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SEGOVIA AND MADRID.
(Harper's Monthly.] It sings to me in the sunshine, It whispers all night long; My heartache like an echo Repeats the wistful song; Only a quaint old love-lilt Wherein my life lies hid: "My Ixly is in H8govia, JSut my soul is in Madrid." I dream and wake and wonder, For dream and (lay are one, Alight with vanished faces, And days forever dione. They smile and shine around mle. As long ago they did, For my byody is in M.govia, But my soul is In Madrid. Through inland hills and forests I hear t he ocean breeze, The creak of straining cordage, The rush of mighty seas. The lift, of angry billows Through which a swift keel slid. For my bodxly s in ,egovia, But my soul Is in Madrid. Oh, fair-haired little darlings, Who bore my heart away, A wide and woful (o('Uan Between us roars to-day; I Yet I am close beside yoiu. Though tlnie and space forbibl; My tboJy is in HS(ovia, But my soul Is in Madrid. If I were once in heaven, There would ih. no more sea; My heart would cease to wander, My sorrows cease to be, My sad eyes shlep forever, In dust and daisies hdl, And my (twly leave Segovia Would my soul forget Madrid? A (GlltL'S I)ILEIMiA. At eighteen I was one of the most thoughtful of human beings. My widowed father, a rich merchant, had humored every whim from infancy, and asked nothing of me in return but light heartedness and affection. No one could have known less than I of the shadows and sorrows of life, or have been more childishly occupied in the present. It was the night of my first ball, to which I was to be introduced under the most flattering auspices; I was half wild with excitement, and the moment my toilet was completed I flew down stairs to show myself to father, who was not going with me, as at first ariranged, being prevented, he said, by mudden and Insurmountable engage ments. Well I remember how impatiently I burst open the dining room door, and with what a bound of elation I sprang toward the spot where he stood, spreading out my beautiful dress and making before him a sweep ing courtesy. I seem to hear now the soft rustle of lace and satin; to feel the glow that burned on my cheeks, and the quick throbbings of my happy heart. I had not at first noticed, in my eager ness, that the table was covered with papers, and that my father was not alone. Mr. Lacy, barrister-at-law, his friend and mine-for I had known him from my cradle-sat opposite to him, and a second glance showed me how grave and anxious were the faces of both. "What is the matter ?" I asked, lay ing my hand caressingly on my father's shoulder. He look at me fondly, till I saw the tears brim his eyes. "My darling!" he said in an abrupt, passionate way. " We will not tell her, .Lacy-it would be cruel. Let her have at least a few more happy hours. She need not know to-night. How will she bear it?" Mr. Lacy looked increasingly grave. I had become very grave, teoo; my phildish excitement seemed to have given place to a sudden and almost womanly seriousness. "It is of no use hiding anything from me," I said, trying to smile, though I trembled from head to foot in vague foreboding. " I could not go to the ball now; tell me what has happened." The expression on my father's face deepen ed to anguish-he put his hand before it, as if the sight of me was too painful to bear. I turned to Mr. Lacy. "Do you tell me?" I implored. Mr. Lacy fixed upon me the fine, searching eyes, whose reproof had been the sorest penalty of my life hitherto, and kept up the scrutiny till I could bear it no longer, earnest and kindly as it was. I knelt on a cushion before him, and leaning my arms on his knees in a fa vorite attitude, I returned his gaze with a steady though tearful one. "Try me," I said; "perhaps I am more than the giddy child you think me. Besides, it cannot be so dreadful- you are both alive and well !" A peculiar expression passed over Mr. ILacy's face. He seemed hesitating whether to draw me into his arms or to push me from him; he did neither, but rose up suddenly, putting me gently back, and took a few turns through the DaCK, ana LooK a iew turns tnrougn the room. "Halford," he said presently, and in gltated tones, "once more I renew my ofer. Of what use is wealth like mine to a lonely man? With the help I can give you may keep your credit and reast this storm. You shrink from an obligation there is a chance of your never being able to cancel? Well, I will change places with you. Give me in return- that is, if I can win her con a.nt-your daughter as my