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VOT TIME 3. DES ARC, ARKANSAS. MARCH 9, 18(39. jSTTJMBER 48.
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a ntnii vs <ii i:stio\.
Before l trust my fate to thee,
Or plnee my hand in thine,
Before I let thy fut urc give
Color and form to mine,
Before I peril all for thee,
Questiou thy soul to-night for me.
I break all slighter bonds, uor feel
A shadow of regret;
Is there one link within the past
That holds thy spirit yet?
Or is thy faith as clear and free
As that which l can pledge to thee?
Does there within thy dimmest dream
' A possible future shine,
Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,
Untouched, unshared by mine?
If so. at any pain or cost,
O, tell me before all is lost.
Look deeper still. If thou canst feel
Within thy inmost soul
That thou bast kept a portion back,
While I have staked the whole,
Let no false pity spare the blow,
But in true mercy tell me so.
»Y • •%
I® there within thy heart a need
That mine cannot fulfill?
One cord that any other hand
Could wake or still?
Speak now. lest at some future day
My whole life wither and decay.
Lives there within thy nature hid
The demon spirit Change,
Shedding a passing glory still
On all things new and strange?
It may not bo thy fault alone—
But shield uiv heart against thy own.
Couldst t-liou withdraw thy hand one day,
And answer to my claim.
That Fate, and that to-day’s mistake—
Not thou—had been to blame?
Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou j
Wilt surely warn and save me now.
Nay. answer not — l dare not hear.
The word would come too ate;
Yet I wou i! spare thbe all remorse;
So comfort thee, my Fate—
Whatever on my heart may fall—
Remember. I v >ul 1 risk it all.
THE FiLSE LADYi:.
There were merriment and music in j
time the abode of France’s royalty!—
Music and merriment, even from the
break of day! That was a singular
age—an age of great transitions*. The
splendid spirit-stirring soul of chivalry
was alive yet among the nations—y-et.
although fust declining, and destined
soon to meet Ls ueath-blow in the.
spear thrust that hurled floury, last
victim of its wondrous system, at once
from saddle and from throne!—In ev
ery art, in every usage, new science |
bad effected even then mighty changes:!
yet it wa- the <1 world stiil ! Gun
powder. and the use of musketry' and
ordnance, had introduced new topics;
yet still knights spurred their barbed
charger* to the shock, still rode in
complete steel—and tilts and tourna
ments still mustered all ti e UnigUy ■
and the noble; ami banquets at high
noon, and balls in the broad day-light,
assembled to the board or t > ’he dance,
the young, the beautiful, and happy.
There were merriment and music in
the court—the hull—the stair-case—the
saloons of state! All that France hold
of beautiful, and bright, and brave,and 1
wise and noble, were gathered to the
presence of their King.—And there
were many there, well known and hon
ored in those olden days; well known
and honored ever after!—The Or*!, in
person a- in place, was the great King!
—the proud and chfvalrous and prince- ;
iy l—becoming his high station at all
times ami in every place — v. faring his
state right gracefully and freely—the 1
second Henry!—and at his side young;
Francis, the Kiug-I)auphin ; with lur,
the cyn- -lire of every heart, the star of
that fair company—Scotland's unrival
led Mary hanging upon his manly arm,'
and gazing up with those soft, dove- \
like eyes, fraught with unutterable
soul, into her husband’s face—into her
husband's spirit.— Hrissac was there,
and Joyeuse, and Never*; and Jarnac,
the renowned for skill in fence, and
Vielleville; and the Cardinal Lorraine
and all the glorious Guises,-and Mont
morenei, soon to be famous :i3 the
slayer of his King, and every peer of
France, and every peerless lady.
Loud pealed the exulting symphon
ies ; loud sang the chosen minstrelsy—
and a* the gorgeous sunbeams rushed
in a flood of tinted lustre through the
i ii'ii iii my l oiui t i {»:un s or me mm
windows, glancing on soft voluptuou'
forms and eyes that might ouidaz/.lc
their own radiance, arrayed in all the
pomp and pride of that magnificent
and stately period—a more resplendent
scene could scarcely be imagined. That
was a day of rich ami graceful cos
tumes, when men and warriors thought
it no shame to be adorned in silks and
velvets, with chains of goldsmith's
work about their necks, and jewels in
their ears, and on their hatband;, but
tons, and buckles, and sword-hilts;
and if such were the sumptuous attire;
of the sterner and more solid sex, what |
must have been tho ornature of the
court ladies, under the gentle sway of
such a being as Diane de Pnicticrs, the
lovely mistress of the monarch, and ar
bitress of the soft follies of the court f
The palace halls were decked with
every fanciful variety, some in the
pomp of blazoned tapestries with ban
ners rustling from the cornices above
jocund dancers, some filled w ith fresh
green branches, wrought into silver
arbors, sweet garlands, perfuming the
air, and the light half excluded or tem
pered into a mild and emerald radi
ance by the dense toliage of the rare
exotics. Pages and ushers tripped it
to and fro, clad in the royal liveries,
embroidered with the cognizance of
Henr.vfkthe fuigist salamander, bearing
tbe'choieest wines', the rarest cates, in
every interval of the resoundingdance.
