon, large expres sive eyes, pretty, even teeth, and a mouth that committed the paradox of being at the same time the homliest and the most beautiful feature ot au • altogether attractive face. Her expression is con stantly varying, owing to the changing c dor of her eyes, and the play of Bmiles about her large hut regularly formed m >utb. She has, perhaps, been a handsome w imsn—eertaintly a fascinating one—but coifinemeDt is telling on her. She was dressed, as most San Francisco ladies aie at this time of the year, in a white pique dress, with an over skirt and plait trim mings. A neat-fitting red flannel sack en cased her shoulders, and a simple pin con fined the plain collar at the throat. The room, which is painfully small, is furnished with a cottage set, to which a work basket and a Tow rocking-chair added something to the apjiearance of wo manly comfort. We apologized for intrud ing, and half explained our errand. She toyed a morntnt witB our cards, and seemed to' be weighing our names. "You are newspaper men ?" "Two of us, madam, and the third an al derman." "Ah, well, I have nothing to fear from aldermen—they are harmless—and I think you gentlemen of the press are my triends," and so she dropped into au easy conversa tion, entertaining us without any apparent •mbarrassment and with abundant humor, and far better than the most accomplished society lady would entertain three strange gentlemen who had forced themselves upon her. At first badinage ruled, and she proved a full match for her guests, parryiDg and thrusting in the liveliest manner, and with the quickest repartee. She avoided all re lerence to the circumstances of the crime with which she is charged, but conversed freely upon her early life, much of which was spent in Mississippi, where she was born, and in Alabama. She laughingly re marked that she was posted upon the object ot the St. Louis delgation in Sail Francisco, and was strongly in hopes the thirty-fifth parallel road would soon be built—so strongly, in fact, that she was half a mind to telTher lawyer to buy her a quantity of its stock. Nearly an hour was spent in easy conversation, which was only terminated when the sheriff suggested that we had tarried long enough. She gave us messages to friends in St. Louis, whom she hoped soon to visit, and asked us to call again if it would afford us any pleasure. She is writing a play, it is repoited, and if this be true, and she gives half the spice to it she did to the conversation in our in terview, it will have no danger of dragging or lacking in any way in interest. What ever else she may be, she is a clever wo man, and hanging, to speak harshly, would be about the worst use she could possibly be put to. Public sentiment here is, how ever, set against her and unless she ob tains a change of venue to some more fa vorable county, it will require the bright est wits of the'legal profession to procure her release. Better than Bold. Good habits are better than gold. A wise business man will give a jioormaj having no bad habits credit rather than a dissipated rich man.. The following illus trates this fact : Horace B. Claflin, a prominent member of the Baldheaded Club, is as quaint and humorous as he is keen witted and rich. They tell the following good story about him : On the fifteenth of February, about five o'clock, Claflin was sitting alone in his private office, when a young man, pale and careworn, timidly knocked and entered. "Mr. Claflin," said he, "I am in need of help, I have been unable to meet certain payments, because certain parties have not done as they agreed by me, and would like to have $10,000. I come to you because you were a friend to my father, and might be a friend to me." "Come in," said Claflin, "come in and have a glass of wine." "No," said the young man, "I don't drink." "Have a cigar, then ?" "No, I never smoke." "Well," said the joker, "I would like to accommodate you, but I don't think I can," "Very well," said the young man, as he was about to leave the room, "I thought perhaps you might. Good day, sir." "Hold on," said Mr. Claflin: "you don't drink?" "No." "Norsmoke?" "No." "Nor gamble, nor nothing of the kind?" "No, sir; I am superintendent of the Sunday school." "Well," said Claflin, with tears in his voice and his eyes too, "you shall have it, and three times tbe amount if you wish. Your father let me have $2000 once, and asked me, the same ques tions. He trusted me, and I will trust you. No thanks—I owe it to you tor your father s trust." _ _ The malicious New York Commercial is responsible for this: "A charming young lady at the Homeopathic fair last night was trying to induce a married gentleman, ac companied by his wile, to take a chance in a $600 diamond cross. ' Do take a chance, dear !' asked his wife in a plaintive voice. ' Pshaw! you are cross enough for me, Miranda,' said the cannibal husband, who afterward took his wife home, but returned alone to flirt with a pretty young lady." Mazzini's large fortune will