Painesville journal. [volume], July 22, 1871, Image 1

About Painesville journal. [volume] (Painesville, Ohio) 1871-1872

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THE eiRDE.1 OF RIE-TiOBY.
There is a garden which my memory knows,
A grand old gaiden of the days gone by,
Where lofty trees invite the breeze.
And underneath them blooms full many a rose,
Of rereabcnnasoB or iwp purple dye
And there extend as far as eye can see, j
Dim vistas of cool greenery. I
Quaint marble statues, clothed with vines and
mould,
Gleam gray and spectral 'mid the foliage there:
Grimly thev stand on every band, , ,
Ale-g la walks whose sand are (sioothty rolled.
' And borders trimmed with constant, watchful
care:
There Memory sits, and hears soft voices call
Above the plashing waterfall.
Old, faded bowers, with their rustic seats
Of knotted branches closel v intertwined,
May there be seen the-walks between:
Within their shade the dove at noon retreats, i
And gives her sad voice to the summer wind;
Around them bloom rich flowers, where all day
long
The wild bee drones his dreamy song.
.The garden stretches downward to a lake.
Where gentle ripples kiss a pebbly shore :
w here gentle ripples kiss a peoray
All cooland deep the water sleep,
A li cooi ana aeep tne waters aieep,
With nanght the calm of their repose to break
Save now and then the plashing of an oar.
Or the long train of diamond sparkles bright
lft by the wayward swallow's flight,
-.ii f:.;U ' j I .... 't- i '-f
Within that garden Memory oft recalls
Gay friends, who lived, and loved, and passed
Who met at morn upon the lawn.
And strolled in couples by the garden w.
away:
alls,
or on the CTass beneath the nianles lav
And passed the .hours as gayly as might be, .
WM oidajija!.of chjvaOrr, oiaiJ
The younger maidens, each with silken net,
Chased butterflies that bung, on painted wings,
Above the beds where poppy-heads
Drooped heavily with morning dew-drops wet:
In recollection still their laughter rings,
And still I seem to see them sport among
The statues gray, with vines o'erhung.
One sainted maiden I remember well,
And shall remember, though all else should
Her dreamy eyes,:herigiHe' sighs.
Her golden hair in tangled curls that fell.
Her queen-like beauty and demeanor staid,
And O, her smile, that played at hide-and-seek
With dimples on her chin and cheek 1
O Edith ! often we have sat at rest,
''-And watched the sunset from the Lover's Hill,
When few, faint stars shone through the bars
Of purple cloud that stretched athwart the west;
And Nature's pulse seemed silently to thrill,
While Night came o'er the moorlands wide and
brown,
On dusky pinions sweeping down.
Long years have faded since those happy days,
Yet still in memory are their joys enshrined.
Tail rrassen-waveo'er Edith'agrave: (,
Above) her breast ta birds at ng plaintive lays
Yet stfll I feel her arms about me twined;
StiU float her tangled tresses in the breeze;
Still sit we 'neath the maple trees.
Thns may It be, until I -too am gone!
Thus let me ever dream of youth and love!
And when the strife of earthly life
Is past; when aUray weary tasks are done,
I know that in some garden there, above,
My angel fcilitn wants to welcome me
. t' nto tny uaus, jiemny t
TO-nOHBOW.
Y V i ' i jambs n. be ao. H ,i
To-morrow! to-morrow! how fast thou doest fly!
From those who desire thy hours to embrace,
For yesterday left in their bosoms a sigh.
Which nanght but to-morrow can ever efface.
To-morrow! to-morrow! thy pathway is strewn.
With beautiful flowers, how rich and how rare!
Y et ere we can, reach them; they're; faded and
In pace of the1 flowers, we1 oft meet despair.
To-morrow ! to-moriW!' so swift is thy flight!
As from time to eternity thou hurriest on ;
Thy features are lost in the forthcoming night.
While thy robes are yet tinged by the bright
morning sun.
Te-nam nw 1 to-ntovrowl though vapid thy pace.
Ve the grasp-ef old Time thou canst net resist)
And-when -he-ftotlieltip thee i hifl cold embrace,
Then Time and to-morrow shall oease co exist.
But their death hath given an eternity birth,
Ull
Ann those wno nave uveu as tney snouiu upon
i who have
earth,
Shall tremble no more at the thought of to-.
morrow.
JUDITH,
OR
THE OPERA BOX.
THE FRENCH
OF
EUGENE S
VKlDS.
PAR M. LB BOSSET.
III.
The next morning1, and the next again,
Judith opened her window at daybreak.
The Count's carriage was always at the
door! It was evident that he sent it in
the same manner almost every night, and
she could not imagine the reason of such
a proceeding; as ' to ' 'askinif 'him ' for
an explanation; Bhe could not have ven
tured 09 such presumption, for : the world.
And, besides, she hardly .ever saw him,
except on opera nights in a box on the
second tier, which he had taken for the
season. He never came- upon" the stage ;
he never again offered- to conduct her
Home, What. tben. was to be.uoner
Luckily for her, her companion did
him an injustice, and accused him of
treating her ill.
She was delighted, for she had now an
excuse for witting to him; ana accord
ingly she indited an epistle, beseeching
mm ,ta come, to, . nee i apartments. . . it was
by no mea.118 an easy task to .write a let
ter, so it took poor Judith the whole day.
She began ' if over again ;' and ' made flfty
foul copies before -sheaohieved one to her
mind. .AJne of these must have dropped
out of her bag for, in the evening, she
heard the young authors and others who
were free of the orchestra, laughing im
moderately at an ill-spelt, ill-written
note, as they handed it about from one
to the -other. 1 1 She -'was forced to hear
their explosions of, merriments their sa
tirical, remarks, and the., resolution they
came to, to insert, the unsigned note
the author"'Of':'wnlch"'was luckily un
known in!ones of th newspapers as a
model ror tne ue ssevigneB oi tne Miiette.
What were the terror and. asron v. of Ju
dith, not at hearing her letter turned into
ridicule, but to think that the count
would have the same feelings of con
tempt when he read the unfortunate
note, which she wonld have purchased
back again with her life. She was ac
cordingly more dead than alive, when on
the following!. morning Arthuf .entered
her room! '''' "" ' " '
"I am come,' dear'- Judith, Host no
time .when I received your letter;'?- and
that fatal, that horrible letter he held in
his bands ."What is it vou reauire?"
"What I reqiureMousieur L'Comte ?
I don't know howto tell it you but the
letter itself since you have read it if
indeed you have been able to make it
out"
"Very .easily,, my dear girl,?', replied
the Count with a slight smile.
"Ah!" cried Judith in despair, "that
letter is' enough- to show yon that I am
a poor girlj -without talent,- without edu
cation, who. is ashamed of her ignorance
and wishes to rem9ve.it, ,But ,how,am I
to do it? If you do not come to my as-sistance-if
yon refuse to help me with
your advice with your support--''
"What is it you wish?"
"Give me masters, and you will "see if
I am not industrious, if I do not profit
by their lessons."
"But when can they come to you?"
"Any time one thought keeps me
anxious by day and sleepless at night?"
"What thought?"
"The thought of the opinion you, must
have of me , you must despise me, and
100K on me as unworthy your notice ;
and you are right," she continued hur
riedly, "I know how eontemptible I am,
I know myself, and I wish, if possible.
to have no cause to blush for myself or
to dc a aisgrace to you."
ine uount looked at iter with amaze
ment, and said "I Bball do as you re
quire ;'you shall have any masters you
want."
Next day Judith had a master to teach
ner writing, ana history, anu geography,
You should have seen the ardor with
' which she applied, br86lf to hersto-djiea;
and her Viatural abilities develdpeU them
selves with incredible rapidity. At first
she liked It for Arthur's sake, and then she
liked it for its own. It was her pleas
antest enjoyment, her consolation under
all her-anxfeties. She" submitted to the
fines for absencej In order to stay at home
and devote herseir to tier books all day.
Her companions said, "Judith has gone
mad Bhe will lose her engagement
she iirveryfoolish.- ' ' ' 'r
But Judith worked the harder, saving.
"I shall make myself worthy of hitu at
lust ; he will see what eft'orts I make to
PAIN KK V 1
1 - I
A
VOLUME I.
Improve myself." But, alas! he could
see nothing of the kind ; for whenever he
came, Judith was so agitated, and stam
mered and hesitated so much, and became
so eonfused, that he thought all the les
sons were thrown away upon her. The
eftect of the knowledge she had acquired
was to make her feel more bitterly bow
stupid and ridiculous he must think her:
and that conviction rendered her , still
more constrained and embarrassed, and
hindered the display . of her real senti
ments, so innocent and so tender; . and
Arthur as might be expected, came but
seldom. Sometimes he remained a short
time with her after the ballette; but when
twelve o'clock sounded he always took
his leave. She ventured to ask him
When shall I see you V "
"I will tell you at the Opera, to
morrow.'" ' .' --" '
Bnt how was this to be done?. He was
almost always in his box on the second
tier ; and when he intended to visit " ner
on the following morning, he lifted his
right hand to his ear, and that was as
much as to say-, I will come to the Rue de
rrovence. ;. . ,.- . . :.