wife!" My yfather looked up with a literal gasp of astonishment. Mr. Lacy went on with out heeding him. "I am a fool no doubt," he said, "but the time has long gone by when Mildred was a child to me. For the last two years I have felt from the depth of my heart that she, was a woman. I have fought against the insane wish to win her for my wife. My age, my past relations with her, seemed to make it a crime. Now I have spoken, God knows, as much to save you from the disgrace you are so ob stinately bent on meeting, and her from the poverty that would crush her youth, as to satisfy my own feelings. What she is to me words cannot say ; how I will guard and love her, my love only could prove. Mildred, what do you say? He paused opposite me and took my hand. I was like one in a dream. Love! Marriage! Brought up as I had been at home, I had speculated less on these i points than most girls of my age. I had vague theories, indeed, gathered from poets and novelists, and my feelings 3or Mr. Lacy, a man forty years of age, Who had known me as an infant, and wiom I regarded with almost unlimited reverence as one of the best and wisest of the race, did not seem to correspond with them. I was unworthy of the honor-incapable of fulfilling the office of wife to such a man. Wife ! It seemed ! almost blasphemous to mention the word to a'uh a child as I was. I Shrank 1 f rom hlim toward my father, my 1 oheeks burning w in m eyes full of teeins. "You refuse me Mild*ed?" said he. "I should be a villain to take advan tage of my position and urge you. Yet in my heart I believe I could make you happy. What would you have but youth that I cannot give you ? There are many chances against your ever being offered again a strong, honest, undivided heart like mine. No young man could love as I do. Mildred, what you might be to mel" The strange tone of passionate ear nestness made my heart beat quickly. I glanced at my fether. He was watch ing me with intense anxiety. No need to question what his wishes were. As for the meaning of this strange scene I wanted no details; enough that some momentary crisis had come that threat ened disgrace and ruin. I could avert it, and how? By marrying one whose affection might have gratified the most ambitious heart; one of the noblest of men; one I loved, though perhaps not as he loved me. In that hodr of excite ment and in my undisciplined mind little was I prepared to weigh remote oossibilities and contingencies. Besides, I was ardent, excitable, apt to mistake impulse for sentiment. "Mildred, what you might be to me!" wrought upon my sensibility; his expression of sub dued emotion still further moved me. It never occurred to me to demand time for explanation and reflection. I felt constrained to answer him then and there. "If I were less a child," I said, blush ing and trembling, "if I were more your equal." It was enough, he drew near me and clasped me in his arms. "Child !" he said passionately, "my love -my Vife!" Then releasing me and gazing at me seriously: "Yougive your self to me willingly, Mildred, but I will not bind you. Six months hence I will give you back your freedom if you are not happy, and you will find it hard to deceive a love like mine." My father rose and grasped his hand in silence. "God bless you!" he said at length; "I would have borne much to secure such a protector for my child. Leave us, Mildred, to arrange some matters that cannot be delayed even till the morning." I was eager to obey and be alone to think, and I left the room without a backward glance. That half-hour had revolutionized my whole being. I was a child no longer. I locked my bedroom door to give way to all the tumultuous emotions of a woman. Sued for as a wife-engaged! I looked at myself in the glass, and wondered that a man like Mr. Lacy could love such a young, unformed creature as I appeared. There was an incongruity in it that struck me pain fully. Still there was a distinction in his regard that flattered me. I had a very high esteem for him. I was ward ing off a calamity from my father. I loved no one else--no doubt I should be very happy. I sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned my head upon my hand. Unaccustomed to dream, at that moment an involuntary dream rose before my imagination. Instead of this strange compact, the wooing of a youthful lover; instead of mere con sent on my part, the delicious hopes, the rich fruition of a conscious, active passion. Might I not have been thus? If beauty won love, 1 was fair enough: if freshness and strength of heart were