Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune, March 30, 1873, Page 11

Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune dated March 30, 1873 Page 11
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GERMANY. The Mysterious Illness of the Crown-Prince, Rumors of Poison—Suspicion Di rected Towards the Jesuits. Lasker on Morals in Politics. Special Correspondence of The Chicago Tribune. Dresden, March 6, 1873. The cable keeps yon so well informed about European events, that your Transatlantic corre spondents are forced to resort to rumors and speculations as the only means of anticipating the electric wire, and of escaping tho charge of retailing threadbare news. Humors are to public opinion what straws are to the coming storm, — they indicate the direction of tho current, and are often prophetic of events to come. A DARK SUSPICION has seized tho German mind about the cause of tho protracted illness of the Crown-Prince of Prussia. Ever since his attendance at the golden wedding of tho King and Queen of Saxony, in November last, ho has suffered from a painful and onstinato disease. At first tho assertion was credited that a cold, contracted on the rail way, was the only cause of his sickness. Tho loyal people waited anxiously and patiently for tho recovery of this universally-popular Prince. They waited for several mouths, and now, when they find that the malady is still upon him. though it is officially announced that he has “ almost ” regained his former vigor, they bo think themselves of similar instances in history, and begin to fear that their favorite Prince WAS POISONED, through the instrumentality of the Jesuits, dur ing his visit to Dresden. They speak of the dinner at tho palace of the Quoon-Dowagor as the occasion on which tho holy fathers accom plished their purpose. Ever since that dinner, it is whispered, Frederick William of Prussia has felt tho torturing paiu gnawing at his vitals. The deed, it is claimed, was easy of accomplish ment at tho fete in question, as many of tho best friends of Pome and bitterest enemies of reunited Germany have access to the Dowager’s palace, and are at home not only in its drawing rooms, but also in its collars and kitchens. THIS IS A CRUEL CHARGE to make. It would bo unwarrantable, without previous attempt at some sort of proof, to lay a crime of such hideous nature at the door of any men, or order of men, but tho Jesuits. But I fear that to accuse these saintly brethren of so infamous a deed, oven without tho slightest show of direct evidence, is neither unjust to their reputation, nor inconsistent with their well known record. Tho fact of the poisoning once established, there would bo few impartial men who would look to any other source for tho origin of the base and evil deed. As circum stances are, it cannot bo denied that tho disciples of Loyola have tho motive f6r the crime, tho assassins to commit it, and ample means to ear ly out tho intent. AS REGARDS THE MOTIVE, it requires no groat political sagacity to discover that the death of the Imperial Crown-Prince would bo a serious blow to tho unity and devel opment of the Empire. As tho Emperor of Germany, he, more than any other Prince, would unite tho discordant elements of tho nation. In case of his death, and that of tho present Emperor, a Begency would give scope and opportunity to the Ultramontanea to fish in the dark ; and, out of tho muddy depths, they might pull on and infuse now life into, the dead carcass of Papal supremacy. Can there bo a doubt about their aim,—their ever roady intrigues to hasten the final consumma tion of their ambitious hopes by all means at their command ? THE* HATE SPOKEN 80 rJjAITIZ.T upon this subject that the most incredulous must become aware of the danger. Let us sum op a portion only of this evidence: At a recent Boman-Catbolic meeting in Cologne, the speaker affirmed that “The duty devolved upon tbo Catholics of Germany to accord tho laurel to any nation which would re-establish the rights of tho Pope, even if Germania should fall weeping to the ground.” Tho Baierische Valer iana, an influential newspaper of the Ultramon tane partv, proclaims: “ We do notloveyour Ger man Empire; we have never recognized it; for us it cxistsj only as a pass ing cloud on the firmament,” etc., etc. The Bishop of Bcgensburg preaches; “True laws are derived from God alone [moaning from the Pope] ; our King is . King only by the grace of God [meaning by tho grace of the Pope, who claims to be God’s substitute upon earth]; and, when Kings cease to bo Kings by tbe grace of God, I will be one of tho first to pull down tho thrones.” Tho CivUiiia CaiholicOj the recog nized organ of tho Jesuits, promulgates the following fundamental principle ; " Peace and national unity are - a blessing only for that peo ple which is in possession of tho true religion. If this last is not tho case, then national dis cord is an incomparably smaller evil than con tinuance of religious error.” Or, in other words, tho disruption of tho German Empire is imperatively demanded by tbe interests of the true religion. Tho unity of Germany is a de plorable evil as long as a Protestant Power stands at tho head of public affairs. And so I might cite Catholic authorities ad infinitum, or, for that matter, ad nauseam; there is no end to this sort of accumulative evidence, and all contributes to THE INEVITABLE CONCLUSION that untied Germany is a thorn in tho sido of “the tnio Church,” and that a revival of the political pre-eminence of the Catholic Powers of Europe, and the downfall of Protestant influence in Germany, are the only hope of Rome. And, if the’ death of a Protestant Prince can form even the smallest stepping-stone for the designs of ambitious Rome, will any one, ac quainted with the history and nature of the Society of Jesus, doubt for a moment that tho murder of this Prince would be considered a meritorious deed by its instigators? Hadrian 11., the last German who ascended tho Papal Throne, honostlv endeavored to purify tho moral atmosphere of Rome and of the Church gener ally. Ho