And Judith would watch for him all
the day she admitted nobody not even
her aunt, that she might have the pleas
ure 01 seeiUK 111m euureiy ui ueiwu.
In spite of the reserve . o. the .Count,
she had' made one discovery, - and. that
was, that he had some sorrow that weigh
ed him down. What , could the sorrow
be ? She could nbt"brihg lierselT'to ask
him, and yet she would have been so de
lighted to share ft 'with him.' But 'that
was a happiness she did not dare to hope
for and yet she shared it, though she did
not knew. . what it, was. So, when .the
Count asked her, "as he often did, .'.'What
is the matter, - Judith ? have - you any
grief to vex you? " if she had dared she
would have answered ."yours n.
One day a horrible idea occurred to her ;
she muttered to herself in despair "he
loves another yea, yes L ha loves another
why does he bring me here? what can
be his object ? It is from no love for me :
because if he loved. nie- r-4,4ittlitl nxed
her eyes on a large mirror, and she cer-
tainly looked so young, so blooming, so
beautiful, no wonder sne remained sunic
in a revery. -' The door; of -her boudoir
was opened quickly; Arthur walked in
he had an air of trout le and chagrin,
such as she had never seen before. . ,
"Judith," he said "dress yourself Im
mediately. You shall go with me to the
Tuiienes."
"Is it possible , :.
"Yes. The weather is . delightful ; all
Paris will be there."
And will you take me there?',' cried
Judith, enraptured; for the Coont had
never walked out wttn ner, or given ner
his arm in public.
"To be sure 1 win take you mere De
fore the whole world M the great ave-
nue," said the Count, hurriedly, walking
about the room, "Come along, Madame
Bonnivet," he added, quickly; to the old
aunt, who at that moment came in';
"dress your neice as speedily asou can;
and above everything be quick ;V
Madame Bonnivet maae preparations ror
taking off the morning dress that Judith
wore; but she blushed and-Tnade a: sign
that Arthur was still in the room. '
A 11111 , litXBll BUU UW CtUllb, cut? toy;
to be on such Ceremony ' with monsieur
le Comte!" and without any (more ado
she unlaced the gown, and it tumbled on
the floor..':.. , ..: ."'"."' ,',' .'.' " A'.
: Judith did not know where to 1100k- or
what to- do, and was quite oppressed
with shame.
But, alas! her modesty was altogether
useless on this occasion. Arthur
never looked near. her. Absorbed Jby
one idea that seemed to v excite his rage
and indignation, he traversed the apart
ment with great rapidity, and in one of
his turns threw down a little vase made
of shells, which broke into a thousand
pieces.
"Oh! what a pity !v exclaimed Judith,
forgetting at that moment the state of
her toilette.
"Yes, indeed," echoed the aunt "it
cost Ave hundred francs at the least-V
MNOt lor tnat: not ior mat:-- said Ju
dith "but because it came from him "
"Well, are you ready ?" cried Arthur,
impatiently, who had not heard a word
of their reflections about the vase.
"In a moment aunt, my shawl ; now
mv gloves."
-. 'And Tour mantle," said Arthur 1
"you have forgotten it, and you-will find
it cold," - " ' "
"On, nor
"Your hand is.. bumk T,"aid Had-
nmA Unnrilveff -voii 'nrv ffcverish. mv
child ; 1 don't think you ought to go."
i j - , - j
I am well-i-quite well, said Judith,
hurrying on "let us go let us go; I
: would not stay at home for all the
world." ,lilu.l
The carriage was at the door. Thev
got in, and drove down the Boulevards
at noon-day together 1 Ana, to complete
the happiness of the elated Judith, she
saw two of her companions in the Bue
de la Paix, and bowed to them with the
gracious condescension which extreme
happiness produces two principal per-
lormers who on that occasion were trudg
ing humbly on foot,.., . ,., , ;
me carriage stopped at tne gate or
the Bue de Kivoli. Judith took the
Count's arm, and they promenaded in the
principal allee. It was a lete-day. All
the raiuc and rasnion ; of i'aris una as
sembled : the crowd was immense,
In a moment .-Arthur and his compan
ion were the objects of universal obser
vation. They were both so handsome, it
was impossible to avoid remarking them.
Every one turned round to look at them,
anu asK wno tney were,
' " Tis the young Count
Varleois."
"Are thev married ?"
Arthur de
' Judith trembled at the question with a
sensation of pleasure and a pain at the
same time that she could not account
for.
"Xo, indeed," said a grand looking
lady, in a uisaaunu stone wnue sne
caressed a little spaniel in her arms.
and was attended by two footmen in su
perb liveries "Monsieur the Count is
not married; my. lord, his uncle, .won't
"Then who is that beautiful creature
with him? His sister perhaps?"
u, you wrong him, J. assure you. She
s his mistress an onera e-lrl. At least
t think I have heard so."
! Luckily, Judith did not hear the old
dowager's remarks; for at that moment
the Baron de Blangi, who walked behind
them, said to his Drotherthe Chevalier
1' 'Tis little Judith."
"What ! the girl Arthur is so fond of?'
He has gone mad about her he
ruins himself.
"He is auite right." replied the cheva
lier, "who wonld not do the same? How
beautiful she is . -, , .,
"Take care: Vou'll fall Iri love with
her"
"I'm that alreadv. Come and let
see her close." .
"If the crowd wliriet us."" "
, .n.uu uicvruwu uiub acui louuwillK ucr.
went on making remarks of the same
kind, and Arthur heard them. For the
a : 1. 1 1 1 t. 1 ; 1 t .1
uisk iiiiic nciuu&eu ul iuuiui. aa sne ut 1
served to be looked 'at, 'and , was , astonSI
ished to nnd her so beautlfuii lite walk,
tlie company, and above1 all. ". the con
sciousuess 01 ueing aunureu, naa given
her cheeks and eyes an -unusual glow:
and then she was sixteen years old. and
loved, and fancied, for the first time, that
sue was loveu in .return ; ana .these, are
admirable reasons ror looking one s best.
The sensation created by her appearance
was immense ; but when she saw the
lock of admiration that Arthur fixed on
her, all her triumph sank into insignif
icance, the praises of the crowd were
rorgotten, and she went home that da
exclaiming-- "What a happy girl I am I
Next morning, Judith received tw
letters. The first was a carte blanche.
from the Baron de Blangi, She threw it
into the fire and forgot it in a moment
1 The second bore a signature which
Judith " read over twice, as she could
hardly believe her eyes; but she could
not ' aoubt the reality. It was 'signed
FAMILY PAPER,
The Bishop of Paris" and was in these
terms; ' .....
"Mademoiselle, you appeared public
ly yesterday at the Tuileries with my
nephew; Count Arthur de "Varleois, and
by so doing, prut the finishing stroke to a
scandal, the consequences of which are
incalculable. Although, in punishment
for the sins of men, God has permitted
our ancient powers to be diminished, we
have still -enough left to enable us to
unish vonr audacity.-' I ' therefore give
yon notice that if you do not put a stop
to any similar ' scandal, I have sufficient
credit ' with - the ' Lord Chamberlain to
have you dismissed from the opera. If,
on the- other hand, you give up my
nephew at once and forever, we offer
you -for the motive ' will sanctify the
means two tnonsana 10ms, and the ap
sohition of all your sins," etc., etc.
' - Judith was at first annihilated at peru
sing that dreadful letter; but she soon
took courage, and collecting all her ener
gies, replied in the following words :
' "Mv Lord, You use me harshly, and
yet I can declare before God and to you,
that I have nothing for ' which to re
proach myself.- Tis so, I declare," most
Mttttanl .and iMf mvljmJ In fltia f n.M
WlCUUllJ , U1U 1 J UAU) 111 MHO 111V1 1
is no merit attributable to me. ' Yes, my
lord, your nephew is innocent of the
wrongs you impute' to him; and, if to
lore be criminal in the sight of heaven,
it is a crime of which I am guilty,' and
fn which Arthur is not an accomplice.
"Hear" theny the resolution I have
taken. ! ' : .-; ' ; : u ,! ' ",-
I shall say to him what I have never
ventured to say to him ' for myself but
for you, my lord, I will take courage and
say to him 'Arthur, do you love me?'