It Would he tedious to dwell longer on
I the scene; to multify more instances
of the strange mixtnre, which might
be witnessed everywhere, of artificial
luxury with semibarbarous rudeness—
to specify the graces of the company,
; the beauty of the demoiselles and
dames, the stately bearing of the war
rior nobles, as they swept back and
forth in the quaint mazes of some anti
quated measure, wore a task to be un
dertaken only by some oid chronioler,
nrilli etytf* «fa mTinn* H11CT #« quMlll ***»
the manners he portrays in living col
ors. Enough for us to catch a fleeting
glimpse of the grand pageantry' to
sketch with a dashy pencil the groups
which he would designate with abso
lute and accurate minuteness I
But there was one amnng that gay
assemblage, who must not bo passed
over with so slight a regard, since she
attracted on that festive day, as much
of wondering admiration for her une
qualled beauties as sho excited grief,
and sympathy, and fear, in after days,
for her sad fortunes’—but there was
now no cloud upon her radiant beauty,
no dimness prophetic of approaching
tears in her large laughing eyes, no
touch of melancholy thought upon one
glorious feature—Marguerite dc Van
dreuil, the heiress of a ducal fortune,
the heiress of charms so surpassing,
that rank and fortune wero forgotten
by all who gazed upon her pure high
brow, her dazzling glances, her seduc
tive smile, the perfect symmetry ofher
whole shape and person I Her hair, of
the darkest auburn shade, foil in n
thousand ringlets, glittering out like j
threads of virgin gold when a stray
sunbeam touched them, fell down her
snowy neck over the shapely shoulders
md so much of a soft heaving bq90in—
veined bv unnumbered azure channels.
wherein the pure blood coursed so joy
ously—as was displayed by the falling
laces which decked her velvet boddice
—her eyes, so quick and dazzling was
Iheir light, almost defied description,
possessing at one time the depth and
brilliance of the black, melting into the
sotter languor of the bine—yet they
were of the latter hue, and suited truly
to the whole style and character of her
voluptuous beauty, ller form, as has
been noticed, was symmetry itself; ■
inti every movement, every step, was
fraught with natural and unstudied
»race.—In sooth, she seemed almost
00 beautiful for mere mortality—and
so thought many ail one wiio guzeil oil
ier, half drunk with that divine delir
utp which steeps the souls of men who
Hvell too steadfastly upon such won
.1 rolls charms, as she bounded through
:iio labyrinth ol the dance, lighter and
springier than the world-famed ga- |
telle, or rested from the exciting toil
u panting abandonment upon some
mshioned settle! and many inquired
if themselves, could it be possible that
m exterior so divine should be the 1
tenement of a harsh worldly spirit, and
1 demeanor and air so frank, so cor
dial, and so warm, should he but the
deceptive veil that hid a selfish, cold,
bad heart. Ay! many asked them- \
-elves tlmt question on that day, but
not one answered Ids own question
candidly or truly—no ! not one man !—
lor in her presence lie had been more
ur less than mortal, who could pro
nounce his sentence unmoved by the !
attractions of her outward seeming.
For Marguerite da Vuudreuil had
been but three short mouths before
nfllaiiccd as the bride of the young
Huron de La-IIirc—the bravest and
best of Henry's youthful nobles. It !
had been a love treaty—no matter ofj
shrewd bartering of hearts—no cold
and worldly covenancc—but the out
pouring. as it seemed, of two young
spirits, each warm and worthy of the
other!—and ineu had envied him, and
Indies had held her more fortunate in
her high conquest, than in her rauk, her
riches, or her beauties; and the world
had forgotten to calumniate, or to
sneer, in admiration of the voting glo
rioiis pair, that seemed so fitly mated.
Three little mouths had passed—three
more, and they had been made one!—
hut, in the interval, Charles dc La-Hire,
obedient to his King's behest, had
buckled on his sword, and led the fol
lowers of his house to the Italian wars.
With him, scarcely less brave, and, as
some thought, yet handsomer than he,
rorth rode upon Ids first campaign, Ar- :
maud dc Laguy, his own orphaned
cousin, bred like a brother on his fa
ther's hearth ; and, as Charles well be
lieved, a brother in affection. Throe
little months had passed, and in a tem
porary truce, Armand da Laguy had
returned atone, leading the relics of his
cousin's force, and laden with the dole
ful tidings of that cousin's fall upon
the field of honor. None else had seen
him die, none else had pierced so
deeply into tlie hostile ranks; but Ar
mand had rushed madly on to save
his noble kinsman, and falling in the
desperate attempt, had borne off Ids
reward in many a perilous wound.
