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3 TiJrX'y - }/< '4 K A A P MIDDLETOWN, NEW CASTLE COUNTY, DELA WADE, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 22, 1869, VOL. 2. NO. 21. ? ENOCH L. HARLAN, nal MARKET STREET, Formerly of the Firm of Harlan & Bro. DEALER IN Fine Groceries, Provisions, Foreign Fruits, Domestic Fruits, Teas, iic. W E are prepared to supply buyers from the country with the shove .goods at the low est prices. Our stock once tried will recommend itself, as great carcjhas been used in its selection. We respectfully solicit an examination. ENOCH L. HARLAN, Formerly of the firm of Harlan k Bro. Wilmington, Del. .yyD-Orders by mail promptly filled, and goods delivered at any Depot, Steamboat or Express Office free of charge. May 22—3mos. Gunning Material, Fishing Tackle, Wooden Were, Salt, Oils. NEW STOVE, TIN, AND HOUSE-FURNISHING STORE. THOMAS II. ROTIIWKI.L Respectfully announces to the Public that he has removed his Store to his NEW BUILDING-, WortK Side at Main Slrrrl, 4 IlulldlnjS West of Town Hall, Middletown, Delaware. Where lie has constantly on hand, and is prepared to manufacture ALL KINDS OF TIN WARE. At Short Notice. ORDERS for ROOFING & SPOUTING Respectfully Solicited and Promptly attended to BTOVKS, JAPANNED WARE, TIN WARE, &c. &c. Constantly on hand and at the Lowest Cash Prices. Mr. R. E, Knighton, well known as a skilful workman, is our Foreman, and will give his personal attention to the business. The following Cook Stoves are on sale an4 recommended to tho Public; THE NATIONAL, (Niagara Improved.) THE TIMES, THE OHARM, THE CONTINENTAL, AND THE PRIZE. The first named is guaranteed to give perfect satisfaction, and it is believed the others will also. The following Parlor Stoves are offered to the Public, and believ ed to be equal to any other Stoves in the market : THE UNION AIR-TIGHT, THE GEM, THE DIAL, ELM BASK, BOQUET BASE, and THE BRILLIANT. Orders will be received and promptly filled for any kind of Stovo that may be desired. Prompt attention to business, moderate prices, competent workmen, and a deter mination to please, may at all times be ex pected by those who may favor him with their cu tom. May l—ly BATENT INDIGO BLUEING BAG, THE MOST ECONOMICAL, CLEANLY k COMPLETE ARTICLE ever USED By thrifty Housekeepers ami Laundresses. E ACH Bag is provided with a Box so that it can be put safely away us sooa us used. PRICE 20 Cts—HALF SIZE 10 Cts. This blue contains acid, and will not injure the finest fabrics. One twenty cent bag will out last eight two-ounce vials of Liquid Blue, besides giving a softer color and avoiding the danger and annoyance of broken and uncorked Bottles. Patented Dec. 24, 1867, and for sale by Plymouth Colob Co. C. T. IUvnolds k Co. II« 4 108 Fulton Street, N. Y. Inquire fop it at any Respectable Grocery. April 3—3mos. NETy BAKERY, Iff SUDDlETOWtl, DEL. S«tk Kali Corner or lake and Broad Streets. T HE undersigned wishes to inform bis friends and the public at large, that he fias com menetd the Baking Business in all its depart meats, and will ) 6C P constantly on hand, Bread, Cake«, Crackers, Pies, Candy, And will supply Weddings, and Parties, with all sorts of Cakes at short notice. Bo has engaged a first class Baker to attend to the business. He will also continue the Painting Business in all its Branche«. EUANC1S TARONI. March e, Utijt—tf Select poetry. gold, in ment ed Oh, ter the was She hair and full of tion she in vors a'l ise this that that too it ities ried From the Saturday Evening Post, TIIE FOOTSTEP ON TIIE STAIR, I have very many treasures, That my heart has hid av ay ; There's a little curl that's brighter Than the sunsinc of the day ; And a little shoe that's faded, Is among my treasures there— And I listen, when I see it, For a footstep on the stair, For the patter, patter, patter, a footstep on the stair, Now those little feet nrc silent, And the face is hidden low Underneath the meadow grasses, And the daisies' fragrant snow ; A [id I miss them in the morning, Pattering feet, nnd face so fair— But I listen roost at bed-time, For the footsteps on the stair, For the patter, patter, patter. Of the footsteps on the stair. Then she'd come and kneel beside njc In her lit lie gown of white, And she'd snv her short prayer over, And would kies me sweet good-night. And I listen in the l I know sh net still m rht not there ; r Dut I yearning, (>n the stair, !' I. an F«. lie i ttt; patte st lepb 'tUilcü. llopiln HEART AND HAND, on The engagement Ring. "I think you will ho sorry, Alma." "Sorry, aunt? Sorry for what?