And lr as 1 believe, as 1 tear he snail
answer, 'Ko,: Judith, ! do not love you,'
then my lord, I shall obey you. " I shall
separate myself from him I shall never
see him more; and I hope,' my lord, yon
win tmnKtoo nigniy 01 me to oner me
anything as a reward,1 and that you will
not add degradation .to despair. -" The
latter is sufficient for one who resolves to
die. !i But if heaven, if my good angel, if
the happiness of my life shall lead him
to say 'I love you, Judith," ah 1 'tis a sin
ful thing I am about to say to you, and
you will most justly pour your maledic
tions on tar head;' but mark' me, my
lord, there is no power on earth that shall
hinder me rrom being -his irom sacri
ficing every thing to him. ' I will brave
all, even your Indignation ; ' for after all,
what can yon do? at most, you can take
my life ; and why should I hesitate to die
if I could only feel assured I have been
beloved? ; :
'"Pardon me my lord, if this letter should
offend you. : It is written by a poor girl
who is ignorant of the world and of her
duty; but hopes to And some mitigation
of your anger in consideration of that ig
norance 3ie openness of her confession
and above all, in the profound respect
with which she has (he honor to remain,
Judith sealed the letter and sent it
without consulting with' any one upon
the subject ; and from that moment, be
ing determined to know her fate, she
waited impatiently for the next visit of
the Count. - She saw him in his box, but
beseemed sombre and preoccupied. He
made no sign. to her he never looked
near her. At last, on the following night,
he made the usual signal and Judith
now felt certain that she should see him
in. the morning, and put an 1 end to the
state of suspense and misery, which she
felt was more intolerable than the - worst
that could befall her. -i -':
Bat in the morning the chasseur of the
Count made his appearance with an apol
ogy from his master on the plea of busi
ness .of the utmost importance, and with
an intimation? at the same time, that he
would come that night to supper. To sup-
pert he who had always taken his leave
soeariyi ine aunt seemea wonaenuiiy
pleased with the arrangement, and- - Ju
dith remained sunk, in deep thought; '-
At eleven o'clock, the -most elegant
little Supper that could he procured wag
all ready by the seal of Madame Bonni
vet. As to Judith,: she saw nothing
she heard nothings-she: expected; All
the faculties of her soul ' were - absorbed
in that one idea. But ' eleven ' o'clock
came half-past eleven twelve, and -no
Arthur. The. whole night elapsed ; he
came not, and . she expected still; and
the next day passed, and: the following
days, and yet.; Arthur; came not. - She
heard nothing of him he saw him no
more. What then was the meaning of
ail this 1? what had become ot mm ? -
."Gentlemen," said the little notary,
interrupting his narrative, "the curtain
is just rising alter tae next act."
'-.i: i-i..: - vi. - ; a to -i-: 1 -r
"Gentlemen," remarked M. Baraton,
-when the third act of the Huguenot was
(Concluded, ft" I suppose you are ' ' anxious
to make, out what has happened to - our
friend young Arthur, and above all, to
Discover wno ne is.' -
-''.'You should have begun with that,"
SSidL:-.'f I'll:'" t-t:l i; i'(B n-.i ' ''
I have a right to ' arrange my - story
as I choose.'.' n--i'r- -
-VAnu. besides, added the professor.
'one shouid'nt be 'very critical in the
conduct or a story at the opera ; nobody
attenos 10 it.-' -i-- v-i: ; - 3
"A very lucky thing : for the author of
tne words, said the little notary, with a
pow to me; ana satisfied with -.his hint,
he went on with his account.
Count Arthur de Varleois is descended
from a very 'ancient ' and distinguished
family tn the south: : His mother, left a
widow very young, had no child besides,
and was poorly provided '- for ; but she
had a brother who was immensely rich.
This brother, Mon seigneur the Abbe de
Varleois, was one of the most influen
tial prelates at the Court of Louis XV ill.
and afterwards at that or Charles Jt.
and We know 'verr well what was the in
fluence that governed- the Kingdom, the
sovereign himself and even the army.
The Abbe de-Varleois was of a cold and
haughty disposition, selfish and ' severe,
DUt aa excellent relation', notwlthstand-
incr for he wan 1 ambitions for4 himself.
and ; for ' every l ;-one 1 that '- belonged
to him;: He charged -: himself : with his
nephews education, introduced him at
court, and-procured the restoration to his
sister of some portion of' the property
that had been confiscated during the em-
rranon. rrm -motner -died piessmg
lie name of her brother and- enjoining
er son to be obedient in all things to his
uncle, i Arthur, who adored ms mother,
swore obedience to her injunctions when
sue was dying; and it was the more easy
tor. him to perform his oath, from the cir
cumstance that, from his : earliest years.
he had always been accustomed to receive
his uncle's commands with the most un
hesitating submission. - "' 1
j Sedate, quiet and bashful, yet full of
courage ana ' generosity , 1 Arthur ' had a
strong inclination for a military life;
partly for thouniform and the aepulettes ;
but principally, perhaps, because in the
palace of his uncle he saw -nothing but
una and cassocks. : 'He -'Ventured 'one
ay, but with great shyness, to make his
uncle acquainted with his wishes ; but the
np.1.1. . 1.1. . . '1 nnanmwA
uxcm&vc fiM 1J in uxvyyd, cviivi one n vi ii,
harshly and decidedly, that he had other
views ior him. - :"- "" -i,k -
The Abbe de Varleois had been advanc
ed to a bishopric, and he'.hoped for more,
He had a good chance for the hat of a car
dinal ; . and he was desirous or making his
nephew share in his good fortune, and
felt sure of being able to secure him the
highest dignities or the church. ' in short,
the church was at - that time : the surest
avenue to wealth and honor. Arthur
did not dare to openly resist the terrible'
asoendency'of his uncle, "but he secretly
vowed that he would never be a bishop.
The king in the "mean time, had, been
spoken to on the subject, and had ex
pressed his warmest approbation. Ar
thur was to enter the seminary in a few
months as a matter of form , to take or
ders, and go through the lower offices to
the highest dignities of his hew profes
sion as rapidly as possible. He remem
bered the promise he had given to his
mother, and besides, everybody would
have accused him of ingratitude if he ran
DEVOTED TO LITERATURE, SCIENCE,
PAIKESVlXIiE, LAKE COUNTY, OHIO, SATURDAY, JULY 22,
directly counter to the wishes of his
uncle ; and as he therefore did not dare
to i oppose. his designs openly, he en
deavored to find out some method of
forcing the bishop to resign them of his
own accord. He could think of no
better means to effect his purpose than
some good dashing seandal, that
might render him unworthy of the vene
rable profession into which they tried to
force him against his will.
iiut this was not bo easy a matter as
might be supposed. Whether it rose
from Arthur ,s natural disposition or
from his education, he had a fund of
moral feeling that prevented him from
being a libertine; and Arthur took as
much pains to make himself a rake as
might have sufficed to make him a bishop.
But he had a number of friends who
introduced him to their gayeties. The
racKeting and sprees ot his companions
were insipid and disgusting; and - he
turned his attention to the ladies of the
Court, as a better means of gaining what
he wished. . But the ladies of that court
avoided the slightest appearance of im
propriety; not that they extended their
dislike to anything beyond appearance.
and a glearing unmistakable im
propriety was all that Arthur desired.
A ray or light broke in upon ins de
spair when one of his friends said to him ?
1 ate an opera girl ror your mistress ;
everybody will know it." .? . i, : i:-
Wbatl lr" exclaimed Arthur, flush
ing with indignation,at the mere thought
of such a proceeding; "I mix myself np
withBuch a set!" - -,,, , --.
'.'You need have nothing to do with
them. These matters are easily arranged.
The eclat of a mistress is all you require.
Take one; you may do as you like after
wards, but your point will be gained at
OnCC". : .- '- - ;' i ;
"Well, I consent." - i . K- ! , ,
You know already how the matter was
arranged between Arthur and the aunt.
Measures were taken to have the bishop
informed ot the scandal. - He took no no
tice. He was told that every night his
nephew's carriage was seen in the Rue
de Provence; and Arthur hoped every
aay ior a mow-up with his Deneractor,
when he had resolved to throw all the
blame on an uncontrollable passion which
rendered him unworthy of the sacred ol
flce and he could by no means account
for his uncle's sang froid and placid for
bearance. ' It was the calm that preceeds
the storm.1':
One morning his lordship said to him :
"The king has been displeased with you
for-some time. I know not wherefore."
I guess the reason," replied the neph
ew. ' '-. ', '
"I have ho wish to know it. sir. His
majesty has deigned to overlook it, but
Insists on your entering the seminary in
two days."
"li uncle? imp "
"They are the king's orders, and vour
objections must be made to him, not to
me," said the prelate haughtily, and
turned away.
