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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, April 16, 1865, Image 6

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[Written lor too Xew Yuri Dwwm
OUR BEAUTIFUL BANNER.
A BONG M-n > HE TIMES.
By J.
Cirleati'lfni baratr la licaliog »>gain
oVr lie cities wbtie rail ;ra ai : pu*:ed it
Aj»i there i e bright satire shall I t rnrnob r« main
Respite the be?e foes who ditgraeed ft.
Chorus.
W*ve, wave, flag of the brave I
Treason is prostrate before theel
Wav*, wave and o’er grave
Millions will a ess and adore thee I
Beautiful banrer, whoto stars ever shine
Like a beacon light far o’< r the wean,
Cfcming the numble to Lioerty'sshrlne,
Where all m<n may render devotion.
Chorus.
Beautiful b nner, thou rxnblem of might,
v er lane aaa o er wea ae proclaim tube I
A »>d wee to the nation tiisit values >hae light
Or seeks to insuit or defame thee.
Chorus.
BaantMul banner, with Victory erowned,
x* «»vp o’er the Union torev. rl
Ard rever agt fas nay a miter found
Tula gJozioQi iiaiicn to sever 1
Chorus.
gaunter,
OR
THE MAIDEN'S DREAM.
CHAPTER V.
The Delmars rode every evening, Hyacinth,
who was an excellent horsewoman, being al
ways of the parly. The day after Charles’ ill
lieis (if such it oould be called) the four were
assembled at the hall door prepared to mount.
The equire was already in his saddle ; his fine
face and lilvery hair taking a glowing hue
from the reflection of the declining sun. Hya
cinth stood on the top of the steps, the same
rosy tint kissing her fair cheek also ; the bro
titers were standing by the horses—Charles en
fugi d in examining the fastening of her side
sadole, prior to allowing her to mount—they
were very tender of that sweet, solitary girl!
Bertram leaned lazily against hit horse.
“All right, Hyacinth,” said Charles, at
last. “Come.”
She ran down the stepa, put her tiny foot on
Charles’ hand, and be lifted ber into her sad
dle. She guided, her horse to the squire’s side
immedintely, and the two rode down the aye
»ue, the brothers tl jwly following them.
The party turned down a read which led to
the Ni w Forest; it was a tide that Hyasinth
especially loved. She was now gaily chatting
io the squire.
‘ Bertram said Charles, abruptly, as a turn
in the read placed a leafy screen between them
and the squire and the young lady, “ I want
to ask you a questkn. Do you love Hya
cinth f”
Startlrd at the sudden plunge his brother
had inode Into the subject, Bertram drew in
bis sleed, changing color a little.
“I suppose,” he replied, evasively, “we
lx th love ter ; it would be strange if we did
not.”
‘ You misunderstand, me, willfully!” cried
Ciales, with impitience; “I mean, are you
ii, lew with her!”
■ Not more than you are,” replied Bertram,
sarrartvaliy.
“ But that would be just what 1 mean,” said
bis brother, frankly. “ 1 do love Hyacinth!
If toy father would consent to our union, I
would marry her to moirow ”
‘’Supposing the would have you,” inter
»• pted Bertram, with initafion.
“ Of course,” said Charles ; “but you ”
“ Net being the eldest son, I have no choice
in the matter,” said Bertram, bitterly. “I
taunot marry her, even If my father would
ccrwent.”
• Then, raid Charles, “ why do you try to
vriu her affections ? ’
•1 might return that questijn,” sail Ber
tram, haughtily, but with embarrassment.
No,” said Charles; “for you know, in
your inmost soul, that I do not woo her by
look, or word, or deed, My secret (known
only to my father and myself) is buried in my
h<ait, and shall be, till the time comes when I
c n sei k her for my wife, if it should ever come.
But you, Bertie—you are playing a cruel game
now ”
“Yen have no right to say so!” cried Ber
tram, passionately. “I mean no wrong to
I yacinr h. What if Ido linger about her, de
light in her presence, hang upon bur words 1
Because I am not such a cold-blooded stoic as
yourself, do you reproach me? If I believed
that ”
He pursed, confused. His conscience checked
Lis words before spoken.
“ Bertie,” said Charles, “ you must see that
lie is growing fond cf you.”
“ What! after yesterday, you can say that ?”
eried Bertram, in a tone of Bitterness and jeal
ousy.
•* Absurd !” replied Charles, coloring ; “ the
poor child would have been as tender to old
Fido if he had been ill. She is the kindest lit
tle creature in the world. Now, Bertie, I tell
yon [ lainly, this shall not be! L stand at
ptest nt iu the light of a brother to Cynthia,
and 1 will not permit her affections to be tri
fled wilh by you or auy one. Therefore you
must either withdraw your attentions to her
at eras, or I shall point out to our father the
danger for Hyacinth of your visit.”
Bertram was a violent-tempered man, and
(he justice of his brother’s reproaches made
them dtubly stinging. He burst into a par
oxysm of rage. He swore at Charles ; for in
tbine days the savage use, of oaths was not
oom id-red as it is now, degrading to a man,
especially to a gentleman. His brother an
swered angrily, though with less disgraceful
license of speech.
While the quarrel was still at its bight, a
man who had been lying amid the fern by the
» ; de of tie road, rose; he was on Bertram’s
side, and on rising stood close to his horse.
N-.w Bertram was in a rage, which he was re
sfrained from venting (otherwise than in evil
woids) by the holy tie of brotherhood—sacred
to Lite, at least at present. But when he saw
1!;« tall fonster rise from the fern, and stand
with racaut eyes stating at the angry “gen
tles,” his passion frund a sudden opportunity
of expression. He cut the poor fellow across
the lace with his whip, saying :
•’Wbat were you Iriog skulking there for,
jreu rascally poacher ? Be oft’!’’
Tue man's first action was to put his hand
to his stinging cheek and aching eye; the next,
to spring on his assailant. He darted forward,
seizxi the horse’s bridle, and would have
p illed Bertram from his saddle (for he was a
xtror g giant of neatly seven feet high), had
not tne young officer struck his hand severely,
and urged his herse forward The peasant was
thrown eff, and nearly fell, as ha stumbled
backward amid the fem. Charles paused for a
moment, aud called out as lie perceived it:
“ Never mind, Archie ; he is in a rage, and
shies not recollect you.”
He then threw a crown piece to the country
man, who, with an angry growl, stooped and
picked it up.
“It’s from the young squire, or I wouldn’t
take it,” he muttered. “As to that rascally
noldier, I’ll be even with him, or my name
isn’t Archie Wheeler.”
The brothers rode on, and Charles, overtak
ing Bertiam, said :
”My father and Hyacinth are in sight. Do
not [win either by revealing our quarrel or its
•arise. ”
Bertram, his passion a little cooled by the
late seer e, nodded a sullen assent.
“Where have you been?” cried Hyacinth,
cantering l ack to them a minute or two after
ward. “We couldn’t imagine what kept you.
1 was afraid Charlie was ill again, so i made
y*- pa turn and come back. Bettie, "she added,
how warm you look 1”
“ Why, boys, what has kept you ?” asked
ti e squire, ridiug up.
“ Bertie has had an encounter with Arclfte
Wheeler, whom he took for a poacher,” re
plied Charles, shortly.
“ ay, a true chip of the old block !” said the
squire. “ Those rascals, the poachers, are the
werse of the forest, and of all the neighboring
jaatlemen’s preserves. Where is Archie? —
what was he doing f”
” Lurking in the fern,” replied Charles.
“ Bertram gave him u cut with his whip, and
Jra made off ’ ’
Bertram did not contradict his elder brother,
bur. rode on in sullen silence, speaking to no
me.
“ I wish,” sail Hyacinth to Charles, “ there
were no game laws. I wish pheasants aud
partridges wire people’s property like barn
door fowls, aud red deer were as calves of the
Stall.”
“ Ch, nonsense, Hyacinth,” said her adopt
«d brother ; “you are quite silly about poach
«ra. If we hud no game, they would bo
thieves all the rame.”