Another month, and it was whispe
cd far and near, that Marguerite had
dried her tears allready ; and that Ar
muud de Laguy had, by his cousin’s
death, succeeded, not to lauds and to
lordships only, but to the winning of
that dead cousin's bride. It had been
whispered far and near—and now the
whisper was proved to be true. For,
on this festive day, young Armand,
still pale from the effects of his exhaus
ting wounds, and languid frqm loss of
the blood, appeared iu public for the
first time, not in the sable weeds of de
cent and accustomed woe, but iu the
gayes* garb of a successful bridegroom
I_his ponrpoint or rose-col ©reel velvet
strewn thickly with seed pearl and
broideries of silver, bis hose of l icit
1 white silk, all slashed and lined with
! cloth of silver, his injured arm suspen
I ded in a rare scarf of the lady's color s,
and, above all, the air of quiet confi
dent success itith which he offered,
| and that lovely girl received, his inti
mate attentions, showed that I'dr once,
at least, tho tongue or rumor had told
it Utils
Therefore men gazed in wonder—and
marvelled as they gazed, and halt con
I demned 1—yet tiiey who had been loud
est in their censure whin the first whis
per readied their ears of so disloyal
love, of so bold-fronted an incdstancy,
now found themselves devising many
an excuse within their secret hearts for
this sad lapse of otto so exquisitly fair.
Henry himself had frowned, when
Armand de Lagtty led forth the fnir be
trothed, radiant in festive garb and
decked with joyous smiles—blit the
stern brow of the offended prince had
smoothed itself into a softer aspect,
and the rebuff which he had determin
ed—but a second’s space before—to
give to tlie untimely lovers, was frit
ternd down into a jest before it left the
lips of the repentant sqcakcr.
The day was well-nigh spent—
the evening banquet had been spread,
and bad been honored, duly—and now
the lamps were lit in hull, and corridor
and bower; anil merrier waxed the
mirth, and faster wheeled tlie dance.
The company were scattered to and
fro, some wandering in the royal gar
den, which overspread at that day,
most of the Isle de Paris : some played
with cards or dice some danced un
wearied in the grand saloons ; some
whispered love in Indies' ears in dark
sequestered bowers—and of these Inst
were Marguerite and Armand—a long
alcove of thick green boughs, with
orange trees between, flowering in
marble vases, and myrtles, and a thou
odorous trees mingling their perfumed
shadows, led to a lonely bower—and
there alone ih the dim starlight—alone
indeed! for they might now he deem
ed as one, sat the two lovers. One
fair hand of the frail lady was clasped
in (lie bold suitors right—whill his
left arm, unconeions of its wound, was
twined about her slender waist; her
head reclined upon his shoulder, with
all its rich redundancy of ringlets flout
ing about his neck and bosom, and
her eyes, languid and suffused, fondly
turned up to meet his passiouato glan
ces. “And can it ho"—ho said, in
the thick broken tones that tell of vehe
ment passion—“And can it ho that you
indeed love Armand ?—I fear, i fear,
sweet beauty, that I, like Charles,
should ho forgotten, were I, like
Charles, removed—for him thou didst
love dearly—while on me never didst
thou waste thought or word.'’
“Him—never, Armand, never!—by
the bright stars above Xts—by the great
gods that hear us—1 never—never did
love Charles de ha-Iiirc—never did
love man, save tin e, my noble Armand.
—False girlish vanity and pique led
me to toy with him at first; now to my
sorrow I confess it—and when thou
didst look coldly upon me, seem'dst to
woo dark Adeline de Cottrcy, a wo
rn an's vengeanc stirred up my very
soul, and therefore to punish thee,
whom only did I love, 1 well nigh
yielded up myself to torture by wed
ding one whom I esteemed indeed and
honored—hut never thought of for one
moment with affection—wilt thou be
lieve me, -Armand ?'
"Sweet angel. Marguerite!’’ and lie
clasped tier to his hot heaving breast,
and her white arms were flung about
Ids neck, and their lips met iu a long
fiery kiss.
Just in that point of lime—in that
soft melting moment—a heavy hand
was laid quietly on Armnnd's shoulder
ne starieu, as me llenil sprang up,
revealed before the temper oflthurlel's
angel weapon—be started like a guilty
tiling from that forbidden kiss.
A tall form stood beside him. shrou
ded from head to heel in a dark riding
cloak of the Italian fashion ; but there
was no lint on the stately head, rot*
any covering to the cold stern impas
sive features. The high broad forehead
as pale as sculptured marble, with the
dark chestnut curls falling oil' purled
evenly upon the crown—the full, fixed,
steady eye, which lie could no more
meet than lie could gaze unscathed on
the meridian sun, the noble features,
sharpened by waut and suffering and
woe—were alii all those of bis good
cousin.
For a moment's space the three stood
there ill silence!—Charles de La-Hire
reaping rich vengeance from the uncon
querable consternation of the traitor!
Armand de Laguy bent almost to the
earth with shame and conscious terror!
and Marguerite half dead with fear,
and scarcely certain if indeed lie who
stood bofore her were (lie man in his
living presence, whom she had vowed
to love forever; or if it were but the
visioned form of an indignant friend
returned from tho dark grave to thun
derstriko the false disturbers of his
eternal rest.