Arthur, almost out of his senses with
rage, hurried off to Judith, took her to
the Tuileries paraded her as his mis
tress before all the world, on the very
evening before he was to start for the
seminary. This time it was impossible
to pretend ignorance of so glaring a
scandal, or to think of forcing the hero
of it into the church at any rate for a
long time. The bishop wrote the letter
nave repeated to vou. to Judith, and
the king sent an order to the Count to
leave Paris within twenty-four hours. It
was impossible to disobey. Luckily, he
was acquainted with one of the sons of
M. ' de Bonrmont, and went off on the
following night with the expedition to
Algiers. -. -s '
i: "tmce the choice of the place of uiv
exile,'-' he said, "is left -to me, I shall
choose one where glory is to he gained."
lie went on at night - vctih the utmost
secrecy, for all his motions were watched
and if they had suspected his destination
he was afraid thev would have hindered
his departure. He ; wrote a few lines to
Judith, to tell her he was only absent a
tew days ; but that note, insignificant as
it: was, was intercepted, and never
reached her. . The bishop had great in
terest with the police. - A week after
wards Arthur was at sea." On the twen
tieth day he disembarked in Africa, was
one of the first at the. storming of the
fort, and was wounded at the side of his
gallant : friend, : young Bounnont, who
was killed at the moment of victory.
Arthur was ror a long time in danger.
For two months his. life was despaired
of; and when he recovered, his fortune,
his hopes, and those of his uncle, had all
disappeared,, in three days, with the
monarchy of Charles X. - '
- "Jiut gentlemen," said the little notary
".the curtain is again rising and we must
wait until the next act is over, then"
TO BE CO.iTDIOSD. ! .' :: ':;
THE SHADE OF ST. HELENA. '
-. - BY ANOCS 3LAMONT. -"
. "Little oui -oui,"; wrote Josephine -to
Hortense de Beauharnais, ' little dream
ing that the child with the rosy cheeks
should one day touch the mantle of the
man of destiny, and like him lay a shiv
ered scepter at the reet 01 .ngiand. ,
What a sermon on human lile does
this man's history present. . What a chap
ter on that "vaulting ambition which
overleaps itself, and falls on others."
Bnt yesterday an Emperor, to-dav a ci
pher. The great Napoleon's fall was no
ble. Far away from the clang ot arms
and the pomp of courts, men trembled
at his name. Alone, within the sea-girt
walls of his island-prison, we picture
that marvellous face, with its sublimity
of thought, and fancy that well-known
form, pacing the shore with moody brow
and folded hands, listening to the mur
mur 01 the waves, and brooding over
faithless friends and the glories of Maren
go, we can sympathize with. the caged
non, and almost echo his sullen growls
against perfidious Albion. At least , we
twine around him , the mantel of ro
mance, and stand uncovered in the pres
ence of the 'Head of the Army.' But over
the man of Chiselhurst we wreath no
gaudy chaplet. Had he stepped forth
amidst a shower ot vullets, or bared his
breast, like the ill-fated but gallant Maxi
milian had he iaiien in fact lor France,
then might he have touched .the summit
of his greatness, and the pen of history
have gilded his crimes ami remembered
his undoubted talents. : But now what is
there left, but the mockery of a fallen em
pire, the casket without one single gem
w e can conceive no more atHect picture
than the sphynx' of modern Europe
stripped of his vastly overrated cunning,
cursed from the reeking blood-pits of
ranee, pitied by ji.ngiisti eocKneyiiom
and her! the Empress! the fashioncst!
wig) led the vanguard of imperial pleas
ure, stands she like Josephine, regie in
the -smile- of Christian resignation, or
stoops she in peevish isolation irom
glittering court, pallid without the rouge
the skeleton of fashion a queen of
shreds and patches?
' Strange as it may appear, notwith
standing the humiliation of the present
Lmperor, romance still clings to the
name of the Corsican.' Kings may fall,
and republics pass away. Amidst the
heartrending scenes of brutalized com
munism, notwithstanding the despotic
sagacity of Thiers, , and the Awakening
oawn ol monarchy, there comes irom
the analogy of the past a prophetic mur
mur that a Buonaparte must, some day,
sooner or later, march in triumph past
the renovated column ot Veiiuouie.
Who is the coming man remains of
course a mystery. The finger of destiny
would point to the youthful prince,
although the fate of the King of Rome
holds but a sorrowful precedent for the
son ol the Empire. .
The temper of France is the temper of
the hour. Tho national heart beats in
svmrathv. but with two snrinfrs of action
la bagatelle lc gloire. While the first
Napoleon dazzled them with conquering
strides, the shadow touched the other
chord. The days of monarchy are over,
They died with Mirabeau. A republic
at the present time is a moralimpossibili
ty. For the successful existance of a re
public there must be united the nervous
pulse of action with the safety : valve of
solid reflection. France possesses the
one but not the other. -Without an en
tire change of nature she can never be
come a republic. Had the United States
not possessed a dash of the Parisian with
the sober after-thought of the - Anglo
Saxon, she would never have stood as
she does to-day the successful cham
pion of self-government. Religion has
also much to do with the overthrow of
despotic power.' The exile xf St. Helena
said, "Religious ideas have more influ
ence than certain narrow-minded phil-
"ososophers are willing to believe.
They are capable of rendering great
service to humanity." That France as
a nation under the present state of reli
gious feeling, can ever be truly happy,
we doubt. She may be happy- s
Rome is happy. Without perfect re
ligious freedom and liberty of conscience,
there can be but little social peace. With
out social peace there can be no political
stability. We have no hesitation there
fore in asserting that until the day when
the fetter shall fall from the souls of
Frenchmen, a Buonaparte is the only
power which can hold its own for any
length of time ; and until the words of
liyaeinthe shall have hecome law. and
the Bible found its way into the chimney
eorner of every French home, there can
exist for her but little rest, or' little solid
peace. -- ' ' . ' - - -
TWO TRAGEDIES IN BOMAS UIS-
TOBY. - :
BY E. P BRANCH.
1. .
Among the illustrious names which
the annals of ancient Rome have brought
to our notice, none,' perhaps, are more
conspicuous than - those of: -. Caesar
and Pompeius. "or "Pompey. the Great."
The latter-represented the patrician or
ruling class ot the City, while the form
er was the acknowledged champion of the
pieman or revolutionary element in- no-
man society. The life and character of
each represents in its most perfect type
tne class to which he . belonged; rom
peius proud, haughty and arrogant
Caesar, ambitious, energetic and aspir-
: . . -it. i. in i . . i - i. . .
iiig. x.acii ruse une a uniiiaiiL uieLeor ill
the political sky of the empire, and as
suddenly disappeared in darkness and
blood. The tragic fate which befell these
eminent rivals is worthy of remembrance
as a summary example of retributiye
justice. . '
Jrompey had already reached the sum
mit of fame and power having, made
himself the foremost man in Rome when
he beheld with, jealous and evil forebod
ings the rapid progress which Caesar was
making towards an equal position. It
has been said of . the two chiefs that
"Caesar could brook no superior,- and
Pompey no equal."
The leader oi the oligarchy cunningly
conceived the plan of making Caesar's
interests identical with his own, hoping
thereby to exercise a controlling innur
ence.over the career of the young ora
tor. From this policy arose eventually
tne nrst triumvirate consisting ol iromr
pey, Caesar and Crassus. The latter was
one of the most influential of the Ro
man Senators, but lacked the ability and
energy of .his two confederates. For a
time these three men held absolute sway
over the government of the Republic.
But each was jealous of , the others, and
entertained the hope of bein able in, the
eno to trampie tnem unuer ms ieet.
in the bUoth year alter the foundation
Of the city Caesar was elected Consul.
He was at this time forty-one years old.
and had already held the important offices
of Praetor, Quaestor and. Grand Pontiff.
The office to which he was now .elected
was the highest within the gift of the
people. It was only held for a year, and
at its close the retiring Consul in accor-
dance with an ancient custom of the Re-.
public received the command of an im
portant province of the Roman Govern
ment. To Caesar were allotted the Gaul
ish Provinces.
Having collected an army , he imme
diately left the, city for his -command.
Here he spent five years in a series of al
most uninterrupted triumphs over his
Gaulish and German enemies many, of
his ,. victories being won on the. very
ground for which Marshal McMahon and
the Crown Prince of Prussia have been
contending with such wonderful tenacity
and with such a terrible sacrifice of . life
and treasure. At the end of this" time he
found himself at the head of a large and
thoroughly drilled army of veterans .who
almost worshipped their commander, and
were ready to follow where he chose to
lead themi ,,;, ., :!.!
Meantime ' the ' breach between' the
friends of Pompey and Caesar, at Rome,
had grown constantly' wider, until it
was evident that a single overt act on the
part oi either would kindle the smoulder
ing fire of a civil revolution. The nobles
finally lighted the torch. They passed a
bill depriving Caesar of his command
and otherwise seriously affecting his in
terests. The decision of the Gaulish con
querer was soon made. : When apprised of
the determination to which the Senate
had arrived, relieving .him of his com
mand, he laid his hand on his sword and
exclaimed, " A his, then, shall Keep it."
i laKing up the line, ot , march he soon
arrived at the Rubicon, a small stream
which divided Kome irom the , Provin
ces. . For the Governor of a Province to
cross the Rubicon with his army was
equivalent to a declaration of war. Tradi
tion, tells us that when Caesar arrived at
the stream he hesitated and, -said
to those around him "Even : now
we may : return. ...If we .-.cross the
bridge ; arms must decide . the con-
ly appeared the figure of a. handsome
youth playing on a flute, the emblem, of
peace and security. Shepherds and .-soldiers
gathered around him. when sud
denly he snatched a trumpet from one
ot the band, rushed to the. bank ol the
river, and blowing a blast of martial mu
sic, leaped into the water and disappeared
on the opposite shore. "Aiet us advance','
exclaimed Caesar, "where the Gods di
reet and our enemies invite us. Be the
die cast.'1 . , ..