died quite suddenly, in 1523. Rumor attributed his death to poison. On the day of his funeral, the tools of a corrupt clergy wrote upon tho house-door of Hadrian’s physician: Liberatori jialria:." In like manner are the Jesnits ever ready to indorse and defend what ever agency has contributed to tho interests of their order, bo tho means employed over so hor rible and criminal. WHAT HAVE THESE MEN NOT DONE to reach their final aim,—to create a universal hierarchy, with tho Pope as absolute religious and political ruler, and this ruler a mere puppet In the hands of their order ? During tho fast 300 years, these gentlemen of tho long and of tho short robo have been guilty of every enmo and every virtue known to tho laws, to con science, and to human imagination. They have been as guilty in their virtues as in their crimes, for, in practising the former as in committing the latter, they have been alike spurred on to action solely by the selfish purposes of their or der. Chameleon-like, THEY CHANGE THEIR COLOR with every motion. They have boon atheists and zealots,. defenders of tho oppressed and fawning flatterers of despots ; at one timo en thusiastic advocates of Republicanism, at anoth er tho most lovai supporters of Royal power ; full of indignant virtue when refusing absolution to tho poor, misguided servant-maid, and crouch ing with servile flattery in the luxurious boudoir of some powerful Royal mistress; threatening one, who scarcely sinned, with the fires of Hell, and blessing the other with the promises of Heaven’s best gifts, though her life, and brain, and heart were rotten to tho core. Jesuits have traversed oceans and deserts to teach the Gospel to the heathen, perchance to suffer tho agonies of martyrdom, at tho same time and for the saiiio ends that other members of tho brother hood have encouraged the mighty of tho earth in all conceivable crimes. Jesuits have been forgers, murderers, spies, and thieves, benefac tors of the poor, apostles of peace, and ex amples of charity and good will, all at the proper time and place, as THE INTERESTS OF THEIR ORDER DEMANDED. The success of this Society is their only am bition, for, unlike other members of tho human raco, they have neither homo, • family, nor friends, nor legitimate posterity. Would’ it bo difficult to find the man in the ranks of this army to remove such an obstacle as tho future Emperor of Ger many ? The command of the Jesuit General would meet with speedy and un conditional obedience. Tho first fundamental principle with his subjects is BLIND OBEDIENCE, — the passive, silent obedience of a corpse. "Bo obeoient like & corpse,” is one of the most im perativo provisions of tie statutes of the Society of Jesus (ride Const. See. J., Bomce 1.577, Bars VI., ch. 1, p. 147). If the commission of a crime is demanded of a Jesuit, he must still obey. “ His first dutv is to obey; ho is responsible for noth ing.” !Tho General in Homo is the universal conscience; the whole Society is like pliable wax in his hands. An individual member dare not consider whether the act demanded of liim bo right or wrong ; his conscience is not in his own keeping. A corpse cannot not resist; it can only silently obey the power that moves it. General Bexs, at Homo, is the reason, the intellect, the judgment, the con science of every individual within the order which ho rules. THE JESUITICAL SEMINARIES, where “Gury’s Compendium Theological Mor alia ”is the tavorito text-book on morals, have thoroughly fitted all their graduates for just such deeds as rumor ascribes to them. On each succeeding 30th of May, these seminaries cele brate the feast of St. Ferdinand of Castile (Fer dinand HI.), and loud is the praise of this sauil, because with his own hands “he carried the firewood to the burning stake prepared for the accursed heretics.” What moral distiution is there between the burning of a heretic and the poi soning of a Protestant Prince ? The Jesuits are not wanting in “animus” for either crime; if they had the power, they would commit both. The morning papers contain the welcome news that LASKER, the great expounder of political morality, hfis sufficiently recovered from his recent illness to attend to-dav’s session of tho investigating com mittee. Your readers have doubtless seen ex tracts from his famous speech in tho Prussian Parliament, and will doubtless agree with me that the corruption which ho exposed in con nection with railroad affaire in Prussia is mere child’s play compared with the stupendous frauds and monstrous bribery disclosed by the recent exposures of tho American Credit Mobilior. There is much in Lasker’s speech upon which a certain class of American politicians may ponder with florae profit. That portion of it wherein he recites that, os & candidate for the House, he deemed it INCOMPATIBLE WITH 1113 DIGNITY AND INTEGRITY to pledge his vote to the electors for a railroad in his district, our lobbyists and legislators will doubtless pronounce an exhibition of supreme follv, and a ridiculous climax of visionary, trans cendental bosh. Another passage in his speech has earned him tho flattering appellation of “ tho citizen without fear and without reproach.” “ I have been threatened,” said Lasker, “that, if I persist in making these disclosures with reference to tho corruption in organizing and managing our railroads, men will be compro mised who aro among my political friends; that, if one is to fall, many shall fall with him. Gentlemen, I have laughed at these threats. Whoever has a good con science need not care about those things; and if, which God may forbid, rogues have en tered the circle of honest men, there is no alter native but to expel them. Decent society dis cards them; they are forgotten, and morality goes onwand unmolested.” IT IS TRULY REFRESHING to read eucb sentiments in this era of corruption and bribery. Lasker has deserved well of the people. He is justly honored as one of the most fearless and successful advocates of political and official integrity. And jet, strange as it may seem, Lasker, with all his genuine love