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among the sierras.
Agriculture Under Difficul ties —Frontier-Cabins— Wounding a Bear. Panning-Out—Cleaning-Up—lndian Raid—Manzanita— Wyamet. Crow Indian Mourning—Placid Aborigines—Killdeer—Pur- loining a Ham. From Our Own Correspondent, Atlantic City, W. T., June 11,1873. At last we are getting some good weather, and the mountain-region is becoming endurable, bo far as warmth is concerned. There are many piles of enow in the gorges, and all of the higher peaks in tho Wind -River chain aro cov ered with great fields of snow, which look ghost ly enough under the dark blue sky. It is no joke to see snow in June, and, though it may bo all very well to talk about, is, in practice, as dis agreeable as anything can be. To talk of raising crops way up here IS PREPOSTEROUS. A few sickly-looking turnips and potatoes may bo raised if great care is exercised, aud, when a man has succeeded in getting a potato as largo as a ben’s egg, bo feels as big as if ho had found a gold mine. But real bona-fido crops aro out of the question ; tho weather is altogether too cold, and the altitude too great. A man might just about as well try to roiso japonicaa on the side of an iceberg. Green vegetables are almost unknown, and a lanky-looking onion-sprout is considered a vegetable curiosity, Mon grow eloquent while speaking about it, aud carry it from bousoto house, as if it were a veritable trophy. All this may be pitiful enough, but it is unquestionably true. Miners would consider a dinner—such as almost any well-to-do farmer in tho East sits down to every day of tho world—the greatest “ lay-out ” that ever was seen in the tide of 'Time. Canned stuff is the stronghold of a miner, and enough old tin cans are found In the vicinage of his cabin to look as if it had once been a tin-shop. All sorts of stuff are put up in these cans, some of which is very good, and some decidedly the reverse. A amfEE’S CABIN is not the neatest place in the world, and, if it is sufficiently well built to keep out the snow and a portion of tho rain, is considered to be well enough for all practical purposes* A rough bunk occupies one side; a hngo chimney another; while two or three rough stools and a pine table constitute, as a gen eral thing, all the furniture. Of course, there are a few cooking “utensils,” and tin-plates, knives, and forks. Tho main attraction of the cabin, however, is a pack of cards,—called a deck of cards, —which, from long use, have be come lop-eared and flimsy. Games of cards are a never-failing source of delight to the mining population, and it is difficult to say what they would do were they deprived of this kind of amusement. A couple of hunters wont out in tho moun tains a lew days since, and found tho snow very deep. The saw nothing except an elk and A GBIZZLT-EEAB. Mr. Grizzly received a shot in the shoulder, *ud at once ran toward tho hunters, who stood xeady for him with their Sharp’s carbines. JHg came .within about a rod of them, •when, considering “ discretion . the better part of valor,” he turned and ran as if the Fates were after him. Into the snow he wont, and, though several shots were fired, he got off, and probably joined his kindred in one of the wooded ravines. He is said to have been aTorga bear, and this action on his part is something unaccount able. TJsuallv, when wounded, the grizzlies bo <come verv fierce, and attack anything that comes in their way. Hunters are aware of this, and jtor this reason tho two who were out together rtobd waiting his approach, and did not fir© their rifles, as they wore not sure they would hot be called upon to help one another. Tho grizzly bear is the most savage of any animal in America, and the wounds 1 have seen made by them upon . frnpnn beings were dreadful. The hunters have a -wjiplesome dread of them, and, unless they have a decided advantage, give them a wide berth. After all. there is a great deal of pleasure in GOLD-PIGGING In pleasant weather. The miners are a light hearted race of people, and all of them work with a vim. After the surface-dirt is removed, the ground underneath is found to contain gold, and the blue clay beneath this giound is some times called bod-rock, ’’.although there is no such thing as rock about it. The men take their mining-pans, which are made of iron, somewhat smaller and more shallow than a bread-pan, and into it three or four shovelfuls of dirt are thrown, when the pan is carried to the water, and the washing-process commences. Witli both hands the miner throws in water, at the earns time mulching the mass, and throwing out the larger stones, after they Lave been carefully washed, so that no gold adheres to them. Next the smaller stones and mud are washed over, and there remains a considerable amount of fine black sand, in which there are some coarse pieces of stone. The washing -is continued some time longer, when, at the bottom of the pan, are found five or six pieces of gold, varying from the size of a head of a pin to a solid chunk as big as the end of a man’s little finger. Of eourse each panful varies, some containing a valuable amount of yellow metal, • while others contain nothing at all. It is this ■ very uncertainty that makes this occupation so i exciting and interesting. Overhead are a long line of sluice-boxes, in -which the dirt is thrown, and a stream running through the boxes washes the dirt without fur ~ ther trouble. In the bottom of the boxes are -what are called “riffles,” made of pieces of .plank bored full of auger-holes. In these ■“ riffles ” a quantity of quicksilver Is placed, and ,every particle of gold that passes over the ■quicksilver is immediately absorbed therein, and At night the whole mass is taken out when the tubers “ clean up.” The quicksilver is driven by heat, and a nugget of gold is left in the jg Hen of the retort. Miners make from youb to xwEjnr dollars a dav Wd. if they could work all the time, or at least a P ortion of the time, during the year, would do * *ery well But, in this section, it is imnnacJKU to work out during the winter-sea son! and • f u Rummer-time, there is a great we tor. At the head of one of the guldja there'a ‘V re 6 which will he n 0n ? of haß already been in o. oration this spnng with auc ccsafni results. Ko'h»° can predict how much gold will be taken on£ bai the prospect ic very lair indeed at present, * nti miners the beet of luck, them deserve it. A few evenings since, A PARTY OF* , met three white men wh * **° r ® endeavoring to catch a horse,—they, in t bo meantime, having left their team and wagon m the road, T-the guns of the party, t* & eGneiderabl© amount of stores, being in the v/agon. The rea bMm got between the wagon e , will i e men, cut the traces of the harness', And rode off, taking with them four horses anri Oh o needle gun. The white men, who were unarmed, se creted themselves as best they could until the Indians went away. The next morning, as soon as th© report was made to him, CoL Brackett, commanding at Camp Stambaugh, sent out fifteen men of the Second Cavalry, under Lieut. Frank U. Bobiu *©n, to endeavor to overtake the savages, and, d possible, recover the stolen property. The - Indians bad fully . fifteen hours’ start, and, though Mr,. Pariah accompanied the party as guide, the trail was lost, and could not be dis • covered. Old mountaineers and Indians follow the hoof-prints of the horses on the ground, 4 called a trail; but, in this instance, ♦ the groundhad become hard after the late rains, ; And it was impossible to discover the least trace • or sign after the horses had gone three miles * from the spot where the depredations were com named. It was impossible to tell what Indians were the thieves in this instance, they, having escaped so adroitly and expeditiously, ‘_on the mountains are large patches of . , T MAXZAMTA-WOOP, *s*¥h lat first supposed was mountain-laurel, L tfpuiid my mistake on a closer inspection. L is gnarly and crooked, with a serrated lei y Ah.inch and a half or two inches long, and hah Ah inch wide. It lies near the ground,— fimL. *Ju# o .a vine than a hush,—and presents a neat appearance from a distance. It is the Bame, or