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bvigr I 'I'ti tii OLD HOBCB* S-5 ':,.1' .?•.-. __ 1° ?I remember an old gray farmhouse, inofsyi and stained with time I- With a film of old age upon it, -p While yet it stood in ite prime. broad, low-browed old homestead, Where clambering wild woodbine v,/ tfHung out ita flames in the autumn, Like wreaths on a holy shrine. drooping elms awajed o'er it And blossoming lilacs tall, ../yif-Thrust their purple plumes in the win dows, With the bees they held in thralL -,^.7 AU under its rool so moBsy, And around its heart so warm, ^5 ,It gathered its happy children, a merry, busy swarm. v. With the beat of rain on its shingles, It lulled them all to reBt, When Bpriug brought the mutteringshow s'' era, Surging up from out the west. a "r" ^en soothes her sleepy chickens, 'Beneath her wings widespread, we s&-.: :Yi heard the soft, sweet wind-song, Of the old roof overhead. And now when I fall a dreaming, 3 When it rains, and the wind is strong, V'l bear again the. deep-murmurs And beat of the old roof's song. And the years fall away and leave me, A sleepy child once more 5t 'tSlow rocking on grand wild surges, v: :v,~ Toivard some dreamland shore. Now drifting-among the tree-tops, Now floating o'er rivers deep, .Till I sink in that rushing, sleeping sea, Down to the land of Bleep. —Elizabeth Cole in Goo Houskeeping. BETROTHED IN A CELLAR. From Household Words. By making a gigantic-effort I had at last succeeded in pushing up the heavy sash of the old-fashioned guillo tine window, and now, sitting in the broad window-seat, I was enjoying the scent of the great syringa bush, which grew so close to the house that it pushed its branches inside whenever it had the opportunity, so that sit ting in the window was almost like be ing an arbor. I was in Germany, of course, tor guillotine windows, as we call them, are still the fashion in Eng land, I hear. Yes I was in Germany, and it was the day before Whit Sunday—a lovely ^May day—and I was just 16. I am a good deal more than 16 now, but still, often, when the syringa- is in blossom, and the delicious fragrance comes floating round me, the whole scene rises aga»n before my eyes, and I see the old-fashioned garden, with its auaintly-cut yews and box-hedges, and toe apple trees loaded with blossom the wainscotted room, with the faded red carpet, and antiquated furniture and ornaments and, looking through the folding-door.3 into the dining room beyond, I see the long table decked for some festal occasion, two chairs wreathed with flowers, and be fore them, on the table, two bouquets composed of spray3 of myrtle. I see, too, sitting opposite me in a capacious armchair, mv grandmother, a little old lady in a white lace cap, witfc'a prayer-book on her knees, which she was reading here at home because she could not get as far as the chapel beyond the town gate. I had been there myself that morn ing, all in a hurry, just to see how it looked before I brought Granny to the house, and I had seen that it was beau tifully decked with flowers, and that there were wax tapers enough to daz zle one. After that I had come back to the "wedding house" and waited, for I could not leave granny quite alone and while I waited I puzzled myself to make out why. Uncle Dernau, as we all called him, and his wife should have chosen to celebrate their golden wed ding in the little country chapel in stead of in the large town church, •which seemed so much more appropri ate. Then, too, I wondered \gjiat could be the meaning of sundry mysterious allusions which I had heard made in the course of the evening before. They had seemed to amuse the rest very much, but 1 could make nothing of them. Uncle Dernau's little wife was afavor ite little woman, with bright eyes, brown hair without, a touch of grey in it, and had very small hands and feet. How we had all j,dmired her the night before, when, for "the very last time," as she said, she had danced the charming minuet, which had been ar ranged in her honor. I can see her now inherold-tashioned, marvelously short waisted dress of silk, with a three-cornered fichu crossed over her chest, little shoes without heels, wide ribbon sandals, and embroidered stockings. Uncle Dernau himself was her partner, and at the close of the dance he made her a low bow, saying •with .a gleam of fun and mischief .in his eyes: "Madame, you dance like a French woman, and I believe I made a mis take after all in carrying you off from the French monsieur!" Everyone laughed at this, and Aunt •Dernau blushed like a young girl. What did it all mean? Could I ask Granny? I wondered. She had