needed, now mine throbbed under the ideal bliss! The sound of Mr. Lacy's voice recalled me to a sense of my duty to him; it was wrong to dream of such girlish possibilities now. He was going away, and my father had accompanied him to the head of the staircase. I supposed he had asked him if he would not wish to bid me good night, for I heard him answer no; 'No she would not wish to be disturbed-I fear to weary her. God forgive me if I am acting a selfish part!' I rose up resolutely; no more such weakness as that of the last hour; he was'worthy of a woman's love and honor, and I would give it. The next two months passed in a state of tranquil happiness. If manly devotion, if the most delicate and minute i attentions could win a heart, mine would have been won, and I thought it was, and rannnaed nn t.ha idaa Mr. Lacy made no attempt to prevent my plunge into the gay world, postponed for a while by the late strange incidents. Now and then he would go with me to a ball or opera, but it was in the charac ter of protector or inspector, not as principal, and I felt his presence a re straint. I was by no means a coquette* I strove to bear always in mind that I was his affianced wife; but I was only eighteen, ardent in temperament, with high animal spirits, very much courted and admired, and I did enter with a keen zest into the pleasures of life. His grave smile, in the height of my enjoy ment, used to fall like a weight on my heart. He himself, holding an important and influential position in the world, was full of earnest schemes of practi cal benevolence, of professional reform. He seemed to think, labor, and write mainly with an eye to other men's in terests, and those in their highest and widest bearings. He liked to talk to me of these things and excite my moral enthusiasm, and while I listened he carried heart and conviction with him, and I felt a call to such co-operation an honor in which sacrifice could have no part. Then his look of intense affec tion and happiness as he kissed the cheek to which his words had brought so deep a glow, stirred my soul and left no doubt on my mind that 1 loved him. At the end of two months Mr. Lacy left me to attend a summons to his father's death-bed. He expressed no fears as to the result of this separation, though I perceived a deep secret anxie ty. I shared it. I had a morbid dread of the effect of this absence. "Don't leave me!" I cried, clinging weeping to his arm. "I am afraid of myself-afraid of becoming unworthy of you." "How, Mildred?" was his answer. "If you mean you will forget me, or dis cover you are mistaken in thinking you love me, it will save us both 'a life-long misery-me, at least, a life-long re morse." For a week or two after he left me I hardly went into society; but my father and friends laughed at my playing the widow, as they called it, and I soon re sumed my former gayeties, with, how ever, a certain restraint and modera tion which I felt due to Mr. Lacy. At length the temptation beset me of which I seemed to have a vague pre sentiment from the first evening of Mr. Lacy's offer, and it beset me under its most insidious form. My father's sis ter and nephew came to pay us a long talked-of visit; and even before they arrived I had begun to torture myself with doubts as to the issue of this inter course. As children, Frank Ingram and I had spent half our time together; and as children had pledged ourselves to each other. Five years had passed since we had met, for he had been studying medicine abroad, but an un broken, though scanty, correspondence had been always kept up between the t!vo famexillE>1 4 bin «yý as s child. were free tO l.f4ee came, he brc ghlv.h , 3 at futtis about which I had dreamed-brought it in vain! There was something morbid in this state of mind, but the idea had fastened upon me, and I could not shake it off. My very self-mistrust was a snare. My aunt and cousin duly arrived; and of Frank I must speak the truth, even if I am accused of a wish to justify my self. Every charm a young man could have I think he possessed. I say noth ing of his personal beauty or his ingen uous graces of manner. I could have withstood these, though I had a very keen appreciation of them. But he was as full of disinterested ardor in his pro fession as Mr. Lacy in his; had the same deep desire to be of use in his genera tion; only he unfolded them with such a winning self-mistrust, as if he doubted his worthiness for the high vocation of benevolence until he warmed into en thusiasm, and then the passion of his speech, the very extravagance