nearly the same, as the manzanita, or little-apple wood, of the Pacific Coast, though much smaller—the winds and storms having dwarfed and stunted its growth in this section. As the days become warmer, the hill-aides are becoming covered with a beautiful green coating and our old and much-abused stand-by, * TEE SAGE-BRUSH, is trying to put on airs and look green and beautiful. X have a respect for sage-brush, though no love for it, and think any shrub that has the hardihood to grow on the elevated pla teaux and sloping sides of the Bocky Mountains is .entitled to words of praise. For thousands and thousands of miles, tho sage-brush, or ariemisia vulgaris , asserts its dominion, and, Hk© a poverty-stricken mountaineer, makes tho best show it can under adverse circumstances. It throws many a graceful shadow over unsight ly basaltic cliffs, and shows its pale-green foliage amid tho clinkers and gravel of tho yawning gorges. It is a spindling plant in most locali ties, though I have seen it, in Northern Nevada, assume almost tho proportions of an applo-tree. When Milton Sublette went through this country, forty years ago, ho had with him a half breed Indian named Wyamot, whoso mother was a Chickasaw. This man was induced, by some Crow Indians, to desert tho service of the Bocky Mountain Fur Company and join the Crowe. He had several children by a Crow wife, and lately I met one of them who was roaming about seek ing employment as a guide. This man mot with A SINGULAR ACCIDENT, near tho falls.of tho Yellowstone, somo two years ago, and ia now suffering from its effects. It appears that be was endeavoring to cross tho nver on a fallen tree, which reached out somo distance in tho water, and, while so doing, the tree rolled over, and he was immediately plung ed beneath the foaming tide. Ho struggled as well as ho was able, and, as he approached the shore, mot an enormous grizzly-boar. No sooner bad tho grizzly gained a sight of him than no became perfectly furious with rago, and at once charged upon tho unfortunate Crow, tearing tho flesh in shreds, and break ing his shoulder-blade with his teeth. "When he reached tho shore, ho was “ a well plucked Crow” indeed. Ho was faint and badly frightened, as well ho might bo; but, with a groat and determined effort, be tore himself loose from the jaws of tho monster, and made hxs escape. His arm is still very sore, but ho will eventually recover tho use of it, I think, and may como out os good as new. Qe tolls mo that his father, Wyamot, is still living near tho Crow Agency, near the Yellowstone, and, a year since, mado along journey up in the British Posses sions, going as far as the North Branch of the S&skatchawan River. I saw Wyamet at the Agency on Boulder Creek, a branch of the Yellowstone, some years ago. At that time the favorite daughter of Iron Bull had died, and a GENERAL SCENE OF MOURNING ■was enveloping tne whole tribe. Several of the young men had been killed while out on a war party against the Sioux, and they had brought m some Sioux scalps. The mourning was of a peculiar character, —the men cutting off the joints of their fingers, and the women tearing out their hair, gashing their breasts with knives, and daubing their faces over with pitch. 'When Iron Bull’s daughter died, ho burnt his lodge, killed his horses, and destroyed most of his property. The young girl’s body was swath ed in red flannel, and loft upon a platform, which was built on the top of some high poles. The death-songs which were sung by the Indians were of the saddest character. The low wail of agony would be succeeded by the wildest shrieks of despair, and this, too, at the dead hour of night, when the wind was sighing through the trees and bushes, and the gaunt limbs of the cottonwoods swaying about like spectres. I never witnessed a more dreadful scene of mourn ing, nor one which seemed to have seized upon every member of the tribe as this had. All of the red men of, the Far Korth have a comparatively They can generally take plenty of game; have food and sufficient lodges, which they prefer to ouscs; and, in fact, are well supplied with ev erything which is deemed necessary by savages. Their wants are few and simple, and, unless maddened by whisky, or tho dreadful passions which are evoked on the war-path, take a cheer ful and contented view of life. Indiana love their ease, and it requires considerable of an ef fort to get into a first-class passion; conse quently those people are, as a general thing, the mildest and most placid of thohuman race. To 101 l about in the sun. and whittle away at an ar row with a big hutcner-knife, is their idea of ease and pleasure; and no man ever used a knife more awkwardly than an Indian does while whittling; hut, at the same time, with all this seeming awkwardness, the Indians carve some really beautiful and dainty things. A white man outs from him, whereas an Indian invaria bly cuts towards himself, resting the piece of wood ho io cutting on hirt breast. At evening the air is filled with a kind of plover called k i T.T.nwn, •which fly about calling to one another, appar ently in the greatest glee and excitement. They swarm near a creek which has overflown its banks, and. after they have flown about to their hearts' content, congregate in the mud and on the greensward, where they chatter away and bob their heads as if they had a great deal of business on hand. They fly rapidly through the air, circling about, first one place and then another, and always in a great hurry. I cannot imagine why they "received the name of Killdeor, unless it is their peculiar cry, which sounds something like that word. I see no fat-hoaded and big-beaked ravens hereabout. Perhaps they are hidden away in the nooks and comers, awaiting the death of some animal, so that they can have their usual feast. These ravens are great thieves, and remind me of A DAB KEY I>* INDIANA who stole a ham and was going off with it, when ho was discovered by the proprietor of the house, who went after him. Ho soon over took the negro, and asked him what ho was doing with the ham. The darkey was somewhat taken aback; but, recovering himself in a short time, ho remarked: “He fact is, dis is wrong, but—if you won’t say nnflin about it, I won’t!” This seemed so easy a way of settling the difficulty that Mr. B took the ham ami marched homo with it. Two men who are working in Spring Gulch took out SSO worth of gold each on Friday last; three others took out two ounces on Thursday, at the samo place; so these mines are a long way from being played ont, and will probably YIELD MOBE THIS YEAB than they have for several years past. Every body in the neighborhood of Miner’s Delight seems to be in good spirits, and a majority of the men are going to work with a will. It only needs determination and labor to make those mines as productive as any in the Union. At present they are under a cloud, for some reason or other, but are bound to come out all right in the end. It is a singular fact that gold-miners will, as a general thing, quit gold-mining to go off to the silver mines, and, in consequence of this, many miners have drifted from this section to the silver-lodes of Utah. Bat, by and by, they will come straggling back, and tills country will be better than ever. Algebra. THE SARATOGA WATER-SPIRIT. A BECENT POEM BY MBS, WALWORTH, WIFE OF TUB MURDERED M. T. WALWORTH. O summer friends I who love zno well When rosea wreath my brow, Let your gay thoughts with pleasure dwell On mo while robed In snow. Twill rest your heart, o'erworn with care or joy, To think on labors that my powers employ. With ceaseless patience I have loin Beneath stem winter's rod, In mystic labyrinths, with pain I’ve wrought below the sod The wonders that reveal themselves for you In sparkling fountains, yielding virtues true. E'en as your dancing feet are rife With effervescent joy, That bubbles o’er an earnest life, Which timo cannot destroy. So I these dancing xountains lightly fling Above the toilsome depths from which they spring. Long ages, with untiring skill. I’ve brought each stone and salt. And wrought them to my purposed will. That doth a work exalt, To make in this new