told me once that Aunt Dernau was her Oldest and her dearest friend, and that some day she would tell me her his .tory. Could' I remind her of her jA'omise now? As I looked at her she took off her spectacles and closed her prayer-book, and sjipping down from my throne in the window, I sat myself on a stool at her feet. "Granny," I said coaxingly, "could not you tell me your friend's story pow? You know you promised, and it is just the right day for it. They won't be back for a couple of hours yet, what with the service first, and then the wedding, and a long sermon, and all the cyigratulations so we have plenty of time." Just then we caught the sound of distant church-bells, by which we knew that the bridal procession must be getting near the chapel. "Ah, child," said my grandmother, "it was a beautiful time when we two were young, lorchen and I you never saw such a little wild thing as she was. They called her 'the bird,' because she was so quick and graceful, and bad •uch bright eyes in her pretty little head- There was not a prettier girl far or near, and there was something About her so different from other girls, that one could hardly take one's eyes off her she was so dainty and so dis tingue. "And Lorchen herself was so well a\MJte of the fact, thafshewas a per fect little despot. All the men old and young, did her homage, and many a one did Ills best to catch qnd keep the little bird. Bat this was not so easy, for Lorchen was obstinate, and -nrti rtfui ii f"ji her greatest delight was to., tease and torment her admirers whenever Bhe had the opportunity. I often used to scold her for it for, being her most intimate friend, I acted as confessor, and she always hnestly told me her misdeeds. Sometimes, we got really angry with oue another after a ball or -picnic, when her list of confessions was unusually long. But where was the use? She knew that I could not help 'forgiving' her, as she said, directly she asked me, little fondling puss that she was and she knew, too, that allyoung men she had fooled and tormented would be at her feet again directly. You know that song: "1 know a maiden fair to see. Take care! She can both false and friendly be! "And it goes on: She has two eyes so soft and brown. Take care! She gives a Ride-glanceandlooksdown. Take care! Trust her not, she's fooling thee! "Well, child, that was Lore all over just as if it had been written for her. But you mustn't think badly of her, for all that. She was a dear, sweet little thing and in spite of all her fol lies, she had a good, honest heart. As I said, she was universally admired and so it seemed strange that young Dernau, the merchant, who was a next-door neighbor of hers,- should be so stiff and cold, and take no notice at all of her. Sometimes I twitted her with the fact that he had never once danced with her, and was quite insensible to her charms. That al ways made her angry, and she would pout her rosy lips and say: 'I'm sure I don't want him, Chris tel he's a bear?' "Well, you know, bad timeslcame for poor Germany. The French con quered us, and the King and our beau tiful Queen Louisa had to fly with their children and it seemed as if we should all become French subjects. It was a bad time for us .in our little town, for the authorities favored the enemy, and we were disturbed by sounds of fighting all round us. Ah, it was terribly sad! for all prosperity was at an end, and we spent our days in misery and anxiety. Poor Lorchen had, too, a special trouble of her own, for accounts of the wild doings of the French reached us from all sides, and ft was said that they had a very rough-and-ready way of courting, for if a German girl took their fancy they just sent their soldiers to carry her off, and then took her away with them to the war. We were constantly hearing of deeds of violence and robbery, and the laws, being administered either by the French or their adherents afforded us 110 redress or protection whatever. What could we do? People hid their valuables as far as they could in hol low trees, behind walls, or in the ground, and whenever any Frenchmen were known to be in the neighborhood they hid their wives and "daughters as well. Poor Lorchen had the hardest time of all, for her mother was so nervous that she was always seeing danger, and she insisted on the poor girl's spending the greater part of the day down in the cellar, and many an afternoon I spent there, too, keeping her company. 