be inherited by his grandniece, a young lady of consid erable Titerary ability, and at present art eritio of a daily paper at Turin. I For the Sunday Republican.) ADIEU. [Respectfully inscribed to Miss Marie E. Gordon, laie ot the Varieties Theatre.] Adieu, sweet lady! Mot a last good bye ; For we thy memory will long retain; Kind zephyrs waft with many a gentle sigh Thy homeward step o'er valley, hill and plain. We'll meet again! ♦ Thou flyest far from fever, heat and drought, But summer skies do not forever reign; The Northern winter drives the swallows South, Thou, too, we trust, will fly to us again From winter's bane. There are not many faithful, kind and true As thou art, lady, in earth's pageant vain. No last good bye, hut this, h Dieu! For surely, Marie, there we'll meet again, Beyond earth's pain ! FLORENCE M-. JEAN INGELOW. Some Account of Her by Laura Curtis Bullard. [From the Golden Age.] Jean Ingelow lives in the western part of London, that "great sprawling city," as Robert Browning aptly calls it, which sprawls every year over a wider and wider area. The home of the poetess is in one of tke dingy rows of unpretending dwellings which line the miles and miles of London streets, and which differ from each other only in their degrees of age and consequent dinginess. There is nothing cheerful about the exterior of any London house. This is a mild way of stating the fact that of all dismal-looking abodes for the human race those erected for and occupied by the Lon don citizen are the most dismal. "Every Englishman's house is his castle," as we ali know; for tbe true Briton, whether at home or abroad, takes especial delight in reiterating this truth for the instruction of the stranger and foreigner. "Every Lon doner's house is his prison," is the free translation of this statement, which the stranger is inclined to make for himself, as he sees for the first time the blank walls, substantial, grim and grimy, behind which the British householder entrenches himself. If, in the vain attempt to add a little cheer fulness to these sombre habitations, some of the Londoners do fill the balconies out side their windows with flowers, the bright blossoms only bring the heavy background into more vivid contrast and make the gray, dirty bricks behind them look dirtier and grayer than before. Miss Ingelow is too sensible a person to he betrayed into any weaknesa of this sort. Though a poetess, she is pre-eminently a judicious woman, with "no romance" about her; so she leaves the exterior of her house to its own native ugliness, and makes of the interior as cozy and comfortable a nest as we would desire to see. The little par lor is bright with warm hued furniture and a cheerful coal fire; books and needle-work lie side by side on the centre-table; pic tures, birds and flowers betray the taste of the womanly woman who has made the place such a comfortable, cheerful and tasteful spot, so full of the atmosphere of home, that a' return to a hotel seems to the chance guest, from sheer force of con trast, so dreer a necessity as to be almost unendurable. Miss Ingelow herself is a buxom, tine looking woman, somewhere near her for ties. She has an abundance of soft brown hair, which she winds in a graceful fashion of her own about her head; bright, dark eyes, and a lovely changing color, which comes and goes in her cheeks at the slight est provocation. She is shy, delicate and reserved, and has a true English aversion to being looked at, and a still greater horn, i of being written about. Miss Ingelow is a thorough conservative in ideas as well as in tastes. She is horrified by the commune and all its works. ' For the French republic she has little sympathy, while for the Eng lish Liberal party she harbors sentiments as nearly approaching detestation as it is in her gentle nature to feel toward any person or thing. She (•hares the convictions of the loyal Briton, which are briefly these: That the English government, as it now exists, is as near to perfection as any humanly-de vieed form of government can be. This, of course, explains the national dread of any change in the old landmarks. Tea and KIhsfh. I have already alluded to the fact that there is one thing which you may be mor ally certain what an American woman will do when she sits down to a table, in any clime, at anv hour, and under any circum stances, and that is, if she he a tree agent, she orders a cup of tea. But, before going any further, I wish to qualify this sweening assertion. She is almost equally as likely to kiss a baby on first sight. Now, kissing a baby means, with most women, almost devouring it bodily. Strangely enough, such kieses as men give only to women, women only give to babies. No lover and no husband in the world can throw one of them in so fine a frenzy as the sight of a small, roly-poly mass of pink and white flesh, done np in embroidered flannel, tucked nainsook and pink ribbons. But the charm gradually wears away after the child is a year