I On the 25th of November B. C. 50 the
storm of war which had long been threat
ening to overthrow the power of .the
oligarchy, burst over their heads. Hence-
iorth ail peaceiui measures were at an
end. , . ...
Two years of civil war, fraught with
all its attendant evils blood, carnage,
and death followed.. ; Them the .two
commauders Pompey and Caesar with
their respective armies, met upon tne fa
ted field of Phorsalie for a decisive cou-r
flict. The battle was long , and terrible,
Thousands of brave men saw their life's
blood staining the green turf around
them, without even knowing , for i what
they were dying. The setting sun wit
nessed the complete rout of the Pom-
peiim forces. Pouipey himself was com
pelled to take refuge iu flight. . fasten
ing to the sea-coast he embarked with a
few friends in a small merchant vessel,
Here he held a sort of council of war and
after deliberation decided to retire into
Egypt and throw himself on the mercy
of its king. Arrived oil Alexandria he
sent a message to the young monarch,
asking the favor of t a hospitable
reception. . A lie king and his nun
istcrs were thereby, thrown ; into
a difficult quandary. Thev were
afraid to receive Pompey on account of
tne vengeance oi usesar; ana they dare
not refuse him through fear thut ,ha
might sometime recover his lost fortunes,
and then wreak vensreance in his turn.
They finally decided to feign compliance
with his request until they had allured
him to the land, and then put him out of
the way ny treachery. - ' - ' -
An officer was accordingly dispatched
with a few attendants In a small boat, to
bring the fallen chleT to the shore. Upon
reacliingthe vessel he cordially tendered
to rompey the hospitalities of his gov
ernment. The smullness of the boat arid
escort created some surprise and suspic
AGRICULTURE, AND GENERAL NEWS.
ion in the minds of his friends, but Pom
pey, had no alternative cut to accept the
proposition.. Taking leave of his .wife
who naa accompanied him, he descended .
into the boaw , . The passage from the vesj
sel to the shore was made in profound si-,
lence. Pompey was engaged in studying
a speech which he bad prepared and in
tended delivering when s he .should be
ushered into the royal presence. ... But
another monarch was awaiting the chif
with whom his eloquence' would be of no
avail. He was about to be ushered into
the august and dreaded presence of the
lung or A'errors.'- "
The boat reached the shoreV " Pompey
had taken the hand of an ! attendant to
enable him to rise, when he ' was struck
from behind with a sword. Perceiving
at once the fate which :awaited him,' he
drew his toga over his head and fell mor
tally wounded. The head was 1 immedi
ately ! severed from' " the body, and vtbe
lifeless trunk thrown into the surf.
A thick gloomy night was - settling
down upon the waters. The : boats of
the Egyptains had retired into the harbor.
The Roman vessels standing'Out to sea-
loomed through the mist 'like huge spev
terSi "Not a single sound broke the si
lence exoept-the monotonous' war of the
surf as it broke dpon the sandy' beach.:
The deserted coast barren of life--was
strewn with wrecks ' and ' reminders
rather of death.' ... , ,.,-r. , -vv
A faithful slave, who had, followed the
fortunes of his master to the , bitter .end,
drew the body from the water, and con
structing a funeral pyre from the wrecks
which surrounded him, burned thereon
the remains of his master, t :- .-'- '
. T hus the great Conqueror of the East,
the general , who - once- .made, the -vain
boast that by stamping with his foot he
could raise legions from the soiLof Italy.
the ruler ot the senate and the pride ot
.1 . .V ' - . . - '
the .Roman oligarchy, . lalln .. at - last,
treacherously murdered . upon, a foreign
coast, .with only a single slave to pull his
headless body upon the, . lonely . beach.
When the mangled head was brought to
Caesar . he i : turned away in horror,- and
caused it to be ournea witn tne costliest
spices,: and the ashes deposited in ft
shrine which he erected to the avenging
nemesis..' ;i- ; im: -. . iaru ;
Henceforth the path '- of the Dictator
was an easv one. '' After a series of rapid
victories, from one of which he is said to
have? sent the celebrated message cent,
et'di, : ntci, he ' - returned to Rome.- s He
had now apparently no adversary to rear.
His greatest opponent was a mere hand-
tui oi ashes on the other shore or tne
Mediterranean, i He celebrated four differ
ent triumphs. Honors and emoluments
were heaped upon, him , from all , sides.
He was created Dictator for ten years,
and received 'the appellation of j'VThe
iauier oi ms country. . ,. v, , ,, ;,. ,.
JNever Detore. had such homage been
paid to a Roman citizen... He undertook
an entire reformation, in the system of
government, lie repeated unjust statutes
and, caused new laws to be: enacted lor
the relief , of the sunering classes.
For three years . he held with a firm
hand the rudder of the ship of state.
But his position was a precarious 1 one.
The old nobles Were his avowed enemies.
Many of his- most trusted friends were
jealous of his position and power and
were ready to endorse any project ror de
priving him or them. At last a conspir
acy was formed to take his life." 1 ' The
authors ot the plot ' were ! men ' whom
Caesar had loaded with some Of the high
est honors it was in his power to bestow;
Their plans were, well laid and promptly
I ' .1 1 . TC 1 I
executed. , vu wi secouu. oi . -uiai uu, ies
than lour years alter the death oi Jrom
pey the tragedy was consummated. On
this day the Senate was to be convened.
and' Caesar i; would preside over their der
iiuerauons. xne conspirators gatuereu
at the door and a waited his arrival. . As
he entered the hall they closed, thickly
around him apparently to escort him to
his chair. -' As soon as he was seated one
of-their number approached with a pe
tition ior the pardon oi his brother, who
naa oeen oanisnea ior some state onense
With murder in their hearts,' such emi
nent citizens as Brutus and Cassius uni
ted their Biipplications, and even likelJu-
das, embraced his neck in their pretend"
ed eagerness. -A cloak .was , then pulled
over his arms and a dagger aimed at his
breast. .,, But the murderous arm -was un
steady, and a slight wound was tne only
result. '. . Caesar, defended himself for, a
moment, but when he ; found the num
ber ox his assailants, , and, , saw, - among
them some of his most trusted friends,
including even Brutus ' himself, tittering
tne words; jst t,'rte,'-'-iiKe'A'ompey
herew his cloak 'around him; and' re
signed himself to his fate. ' The-assassins
had all taken an oath to bathe their dag
gers in his blood, and faithfully did they
keep their, pledge.,. The Dictator stag
gered a tew paces-rUterauy neia up .by
the blows from the' daggers and then
fell dead at the foot .of a- statue erected
to the memory of. his greatest opponent.
The fate" of Pompey was avenged.' Re
tributive justice had done its perfect
worK. to Aioth-! Uaesar and rompey had
sacrificed thousands of lives and millions
pf treasures to further their own personal'
aims, and thevr lives had now paid - the
forfeit. Who shall say that their punish
ment was too great.?f Who shall say that
the man who lias' recently brought two
nations ' into conflict ' ' with each other.
until the Meuse and the Rhine rim down
to the sea , crimsoned with the blood ' of
his victims,' and a ery of agony is going
up from! thousands of hearts to the Or-:
pnans father and the widows God, does
not deserve to expiate so great a crime
With Jiis own life? : It is fearful to con
template the state' of,!Rpman society
which existed after 'the death ot Caesar.
The1 smallest possible value "Was. attached
to human life, .intrigue and corrup
tion . naa roipea away tne very founda
tion . of the Government.' ' Bribery, that
bane of political life, was resorted to by
every one, and the most sacred office was
not exempt from its withering influence.
Every- man aimed to advance his own
interests,' regardless of the rights of his
neighbors, The longest' 'purse .could
Command 'the most votes. ;,' Anarchy,
oonfusion and mob law reigned supreme.
It needed the xlrni unyielding will, and
the exhaustless energy of a Caesar to
bring order out of thfi chaotic state and
reorganize the whole body politic.
' The nobles Were . struggling to main-
tain the old monarchial system, of gov
ernment, jprtnis purpose . y ley. sacri
ficed Caesar; but his. death brought
them no relief, and only served to hasten
the downfall of their crumbling iustitu-
! Although liis'niurdcre'rs escaned pun
ishment for 'this act, their ' triumph was
short. , Some committed suicide,, others
were murticreu or fell . m battle.