“I don’t think so, Charlie,” replied Hya
cinth. “ Men who would scorn to rob you of
» hen’s egg, or of a lamb, think it rather a
fine thing to turn poacher. It is y. ur English
nature; gentle or simple, game is the tempta
tion for you all.”
Cnarles did not argue the point with her ;
he was med to hear Hyacinth's “ sympathies
Joi poachers,” as he called them, and kne v
they were obstinate and not to be overcome ;
but he turned the conversation to other sub
jits He ta-ked to her of London, of H.a.
Bidccns’ acting as -
wood's work, of a woxderiul automaton that
p'avrd chefs—and the listern d. amused.
Neveriht less, he could not help perceiving
that her eyes constantly followid Birtram.
ar d that when his brother answered the squire,
the listened to him, and missed that which
Charles was saying, and had to a-k him again
ard again what it was he had said.
Bertram never spoke to her during their
ride, but when they again stood by the hall
door, he tpiang from his horse before Charles
could do so, and lifted Hyacinth from her
saddle.
“Thank you Bertie,” she said, rather cool
ly ; “I had begun to think you had forgotten
I was alive.”
The supper-bell rang at this moment, and
before he could reply, the squire cried :
“Run away, Cynthia, .and takeorf your
habit. It is late.”
She obeyed instantly, wondering the while
wbat possatsed the usually gay and gallant
Bertram.
CHAPTER VI.
Tie next day, Charles Delmar confided to
bis old tutor the unpleasant scene which had
occurred between himself and his twin bro
ther. Congreve listened with a frowning
brow.
“ Whut shall you do if Bertram persists in
his n'tentions ?” he aeked.
” Point tin nu out to my father, and request
him to pay Bettie's Hanoverian debts at once,
ai d send him tack to his regiment,” repliocl
Charles.
“ The squire oould not do the former at
present,” said Congreve, who was Mr. Del
mar’s confidant wilh regard to business mat
ters.
“ Yes he could, if I were to sell the farm my
uncle left me ” said Charles.
‘ But then it would be you not Mr. Delmar,
who would be the victim of Bertie’s extrava
game,” said the tutor.
“No matter,” said Charles; “better that
Han allow Cynthia to be made unhappy.
Bertie would not probably receive help from
n e after our quarrel cf last night; but he
need not know from what source the money
conies.”
“ But it would be a great sacrifice for you,”
said Congreve; "I know you value that
quaint old house aud its picturesque pastures
beyond anything.”
“ Ay, and -still more because I have willed
it to Hyacinth at my death,” replied Charles;
“ and if 1 can never wed her— perhaps never
win her—it shall be hers bef..-ie that time;
when my father’s death may deprive her of her
present home. But, Congreve,” he added,
with some emotion, “ her happiness is my fir.it
ccntirleration. Though Bertram may call me
a cold-blooded Stoic, I would die for Hya
cinth.”
Congreve’s brow, contracted. He did not
sfeak tor a few moments, then he said :
“You shall be spared the sacrific-r if possi
ble—l might borrow money—nay, I will lend
you the small savings if my lie, rattier than
ycu (ball sell y our inheritance.”
“You are a very good fellow, Congreve,”
said Chaiks, grasping the tutor’s hand, and
[•resting it warmly ; “ aud if it were aay way
possible to manage without selling Heather
dale farm, 1 should be thankful ”
“I will do ray best. Charies,” said the tu
tor. “In a day or tno we shall see if your
fears and mine are just or groundless, and
then, if need be, we can speak to the squire ou
the subject. I will go to Loudon, and see
about funds to rid ourselves of this spend
thrift.”
How, meantime, was Bertram Delmar act
ing 1
During the morning he sulked in his cham
ber, endeavoring to forget his annoyance aud
irritation over a French novel At dinner he
wns so unusually silent that the squire asked
if he were ill, aud Hyacinth’s eyes were turned
anxiously upon him. He replied in the nega
tive, and Congreve called their attention from
him with (B itram -.bought) courteous tact,
by mentioning his intended journey to L indon
the next day. asking Hyacinth if she hud any
commit ions for him
In those days such an offer could not be
slights d with impunity. Hyacinth remem
bsrsd a thousand wants, of course, and the
squire 1 rughed at the labor Congreve’s offer
appeared likely to entail upon bin. But the
tutor entered each wish of the young girl in
his tablets, and declared no distance of places
signified ; and that (albeit his judgment of
fashions and head tires was of tie weakest) he
would do his very best to fulfil them all.
In the course of the evening Bertram asked
Hyacinth to sing to him She had a rich,
sweet voice oi great power, and sang well from
instinctive taste. While she sung he hung
ovi r the harp-is tord, gazing wi n sari. I wing
eyes on. her, and adding the burden of a sigh
to every song. The squire slumbered in his
easy chair, lulled by her voice ; in the window
sat Charles, holding a book, but gazing repeat
edly with grave displeasure at his brother. By
antl-by he called one :
“ Hyacinth, you have been dismal enough to
satisfy the mi st melancholy cf Corydons. dive
ne r ow a lively strain.”
“ What shall it be ?” she asked, smiling.
“ ‘ Cease your Funning,’ ” he replied.
In a moment, her clear, fresh torus rang
threugh the room ia the florid sweetness of the
popular song. She paused as she concluded,
and glanced at Bertram. Be had thrown him
self i pen a chair, still with that sad look upon
bis handseme features. Her fingers stole softly
over the keys, and she began in a rich pathetic
tone the meurnfnl ballad of “The Bewildered
Maid.” Bertram drew close to her side, drink
ing in the melody, anil as she sang,
*• They say that Id battle my Jove met his death,”
he whispered, his breath touching her cheek :
“ Happy so to die, Cynthia.”
She- in.ten d, finished the strain abruptly, and
rose from the harpsichord.
“ It is time to wake pupa,” she said, con
fusedly : and, cresting to the squire, she play
fully tickled his cheek with a rosebud which
Bel tram had just given her. He opened his
eyes, and smiled at. her .
‘ So, Cynthia, child, is it supper-time?” he
ask i d.
“ Nearly, papa,” she replied ; “ but I want
you to wake up and talk to me. We are s>
dull.”
Charles noticed, with a jealous pang, the un
steadiness of her voice, though he w,.s pleased
wilh the girlish modesty which sent her to the
squire's side.
Very tenderly did Bertram press ber hand
that night as they separated ; and Hyacinth,
with a beating heart, sought her chambsr.
Something of the love she had read of iu Shak
spere seemed dawning on her ; and she fell
asleep with her thoughts full of ail the hopes
and doubts which Bertram’s past devotion to
her and present touching depression were cal
culated to awaken.
Ou the following morning Congreve left for
London, Charles aud he having resolved that
he should ascertain fully what money they
could obtain to offer the squire for the pay
ment of Bertram’s debts, before they spoke to
him of (he flirtation cf his younger son with
his ward.
“It will also leave me still a few days to
make my observations upon Hyacinth,” said
•be amiable young man. “ I must be sure she
will not suffer from the separation before I
cause it iu auy way.”
“ But if she should, what their ?” asked Con
greve, hastily.
“ Then,” said Charles, with a sad smile, “ I
will try whether D.itiram loves her well enough
to give up the ambition for a great match
which he entertains, and to accept uer with the
dowry of Heatherdale.”
“ You are a generous fellow, Charles!” cried
Congreve, with involuntary admiration. “But
the squire—he would never consent to his sou’s
many ing a nameless gitl ?”
“1 don’t know," replied Charles. “Ber
tram is not trie one to continue the direct line
of Delmar ; and my father’s love for Cynthia
may prove greater than his pride. But, either
way. his debts must be paid ; and I cannot tell
you how obliged I am by the friendly aid you
are tending me.”
He took and warmly pressed the tutor's
hand. A sort of convulsion passed over C.m
greve’sface, but he returned the pressure very
warmly, and renewed his professions of devo
tion to his former pupil.