—Sor ry because l have shaken off an engage ment that was becoming a perfect sla very ?" "No Alula; sorry because you have grieved as noble a heart as ever throbbed; sorry because you have trifled with sincere, pure love, sneb as it is given to but few women to win." "But, Aunt Mary, you don't know how exautirig and disagreeable Leon bad become." "How was be disagreeable, Alma?" " Always scolding me." "Scolding? For what ?" "Well, not exactly scolding, but find ing fuult, in bis quiet way. I don't know but I could have borne it better if he had flown into a rage, and given me a real scolding; hut when he commences, "Al ma, dear," then I know there is a cata logue of faults and short-comings, as long ns my arm, to follow. The fact is, Aunt Mary, Leon Harris is too good for me. He ought to find a saint, and I am not one." tion only the but too to slip his I him the was ma As ma, girl ho six did " Rut, Alma, you have not told me now the cause of your last quarrel, your rup tured engagement." " I hardly know myself." "Alma! You cannot have taken such a step without grave cause?" " It was coming homo last evening from Mrs. Williams' party. Leon sent me a beautiful hoquet in the morning, and I carried it to the party. I was dancing with Mr. Warren, when some chance re mark about flowers brought my boquet in to notice, and Mr. Warren asked for a flower. Of conrso there was a lecture waiting for me as we came home. One word led to another, till finally I told him that I was weary of his continual fault finding, and ho had better look elsewhere for a wife, who oould combine all the p fcctions of a saint with the patience of ange). As for me, I was aware that I could never aspire to that character." " Alma, Alma ! And so you parted ?" "Yes. We were just at Lome, so he bade me farewell on the step, and went away. Rut lie will come back ; ho always does when we quarrel, though I never did go so far ns that before." " And if he comes ?" "I shall repeat my decision. I am heartily tired of his fault finding and dic tation. I won't be bound down so strictly to guard every word and look. I am sure innocent flirtations now and then arc not heni ns crimes, but I have to be called to an account for every one. I am quite ■'I n! to be free agaip." And before the rr mon-trance she saw in A mit Mary's face coubl be uttered, the wilful little beauty sped away to her own room er an it "Glad? Of course she was glad!" -lie said to hers- If a hundred times that dav, wondering n little, however, ut a dull restless pain in her heart that would not he driven back. As tho day faded into the early twilight of a February evening, she dressed herself carefully, saying in whispers to her heart, " He will come back ; and—and perhaps, if he is really sorry, we will make up again." So the blue silk dress be admired was put on ; the pretty lace he loved nestled against the white throat; and when all else was donned with especial care, Alma bethought her of her boquet. She had thrown it pettishly into a corner in her an gey of the preceding evening; but per haps there was one flower yet unfadod that she conld put in amongst the folds of her hair. Perhaps one of tho scarlet geran ims he loved to soe against tho glossy, jet ty braids was bright enough for ornament. Rather slowly the young girl went to thp corner wbero the flowers lay upon the floor, and, lifting them, sat down to search for one fresh one. Not one was there ; but, as the faded }eaycs fell from the bare stems, she saw that thero was something glittering, tiod securely ip the heart of the boquet. Wondering, she untied the jew ell and slipped it upon her finger. It was a ring of quaint device—two hearts of pure da. to I tho my I py for to in gold, joined by a torquoise forget-me-not, in the heart of which nestled a sparkling diamond. Something as clear and as bright as the diamond gleamed for a mo ment on Alma's cheek, as she softly press, ed her lips upon the jewell. " Dear, Leon, how much he loves me ! Oh, if I could be all he wishes, and keep down this hasty temper of mine !" Already the quarrel had become a mat ter of deep regret, aqd the warm little heart was ready for reconciliation, when the supper-bell put an end to Alma's day dreaming. She was a spoiled beauty, this warm hearted, quick-tempered Alma Crofts, motherless from her infancy, the idol of a loving father, with whom no one could be angry spite of her thousand onpriacs. She was the centre of attraction in all the gath erings amongst her large circle of friends. She was a perfect brunette in the glossy hair and great black eyes ; but her com plexion rivalled that of the fairest blonde's, and her tiny graceful little figure was as full of life as that of a fairy, The object of admiration, and the recipient of atten tion from a number of gentlemen, whom she was accustomed to meet in society'. Alma most unconsciously grew coquettish in manner, distributing her smiles and fa vors freely, nn.l accepting many offerings which one more sensitive about encour aging attention would have declined. That she was vain, giddy, and coquettish a'l could see, but only a few read the prom ise of nobler and better impulses uuder this worldly surface. Leon Harris was one of the few who could pentrate the crust, and read some thing of the warm, true heart beneath, that only needed some strong motive to wake it to life. He, with his grave, re served nature, seemed strangely unfit to mate with this butterfly ; but