for hon esty, is not an Orthodox Christian, but a Liberal Jew. Ho never delivered a temperance lecture, nor has ho ever edified a Young Men’s Christian Association with tho exuberance of his rhetori cal genius. E. Jussen. TREE-PLANTING. Ornamental Planting on the Ave nues and Streets. BY H. W. 8. CLEVELAND, LANDSCAPE GARDENER, In selecting trees for street-planting, reference should be had not alone to tho intrinsic char acteristics of the trees themselves, but to the probable future destiny of tho situation they are to occupy. In Chicago, as in all the growing cities of tho West, tho business quarters are con tinually trenching upon the streets of residences, and trees are out of the question on the side walks of business thoroughfares. It is, of course, impossible, in all cases, to predict with certainty tho fate of many of the streets; but, of a great number, it requires no prophet to foresee .that, before tho time required for tho finest and most desirable trees to arrive at maturity, tho pleas ant residences they were destined to adorn will have given place to tho shops, warehouses, or offices, in whoso presence they will only .bo regarded as intruders. In such cases it is obviously tho part of wisdom to plant only such trees as are of rapid growth, and will yield the best return of shade and verdure for the comparatively short term of their existence. Such trees are also, for tho most part, those which are least attractive at maturity, and therefore can bo spared, when necessary, with least feelings of regret. Of trees of this class, which attain large sizes, the boat, as well as tho most available for this locality, are the silver-maple, cottonwood,’silver poplar, American linden, and white ash. Tho two last-named, however, are deserving very high rank as street-trees for permanent occupa tion. The others are too well-known to require any sotting forth of their merits. The silver maple is the most rapid-growing of its species, and often assumes a graceful form, though it is much more apt to become dia ortod, under the influence of high winds, than tho sugar-maple, which is of much slower growth. The objection to tho silver poplar is its tendency to throw up suckers from its roots, which, in tho country, becomes a serious evil, but is of less consequence in tho city. The tree grows verv rapidly, and the pure, downy white of tho under side* of the leaves, contrasting with the dark, glossy green of the upper surface, renders it an attractive object, especially when agitated by the wind. Besides these, there are some trees which may well bo recommended for such temporary use. but which never attain sufficient size to adapt them for permanent use as street trees. Of these I should give tho first place to the nogundo, or ash-leaved maple, better known in some places as tho box-elder. It is a fast-growing, small tree, 20 or 25 feet in height, vith dense foliage, of a rich green color, and with a broad, spreading head. Specimens of it may bo seen in the grounds of the Chicago Uni versity and at Lincoln Park, which prove, by their healthy growth, that they do not find the climate to disagree with them. Tho^ golden-ash and the mountain-ash maybe placed in tho same list,—neither of them ever attaining the rank of large trees, but becoming, in a few years, attrac tive ornaments to tho wayside. On streets and avenues which may reasonably be expected to continue for an indefinite timo out of tbo reach of business-traffic, and occupied only for residence-purposes, it is desirable not' only to oxerciso more care in selecting trees, but a more elaborate preparation for their reception, and, if possible, such a mutual agreement among property-owners as. may result in a continued unity of design, which alone can insure euch dignity and oleganco as are desirable. The het erogeneous mixture of trees of all sorts and sizes, which is commonly seen, is as destructive of all such effect as would bo the furnishing of a room with chairs, tables, book-cases, Ac., picked up at hazard, somo of walnut, some of mahogany, some of maple; unexceptionable individual ii may be, but devoid of elegance as a whole, and excitingonly an uncomfortable sons© of incongruity and utter want of tasto. . A street should/on tho same principle, preserve a unity of design in its character as a whole, and nothing can contribute so much to this as a ju dicious selection and arrangement of the trees which should comprise its chief ornament. Lot mo not be understood as saying that no variety is admissible in street-planting. On the con trary, variety is no leas desirable hero than else where ; but *tho effect of variety can never b© secured by indiscriminate mixtures, however attractive tho individual components may be. Most people who think at all about the mat ter have their favorites among trees, and are very apt to think no others are worth planting; but tho most beautiful trees are only seen to best advantage by judicious contrast with others of a different character. Probably not one man in a hundred, in passing along such a street as Wabash avenue, ever thinks of the trees or notices what varieties are planted there, though, if he were describing tho street to one who had never seen it, he would mention its trees as one of its moat attractive features. But if instead of such a miscellaneous mixture as now prevails, a regular design had been observed of planting several blocks with trees of a single variety, but marking tho four corners whore other streets crossed with individual trees of a quite distinct character of form or foliage, then changing to another and decidedly different kind, and adopting also some slight change in the lonn of setting, it would be impossible for any but a very dull person to pass through it without being impressed with the evidence of tasteful design. THE CHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, MARCH 30, 18/3.' and also with the agreeable sense of variety af forded by the complete change of character created by the use of different trees. There is hardly any limit to the changes that