This conversation took place the night be
fore the departure of the tutor for town. The
nest day the squire gave a dinner to his coun
try neighbors, ostensibly in honor of Bertram’s
return, but in reality as a means of fulfilling
h s son’s wishes, and introducing him to a
wealthy bride.
Bertram had requested bis father to do this
very shoitly after his return ; and, though the
squire in his honest simplicity rather wondered
sit matrimonial trafficking in so young a man,
be had readily assented, the young lady men
ti< ned being the daughter of one of his oldest
ftier.es.
Miss Pope was an heiress, and also a
pretty aud good-tempered girl; but Bertram
had not seen ber before he thus sought an op
portunity cf wooing her.
It was to be a great gathering, and Hya
cir.th had been for days busied with th • house
keeper in preparations for the entertainment,
aitirthe domestic fashion of those housewifely
dr.ye. Of couise, the young girt was in happy
i. norsnee of the aim and purpose of the p arty,
t > which she looked forward with cbil iisti de-
I ght or her pleasurein diessing herself iu the
i> uut ful gauze leno which Felir ie had mode
her would, have been sorely checked.
Vny lovely she lurked ou the important day
wt co she entered the drawing room to receive
their guests, and Bertraru could not but c > n
paie her grace and beauty with the countrified
air and rather blousy piettiness of the heiress
(when she appeared),to the- great disadvantage
< f the latter. But mentally reminding him
self that “it would not do,” he turned hi
eyes from Hyacinth, and devt ted himself to
the worthy latk of deceiving the poor rich girl
with a show of admiration and love. He led
her in to dinner; he bestowed upon her ail
those nameless attentions, and exercised on her
ail those fascinations which had been so recent
ly Hyacinth’s; and Charlotte Pope, a good-na
tured, lively girl was enchanted with hercom
paniori. She had never seen any one so de
lightful as Captain Delmar. Ills soldierly
; r<smee; his splendid uniform (which he wire
at the squire’s nquest) dazzled her eyes; and
then his conversation ( o different from Mr
Chailes’s, who frightened her with his book
knov.ledgi ) charmed her. He told her of the
■a-biors oi Gertrany; cf Ibe disturbances and
peri’s life in Paris; on ! Charlotte listened with
meriy laughter and blushing cheeks, for Cap
tain Bertram's eyes and voice flattered her all
the tin e, aril compliments were neatly blend
ed with all he said
Slated at the head of the table, carving, as
ladies then used to do, Hyacinth saw it all, al
tn it she was so busy. First wonder, and then
iirei; ieiit jealousy, rendered her s> absent, that
the Justice who supported heron her righthand
mentally decided that she was a pretty fool,
wanting' in ordinary breeding.
The poor ciiild was thankful when it became
time for the ladirs to retire; but she had scarce
ly btea’hed after the relief, when Charlotte
Pope stood beside ber. all glowing with pleas
ure at. her recent flii tation.
“ Wbat a charming man your brother is,
Mire Delmar,” she said. ‘ Really, he is like
the hero of a novel. What a beatiful mustache
he has.”
“ Yes,” replied Hyacinth, growing red and
then pale. . t
“ He is not really your brother, I know,”
continued Miss Pope, “ only I suppose you lx>k
on him as one ?”
“ Ceitaiily, ’ replied Hyacinth.
“It is a great pity that twins don’t divide
property,” raid Mi. s Pope, “and yetif they d 1,
Captain Delmar would not hive been sochirn
ing. He would not have been a soldier, and 1
iove soldi rs above all things—don’t you?”
“ I suppose we ought to feel obliged to them
for defending us,” eaid Hyacinth.
“ And he thinks they will have to fight
again soon,” said Miss Pope. ”He says war
is threatening from the troublel stile of Ei
rope. Shan’t you be anxious if he has to gj
to battle?”
‘ Of course we shall,” replied poor Hya
cinth. with an aching heart.
II re one of the eider ladies, who al ways pa
tronised Hyacinth, j lined I hem, and MtssPope
moved off to talk almut Bertram Delmar to
tome one else.
Hyacinth was relieved "when her friend be
gan telling ber village news, and relating anec
dotes of the Court.
The gentlemen were in the habit of sitting
long in those days over their wine, and drink
ing a great deal more than was agreeable to
riie ladies who were afterward honored wit"
their company. Bertram's habits, however,
were nuoie continental. He was always the
fiist to enter the drawing-room, and, though a
little later that evening, he appeared at the
iea-table long before the otbeis dreamed of
leaving their wine.
Hyacinth’s heartbeat quicker as he entered
Would he come and speak to her—just a few
worcs ? Courtesy to their guests did not forbid
so small an attention surely ?
She was not mistaken. B rtram, a little
fiin lied by wine, was not as prmtent as he bad
iuti nd< dto be. He approached her, offered to
assist her in her task, aud managed to whisper,
unobserved by all. so many tender flatteries,
that the poor girl was bewildered by astonish
ment and pleasure. Misi Pope s looks of surprise
and disappointment recalled his reason after a
time, and be at oi.ee hastened to her side ; but
Hyacinth wss no longer pained by it; she felt
that beloved, and her only ; and rliis atten
tion to Hiss Pope must be, she thought, merely
bis foreign breeding, and the courtesy due to
bis fuiher’B guest; and from that moment she
fulfilled ber duties of hostess with a spirit aud
grace which won the approval of tire most
formal ard precise of the country ladies, and
made the evening pass off to the satisfaction
of all.
At last, the time of departure came—car
riages drew up and drove iff— adieus were
said, compliments exchanged, and Bertram
Lad placed the heiress in her carriage, and re
ci ivt d permission to call on her mother.
All were gone save two old squires, who
livi d too far < ff to return home the same day,
and were to sleep at Cbilworth. ’ Bertram and
Cl aries returned to take a pipe with them ia
the pallor. Hyacinth remained alone.
Alone, and so weary, so heated ! She leaned
out of the window aud iuhaled the fresh even
ing sir. How delicious it wa< 1 Ic tempted
her out amongst the flowers, to breithe it
in< le fully ; and she drew her train through
her pcckit hole, tied her bandkeichief round
her tin cat, anti walked out.
The glorious harvest moon had risen and
glimmered through the thick branches of the
elms. The jissamines and honeysuckles filled
the air with their fragrance; the churr of the
night-hawks -unded uionntououaly sweet,min
gling with the sighing of the Summer breez:
th lough the leaves.
Hyacinth wardered ami Ist her flrwer-bjds
in a happy dream. She loved Bertram Del
mar ; she knew now that he loved her. He
bad not told her so, but could she any longer
doubt ? Could she have misunderstoxl his
locks ard words? Inopossib'e 1 And Hya
cinth bi gan to build an airy castle of disoover
ii g htr kindled, and being really a princess,
with, weallh enough to endow Bertram richly,
and save him from the perils of war. aud the
1 ains of absence from his country. The hours
stole on ; the moon rose high above the trees
and cast a delicious light over the greensward
of the paik.
Thoughtlessly (more occupied with her vi
sions than with her actions) Hyacinth opened
the wicket, and walked into the park She
fcigot how often the squire had warned her
not to do so after nightfall, for the neighbor
hood of the New Forest was a wild one in
these days.
She walked benealh the old trees in the sol
emn shadows that fl ckered in the moonlight,
ai.d listened with a pb asant thrill to rhe low,
sad n.uimur of the breeze, and to the thousand
weird sounds that creep about the woods at
night. Suddenly, loud, angry voices reached
her rar. approaching her. She glinced fear
fully round. She was at a long distance from
the house, in a lonely pari of the shrubbery
shilling tie paik -railings, out of sight and
hearing. With a brating heart she shrank
into the deepest shadow, and crouched amidst
the fein behind a gnarled oak trunk, as the
voices and steps drew nearer. In her fear she
did not recognize to whom they belonged till
their words were audible.