with the in consistency of love, he gave his whole heart into her capricious keeping, hoping that an unswerving love would rouse the nobler portion of her nature. But he was too eager for the change that could only be wrought gradually. Accustomed to so much adulation and attention, Alma found it difficult to give up the unmeaning civil ities so long giver to her. She loved Leon truly, recognizing all the noble, high at tributes of his nature ; but she was wor ried into pettish resistance by bis too often attempts to mould her into the quiet served woman he wished to sec her. , re Two loving hearts, united by tho attrac tion of opposites, Leon and Alma needed only patience to become, each what the other most desired. Time, the great fash ioner, would have laid bis finger on each heart, tearing away something of the culd reserve of one, and the gay vanity of tiie other. But they were young and impa tient ; and, while the one wished to wrench the other suddenly and forcibly from all associations and habits, the other hun gered for some words of praise and flattery amidst the continual fault-finding and blame. Leon did not mean to be unkind ; but his very love made him too exacting, too impatient to sec the loved one perfect. "Supper-time!" said Alma, springing to her feet, and letting the faded flowers slip unheeded from her lap; "Leon will soon bo here, and, when I thank him for his beautiful ring, I will tell him that I I will try to become all that he wishes. Dear fellow ! if he only know it—I love him with my whole heart. I had rather have one smile from him, than fifty hon eyed speeches from another ; but that crooked twist in my heart makes me bide away my love too often. I will try to be more dignified if he will be good-natured again !" Flitting quietly down stairs, as her thoughts took the above form, she reached the dining-room just as her father and Aunt Mary sat down to the table. There was a constraint on the whole party. Al ma was listening for a well-known knock ; Aunt Mary was sadly wondering if her giddy little niece bad not thrown away her own best hope for happiness; and Mr. Crofts was unusually grave and abstracted. As be rose from the table, he said to Al ma, •' I want yon in the library for a few moments !" Wondcrin;*, half fr'rii'-niod, the young girl followed him With grlitle gravity ho motioned lier to a seat, and spoke :— "Alma. Loon Harris came to my office this afternoon to ncc< pt a situation whioli six months ago h" declined, because he did not then wish to leave home." " What position V" Her lips would whiten and quiver in spite of all her ef forts. " The agency for the business in Cana da. My agent there wishes to return home, and is only waiting for some one to bo sent in his place, to give up the sit uation. There aro very few who could take that place, but Leon is ono of the few." He waited for her to speak, but she sat with her face half averted, silent. " I was pained Alma, more pained than I ean express, when fie told me that this late acceptance of my offer was caused by tho late rupture of your engagement. I respect Leon, and had hoped to eall him my son, and when I heard that you had been mistaken in your feelings for him, I sorrowed for my own disappointment as well as his. Do not think, my obild, that I wish to force Jour affection ; you are the bestjudge of what will make yon hap py ; but I am sorry you were so hasty, for I fear you have given a deep, lasting wound to a true, noble heart." Pride and love ! How the two were bat tling in Alma's heart ; but pride was still uppermost. "And be is going to Ogpada ?" She said it in steady, even tones, too calm to bo entirely natural. Mere friend ly interest would have given more anima tion to the measured words. "He has gone !" "Gone?" There was pain then in the sudden cry. "Yes, he left for Liverpool this after noon, and will take the steamer that sails to-morrow. Alma, Alma, do not tell me you mistook your own heart when you sent him away ?" "No, no, it is better for him to go." Pride still uppermost, though she shiv ered as if with cold, and was white as Pa rian marble. "Well my dear, I hope you have judged correctly of your own heart. I am only sorry you were mistaken !" and he kissed her sadly, for lie had loved Leon with the affection he would have given to a son of his own, had ho ever been blessed with ■one. by to to I me the of the The parting had been very hard for these two men, thrust from each other's hearts by a woman's vain caprice; but each, while hiding his own pain, had com forted the other with the hope that she, at least would be happier with her regained freedom. Released from the library, nut of her father's sight, Alma staggered rather than walked to the staircase, and blindly groped her way to her own room. Once within that sanctum, secure from intrusion, pride fell prostrate before the great flood of love sweeping now unchecked over her heart. "Leon! Leon! Oh, forgive me and come back !" This was the cry of her heart through