might bo thus secured by the proper use of no greater variety of trees than may now bo found on that street; and such an arrangement would force itself upon people’s attention by the very sense of pleasant surprise, whereas nobody notices tho difference between individual trees when mixed indiscriminately. It is, of course, not worth while, in a news paper-article, to go into details of methods of arrangement, especially as no probability exists of any action by which tho execution of any ex tended design could bo secured. But, before speaking of desirable trees for street-planting, Tot mo speak of tho prep aration of tho soil, which should bo made before planting any tree on tho streets of Chicago. It is commonly thought to bo very generous treatment of a tree to dig a holo for it rather larger than tho length of its roots, and till in around it, when planting, with rich earth. But only a very small portion of the roots will remain within that narrow space, and, to insure tho vigorous growth which alono can render the tree an object of beauty, the whole ground around it should ne thoroughly trenched and en riched. so as to invito the roots to ramble freely and find nourishment in ©very direction. In such a soil, or rather no soil, as generally under lies Chicago, the best preparation for tree-plant ing would bo to dig a trench tho whole length of the space to l)e planted, and tho width of tho space between the street-curbing and tho plank or stone sidewalk, and carry away at least one-half of tho earth that - was taken out, mixing the remainder with rich loam, and strengthening tho whole with a liberal mix ture of thoroughly-rotted manure, or, better yet, with tho blood and bone manure manufactured by the Northvrtßtem Fertilizing Company, who send annually to the distant Southern States en riching material enough to convert all Chicago into a garden, while we continue to groan over our poor soil. Supposing tho space between tho street-curbing and the paved portion of the side walk to bo 6 feet wide, if the whole front of a lot were Jug out to the depth of 3 feet, and enriched as above, and the trees then planted, it is safe to say that the rate of their growth would bo doubled, and the luxuriance and rich color of tho foliage would bo proportionally increased. If such preparation wore made beforehand, tho holes for planting need only be large enough to allow tho roots to assume their natural position, in which they should bo carefully arranged, and tho earth worked in among them by hand. It will bo seen that lam speaking now of nursery trees, nnd not of such large specimens as are brought in from the forest, with frozen balls of earth, which are desirable only whore immediate effect of presence of trees is required, without much regard to development of individual charac actaristios. Forpenmmont results an elm of 15 feet high and 3 inches diameter, taken from anursory with abundance of roots, and carefully planted, will bo found preferable to one of twice tho size, brought from the forest, with all possible care in its removal; and, in ten years from the time of planting, it will be a finer tree. After planting, tho health and vigor of tho tree will bo greatly promoted if the ground around it is protected from being trampled on, by some kind of. guard, which will have the effect of mulching. In Paris, this is effected by a platform of open iron-work surrounding each tree, and extending on each side far enough to cover the roots. It might be easily, cheaply, and neatly done by a frame-work of joists, with slate nailed across, half an inch apart, which would admit tho water passing through, and ? at the same time, shade the ground and Keep it loose. The fast-growing trees I have named as desira ble where only a temporary shade is required, do not need such preparation of tho soil as tho longer-lived trees, which aro preferable for per manent occupation. The cottonwood and poplar will grow in mere sand, as may bo coon abun dantly whoro they are growing mid on tho lake shore ; but the elm, ash, linden, hard-maple, and horse-chestnut require rich soil, and, when we reflect that, if provided with proper nourish ment, those trees may become living monuments of beauty, enduring for centuries, how pitifully moan it seems to shrink from tho labor of pre paration, which may bo done in two or three days. HER LIFE AND MINE. To-morrow will and tbe run may shine, And the heavens bo bine, and the day divine ; And tho earth ana the «»Ky may slug together or the glory and joy of tho summer weather. Let it come with the sun, or come with the shower, It will bring in its round tho fateful hour That I promised to yield to a wife’s sweet claims My life’s fierce joys and Its fevered alma. To-morrow will come ; and yet, and yet, 1 tremble to see yon golden sun set; I tremble to see the dim starlight strengthen ; I tremble to«ee the gray shadows lengthen. Am! to see the lost lights burn low in the sky, And the shades and tho glooms of earth magnify ; More than all, I tromblo to ask my soul why It should shrink from a day that with Heaven should vie. Her life Into mine, like a soft moonbeam That kisses the breast of a sullied stream. Tomorrow shall fall; and God only knows whether These lives, so unlike, ahall mingle together, lier’s chaste and sweet as the Seraphim's dream; Mine, so defiled it would almost seem They never coaid blend, moro than oil with the sea, Though they flowed on together through eternity. Sho will yield on the morrow her snow-white life, With its gentle alms and its sinless strife; Her heart’s first love, so deep and tender. And her rich, young years, uuto me Bhe’li render. And I, in return, shall give her .ah 1 What? I’ll the evils that fall to tho sinner’s lot, A guilty soul, and a deadened heart, Where tho impulse of youth hath never a part. ■When to-morrow shall come, and in tho dread calm, As wo stand before angels and men, palm to palm, While the low wedding-chants high over us hover, O, then will my soul its full shame discover ! And when hcr’aoft lips shall tremble and say, “In sickness, In