world a fount of health, Free to the sons of toil os those of wealth. And when I found my work was good, I called a laughing sprite, And bid her sing in merry mood Amid my fountains bright. Her breath remained, transfixed with magic power, And lent them life and beauty from that hour. Ants in Brazil* In Brazil they have a very disagreeable species of ants. They come in countless numbers, fre quently taking possession and overrunning a dwelling, when in their track, driving the in mates therefrom, and destroying everything eat able on the promises. When seen approaching they can only be stopped, or the head of the column turned, by fire; they will succeed m Dasaing every other bamer. A traveler alluding o them, says ! “ On ascending the Corcovardo, we discovered a colony of them crossing tho roadway high up on tho mountains. They were coming from above, crossing the road, and de scending on the other side. They came m a column three or four inches wide, thick as they could be packed, and rushing along with great yapidity. How long they had been passing be THE CHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, JUNE 22, 1873. - - - ? t . / fore we saw them is, of course, unknown, but four hours later the stream was unabated and seemingly exhanstlesa. We found it impossible to break the line without it being immediately reformed. They seemed to know by instinct the direction taken by those passed, and never de viated in the slightest from the proper route. The attempt was also attended with some incon venience, if great care was'not taken; for the stream never stopped; it kept pouring down, and in a very short time yon found yourself sur rounded, and in some danger of being overrun, if not captured yourself, it is said they will re move the flesh from the carcass of an ox or horse in a few hours, leaving the bones perfectly pol ished.’* LITEEABT NOTES. Bumor says that Stedman and Aldrich together are to make a book about Landor. —There is a report that Bret Harte intends to take up his permanent residence in England. —Anthony Trollope’s next novel wilf be called ** Pbineas Itodux." —Bonn Piatt is to write the life of Gen. Joe Hooker. —The latest London novels are. “ Willing to Die,” by Mr. LoFanu, and il A Slip in the Fens ” and “ Reginald Bramble,” the two latter nub lished anonymously. —Mrs. Mary J. Holmes has completed still another novel. —A London correspondent writes that “Ouida, ” the sensational novelist, has a celestial nose, a cross eye, a superfluously liberal mouth, and a cynical and bitter tongue. —Hepworth Dixon, the Atherumim states, will shortly leave for America, to deliver a coarse of lectures upon the Spanish Bepnblic and the new Gorman Empire. —The Princess Mathildo Bonaparte has writ ten a novel, called “ The Lady of tho Rubies,” which is much praised by her friends, as Prin cesses’ novels are apt to bo, and which will soon be published, so that the public may bo able to judge how nearly right her friendly critics aro in their judgment of tho lady’s book. —The Fail Mall Gazette says of Mrs. Grote’s biography of tho historian of Greece: “Tho life before us Is, in truth, first, a memoir of the couple; secondly, of the lady; thirdly, of the philosopher. There are at least three letters of tho lady’s to ono of tho gentleman’s.” —ln speaking of the causes which led to the late civil war, Jefferson Davis recently said to a correspondent: “I am preparing a work with all tho impartiality possible to mo. and ' after years of sober thought, which shall not leave the world in darkness as to my motives and to my conduct, or that of those who acted with mo.” —Mr. G. Ebers, a distinguished Egyptologist, has purchased, at Thebes, a remarkable medical hieratic papyrus. It consists of 155 pages, and treats of most maladies tho flesh is heir to, from an Egyptian point of view. More reliance seems to have been placed on exorcisms than medi cines, and no scale of fees is attached. —A New York letter says: “ New York is go ing to have a quarterly review which is expected to run the North American off the track. It is to be called the International Review, to bo edited by the Bev. Dr. J. M. Leavitt, and pub lished by A. 8. Bamos & Co. • Material for tho first number, which will appear early in the autumn, has already been gathered. President McCosh will bo a contributor, and I hear that Charles Francis Adams has promised to furnish a paper on tho Genova Conference.” —The Green Bay Advocate, instead of carefully nursing the local poetic genius at and abont tho Bay, makes for to crush it in the following un kind paragraph: “ Persons contemplating send ing us poetry on ‘ Summer Sweets,’ and sim ilar subjects, will please do it at tbeir earliest convenience, as we propose to make a ship ment of paper rags to the mills about the 14th of June.” —The British Quarterly has an elaborate article on the Monotheism of Paganism. It traces all tho religions back to the worship of Light. It even gives a diagram like a genalogical tree, which shows the ancestry of the various creeds. It makes Judaism, or the worship of Jehovah, one of the oldest branches, but does not follow down its offshoot Christianity. It does, how ever, trace Mohammedanism to a mingling of Chaldaic and Judaic ideas. —The most curious correspondence, perhaps, in which John Stn&rfe Mill was over engaged was a discussion which ho carried on for some months in French (a language which he talked and wrote fluently and admirably) with Auguste C*.mte, respecting women. The exalted opin ion which Mill held of the sex is well known, and Comte controverted it by maintaining that “ the intelligence of women amounted at best to only a small instantaneous sagacity.” —Tho first volume of the now revised Ameri can Cyclopaadia is in stock at the Appleton’s, and will bo published, by subscription, next month. It is of a much handsomer stylo than the old edition. The publishers are determined to keep each volume up to date of issue, and stopped the press on their first volume to incor porate under “Arctic” tho news of tho‘‘Po laris.” It is proposed to issue a volume every two months, which will bring the last within tho year 1875. —For tho preservation of old manuscripts wo have chiefly to thank our friends tho monks, to whom the book-stealer was an object of horror, ‘“This book belongs to St. Mary of Boberta bridgo,’ is written in Latin in' a work in the Bodleian; ‘ whoever shall steal it, or sell it, or in any way alienate it from tho house, or muti late it, lot him bo Anathema-maranatha. Amen.’ And underneath is written by another band: ‘I, John, Bishop of Exotor, know not where the aforesaid house is, nor have I stolen this book, but I have acquired it in a lawful way.’ ” “ Another of such subscriptions ends thus: ‘ Whosoever removes this volume from this con vent may tho anger of the Lord overtake him in this world, and in tho next to all eternity. Amen.’ ” —The celebrated library of the late M. Serge Sobolenski, of Moscow, is to be brought to the hammer during the next month. It contains a fine collection of works on America. It boasts also of a copy of “ De Dry’s Voyages,” said to be the finest and most perfect in the world. The collection of Do Dry consists of travels In the East and West Indies, in twenty-five folio parts, published between the years 1590 to 1634 in clusively. The finest copy of this work is that which was made up at great expense by Mr. Grenville. Col. Stanley had a fine copy which was purchased by the Duke of Devonshire for £540. The Fonthill Abbey copy, supposed to bo perfect, brought 200 guineas. The Abbe de Bothehn’s copy was sold in London in 1790 for £2lO, and again in Paris to Mr. James Lenox, of this city, for 12,000 francs. The Bussian copy to bo sold is in Latin, Gorman, and French. —Young ladies who find a difficulty in decid ing on the merits of their suitors will do well to study an Indian novel entitled “Miragnama,” published in Punjaubee for five annas, described as the tale of a highly accomplished, pious, and beautiful young lady, daughter of a King of China professing the Mohammedan religion, who had taken a vow to marry him alone who equaled her in learning and in