the long, sleepless watches of that weary night. The morning found her pale, and sad, but she said in her heart, "He was too good, too noble for me. I will bear punishment as patiently as I can. praying that he may find another who wiil have my love and not my faults." She thought he had ceased to love her, had found his error in supposing she would make him a true, loving wife, little guess ing the agony he was carrying with him in his suddenly undertaken voyage. It was only one of the thousand cases of has ty words and bleeding hearts, but it was none the less bitter for that. Once settled in Canada, Leon tried to give his whole attention to the business he had undertaken for Mr. Crofts. Every letter from that merchant contained words of thanks and praise for the stimulous he was giving to the trade in Montreal, and Leon was grateful for the frankly express ed apprcciciation of his services. But while he Valued this portion of his employ er's epistle, there were other words lie read more eagerly, sought for more ear nestly. Mr. Crofts at first avoided all mention of his daughter's name, fearing to touch upon unhealed, tender wounds; but onee or twice in Leon's letter touching the health of the family, had called forth an answer, till at last he wrote freely of Al ma, half hoping that, as he worded it in his thoughts, "things might come right yet." And one of the letters read in this wise : "Alma is well, but you would scarcely believe in the change in her unless you could see it. All through the spring and summer she seemed drooping and feeble ; but since the autumn she is better and busier than ever before. Not busy in the old way, with trimming evening dresses and arranging jewelry and flowers ; but she is studying, and—would you think it of our little Alma?—visiting among the poor of the parish ! She has grown so womanly in the past few months, so gentle and considerate of others, that I can scarcely recognize my little butterfly. I have always thought that if she would use her mind, she would prove to have a grea ter range of intellect than would appear to a casual observer, but even, I am surpris ed at the facility with which she now grasps higher fields of thought than most women venture upon. My little gay girl is certainly gone ; but in her place a no ble woman is fast developing." This w»s not the only letter in the same strain. Mr. Crofts loved his child with a fond parent's most intense affection, and second to his love for her was his affection for his yonntr friend, Leon. What won der, then, if he wrote freely of one to the other—talked, too, of the absent one to the one near to him ? Perhaps the faint hope still lived in his heart that these two loved ones might renew their broken en gagement; but if so, Alma gave it no word or look to feed upon. The winter months came and sped along till February came, and the year of sepa ration was almost completed. Leon was sitting alone in his office, on the afternoon of St. Valentine's Day, thinking sadly of the last anniversary of that day. He re called his visit to the green house to select the flowers for his gift to Alma, and the care with which fie had hidden the en gagement ring in its centre. Ho wonder ed what had become of his offering. Was it still in the heart of the withered bou quet, lying upon some dust heap, tossed there by an angry or contemptuous little hand, or had she found the offering, and kept it to return some future time with seornfnl words of rejection ? He had drawn the devices himself, and hoped to see it deoorating her little hand, and he remembered now the jeweller's comment upon its Bmall circumference, and his in quiry if it was for a child's finger. Then his thoughts flew away to tho last letter from Mr. Crofts, and the change in Alma, and he said, sadly, to his heart, "I too am obanged. I seo now my error in trying to force what could only be mine by gen tle coaxing. Ah! my darling, if you could again give me your love. 1 would for ly no to the of to of on by of in to to ed of in not drive it off with fault finding and blame. Who can turn the humming-bird by force into the sedate owl? My humming bird had flitted from flower to flower too long to bo caged suddenly- X should have wooed her gentle and lovingly till, of her own free will she nestled down into the home I would have made for her, content to forego gayer scenes, in the happiness of true home pleasure. In one little month, I must go hack for a time, to give an ac count of my agency. How will she meet me ? Will she see me at all ?" At that moment, his musings were in. terrupted by the entrance of a servant with the afternoon's mail. Only one letter, post-marked with the home stamp and di rected in a delicate band writing only too familiar to him. He tore it open hastily. Inside there was a photograph card wrapped in a piece of white paper, and upon the paper was written "St. Valentine." What was tho photograph ? Was it his darling's face wooing him home again ? Ilis strong right hand trembled as