'Look, said I, on one of these oc casions, 'you can see straight into Neighbor Dernau's garden, through this little window.' "But Lorchen blushed and turned •her heau without answering. One Whitsun Eve, a lovely May day, just like to-day, a number of the enemy's troops passed through the town, and of course Lore had to sit in the cellar and get through the time as best she might. As soon as the terrible "Parlevouhs" as we called them, had all gone through and out of the town gate, the captive was let out, and what must the silly girl do but go to the sitting-room window and lean out. After being in prison so long, she enjoyed the sweet spring air doubly, and it amused her to watch what was going on in the street. But misfortune never slumbers and, as it fell out, a young French officer came past lead ing his horse by the bridle, and look ing for a blacksmith, as the animal had cast a shoe. He had no sooner caught sight of the lovely little head among the roses which clustered round the window, than he threw the reins to a boy and dashed up the steps like a madman. It did not take him a minute, but Lore was as quick as lie, and had slipped back into her hiding-place. Still, where was the use of that, when the Frenchman had seen her and was bent upon finding her? "I want to see the Dretty demoi selle," he cried in his broken German, and he insisted on searching all the rooms in the house, then the garrets, and finally the cellar! It was useless to say him nay, for he was master of the situation, and Lorchen's poor mother followed him down the cellar stairs trembling. But, wonder of all wonders, the nest was empty, the bird had flown! Find ing, therefore, that his searcli was vain, the young officer flew into a rage, and snatching up a little ivory minia ture of Lore, dashed out of the house, vowing that he would come back next with a whole squadron, and stay till the girl was found.. As soon as he was gone, Lore's mother sank down in a chair and burst into tears, feeling ut terly bewildered and altogether at her wits' end. But she had not wept long when her neighbor, young Dernau, made his appearance, and, to her ex treme surprise, asked her with all due form and ceremony to accept him as a suitor for her daughter's hand. 'Ash!'_ cried the poor woman, 'Lorchen is gone—clean gone she is not in her hiding-place and if I could find her to-day, Where's the use, when to morrow that French villain is coming to carry her off! I'm a poor, misera ble, helpless woman—what can I do? Oh, this dreadful war!' "But the young man only laughed in an embarrassed sort of way, and then said: "Only trust me mother, if I may call you so, and depend upon it I shall be able to take good care of Lorchen, when once I have the right. In the cellar she is, however, at the present moment, though not in yours!5 "So saying, he led the astonished dame into his house and down ever so many stairs, and there sure enough was the c&ptive in his cellar, doubly a captive now, and a little shamefaced and tearful, but.still looking very hap py as she fell on her mother's .necfe, and begged her t.o give her and Karl her blessing. And so it came to pass that they were betrothed in the cel'ler, and immediately after all sorts of mys terious preparations, were made in both houses, and at last thegoodpas tor himself was called in to give his advice. At 11 o'clock that same night there was enacted one of the strangest Bcenes which our peaceful, sober-going little town ever witneased for a young couple were married in the darkness, in the old chapel, outside the Martini gate, and you may imagine my utter amazement at being mysteriously sent for at such an hour, and then finding myself taken to the chapel to be one of the witnesses to Lore's mar riage the others being hev mother and Dernau's most intimate friend, Fritz Berger. It seemed uncommonly dismal to a girl of seventeen, as I was then, with my head stuffed full, too, of all sorts of tragical stories. It was a mild, dark night the sky was much over cast and ever and anon a distant flash of lightning announced that a storm was coming up. The feeb'e glimmer from the two tapers on the altar seemed only to make the dark ness darker, and the flames flickered incessantly as the wind came sweeping in gusts, and making the boughs of the old lime tree rattle against the church windows. It was enough to make one shudder, child, I can tell you! The venerable old paster who had married Lorchen's father and mother, and baptized Lor chen herself, gave only a short ad dress but it was all the more impres sive for that, and we were all very much touched by it. When the cere mony was over I helped the sobbing bride to take off her wreath of myrtle and put 011 a very large hood, which was part of the peasant's costume, such as used to be worn about here, which she