health, in death—and alway J" Humbled, abashed, by bar pure, sweet trust, My spirit shall fall at her feet in tho dust. Perhaps sho would lift it; but then her white hands Would gather tho dust and the stains of the sands. O, women who stand with men at tho altar! Your pure, sweet lips would tremble and falter Did their sin-stained lives lie open like scrolls, Or an angel in waiting stand weighing your souls ; Yours, mounting upwards, as If unto God, — Theirs, sinking down, like tho dark, fyul clod. Chicago, Cobsie Laws St. John. Wolf-Mur.tms: in Russia* A correspondent of tho London. Jlorning Post gives a lively account of wolf-hunting, which is one of the favorite sports in those parts of Rus sia where tho animals have not disappeared be fore advancing civilization. At some abnormal hour between night and morning you are aroused by a vigorous shake and a hoarse admonition to “tumble up and look shani about it, for there’s no time to lose." You make a hasty toilet, and, sallying forth, see in front of your hut, in the dim light of tho coming dawn, a huge, dark, shapeless mass, which, as your eyes got used to tho darkness, assumes the form of a broad, heaw, threo-liorse sledge with very high sides, not unlike an enormous washing tub, around which flit thiee or four spectral figures with lanterns—tho fitful glare making their grim bearded faces look grimmer and less human than over. Guns, ammunition, haversacks, etc., are stowed away in tho bottom of the conveyance; and last, but not least, a young pig, protesting against his abduction with a loudness and fluency that would do honor to a Hyde Park meeting. All being now readv. the hunters squeeze them selves into their places, the driver shakes his reins with a wild whoop, and away wo go into tho darkness, Milo after mile of tho frozen waste goes by like a dream, till at length tho spectral shadows of tho forest begin to gather round us, and tho squeals of our unlucky pig (whose cars one of our party is now pinch ing vigorously) begin to be answered by another sound, which no one who has once heard it will easily 1 forget—not the long melancholy howl wherewith a supperless wolf may bo hoard be moauinglumself on tho outskirts of our village any ni gut in the week, but tho quick, snarling erv of one who sees his food coming and wishes to’hasten to it. And there they at last, the gaunt, wiry, slouching fellows, with their bushy tails and flat, narrow heads, and yellow, thievish, murderous eyes. Crack ! the foremost of tho pack rolls over on his side, kicking convulsively; but the rest gallop on un heeding. Crack! crack!' and two more fall dead, blotting the snow with a smear of dull crimson. Some of tho boldest pursuers swarm up to tho sledge, and attempt to leap over its projecting sides, while we pound their heads with tho butt ends of our pieces, and chop their paws with hatchets, and slash them across the eves with hunting knives, the two hindmost of our party meanwhile blazing away over our shoulders as fast as they can load. And so, for & time, tho running fight goes fiercely on, making altogether a very striking tableau. Rut tno puco is too stiff to last,” as our leader remarks with a knowing grin. A run at full speed through deep snow tries even a grown wolf too severely to be continued beyond a certain timo ; and in face of a stout resistance the beast s in herent cowardice is sure to come to the surface sooner or later. Already three or four gaunt, shaggy veterans, who have probably had a good supper over night, begiu to hang hack as if doubting the wisdom of risking their lives for a hypothetical breakfast. Tho speed of tho rest slackens bv degrees; and at 1 ength the whole pack drop off as if by tacit agreement. leaving us to pursue our way unmolested. As we emerge again upon the open plain, across which the first beams of the rising sun are just beginning to fall, we see tho last of our grim followers slink ing like a belated spectre into the gloomy shad ows of tho forest winch we have quitted. A WORTHY TRIBUTE. A Testimonial to tbe White Star Lino ••Presentation to Capt* Thompson* From the Liverpool Daily Telegraph, March 7. The steamers of tho White Star Company and their commanders are becoming not only famous for their fast passages, but for tho number of lives which they have saved in the Atlantic dur ing the past twelve months, and yesterday, at a meeting of the Local Marine Board, ifr. Shall cross presiding, there being present Mr. Philip Kelson, Capt. Judkins, T. E. Lemon. Mr. J. Phillips. Mr. H. J. Ward, and Mr. W. Killey, a splendid gold chronometer, chain, and append ages, was presented to Capt, W. H. Thompson, of tho White Star Company’s steamer Republic, as a recognition from President Grant and the United States Government of his gallant and heroic conduct in saving tlio lives of tho crow of the brig Mountain Eaglo, which was abandoned at sea on the Bth of January, 1872. The circum stances of the rescue of tho crew of this vessel were published at the time of the disaster; but although the affair has been so long in abeyance, the Government of the United States have not been unmindful of the humane conduct of tho captain of tho White Star steamer. Mr. Shallcross. in making tho presentation, said it was his pleasing duty to have to present to Capt. Thompson a very valuable recogni tion of his humane and seamanhke conduct from tho Government of tho United States. At tho present time, perhaps, more than any other, tho duty they had to perform just then had a signifi cance, and it was also gratifying to him to know that in tho Mercantile Marino of this country there were men who had not lost all feelings of humanity. After alluding to the ter rible catastrophe which lately occurred in the Downs, and which was an exceptional event so far as tho exhibition of a lack of humanity went, he said all nations appeared desirous to acknowl edge the gallant conduct and bravery of the sail or, and under all circumstances he deserved it; but there was no nation who moro readily recog nized kindness, heroism, and humanity at sea than