piety. To test the proficiency of her many suitors, she had pre pared a certain number of questions relating chiefly to morality and religion. The book con tains these subjects of examination, together with the answers by one of her suitors, who eventually succeeded in obtaining her hand. There is no good reason why the competitive system of examination should not be adopted in the case of all matrimonial candidates of the male persuasion. Care, however, should be taken to reject those who have merely been crammed for the examination by husbands with experience as to the treatment of wives, and who would no doubt establish classes for indoctrinat ing their pupils with that cunning for which vile man is proverbial, and which accounts in great measure for the low estimation in which he is now generally held by gifted woman. —The correspondence which X sent you be tween Hayward and another about Mr. Mill has led on to other letters and replies which are privately printed and circulated and create con siderable excitement about the clubs. D. W. Christie, Esq., formerly English Minister in Brazil, getting hold of Hayward’s calumnious letters, wrote to its author a courteous remon strance. Hayward replied saving that he had nothing to retract. Christie then wrote a fu rious letter, denying Hayward’s right to bo here after treated as a gentleman. I hero that Hayward intends to bring this correspondence before the Athcmeum Club, and demand the expulsion of Christie. If this affair had oc curred in France a half dozen duels would have occurred out of it. Notwithstanding Hayward’s partial retraction, hia original letter is still be ing circulated with a view of poisoning the minds of influential people against Mill, and I regret to say there is reason to fear stono has been meek enough to become intim idated, and is likely to withdraw from the Com mittee formed to prepare some fit memorial in honor of the deceased philosopher. On the other bfmd a number of prominent persons' have, as a method of vindication, hastened to accept invitations to join the Committee—Prof. Bain, Thomas Hare, Lady Amberley, Mrs. Grey, Miss Cobbo, Mrs. Dr. Garrett Anderson, the Duke of Argyll, Lord Houghton, the Dean of ■Westminster, Profs. Tyndall, Hnxley, and Cairns. Art bar Arnold, Herbert Spencer, W. T. Thornton, and Prof. Fawcett wore already on it. It is probable that this Committee will issue a memorial popular edition of Mill's “Political Economy, and of his “Logic,” and propose* bust of la) in Westminster Abbey. But over the latteriuere will be a fierce fight with the or thodox.—London Correspondence Cincinnati Commercial LOVE CONQUERS ALL FEOM THE ntEItCH OP BALZAC. About the commencement of the thirteenth century there lived in the city of Paris a gold smith, who, having come originally from Tours, was called the Tourangean, though hia true .name was Anselm. In consequence of his great honesty and his nnnvaled skill as a jeweler, he became not only a proud burgess of the city, but was admitted as a retainer of the King, whose protection he purchased—as was the custom in those days. He built himself a fine stone house, near the Church, of Saint Eloi, in the street St. Denis, where his forge was well known by all the admirers of fine jewelry. But' 'though beloved by the King, pat ronized by the noblesse, at peace with the clergy, and with a chest firmly secured with a lock of his own contriving, which aaid chest was well lined with gold and silver crowns, Anselm remained a bachelor, nor had his heart ever flut tered with the delicious throbs of love. This was, perhaps, because of his early poverty; be cause when he came up to Paris he was as poor as Job, and, also, it might be the character of the man (for he was like the metals be worked in, determined and sot in his purposes, like his own anvil, and downright as his own ham mer). Also, he was timid, retiring, and filled full of poetic imaginings which, instead of being rendered into dis tiches and heznistitches, appeared in the chasing and chiselings of Ida jewels. Tho ardor of his nature found vent in constant labor. In the old days of his poverty, when he was a simple work man, he labored from morning to night. As a master, he labored still with tho same vigor, seeking new secrets, acquiring fresh skill, and inquiring after new inventions of every kind. The good folks who passed through tho Street St. Denis after nightfall, the revelers, or tho thieves who made the dark hours hideous in those days, saw perpetually the light of a lamp streaming through the cross-shaped loop-holes of the goldsmith’s house, .and the good master Anselm working away, tapping, hammering, filing, chiseling, engraving, burnishing, all hr himself, doors closed, cars open. Misery is the mother of labor t and labor is the mother of wealth. Hear this, ve swells of Broadway, who bum the candle at both ends and light your cigars with greenbacks. If ever ideas of love, if desire of beauty at anytime entered into the head of the Touraugeau, they were soon trans lated into delicate engravings, little golden figures, fine forma of silver-ware, with which he delighted the connoisseurs of tho Court. Add to this that Anselm was very naive and simple, fearing God first, then robbers, next the great ' lords, and tumults and seditions especially.. His art was the one thing of his life, and any other thought was quickly re pressed. Because of bis isolation and his nat ural timidity, tho priests and the men at arms did not think him very wise because he spoke little, and when he did speak his voice was low and sweet like ft woman’s. But he bad an annoy ing way when he addressed anyone of looking at him as if he was far away, being indeed gen erally abstracted by considerations of his art. Ho knew no Latin, but his mother French ho spoke correctly. He had learned among the quick wits of Paris to walk straight, to measure his expenses by his incomings, not to turn she grindstone to sharpen other people’s axes; not to tell everybody what be was doing, and to do what he said; to' keep his troubles to himself, also his money; not to stand gazing at the clouds in the streets, and to sell his jewels for more than they cost him. The strict observ ance of these wise maxims had given the gold smith so much practical wisdom that he had amassed a competency, and could live at hia ease. Many a man, admiring his wealth, and his popularity, and hia skill, would say, on seeing him »t his work-table, 44 By my soul, I would like to be that goldsmith, even if I had to live in the gutter first for a year.” But it would have cost as little to have wished to be King of France, and would have profited as much, seeing that the Tourangean was one of ten thousand. For his arms were marvels of strength—so square, so nervous, so muscular. When he closed hia fists, the strongest comrade in hie shop, aided by any implement, could not have made him open his hands. Isolated as an oyster, with the strength of a bear, the appetite of a wolf, and the digestion of an ostrich, with the outward imperturbability of a rhinoceros, and with shoulders strong enough to relievo At las of hia load, he was the perfect image of a perfect man. With all these perfections, how came it about that the house of the goldsmith remained with out a mistress ? This is what the critics asked. But did these wise gentlemen consider what it is to love ? Not at all The trade of a lover is not one suitable for a ousy man. Ho must come and I go, listen, watch, bo silent, talk, hide himself in a corner, swell out like a peacock, agree f disa gree, argue, count the spots of dust dancing in a sunbeam, seek for flowers under the snow, re peat sonnets to the moon, stroke the cat's back. five dainty morsels to the household og, salute the ' friends of the fam ily, inquire after her aunt’s gout, or ca tarrh, or rheumatism; say “You are looking well this morningmust please all the rela tives, must not tread on anybody’s corns, nor break the glasses: must bo able *to say sweet nothings, be lavisu in praise—“ How good this isand again, “Really, Madame, you look ex quisite in that dress.” And all these things have to bo done and re-done, and done