“1 tell you, Bertram.” said the voice of
Charlss Deiu ar, “ that if you were not my
own twin brother, I would make you answer
for your conduct with your life. Did you not
see that poor child’s face of pain and perplexity
when you were devoting yourself to tbe heir
ess? Hyacinth loves you ! You have beh ivei
basely to her. I tell you, you snail marry
her Deal as she is to me, her happiness is
my first thought. I will give her all I have—
I will pay your debts ; but marry her you
shall I”
The voice quivered with passion. Hyacinth’s
heart stood still; she could neither speak nor
move. But Bertram answered—yes, it was
really Bertram who said, in that bitter, sar
castic tone :
“ 1 have yet to learn what right you have
to command me. If Hyaciutii lias taken a
fancy to me, I can’t help it. She is not the
first girl who has, nor will she be the last.”
“Coxcomb! fool!” cried Coarles. “ But I
have a right to expect a decided answer. Do
you intend to marry Hyacinth ?”
*' No !” thundeied Bertr.-.m, his evil temper
mustering even bis afftetions.
Hyacinth, beard no more. Bhe sank ami Ist
the ferns, unconscious ; smitten down by that
ci uel woid. And there she lay, still and pale
as death, in the quiet moonshine.
CHAPTER VII.
The servants had required help at the Hall
that day, and assistants had been found in ihe
village. One of tbe.se, a waiter at the vilUre
in, wi sobliged to return home tbatsame night.
Fortunately, his way led past the spot where
Hyseirith lay, and, by the same Providence, a
rabbit, darting across his path, made for. the
fern. Harry Clark could not resist trying to
catch it, ran after it. and thns cirne suddenly,
ns he stumbled forward (for the squire’s ale
was strong) on the prostrate f irm of Hyariath.
He uttered a cry of terror, scarcely believing
his own eyes. Miss Hyacinth dead !—ia that
very dress which had dazzled his eyes white
wailing nt dinner. He stoop-id down aud
touched her hand; it was stiff warm, he tho ight,
ard he strove to raise her; bur she was t>>
heavy for him—be was not sufficiently steady
on bi- feet to lift her; so he resolved to rue
tack and call a-.-is'ance from the Hail. B .r<ten
answered his ring at the door, and listened to
his tale with wonder.
“Miss Hyacinth in the wood!’’ sail he.
“Why, what could, have taken her there at
this time in the evening ? Here, John, Robert
NEW YORK DISPATCH;
ccme with us, and bring the stretcher with
you.”
I hey l urried to the wood, guided by Hirry,
aid found the young lady still i sensible,
i t ey rail cd her gently on the stretcher, which
i'-ri ter unately been placed ready in an out
office, to do duty as a spare bed, mid carried
her carefully home, preceded by Barnes, who
hunied on to call Felicie.
Tie astonishment and dismay of the faithful
curse found expression in a torrent of exclama
tion in her native tongue when she beheld her
yc ut g lady brought in. pale and insensible.
Biddii g them put the stretcher down in the
tall, erd get water and burn; feathers, she
b.nt over Hyacinth in an agony of fear, cdling
her by every caressing nanie ia the French Ltn
guage, ard using every effort fur her restora
tion to consciousness.
Very slowly the breath came at lost, and the
soft tote-tints returned to her cheek. She
opened hireres,,and turned them with a won
dering gaze on Felicie; then, as memory re
turned with perception, she uttered a low,
wailing cry, aud covered her fticr with her
hands.
“ My darling, my chill,” said the lady's
maid. caressingly, “ art thou ill ?”
“ Yes, yes ; take me to my room,” she re
plied. “Take me away, Felicie.”
“Mrs. Gurch,” said Felicia to the house
keeper, who had been summoned to her aid,
“do you think we could carry her ? She is
not heavy.”
“ Easily, ma'amselle,” replied the good
housekeeper; “make a sedan of our arms,
ma’am. Mr. Barnes, lift my young lady on
them.”
The old butler obeyed, and the two women
tenderly bore Hyacinth to her r<x>m. Here,
placing her on a chair, Felicie undressed her.
shile the housekeeper went for a c irdi il. Ah !
how trcublescme it was to demolish that struc
ture of hair and flowers which crowned her
aching brow.
Mis Gnich returned with a warm pos?et;
her young lady, she said, had been lying in
the damp. Her dress was all wet with dew ;
she might catch her death of cold ! Hyacinth
dirn.k it, and was put quietly into bed ; very
slid and silent now !
“ How came you to faint in the wood, made
moiselle ?” asked Felicie, as she tucked her up
in bed. A suppressed soli answered tfer, and she
added, soothingly, “ Well, never mind, dir
lirg ; don’t talk now ; lie still, and go to sleep
if you can.”
Felicie then signed to Mrs. Gurch to leave
the loom, taking her own seat by the bjd
side.
“Mrs Gurch,” said Hyacinth, faintly, as
the hi.usikeeper was going away, “ don’t tell
papa, please ”
“No, madam,” was the reply; “we hive
not done so. and shouldn’t, beoni-ie the squire
is engaged with the gentlemen, and could do
io good.”
Felicie sat quite still by her nurseling’s side,
wondering what bad made her ill; bit she wis
too prudiut to a.-.k a question at that moment.
She keld the young girl’s cold h ind, striking
•nd thafiog it, and sometimes wbi-'pering,
‘Calm tbyrelf, my darling.” when Hyacinth
righed more deeply than before, till the hand
bicame relaxed, aud the breath came regularly
nod softly, and, bending over ter charge, Feli
tie saw that she was asleep. Asleep, but with
a large tear on each cheek !
Maiveliog mere and more, Felicie put the
bard the had been holding gently by Hya
cir ih’s side, and stole softly from the room
fl he great clock in the hall struck twelve as
she descended the staircase. She bent her
steps to the housekeeper's room. Mrs Gatch
was stili there, seated by a table with a book
open before her; but ti e snuffs of the candles
were long, and the tallow guttering iu the
• fraught; for the night was • hot, aud the
housekeeper had her window still open. She
was sleeping over her book, but started and
uw< k« at Felicie’s entrance.
“ How is Miss Hyacinth now ?” she asked.
“Asleep,” repli-d Felicie, seating herself.
“Has she said how she came there?” asked
Mrs. Gurch.
“No, J have not asked her again,” replied
Felicie. “She will tell us to-moriow. It’s
the stiangi st thing though ! But, Mrs. Gurch,
are you not going to bed ?’’
“Mr. Baines siys he can’t fatten up the
hi use yet,” replied the housekeeper, “ for Mr.
Chailes is out of doois, and the squire and the
justices are still in the parlor.”
“ And Captain Bertram ?” asked Felicie, ra
ther uneasily.
“Oh 1 he came in more than half an hour
ago,” replied Mrs. Gurch. “ I wish Mr.
Charles had. They went out together at nine
o’clock; and I thought Miss Hyacinth was
with them.”
Felicie seated herself and took up her knit
tirg The moments appeared endless. The
gnats buzzed round them ; a huge moth flitted
ci ntii.ually through the fl une of the candle ;
the night was as bot as one in the tropics.
At length, the squire was heard bidding his
friends goed night; then he called to the but
ler :
“ Barnes, why is the hall door not fast
ened ?”
” Mr. Charles is out. sir,” he replied.
“ Out at this hour I ’ said the squire.
“If you please, sir,’’ said the butler, ad
vancing, ‘ we are a little uneasy. Captain
B rtiam, who went out with fir. Charles, has
returned and bren in bed a long time, and we
Lar something has happened to Mr. Delmar.
1 was just thinking aud saving to Mr Ber
tram’s valet, that we ought to go out. and see
for him.”
“Of course,” cried the squire, “there are
pcacli-rs about even now alter the rabbits.
Gai-paid,” he said, addresiing the valet, “run
up your master and ask him whereabouts he
left his brother.”
Munsii ur parted from Monsieur Charles
by the wych-elm near the pond more than an
hour ago,” said Gaspard, returning in a few
Btcouds.