America. Do bad, therefore, great pleas ure in presenting to Capt. Thompson, in tho name of the President of the United States, a magnificent timepiece as a reward for saving the crow of the Mountain Eagle. He (Mr. Shallcross) might just state that there was no unnecessary risk iu rescuing tho men, but still there was no want of humanity. The brig Mountain Eagle, when she was fallen in with by tho Oceanic, was {.bound from Jersey, Uuitccl States, to Portland* with a cargo of coal, was in a sinking condition, and Capt. Thompson was not tho man to pass by and leave thorn to per ish. Tho crow consisted of nine hands, and they had been thirty-five hours at work at tho pumps ; and, in consequence of fivo out of nine Doing frostbitten, they had all been taken to tho poophouse, —having given up pumping,—where they wore found when the Oceanic bore down upon them. They had saved nothing but what they stood in, and when on board the Oceanic they were treated in the most honorable manner both by tho Captain, tho officera ; the crew, and tho passengers. They were supplied with clothes, Ac., and everything that was necessary towards their comfort. Mr. Shallcross, in conclu sion, stated that the Liverpool Shipwreck and Humane Society bad presented Capt. Thomp son with their gold modal; tho silver medal had been awarded to tho second officer, who had charge of the boat which went to tho rescue of tho crow of tho Mountain Eagle, and a sovereign to each of the seamen who manned the boat. If Capt. Thompson chose, tho Board would Indore© his papers, and send them up for ap probation to the Board of Trade. The watch, he might state, boro the following inscription : “Presented by tho President of tho United States to Capt. H. Thompson, in ac knowledgment of his services in rescuing the ere* of the American ship Mountain Eagle, on the Bth January, 1872.” Tho watch hod been forwarded by the English Ambassador in Wash ington to Earl Granville, who forwarded it to the President of tho Board of Trade, by whom it was transmitted to tho Local Marine Board. He (Mr. Shallcross) hoped that Capt. Thompson would long live to enjoy tho happiness which always attends the performance of such humane and gallant conduct. [Hear, hear.] Capt. Thompson, in acknowledging the pre sentation of tho testimonial, said he did not value it so much for its intrinsic value, or for the inscription which was upon it, but because it carried with it many pleasant and feeling associations. He felt in what he had dono that ho was simply carrying into practice the words of our great naval Captain, who said, “ England expected every man to do his duty.” He had great pleasure in accepting tho testimouial, and bo might just state, os tho senior commander of the White Star Lino of Steamers, that during the past year three vessels of that Company, namely, tho Adriatic, Baltic, and Atlantic, hod saved no Ices than one hundred lives at sea. Tho American Congresa had recognized tho gallant conduct of the Captain and crew of ‘the Atlantic,' and be (Capt. Thompson) would conclude by saying that ho should always do tho samo as ho had hitharto dono. [Hear, hear.] Capt. Thompson, having been congratu lated by tho gentlemen present, immediately retired, and the proceedings terminated. A WINTER WEDDING.

(at cnisELUtmsT cnuncir, jak. 9, 1873.) Py the A v.thor of “ John Halifax, Gentleman,” It fled away in a clang of bells, Marriage bells, On the wings of the blast that sinks and swells, That bold, weak, fato-struck, suffering soul, Whom Christ wash clean, and God make whole I And we stand in the light of two happy faces, Two happy hearts whom our heart embraces ; And wo hear the peaceful organ's sound, And the angry storm sweep harmless round ; Blessed is the bridegroom though the heavens ore dun; Blessed is the bride whom no sun shines on. Mayhap, some wandering angels say, Stop and say. As through the gloom they carry away, That bodiless spirit to Him who knows— Ho only—whither the spirit goes: “ God give them all that the dead man lacked (As men dare judge him) in thought, word, act; Deny them all that to him was given, Lest earth’s doors, opened, shut doors of heaven.” Blessed is the bridegroom without crown or land; Blessed is the-bride with the ring on her band. Peal, ye Joy-beEs. peal through the rain, Blinding rain: God makes happiness, God makes pain ; Summer and Winter a good tree grown. A strong soul strengthens through weal and woes, 4 ‘.Be not afraid,” says the wild sobbing wind: “ Weep,” sigh the clouds, “ but the blue is behind." Blessed is the bridegroom under shower or sun. Blessed is tho bride whom Lovc’a light shines on. Count dc Beauregard* ■When Napoleon 111. died, one of bis sons was in New York City on his way to the Pacific coast, to improve his fortunes, and a Paris pa per has just given some news of him in a letter from himself. Louis Napoleon Jerome Howard is tho son of Louis Bonaparte and Miss Howard; was born in London, in 1847, and created, by bis father, Count 'do Beauregard. Napoleon 111. gave Miss Howard the chateau de Beauregard in 1853. On her death the chateau foil into tho pos session of the Count de Beauregard. Ho was well educated by his father, and fought in tho lato Pranco-Prussian war. He lately sold tho property for 750,000 francs, and determined to Bottle in America. He baa had bad luck al ready, as the following letter from him indi cates : “ I landed in New York after a very pleasant voyage, and had a splendid time of three days in the imperial city of the now world, which, if it ia not like Paris, in many respects surpasses our great metropolis. Then I left for the West, in a magnificent sleeping-car, the unwonted lux ury of which enabled mo for the first time in my life to sleep soundly ou the cars. I thought it was very nice; but the waking was terrible; for, in tbe morning, when I dressed, I found that my heavy waistcoat had been cut open, and that the 91,000 franc bills which I had sowed in there had been abstracted therefrom. I was beyond Buffalo when I ascertained that my money was gone." A Grand Safety