old; and lam notable to certify whether its first freshness lasts over that time in the man's case. At the close of one of Mrs. Swisslielm's orations, she asked if any male citizen was present who was opposed to woman suf frage ; if so she would like to have him stand up and give his reasons. To the sur prise of every one present, the serii minded chaplain of the Ohio penitentiary arose. Some one hinted to Mrs. Swiss helm his calling and position^ when Mrs. Swisshelm inquired if he had any women in the penitentiary. "Yes," replied the chap lain, "we have twelve, and they make more trouble than the whole nine hundred men. " Mr. Levy, a blind Englishman, aseerts that he caii not only tell when he is oppo site a solid body, but "can discriminate whether it is tall or short, slender or bulky." If a fence he can tell whether it is open like a board or a rail fence, or closed: whether it is of stone or wood, or a close hedge. Another blind man could tell when thick clouds obscured the horizon. Mr. Levy calls this "facial perception," as cov ering his face with a thick veil entirely ob scures objects from this sensational' dis cernment. A very attractive dress for the promenade was made of steel colored Irish poplin. Upon the underskirt were tour narrow flounces, cut in scallops and bound with the same. Tbe polonaise was scalloped and looped high at the sides. Over this was a cape which was open in the back, being cut in scallops and having a bow and ends of steel colored ribbons near the neck at the back. Henry Ward Beecher said to his congre gation in a sermon on home life and hospi tality, Sunday: " I honor the woman who comes to me when I call, in the dress suited to her work. I don't like to sit buried in plush in the parlor waiting three-quarters of an hour for a toilet. What is" good enough for you is good enough for your friends." A lady, fond of reading Bui wer's works, went into a book store a short time since, just as one of the' clerks had killed a large rat. "I wish to see 'What Will He Do With It V " said she to a boy behind the counter. "Well," said the boy, "if you'll step to the window, you will probably see him sling it into the back lot." A discussion is going on between the press of St. Louis and Chicago as to which of the two cities is the greater "railroad centre." St. Louis claims as grain feeders eleven roads, of an aggregate length of 2932 miles, which figures are knocked out of sight by a Chicago list of twenty-one roadp, with a total of 6291 miles. Daniel Webster once said: "I well re member a marked difference between those of my shoolmates who had, and those who had not, access to newspapers. Other things being equal, the first were always superior to the latter in debate, composition and general i ntelligence." "Cast iron sinks" is the legend on the sign of a Hartford plumber. "Well, who the devil said it didn't?" was the inquiry of an inebriated man of sin, who read it over three or four times, and chuckled when he thought he saw the joke. Revolution ud Repudiation D uring the progress through the South of the national forces toward me close of the war a large quantity of cotton was seized at different'points belonging to private citi ^This cotton was taken under color of the captured and abandoned property act, which, in fact, had no application whatever, and no more justified the Seizure of a bale of cotton that a man was in possession of than it did his watch, or his horse, or his grain, or anything else. It was neither abandoned property—for it was taken from the possession of its owners nor was it captured propertv. according to any defini tion of that word to be found among any people living under the Christian dispensa tion. . . . It was a lawless seizure of private prop erty—a sequestration by force of the private property of certain persons—not because ot any offense they had committed, but because it was cotton, easily converted into money, found in large quantities; and after all it was only spoiling the Egyptians—they were mere rebels. Why stand upon a mere ques tion of abstract justice ? True, the same reasoning would have justified the sack of the city; out no matter for that. Weir, this cotton was sold. Large pri vate fortunes were made by loyal treasury agents who manipulated the business. What remained—some $26,000,000—found its way into the treasury. Congress kindly said to tbe sufferers: If you choose to go into the Court of Claims, and admit that we captured your property, and did not take it by mere high-handed robbery, and can prove that you have always been a loyal citizen, etc., why, you may have what we received for your cotton, though that is a small part. Claimants, representing about half this sum, brought suit within the time limited hy law, and if they all recovered judgment the treasury would unjustly retain half of the proceeds of this disgraceful enterprise. The Supreme Court of the United States has solemnly decided that this cotton, or its proceeds, never belonged