again in a thousand different fashions. Then tho lover must bo clean-shaved, dressed in the height of the fashion, wear fine linen and metaphorical pur ple; bo ready of tongue, quick of. hand, slow to anger, enduring all • misadventures with a pleasant smile, burying deep in hia heart all rages and cholera, holding his nature in a tight leash. He must make nice little presents to the mother, also to the sister, also to tho maiden aunts, also to tho waiting-maid, also to Bob, the groom; also to Joe, who waits at table and opens the door, and who carries bouquets and slips an occasional letter. And do all this, do it well for a year, and if you slip up ou a sin gle occasion, good-bye to your lily-love. All is over with you, or has to be begun again. Therefore, the goldsmith, working at his table surrounded by the trophies of his art, blowing his bellows, heating his silver, burnish ing his gold, had no time to make love, or waste his . time dancing attendance upon a proud woman, and cudgeling his brains to respond to her fantasies. Bat the Toarango&n was too much of an artist not to observe the beauty of the ladies of the Court and the bourgeoisie who came to bargain with him for his trinkets. Often when some lady of resplendent charms would have coaxed him to lay aside some important work that he bad in hand to finish for her some toy that she wanted for her birthday, or some such foolery. Anselm would return to the Rue St. Denis full of reveries like a poet, more desperate than a nestless cuckoo, and would say to himself, “ I must get a wife. She would sweep the house, would keep the dishes clean, would fold up the linen, would mend my clothes, would sing uke a linnet through the house, would torment me to make her such and such things, would want things changed to suit her fancy, would say to me, as they say to their husbands when they want a bracelet, or a chain, * Now, my darling, look at mo with it on. Don’t I look charming r And every one in the neighborhood who looked at my wife would think of me, and would say, ‘ There is a happy man.’” Then the Tourangean would go on building cas tles in the air, would get married, provide mag nificent feasts, bring home his wife, would clothe her superbly, and give her & chain of fine gold; would make her the complete mistress of the household; would give her for her special chamber the great room above, and would put in it windows of glass, and fine grass matting on the floor, with tapestry on tho walls, and a won derful clothes-press, and an immense bed stead with twisted columns for the posts, with curtains of.price; then would bny many hand some mirrors which would multiply the beautiful form and face that he loved so dearly. So fast would the good man's imagination run that be fore he got to hia forge he was, in fancy, the father or a dozen children, the eldest girl already marriageable, and the eldest boy a famous gold . smith. Arrived at home, these visions would disappear with every stroke of bis hammers; his ardent imaginings, however, would find vent in hia workings, and would appear in fantastic de signs of beautiful virgins walking in woods, or in groups of children playing with monsters of the sea and land. The seigneurs who purchased his imaginings little knew now many lost wives and children went to those pieces of jewelry. Up to his 41st year the goldsmith remained a virgin heart ignorant of love.- One Sabbath day, wandering along the loft bank of the Seine, with his head full of dreams of marriage, he came unwittingly into the meadow land, which has since been called Pre aux Clercs, but which at that time was part of the fair domains of the Abbey of St. Germain. Walking through this meadow he stumbled suddenly upon a poor girl* holding by an old rope a poor thin cow, who browsed upon the herbage close to the pathway. Seeing a handsome, well-dressed proaching her, she saluted him. saying, * God save you, Monaeigneur.” Her voice was 60 foil of sweetness, so musical, and so friendly that AnHelm felt his soul vanquished by the sound, and imme diately fell in love with the girl, being, as ho was, possessed with thoughts of marriage at -that very time. Nevertheless, ho passed her without speaking, being timid to the last degree with woman, and it was not until he Lad gone by at least a bow-shot that he reflected that a mas ter goldsmith. King's retainer, and burgess of ■ Paris might make his bow to any fair lady if he felt like it. Having mustered up courage, he wheeled sharp round, and came back to the girl, who still held her cow by the cord. 41 Ah, my little one,” said ho, “you must bo very poor if you work on God’s day. Are you not afraid of being put in prison ?” “ Monseigneur/’ replied the girl, casting down her eyelids, “I have nothing to fear, because I belong to the Abbey there. The Lord Abbo* has given us leave to graze tho cow after ves pers.” “ Do yon love your cow better than your soul’s safety, my girl ?” “ Ah, Monseignour t this poor beast is truly tho half of our poor life.” “ I wonder, my dear, to see you so poor and so ragged, all in tatters, and .with naked feet in the fields on a Sunday, seeing that you are so beautiful. Have none of tho young mou of the city talked of marriage to you ?” “Ah, no, sir. I belong to the Abbey,” said she, showing to the goldsmith a bracelet on her left arm not unlike that worn by cattle, but without a bell. And she smiled sadly at Anselm, who became quite melancholy with sympathy for her sadness. “Why, what is all this ?” hs resumed, touch ing the- bracelet where the arms of the Abbey were clearly engraved, but which ho protended not to understand. “3loneeignenr, I am the daughter of a slave. So, whoever mil marry me will become a serf, were he a burgess of Paris, and would belong, body and goods, to tho Abbey; ana on account of this X am abandoned by every one—deserted and desolate, like a boast of tho field. But that which grieves mo most,” said she, shedding a few warm tears, “some day, when it pleases the Lord Abbot, I shall be married to another serf. Even if I were less homely than I am, no young man would look on me a second time, after he had seen this,” touching her bracelet, “forthe moat amorous would flee from me as from tho black death.” Bo saving, she sighed from the bottom of her heart, and gave a little pull upon tho rope, to make tho cow follow hor. “ And how old are yon ?” said Anselm. “ I don’t know, Monaeignour, but the father Abbot has it in tho registry.” This terrible misery touched the heart of the good man, who himself bad eaten the bread of misfortune, and knew how bitter it was. But this was a depth of misery that ho hod never dreamed of. He walked by the side of tho young girl, and they went toward the Seine in complete silence. Anselm gazed fixedly at his voting companion, and his artist's eye noted her beautiful features, her queenly form, the deli cate rounding of her arms, and tho beauty of her bare feet, which, though covered with duet, were small enough for tho slipper cf Cinderella. Her head was small and gracefully posed upon a perfect nock, all but the upper part being mod estly covered by her frock of villain ous material. His ' veins seemed filled with love instead of blood, and his heart came leaping into his throat. He tried to speak, but his love and timidity were so great that 1c was with difiiculty he could articulate. “ You have a fine cow ; ” said he. 44 Would you like a little milk ?” she replied. 