Hotel* From the Sns York Tribune. A grand hotel is a good thing, but a grand safety hotel, which could satisfactorily memo its guests against being roasted, would bo a bet ter. A correspondent suggests a structure built with a large space above, to be called the safety gallery, running along the upper story, with stair ways leading to it from different parts of tbe house. This should open out by ft doorway upon an iron bridge, ten feet wide, strong, and en tirely fire-proof, and crossing the street, to a building owned by the hotel proprietors. This building should have a square roof, with a baJua trado around it—a roof made strong enough to hold a large number of people. There should also be a direct stairway down to the lower room through tho inside. Here the baggage could be taken, and hero the guests carefully sheltered until all danger was over. Our correspondent thinks that a hotel built on this plan would be ft great success, and would relieve a sense of inse curity which is a disagreeable peculiarity of greatly crowded hotels. VOICE AND FACE. “Yon have succeeded. I Lave failed. What is your secret ?” “ Reality. The heart must have known the joy and the sorrow it would reveal.*’' “ And I, you would say, dwelling in the clear cold heights of intellectual and esthetic culture, can know nothing of the great multitude who have not yet begun to climb, only to look up* ward—the great unwashed, who, you affirm, suffer and rejoice equally with the clean and godly.** “ Yes. I am only a woman, a woman of tbe people, but the darkness and silence make me audacious. Learn the joy of great suf fering, of struggling against great odds, of find ing out how much you can endore; then out of your own soul write tho message that shall touch tho secret heart of humanity.” “You aro eloquent to-night, and incomprehen sible as over, why will you not trust me with your past as well as with your present ?” “Because my present means bread-and butter for myself and my children, and I am grateful to you for your kind and friendly criticism; my past means—nothing—to you— or any other,” This fragment of conversation drifted in .to mo through the darkness that settled down on the broad balconies of the Karrsganset, hiding thb scattered groups only dimly visible through the thick-gathering mist. Who wore the speakers ? New-comers, *of course; half a hundred by the lost boat. Then I began to create out of my brain and the voice the woman it belonged to. The man’s voico had nothing salient about it, eimplv smooth and conventional, suggestive of good-breeding and refinement, nothing more; the woman's was individual in modulation as well as intonation; there was always a possible parenthesis, if not a second chapter, She must bo brave, tender, and true. I could stako my life on that just from tho quality of tone—so sweet, so pure, so firm. I determined to watch every group as they came through the drawing room when the supper-bell rang. X mused, speculated, slept. When X awoke, tho parlor and the balconies were deserted; the mist had changed to a pelting rain, and the distant hum of voices and clattering of dishes spoke of supper. I was vexed enough, but con soled myself with tho thought that I should cer tainly knoiy tho manner of the woman such a voico belonged to. An extra table for tho now arrivals: a stout lady with three blonde daughters, all negations except as to size; an ancient damsel, suggesting Betsy Trotwood; Raynor, a well-known littera teur, with his pretty wife; a little fair-haired girl (with her a lady with soft whit© .curls—her grandmother probably; I could not hoc her face); a party of Southerners, fussy and pretentious, not .the gen uine article; and a score more, not one of whom could by any possibility, I felt, bo my unknown. The more I thought of it tho moro it annoyed me, for it was always a favorite study of mine to interpret character by tbe voice. . I am rarely deceived. Handwriting is not a sure test; it is always more or loss artificial and Imitative. But tho voico is more of a traitor than tho face even. Vulgarity or refinement, frivolity or earnestness, coldness or tenderness, blunt perception or over scnfcitiveuoßS—every one of these betrays itself iu intonation even iu a single phrase. X grum bled myself to bed, with a fresh twinge of my old enemy tho gout, vowing next year to go to tho mountains and got rid of tho everlasting fog and rain of the Karragauset. Three days tho storm lasted ; throe days I was prisoner in my room. An entire new sot of faces at the break faet-tablo when I made my appearance; no chance now of solving the mystery. Even Raynor bad gone, and I might have asked him; I was almost sure ho was the other speaker. Either the gout or the disappoint ment spoiled my temper; everything was de testable about the place.. John Iteed promised to come down for Sunday, I drove to the depot for him at sunset, resolved to return to the city with him on Monday. No John. Of course not. A crowd twice as largo as the omnibuses could accommodate. I was hurrying away, in. my selfishness, lest I should be asked to take some one in with me, 1 so detest strangers; hat as I turned Bess’ head I caught sight of the little girl 1 had seen the previous week with her grandmother; a little lame boy with crutches stood by her. Children always attract me, and it was, I hope, something better than a whim that made me ask if any one were coming for them. A gentle voice replied, * ‘ Mamma hap gone for a carriage. We are going to the Narraganset, but Christie cannot walk.” Children are always friends with me, and we wore on the best possible terms, when a close ly veiled figure, with a light, elastic step, full of grace and vigor, approached. “ Oh. mamma, could you not get a carriage? What shall we do ?” cried the little ones. Without giving her time to reply, I hastened to place mine at her disposal, assuring her that it was no inconvenience, as I also was going to the Narraganset. and her little boy might take cold waiting. I have always been glad that I did the right thing before she spoke; had I wait ed