was going to wear as a dis guise. The poor mother was speech less with grief, and seemed quite dazed at the prospect of losing her beloved daughter. "Meantime Karl Dernau, who had also dressed himself like a peasant, had brought a poor, miserable, one horsed covered cart to the door of the chapel, and, after the most heart rending leave-takings, Lorchen was lifted in, weeping bitterly. The night had grown pitch-black by this time the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled in the distance but undercover of the darkness, the pair safely effected their escape acrosi- the neighboring frontier, to where the French had not yet gained a footing, Lorchen passing for a sick peasant-girl who was being taken to some famous, wonder-work ing doctor. As Karl Dernau drove oil on his strange wedding journey he looked so brave, and tender, anil self reliant that we who were left behind felt a comfortable assurance that our little bird wouldbesafely hidden in her nest with him for her protector. Two years passed, and in the meantime I had been married in a regular, or dinary way, in broad daylight, with bridesmaids and wedding breakfast, and without any of the rather uncalmy romance which had attended Lorchen's wedding. Still, who knows whether the mere fact of our having taken part to gether in this romantic affair did not lead to our own marriage? Be this as it may, it is quite certain that the next time Fritz Berger and I found ourselves inside the little chapel, it was for our own wedding. "After a time things went better*in the town, and as the French were less favored by those in authority, it was thought safe for the fugitives to come cack and, as by the death of his father, Karl had become the owner of the house Lorchen's parents had rented—the very house we are in to day—they came and settled here, and her mother with them, and all litfed happily together. How happy we were to be together again! and the very first time we had a quiet hour, Lorchen told me the story of her be trothal, which I had never properly understood till then. 'You see, Christel,' said she, 'you and 1 were very intimate, and you did know all my secrets—almost but you did not know that I had cared for Karl for a long time past. I was ashamed to confess it either to you or myself. But when he came to the cel lar window that dreadful day, just when I was in the greatest danger,and drove it in—I was too dazed to dare to open it myself—and when he lifted me up, and before I well knew where I was, took me into the cellar of his own house, well, then Iknew I did care for him, and I began to cry. And then he sat down by me and quietly took hold of my hand, and when I was able to spe.ak I thanked him and beg ged his pardon for having made such Fun of him before. You can guess what followed. Our betiothal was not very romantic, Christel, for we sat upon an old sugar chest, and my dress was torn and dusty, and the air of the cellar was dank and musty. But what did we careforthat? There were roses all round us, and we were in Elysium and as for the romance, we had enough before the day was out to last a whole lifetime.' "This was Lorchen's confession, and we both thanked Heaven for mak ing us so happy and bringing us to gether again. We were happy, indeed, and this helped us to bear our daily cares, for we were still in a great deal of trouble and anxiety, and theclouds hung thick and black over the politi cal sky. There were no christening feasts when our little ones were bap tized, and, in spite of our real happi ness, a good many tears fell on the little heads. But at last there was a a change! Suddenly it was as if a fresh wind had begun to blow. No one knew whence it had come, but it was there, and we all felt invigorated by it. Lore and I, too, soon noticed that there vas a great deal going on behind the scenes, which gave us plenty of food for wonder and con jecture.' Wagoners, who did not look at all like wagoners,-were constantly bringing heavy loads of merchandise to Karl, and my Fritz, who was a lawyer, and nothing naturally to do with such matters, was al ways present at the unloading, and helped to carry the goods into the cel lar as soon as it was dusk. It was quite clear that there was some secret which our husbands were keepingfrom us, and after bearing it patiently for a little while we determined to put an end to such an unnatural state of things. "Well, we found it all out, and learned that Karl and Fritz were members of a secret league which had branches everywhere throughout Ger many, and was formed to deliver the Fatherland from her foreign masters. The "wagoners" were