'The squire, now thoroughly alarmed, hastily
summoned the men servants to bring Lvaterns
and follow him, and they left the Hilt in
search of its heir. The women, greatly
alarmed, waited anxiously for the result of the
search. The gray dawn broke ia the Eist,
and still the seekers had not returned.
“ Wbat can possess Captain Bertram not to
get up and join in the seaich ?” said Felicie.
As lis name was spoken he appeared, put
ting his Lead into the. housekeeper's room as
i.e passed, and asking if Mr. Charles were c me
in yet. He turned away with a muttered oath
as they n plied in the negative.
‘• W hat a white, neared faze he has!” said
Felicie. “ Has he drunk too mucii wine ?”
"Oh, no,” was the reply. “Captain Ber
tram never drinks ; but no wonder he Links
frightened. lam nae something must have
ba; [li ned tri Mr. Chailes, and they are twin
brothers, yon know.”
The moinii-g brightened with the rising sun,
and Baines at last appeared. The pale women
hurried to meet him.
“Have they found him?” asked both in a
breath.
“No,” replied Bines, mournfully, “only
bis hat, crushed and bloodstained. The sqaire
was took with a fit when he saw it. Grepard
found it just as Captain Bertram came up.
The captain has sent me on for the stretcher to
bring master home.”
“Good Heaven!" cried Mrs. Gurch, lifting
up her hands and eyes, “ the poor young gen
tleman must be murdered.”
“ Not a doubt on’t; not a doubt on’t," said ’
Barnes, shaking his head; “ but let us get the
-tretcher; 1 can carry it back with the stable
boy; Robert is gone for Doctor Semmes, and
you had better get the squire’s room ready.
Mis Gurch, meanwhile. They are all now
searching for the body.”
Mrs. Gi.rch acquiesced in his suggestion and
hastened off to order hot water, and place
brandy ready for use, sobbing bitterly as she
did so.
Felicie, meantime, worn and haggard, stole
to Hyacinth’s chamber-door, and peeped into
the room. The young girl was still iwteep.
Asleep, aud her truest and best friend lost, and
the shado vs of evil closing around her path !
“I word-r what caused her to faint!’’
thought the Frenchwoman. “ Can she know
aught of this daik mystery ? But h:>w foolish
1 am. What sicked thoughts the Evil One
puts into my head to-night How should she
know ?” she added, as she closed the door on
the sleeper.
CHAPTER VIII.
Who does not know the strange, dull sense
of pain peculiar to first waking after some great
sr.now ? How dim the remembrance of it be
fore memory has quite asserted its power; h»w
terrible the foreshadowing of it even when oar
mind is still half under the power of oblivion,
'ollyacivih awoke for the first time in her
young life with a faint impression of wrong,
ind of pain to be encountered. As she rose
from her [ Blow, atd pressed ber hand upon
her troubled brow, st e was startled by seeing
Felicie seated beside her bed, looking very
much worn and haggard af er that exciting
night wa'ch. Something in the expression of
the Frenchwoman’s counteuanoe made a goi-d
preparation for the tragic tidings she haff to
communicate.
“Filiiie!” cried the young girl, alarmed,
“ wliat is the matter ?”
“Alai! mademoiselle 1” she replied, “much
orr w.”
• What is it? what has happened? ’ gasped
Hyariinh. a terrible recolleciion—a ghastly
fear—suddenly springing np in her mind.
“ Madimoivclle,” raid Felicie, “Mr. Chailes
has disappt ared, and they cannot find him any ■
vheie. He went cut last night later wi ha s
blether. Captain Bertram parted from him at
the pend, ar d be has not been seen since.”
Hyacinth listened with a face blanched to a
di acly whiter ess, her hi’ge blue eyes opened
wide, and fixed with a gaze of honor cn Felt
cie. And thus she sat as if turned to stone,
even after Felicie had ceased speaking. Fe
licie was terrified ; she laid her hand on her
; young lady's shoulder, and shook her, ex
■ claiming,
‘■Mademoiselle, mademoiselle speak to
me I”
Hyacinth answered by a low wail very bit
ter— like one whose last hope has perished, and
Felicie was greatly alarmed.
“ Mademoiselle, I implore yon to speak to
me !” she cried. “ Nay. perhaps Mr Charles
will return after all !” she added, to compose
her.
“ No, no,” sobbed Hyacinth, hysterically,
“ he is murdered—wickedly murdered !”
“ Mademoiselle, do you know? Speak then!"
she exclaimed. “Do you know anything
about it?”
“I heard them,” said Hyacinth, in a tone
of horror, shuddering all over “ I heard them
quarrelling.”
“ Who?” cried Felicie, breathlessly.
“ Charles and Bertie !” she replied. “Oh,
Charles! oh, my brother! for me—for me—fir
my sake! Oh Felicie. he cannot be so wicked
like Cain. Oh, speak to me ! Tell me Bar
tie did not kill him !” said the poor girl, cling
ing round her faithful nurse’s neck In a trans
port of agony and fear.
“Eh, calm thyself, my darling,” slid the
Frenchwoman, soothingly, though she was
very pale herself. “Ir surely cannot be ! It
is too dreadful. Perhaps it may prove after
all that Monsier Charles is alive. I have
heard of people disappearing for a time, and
being found, and not many hours have gone
by yet.”
She dared not speak of the discovery of the
hat; the wild horror of the poor girl alarmed
her for Hyacinth’s reason.
“No, no,” gasped Hyacinth ; “oh, this
horror—this fear L“t me get up—let me run
to papa,” the cried, springing wildly out of
bed.
• Mademoiselle,” said Felicie, gently, as
Hyacinth, with trembling hands, wa-s patting
on her dressing-gown, “ you cannot go to
monsieur directly. Doctor Beuimes is with
him ”
• Dr. Semmes!” she exclaimed. “Is he
ill ? ’
“Alas! yes,” replied Felicie. “He has had
what yen call a ‘s’reke.’ ”
Felicie hop< <1 a new subject for thought and
arxiety might overpower the shock which
caused the poor girl to tremble stiii from head
to foot.
“A stroke !” she cried. “ Oh, my poor dear
papa I Dees he suspect—does he know—”
And her teeth chattered as she vainly en
diavi red to finish her question.
“ Eh, no ! not the horror tnat mademoiselle
fears,’ replied Felicie, and she herself shud
der! d; “ but the squire is old, and loves his
son, and the fear of his death has been too
mush fur him.’
“ Oh Felicie ! ’ cried the poor girl, pressing
bsr hand cn her heart,” ■■ may be never know
the sis k horror I feel at this minute.”
“ AV bat reason has mademoiselle ” be-
gan Felicie; but Hyacinth laid her hand on her
mouth.
“ Huth ! don’t ask me,’’ she whispered; “ I
trust net tell you. Dear. gsxxi Felicie, don’t
ufk me. Help tie to drees, and let me go to
paps.”
Hyacinth was obliged to sit down many
times, shuddering violently, before her toilette
could be acsxsmplisbeu ausi it was not till a
violent flood of tears had relieved her that she
was able to leave her room. Before she left it
she turned to Felicie and whi. peled,
“Don’t tell any one what I have said, my
Felicie, for pos r Miss Diana s sake.”
“No, no, m7 sweet young laiy, never,”
said Felicie, taking her hand and kissing it.
“A Frenchwoman knows what belongs to the
henor of an old family; to the race she serves.
Ah, my poor child, you may trustfully in your
Felicie.”
“But I cannot fill you more now, not now,
Felicie,” said the young girl, with feverish
haste; “ they might question you ”
And again a low, Litter wail burst from her
lips.
Felicie hurried the poor girl to the stricken
father s chamber ; she believed that, once in it,
Hayacinth would be roused from the terrible
cppKSsion of her fear and suspicion by the
>.< ed of caring for and watching over her adopt
ed parent.
bite was right; Hyacinth’s tears flowed at
the sight of the pale, drawn face of the squire,
but they were more gentle drops than those
burning ones of agony and horror which had
fallen previously.