of his youthful hopes, thrilled me with a power far beyond the reasoned wisdom of Mr. Lacy's enterprises. Oh! I longed to join hands with him in his life journey and lend my aid to the working out of his Utopia, with a spontaneous feweor of desire never known before. Lesser things lent their aid. He was a fine musician and an enthusiast in the art. We practiced constantly to gether. lie taught me how to play and sing the German compositions he had introduced to me. I do not wish to dwell on details; but who does not know how subtle a medium of love a kindred pursuit and enjoyment of music is ? and Mr. Lacy had never cared for music. Then again he was my perpetual com panion. At breakfast his clear eyes and welcoming voice opened the day, and after its long hours of delightful inter course his hand was the last I clasped at night. No attempt was made to put an end to this dangerous companion ship. My father looked upon us as brother and sister. Besides, the fact of my engagement was known, and he had the most implicit confidence in his nephew's honor. He never considered my danger, yet it was the greater. He might be strong, ,,.t I was weak. In short, I loved Frank. A letter announcing the probable day of Mr. Lacy's return roused me to the conviction of the truth. I carried it up to may room, locked the door, and fell on my knees. What should I do? Should I keep my secret and sin against my own soul by marrying one I did not love? Surely that were the worst crime of the two. What was left me, then, but to wound a noble heart, belie my promise, inculpate my father. It seemed a dreadful alternative. After many hours of agonized casuistry I could not decide, but determined to leave the issue to chance. Did Frank love me? Strange that I took that fact for granted, torturing myself with the idea of what he would suffer--he, with with his young, strong capacity for sor row! This is not to be a long story, so I must not stay to analyze the state of my mind during the interval that elapsed before Mr. Lacy's return. A criminal awaiting a sure condemnation. and that approved by his own aching conscience would understand my feeling. The evening came on which we ex pected him. Never before had our drawing-room worn a more happy, home-like character. My father read the newspaper at ease in his ample chair, my handsome, lively aunt per petually interrupted him with irrele vant remarks. I sat near the tea table, for a certain hour had been fixed, and we waited for our guest before we began our favorite meal. I held a book to 1 hide the changes of my countenance. Had I doubted my cousin's love before, I should have doubted it no longer; how earnestly and searchingly he look ed at me-how grave and sad he ap peared. The knock came. It was natural I I should start; but it was hard to smile naturally at my aunt's pleasant raille ry. Mr. Lacy came in; he was one of those whose self-governed, serene man- 1 ner, precludes flutter of embarrassment I in others. The gentle friendliness of i his greeting reassured me for the mo- f ment; under it I could hardly imagine I the strong, passionate current to exist that sometimes broke its bounds. The evening passed smoothly and I pleasantly to all externals. Mr. Lacy i was very grave, but then it was to be c expected of a son who had just left his father's deathbed; and my aunt's ani- c mated tongue filled up the intervals . when conversation would have flagged. 1 Frank and I sang together at my 1 father's request, for I feared to seem i unwilling; besides, it precluded thet necessity of my exerting myself to talk. t Frank was very serious, and, I thought, averse to sing with me, but at the same I time had never sung to more advan- F tage. c The ordeal was over at last. Mr. La cy took his leave without anything in his manner to make me fear, or per haps hope, that my secret was discov ered. A week passed; he was constant lywith us, showing me the same ten derness as ever-somewhat graver, but as certainly more gentle. He seemed, too, to make a point of seeking Frank's society and spoke of him in high terms to my lather. Oh! what a heavy heart I carried during that period. Looking in my glass, I thought with wonder of the change six months can work in mind and body. At the end of those seven days I came to a resolution that nerved me witlh something like strength. I thought I would seek a direct interview with Mr. Lacy, tell him the whole truth, and throw myself on his generosity. Let him but release me from an engagement that became every hour more intolerable to