‘•I am in tinio”—he said at length, in
accents slow and ^unfaltering, as bis
whole air was cold and tranquil—*‘iii
time to break off this monstrous union !
—Thy perjuries have been in vain
weak man ; thy lies are open to the
day.—He whom thou didst betray to
the Italian's dungeon—to the Italian's
dagger—as thou didst then believe and
hope stands bodily before thee.”
A long heart-piercing shriek bursl
from t lie lips of Marguerite, as theilea(J
import of his speecli fell on her shar
pened cars—the man Whom she hail
loved—first loved!—for all her previ
ous words were false and tickle—stood
at her side in all his power and glory—
and she affianced ton liar, a base trai
tor—a foul murderer in ids heart!—a
scorn and by-word lo her own sex—an
object of contempt and hatred to every
noble spirit!
Tint at that instant Armnud dc
Lngny's pride awoke—for lie was
proud, and brave, and daring!—and he
gave back the lie, and hurled defiance
in his accuser's teeth.
“Death to thy soul!” he cried—“ 'tis
fliou that liesl!—Charles !—did I not
see tiie stretched on thee bloody plain ?
did I not sink beside I bee hewed down
and trampled underfoot, in striving to
preserve tlioe?—and when my vassals
found me, wert thou not beside me—
with thy face scarred, indeed, and
mangled beyond recognition, but with
tiie surcoat and the arms upon the life
less corpse, and the sword in the cold
hand?—‘Tis thou that Most, man!—’tis
thou that for some base end, didst con
ceal thy life; and now wouidst charge
' thy felonies on me—but 'twill not do—
; fair cousin.—The King shall judge he
: tween us!—Come lady"—and he would
have taken her by hand, but she sprang
back ns though a viper would have
stung her.
“Back traitor!—” she exclaimed, in
tones of the deepest loathing.—“I hale
thee, spit on tliec ! defy thee!—Base
have I been myself, and frail, and tickle
—hut, as I live, Charles de L»-Uire
but as I live now and will die right
shortly—I knew not of this villahy! 1
did believe thee dead, ns that false
murderer swore—and—God be good to
tni>!—T did lintrjiv fltpp dpiiii • find nnvv
have lost thee living! lint for thee,
Al'tnanil do Laguy, dog! traitor! vil
lain! knave! dare not to look upon me
any more; dare not address me with
one accent of thy serpent tongue! for
Marguerite do Vaudrcuil, fallen al
though she bo. and lost forever, is not
so all abandoned as, knowing thee for
what thou art, to bear with thee one
second longer—no! not though that
second could redeem all the past—and
wipe out all the sin !—"
“Fine words! tine words, fair mis
tress!—but. on with me thou slialt!"
uod ho otevuioho'l out lit* arm to sic/.e
her, when, witli a perfect majesty,
Charles de La-Hire stepped in and
grasped him by the wrist, and held
him for a moment there, gazing into
his eye ns though lie would have read
tiis soul ; then threw him oil'with force,
that made him stagger back ten paces
before he could regain his footing!—
then! then! with all the fury of the
fiend depicted on his working linea
ments, Armand unsheathed his rapier
ami made a full lunge, bounding for
ward as lie did so, right at his cousin's
heart! hut lie was foiled again, for with
a single, anil, as it seemed, slight mo
tion of the sheathed broadsword, which
he held under his cloak. Charles de La
Hire struck up the weapon, and sent it
whirling through the air to twenty
paces distance. t
Just then there came a shout ‘'the
King! the King!" anil with the words,
a glare of many torches, and with Ills
courtiers and his guard about him, the
monarch stood forth in offended ma
jesty.
“liat—what means this insolent
broil ';—What men be these who dare
draw swords within the palace pre
cincts r
"My sword Is sheathed, sire,” ans
wered He La Hi re, kneeling before the
King and laying the good weapon at
tiis feet—"nor has been ever drawn,
save at vour highness' bidding, against
your highness' foes!—But i beseech
you, sire, ns you love honesty ami
honor, ami hate deceit and treason,
grant me your royal license to prove
Armand de Laguy, recreant, base, and
traitorous, a liar and a Irion, and a
murderer, hand to band, in I lie pre
sence of the Indies of your court, accor
ding to tlic law of arms and honor!”
“Something of this we have heard
already"—replied the King, “Buron de
La-llirc!—But say out now, of what
accuse you Armand do Laguy?—show
but good cause, and thy request is
granted; for I have not forgot your
good deeds in my cause against our
rebel Savoyards and our Italian foc
mcn—of what accuse you Armand de
Laguy?”
“That he betrayed me wounded into
the bauds of the Duke of Parma! that
he dealt with Italian bravoes to com
pass niv assassination ! that by fotil lies
and treacherous devices, he has trained
from me ni v affianced bride : and last,
not least, deprived her of fair name
and honor.—This will I prove upon ids
body, so help me Hod and my good
sword.” •
“Stand forth and answer to Ids
charge De Laguy—speak out! what
saved thou ?”