members and the goods they bought were arms, which they stored in the cellar and there, in what had been Lorchen's prison, the confederates held their meetings. On these occasions, now that we knew what was going on, we used to do our part by lighting up the chandaliers in the drawing-room, clinking glasses together and carrying wine bottles and dishes to and fro, to divert the attention from what was going on down below, and to throw dust in people's eyes. "As soon as ever our good'king is sued his appeal 'to my people,' wesaw the result of ajl these secret prepara- tions. The enthusiasm was tremen dous,and every German heart was all aglow. Oh, child, it was a grand time and I shall never forget the day when the pastor read out the king's procla mation the market-place—and there was not room for the crowd in the church—and called on all the men to come forward and take part in a holy war to expel the enemy. There never was such excitement before or since! Friends and acquaintances embraced one another, and the most bitter ene mies shook hands. The first to vol unteer to fight for wife and child, and home, were Karl Dernau and my Fritz and numbers and numbers followed their example. Then came the leave takings, and those were sad enough. I fainted away, but Lorchen behaved like a little heroine. "We two kept together through all that time of terrible waiting and fight ing, and misery. But at last—at last came the news of victory, and all the hills blazed with bonfires. The Father land was free, and cur loved ones were safe and coming home crowned with laurels! We had suffered a great deal, but we thought ourselves fortunate in having been allowed to look on while such great events were doing. "But where have I got to with my chattering? I was only going to tell you "Oh, Granny," I interrupted, "you have not told me a bit too much I could listen all day "Well," said she with a smile, "you deserve something for giving up going to the chapel to sith with an old wom an. When I began I only meant to tell you how Aunt Derniu was impris oned in the cellar, that you might see what a dangerous gift beauty is!" "H—m, Granny, I don't like your moral!" I answered. "The French are far enough off now, and for my part I shouldn't mind running the risk of being tolerably nice-looting." Granny was going to scold, but the corners of her mouth twitched, and before she could recover herself, I had jumped up exclaiming: "Listen, the bells have been ringing this long time the wedding is over, and they will be here directly!" I went once more hastily through the rooms to see that everything was in order, and then I strewed flowers all down the stairs to the front door, and then Granny and I waited at the window. Soon the head of the procession made its appearance—such a long, 16ng procession! First came the old people, several couples, and then the young ones, and lastly the grand children all decked with flowers, but the bridal pair, who were that day celebrating their golden wedding, were the most beautiful sight of all. Aunt Dernau looked lovely in her blue flowered damask and three-corn ered lace handkerchief, with the gold en sprays of myrtle in her hair and Uncle Dernau, with his snow-white curly hair, and tall, upright figure, looked most dignified, and quite grand, too for besides the golden sprig in his button-hole, he wore the orders and decorations which he had won during the war. How tender and careful he was of his little wife, too. Just as tender and affectionate as he had been to the young beauty when ho married her in the sunny May-time fifty years before! The Consuiup Mortallty from tion. Within the past year the civilized world has been shocked and saddened by the knowledge of thegreat devasta tion wrought by the cholera in Spain and every precaution, in the way of sanitary measures and quarantins regulations that modern science could suggest, was taken to prevent its spreading into other countries. The public scanned the columns of the daily press, eager for' information with re gard to the advance of this fearful dis ease, and read with bated breath as they learned that it numbered its vic tims by the tens of thousands. If it was a matter of such deep and universal concern that in Spain 101, 000 souls gave up their lives to this fell destroyer, should it not also be a matter of some interest to our own people that, within the borders of the United States, over 91,500 per sons die each year of pulmonary ion sumption?