contem plate, and I would consent to enter on no other. Let him but free me, and I would live unmarried forever; yes, though I must take labor and poverty as companions. It was the very evening of the day I had come to this decision that I chanced to meet Mr. Lacy on the stairs at the hour of his usual arrival, Here was the desired opportunity, but I trembled to avail myself of it. He forestalled me. "Give me a quarter of an hour alone, Mildred, in the library," he said. "I have wished to have a few private words with you for days." We went in; he placed me a chair near the fire and closed the door care fully, then came up to me, standing be fore me as he spoke: "This day, six months ago, Mildred, I made a promise I am going to re deem. If you are not happy, I said, I will free you from the engagement you made with me. You are not happy. I suspected the truth from your letters those painful letters-and I saw it con firmed the first night of my arrival. The expression of your face, the tone of your voice when you spoke to your cousi, would have set the strongest doubts at rest, killed the most pertina clous hope." He paused a moment, '- t jb> : "_-f d ; part, e0 power to he ur r a our untried child's heart. If I were not now the only sufferer I could scarcely bear the retrospect; but I am, thank God I As for your father, our fears magnified his danger; the little help I was able to I give has re-established his position as firmly as before. He will repay me; you owe me nothing. I have had a wild dream, but I am awake at last-awake enough to see it was a fool's idea that a man like me could win a young girl's heart." He was calm no longer; but he turned abruptly away to hide his emotion. "Mr. Lacy," I cried, striving to stifle the conflict of my love, "I would fain do right, I have a deep esteem for you I-- ' I broke off. Give me a little time," I added, passionately renewing the effjrt; "I shall conquer this love of mine-I will become worthy of you, after all!" "Conquer the purest feelings of a woman s heart! Offer yourself a sacri fice to my selfishness! No no, Mil dred, yours is the season of blessedness --mine is already passed. Presently I will come back to you In my old char acter, and be able to say with less diflf culty than I do to-night, 'God bless you both.' I will kiss you for the last time." He clasped me in his arms and kissed me, seemingly with more earnestness than passion, but it was the very depth of passion. As the door closed upon him a strange impulse seized me. I longed to call him back. Was it true I did not. love him ? I saw none of my family that evening, for I went at once to my room. What. a night of misery and conflict I passed ! The next morning Frank came to my private sitting-room and knocked for admittance. IHe held a letter in his hand, his fine eyes were suffused with happiness. "Sympathize with me, Mildred," he said, "I feel too much to bear it alone. I have never talked to you about her, for I could not trust myself with the subject while a doubt remained. Now I will tell you about my darling; she is as worthy of a true man's heart as-as Mr. Lacy is of yours. By the way. Mil dred, I was very anxious about you that night he came home, for your manner was no-not what, were I in his place, would have satisfied me, but that is the form a woman's caprice takes with you, I have concluded. As for not lov ing him at bottom, I don't dare to im pugn my noble cousin's heart and un derstanding." I ran once more to the solitude of my chamber. I felt abandoned. I flung myself on the bed in a transport of des pair. Why, I had lost all! Had I been so criminal that my punishment was so heavy? "Ah, Frank I " I cried. "how I have loved you- what life might have been !" Then I reflected, if Mr. Lacy loved me as I loved my cousin, what a fine spirit and nature he had shown; what a rare gift such a heart was! Mis erable as I was, it was deeper misery to think that I was the cause of his. I was very ill after these events, and fears for my health quite absorbed any anger my father might have felt at the disappointment of a cherished desire, or perhaps Mr. Lacy, by his representa tions, had shielded me against it. When I recovered people said I was very much altered; and so I was. The flush of youth was passed ; I was but twenty, but nothing of the childishness of a few months back was left. Frank was mar ried and Mr. Lacy we never saw-at least I neversaw him. Disappointment had made life an earnest thing to me, and taught by its discipline the charac ter of my former love rose