be unfolded the pa per. And this was his Valentine. Upon cushion of black velvet rested a small white band. There was nothing else, save that exquisite hand filling the space upon the card, but upon one finger of tho little hand rested the ring ; whoso device was two hearts joined by a forget-me-not' Love was quick to guess tho riddle. Love was strong to grant the mute plead ing for reconciliation. The next homeward-bound steamer car lied Leon Harris out ou the houuding ocean, over the shining waters to Liver pool. It was a quiet meeting, hearts too full for noisy greetings; but when a few"weeks later Leon Harris slipped a wedding-ring upon Alma's little hand, he know that ful ly and entirely he possessed her heart. Slurs Women. At a recent meeting in Boston, at which no ladies were present, a man responding to tho toast of "women," dwelt almost solely on tho frailty of the sex, claiming that the best of them were little better than the worst, the chief difference being in the surroundings. At the conclusion of the speech a gentleman arose to his feet and said : "I trust the gentleman in his applica tion refers to his own mothers and sisters, and not to oqrs." Tho effect of this most just and timely rebuke was overwhelming—the maligner of women was covered with confusion and shame. This incident serves an excellent pur pose in prefacing a few words which we have for a long time had in our minds to say. Of all the evils prevailing among young men we know of none more blight ing in its moral effects than the tendency to speak slightingly of the virtue of wo man. Nor is there anything in which young men are so thoroughly mistaken as the low estimate they form of the integrity of women—not of their own mothers and sisters, thank God, but of others, who, they forget, are somebody else's mothers and sisters. As a rule, no person who surrenders to this debasing habit is safe to be trusted with any enterprise requiring integrity of character. Plain words should bo spoken on tliis point, for the evil is a general one and deep rooted. If young men are some times thrown into tho society of the thoughtless, they have no more right to measure other women by what they seo of these than they would have to estimate the character of honest and respectable citizens by tho develQpemeqts of crime in our po lice courts. Let young men remember that their chief happiness in life depends upon their utter faith in woman. No worldly wis dom, no misanthropic philosophy, no gen eralization, can cover or weaken this fun damental truth. It stands like the record of God himself —for it is nothing less than this—and put a seal upon lips that are wont to speak slightingly of women. Sklaii. —The translators of the Bible have left the Selah, which occurs so often in the Psalms, ns they found it, and of course tho English reader often asks iiis minister or some learned friend what it means. Arid the minister or learned friend has mostoften boon obliged to confess ig norance, because it is a matter in regard to which tho most learned have by no means been of one mind. Tho Targums and most of the Jewish commentators give to the word the meaning of eternally, for ever. Kimchi regards it as a sign to ele vate the voice. The authors of the Scp tnugent translation appear to have regard ed it as a musieal or rhythmical note. Herder regards it as indicating a change of tone. Matheson, as a musical tone, equivalent perhaps to tho word repeat. According to Luther and others it means silence. Gesenius explains it to mean "let the instruments play and the singers stop." Woe her regaads it as equivalent to sursum corda —up, my soul ! Summer, after examining all the seventy-four pas sages in which the word occurs, recognizes in every case "an actual appeal or sum mons to Jehova." They are calls for aid and prayers to be beard, expressed either with entire distinctness, or if not in the im perative, "Hear, Jehova!" or "Awake, Je nova !" and tho like, still earnest addresses to God that Ho would remember and hear, kc. An admirer of dogs, having had a now litter of a fine breed, a friend wished him "I set you " was the to put him down for a puppy ! down for one a great, while ag reply. Jtotcfi of Hrat'cl. Tile Cafes and Lodging-Houses of Paris. Written/or the Middletown Transcript. No. 13. The Cafes are a Parisian institution, and blessed be the Armenian who first in troduced coffee to France ! To him, are due all these gay resorts, these myriads of little half homes, where Paris of to day shows itself, and lets all the world mix with it. At 11 A. M. the crowd begins to centre at these beautiful and enticing resorts. From tho Faubourgs St, Honore and St. Germain come the gay carriages, passing and repassing; mesdames the gloved, waiving good mornings to messieurs the ungloved, under the awning ; the gamin, in his wooden shoes passes by, mimicking some old beau who holds his cigar after the manner of a noted fop ; au Italian beggar dragging one foot wearily after the other, and now and then