—that twelve out of every hundred deaths are caused by a dis ease which though slow in progress, is as sure in its results as cholera itself? Should it ever transpire that some means of prevention should be found, by means of which peo23le would bo rendered proof against the disease, or at least could be cured when at once it had set its seal upon them, would it not be one of thegreatest boons vouch safed to man since the introduction of vaccination? Inventivepersonshave from time to time thought that they had secured a sure cure, if not an unfailing prophy lactic and, at the present time, since the discoveries of Koch, all sorts of parasiticides are being used to kill the germ of the disease. The unfortunate bacillus is now being hunted down with pneumatic chambers, deep in halations, and local applications in troduced by means of the hypodermic syringe, with the results that are, to say the least, uncertain. But, after all the years of research devoted to the subject, and out of all the methods of prevention and cure that have been suggested,the one that has given the best results, and is now being universally adopted, is change of climate.—From "Colorado as a Win ter Sanitarium," by Dr. S. A. Fisk in Popular Science Monthly for March. Yes, Why Not. From the Boston Courier. Why should a writer who makes a new witticism about the sealskin sacque, the plumber, the iceman, the coal dealer, the Chicago girl's foot, the skating rink, the beautiful snow, or upon any other subject in which humanity is interested, be accused of perpetrating what is termed a chest nut? Is not the subject of love a chestnut? Is not woman a chestnut? Is not virtue a chestnut? Is not vice a chestnut? Has not every poet and proser since Cadmus invent ed tetters harped upon these strings, and isn't every poet and every proser harping upon them still? Solomon says: "There is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything whereof it may be said, See, this is new? It hath been already of old time which was before us." Solomon, who wrote B. C. 979, was a para grapher. Isaiah, B. C. 760, criticises feminine fripperies more severely than the funny man of to-day. What is a chestnut? Man, human experience, life, death, all are chestnuts. Even the little critic who is constantly crying "Chestnut" is a reproduction of some other chestnut, and a very wormy one at that. 1 THE 8ANCY DIAMOND. Interesting History or Brilliant. Famous One of the best known diamonds in Europe down to the close of the last century was the famous Sancy. As in the case with all prominent gems of this species, many legends, some of a pleasant some of a painful character, are connected with it. One legend of the Sancy is thus narrated: The beautiful diamond inventoried as the Sancy, and of the weight of 88 12-16 carats, and valued at 1,000,000 francs, was stolen and never recovered. This gem has been associated with the for tunes of the redoubtable Burgundian warrior, Charles the Bold and its his tory has done more to perpetuate his name than the record of all his mis deeds and his desperate battles. To prove, however, that this is the identi cal gem lost by the Swiss will be a dif ficult task, for the antiquaries have unearthed more Sancy diamond!) than there were Richmonds in the field. The name of Sancy has, indeed, become famous by embracing in one story the fortunes of three distinct gews. The erudite King has patiently traced out the traditions connected with the namo Sancy, and appears to prove that three stories instead of one are includod in the history of Baron Sancy. But the stone' that was stolen from the French casket in 1792 .is inventoried at the weight of 83 12-16 carats, while tho gem that has lately gone back to India, and is supposed to be tho stolen gem, weighs- quite 54 carats. Here is a new mystery for the antiquaries to clear away or did Belattre and his associates, who made out this inventory with ex ceeding care, write thirty instead of fifty-three? Tho histories of theso dia monds arc so interesting that we will attempt to repeat them here, following, in part, tho views of King. Not long after the invention, by Berquen, of dia moud-cutting by the process of abra sion, Charles the Bold, then in the full blaze of martial glory, submitted to him three largo rough diamonds. Tho na tive of Bruges succeeded so well in pol ishing them that Charles presented him with the princely sum of 3,000 ducats. One of these gems Charles gave to Pope Sextus IV., and it was mounted in the tiara, where it is said to remain. Tho second was presented to Louis XI. of France while the third was reserved by tho Burgundian hero, and set in gro tesque manner to be worn as a personal ornament This jewel, of true barbaric design was formed of a triangular shape, with tho