to the United States, hut still belongs to the original owners; that these owners, who have taken the amnesty oath or been pardoned, may prosecute their suite, if commenced in time, in the court of claims, and have judgment for the proceeds, on proving ownership and seizure. Many judgments have been re covered and not yet collected. It is almost incredible, that any one, in either house, or in any department ot the government, could be fool or knave enough, for th6 sake of perpetuating the original iqjustice, to make another attack upon the judicial department of the government. The amendment was pushed through tbe Senate by Senator Morrill, asserting that unless passed the treasury would be robbed by rebels of $70,000,000. ' But it is asserted that the judgments in the captured and abandoned property suits will absorb a large amount of the public funds. Without any commentary on such a proposition, let the facts be examined. By the report of the Secretary of the Treasury, May 11, 1868, ex. doc., No. 56, Senate, 2d sees., 40th Congress, p. 53, the total amount of proceeds of sales captured and abandoned proper covered into the Treasury will be found to be $25,257,931 62. To this c in be added sales of the quartermas ter of the Department ot the Gulf. New Or leans, A. B. Holabird, (see ex. doc. No. 97, H. R., 39th Congress, 2d sess., p. 39) which amounts to $834,529 34, or a total receipt from this source of $26,092,460 96, and this balance remains after the Secretary of the Treasury has paid out of the fund on an ex parte showing $2,210,476 96. See ex. doc H. R. No. 114, 39th Congress. 2d sess., p. 13. By the law of March 12,1863 (vol. XII., Statutes at Large, section three, page 820,* etc.,) suit could be brought by owner for proceeds "at any time within two years after the suppression of the rebellion." This limitation expired August 20, 1868; therefore, no suits could be brought there after, and none have been. After the statute of limitation commenced to run, an abstract of all cases pending in the Court of Claims shows as follows: Suits pending were for— • 22,849 bales cotton from New Orleans, average value in Treasury... <$2,779,809 34 23,616 bales from Mississippi, Arkan sas. Tennessee and Northern Georgia....................... 37,346 bales Savannah Upland Geor gia............................ 8S1 hples Sea Island................ 3,417 bales Charleston, South Caro lina, upland................... 468 bales Charleston, South Caro lina. Sea Island .............. 83,528 64 30,173 bales Mobile. Alabama......... 493,877 45 849 bales North Carolina........... 71,952 75 5,092,953 40 6,457,874 18 197.253 29 460,539 30 92,571 bales, worth.................... *15,727,788 35 It will be seen that if eveiy dollar sued for was recovered under judgment, the ease would stand as follows: Amount of proceeds of sales of captured and abandoned property in treasury, $26, 092,460 96; total amount of all suits pend ing when limitation commenced to run, $15,727,788 35, leaving in the treasury a bal ance ol $10,364,672 61. By reference to House of Representatives document No. 97, hereinbefore alluded to, it will he seen (page ten) that there were re ceceived and disposed of hy the United States treasury agents 156,387 tfc hales of cotton; the number sued for being 92,571 bales, leaving yet unclaimed 63,81hales. The first suits for cotton came to a judg ment at the December term, 1866, since when, up to the fourth of April, 1872, last month, the whole amount paid out has been $2,858,612 02, as per first controller's record in Treasury Department, being but $648,135 06 more than was paid out b.v the Secretary of the Treasury prior to March 30, 1868, when the fund was ordered to be covered into the treasury, and which w'as paid out without the authority of law. When this country was governed hy statesmen the independence and dignity of the judicial department of the government were respected—private rights, established by solemn judgment, were secure ; but with ignorance and fanaticism nothing is safe or sacred. Ths time was if the Supreme Court had decided that the government had in its pos session money that did not by law belong to it, but did by law belong to another, no Senator could have been found either to question the decision or to vote to withhold the money. In other days they respected the independence of the judicial depart ment, and no Senator inquired whether it would pay to he just or how much it would cost to be honest;— Washington Patriot. On Choosing Men. Almost all rules are had which tend to limit the choice of men for employment of any kind. Any rule, for inscance, about ex cess of age, is injudicious. The powers of different men are so various, that it is not too much to say, that men are often twenty years younger or older, than their age ac cording to years. If we look at the great events, not only in ancient hietory. but at those of the last few years, we shall see that the greatest of those events have been car