in dignity in my eyes. How was it that what I had thought would be a lifelong regret-my love for my cousin-seemed a transient emotion of which the traces grew gradually feebler? Had I sacrificed my happiness to a passing fancy? Or was it thatat my age one cannot long cling to the impos sible? Little signified the contrariety of my heart; for the fact remained-if I had never loved Mr. Lacy before I loved him now, I though perpetually of the incidents of our brief engagement every word of endearment, every em brace had its hold on my memory. I recalled his opinions, framing my own stringently by them, and followed his public career so far as I was able, aided in my deep knowledge of the high prin ciples and motives that actuated it. My chance came at last. At a large dinner party I unexpectedly met Mr. Lacy. He came to me at once, spoke kindly and gently, as in long past time; but there was nothing to lead to the idea that he still loved me-no hesita tion in the well-known voice, no latent tenderness in the searching eyes. I could not bear it, and wish he would leave me to myself and not torture me with that cruel friendship. At my first opportunity I turned from him and en gaged myself in conversation with a gentleman who was well known to be one of my suitors. It appeared like coquetry, but it was the eagerness of self-instinct. That evening seemed very long and insupportably painful. I had not known how tenaciously I had clung to hope until it failed me. When Mr. Lacy came forward to help me to my carriage I felt I could hardly re ceive the ordinary civility from him without betraying myself. I was surprised when he begged me to turn into an empty room we passed on our way to the hall. "Mildred," he said, "I was going to ask you, when we first met to-night, whether I might re sume my old relations in your family. Nearly two years have passed since we last met, and I thought I could bring you back the calm heart of a friend. But you have so studiously shunned me, that to ask permission new seems superfluous. What am I to think? Have you not forgiven me yet for the misery I cost you?" I was silent. If I could hbev .allon at his feet and sobbed out the rruth, I might have been blessed for life, but that would have been too great a sacri fice for even love to exact Irom a wom an's pride. "If the deepest sympathy in your disappointment could entitle me to the character of a friend"-Mr. Lacy paused-"you would give me your hand willingly. Pardon me, Mildred, for what may seem an unmanly illusion, but it is the best to make it-if there is any chance of future friendship be tween us. It was hard work to give you up; harder still to feel the sacrifice had been in vain. Had you been hap pily married, I could have returned to you sooner; but suffering, and to feel I had no power to soothe-" This generosity was too much for me. I rose up hastily from the seat I had taken. "I cannot bear it," I said rash ly; "the past has been cruel enough, but this is worse than all. Oh, I am miserable! Friends we can never be let me go home!" I spoke with the fretfulness of a child; he looked amazed. I "Am I again deceived?" he asked. "I was told that the gentleman I law with you this evening, Mr. Branson, was your accepted lover. I know him well; he deserves you, Mildred. I rejoiced to see you bright and aoimated as you used to be, in his sooiety--to think there was no blight on the future for you at least. What can you mean? You will not risk, surely, the happiness of both? Pardon me," he added, coloring, "I for got, I have not even a friend's right to warn." On the brink of one's fate, to deliber ate is to lose all. " Mr. Branson is nothing to me," I said, white and trembling, "and will never be more; the past will not let it self be so forgotten." My tone seemed to excite him. "Mildred!" he exclaimed passion ately, "did you love him so much? Ah! had mine been the power!" He drew a long breath and fixed for a moment a gaze on my face that solved my last doubt, broke down the last barrier. "Frank has long been forgotten," I said, and instinctively I held out my hand. "That was a child's love. What I want of the future is to be what the past once promised, Mr. Lacy." I had stood erect and spoke audibly up to this point; but here my head drooped, my cheeks burned yet from no ignoble shame. )ne quick glance of searching astonishment, one rapturous exclamation, and I was folded in his arms. "Mildred, forgive my doubt. You have regretted me-you love me." "Beyond what you have asked," I stammered, hiding my face on his shoulder, "beyond friendship; I feel I have found my ark of refugel" RAILROADS. G REAT JACKSON ROUTE. CHICAGO. ST. LOUIS AND NEW ORLEANI RAILROAD. DOUBLE DAILY THROUGH TRAINS will depart from and arrive at the Calliope street depot from November 18, 1877, as follows: DIEPART. ARRIVE. ExpressNo. 