newly cut diamond in tho center. This diamond was live-eighths of an inch in its wildest diameter, and was shaped as a pyramid, with the apex cut into a four-rayed star in relief. Around tho gem was sot three largo Balais ru bies and four magnificent pearls, each more than half an inch iii diameter. One of tho Fugger family, in 1555, made a careful drawing of the jewel, with a written description of it, and these were afterward published by Lembeccius in his "Bibliotheca Caesarea so there can be no doubt about the appearance of the original diamond of Charles the Bold in its early days. When the duke led his band of freebooters into Switzer land on his long-projected foray, he took most of his gems along with him, not dreaming of disaster, and probably loving to view his treasures even amid the hardships of tho campaign. Rough soldiers are sometimes as fond of the beautiful in art and nature as more del icate and refined organizations, and Charles the Bold and SouvarolF are not the only examples. The terrific on slaught of the Swiss at Grandson crushed the Burgundian ranks so quick ly that Charles had only time to escape with his sword, leaving all his cherished treasures in the hands of tho dauntless mountaineers. "In the sack of tho camp which speedily followed the rout, 11 soldier found the golden box in which tho fa mous pendant was kept, but regarding the jewel as a gaudy apd worthless bauble, he tossed it away under a wagon and retained the box only, Shortly af terward he began to suspect that tho contents of so beautiful a box must have some value, and, returning to the place, ho recovered the despised jewel. He did not long after retain his treas ure, but sold it to a priest for 1 florin. The priest also did not appear to have a high regard for his purchase, for he dis posed of it to the magistrates of his own canton for 3 francs. When it became known that the Bernese government had possession' of the duke's famous jewels, Jacob Fugger, one of tho mem bers of the celebrated Nuremberg fam ily, went to Berne and negotiated for their purchase. The famous pendant, together with the duke's cap, which was made of silk covered with pearls and Balais rubies, and a plume case set with diamonds, pearls, and Balais rabies were bought for the sum of 47,000 francs. Fugger retained the pendant in his possession at Nuremberg for many years, indulging in the hope, it has been said, that the duke's great grandson, the Emperor Charles V., would purchase it as a family relic. When the celebrated capitalist died the ornament was still in his possession, but his great-nephew, who inherited the jewel, sold it to Henry VIII. of Eng land. After the death of this monarch his daughter presented the diamond to her bridegroom,, and thus, by a remark able coincidence, and after an absence of seventy-six years, the royal gem was again restored to the rightful heir of its original owner.—St. Louis Olobe-Demo erat. The Astor Estates. John Jacob Astor left the bulk of his property to WQliam in trust for bis two sons, William and John Jacob, this be ing as extended an entail as our laws permit. William was a very faithful trustee, bnt in additition he accumula ted a half dozen millions of his own. This he bequeathed to his sons in trust for their children, thus, repeating his father's plan. On William's death the two sons made a division of their grand father's estate, this bring the most im portant act of partition that ever oc curred in America. Tho most curious feature in this affair is the secrecy with which it was done. It was an immense task to divide such a vast and varied estate into two equal parts but it was effected in a manner that must have been mutually satisfactory. It is sup posed that the property was carefully inventoried by the clerks and then separated into' two portions as equally as possible and then the choice drawn by lot. At any rate tho Astor House fell to John Jacob, who is generally thought to have the best slice. Tho brothers always preserved amity, and when the dissolution took place they erected adjoining offices in Twenty sixth street. John Jacob soon after Wards placed all his property in the hands of Waldorf, who now is the rich est man for his age in America. The advance on tho valuation may be given as follows: John Jacob died worth $20,000,000. When William died (twenty-seven years afterwards) the es tate was worth at least thrice that sura, and its increase since then will make each of the brothers worth $50,000,000. This may be considered certainly well to do in tho world. ,-* One reason why tthe Astor brothers have adjoining offices is found in