44 It is so hot at the end of May, and you have had a long walk from the city.” In truth, tho sky was pure cerulean, without a cloud, and tho sun burned worse than the heat of a forge. The air trembled with lovo and youth, and tho gracious aspect of Nature came to the heart of Anselm with a hitherto undreamed-of significance. This ingenuous offer without the hope of profit, and tho modesty of gesture with which the poor girl turned to mako it, quite overcame tho gold smith, who longed to have tho power to mako her Queen of France at that moment, so that not only her master the Abbot, hut all France should be at her feet. “ No, my darling, lam not thirsty. That is, I do not caro for any milk but I care greatly for you, and I would like to gain you your freedom.” “ It cannot be, and I shall live and die belong ing to the Abbey. "We have lived so for a long time, from father to son, from mother to daugh ter. Like my ancestors, X shall pass my days on these lands, and my children will after me, for the Abbot will never permit mo to remain single.” “ What,” said the Tourangean, “do you moan to say that no gallant bos been tempted by your sweot ©yes to buy your liberty ? I bought mine of the King.” “ Ah, it would cost too much. And so those who see mo once never seek mo.again.” “ And did you never think of going to some other country on horseback behind some brave gentleman?” “Oh yes, Monseigneur; but if I were taken, I should bo hung at the very least, and my lover, were he even a groat lord, would lose more than cue estate, perhaps all his possessions. And I am not worth so much. And then the Abbey has long arras, longer to reach than my feet would bo quick to get away. And besides. I de sire to live in humble obedience to God, who has placed mo in this state of life.” “ What does your father do ?” 11 He works among the vines in the gardens and vinovards of the Abbey.” “ And your mothor ?” “She does tho washing.” “And what is your name “ I have no name, my dear lord. My father was baptized Etienne, my mother is La Etienne, and I am tho little Tiennette, at your service,” “ My darling,” said the goldsmith, “ no woman did over please mo os you have.done, and lam sure that you havo a heart full of all nobleness. And, seeing that you presented yourself to my eyes at the very moment when I resolved to marry, I t?ke it to bo an omen from Heaven. If, therefore, I am not displeasing to you, I pray you to take me for your friend and husband.” These words were uttered with so grave an ac cent, and so impressive a manner, that Ticn nette wept. “No, Monseignoar,” she replied. “I shall cause you a thousand sorrows, and shall bo your misfortune. Let it pass. I'm a poor serf girl. You have said enough.” “Ho,” said Anselm, “have I? You don’t know me, my girl, nor with what sort of a man you deal. Then joining his hands together, and raising his eyes to heaven, ho spoke out. “Imake a solemn vow to the Sieur Saint Eloi. whose pity protects the craft of gold smiths, to make two niches of silver, and to adorn them with my finest workmanship. One shall be for a statue of the Holy Virgin, if she will intercede for the liberty of tins my dear wife, and tho other for my patron St. Eloi, if I havo good success in this enterprise of the enfranchisement of Tiennette, female serf, here present, to which I devote my self, goods, and body. And I swear by mv hopes of eternal happiness to persevere with courage in this affair, to spend every doit of what I possess, and to relinquish it only with my life. And now God has beard my vow. and you, little one, also,” said he, turning to the young girl. “ Oh, my lord, my dear lord; oh, my cow is running away,” cried she, throwing herself on her knees before Anselm. “I will love you oil my life, only take back your vow.” “Let us go and catch the cow,” replied the goldsmith, raising her up, but without daring to kiss her, though tho young girl already loved him pasaionatelv. And so the goldsmith ran after the cow, who was soon caught and held by the horns, for he was so full of joy that for two pins he would havo tossed it up in the air, so strong he felt. “ Qood-bye t my darling. If vou come into Paris don’t fail to come. to my house, near the Church of St. Eloi. lam called Master Anselm, and am tho goldsmith of the King’s Majesty. Promise mo to be m this field next God’s day; don’t fail to come, though the sky should rain javelins.” “ Yes, good and dear sir. To come I would leap all the hedges, and wish I may be yours without causing any hurt to you,, even if it were at the expense of my future happiness. And I will pray God for you with all my strength, wait ing for our next meeting,” Anselm departed toward the town, going right on, never looking backward, nor to the right, nor yet to the left, as a man walks who is set in his purpose, and TSennette watched him going, fixed like a stone image of some saint, never stirring from her position until she could see him no more; and long after the burgess was far out of sight, she strained her eyes. There she remained until nightfall, lost in reflection, hardly knowing if all that bad been was not a dream. Then she went back to the wretched pen which was her home, and wae soundly beaten for being late; but did not feel the blows, being full of love for Anselm. As for him, he lost the power of working, could neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep. If he shut his eyes, he saw Tiennette ; if ho took up his tools, Tiennette floated on the silver plates, and hindered him from working; if he blew up his forge, ho saw her lovely form in the red glow of the fires. She was part of his life, —never to be lost, never to break away. Peeling this, he shut up his forgo and took the road to St. Germain to speak to the Lord Abbot about Tiennette. But on the way he prudently determined to place himself under the protection of some courtier; and, retiring to the Court, sought out the Chamberlain of the King, ■who highly esteemed him on account of some work which he had made for his lady-love. The Chamberlain at once promised his assist ance, ordered his men to saddle his steed, and a hackney for the goldsmith, and they rode together to the Abbey of Saint Germain. The Abbot of those days was the Lord Hugo do Senecterro, who was very old, being 93 years of age. When they were ushered into the Abbots guest-chamber, the Chamberlain, in a pleasant way, begged the Lord Hugo to grant him something which would be very agreeable to him. The Abbot, shaking his head, replied that the canons of the Church strictly inhibited any such blind engagements of one’s word. Said the Chamberlain: “Dear father, this good man yon see here is the goldsmith of the onrt, who has fallen desperately in love with a young girl, a daughter of a serf belonging to the Abbey. And I ask of you, if you ever hope to have your dearest wish granted, to free that young girl.” “Who is she?” demanded the Abbot of An. selm. “ She is called Tiennette,” said he, timidly. “Ho, ho,” laughed thojjood old Hugo. “The brat has brought ns a fine fish. This is a grave matter, and 1 cannot determine it alone.” “I know well enough, good father, what you mean by that,” said the Chamberlain, knitting his brows with disappointment. “ Beau, Sire” replied the Abbe. “Do you know the girl ?” So saying, ho ordered Tiennette to bo brought in, tolling his Secretary to clothe her in fine drosses, and to make her os bravo as ho could. In tho meanwhile, tho Chamberlain drew the Tourangean apart, and advised him to give up his whim, seeing that it was like to cost him dear. There were many young girls even of noble birth who would glad ly marry him, whereas the monks would make him pay a round earn for Tiennette. “lam satisfied,” said the goldsmith. “I have laid up a few crowns.” “ Well,” replied tho Chamberlain, “ you will want them. I know the monks. With them money is all in all.” “ Monseigneur,” said tho goldsmith, turning to tho Abbot, and speaking very softly but very resolutely too, “you represent hero on earth tho goodness and the mercy of God, who shows Him self so full of pity toward us, and is so gracious' to our miseries. If you will aid me in espousing this girl in lawful marriage, so that my children may be true, I will not only pray for yon every night and every morning, but I will make for you a pix for the holy Eucharist, which casket shall be so elaborately worked, so rich in precious stones and sculptured with figures of winged angels, that ti*ero shall be nothing like it in Christendom, and it shall remain a unique and lovely thing to rejoice your eyes and to bo the glory of yonr altar, so that not only the townspeople, but strangers and lords of far countries, shall run to see it, so magnificent shall It be.” “My son,” replied the Abbot, “surelyyou lose your Benftsa. If you ore resolved to have this girl for your lawful wife, then you and all that is yours will belong to the Chapter of the Abbey.’ 