The Delaware ledger., April 19, 1884, Image 1

About The Delaware ledger. (Newark, Del.) 1879-19??

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NUMBER 18.
NEWARK, NEW CASTLE COUNTY, DELAWARE, APRIL 19, 1884.
VOLUME VII.
THEO. F. ARMSTRONG,
NOTARY PUBLIC
REAL ESTATE AGENT
NEWARK, DEL.
1
Loans negotiated aud collections
carefully attended to.
E.W,HAINES, D.D.S,
H . H . HAINES,
Nowarlt. Del.
A. FAWCETT.
J. T. WILLIS.
WILLIS S, FAWCETT,
Architects
J
FURNISH DESIGNS, PLANS, SPECIFICA
TIONS anil ESTIMATES for BUILD
INGS or every DESCRIPTION.
—OFFICE—
over Wright & Son's lumber office.
CLAYTON C. CHOATE
HAS ALWAYS ON HAND
The Largest Stock
OF
CHOICEST BRANDS OF
Segars and Tobacco
Segars by the Box a Specialty.
ALSO
PIPES, PAPSR COLLARS and
CUFFS.
FINE CANDIES, &c.
Call on him and be convinced.
Sept 30— J
Sept 30— J y
and
ease.
old
Davis, Keys & Co.,
OF ELKTON, BID.,
Pay ilie llighcMl ( usli Prie©
FOR
GUnAIN tfc HAY.
SELL AI.L KINDS OF
Lumber, Coal and Fertilizers
AT THE LOWKST CASH PRICE.
N
JAMEl-i LYLE,
NEWARK DEPOT,
Are
DEALER IN
GRAIN, LIMBER, LIME
LEHIGH & SCHUYL
KILL COAL
my
Of Dost Quality.
22401bs. per TON GUARANTEED.
AT THE LOEST PRICES.
A LARGE ASSORTMENT OF
LUMBER
on hand At reasonable prie
E. MELCHIOR,
GUNSMITH
'
214 KING STREET,
WILMINGTON, DELAWARE,
HAS FOR SALE
BREECH aud MUZZLE LI) III Ml III NS
4M?*
m
e:
V
of all makes, revolvers ami cartridges of
all kinds. Fine niekle-plated revolves,
$1.25. Implements for breech-loading
guns, glass balls ami traps, ami fishing
tackle. Uedairing done at sl*ovt milice.
$16,00
Vi
it
Breech I.orcling Doubla Omis,
*18, and $20.
No.
THE BLATCHLEY
i PUMP!
BUY THE BEST.
BLATCHLEY'S
TRIPLE ENAMEL
I PORCELAIN-LINED
SEAMLESS TUBE
! COPPER-LINED
PUMP
i D
I
dc
C.C.^bUATCHLEY.NIanuf'r,
308 MARKET ST., Philod'a.
»'»mo of near est AkouL
■ ■
u 1
oi^fciE Liquor (1
lrrv- ■L Jys
W
SOLE AGENTS FOR
, « -u
THE PLEASANT VALLEY
Wlno Company,
, 3STEW YORK.
tSTErprena Order» a Spccialli/
p. plunkItt & CO.
Nos. 106, 108 & 110 Market Streit
_WILMINGTON, DEU^
- wanted for lliu Iiv<"> ofall the ?
.8. TUe large.'it L n
The fa
ÏÏ
MffllSL_
of
lirst Look
eri
Hug book iu
fits to agent«. All intelligent peoj
one oau become a successful agent,
Lot Book Co., Festland, Malus.
r
It.
ny
I
A
S
D
Having formed a copartnership and opened a new shop on New London
Deer Park Hotel, for the manufacture and sale of all kinds o
Aveuue,
AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS,
Are how ready to supply their patrons with everything in the line of Trade
such as
Si'itiNGriRr.n Vibratino Threshers and Engines,
JOHNSON MOWER & REAPER,
STRAW AND FODDER CUTTERS,
TWIN HARROWS, UNIVERSAL CULTIVATORS,
DOUBLE AND SINGLETREES,
FIELD ROLLERS, WHEELBARROWS,
HORSE CARTS & WAGONS made to order.
Is
Cucumber Pumps a Specialty.
W11EKLW RIGHTING and all kinds of REPAIRING neatly and
promptly done and satisfaction guaranteed.
Farm Gates constantly on hand
KAH IXi; AXI> PLANING DOXE TO OllDElt.
<>
E. A. WATSON & CO.
DELAWARE HOUSE
i
JNT o warlt,
Delaware
Having just taken charge of this house and having refitted it throughout
in n manner that must meet with the tastes of the most exacting, I am now
prepared to receive boarders, both transient and regular, at moderate rates.