"I say,” answered Armand boldly—
“1 say that he lies!—that lie did feign
his own death for someovil ends !-*-and
did deceive me, who would have died
to succor him !—That I, believing him
dead, hare won from him the love of
this fair lady, I admit.—But I assert
that I did win it fairly, and of good
right!—and for the rest, 1 say he lies
doubly when lie asserts that she has
lost fair ntuno or honor—this is my
answer, sirs; and l beseech you grant
Lis praverv atul let ns prove our words,
1 as gentlemei of France and soldiers.
»
forthwith, by singular battle !”
‘•Amen!” replied the. King—“the
titled day hence at noon. In the tilt
yard, before our court, we do adjudge
the combat—and ti.is fair lady be tlie
prize of tlie victory !—”
“No! sire," interposed Charles de
La-llire, again kneeling—but before
lie bad time to add a second word,
Marguerite dc Vaudreuil, who bad
stood all tlie while with her bauds
clasped and her eyes rivetted upon tin
ground, sprung forth with a great cry—
“No! no! lor God-sake! no! no I
sire—great King—good gentleman—
brave knight doom me not to a fate sc
dreadful.—Charles de La-Hire is all
that man can be, of good, or great, or
noble but I betrayed him, whom I
deemed dead ; and lie can never trust
me living—Moreover, if he would
lake me to his arms, base as I am and
most false hearted, lie should not—for
God forbid that my dishonor should
blight his nob.e fame—As for the slave
-Dc Laguy—the traitor and low liar,
I doom me, great monarch, to the con
vent or the block—bill curse me not
witli such contamination—For, by the
heavens 1 swear and by the God that
rules them that I will die by my own
hands, before I wed that serpent, ’
“lie it so, fair one,’ answered the
King very ooldy—"be it so wo permit
thy choice—a convent or t he victor’s
bridal bed shall lie thy doom, at thine
own option—Meanwhile your swords,
sirs ; until t he hour of battle ye are both
under ourarrest. Jaruac be thou God
father to Charles dc La-Hire—Ncvcrs,
do tlion like office for dc Laguy, ’
“By God not I sire;” answered the
proud duke. "I hold this man’sofl'encc
so rank, his guilt so palpable, that, on
my conscience 1 think your royal hang
man were his best Godfather.”
“Nevertheless, Dc Nevers—it shall
ut , iia i »n>-mis uum jiiuiisi ui iimic
is all sufficient lor thine honor—mid it
is hut a form—no words' duke it must
bens I have said—Joyetis, escort this
lady to thy duchess—-pray her accept
of her as the King’s guest, until this
matter be decided. The third day
hence at noon, on foot, with sword and
dagger—with no arms of defence or
vantage—the principals to tight alone,
until one die or yield—mid so God
sliield the right! ’
♦ • * --
Repudiation.
The., brilliant and sagacious Washing
ton correspondent, who is one ol the edi
tors of the Cincinnati Enquirer, remarks
as follows upon the muddle called Na
tional Finances, which wo eommendto the
special reading ot all delicately organised
advocates of ‘‘the payment of the lust cent’
of the debt contracted in a war between
sovereign -States:
One of the self-constituted and self elec
ted financiers of the Jacobin party said to
me the other day that it was itnpossiple
for editors or others, who had not given
a lifetime to the study, to comprehend this
“great theme.” I asked him' in reply,
bow* long be had given to the study of
this “great theme?' and 1 finally cornered
him into the admission that three Years
ago he had never even read Smiths
“Wealth of nations,” or given an hours
thought to the subject of eroat national
debts. So there is a happy unifounity
of ignorance on the “great theme” which
is the next thing to wisdom. It takes very
little natural genius or acquired knowl
elge to understand that us the debt now
stands it draws about two hundred mil
lions of gold annually from the Treasury
to pay the interest on it; that that gold,
before it can be paid out by the Treas
urer. must first be paid in by the people;
that it is paid in by an enormous tariff,
which doubles the price of every article
of commerce; that the people cannot con
tinue to pay the interest without contin
uin'*' to he taxed and that the sooner thev
repeal iliu tariff and repudiate the dobt,
the sooner they will relieve themselves
front a burden which they are fools to bear.