1 “ Ob, my Lord Abbot, though I have lost ray senses over this poor girl, and am more touched even with her misery and Christian spirit than I am with the perfections of her body, yet am I still more astonished at yonr hardness of heart, and this I say knowing mv fate to bo within your hands. Yea, Lord, I know tho law. But. if my goods fall into your domain, if I become a serf, if I lose my house and my rank as froo burgees, know,” said he, with hot tears of in dignation bursting from his eyes, “that yon cannotbave the best part of me. Here,” strik ing his forehead, “here is that which I have won by painful labor and long etndy; and here lives that of which no one, excepting God. can be lord and master save myself. And the whole wealth of yonr Abbey cannot repay to tho world what it will lose when you have silenced this. You will have my body, my wife, my children, but yon cannot have my art, for not oven fortunes’ shall induce me to give it you. Know yon that lam stronger than the hardest iron, and more patient than suffer ing itself.” Bo saying, the goldsmith, maddened by the calm, self-satisfied look of the Abbot, who seem ed resolved to have his crowns for the Abbey, struck, with his clenched fist, on an oaken chair and shattered it into a hundred pieces, as if it had been broken by an iron mace. “Seethere, great Lord, what sort of servant you will have, that from a maker of divine things, yon will degrade into a beast of bur den. “ My son.” replied the Abbot, “ you are doubly wrongVin that you have broken my chair and judged my soul in error. This girl belongs to the Abbey, not to me. lam but tho faithful guardian of the rights and usages of this glori ous monastery, and though I should give to your wife the power to bear .free-born children, vet must I account to God and to the Abbey. Binco there has been here an altar, monks, and serfs, id est, from the time whereof the memory of man knoweth not to the contrary, such a caso has never happened where a free burgess has become the property of the Abbey by marrying with a serf-girl. Hence it is my duty to exercise this right, and to make use of it, otherwise it would become lost and would fall into desuetude, which would be the cause of a thousand troubles. And that this should not be is of a greater advantage to the State and to the Abbey than your caskets, beautiful as they are. seeing that from our treasury we can purchase these things, whereas no money can buy established laws and customs. And for the truth of this I call as a witness Monseigneur, the Chamberlain of the King, who knows what iulinite pains our Sire takes every day to battle for the establishment of his ordinances.” •• That bit is to stop my mouth," grumbled tho Chamberlain. The goldsmith, who was not much of a law yer, remained thoughtful. Then came in Tien nette, clean and bright, her hair neatly dressed, having on a robe of white merino, with a lavender-colored girdle, and her pretty feet clad in white stockings with delightful little shoes. And she looked so royally beautiful, and bad so noble a carriage, that the goldsmith was petrified 'with ecstacy. Judge that the pair exchanged more than one loving glance. Tho Chamberlain, who had never seen so noble a creature, thought the sight was too dangerous for the poor goldsmith, so he gal loped him back to Paris as fast as the hackney could cony him. And before parting he advised him to think long before he went on with this affair, seeing that the monks were resolute to use Tiennotte as a bait to catch some good fish. And, in truth, tbo Chapter sent him word that bo could marry Tiennetto if he could resolve to give up to them his house and goods, and confess himself and his children to become slaves; also that the Abbot, by special act of kindness, would allow him to live in bis house on • condi tion of bonding over to the Abbey an inventory of bis goods and furniture, and paying rent, and coming once every year to live for one entire week in a hut belonging to the domain as an act of serfdom. The poor goldsmith saw dearly that this was the final decision of the Abbot and Chapter, and began to despair. Sometimes he thought of raising a mob in the streets and setting fire to the monastery, sometimes of in veigling tho Abbot into some secret place where be could torture him into signing an act of en franchisement for Tiennotte; sometimes of one thing, sometimes of another; but tho idea on which bo finally settled was to carry off tho girl and go with her to some foreign country where they might marry in peace and bo as happy as the day was long. For he thought that, once woll out of tho land 7 the King and his friends among the Grand Seigneurs might succeed In softening the monks and making them hoar reason. So he made bis preparations accordingly, but found on going next Sunday to tho meadow that be hod reckoned without his Abbot, for ho not only did not see Tiennetto, but learned that she was kept in the strictest se clusion within the walls of tho convent. Then Anselm’s heart was so cast down that he began to complain openly and loudly of the cruelty of the monks. And the thing reached the ears of the King himself, who in open court remonstrat ed with the old Abbot, asking him to yield to the great love of his goldsmith, and give an ex ample of Christian charity. I will toll yon why not, Sire, replied the priest. “ All laws, rights, and privileges are connected together like the rings of tho chain mail which your Majesty wears. If one link breaks the whole gives way. Now, if this girl should be taken from us against our will, and if the custom of the land should not be observed, soon the subjects of your Majesty would tako your royal crown, and in every place great sedi tions would burst forth against paying rates and taxes, which make the people groan." This silenced the King. And now nothing else was talked of in Paris save this adven ture of the Tourangean. Every one felt in terested in tho affair, and bets were made in every quarter about tbo result. The lords wagered that Anselm would give up, but the ladies of the Court wagered the contrary, and came in crowds to purenase trinkets, and to see tbo man. Anselm having complained to some of them that the monks prevented him from seeing his dearly-bcloved girl, the thing was told to the Queen, who considered it an act of detestable cruelty. And she sent her royal order to tho Lord Abbot that Master Anselm, her jeweler, should be permitted to see Ticn nette, whereupon the monks arranged that he might come every day to the parloir of tha monastery, where Tiennette would meet him under the supervision of an old monk. And every day she came dressed in greater magnifi cence, so that her beauty was set forth most ad mirably. The two lovers were not permitted to ©von tonch each other’s hands, and bad for sole consolation the joy of seeing and speaking to each other, but every day their love increas ed. At last Tiennette came with a smiling face, and said to her lover, “My dearest lord, I think I have found a way out of our troubles. I have learned from the Ecclesiastical Judge. Father Jehan, who is also tha Sub-Prior, and kinder than the rest, that, as you were cot born a serf of the domain of Smut Germain, and only became so by accession, your state of serfdom will cease with the cause of accession. Now, my lord and lover, if you will lose your lands and goods for me, I will willingly lose my life for yon. Marry mo, and wo will be happy as tho day is long together, and when I find myself about to be a mother 1 will kill myself. Then you will bocomo freo again in spito of the wicked monks, because it is the law, and also because the King is your friend. Anal am sure that God will pardon me • this suicide, seeing that I do it to deliver from slavery my lord and husband, whom I lovo dear er than life.” Having said this with much ani mation and many smiles, through the tears glit tering in her fair eyes, sbo stretched out her arms lovingly to the poor goldsmith, from whom sho was separated by an iron grating, os is the fashion in tho parloir of monasteries. “Dearest Tiennette,” cried tho goldsmith, “it