FIRST-CLASS STABLE
is always essential to a well regulated hotel, and believing this to be so, I
have added au excellent one in every particular. It will be my endeavor to
cater to the interests o'f a generous public. Teams can be secured at all
hours, day and night.
EVAN W. LEWIS, Prop.
LOOK TO YOTJ.R INTEREST,
mid have your bouse painted by
CLARK & ÜBER
ffOf .M', SIUJV ami 8HiI* P+iUTTtlilS, GH.1I.YKHS and
GL.HZKHS.
>00 and 502 POPLAR STREET, WILMINGTON, DELAWARE.
Il'c make a specialty ot Graining.
Smd order
by
tnl curd.
All work guaranteed.
CHAMPAGNE !
All tlio leading and popular brands. Fine old SCOTCH WHISKEY' by th® bottl
and den»ij'»lm. James llenncssy'n celebrated FRENCH BRANDY by the bottle or
ease. JAMAICA RUM. Very lino SHERRY' WINE, all prices and qualities. Fiue
old PORT WINE very rare. Cordials of all kinds. CIGARS, very line. ORANGE
GROVE PURE RYE WHISKIES.
JAMES A. KELLY,
Southwest Cerner Tenth & Shipley streets, 'Wilmington, Del.
N B. -
WESTCOTT Sc CXJJSÆIÆIlsra-S,
fell-known Photograph Gallcjy of the late J. K. Sutlerly,
002 Marigot St., Wilmington, Del.,
Having pu. chased th
Are turning out the. cheapest and best PHOTOGRAPHS
ily *1.00 per dozen. Old Pictures copied and enlarged to
Fancy Mats and Frames at wholesale prices.
tho city. Something
•tfs Photo's
23 ly
my si?.
50c,
He
Th© Choicest Gooils
F.v©r OH'cml.
Tli© C'lioiecat Goo«Ih
E ver Oiler©«!.
JOHN M. EVANS'
DAYLIGHT CARPET ROOMS, 919 Market St., Philada.
Our large elegant stock and low prices have made our store the most popul r
mar 15 3m
resort in the city for Carpet Buyers,
U. W. ZIMMERMAN,
NS
No. li West Tenth Street,
DELAWARE
WI.MINGTON,
X
Would be pleased to see my old friends aud Newarkers in general.
X. iFtA-a-ZETST,
.(Jiicrlu,
722 Market street, Wilmington, Del..
kinds of Clot
in^ cloaiied and dyed; Silk
Vi
, r r «'|
ina and Lnce, all d
it
ill
promptly
ilcd to.
jty.
-3m
CBOWELL'S
TEMPERANCE HOTEL
No. 1528 Market street, Philadelphia.
EUROPEAN PLAN.
Lad kn mul K
find ovorr couver
Hoorn « 60 cent» t
Irom Brouil Htreu
*i.w) I er
stutloii, I*. K. H.
'
J\. -A— WILSON,
PRACTICAL EM BALM ER
616 King Street,
WILMINGTON, DEL.
l.-rt wilh Erivr.d Wilson
ediute ul Uut ion.
»id.
dc
T<
ill
ivo ii
iki
Und
no.Slg
«*>
FARMERS, TAKE NOTICE.
I
20th, Is tho liest
AflON of
April 20th
Ji
F I
h- i:. I
n, 107 Shipley
THATES Colts ou th
.KV. Vi
P
'in
Hind. V
..
In
v toK.J.
Wilmington. D
Appl
du
lipl.y
LEV
■ail
Wood & Bancroft,
604 MARKET STREET,
WILMINGTON, -
April r< ly
Harry C. Pnrltci
• DEL
Ht
OILS, SOAPS & AXLE GREASE
No. 15 EAST 3rd Street, Wilmington.Del. ;
Odd Fellows Hall.
l&TTrdck Harness a Specialty.
A. GAl.LAIiElt,
ROOTS AND SHOES,
ÏÏ
No. 2 West Second street,
Wilmington, Del.
ny
/
CARRIAGES
FAINTED and TRIMMED
LUTTON'S SHOP.
E. E. Ochlctrcc,
NEWARK, DELAWARE.
JAMES ROBERTS,
n ii ii. ..I
WARPER AND WEAVER OF
Plain and Fancy lias Carpet,
1 « lowest prices good carpet
hop south side of Main Street,
I
Will
est of co
u hand for sa
I
, NeWark Del
A PQ|7 C receive 1 frie, a costly box o? goods
RrniLt»Âteïfts?-.
this world. All of eithe
first hour. Tho broad ro
d tof
re, At
ikers, absolutely
... I !..