Pompey 's ; assassins were scarcely less
fortunate,' nearly all perishing by violent
deaths.
ySii; semper iy'wnnt," 'u ' ;l
' DIATIBE SIRENS. -,' ' '.'''I '.'
; l Nothing Is more incomprehensible to
girls than the love and admiration some
times given to middle aged women, They
cannot understand it; aim nothing . but
experience will ever hiake them under
stand It. : In their eyes, a woman ' is out
of the pale of personal affection altogether
when she has once lost that shining gloss
of yOuth, that exquisite freshness of skin
and suppleness or limb, which' to them,
In the insolent plentitude of their unfad-
ed beauty, constitute the chief claims to
admiration of their sex. And yet they
cannot conceal from themselves that the
belle of eighteen is often deserted for the
woman of forty, ' and 'that' the patent
witchery of their own' youth and pretti
ness goes for nothing against the myRte
rious charms of a mature siren, 1 What
can they say to such an anomaly? There
is no good In going about the world dis
dainfully wondering how on earth a man
could ever have taken up with such an
antiquated creature suggestively asking
their male friends what could he see hi
a woman of her age, old enough to be
their mother? There the fact stands, and
facts are stubliorn things. Tho eligible
1871.
suitor who has been coveted by more
than one golden-haired girl has married
a woman twenty years her senior, and j
the middle aged siren has actually carried
off the prize which nymphs in their teens
have frantically desired to win; - What is
the secret? How is it done? The world,
even of silly girls, has got past any belief
in spells and talismans, such as Charle
magne's mistress wore, and vet the man's
fascination seems to them quite as mirac
ulous ana almost as unholy as 11 it had
b3en brought about by the black art. But
if. they had any analytical: power they
would understand the diablerie of the ma
ture sirens clearly enough, for it is not so
difficult to understand when one putt
one's mind to it. ; ... .:; -i ;
In the first place, a woman of ripe aee
has a knowledge of the world, and a cer
tain suavity of manner and a moral flexi
bility ,r wholly wanting to: the young.
Young girls are for the most part all an
glesharsh in their' judgements, stiff in
their prejudices, and narrow in- their
sympathies, i They are full of combative-
ness ana sexr-assertion if thev are of One
kind of young people, or they are stupid
and shy if they belong to another kind.
They are talkative with nothing to say,
and positive with nothing well and truly
kuown ; or they are dummies who stam
mer out Yes and . No at random,: and
whose brain becomes hopelessly confus
ed at the first sentence a stranger utters.
They are generally without pity; their
want of experience making ' them hard
toward sorrows which: they scarcely un
derstand, and let us charitably hope, to a
certain extent ignorant of the pain they
tnmou That famous-! article 'in - the
Times -oh- the -cruelty of -young girls,
apropos of Constance Kent's confession,
though absurdly exaggerated, had in it
the core of truth which gives the sting to
such papers, which ' makes them stick,
and : which is the real cause of the
outcry they create.' ' Girls ! are cruel;
there is no question about It. If more
passive than active,' they are simply in
different to the -sufferings of others; if of
a more active temperament, they nnd a
positive pleasure in arivinsr oain. A girl
will; sav ihe ; moslL cruel -thingC to her
nearest mend, and then laugh at her be
cause she cries. Even her own mother
she will hurt and humiliate if she can
while as for. any unfortunate; aspirant
not approved of, were he as tough-skin
ned as a rhinoceros she would nnd means
to make him wince. . But all this ascerb-
ity is toned down in the mature woman.
Experience has enlarged her sympathies.
and knowledge of suffering lias. softened
her heart to the sufferings of others. Her
lessons oi Jite, too, have taught her tact;
and tact is one of the most valuable les
sons; that a man: or woman can. learn
She sees , at a glance where are the weak
points and sore places in her companion,
and she avoids them; or if she passes ov
er them, it is with , . a .nana so son ana
tender, a touch so inexpressibly soothing
that she calms instead of irritating.. : ' A
girl would have come .down upon the
weak place . heavily, and would have
torn tho bandage off the sore ones, jest
ing at a scar because she herself had never
text a. wound, and deriding the sybari
tism of diachly on because ignorant. of
the. anguish u conceals. A hen the ma
ture siren is thoughtful for others. Girls
are self, asserting and aggressive. -. : Life
is strong in . them, and instinct, which
prompts them to try their strengh with
all comers, and ; to get the best of every
thing everywhere, is so irrepressible,
that they are often disagreeable because
of , their instinctive - selfishness,, and the
craving natural to - the young, taking all
and giving back nothing. Bub the: ma
ture siren knows better than this. : She
knows that social success depends en
tirely on what each of us can throw into
tne common luna oi society;' mat tne
surest way to be considered ourselves is
to be considerate for others ; that sympathy-
begets liking and ' self-suppression
leads to -exaltation ; and that if we want
to gain Jove -we musnttrsGshow. how well
we can give it. . Her tact, then and her
sympathy, i her -moral:-flexibility:, and
quick comprehension of character,' her
readiness, to give herself -tor others are
someot the reasous, among others why
the society , of a cultivated agreeable wo
man or a certain - age is sought oy those
men to whom women are more than, mere
mistresses or. toys. Besides, she is a good
conversationalist, , She: has no preten
tions to any special or deep learning for
if pedantic she is spoilt as a ; siren at any
age but she knows a little about most
things; at all events, he knows enough
to make her a pleasant companion,' and
able to keep np the ball when thrown,
And men like to .talk to intelligent wo
men.: They uo not nke to be taught or
corrected by. them, but they like -that
quick, sympathetic intellect which fol
lows them readily, and that amount of
knowledge which makes a comfortable
cushion for their own. And & mature
siren who knows what she is about would
never do ' more than this,, even if she
could.,; .v.(Mt .i -(.it !-i::',!!ui1,:
.'Though 'the -mature' siren rests her
claim to- admiration on more than per
sonal charms, and appeals to something
oeyona tne senses, yet sne is personable
and well preserved, "and 'In a favorable
light, looks nearly as young as ever;- So
the men say "who knew her wbcTt.she
was twenty , ' who loved her then, 'and
who have gone on loving her,' with a dif
ference, despite the twenty years that lie
between this ana men. " uiris, maeed,
despise her charms because she ; is no
longer young; and yet she may be even
more beautiful than youth.-- She knows
all the little niceties of dress, and with
out going into ' the vulgar ' trickery of
paint and dies which would make her
hideous is up to the best arts of the toilet
by which every point is made to tell, and
every minor beauty is given its fullest
value. ; For part of the art and mystery
of slrenhood is an accurate perception of
times and conditions, and a careful avoid
ance of that suicidal mistake of which
la fermne passe is so often guilty namely ,
setting herself in confessed rivalry with
the young by trying to look like them,
and so losing the good of what she has
retained,' and -showing the ravages of
time by tho contrast. . The mature siren
is wiser than this. - She knows exactly
what she has and what she can do, and
before all things avoids whatever seems
too youtiiful for her years ; and this is One
reason why she is always beautiful, be
cause always in harmony.' : Besides, she
lias very-many good points, 'Vhany posi
tive charms still- lefti ' Her' figure is still
good not slim' and ; slender, certainly,
but round and soft, and with that slower,
riper,' lazier - grace which Is something
quite different from the - antelope-like
elasticity of youth, and in its own way as
lovely, i If her hair has lost its maiden
luxuriance she makes up with crafty ar
rangements of lace, which are almost as
picturesque as" the fashionable wisp of
hay-like ends tumbling half way to the
waists' - She has still her white and shapes
ly handsi 'witli ' their pink, filbert-like
nails; still her pleasant smile and square
smalt teeth ; her eyes are bright yet, and
If the tipper muscles are a little shrunk,
the consequent - apparent enlargement of
the orbit only makes them more expres
sive; her lips are not 'yet withered, her
skin Is not wrinkled. Undeniably, when
well dressed and in a favorable light, the
mature siren is as beautiful in her own
way as the girlish belle, and the world
knows it and acknowledges It. . . , , . v , ,
' That mature' sirens cau be passionately
loved even when very mature, liistory
gives us more than one example ; and tho
first name that naturally occurs to one's
mind as the typo of this is that one of
the too famous Ninon de l'Enclos. . And
Ninon, If a trifle mythical, was yet a fact
and an example. ' But not going quite to
Ninon's age, we often seo women of forty
and upward who are personally charm
ing, and whom meii love with as much
warmth . and , tenderness as if they
were ,' in the heyday . of ; life
women who couut their admirers by
dozens, and who end bymakipg a superb
marriage and quite an Indian summer of
romance and happiness. The young
laugh at this idea of the Indian summer
NUMBER 2. I
for a bride of forty-five ; but It ",1s true;
for neither romance nor happiness, nei
ther love nor mental yoathy is a; matter
of years; and -after all we are only as
old as we feel, and - certainly no older
than we look. All women do not harr
den by time, -nor wither, nor yet cort
rupt. Some merely - ripen and mellow
and get enriched by the passage of the
years, retaining the most delicate worn
anliness we had almost said girlishi
ness Into quite ld age, and blushing
under their gray hair while they shrink
from anything coarse, Or vulgar, er im
pure, as sensitively as when they i were
firls, Zajemme a quarante on is the
rench term, for the opening of tha
great gulfbeyond which 'love cannot
pass 5 but human history disproves this
date, and shows that the human heart
can remain fresh and the person lovely
long after the age fixd for the final
adieu to admiration, and that the mature
siren can be adored by; her own con-
temporaries when tho rising generation
regard her as nothing ..better than a
chimney corner fixture...-'--- i
. Another point with the mature woman
is that she is not, jealous nor exacting.:
She knows the world., and takes what
Comeswith'-all'' the11 philosophy that
springs froin knowledge.. iilf she is of an
enjoying nature and 6he ( cannot: be a
siren else she; , accepts such good .as
floats to the top without looking too deep
into the cup and speculating on the time
when she shall have drained to the-dregs.