It is worth while to remark in this con
nection fh.u no idea has ever grown in
popularity with anything like the rapidity
of this one of repudiation. Mr Pendle
tons greenback theory was the Sybils lust
offer to Tarquin—but Tarquin was wiser
thuu the bond holders, for he aeceepted
from fear, while they rejected with conti
denoe. Thousands who would, last year
have voted to pay tho bonds in greenbacks
are now for paying them with the sponge
and the day is not far distant when, if
neither the Democrat nor tho l epubliean
party will boldly advocate Uepudiation,
a party will spring up fresh from tho peo
pie, carrying this great bauner of Itelief.
and as certain of success as the morrows
sun is of rising. “This was some time a
paradox, but now the time gives it proof.
g«V‘*Duriiig the great rush of travel to
California, the Panama and San Fran
cisco steamers were densely erowded
Ott one occasion, says a correspon
dent, a party of travelers, bent oh the
game of “old sledge," used the broab
stomach of a very fleshy fellow-passen
ger, asleep on tho oabln floor, in lieu
of a table. The sleeper snored on for
several hours, unconcious of his per
sonal utility, until one of the party
became suddenly exetled and brought
bis Imml down upon the "table” with
fearful emphasis, when the astonished
stranger opened bis oyos, saw wlmt
was going on, anil said: “All right
boys—goon with the game ; but hadn't
I better turn overt”
*
A “Rebel” Earl.
The Washington correspondent ol
tlie San Francisco Times, in writing lip
• be notabilities of California who arc
now in the National Capitol, gives the
following hit of romance about one ol
the best known among them :
Among tlic Californians here, James
M, Quinn, well known to San Francis
cans, is probably the most celebrated,
because there is a bit of romance at
tached to his history. It is briefly this :
Alter an absence of twenty yenrs in
Mexico nml California, he returned la
Charleston, South Carolina, his native
place, and there found his mother and
father deceased ; hot an old and faithful
negro woman, his nurse when a child,
had been intrusted by his mother be
fore her death with the custody of n
box to lie delivered to her son James
should he ever return. Upon his ar
rival in Charleston, about two years
since, the old negress. learning of him
sought him out, and deliverd the bo>
which she had so long and faithfully
preserved, and, upon examination ol
the contents, it was found to contain
papers, documents and correspondence
establishing clearly his legal right to s
large estate in Ireland, and to the titlf
of Earl of Diinraven. He immediately
placed his papers in the hands ol
Hughs, Denver & Peek, a law Arm ol
this city, and Mr. Hughs and Mr.
Quinn will leave for Ireland in a few
days to take possession of the latter's
estate. Who among his old friends
in San Francisco can fully realize
that Jim Qtiiuti, that used to be, is now
and was the Earl of Diinrnven ?
On this hint the Times speaks ot
Mr. Quinn as follows:
The strange freak of fortune narrated
in onr Washington correspondence
j brings to the memory of many an old
Californian the luck liombrc who. after
long years or the vicisituaes ot me on
the Pacific coast, has turned up the
heir to the Earldom of Dunraven and
tiie master of a splendid estate, the
peer of the landed gentry of Ireland,
and an important accession to the bri
liant circles of Hibernian nobility,
James M. Quinn is a native ot
Charleston, South Carolina* and ot
Irish ancestry, He came to California
in early days, and was particularly
known at one time as proprietor of the
Willows,' a favorite resort afterward,
absorbed in tbe rush of events. Fail
ing I11 this he Went to Portland, Ore
gon* opened a public house, made an
other failure of it, returned to San
Francisco, and put out his shingle on
Clay street at a saloon called the *’Es
marclda." Mr. Quinn was quite a char
acter in his way. lie generally attend
ed the sessions of the Legislature ; was
noted lor his scrupulous nicety in cos
tume, and a certain reserved, distant,
manlier* which, while it did not tend to
increase the number of his casual
friends, conveyed the idea that under
his waistcoat beat a “noble” heart, and
that he entertained r. high estimate and
lively apprcialion of Mr. Quinn, per
i sunnily, and that sooner or later h<*
would figure in some brighter or lof
tier sphere. About three years ago,
becoming convinced that San Francisco
was no longer the adventurer's elv
tdum that it had been in the more prim
itive days of El Dorado, and being
troubled, withal, by a clm yie impccuui
osity — unfortunately too frequent
among “forty-niners”—Mr. Quinn
went to New York, found bis way
tbcnceto his-Southern birthplace, and
there learned the agreeable fact that lie
was ail Earl and a rich man.
No doubt the new-made nobleman
will support his houers with due dig
nity. and with now and then a pleasant
reminisceuoe of his political experi
ences at .Sacramento, and a glance gen
erally at the plcbiau life on the shores
■ of the Pacific.
TUr Parmer's Wire.
Is there any position a mother can
covet for her daughter more glorious than
to be the wile of an honest, independent,
happy farmer, in a country like this?
To be the wife of one whose farm is noted
far and near as a model of neatness and
perfection of cultivation ? To he mistress
of a mansion of her own - a sweet and
lovely home? To ho the angel that flits
through tho garden bidding the flowers
bloom, and twining roses and honey
suckles around the bed-room window, or
sweetening their fragrance with her
sweetest smile, or spreading the snowy
cloth bmeath the old oak at the door to
welcome her husband as he returns from
his toil; even tipping the cradle With her
foot as she plies the dasher with her
hand, or busily moves the needle, same
time huming a joyous song of praise that
she is the beloved wife of an American
farmer—one of the true uoblemen of this
free country—one that should by right
rank as the prido and glory of mcrica._
Ex
Aa?~A Sundy school teacher asked a
little girl who was the Grst man. She
answered that she did’nl know. The
question was then put to an Irish girl who
answered. “Adam. sir,’’ with apparent sat
isfaction. “La! 'said the first child, “you
needn't feel so grand about it —he wasn’t
an Irishman!"
f«#*lf you have tulont and ambition
never look on your family to
help you on in life. They will do all
they can to keep you under; but if yon
still succeed ill rising, they will all waut
to stand on your shoulders.