Tgric & Co , Aug
M &co.Cnv\
■l08 8.HO MARKETS]}
li WILMINGTON )
DEL.
WHOLESALE
LIQUOR DEALERS
;
«"Ordere by mall promptly attended to.
mar 12
fin I n for the wctrklunclass. Send 1(1 cents fo
III II poalsse, and wo will mail you fr
uULLK-t."""
;.YSi
in the way oi matting mor
a few days than you eve
any butdnesa. Capital
you. Y
time only. The work Is universally
g and old. Yoi
:
thought posai hi
will s
an work all the
til Sf
adapt*
ng. That all w
iii.tk.- this
want work may
paralleled oder;
will send St to pay
Full |»rticulars, dir
will be made by thoi
th* work. Great su
lay. Start no
llaiu«
well satisfied w
hie of writing
lions, etc., sent free. Fortui
who give their whole time
absolutely
w. Address Stinson A Co., Portland
pity,
and
drew
er
him,
to
TUE GOOD COMRADE.
A comrade dear once had I,
No better
When ra^ed the battle tide,
at my Bide
Kept time and step with me.
There came a bullet flying;
"For me or ia't for thee?"
It tore my friend away,
Before my feet he lay
And seemed a part of
HIh hand he tries to reach me,
en while I'm taking aim,
"I eannot give my hand;
th' eternal land
My oomrnde good the samel'*
Up
I
i • • ■
ItESURGAM
To-night as I sit alone listening to
the shrieking wind, and the clashing of
the hail against the window pane, the
past, the yesterday of life comes up be
fore me and the present fades away; I
once more live and-Iove.
lam no more the cold worldly wo
man ; she has vamshed, and in her stead
Is the happy girl, with all life's love and 1113
possibilities blossoming about her. Alas
youth is fleeting, and alas, too, that my
love should live when youth Js dead,
Would that remembrance might be
swept away by some lethean flood ; but my
memory lives when all else Is dead, aud
ire love it is immortal.
I was but sixteen when I first met
Robert Dunbar, and he, ten years my
senior, had made a place and name for
himself in the front i auks of his pro
fession—that of the law. He was
darkly handsome and possessed of a
fascination of manner which few could it
withstand—a favorite. In society lie
was flattered and caressed by women
and respected by men. He came a
stranger to me, but brought letters
which established bis claim to enter
the best society, and my father whose
political views were identical with his,
made him warmly welcome to our
house.
It was during my vacation—for I was
yet a school girl—that I first saw him.
I bud been out for a ride, unattended,
for I was a fearless horsewoman, and
while yet a few miles from home I was
startled by the sudden gathering of y
thunder-heuds in the west, which the
rising winds were marshalling across
the sky that had smiled so calmly upon
me an hour before, I thought I could
rush home lu advance of the deluge
that was sure to come, so fgavethe a
rein to my coal-black stud and hade hlm
do his best. He seemed to understand
my words as I spoke to him quickly,
aud he darted forward like a bird ou
the wing. Ou came the tempest,
sweeping across the hill tops. The
deafening roar of the thunder aud the
jagged lightnings that seemed to rend
the very heavens made a sulpliurious
pandemonium of the fair landscape
which had lain so beautifully beneath
the afternoon sun. ,
I seemed to have caught the very
...... . _ , t . 0 ...
spult of the storm, and 1 felt a wild,
*. ai „o »
exultant thrill through every vein as I
was borne on in the mad race. Fast
a„d faster flew my horse, his iron hoofs
heating an accompaniment to the music
of the tempest. We are on the last
mile, and yet the rain has not come,
and I urge him on with voice and rein.
my hat, caught by the force of the wind
has fallen on my shoulders, aud my
brown locks, loosed from restraint,
stream out like pennons on the gale.
I am within a hundred yards of my
home when the girth gives way, and I
spring off, to be caught in my father's
arms. For a moment I am scarcely
conscious. I hear papa saying: "Bes
sie, I have been so anxious about you.
Are you hurt child?" Then all becomes
dark; and when 1 regained conscious
ness I was lying on a lounge in the li
brary, with papa bending over me.
"It is nothing, papa; only I was a
goose to frighten you so. I am well;"
and I rose rather tremulously, for my
nerves were somewhat shaken.
•'Well, dear, let us see you at dinner,
Mr. -Dunbar will dine with us, and my
girl must do the honors for papa."