The squire was condone now ; he knew her,
and tried to welcome her by a feeble gesture,
and an attempt at a smile. She bent over bitn ;
kitted him tei.deilv, and whispered words of
ct n fort to him. Then, taking her seat beside
him, she prepared to do her best, lovingly and
ccutagecusly, as bis nurse.
The dear, kind old man ! Very fondly she
loved him : very gratefully she returned the
generous protection he bad givrn her. Tait
blessed need t.f forgetting self for others, how
often does ir, staunch the wounds that would
cthciwise bl. • d to death ! Mmciful b ind of
human affection w bich enforces forgetfulne h of
sell! Hyacinth’s whole thought b.uvne ab
sorbed shortly in the needs and cares of the in
valid.
Happily, Bertram, still employed in vain
setoch tor Li-, brother, did not enter the sick
chamber for some hows. When he did look
ing vyy ; ale and weary Hya i >th had a re
turn ot the same shuddering. Ha observed it
with st me surprise, but a very few winds pass
ed between them, nor wao he allo wed t-r remain
long. His pretence agitated the squire.
A long, anxious night’s vigil—another weary
day—during which iltaciu-h refused to take
any rest—a Eeci t d night of anxious nur-ing,
at d vain hope for some news of the lost one ;
and then Felicie used her ancient authority
ever her young lady, aud insisted upon her
g< ir g to bed
filet p is an imperative need in early youth ;
scarcely anything con banieh it from young eye
lids very long, and Hyacinth, overpowered by
it, at last consented to leave her post to Felicie
for a few hours. The good French worn tn
placed her in bed, darkened the room, and left
her, certain that sbe would soon be soothed
and renova'ed by quiet slumber. N j mother
c> uld be more tender or anxious than Felicie
war for hir nor ling of old days. Heaving her
thi s she went to take up her own post in the
sick room.
The eqi ire lay very still, the house was pro
f. undly Lushed, the windows were open, and
the sultry air stole in laden with the scent of
honrysr ckle and mignonette. The silence and
stillness—the regular ticking of the old clock
after* d Felicie greatly. It made her spirits
attentive and thoughtful beyond her wont and
she went carefully over in her mind the recent
events in theaffiiced household. She remain
Len d her own and Mrs. Gatch's wonder at
Fr-rtram’s slowness in joining in the search for
his brother, his paleface when he did descend
from his r< om, the fact ' I the brothers going
cut together, and the your;ger returning alone,
which she rhonghtso singular. Why had they
se; mated ? Then she recalled Hvacinth’s being
found insensible, her horror at Charles's disap
pearance, her manifest suspicion that he had
been murdered by his brother “ for her sake.”
Felicie shuddered. Surely Hyacinth’s swoon
must have had some fearful cause! But why
“ for her sake ?” A suspicion cf the love oc
both brothers for her charge had once before
crossed Felicie’s mind ; it recurred, now, with
a horrible vividness.
“It is awful! it is terrible!” she thought;
“but such things have Ireer. before. There wae
such a story in ti e great P family, own
c< mins to my former lady, Madame la Com tesse
de . Well, I suppose in a great family
there is need to hush up these things. Doubt
less it was done in a sudden fit. of pa-sioa— ce
Dertrcm wars ill t mrered ad jealous from a
bey: also he gains by it! He will be heirnow,
and Gaspard tells me he is iu debt—that he is
net dy, and by this crime he will gain a fine
property and the p sition of elder son. Alas!
if it. be true—and be has* human heart —what
will become of lim hereafter ! But how if the
good Gcd in Hie justice brings it to light ?”
Fi litre shuddered as she thought: of it; the
public expt sure and shame were especially
dreadful to the mind cf one trained to cire for
the honor of the family she served.
But her reverie was dis'urbed by a slight
movement cf the squire. She looked down on
l im, and perceived tl at bis eyes were open.
He made a gesture wiih the hand he could
move for her to bend down ; she obeyed, and
he murmered, in a thick whisper, “ Congreve !
bring Congreve.”
“ Ah, to be sure!” thought Felicie; “hets
trended now, if ever. 1 will go and bll them
send for him, monsieur.” sberaid, aloud “Oh,
Monsieur Congreve will set us all right yet.”
Openir g the chamber door, she beckoned to
a footman who sat outside, in attendance for
orders, and asked him if he knew whether
Captain Bertram had sent for Mr. Congreve
Hi Lett r< pb’ed that the captain had nut; he
was tio bi sy scorning the country in search of
his brother to think of ir,; bit Dr. Soutines
1 ad written for him immediately, well know
ing 1 ow used the squire was to bi n.
“And I shouldn’t wonder, CLa’amselle,”
added Robert, “If be were to arrive to- night.* ’
Felicie stole back to the bedside, an wu.s
pired to her patient, “Monsieur Congreves
cornu g.”
Ag,< am of sat refaction at the tidings passed
over the squire s face.
Mr. Cor greve did arrive that evening, in a
state of great distress aud astonishment at the
tidings which had been sent to him. H ■ hid
a long interview with Bertram ; he examined
i i ery s r vant in the house ; he at once enlisted
the services of the getftlt men who had been at
the Hall at the time, and wrote to London fur
two efficient Bow street; officers. The vague,
aim], ss search assumed form and order under
bis direction. But first of all he had visited
I is patron’s bed.-ide, and comforted him by his
presence and visible sympathy. Thesquireup
p-.ared to derive new life from seeing him ; a
restored intelligence appeared iu his features ;
he was manifestly better.
Immediately after this interview Congreve
sent for Felicie. She went unwillingly to him,
for she dreaded his questions, and she had a
secret conviction that he would be only too
ready to take part against Captain Delmar.
II is first inquiry, however, was for Hyacinth,
ana she c. uld now say that mademoiselle had
recovered the fiist shock, and had, moreover,
dept ever since noon that day.
“It is a very mysterious business, this, Fe
lirie,’’ he said—“ mysterious as well as terri
ble. Tell me what you know about it.”
Felicie did tell him, omitting, however, the
delay of Bertram in joining in the search for
his brother and the fainting of Hyacinth in
the weed He listened attentively to the very
slight information she could give, and then
dismissed her, saying : ,
“Till your young lady that I will do my
best to clear up this mystery and to find
Charles, alive or dead ; and that I hope as
soon as she is able she will be good enough to
let me see her.”
Felicie promised to give his message to
mademoiselle whin she should awake, and
curtseying, left the room.
The tutor then proceeded to examine the
other servants (as we have said), and at once
wrote off for such police assistance as the times
afforded.
Felicie was not surprised when she was sum
mooed the next morning to a second interview
with Congreve ; she had expected that he
would hear of the finding of Hyacinth in the
wood, and question her on the subject. Sbe
thought be looked sternly on her as she en
tered lhe pallor, where he waited for her by
himself.
“ Mademoiselle Felicie,” said he, shirnly,
“ why did you not till me last night of Miss
Hyacinth being found insensible in the wood
on the right of Mi. Charles’ disappearance?”
“ Pardon, monsieur ; but I did not under
stand that you were questioning me about
mademofeellc,” she replied. “ I thought you
only wanted to know about Monsieur Delmar's
strange disappearance.”
“ Murder is the rightward,” he said, hoarse
ly. “1 have seen the hat he wore. No hu
man head could have received such a blow and
remainid alive.”
“ Nay,” said Felicie, “I thinkit was crushed
greatly in the finding. Robert told me that
Barm s fell over ai d on it.”
“ But it is saturated with blood,” said the
tutor. “ I have no doubt.—no reasonable be
ing could doubt—that Charles Delmar has
been foully murdered aud his body cunningly
concealed. But it was not for this that! wish-d
tone you. The servants tell me that on the
fatal r ight in question, Harry, the waiter,
found Miss Hyacinth in the wood, insensible,
among the fern! Has she told yon what
caused her to be in such a spot at such an
hour, and why she fainted ?”