(low Chewlng-Uimi Is Made.
A great many American girls and
boys, as well as children of larger
growth, have acquired the truly dis
gusting habit of chewing gum. It may
. be pleasant for them to know how it is
made. An exchange tells them :
“The greatest gum manufacturing
establishment is at I’odunk, Mnssnchu
; setts, and the fame of the gum (and the
gum itself) is in the mouths of many.
I Ono of the employees of that, estab
lishment who lias become thoroughly
initiated into the mysteries of the man
i nfacture of the gum, was '-eccntly dis
charged from the establishment, and
has divulged the mode of making the
gum which these young Americans
masticate with such velocity and appa
rent satisfaction. The gum is made of
certain parts of gum-arabic, gumtraga
canlb, a small quantity of resin and fat.
The fat used is not lard,(that being too
expensive,) but it is a substance ex
pressed from the bodies of hogs, eats
i »nd other animals found dead in
the streets of cities." Nice isn't it?
To Preserve Meat.
Meat of any kind may be preserved
in any temperature after it lias been
soaked for ten minutes in a solntion
made of the following ingredients,
well mixed: One pint of common
salt, dissolved in four gallons of clear
cold water, and half a gallon of the bi
sulphate of ealicum solution. The re
ceipt lias just iteen patented in England
and experiments there show that meats
prepared will keep for twelve days in
a temperature of from SO to lOOdegrees
and preserve their odor and flavor un
impaired. By repeating the process
meats maybe definitely preserved, and
if it is desired to keep them for an un
usually long time, a little solution of
r>..- .. -on .. ..
detl to the wash.
-«-•-«.
Fix I'p Tbc Impltinenls.
During the winter every implement and
machine that will be required next spring
and summer should he overhauled an i re
paired Examine the ploughs, and if they
have been neglected and are rusty, wash
off all the dirt and then apply, with a swab
fastened on the end of a stick, a mixture
of one part sulphuric acid and two parts
water. Hub the uiould-boaid and other
parts that are rusty with this liquid until
the rust is all removed; then wash it off
and rub it dry. Then smear it over with
crude petroleum or some other oil, and
next spring you will he saved from the loss
and anuoyauce of clogging. Every farmer
should buy a barrel of l'etroleum, and uso
it freely on all his wagons, machines, im
plements, etc. It will keep the iron from
rusting and the wood from decay, and in
cold weather it is a useful lubricating oil.
We find it absolutely essential to keep ou
hand several sizes of carriage bolts. With
these and a brace and a set of bits nearly
all ordinary fractures can be easily repair
ed It is a great convenience also to have
a vice, and to keep ou hand an assortment
of uncut nuts, with the tools for making
the thread in them and also ou the bolts.
All these things can be obtained at a hard
: ware store, and a farmer who buys them
will never regret it. Hut if it is neces
! sary to take anything to the blacksmith's
shop, now is the time to do it; and when
it is repaired, clean uff the rust paint it
with linseed oil, and put it away for use
in the spring. If the farmer or his son
would go over alt the imp'emeuts, machin
ery, wagons, hay racks, tools, etc., paiut
them, oil and tighten the bolts, and see
that, every thing is strong and in good or
der, it would not only greatly lessen the |
blacksmith's bill, but would save much j
|>ruuiuus units mm uu muu iimiuunia' iicai
; spring and summer. The winter is also
the time to make whifiletrees ami three
horse cvencrs. It :s a great advantage to
have an extra set of these on hand.—
American Agriculturist.
Attempted Rape.
On Friday evening of last week a ni'w!
diabolical attempt at rape occurred a few
miles north of Jackson. The iuteuded
victim was a respectable young lady. Miss
N. A. Watson, am' the fiend who attempt
ed the great outrage a negro man, whose
1 identity has not yet been- discovered.
The facts, as they reachoJ us arc ns
follows: On the afternoon of the day above
mentioned Miss Watson, while slowly ’
walking along a path leading from (apt
Ewell’s to hor mothers was sudden.y
seized by a stout negro man, who clutch
ed hor by the throat and choked her
badly. The first scream of the young laify
was loud and picrciug, and, fortunately,
reaehod the ears of her little brother; who
was not far off, and who immediately ran
lo her lescue. The negro bee line alar
med and run off without accomplishing
his wicked design.
Miss. W. was reading a letter at the
time the negro made his appearance, which
was so sudden that she had barely time
to save herself by her screams.
We learn that a negro man man was
arrested, but that the young lady failed to
recognize in him tho person who attacked
her on Friday.—W- T. Whig 20th.