I kissed his dear old face,the only one
I had known and loved—for I was an
only child aud motherless—aud hasten
ed away to dress. As I braided my
hair, I wondered wliat is this Mr. Dun
bar like? Shall I like him? I suppose
lie will think me only a little girl,
"Well, I shall not care," 1 mentally
added, as I placed a great cluster of
pale pink roses on my creamy sash, aud
tripped down stairs to meet my fate,
Papa silt in his easy chair, and facing
him, with hia elbow resting oh the man
tel, stood Robert Dunbar. Ilis eyes,
dark aud deep, rested on me as I enter
ed, and papa, iising, said:
"This is my little girl, Robert. Bes
sie— Mr. Dunbar."
see
r
1 swept him a graceful courtesy, and
laying my hand
followed papa to the dining-room. Af
tvr the cloth was removed, aud dessert
placed upon the table, I was more at
leisur e to observe
bis proffered arm
guest,as lie spok
earnestly and forcibly on topics of mu
tual interest with papa. Once or twice
I met his eyes resting upon me with
something in their depths I could not
understand, nor did I try to do so. To
me lie seemed handsome, brilliant aud
and man-like; yet unlike otiiers I had
yet to learn bis peculiar fascination,
for 1 was young and heart whole—ol!
lovers I had never dreamed.
A I in'
dinner we returned to the parlor, and
a little while papa bade me sing.
»I loved music and sang with my heart
in my voice, and so sang well, "Aul l
Robin Gray," and "Within a mile uf
Edinboro*," which were followed by,
others. Aud at last Mr. Dunbar asked
me to sing "Douglas Tender and
Somehow, as I felt his eyes upon me,
I sang with a power and pathos un -
known to me before, and as I glanced
up at him my eyes were filled with
tears—tears for what, for the unknown
grief in days to come—a sort of self
fo
eve
the
True."
w
\
arms
sitting
hand
life
his
he
of
Oh,
hear
out
and
for
I
a
late,
yonr
will
but
he
unto
and
into
on
his
him
down
pity, as though futurity were opening
before me. But I will not anticipate.
The days flew by on wings of light,
and as the time to return to school
drew near, I began to shrink from the
thought of leaving home—the home
which, if possible, was dearer than ev
er before.
I begged papa to let me stay with
him, but he was Arm and paid no heed
to my pleadings, saying:
"Only one more year girlie, then I
shall have you always, unless some one
should want to rob me of my treasure."
I flushed warmly and protested I
would always stay with him. The last
evening came and the morrow would
on mj journey to the famous
finishing school of Madam Milla, at
t ,
Aa ™ual Robert Uunoar allied with
f\ and afterward we sat in the soft
tw.ligh, I at the p.ano, papa dozing,
aml Kobcrt bis favorlt6 place, where
1113 <V es could re8 t upon me as I sang,
Softly and sadly the notes lell from
my lips, and once again I touched the
chords of "Douglass, Douglass Tender
and True, " and the heart break seemed
my own. Tears overflowed my eyes
and I leaned my head on the instru
meut to hide thera * 1 felt a hand on
my bowed head lifting me to a softer
resting place.
"Bessie," murmured a voice (which
even to-day makes music in my soul;)
"Bessie,what troubles you,my darling?
Oh, Bessie, I love you, I love you. Can
it be that you are grieved to leave me?
Look up my queen, let me read my
fate in your bonnie blue eyes. Can
you care for me, Bessie?" he whispered
softly caressing my bead, as it rested
on his bosom.
At last I found voice to answer his
whispered pleadings,
Mr. Dunbar I do not think I care for
you as you wish me to. I have known
ou jy papa and you. I like you both,
oh, Mr. Dunbar, I do not know my
own heart; do not ask me to care for
you, except as a dear brother. 1 am
young; I am not worthy of the love
y 0 u offer me. I will be your friend al
wuys, but—" and I drew away from
Lis enfoldiug arms—"I cannot promise
anything more,"
ma da ; k aud d looked into
min6i u he murmured . -you are but
a child, aad t have 3tar Ued you . ToI .
give me sweetheart; I shall go on lov
illg you forev and maybe you wllI
learn l0 lov , me in retu ru after awhUe.
Do not forget me , little love; you are
, awBy for a year. Come hack to
me as you go, and I will win you; for
wlthout Iife i8 not worth , lyl
, wU1 good . bye now , darling."
And once m()re he folded me to hia
lieBrt aud kissing me paanonately on
tU(J brow and , lpg he was gone
I sat like one in a dream. What was
........ . . , 0 Tr u
this that had come Into my life? I felt
. . . J .
» a consciousness of newly acquired pow
I , . . .. TT ^
f ° ^ hca,U i yet be "• r ™, ce -
' was a 7""! cbUd - bIe
btlund me ' , * Bat lon * and P° ndered ;
A >' tar wuald brin « c ia "« e9 ' ,
should graduate and school life would
b f 0VBr fo ! 6v . e f : the ? 1 would eut " so '
0 e *-" d 7 °" s ? conquests and
clal success flitted before my eyes as I
tried to .can the future I rose, kissed
W» ""J. a" d /ought my room, "to
Bleep ' Perchance to dream
I „ M * probation passed swiitly
1 bad frejuent letters from Mr.