ried to a prosperous issue by men who were anything but young. Now. why should we confine our view in this matter to generals, and kings, and statesmen! If the view is good for any thing. it applies to all meD: and a more foolish thing is seldom done by any govern ment, by any minor body of men, or by any individual, than in fixing a limit of age as regards the employment of its or his agents. Similar statements might be made as re gards several of the disqualifications which are frequently set out in the shape of rules and by-laws, and which prevent men from choosing those of their fellow men who would be most capable of conducting their affairs. Pecuniary disqualifications is an instance of what I mean. You think to gain a good man to manage your affairs because he hap pens to have a small share in ^our under taking. It is a great error. You want him to do something well which you are going to tell him to do. It he has been wisely chosen, aiid is an able man. his Decu niary interest in the matter will be mere dust in the balance, when compared with the desire which belongs to all such men to do their work well. On the other hand, by insisting upon a pecuniary quali fication, you may easily prevent yourself from being able to choose the best man. Rules of this kind generally punish most the men who make them. The real reason why men, even of great ability, whether in gov ernment or in other public bodies, have cir cumscribed themselves by these rules and this qualification is, that they are not suffi ciently penetrated by the idea of the value of having the right man in the right place. The advantage to the world of having men rightly placed is almost inconceivable. All success depends upon it. It is a thing which can not be over-estimated. Through the most adverse circumstances, the able man will form a path for himself and others.— From Thoughts on Government, by Arthur Helps. _____ AN OREGON ROMANCE. The Curious Manner In which n Young Irish Woman Obtained a Uusbnnd. [From the Portland. (Oregon) Bulletin. | There were married in this city, last eve ning, a couple whose love making and mar riage iuraieb us a theme. During the spring of last year tl\ere appeared upon the rail road a fair-haired, smooth-faced, muscular fellow, with a rich Irish brogue, who ap plied for work, expressing himself as win ing to do anything He had "an ould father and mother in the ould country that he wanted to help to America, and was will ing to work hard for good wages." He was given a pick and shovel, and told to pitch in, which he did with a will. Al though he was a little awkward at first, he soon mastered the science of handling tbe shovel, and came to be regarded as one of the best men of the work. He had a pleasant Foice, told a good story, and made many friends among the other workmen, who re garded him with especial favor. After a while Mr. Hablet, the contractor, had Lis attention called to the new band, aud find ing him to be quick at learning, gave him command of a gang of men, and soon foudd that his confidence was not misplaced. In the same camp was another foreman, who was as lithe and active a young fellow as can be found in any part of the country. Between the two a warm friendship sprang up, and when not at work they were always togetl er. The summer passed aw^y, and the win ter months, with their rain, came, and when work got slack and men began to drop off and come into the city, Mike pro posed to Jimmy to go to Portland, take a room and live until spring. The proposi tion, however, was rejected by Jimmy, who declared that he did not want to come to the city„ So the two remained at Eugene for several weeks, awaitiDg for the recom mencement of the work. Somehow or other during the winter, Mike made a discoveiy—and that was that Jimmy, Instead of being a man, was a woman. An explanation was made, and Mike's feelings soon underwent a change, and he found that Cupid had pierced his heart. He proposed to Jimmy to come to the city where she would receive her proper habiliments, and then thev would form a copartnership for life, and in proper time return to work on the road as sub-con tractors. The proposition was agreed to, and last night saw Mike and Jimmy made nil and wife. They have purchased a tent and gone down to Cowlitz river tor the purpose of assisting in the building of the Northern Pacific railroad from Humph rey's to Olympia. During the coming sum mer Jimmy will preside over the culinary department unless Mike should get sick, when she declares* she will go out and boss. the men. _ MURDER OF THE INNOCENTS. Direct Appeal to Kins Amadeus— Move ment to Counteract Its Influence. New York, May 7.