WAn imaginative Irishman gave
utterance to his lamentation : “I re
turned to the halls of my fathers by
night, and found them In ruin ! I cried
out aloud, ‘My fathers, where are they ?
and echo responded: ‘Is that you, Pat
rick McCarthy ? ’
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8ALMAGIKDI.
S4?*Wliy is .i little dog's tail like thfe
dress of a dandy ? Because it finishes
off a pupv.
eSySome one says the best way for a
a man to train up a child iu the way it
should go' is to travel that wav occa
sionally himself.
ISfThe following is a copy of a letter
receivod by a village schoolmaster; ‘ Sur,
as you are a man of uoledge, I intend to
inter my son in your skull."
HayTke word d-e b-t is composed of
the initials of‘ dun every body twice.”—
C-r e-d-i-t is formed of the initials letters
of'“call regularly every day—I’ll trust.”
B9uXn man was better inoculated to
prejudge pork than niv husband was,”
says Mrs. Partington, “he knew what
good hogs were, he did, for he had been
brought up with ’em from his childhood
juryman was once asked
whether he had been charged by the
presiding Judge. “Well, Squire,” said
lie, “the fellow that sits up in tho pul
pit, and kinder bosses it over tire crowd
gin us ntalk. but I don’tknow whether
he charges anything or not.”
®at“A man in stopping his paper re
cently, wrote: “i think fokes doant ort
to spend thar mutiny on papers, my fa
ther nevyordid and evrv boddy sed he
wus the smartist man in the konntree,
and had tho intelligentcst famely of
buoys that ever dug' taters.”
8o5“ Here is the aspiration breathed
by a typographically outraged poet :
“I wish I hn*l that editor
About a half a minute;
I’d bo ng him to his heart's content,
And with an k begin it;
I'd/am his body, eyes and bones,
And spell it with a rf.
Aisd send him to that trill of his—
He spells it with nn e ’'
KEf-A close fisted fellow, treating A
friend to some old wine, ponred out a
very small quantity. The latter taking
the glass and holding it above his head,
remarked rather skeptically, 'You say
this is forty years old ?’ Y’es replied
the host. Then,’ rejoined our friend,
‘all I have to say is that it is very small
for its age.
8®*A young minister once ventured, at
an association dinner, to differ with an old
doctor of divinity as to the efficacy ol'tho
use of tho rod. “Why,” said he, only
time my father ever whipped me, it was
for telling the truth.” “Well,” retorted
the doctor,” it cured you of it, didn’t it ?”
8®*Ono of the leading merchants of
Shanghai, China, is a genuine live Yan
kee. Ho ships twice as much tea as any
other firm in the country, attends two
churches, leads the choir at one; is a treas
urer of a missionary society, member of
the Philharmonic Society, engineer of a
fire company, member of a regatta club,
teacher in a Sundy School, assistant editor
of a newspaper, member of the Asiatic So
ciety, and a debater at tho debating soci
ety.
--... -
Josli III.lings Insin rs his l.lfri
I kum tew the conclusion lately that
life wus so unsartin that the only wa for
me to stand a fair chance with other folks
wus to get my life insured, and so leaded
n the agent of Garden Angel Life Insu
rance Co.,and answered the followingqvtes■
tions which was put to me over a pair goald
specs, by asiiek, little, fat, old feller, with
a little round gray head.
QUESTIONS.
1. Arc you male or female’ If so how
long have you been so?
2. Are you subject to fits, and if so.do
you have more than one at a time?
«-» m u,u is j mi pievt-MS u . c4114, nci^uu
4. Did you ever have any ancestors,
and il'so, how much?
5. What is your legal opinion ov the
constitutionality of the 10 commandments?
6 Do you ever have enny niteware?
7. Are you married and live single, or
are you a batcholor
8. Du yu beleave-iu a futur .-tat? If you
du, state it
9. Rhat are yure private sentimeuts
about u rush ov rats to the head—cau it
be did suceesfully?
10. Have you ever committed suicide,
and if so, how dus it seem to affect you?
11. Did yu over hav the meezles, if so,
how many?
After answering the above- questions
like a man, on the confirmative, the slick,
little, fa* old feller, with gnald Specs on,
ecd i wus insured ler life, and would prob
ably remain so for a tirra of yoars. I
thiinked him and smiled one of ray naoei
pensive smiles. .
---—--,
Kxkp In Goob Humor — It js not
groat calaraitos tlnu embitter existence
it Is the potty vexations and small jeal
ousies, the little disappointments, the
the minor miseries, that make the heart
heavy and the temper sour. Don’t let
them. Auger is a waste of vitality ; it
is always foolish, and always disgrace
ful, except in some very rare cases,
when it is’kindled by seeing wrong
done to another, and even theu noble
rage seldom mends the matter.
*S“George Grier, w^ile jracticing
velocipede riding in the fourth story of a
Cincinnati building. Wednesday, ran the
bycicle into a hatchway and fell to the
lower story. His iujuries are believed to
be fatal ^