Dunbar,but they were more friendly
than loyer-like. I remembered lam as
au al,n ° 9t brother ' and n f ked f °f ward
with P loa3ure meetin * hl,n a S aiu -
Commencement day had come and
li- passed, and I with other "girl gradu
at es," secured my diploma, and was
a bowing my acknowledgements, when I
raLsed "y eyes to meet those of Robert
Dunbar fixed upon me. His face,
darkly handsome, lighted up with a
smile, as he bowed with stately courte
sy response to my look ot pleased
surprise.
Afterward we met in the crowded
an reception room, and, while his manner
' vaa ©ver courteous and kind, he seem
<-*d to have forgotten that last interview
of a year ago. I felt piqued, aud ex
«rted myself to charm the man for
whom I had persuaded myself I cared
only as a friend. And yet, why should
of I try to win that for which I cared
nothing. 'Tis vain for a woman to rea
son, for usually it is impulse rather than
reason that governs her actions,
The evening passed quickly, as such
evenings generally do, and I retired
early to prepare for the journey of to
morrow-. Somehow I felt as though I
had lost something that I prized. Yet
I bad rejected the love Robert Dunbar
had offered me a year ago. Would I
do otherwise now ? I could not answer.
see
to
an
ly
of
cies
Miss
orbs
her
less
but
She
silk
any
a
of
of
est
of
to
It
at
The next morning found us on our
way to YV—, for Robert was mj escort,
Papa not being able to make the jour
ney, his health being feeble, so much
so, that he seldom left home, and lie
had learned to lean upon Robert as on
a son. We had traveled through the
long, dusty summer day and had made
our last change in the dusk, taking the
through express for W—. I was weary
and dispirited. Robert's thoughtful
kindness had made the way seem less
long and tiresome than it otherwise
would have done, but it seemed brother
ly kindness only. I began to wish it
otherwise, and yet I made no sign.
Once or twice 1 saw something of the
old look in his eyes as he bent them
To
in'
l
uf ! earnestly upon me, but I reasoned, per
by, baps it is ouly my fancy. As night
J deepened, I grew resfcl ss, and a feeling,
and as of some impending danger, hung
over me. The train whirled on with
me, | increasing speed ; suddenly there was a
un - j swaying motion, then a crash, and then
the very blackness of darkness swal
with lowed us up. YVe seemed falling from
■ illimitable heights, and cries and groans
self filled the summer night. I felt, when
consciousness returned, the clasp of
arms about me, and I struggled into a
sitting position, and reaching out my
hand (for I was only stunned) I felt
Robert's face close to mine, with the
life blood trickling from a wound on
his forehead, lie was insensible, yet
he held me in a vice-like grasp.
"Robert, I cried," and all the love
of my being was centered in my voice.
"Robert, speak tome ; it is I, Bessie.
Oh, Robert, I love you I do you not
hear me ? X cannot, cannot, live with
out you." Slowly his- eyes unclosed
and rested on my faee. I cared naught
for the strange faces surrounding
I clasped him to me and kissed him in
a delirium of pain and passion. Too
late, I had known my own heart.
"Bessie, it is sweet to die thus, with
yonr arms around me "
"You shall not die, my own, you
will live for me," I whispered softly ;
but a shadow passed over his face and
he said, gently and calmly :
"No, my queen, my heart is yours
unto death ; let me look my last in your
bonnie eyes. You love me, sweetheart,
and I die content." And so under the
pitying stars his grand soul passed out
into the great beyond.
They bore him to my home, for so I
willed it, and then they laid him to rest
on the hillside with my kindred. In
his grave my heart lies buried. I loved
him with the grand passion which
comes only
though my life has been a brilliant and
successful one as the world sees it, deep
down in my very heart of hearts is the
grave of my only love, and above it is
written :
li Re8urgam. "
to any heart, and
li Re8urgam. "
m
of
if
to
it
J
and once shown and impressed upon
the face, it is there so long as it con
tinues to act from within, and that is
generally for life. It is no easy matter
to begin to be amiable with
amiable expression of countenance, and
an unamiable and fixed habit of be
havior. Few have strength of will
sufficient to make such a change in
their mode of life. It is not by a mere
moral resolution that such a conversion
can take place. We are far more like
ly to become worse than better when
find attraction of the person to cease
after a heartless and imperious reign
of saucy beauty. It is no easy task,
indeed, to resign ourselves to our fate
when our attractions have disappeared,
and all at once to correct the scow 1
The Valae or Heaaty.