1,0:m: p.m. Exprers No.2,10 :soa.m. EIx ress No. 3. 7:0) a.m. Express No.4. 10:00 p.m. nos. 1 and 2 run daily, 8 and 4 daily except Sunday. PULLMAN PALACE SLEEPING CARS through to Louisville. Cincinnati and Chicago, without change, and for St. Louis a sleeper is atttched at Milan, enabling p. sengers to go through without leavlng the train. Only one change to New York and Eastern cities. Friday evening's train makes no connection for Chicago. Accommodation trains between New Orleans and McComb City: Leave Now Orleans 3:45 p. m. Saturday, and 7:oo0 a. m. Sunday. Arrive at New Orleans at 9:20 a. m. and 10:0o p. m. Monday. This is the only line running double daily through trains to and from all points North and East. Tickets for sale and Information given at 32 Camp street. corner of Common. A. D. SHELDON, Ticket Agent. F. CHANDLER. Gen. Pass. Agent. mh THE NEW ORLEANB AND MOBILE RAIL ROAD-MOBILE LINF THE GREAT THROUGH ROUTE TO THE EAST. NORTH AND WEST. Via Louisville via Atlanta and via St. Louis,le. CARRYING THE U. S. MAIL Trains arrive and depart from Depot. foot of Canal street, as follows: DEPART. ABBlrV Express. Sun- Express..... 8:. m:a. day only....7:556 a. m. Exress,Sun Express...... 5:00.m. day only ...9:80p.m. Passenger, Ax- Passenger,ex copt Sunday.7:SO a. m. cept Sunday s:e4p. m Pullman Palace Cars daily to CincinnatL Louisville. Nashville, St. Louis Washington, Baltimore and Philadelphia. without change and only one change to New York and Eastern cities. Ticket offce, corner of Camp and Common street. opposite City Hotel. D. B. ROBINSON. Superintendent, I sih2 ly J. W. COOLEMAN. Ticket Agent. CANCELLATION OF BOND. STATE OF LOUISIANA, I Executive Department. Whereas. J. L. HERWIG. of the city of New Orleans, has applied to me for the cancellation I of three bonds furnished and subscribed by him as principal, with John Langles and Philip F. Horwig as securities, each for the sum of twenty thousand dollars, dated respectively on the first day of April. 1873. the tenth day of March, 1874, and the eighteenth day of January. 1875. and conditioned for the faithful performance and execution of the duties of said J. L. Herwig as State assessor in and for the First District of the city of New Orlans, parish of Orleans. Now, therefore, I, FRANCIS T. NICHOLLS, Governor of the State of Louisiana, do hereby issue this my proclamation, with the view of giving public notice to whomsoever it may con corn and he interested, to showcause. in writing, at the office of the Secretary of State, in the city of Now Orleans, within ninety days after the last publication hereof, why said bonds should not be canceled and annulled, and the above named securities discharged from any further liabilities in the premises. Given under my signature and the seal of the State of Louisiana, at the city of New Orleans. this fifth day of April, in the year of our Lord. one thousand eight hundred and seventy-eight. FRANCIS T. NICHOLLS, Governor of the State of Louisiana. By the Governor: WILL A. STRONO. HFeretary of State. ap lnot CANCELLATION OF BOND. STATE OF LOUIRIANA, Executive Department. I *Whereas, GEORGE E. BOVEE. of the parish of St. James, in this State, has applied to me for the cancellation of a bond furnished and subscribed by him as principal, on the fourteenth day of November, 187;. for the sum of twenty thousand dollars, with the following named securities, to wit: Eugene Laiche, for the sum of five thous and dollars; J. N. Thibodaux. for the sum of five thousand dollars; and Joseph Lartigue. for the sum of ten thousand dollars, conditioned for the faithful performance of the duties of said George E. Bovee as Tax Collector of the said parish of St. James. Now, therefore. I, FRANCIS T. NICHOLLS, Governor of the State of Louisiana, do hereby issue this my proclamation, calling upon all persons interested therein to show cause, in writing, at the office of the Secretary of State, at New Orleans, within ninety days after the last publication hereof, why the said bond and mortgage resulting therefrom should not be canceled and annulled. Given under my hand and the seal of the State of Louisiana, at the city of New Orleans. this sixth day of April, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy-eight. FRANCIS