is finished. Tho trouble of my mind is over. I am now resolved. I will become a serf, ancf yon shall live to be my happiness as long as I live, if it bo God’s will. In your sweet companionship, my Tionnotte, the heavi est chains will seem light and pleasant, and it will matter little to mo if I cannot call a single farthing my own, when I am lord of all tha riches of your heart. I place my trust in tha Sieur St. Eloi, who will surely succor us in our troubles, and will deliver us from evil, I will go straight to the scrivener and have him draw up the contracts and writings. And consider, after all, dearest flower of my life, that you will bo finely dressed, well lodged, and cared*for like a Queen during your life, since the Lord Abbot leaves ns tho enjoyment of my property.” Tiennette, in a tempest of tears and smiles, fought against this decision, and declared that she would rather die than reduce to serfdom ft free man, and, much more, a freo man whom sha entirely loved because of tho gracious words which he had said to her in tho meadow, whoa they first met. But Anselm spoko so tenderly to her, and told her that his happiness waa bound np in her companionship, and that if she died be would certainly follow her to the tomb, with a thousand loving expressions, that she consented to tho marriage, thinking in'her own heart that she could always kill herself if she wanted to. When this thing waa known in Paris, that tho great goldsmith had given np lands and liberty for the sake, of his love, everyone wished to see him, unit every lady, who could get the money, bought iv trinket, tint she might talk with liirn and ap plaud him for being so true in love. W’hon the day approached that was to unite him to Tien nerto and to slavery, Anselm melted all his into a royal crown, which ho ornamented with all his pearls and diamonds, and brought it se cretly to the Queen, saying : “ Your Majesty, I do not know what will happen to me to-morrow; everything within my house will be inventoried and hold by tho accursed monks, who have shown mo no pitv. Deign, then, to accept his. It is a feeble expression of thanks for the joy of seeing my beloved, which I owe to your goodness. Ido not know what will hap pen next. But if a day should come when my children shall be free 1 have sure confidence m your generosity.” “well said, good man,” said tho King. “Som® day the Abbey will have need of my aid, and I will not forget this.” The wedding of Tiennette was a sight to see. The Abbey was crowded. Tho Queen herseli gave her the wedding robes, and tho King, by iettere-patent, gave her a special privilege to wear golden ear-rings, which was forbidden to serfs by the sumptuary laws of that time. Tha Abbot Hugo pronounced the benediction, and tho handsome pair left the Abbey for the lodging of Anselm—now becomo a serf. The poor hus band had forged himself a silver bracelet, which he wore on his left arm, showing that he was a serf of the domain of the Abbey of St Germain. And as they passed, the peopfo form ed a doable line along the street, and shoutou “Noel ! Noel!” as if he had been a now King ; When he arrived at his door bo found tho iron* which supported his sign had boon docoraU-G with green Doughs and knots of blue ribbon, ano all the principal inhabitants of the quarter wor* there to wish him joy, and to serenade him with’ a band of music, and they all cried out to him, “ Ton will always bo a noble man, Master An selm, in spite of the monks.” They passed the honeymoon in the greatest happiness. Tiennette was delighted with he} fine house, and with tho kindness of the grea> ladies, who came to buy jewels and had all b« them a pleasant word for herself and husband At the end of the month, who should come it great pomp but the old Abbot, Hugo do Senec* terre, their lord and master, who, entering lute the house that no longer belonged to tho gold* smith, bnt to tho Chapter, said to the twtf spouses: “My children, yon are free, and qur of all manorial power; and I must toll you tiiai at the very, first I was greatly moved at the lov* which united you together, and so, I was resolved when the rights of the Abbey had been firmly recognized, to make you entirely happy, Anc this act of manumission shall cost you noth< ing. And Anselm’s house, lands, and goods am all his again, seeing that ho had such confidence in tho mercy of God.” So saying, he gave then both a little slap on tho cheek, which was tU', rite of manumission, in receiving which they fe£ at his foot, kissing bis bands and weeping fc& joy. And the news spreading like wildfir* throughout tho neighborhood, everybody turne* out to bless and thank tho Abbot. And os his return to tho Abbey, Anselm held the bridhl of his mare as far as the gate of Bussy. On thf road he scattered silver crowns among th» maimed, the halt, and the blind, crying: “Lar geese I Largesse to God ! God save and blest, the Abbot 1 Long live the good Lord Hugo !* And when hn returned to his own bouse ha znadr a new nuptial feast, which lasted a whole week. This fond couple lived together long and hap pily, and had a numerous family, who settled iq Touraino and became of tho noblesse. Nor die Anselm forget his vow, for on the first anaivop sary of his wedding day he brought to tho Ab bey of St. Germafn the two niches of silve* which he had vowed. Tho two treasures placed on tho chief altar of tho church, an£ were esteemed tho most valuable things in Hi* possession of the Abbey. Strangers came f;i? and near to see them, and the story of the lovo of the Tourangean and tho lovely Tiennetto wa? spread over all France. The moral of this history is that love conquer? ’all things—even tho prejudices and tho ousnesa of monks. —New York Tirnes. AT THE GATE. Outside the open gate a spirit stood. One called: ** Como in.” Then ha : Ah, li’ 1 could I For there within ’Us light and glorious, But here all cold and darkness dwell with us. n Then,” said the other, “ Come. Tho gat© is wide. 5 * But he : “I wait two angels who muet guide. 1 cannot come unto Thee without these ; [Repentance first, and Faith Thy face that sees. I weep and call; they do not hear my voice ; I never shall within the gates rejoice.* ** O heart unwise !” the Voice did answer hjmj ** I reign o’er all the hocta of Seraphim, Are not thee© Angels also in My Ilund ? If they come not to theo ’tis my command. The darkness chills thee, tumult vexc-H thee. Are angels more than I 7 Come In, to .Me.” Then in the dark, and restlessness, and woe, That spirit rose and through the g.:te did go, Trembling because no angel waUed before. Yet by the Voice drawn onward evermore, So came he weeping where the glory shone. And fell down, crying, “Lord, I come alone," And It was thee I called,” the Voice replied. Be welcome.” Then Loro rooc, a mighty tif'- That swept all else away. Sj>occh found no i. But Silence, rapt, gazed up unto that Fare ; Nor saw two \ngels from the radiance glide, And hue their puce forever at hia side. — G. E. Meredith. Photographs of Ancient Inscriptions* It will be remembered that during tho siege of Paris tho dispatches conveyed by carrier-pigeons consisted of photographs, which, having been reduced to microscopic dimensions, wore after ward displayed in a readable size by the eolac microscope. This discovery haa been utilized by a French Havant, in the study of historical monuments. He has caused photography to be taken of the four faces of tho Obelisk at Paris. Each of the faces are divided into twelve equal segments, which appear extremely minute ia tho photographs, but are reflected in convenient proportions on a largo screen, by the help of % magic lantern and a powerful solar microscone. Tho page of history traced upon the Obelisk caq thus be deciphered at leisure. The toilsome task to which scientific explorers are now con demned, of taking down and ascertaining the meaning of ancient inscriptions on the spot, will be greatly lightened by this method, which makes it possible to obtain tho information lurking beneath tho hieroglyphics of Egyptian and Assyrian stones, by photographing them, and investigating the treasures thus secured when the hardships and fatigues of travel ars over. 11