The mort valuable and lasting spe
cies of beauty is that which is least
cultivated. The young and capricious
Miss , with an elegant person and finely
modeled face, illuminated by brilliant
orbs and splendidly bedecked with dark
shining locks, very often destroys the
moral beauty of her nature merely to
humor the perverseness of her physical
attractions. She trusts in the power of
her bodily charms, and she even re
fuses to provide herself with those of a
less perishable nature, which are not
serviceable while bodily beauty remuais,
but especially so when it is fled forever.
She prides herself in her wardrobe of
silk and satin, and would encounter
any species of pain or hardship to in
crease it, and to furnish herself with
gold and with diamonds ; but the ward
robe of the mind and the heart she
takes little care to replenish, as if a
young beauty were independent of this,
and, if she played her cards well, might
make her fortune without it. It is
time enough to begin to be amiable
when you begin to be ugly, say some
young ladies, or they seem to say it.
But nature punishes this perversity in
a very striking and remarkable manner.
They who refuse to cultivate the moral
beauty during the reign of the season
of physical beauty lose the opportunity
of possessing themselves of it, and
moreover, they destroy their favorite
species of beauty by their independence
and neglect of the other. The temper
imprints its mark upon the countenance,
which very speedily reveals the char
acter of the disposition which lurks be
hind it. Being a growing power and a
vigorous power, which is even strong
est at death, it- gradually overcomes
every obstacle which stands in the way
of its
escape into outward observ
ation. It wrinkles the brow, lowers
the eyebrows, bends down the curve of
the mouth, aud pouts the lips, when
ever it happens to be of a disagreeable
nature ; and it gives life and permanent
animation to all the lines of the face
whenever its course of feeling happens
to be of a kind and generous character.
It comes out at last and shows itself ;
un
and the frown, and the haughty air and
the satirical grin, and the heartless
sneer, which have already left their
imprints on the face aud made them
selves quite at home in the very citadel
of expression.
ir « K.lubow.
Says a correspondent; being in Brit
tany last fall, on going down one side
of a hill towards the valley, I had the
misfortune to be caught in a shower.
As I was back to the sun. which was
then shining, I saw a rainbow opposite
in the sky. Looking down to the
where I was
ground suddenty to
going, my eye was caught by a flash of
colored light, so I looked up again to
the rainbow and then slowly down it
until I was locking at the trees opposite,
and there I saw tho continuation of the
a
said rainbow. I got nearer and nearer
till, when being about fifty yards from
it, it disappeared
stopping. According to the trees the
rainbow was about ten yards in width.
Some nights afterward I had the pleas
ure of seeing a lunar rainbow. The
moon was then full and I was back to it.
As above, I was caught in tho rain, and
a rainbow In front of me, circular
like a sun rainbow, but narrower and
less color in it, the red being most pro
minent.
account of the rain
bello.
a
tierce
one
and
with
was
him
the
shall
or
not
Lett«».
just appointed commander-in chief
of the army of Italy, the bridegroom of
forty-eight hours must take leave of his
beloved Josephine and the little hotel
of the Rue Chantereine, where his hap
piness has been Vivid and transient as
the lightning's flash. The first letter
written five davs after his marriage,
ends thus: "May my good genius,
which has always protected me in my
greatest danger, guard and shield you
nowl 1 care not for myself. Be not
gay, but a little sad. * * * Re
member what our good Ossiau said. I
send a thousand and one kisses from
your truest and most loving friend."
Mme. de Remusat says in her me
moirs:
"I should speak of the heart of Bon
aparte. But if it were possible to be
lieve that any human being could be
deprived of that part of our organism
that makes no need to love and be
loved, I should say that at the moment
of his creation his heart must have
been foi gotten, or perhaps he succeeded
in completely suppressing it."
Yet in another letter we find: "Oh,
my adorable wifel 1 Know not what
fate awaits
from you 1 cannot bear it.
strong enough for that. There was a
time when I was proud of my courage,
and sometimes, anticipating what fate
might have in store for me, or what 1
might suffer at the hands of men, 1
contemplated the most unheard-of mis
fortunes without dismay or astonish
ment. But now the idea that my Jose
phine may suffer; the idea that she
may be ill, or worse than all, the cruel,
deadly thought that she may love me
less, blights my soul, curdles my blood,
makes me dejected aud miserable, with
I used
him
to
he
not
had
me
in
in
in
; but if I must be away
I am not
no heart for anger or despair,
to say to myself, 'Men have no power
over him who dies without regret.'