“No, monsieur,” replied Felicie, “she has
not. When she was brought in she was too
ill to talk, and when she woke the next morn
it g she was so distressed by the bad hews that
I could not ask her ■ Since then, till yester
day at noon, sbe Las been by the squire’s bed,
silently watching him, aud now she is asleep.”
Felicie had guessed what had caused her
young lady’s sweon ; nevertheless, she sp >ke
ti e truth vhen she said that, she had neither
Hiked nor heard its cause yet. Congreve,
however, looked as if he doubted her.
“5V lut could have caused it, think you ?’ ’
he asked, meaningly.
“Eh, monsieur, l.ow should I know?” said
Felicia; “but perhaps fatigue. Mademoistlle
was very tired ; the evening was close and op
pressively hot. Surely monsieur does not
think that the child has made away with Mon
sieur Charles?” she added, scornfully.
“Of course not,” replied the tutor ; “b it
she may have heard or seen something iu the
weed to startle and shock her. 1 must speak
to her. Let me know when she is awake. I
have a fearful suspicion in my mind, my good
Felicie.”
“Arid so have I,” thought Felicia, as she
left the room; “but it is not you who shall
hang your benefactor s son. I must speak to
my lady ; 1 must warn her. Poor child ! poor
child ! And yet hanging is too good for that
Bertram, if he is guilty.”
In pursuance of her besolution to warn Hya
cinth cf the questioning she would have to un
dergo, Fi I'cie wi.r-t. fir.t to the squire’s door,
and beckoned to Mrs. Gurch, who had taken
her place beside the invalid.
“ Madame,” she whispered, “ be so good as
to remain wilh Monsieur Delmar till I come—
-1 shall be engaged some little time this morn
irg.”
'1 he hcurekeeper nodded assent, aud stole
back to her -eat. Felicie then preceoded to
her young lady’s room, expecting to find her
awake ai d anxious.
No; there lay Hyacinth in a repose so pro
found that it simulated death; sbe had not
moved hand or foot since Felicie last gazed on
her.
“ My darling i* in a profound slumber,” she
murmured. “Very good; she will be better
when she waken. But she has slept nearly
twenty-four hours! A good twenty hours at
least. But I will not disturb her.” And tak
ing up her woik, she established herself by
Hyacinth’s couch till she should awake.
[To be coiitinutid.}
llow Naiubk Covers up Batile Fields
“ Did I ever tell you,” says a corresprndent of
an Eastern pajrer, “among the affectinglid le
things one is always seeing in these bittle
fielda, how, on the ground upon whi-h the
battle of Bull Run was fought, I saw pretry,
[Hire, delicate flowers growing out of the
empty ammunition boxes ; and a wild rose
thiustir g up its graceful head through the top
of a broken drum, w hich doubtless sounded its
last charge in that battle; and a cunning scarlet
veib xa peeping out of a fragment of a bursted
shell, in which strange pot it was planted?
Wasn't that peace growing out of war ? Even
so shad the beautiful and graceful ever grow
out of the horrid and terrible things that tran
spirein this changing but ever advancing world.
Nature covers even the battle-grounds with
verdure and bloom. Peace and plenty spring
up in the track of the devouring campaign; an-1
all things in nature aud society shall work out
ike progress of mankind.”
The Benicia Boy.—A brother of John
C. Heenan, the redoubtable prize fighter aud
Benicia Boy, is at present on a visit to St.
Louis. He states that his “big brother,”
John C., is now in the south of France. He
recovered somewhat fiom the poison adminis
tered to him before the fight with T-;un Klug,
!, married an interesting English girl, and set
: fled down to enjoy the snug little sum of
$185,C00 in gold, which he had accumulated
before his last fight But his love for racing
and sporting got the better of him, and he
bought seven race horses and attended the dif
' fersnt race courses in the United Kingdom.
7be excitement and high living brought on u
relapse, and by the advice of his physician, he
visited the south of France, and has concluded
to remain there. John C. is but a shadow of
his former self. One of his lungs is gone, aud
■ the man that stood six feet two in his boo's
and weighed 2CO pounds, now weighs but IGS
Paper Carriages.—The British Chan
cellor of the Exchequer’s prediction that if
' Parliament consented to aboli-h the duty on
' paper we should see coaches made of this ma'e
: rial, is about to be partly realized. A carriage
| company has been formed at Birmingham.
1 England, for the purpose of bringing into us i
various improvements. The most important
of these is the use that is made of piper in the
construction of vehicles. All the panels will
be cf this substance, or rather of jyipier-mmhe,
ike great peculiarity of which is its resemblance
to Jea’ber, though considerably stiffer aud
tougher than this material. Every portion of
the carriage usually made of wood, will be
made cf paper, and the cost of construction
will, it is said, he considerably diminished.
An Example to be Imitated.—A phy
sician in Springfield was called to attend upon
a soldier’s widow through a long and severe at
tack of pneumonia. He rode six miles for
every visit during some of the severest werthor
of the past winter, and on her recovery, pre
tented her with a bill of nearly SSO receipted
iu full, “In consideration of services rendered
to him and his country by her lamented hus
band ” Such an instance of benevolence is
worthy of the highest praise.
A Gesman writer says a young' girl
is» fishing red ; the eyes are tha hook, ths anile |
the bait, the lover the gudgeon, end manisge
the batter in which be is fried.
Sunday Aiwil 1G;
gqjartmrnt
Woman.—The following ideas, trans
lated by a coteinpcrwy from the French o? Mai
fine d’Hericourt, are worthy of cjaeideration.
We cannot eay that we fully endorse the pacuhar
views and assertions set forth in some particular
instances throughout the extract, but it id with
out doubt tha subtlest argument we hava seen ad
vanced in favor of granting to the gentler sex, the
mote extended privileges society in general oon
iers exclusively upon man.
Woman, bav-ng the nerves of feeling more
fully developed- is mote impressionable and more
noble than mwi.
Being weaker and as persistent, she obtains by
address and stratagem win, she cannot obtain
by force ; her weakness givts tier timidity, oir«
cumspeciion, the n-.otseit> of foiling bereslf pro
tected
The kinds of labor ih<tt require strength are
repugnant to h» r.
Her maternal destiny rend* rs her an enemy of
destruction, of war; and h r morw deiieiAe or
ganization makes her d ead 0. .d shun conten
tion. Thi > same maternal desriuitiou impresses
a peculiar stamp upon tier intellect; she is
alwaj s inclined to transform thought into facts,
to incarnate it, to give it s, fixed form ; her rea
soning is irtuition or qdek perception ol a gen
eral relation, of a truth db»t man elucidates only
with great difficulty, bv the aid of stilted logic.
Woman, is a better observer than man, and car
ries introduction farther than he; she is conse
quently mere penetrating, and is a much better
judge of the moral and intellectual value of those
abuut 1 er.
She has, more than man, sentiment of the
beautiful, delicacy of heart, love of good, respect
for modesty, veneration for everything superior.
More provident than he, sbe has wore order
and economy, and looks afar adm nirt'ative de
tails with a carefulness which is often carried to
puerility.
V»on?an is adroit, sedulous ; she excels in works
of taste, and possesses strong artistic tenden
cies.
Gentler, wore tender, more patient than man,
she loves ever? thing that is w uro ecta every
ibirg that suffers; ev«ry sorrow and calamity
brings a tear to her eye and draws a sigh from her
breart.
This is we man, such as you pUnt her, gentle
men.
You then add : Th* vocation of w >m%n, there
fore. is love, maternity, the hou?ebold, sedentary
occupations.
She is too weak for oooiipa ions that demand
strength, andJbr those of war.
She is too impressionable and too feeling, too
good, too gentie, to be legislator, judge or j iror.
Her taste for de aiiF, a retired life,
and the grave fur ctioiis of inn. ernity, indicate
clearly that she is not im.de fur pnhiio employ
rin iiis, She is too variole to cultivate science
with prom ; tcofeib e aod too u?.u-.-h occupied
bendo to pursue protracted experiments.