adjusting his heavy harp to sing out of a heavier heart ; and a wagon, full of peasantry of the ad jacent country rattling by now and then. Now the speculator, from breakfast, en route to tho Bourse, arrives, gulps his coffee, pockets two lumps of sugar, and rushes away to raise funds ; at his side the picture vender, in coat that has seen bet ter days, drinks the same with slower ges tures and more enjoyment. There is no aristocracy at the cafe. All through the fashionable city, in student's haunts, in the quarters of the poor, in the magni ficent boulevards, Paris, at this hour, takes, or has taken, its cup of coffee. Three fourths of the French population that can read and write go to these coffee-houses to read the newspapers ; preferring to pay six cents for paper and coffee, rather than two cents for the paper alone. Coffee was first sent up to France from Egypt; and more than two hundred years after, in 1867, the Egyptians shivering in the clear and bracing air of Paris, came to the Exposition, and sipped the delightful beverage in a cafe. London had coffee imported from Egypt about the same time, but the Oriental stranger was not adopted. About the year 1004, some Frenchman conceived the idea of a public coffee-house and immediately Marseilles had its cafe. Some time after a great festival was hold in Paris, and an Armenian drifted in with the hundreds of speculators present, and opened a cafo. Rosseau and Voltaire used to go to the Cafe Laurens ; and there the former wrote those couplets, which ten years later, were the cause of the banishment of their au thor from France. A favorite dodge of literary men used to be, to read a sonnet, essay, or a philippic, before the crowd in a cafe ; then, with kind permission, sell copies, and next day so-and-so was famous. The cafes of that time were only mere shops, narrow, badly ventilated, full of smoke, and poorly lighted by wax candles in the evening. The second half of the 18th century was the commencement of luxury and comfort; then, the mir rors and marble tables were first seen — the precursor of the magnificence of to day. In 1072 there were but three of these resorts in Paris, in 1754 there were be tween six and seven hundred, were first introduced into them in the time of Louis Fourteenth. In 1789, Paris boasted eleven hundred coffee houses. The French Revolution was born over a cup of coffee, was discussed in a cafe, aud the cruelties were planned in these rendez vous. Tho royalist went to the Regence, the revolutionist to the Procope, where Lafayette resorted, lin died, in 1790, tho walls of the Pro cope were hung with black, and tiie fre quenters themselves wore mourning three days. Billiards And when Frank At tiie Restoration, the three thousand cafes glittered in all their glory. To day there are four thousand ! not rum shops, nor poison breweries, nor hardly beer es tablishments ; but public parlors, where one goes to write or to read. These pla ces are oases among the deserts of Paris life. Rag-pickers, duchesses, soldiers, business men, actors, opera singers, artists and writers, thieves and policemen, and street peddlers, all have their different cafes. Nowhere may one bo more alone than in one of the immense, yellowish white lodging-houses of Paris ; and a descrip tion of one, perhaps cannot fail to interest tho reader. It stands between two streets ; that is, it fronts upon one principal av enue, and at its rear is a narrow by street, also reaching the central point after tor tuons windings. On entering by day, as you pass up tho entranee-way from the wide door, the concierge , in blouse and in apron, salutes you ; and he is the guard ian of the whole building. The porters' lodge at one side is noticed, whence the apparition issued. It is generally a small room, with shelves running around it, and numbers nnd hooks for keys below them. There the lodgers, who are legion, enter to take their wax candles, when they come in for the night ; and there they leave their keys in tho morning. This prevents burglary, absconding without paying rent, and n dozen other miseries of lodging bouses in less fortunate cities. The concierge is generally married, for his labors arc almost incessant, and would bo insupportable if unshared by others. The concierge rents the rooms, receives the money when due, makes the beds, and sweeps out tho chambers, aided by his wife and sons ; serves meals to all lodgers who wish them in their rooms, posts let ters, effects errands, receives and forwards messages, and is expected, in person or by proxy, to keep a faithful guard on the door in the court-yard. How necessary this is can be judged by the fact that the house in our mind's eye alone, has tyro, hundred lodgers, seven separate business, cs. and bas hanging about it a boat of re tainers, coachmen, and the like, This keeper must have discriminating powers t that is, whop a man enters who seems eminently respectable, and apparently seeks Monsieur the tailor, or Madame the milliner, on pressing