Men feel, ; safe. ; with her, . If they have
entered pn a tenaer inenasxup with her ,
tuey Know uiat uiere wm oe . no scene.:
no tears! ho upbraidings,:iwhen ah lnex-i
orable fate comes in to end their- pleas-
wife as the,, scene-shifter.. ; The mature
siren knows so ' well that fate and tho
wife must break in between her and her
friend, that she is '.resigned from the
first to what is foredoomed, - and ; so ac
cents her portion, when it comes, with
dignity and in silence. J .When younger
ladies would fall into hysterics and make
a scene, perhaps go about the world tak
ing their revenge in. slander, the middle-
aged woman holds out , a friendly hand,
and takes the back seat gallantly, never
showing by "word or look that she has
felt her deposition.- She becomes the
best friend of the .news -household;- and
if any one is jealous, ten to one it is the
husband that is jealous of her love for
his wife'or perhaps it is the wife her
self, who cannot see what her ' husband
can And to admire so much in Mrs. ; A,
and who pouts at his extraordinary pre
dilection for her, though of course she
would scorn to be jeaious-as, indeed,
she has no cause. For even a mature
siren, however delightful she may be, is
not xiKexy to come Dexore a young wile
in the heart of a young husband. Though
the French paint the love of a 'woman
of forty as pathetic, because slightly rl-
aicuious ana certainly uopexess, yet tney
arrange the theory of their social life so
that a 'yOutb is generally supposed
to maxe - ins nrst love oi a
married woman many-: Tears his ' elder.
and. a mature siren finds her last love in
a youth. We have not come to this yet
in England, either in theory or practice;
and itls to be hoped that we 'shall never
come to it. Mature -sirens -are all very
well for men of their own age, and it is
pleasant to see them still .loved and
admired, and to recognize In them the
claims of women to something higher
than mere personal passion ; but the case
would be very different if .they . became
ghoulish seducers of the young, and kept
up luc uauiL ui iuvb cnuuigung ooyisn
hearts and blighting youthful lives. ' As
they are now they form a charming ele
ment in society, ana are or infinite use
to the world, , , They are the ripe fruit in
the garden where . else evervthine
would be green and immature the last
days or golden summer just before the
chills of autumn come ou ; they contain
in themselves the advantages of , two dis
tinct epochs, and while possessing
as 1 much ' personal charms as youth,
possess i " also - the:-' ' gains, '' which
come ,-, .by . experience - and ; maturity.
They keep, things together as the young
uione couiu ..not, uo; . ana. no garn
ering of-" friends is perfect" which has
not one ' or two mature sirens to give
the tone to the rest, and prevent excesses.
They soften the asperities of high-handed
ooys ana girls, which else would be too
biting; and they set people at ease, and
make them in good humor with them
selves, by the courtesy with which they
listen to them,; and the. patience., with
which they bear with them. . Even the
very girls who hate them fiercely' as ' ri
vals; love them passing well as half ma
ternal, half sisterly companions : and the
first person to whom they, would, carry
tneir sorrows wouia oe a mature siren,
quite capable On her own part of having
caused them. It would be hard, indeed.
if the loss of youth did not bring -with it
some compensation ; but the mature si
ren suffers less than any other kind of
woman. Indeed, she seems to have a
private elixir of her own which is not yet
drained dry when she dies, beloved and
regretted at threescore years and ten;
leaving behind her one or two old friends
who were once her ardent lovers, and
who still cherish her memory as that of
11 JS 1 i ..
tiic illicit auu uiusb lasciiiauug wuiuiui
they ever knew something which the
present generation is utterly incapable of
repeating.; .; ,, .... 'i-.;-
PRESIDENT WOOLSEY.
Last Thursday concluded .the adminis
tration , of Theodore D wight Woolsey,
President of Yale College. , For twenty-
five years Dr. Woolsey has presided over
the destinies of an institution of learning
which has exerted for nearly two centu
ries a most powerful influence for good
upon the men of our land. . His adminis
tration has been by far .the most eventful
and noteworthy of the nine which have
marked the history of the College, -
i When Dr. Woolsoy assumed the Pre
sidency xaie was Dy no means the great
College, almost University, that it Is to
day.' mere were then out thirty-seven
instructors, whereas now there are sixty-five.
-At that time hardly any of the
celebrated scholars, who now shine con
spicuous upon the list had appeared
Professor Dana, Gllman, Loomls, New
ton, Whitney Hoppin, Fisher and'Baeon
were almost unheard ot. iroiessor
Porter, the new President, was a young
ana oniy moderately success! ui clergy
man ; Professors Hadley : and Thacher
were tutors. The College then consisted
of the Theological, Law, Medical and
Academical Departments. The Sheffield
Scientific School, that - young American
giant, was yet unborn. There were none
of the now numerous post-graduate
courses : the lecture system, now so pop-
mar, was untried ; the scholarships were
few and the funds very unsufliclent; the
library was piere nothing as compared
with the present niagnificent collection
of ' nearly 100,000 Volumes. All this in
dicates the steady and great progress that
has been lrta'de it under the patient and
masterly guidance of Dr. Woolsey. ..
The retiring President is In his seven
tieth year, lie entered Yale at the early
age of fifteen, and graduated in 1820 at
the head of his class. j. . ;
After graduating he studied law, then
theology, then taught at Yale for two
years, and in 1S27 went to Europe, where
ho spent about four years in travel and
general study at - various -Kngllsh and
German .. Universities, t Returning to
America in 1831, ho was chosen as Pro
fessor of Greek at Yale, and from that
time to this has been steadily connected
With tlie CollegO.:i;'i ! " ':i: .'" ?
In 1840 he was elected to the Presiden
cy, made vacant by the resignation of
the late Rev. Jeremiah Day.
He leaves his high ofilce, conscious of
naving provea .worthy or bis trust.- The
College may count itself happy It is no
disparagement to President Porter to say
it if during a century's lapse Dr. Wool
sey s equal oe louua.
space. 1 1 w. g tv. 6 g. 8 m.'l m. 18m
1 inch.
t tlM $X00 $SJ0 $5.85 1 8J0 ( t-ia.OU
I 1.751 8.001, 65 7-001 j,. 17.00
I 8.50 1 4.00 1 6.00 8.S0 16.00J 82.00
I 8J5 B OO ?.QQ I 10.00 17.00 I 8a00
- I 8.751 6.501 a75 11.00 1 18.50 1 82.00
M col. 4.50 7.00 10.00 14.00 ( 88.00 " 87.50
j 6. 8.00 18.00 16.50 85.00 , 45.00
1 8.001 18-50) 16.50 ) 8i;00 35.001 6510
X " 10.50 16.00 83.00 8.V00 '85.00 " 95.O0
" I 18.00 M.US I 30.00 47.80 f 75.00 180.00
Tt II t. i nM. Yl .if tu in Lual Mlnm.. n 1 1 . I. .. .
ert for at the rate of 15 cents per line for first
insertion and eight cents per line tor each sub
sequent -insertion -
.Business cards $1 .85 per line perantiitau
Vnorlu . .1 ..I..-. i . .. .1 .............. : . i. .. .- .
titements before the expiration of their contracts
wiU be charged according to the above rates. .-
Transient advertisements must invariably be
paid for in advance. Begalac advertisements
ueptuaas ine expiration oreaen quarter
MELANGE.
Cincinnati. ' ' ' ,r "
:Vv.i ii:"1 ::. " ' '-'' ' ' "'" .fli
Ultl tne nnrspiTiRn vhn eraurnjl tliA
plain use soap P "
you sell, things has fell. ' '
One of the brightest pupils at the insti
tution for the dfnfTM1 rinmh -Dltv.