Now, to die without the assurance of
your love is hell itself—is nothing less
than annihilation. 1 feel as if I should
suffocate. My only one, my companion
m life's toilsome journey, the day that
you love me no longer, Nature loses
every charm. I stop, sweet friend; my
soul is sad, my body weary; men are
insufferable. I can but hate them; they
come between me and you."
Later, be writes: "When I exact
from you a love like mine I am wrong.
Why ask that lace should outweigh
gold? When I sacrifice to you all my
wishes, all my thoughts, every instant
of my life, I yield to the ascendency
that your charms, your character and
your whole person have acquired over
my unfortunate heart. It is my fault
if nature has not given me the power
to captivate you, but what I do deserve
from Josephine is esteem and regard,
for I love her passionately, devotedly.
Adieu, adorable wifel Adieu, my Jo
sephine I May fate concentrate in my
heart all the grief there is to bear, aud
grant to my Josephine all the prosperity
and happiness. Who deserves it more
than she does? When it is evident that
she can love me no more I will hide my
bitter grief and will try and be satisfied
with being kiud und useful to her in
some way- I open my letter again to
send you a kiss. Ah! Josephine, Jose
phiuel"
At this time Napoleon seems more in
love than she does. Indeed, she reads
part of hia letters aloud to others and
finds his jealous transports amusing.
The question arises whether he found
the responsive tenderness he claimed,
and whether Mme. de Remusat is right,
when, in another mood, she says, "Per
haps lie would have been better if he
had been more truly loved." After all
it is not impossible that Josephine's
coldness may have been stimulated.
She had to de with a conqueror, and
love is like war; more tender and more
responsive, she might have had less
power over Bonaparte.
Her share in the dangers and glories
of tiiat wonderful Italian campaign was
then described—her social victories at
home and abroad. Then came the
Egyptian expedition, when she was left
behind with her children and her hus
band's family.
On the 16th of October, 1799, Napo
leon, just lauded from Egypt, alliglited
at his hotel rue Chantereine, ouly to
find it deserted. Josephine had gone
to meet him, but, taking different roads
they hud missed each other. He had
been tortured during his absence by
reports about his wife, conveyed by
J unot and others, aud now his brothers,
jealous of Josephine's influence, availed
themselves of
is
the door locked and could obtain
in
1
a
it
;
this
occasion to make the most of his impa
tience and suspicions. They succeeded
so well that, two days after, when Jose
phine at last arrived and eagerly ran up
stairs to her husband's room, she found
unlooked-foi
admission. From behind the bolts no
•inswer to ner entreaties but this: "The
door will never be reopened to you."
She pleaded in vain. Her sobs were
heard all over the house, and she passed
the whole night in agoniziDg aud fruit
less application. At last, worn out by
fatigue and distress, she was going
away, when one of her ladies suggested
sending for the children. Jf ugene aud
Horteoae can»« They joined their
voiees to Josephine's—"Do not abandon
our mother; it will kill her."
At last the door opened. Bonaparte's
face was stern, his reproaches bitter.
Josephine trembled at his words. Theq
he turned to Eugene.
"As for you, you shall not suffer for
your mother's fault. You shall always
be my sou. I shall keep you near
me."
"No, General," answered Eugene,
I must share my mother's sad fate aud
bid you farewell."
Bonaparte began to relent. He
pressed Eugene to bis heart and granted
forgiveness to Josephine, who had
fallen on her knees with llortense by
herself, and the reconciliation was com
plete.
Among other anecdotes, ths following
is related by Arnault: Josephine bad
a little lap-dog named "Fortune." At
the time of her imprisonment, during
the "Terror," she was separated from
her husband, the Viscount Beauhamais,
also a prisoner. The children were al
lowed to visit their parents, accompa
nied by their governess, who took the
lap-dog with her, and by means of notes
slipped under the collar of the little
animal, the husband and wife commu
nicated with each other. After her re
lease on the 9th Theriuidore, Fortune
and lus mistress became inseparable,
One day at Montebello, during the
Italian campaign, the dog was lying on
the same couch with his mistress.
"Do you see that gentleman?" said
Napoleon, pointing himoutto Arnault;
"he is my rival."
Arrogant and iutrusive, like most fa
vorites, Fortune had great faults; he
was very noisy, and bit everybody, Na
poleon included. One day at Monte
the
the
of
to
it
the
the
The
it.
and
and
pro
bello. lie was so imprudent as to attack
a great dog belonging to the cook, a
tierce mastiff who laid him low with
one bite. Josephine was in despair,
and the cook thought it was all over
with him.
"What are you running away for?"
"Alter what my dog did, general, I
was afraid that my presence might be
disagreeable."