the common ownership of tho deeds, maps and leases- belonging to tho estate which cannot be divided. These form a library in themsolvos and are very interesting to the autiquarian, as show ing how New York was laid out in tho olucn time. A still greater curiosity is tho little four-wheeled wooden wagon which is used in bringing the old books into the office for reference. It is made in tho rudest and cheapest, manner, tho wheels being sawed out of a board, but it has served this purpose for more than half a century, and old John Jacob loved his "book wagon" more than his coach. This collection of. maps and leases is of much valuo in real estate searches, but only a favored few are permitted to examine them.—New York Cor. Utica Herald. RELIGIOUS DRAMA IN ITALY. Tlio Great Popularity of the "Nativ ity l'lay." The new number of tlie Samwluug gemeinverstanulicher Vorlrage contains a remarkable account, by Th. Treilo, ol the Passion plays and Christmas pluys of tho southern Italians. The "Nativity Play" is acled twice on Christmas eve in all the theaters to which the lower chisses of the people resort. The con course is so enormous, says Hcrr Trcde, that one is half afraid of being crushed to death. No play is so dear to the people as this and if it were still the custom to crown poets in Italy, Dr. Casimir Ruggiero Ugone, the author ol "The Song of tho Shepherds," would certainly be tho laureate. The strange drama is full of life and freshness, and contains free criticisms and allusions which on any northern stage would bring it under the ban of the police, The semi-pagan and semi-Christian pro logue makes the spectators acquainted with the general idea of tho drama. The scene is laid in the kingdom of darkness. TI10 prince—who is Pluto, not Satan—comes forward and an nounces to his subjects the approaching birth of the Savior, and takes counsel with them for the defeat of tho benili cent plans of the heavenly king. 1-Iis councilors were tho furies, Asmoileo, Belphegor, Astarotte, and Bclzcbu. The drama is divided into three acts. In act I., Mary and Joseph are journeying toward Bethlehem. They are encoun tered thi'ice by the Angel Gabriel—first disguised as a traveler, next as a shep herd, lastly as a sibyl. Each time the angel rescues them from one of the plots concocted by Pluto. The chief part in the scheme of wickcdness is played by Belphegor, who assumes in turn the character of a highway robber, a land lord, and a satyr in each of which shapes he attempts to destroy tho Vir gin. The minor characters are old and young shepherds and huntsmen. The true hero of the drama, however, is a young Italian, named liazullo. Dr. Ugone knows his public thoroughly. In.the midst of the most serious scenes, recalling tho pictures in the churches or the apocryphal gospel of the infancy, there is a startling contrast of the ideal and actual, of the ancient and modern, of biblical tradition and every-day life, by the sudden intervention of the jovial Neapolitan vagabond. Razullo has lost his way on his journey, and stumbles into the hut of the shepherds of Bethle hem. He speaks the genuine Neapol itan dialect, and is quickly on good terras with the pious shepherds, with St. Joseph, with Mary ("Mamma miu!"), and even with tho furies. He repeated ly rescues Mary and Joseph from dang er. Ho rows them across the Jordan in a boat, conquers a dragon which Pluto has sent to devour the holy pair, and gives a terrible thrashing to the devil Belphegor in his disguise as tho land lord of an inn. The drama is full oi rapid changes of scene, and closes with a sort of transformation piece. As 'iel phegor is storming against the rocky grotto of Bethlehem the rocks suddenly fall away and the interior of the cave is discovered with the babe in the manger. Belphegor shrieks with dismay, and is hurled precipitately back to hell. Th« shepherds approach, each with his gift, and Razullo comes to the front and says: "Now I shall go back to my fatherland, and I shall tell my folk that they must worship no more idol gods—110 sun, nc Castor and Pollux, and the rest of them. For the true light has arisen in tht midst of the darkness." Razullc throughout is the ever-welcome clown, a Neapolitan lazxarono—good-humored, sly, continually hungry and thirsty, fuli of joke and repartee, and always con tent with his lot. A horseshoe has been Invented that, coma and oil like a man's shoe. A rim at tin bottom and a buckle at the back bold lt 'ii I A pad protects the bottom ol the boot UERMAN For Pain 4 THE GREAT Cures Rheumatism,^Netiraya pre!i*, PRICE* Fim CENTS. 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