North Carolina, is a daughter of on of
the Siamese Twins,., tm:iMK nrfj ,a
polis, on Saturday,4n affirmation of .the
xi&nv v ucwciui, nts!viaviy9 ana conaeiu
nation of the XcwYork rioters, " ' ,J "'". "
;f r "Prwof rffl rtalv. n vi ' T J. 4. 4-!. a.i.
. vsuwuiOU. kV vT tUill IAF UUV till?
postage on this letter." ; 'Single or doub
le, miss?". ''Double, Sir" wlth a court
esy) ; "I was married last week," , . .
The ready clerk at onoe replies, .. ,.,1,
" Tis written on the writ "n.-n ist.''" 1
Joe smith's surprise when caller so, 'oftes man !f
A man died at St. Louis, recently, and
in
. uwimn UUH UC UCVd 1U1-
got a favor, left $1,000 to an Individual
. jrcnis utuure ran away -wius -ujb
Wife.. .'.'.'' . , .
ui u.: .j-i-Ti! tmiawa snu
The nhsmninn .1 TorprlnvI .1 r 1 1
abuser resides at Covingtonu Kentucky "
and hi nrm1ffifinnd ' h
r vu.-uwvuv a ac v V4LiOj, 1ULX
arrest and punishment seven 4 times 1ri
4-Vi.n 1fl.n4. A-l.2uA 1 . - ...
Tllft llnmhAv irtnmal Kk1tA. Ud rCJ
J j-i.isia TVi 1AAO.ls XSL
Idvingstone will be in great danger,, on
and they advocate sending aa xfpedhioft
A Western edihnri !rhn; t.mi-
much about xarmiug , anyway'eurgesta
that for fmrdp.n.ma1nnflr a MDfJw.. 1,..!.
with a hinge In.it, .would be. an improve
ment on the spinal column now hi .use.
iiw4c ciguiry csiiuiii gin settieu, tne
question of the' propriety of wearing4 ear
rings the other day by declaring that) if
It had not been'wicked?'. to wear them
"God would have made holes In our!earS.T'
i'rA: resident of Kalamazbjo writes to a
w ... viu tuwi uc M
take a school, as he has toughf S terms
wjuoui anu a attenaea A eouedgo A yrt tot
detrpi micliiganand,am,(i, yrs.ayage.l'
A French artist having been atked to
draw an allegorical figure of benevolence,
carefully sketched a bit of India rubber.
"This," said he, "is the true emblem of
benevolence. -. It gives more than, any
other substauce." . . ,
A husband advertises fchus i 'vMy wifle
Martha has strayed or been stolen. Who
ever returns her will get his head broke.
As to trusting her, anybody cab "do so if
they see fit; for. as I never pay.. my own
debts, it's, not Ukely I'll pay bw'kum
-i A Connecticut paper tells this story1 oi
a new boy In one of the. 6 uuday -schools' ;
The precious youth was asked, who -made
't.TlA Kpjllltiflll Tlflle VA
w. .... ... uuvuu Miuij anu if?
marked that he did not know,' as his Jpa-
i-cuu onijr movea into . sown, tne .aaj Dei
fore. .Jr), tR.., e ; ;tii up
. A terrible warning to young men am
bitious of .becoming., newspaper .report
ers is found In the fact that Henry Os
wald 'became thus connected with the
New York Herald, and In a ehort time
wrote another man's name so iiBtirraily
that he now graces a cell at the biggest
public house in Columbus'. . ' "'
Little Johnny's mother, reached -or
him with her shpper the other evening
for hooking the jelly, and after ' 'dusting
the portion of hi a pantaloons that fee aits
on, she was .surprised to hear him laugh
over it, aud demanded . the cause of i,
"I was thinking how I had fooled you.
It was Carrie who hooked th jelly;' ,u "
; t , . -.- A !! t-.ii-.;ij.fi bum
borne wag, taking a. comprehensive
view of the political complications of the
day, and animated with a laudable desire
to harmonize the various conflicting: '
ments, proposes "a new. departure". -Jby
nominating Peter Cooper, "the friend of.
man," for President and Henry Bei-gh?
I'tbe friend of the brute," for vice TPre.J
ident, .. - ,. ,-!!;u.ov c 'r 'iiii -qHf
The pavements are all hissing hot, the stf above1
ishrazen,. , , i- v
And every head's as good as dead "the sun can
set its-rays en;
The lewlank-kieJ ing skeletons go f talking pale
The list, hie l-'hot frying pans,' send hotter '
fancies through me. ;
I wake from dreams of polar lea" on wnlciT I've'
- been a slider, f , .-, ; ... , Rf f . .(Ji
Like fishes dreaming of the sea, and wakine in .
the spider. -:: ,,i j,.a.;Y us jftirga
While a vemior of oriwman'lRAifwli'Ui?a'
endeavoring to dispose -of tds.'Btock'ln'1
trade his poor old nag bulked,: -and .-refu!'
ed to hllllre an ini-h TbsHrim. ..ii-t
o - ; - - - . -."v.- uuai ,
commenced belaborhig the animal, with r
stick, when an old lady thrust her head '!
out of a window and exclaimed, "Have '
vou no mercvf f'V&.nu'tm ...tt.h
. .i ' "" u, -,cuuni -
the peddler; "nothin' hut greeus.VVllJ.j,.
The Washington doctors arc ! quarrel-' t
ing over the Cundurango 7 canceiverure.
The arrival of nL fVcoK
ador will not improbably result husplir- ,
inir un the mnNnil sniotSos ..
-jct r - . ....... u. UIO XSL!
trust of Columbia.; ven should the t-
called remedy nrovn a theanaiiHi, roii,.-
- " w vuuv .miui V ,
therefore, it will still work; beneficlalfv
ui uuwuig cue une sou more emphabi?
ically between emnirirjsm anrl arint.Kin
practice. : . . .. ....... ,,,-1 uiir .i
Mr. Thomas IVnrii'
couraged. His first wife killed herself 1
thirty-four rear m- nlm nan
his second spouse ran away from.him?
vvuouiupuuu 111 X11111U1S , t-1 A.
years later his third consort was drowned '
III 1858 his fonrth haliun.1. i-:n. '
nd ne, having been convicted of the1
va sent to prison ior iiie out
pardoned out. In another decade the'
filth n&TtnAr- Ctf hia )wnm mmtM4n.iL.lv.
disapprjared. and very recently the sixth
oi ms soui sougnt peace and
oblivion by hanging herself to a bed-
tials of the largest kuown couple in Ui !
wrrl.l vm HJlohra tin 1 Tho . 1 .l. . ......
. . ... . . " vv.ww.wvuu.. ....V .UU V
tracting parties are not known to fame.
The happy groom was Captain Martin
Van Buren Bates, the Kentucky giant,
and the blushing bride Kiss AnnafHan'
nen Swann, tlie No Scotia ' giantess. ;
Their collective height was yearly seven
teen feet; and although the oflioiatiuK ,
clergyman was of unusual statuns
"measuring three inches over six feet',',
he seemed quite like a dwarf beside Uieij
hannvnalr. Tliat nilo-ht rnll 1
marriage in high lile, ,. noY
Th law vers at TT.irt-fnivl i . r'r.v. ,a1
very much- "puzzled over a case which"'
hn.4 iiiRt. nriann tiifr .A .,.., ..MuMuUf
died and left widow, childless, but e-U;'
pwwug snoruy to oocome a mother, ffis v
will provides that. If the expected ehild
should prove o be a boy, two-third or
the property should go to him, and. on-"
third to the widowed mother; If, tm th '
contrary, it should be a girt, onlTm'!;
third ot the ratatn was o tm n lV' .
two-thirds to tho mother. 'The widow'1'
has, however, become the mother' of."
twins a ttar an.-l iri rl mnti t .- wilt -
qidre a wise man to decide how the propi
erty shall be devided. -'-t ,.ttv
:U
Tlie woman -n-lih enni-a In W ctA.
ach has been caught at last. Her name
is Anna Brown, her residence Onto. Jii.
Firestone, wider; whose i watchful - vwL
Annie nas oeen. tne some time,' bag .dw
covered the "Rnakevf or- :"what i it"
tliat would . protrude irom iter tnoutt
wnue sue was in convuituojia. 'l he lixw:i
tor was washing lier the other day while' 1
. i . . . .
oim ww mivuix vam oi ner "speiia, ma
. i . . .li ... . . .. .
lirvHoliio ajiYw.tlif .-. tr tin 1. &. .n .... wn
-- w... ...... .L ... ..V.. U. V .. . tl , I IT. -
scum ii oi vy ma vurou id prevent ner-
from swallowing it, and compelled her to"
diaimrm thA "ratiiHA' n-trVK mvMti l-t
be nothing more nor teas than a rtecw of
black lnilia rubber, that she had been ac-'
customed to slip down her throat, and 1
.1 . .
men iui ner convulsive movement!!.
raise up and let down again.