B< 1 kind of rational! y renders her uusuited to
the dal oration of theorus; and sbe is too fond of
details to become seriously interested iu general
ideas, hich excludes lee from ah hutu profes
sional functions, and from thorie r.q uritig sari
cue study.
Her place is, therefore, at the fireside, to make
man Letter, to eustdiiG to c\re» tor him, to
procure him the joys of paternity, and to fill tne
place cf a good bou-
bueb are jour conclusions ; here are mine, ad
witting, as a hypothesis, what L affirm withyoii
of wen. kt. :
1. Woman, carrying into philo iophy and sci
ence her suot‘e< esr- of observation, will aorrec*
the exaggerated bndei.cy of mm fur abstract
)€atoning, and demonsirate the falsity of tbeu-
on a few facts alone.
2, Woman, canyit g Lit peculiar faculties into
the arte ai d wauufao urea, will increasingly in
tndvee therein ait, perfection in details.
3 Patient, gentle, good, mure moral chan man,
die is the Lorn educator of &U childhood, th©
HiOializer of the grown man ; the majority of ed
ucatior al junctions nv rs to her of right, and
the Las her sscigutd piacw iuspecial instruction.
4 By h 1 quick iniui i m and her acuteness of
perceptioi;, woman alu e can discover toe thera
p-utica of neiv us affeeii?ns ; her dexterity will
tender bei valuab e in all delicate surgical opera
tions. Ou her should devolve the care of treat«
ing ihe diseases of women and children, beoauss
she alone is CHpab;e of tally comprehending them,
bhehas her specie! piac iu hospitals, not only
for ?be cure ci disease, but also for the
my d f-uiveillance of toe details of the manage
ment and care of the patients.
5. The presence of w. man in judicial functions
as juror and. arbiter w<il be a guxrantee of verita
ble human jus ice to all—that is, of equity.
61 W'oman, carrying into the social household
her epirit of order and economy, her love of da
lails and abin rrence of waste and foolish ex
pense, will reform government; she wul simplify
tverylbing ; will suppress sinecures and the a>
cumulation of offices, and will prodube much
fnm little, instead of, like man, producing litUo
from much. The purse of the tax payers wifi
not complain of the change.
7. By ner administrative reforms, born of tho
economical inMinct of woman, taxes will be di
minished ; her abhorrtnee of blood and war will
greatly reduce the Larful impost of bloodshed.
Having a d< liberate vuice, and knowing by her
griefs and love the value of a man, it wul be only
in m fchet r mceesity th . t she wm consent to vote
levies cf citizens tor me shambles called wir r
She will do this only wnenJier country is men
aced, or when it. is ntecssary iu prelect oppressed
r ationalities. In all other cases she will employ
the system of conciliation.
Who Should Aui bs a Husband.—
Not long since we presented a little article to the
Department entitled •' Who Should N be a
Wife,” in which some exacting masculine reso
lutely sets iorth his view iu th?.t respect. Sime
one has retaliated in the subjoined: Flu that
man a call to be a husband who thinks more of
iiife clothes than hi? babies, and visits his nursery
about twice a yea< ? lit* a min a right to baa
husband who ca 1- for while h 3 wife has
to eat red herrings at Louie? Hu that mua>
call to be a Lu-band eiis reading rhe even
irg newspaper wink h i wifj stands s niggling
befeje a locking-gla-s, vainly trying to tie on a
set of Giecian curls, aud ra s, aud things? His
that man a call 10 be a hu baud whu expeefa hia
wife 10 ewailow everything ho ie!ls her, vellai
patent coffee, leaden bread, soggy potatoes, and
t-uefi? Has he a call tu be a husoand who phi.
larders with every pirl he meets, and has uoth
thii gin I - serve for the home fireside? Has ne
a call to he a husband who comes down to break
last with ins hair in curl papers, hie wif/s dress
ing gown bound round Li » head, and a very owi
ly leek about him geoeralb ? H u tie a cili to
be a husband whose wife’s love weighs naught in
the scalts with his next door neighbor s maid
scivaid or a first ra‘e cigar ? Has be a call to ba
a husband who would take advantage of a mo
ment of conjugal weakn-ss to extort a prom fee
fjem Lis wile not to go to Cape May next Sum
mer? Has he a can to be a husband who has
had 8 call to fce a minister to some frail one
whose protector is eff to the war ? Has he a call
io be a husband who takes a juurnev for pleasure
xrd leaves his wife to attend to her duties at
heme? Has he acalto be a husbmd to whom
a good wife's society is not the greatest treat,
und a fcouce with twenty five rosy children in it
the most noble fam.tare a a oat oab;ne-.-maker
ever Lmli ?
The Cocks cf Basis— A letter from
Palis rays : “ Our cooks g.ve thuir annual bafi
list week, and it is said the supper was the most
sumptuous seen in Paris sincu the muster of tbe
Cafe de Foy married his daughter to the sou of
the matter of the J rois Freren Proven-cnux. No
wonder. The rule is thin every cook contributes
to the supper one dish. Re, <>? course, tries to
distinguish hiiuselr; and out of rhe muiy hun
dred cocks who conuibiite. there are necessarily
a great many masters of the trade. S'ill more
ma> velous than lhe supper was the wealth among
them I If every roaa leads t o Rome, every road
leacs to wealth, too. especially it a marketer be
y<ur traveling comnauion. I don't speak of the
ocokeof the Grand Hotel, or Hotel du Loavre, or
ot the Emperor, or Barou de Rothschild, or ths
Pireircs—“ artists” wno keep their carriage anti
pair, acd fake their afreruoou airing iu the Bois
de Boulogne ae legnjatly as alieir misters. I
sp< as of i.umbler talents. Ido not know a cm
sicersble family whose rook has not $21,010, or
$40,1C0. or SSO, f 00 invested judiciously. A great
many bouses in Paris belong to oouka Tuny do
net come by this money tiuneetly. The frauds
put upon their masters are outrageous. Taey
confess to receiving one cent on ev<ry pound of
meat purcbastd—this the butcher gives. How
msr y pounds cf meat, aud other articles of ootti*
sumption aseebargtd. which never existed ex
cept in their imaginations and on their ainsouut
bock I The New Year’s vails they get from tho
baker, grocer, but otter, vn ter, greengrocer, char
coal dial i,and the like, are enormous. lam
told the hmpercr’e cook-’ vails on Now Year’s
day ameunt to several thousand doll ire. It is
with them as with iverjbody else, the moment
they get a good capital iu ttseir hands money ac
cumulates rapidly,
Thb Carmval in Msxtoo.—lt was
deeoiibed as having been mm-mally brilliant this
year. A correspondent wrote ; The city has been,
a ferment of masked ball, ridiug, visiting, illtimi-
Dating, feasting and merry-miking generally. A
letter says : Everybody and his or her neighbor,
is filtered Io direrti, aud tue streets are alive with,
gaietv and fashion by day, and elegant equip
ages. fsucy costumes fl trtiiag uniforms, fluvors,
i tike, boi fires, fireworka and nonsense of every de
ecripiion by n>ght. The rtnug winds up with a-,.
graid niatkid ball at the Imperial theatre,
where the parquet, having been raised to a level
with the stage, offers a spacious arena for the
disciples of Cerpsicbore, kept iu motion by a,
ermbnred f rench and Austrian bind ot more
than a hundred pieces The boxes on these om
cssions are taken by the principal famibee of
Mexico, who act as spectators ot the revel. Not
only the 6cm fom have prepared for more ordi
ntiyci-p ay, bat the poorest classes are out ia
all tbe frippery aud tinsel tbit their humbla
means can afford.
Acoobdikg to the Kussian oußtom e
the wife of the l ite Duke de Moray cut off her
hair srd put it iu bis coffin, as a pledge not to
mairy again.
A diamokd eflered for gale in London,
e valued at $200,003.

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