affairs, the couciergo must mentally decide whether to let him pass unaceosted. A man of bills and re ceipts arrives, in gorgeous uniform of blue, witli cocked hat, and with cumbersome portfolio attached to his button by a light chain, lest some one should snatch hia treasures in the street. Urbanely the concierge greets him ; the bill is produced, money paid, a glass of wine is given to the collector, and away lie goes, touching his bat. The Commissioner of Police looks In with his register, and he is treated with the utmost deference, while tiie gloomy of. licial copies in his book the blank which every new lodger is obliged to fill,—whence come you, whither bound, age, color of hair, county, occupation, etc. Here comes a shopping porter with a bundle for a new arrival, up five flights of stairs; concierge pays the bill, if necessary, and collects oq delivery. A splendid carriage enters tho paved court, with the Scotch coachman snarling in broad French to a gamin who sits near the door ; the ocoupant is Mon sieur the banker, who rents the rear section of the house. He is not questioned by the concierge or his family. Bang! goes a bell in the lodge which communicates with the sixth story ; the Englishman in Net, 29 wants a cutlet and a bottle of Burgun. dy for breakfast, rolls freshest and whitest procurable. Opposite the lodge is a bos like closet termed a kitchen ; there, in two minutes the cutlet is sizzling, and the old. est boy of the family flies around the cor. tier to the baker's for the rolls, and to tho wine shop for the Burgundy. Here cornea the laundress with the linen, which five days ago was taken outside the city to be washed, because Madame the concierge does not like to have it washed in the Seine, and beaten with stones and mallets. At nine o'clock at night the couciergo carefully closes the great doors which open on the street, and all communication there, after with him is by the bell which hangs over his bed head, and rings vigorously at the slightest touch of the nob outside. As most of the occupants spend their evenings on the street,Jor at the cafes and theatres, the ringing of the bell is kept up until two and three in the morning, aud the lodgers are constantly seeking their keys. If any unfortunate ope stays out so very late that much ringing fails to awaken tho tired sleeper, be must put his head t hrough the little wicket aud yell, "Cordon, sit vous plait !"—"please pull the cord which opens the door." And by-and-by he will get to his candle and key. Enter the courtyard, and look about. This is a faiy type of such a house as would be your home in Paris, if you came hither No need of any ill smells, for pure water keeps the gutters sending all slops sewer-ward. The pavement is, like that of the older streets, of hard, square stones; and iiy rainy weather there are no puddles, be. cause all at once flows to the gutter. We have looked iuside the lodging house—the Parisian's refuge—enough for the preseut ; a word more concerning ex terior architecture. Greater height, glit. tering color, and tasteful ornament, dis. tinguish tho buildings throughout Paris from those of New York, and, in fact most American cities. The fine limestone, which is so soft when first taken from the quarry, but after exposure ip the form of walls and foundations becomes almost as firm as granite, gives Paris architecture its cheeriness. There is no such bleak, forbidding aspect hanging over its palace* and homes of its people as in London, Bo*, ton. or other cities. New York, May, 1809. R. S. T. Farr py THF Pacific Railroad.—T he respective officers of the companies, after consultation, have come to a temporary understanding that the fare from New York to Sail Francisco fur omigranFhwnd second class passengers should be $7;Y, Itnd for first-class passengers ,8175. Concern ing freight nothing definite has yet been arranged, ft is expeeted that the trip from shore to shore can be made iq from six to seven days. For the present time of running will bo rather slower, as tho track is new and needs ballasting, The Union Company, as also the Central, have each, it is stated, over 2,000 freight cars, and while the first has over 150 comotives the latter counts 190. I Or An old lady in Laconia, full of tender sympathies, was always in the habit of con* doling with those who g-crc bercqved by the death of friends. On one occasion she told a mourner that her case was not h»!f so affecting as her own, for she had, with, year, lost a dear husband, two chil dren, and five skeins of woolen yarn. in a An Irishman was employed to trim some fruit trees. He went in the morning, and on returning at noon was asked if he had completed bis work. "No," was the re ply; "I have cut tl;em g)| down, and an* going to trim th^j^in the afternoon." A lady was examining an applicant for the office of "maid of all work," when sho interrogated her as fo)}ows;—"Well. Ma-, ry, can you scoqr tip-wfiro with alacrity?" "No, ma'am," replied Mary, "T always scour them with sand,"