"Where is your dog? Have you sent
him away?"
"No, general, but he never comes in
the garden any moie, especially since
madame has another dog,"
"Oh, let him run about; perhaps I
shall get rid of this one also."
The gentlest, most indolent of creoles
controlled the most self-willed and im
perious of men. Bonaparte could win
victories, accomplish miracles, create
or destroy governments, but he could
not turn a dog out of doors.
Money Wltlioi
While I w-as In the "Dead Letter"
Department the other day one of the
clerks engaged in opening letters—at a
table near by-called to the gentleman
who is entertaining me. He went to
him and immediately beckoned for me
to follow.
"Now, what can be done in this case?"
he says. "Here is a letter, this instant
opened, and you see what it contains?"
There is a clean, new tweuty-dollar
bill, neatly folded and wrapped in a
piece of perfectly blank brown paper—
not a mark of pen or pencil to show
from whom it was sent. The letter
had been advertised as unclaimed and
w-as dead, aud the examination of its
contents made it more complely dead
than before.
"We have nothing but the postmark
and even that is almost obliterated, but
our expert will take hold of it and do
the best he can with it. There's a pretty
slim chance in this case. I guess Uncle
Sam will get that money. This reminds
me of something in my experience. A
few years ago, when I was opening
letters, I found one just like this, except
that the amount was $30 and on the
paper wrapped around it was written
in pencil, 'A friend, Matthew vi. : 3.' I
looked that up and found it to be: 'But
when thou doest alms, let not thy left
hand know what thy right baud doeth.
The letter was addressed to a woman
and it was clearly a case of charity. I
really felt bad that we could not succeed
in finding either party and that money is
in the Treasury to-day,"
The number of letters opened last
year containing currency, checks, drafts
aud negotiable paper was over 34,000.
The amount of actual cash taken from
letters was nearly $39,000 and the value
yf checks, etc., representing money,
$1,600,000. During the last year the
number of pieces of mail matter that
reached the Dead Letter Othce was
nearly four and a half millionsl The
exact number ^ -as 4,44o,822. This is
about 14.500 for every day.
A Ulg Drink . ml Wlmt Caine »fit.
One of the principal treasures of the
Rathhaus collection in Bavarian
Rothenburg is an immense pokal or
goblet, holding twelve Bavarian schop
pm, full six quarts. It was intended
to be passed around the table at grand
feasts ; but on one memorable occasion
it was drained to the last drop by a
single individual, who was none the
worse for his excess. Perhaps his
motive was bis protection. It happen
ed in this wise : When, in 1631, Count
Tilly, with his whole army, took pos
session of the city, he callstl the coun
cil together, informed them that they
were all to be beheaded, and sent the
mayor to summon the executioner
forthwith. As may be supposed, the
did not hurry to do his errand and
when he at last arrived at the house
the executioner plumply refused to
undertake the task of cutting off the
iieads of his respected fellow citizens,
the councilors. During this interval,
while the people were lamenting, the
executioner protesting, and the mayor
shaking in his shoes, the councilors in
their desperation, hit upon a bright
idea. They filled the great pokal with
their choicest wine aud offered it to
Tilly and his attendants. In a few
moments the temper of the haughty
eouqueror was softened, lie grew more
compassionate toward his victims, and
at last, becoming jolly over his frequent
draughts of the mellow liquor, he
promised to set his trembling prisoners
at liberty, if one of their number would;
in lus presence, drink the great pokal
full of wine. This offer seemed at first
only a cruel aggravation of their mis
ery ; but after an anxious discussion a
certain Herr Nusch, a former mayor,
accepted th ehallenge and succeeded
in the apparently impossible task.
Tilly kept his word, a servant was sent
in all haste to call buck the mayor aud
bid the executioner cease his prepara
tions. The street tlirough which the
servant ran on his welcome errand is
called Peace alley (Friedensgassohen)
to this day, and the descendants of the
brave ex-mayor still enjoy a yearly
pension from the public funds, besides
remaining owners of the famous pokal.
writings.
rapyriu.
The papyrus collection recently
bought by Archduke Renier of Austria
is now being examined, uuder the
direction of lien* Karabaczek, at the
museum in Vienna. Hitherto, 1,500
papyri have been examined, about half
of them being perfectly preserved.
This is but a small proportion of the
mass. There are two papyri dating
from the beginning of
having been written at the end of the
third century after Christ, is of great
value, as the oldest manuscripts of
Thucydides are of the eleventh cen
are a Latin papyrus of
era, This,
tury. *
the fifth or sixth century, fragments
of Greek Gospels of the fourth century,
and a large number of Arab aud Greek