T. NICHOLLS, Governor of the State of Louisiana By the Governor: WILL. A. HTRnoN. ecretary of State. ao2' 'sat TO THE LADIES. DR. BILLE has returned from Paris and opened an office at 196 Canal street, between Dryades and Rampart. Dr. Bille has the se cret of Ninon de l'Enclos, who, up to her death in her seventy-second year of age retained the beauty, vivacity and spirit as when she was twenty years of age. By Dr. Bille's treatment, which is pleasant, even enjoyable, ladies can do away with all cosmetics and paints, as the skin becomes soft and white, the eyes regain their wonted lustre and strength, and vivacity re turns. The old become young, and the young. who have ruined themselves with late hons. and excesses, become beautiful and full of the vigor and fire of youth, All diseases anc troubles peculiar to ladies treated by a harmless and painless method. Consultations and oor, ree~ ndeo e stritly confidental. dbe DB. BILLEe Canal stre +t BOUDRO'S RESTAURANT, LAKE PONTCHARTRAIN, Is now ready for the reception of guests. The. Itestaurant having undergone a thorough over. halling is now in r, first class condition. All orders loft at LEON LAMOTHE'S, 98 BSt. Charles .streetwill meet witho prompt attentio mhn tf .JARY RHATR8E Pr.prietors. lJItOWN' LAKE PARK HOUSE -AT THE NEW LAKE END has bnen elegantly fitted up and Is now oDe.h for the Season. THE RESTAURANT AND BAB cannot be surpassed. This spacious buldllins has just been reluilt. and has all the comeior. and conveniences necessary to insure the Dleas. Sure of visitor. Among these we might men tion the neat and comfortabeI dining-room. aT ( the broad and delightful galleries. Moderate Charges and every attention paid to visitors, mh5 m MIGUEL RESTAURANT. Phoenlx House, Pontehartrain Lake Mllnebutrg, Old Lake. Having reopennnd, refitted and refurnlrh with all the latest itmprovements the above we known saioon. I am now prep ared to receiv my friends and customers. Prices very reae onable. Orders for Dinner can be left with John Trisj corni. at the Custom Exchange, corner Canal an Decatur streets. mthS 3m MIGUEL BRI8OLARL' l ' tt' o 4 7O-DAY BY U UOK1IE, 14 ExchanJe Plane. / 0C261y SOL LION & CO. 112 Baronne Street. Friends, Ladies, Gentlemen Children, We respectfully invite you to the opelnng our beautiful and well-selected stock of Boots and Shoes Oonslsting of the Finest Ladies' and Children's Button Booty Bals, Ties, Slippers, etc. Gentlemen's Fine Congress, Prince Alberts, Wire Screwed, The Latest Style of BOOTS. SHOES., BROGANS. BISBETS. PLOW SHOES. MALAOFFS. We guarantee satisfaction or no sale. All we ask is to give us a call. Burt's Button Boots and Laced Shoe A SPECIALTY. In the hope of giving you thorough sat tion. we remain, yours, truly, 80L LION & CO., 112 Baronne Street. P. S.-We guarantee all orders filled to satisfaction. Boots and Shoes made to or Oountry orders respectfully solicited. MEDICAL NOTICE. DR. W. BILLE, Specialist for all Ch eases. Private Diseases and Female has just returned from Europe. Offioe, 196 street, between Dryades and Rampart str up stairs. Nervous Debility, Weakness, ei caused by abuse or age, ALWAYS cured short time. Private Diseases treated alter an sure and quick method. Female Diseases with greatest success. Dr. Bilie's reputation as a skilled and ful physician is already years ago establis in New Orleans and vicinity and he has hundreds of cases here which other phiTe had failed to benefit, which is well known to public. Dr. Bille is a graduate from one of best colleges in Europe. and was for ears sistant physlican to Prof. .ord, ear sultations and correspondence strict 00 dential. Charges moderate. 196 A DR. W. BILLE 198 Canal street. e JAMES D. EDWARD (Successor to Daniel and J. D. Edwards.) STEAMBOAT, RAILROAD AND ENO EERS' SUPPLIES, Manufacturer of the most improved STEAM TRAINS FOR MAKING 6SQ And every description of Copper, Brass and Sheet-Iroe W Dealer In Iron Pipe and Fittings for Water or Gas; Brass and Iron Valves; Oil Globes; Steam and Water Gaes Tubes; Bolts and Nuts; Punched Nu Screws- Washers; Rivets; Olstern, Welt Force Pumps ; Brass and Iron Wire Cloth; ber, Lubricating and Hems Packin; ber Hose; Belting; Lubricating. Lard, S Linseed and Headlight Oils Whito ead; ton Waste; Cotton Stem Packlng: Ga Stocks and Dies' Pipe Outters; Wrenches: Pipe Vises; Jack Screws; Brushes; Flue Scrapers, etc. Agent for the CANERO BSPECIAL STEAM PUI -For ±'UMPING JUICE AND SUPPLYING BOIL Bend for Price List. JAMESB D. EDWARDI. Ua S. ns and Front and U. a and M ;r street. New Orleans. euI'T¶