—A Havana letter, dated April 24, say's: "Don Alvarez de la Compa, the fatber'of one of the Young stu dents so brutally massacred by the volun teers last November, has written an address to the KiDg of SpaiD, which he sent to Mad rid bv General Palanea, in which he de manded justice on all implicated in the murder of his child. He has caused several thousand copies of the address to be printed for circultion both in Spain and Cuba. The leaders of the butcheries, dreading the re sult of the address, are determined, if at all possible, to suppress it. They know that General Palanea has taken, with the ad dress of the King, a number of documents clearly proving the facts by De Lal&mpa. Among the documents is a letter addressed by them to the Governor of Hav ana, Lopez Reoberts, to De Lalampa, after the arrest of the latter's eon. and which is said to be convincing proof of the venal purpose which instigated the Gov ernor to make the arrest. The leaders of the volunteers determined to force Dela Campa, either by entreaties or threats, to telegraph General Palanea with instruc tions not to present the address. Palanea had only left for Spain by the last steamer, and counter orders from Dela Campa would reach him on his arrival at Cadiz. Threats of instant death failed to frighten Dela Campa into signing the telegram al ready written, and the latter sought the protection of the government and hastened to the acting Captain-General and the Gov ernor of Havana. Tne latter advised him to leavd the island, because he assured him he could not, for want ol means, guarantee his life or property. Upon this advice Dela Campa acted, taking the steamer Ger mania for Europe. Soldiers' and Sailors' Convention. Washington, May 7.—A soldiers' and sailors' convention was held here last night of delegates representing various posts of the Grand Army of the Republic. Their business was to take action against certain legislation of Congress affecting their in terests, particularly the recently passed bounty land act, which requires occupancy and cultivation to secure possession. This, they say, is a delusion to soldiers and sail ors, especially those suffering from or dis abled by wounds or other casualties, and they also protest against the system of pen sions, saying pensions should commence from the time the disability existed, or the period of filing proofs; and besides, fjr making pensions more equitable, they want an addition of twenty per cent. Ships, like men. are often spoken of a« luckv and unlucky. Probably some slight accident at launching, or when fitting out for a first voyage, is noted by some old salt, who shakes his head ominously and half whispers to some shipmate: "I'd think twice before I'd sail once in that craft. Just such a thing happened when the Blazes was launched, and a year after, when the captain threw a black cat overboard, she was taken all aback, and went down stern foremost, and only one boy and the cat were saved to tell the story." But there are also lucky vessels, which make quick voyages, dodge storms, and always pay a handsome profit. Among these we call at tention to the hark Hazard, of Salem. She was built at East Boston by the Brothers Sampson, in 1849, and has been uniformly successful in all her voyages. During the rebellion she was frequently within twenty miles of the British pirates, and has passed them in fogs, when others less lucky were captured and burned. She is 380 tons reg ister, was recently rebuilt at an ex pense ot $10,000, and is now as good as new. Her last voyage from this port to Pernambuco and back to New York, was as remarkable as many others. She sailed hence December 27, and arrived at New York March 18, having made the entire yoyage in eighty-one days, including the time in port at Pernambuco, and this, too, during a winter of tremendous gales. Shortly after leaving Pernambuco two of her crew died of yellow fever, and all hands, including the captain, were sickly, yet, short-handed as she was, she managed to dodge the fierce nor'westers which kept others back,* anil readied New York in safety. Her commander, Captain Kar stens, savs that when he reached the coast he reeled her courses and topsails (she has not double topsails), sent her royal yards down, and did not dare, even when the weather was moderate, to make sail, lest he should be unable to take it in, owing to the sickly condition of the men. Her pass age, therefore, was prolonged several davs. He experienced several hard gales on the coast, but his vessel held her own like a pilot boat, and managed to slip through a fleet of others, which were lying to under storm canvas. She delivered her cargo in good order. But few vessels, excepting whalers, are now sailing which were launch ed the same year as the Hazard. She is owned by Henry Gardner, Esq , n f Salem, who owns several other lucky vessels —Bos ton Transcript. A desperate husband, who has been brought to the verge ot insanity bv the "Doily Vardens, thus frantically remarked to his wife : It is a dress with sunflowers and cabbages and pumpkin* worked all over it, and a lot ot snakes squirming around for a background. Why, it ia enough to give a man delirium tremens to look at it. Whoever saw such a pattern? It s flash wall paper run maid. You look exactly like some Japanese tea sign."