till afterward, X should never have felt sure of my motives. “ Thank you. There has been some mistake. I accept your kind offer gladly for my little boy's sake.” The voice! Was thoro ever a clearer caee of virtue its’owu reward! The best things in life always do hap pen, and never come by seeking. Having found her, 1 was content to ride in silence. The littlo boy engrossed her attention, so she did not speak again until wo reached the house; then a quiet “ Thank you,” and a disappearance 100 quick for mo to catch even a glimpse of her face. Supper-time—the children and their mother in the vacant seats at my table. Soft white carls, but not a grandmother. The face was that of a woman scarce 25. Was it a blank or a mystery ?. I scanned it closely. Clear, well-defined fea tures ; broad, low forehead ; dark eyebrows; long lashes, throwing so deep a shadow that the color of the ©yes was not to be hastily determined. In repose the face made mo think of the Sphinx, with its grand, self-contained aspect'; there seemed over a veil between you and it. - Was it a face that knew no passion, had never been moved from its quiet calm ? or had fierce storms swept over it and loft the stillness of desolation? A slight compression about the lips suggested an acquired firmness in its lines. - The mouth should have been mobile and flexible; instead, it was hard and stern, ex cept when addressing her children. Then the sweetness and tenderness that slumbered in the voice played about the sensitive mouth ; and I, a dreary bid bachelor, thought what a treasure that woman’s love might bo, and wondered what manner of man she had for a husband. Dava and' weeks wore away. Mrs. King and her children remained through all the changes of the season. The little boy was* benefited :by the air and sea-bathing. No one could say they knew her very well; in fact, no one knew anything about her. She received parcels by express, and always mailed her own letters. Some called her proud and reserved, others found her affable and entertaining; the men raved about her peculiar beauty; their wives thought it affected to read editorials, and not at all womanly to havo decided opinions on the questions of the day. All the children in the bouse adored her. One after another, each had shared the charmed privacy of her room os invited guest of the littlo lamoboy._ Such stories as mamma. told ; such lovely, quaint be longings that made a living borne of the four bare walls of their room ; such deUcious fruits and flowers lavished on her darling that ho might make others happy in the giving ! Yet no ono know whence she came, her ante cedents, or intentions. We were bettor friends than the rest through little Christie, who was my daily companion in my rides. Ho was a strange, Paul Dombovish child, Bitting with his little hands folded in hia lap, looking awav into the distance to landscapes farther off than the rocks and islands that bounded our seaward view. We were neither of us much given to talk, and that littlo was usually assertive rather than interrogative. One day, however, my curiosity cot the better of my Judgment anil good-breed ing, and I said, “ Christie, is your father coming soon ?” Tbe child replied, “I never had any except mv Father in heaven I say my prayers to.” 'For a week afterward I lost my little compan ion. It was intangible, but the wall of separa tion between the mother and myself crew tuick er and colder. My heart fairly ached with mor tification and chagrin, for I am a harmless old bachelor. After a while she seemed to feel so too, and the ice melted enough for her to see that I meant no harm, and for mo to feel she trusted me again. Yet there was ever a reserve the most au dacious could not trespass upon. What she favo out was from the intellect only. I think never met a woman so versatile in conver sation, so thoroughly well read on all sub jects—everything discussed in a general way, without any tinge of personality or anything to suggest where, when, or with whom she had acquired her varied information—eo quiet, so unostentatious; ever tbe sought, never tho seeker. I think we Lad been together about six weeks ; I had not advanced a step further, and was beginning to doubt myself and my theorv. There was only the voice and tho rare tremulouenesa of the lips, that ought to have been foil and red instead of tichtly closed. It was a little thing to build npon, and I was half inclined to cili myself an old fool for dreaming idle fancies about a ■woman who was hard, cold, brilliant as an icicle— Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly nuQ, Dead perfection- - jo more. The night of our grand hop lire. King made her appearance for \ few minutes onlv, a quaint picture, in her velvet vent and snowy laces; the eo(p white curls—stranco frame-work for that young face—made nor seem liko some powdered beauty of King Louis’ time. Her little girl danced like a fairy, and was so happy, so petted, that her mother left her to enjoy' herself while she sought her little boy’s room'to see if he slept. 1 grew weary watching tho dancers, and stepped out on the balcony, pacing back and forth farther and farther till 1 rounded the cor ner. Far away I thought I discerned a woman’s figure bowed helplessly, the face buried in tho hands, just visible in the shadow. I am always a privileged character, an old man, and a doctor too. X thought it might bo pretty Mrs. Harwood, whoso baby was so ill, and drew near to comfort her, laying my hand upon her shoulder. Sho started, rained her face, it was Mrs. King. Oh, such a face! No need now to ask if misery and pain had been at work; no need to ask if that cold exterior hid a warm, throbbing heart. Trouble, sorrow, anguish beyond words to paiut, were written on that face; on the quivering lips an eternity of bitter memories, of more bitter fore bodings, was imprinted. - “Ah, my poor, poor child,” I said, “for give me! Ido not ask vour secret; let mo help you to bear it.” lT folded her in my arms, and she laid her weary bead, with its snowy crown damp with tho mist and her tears, upon ru,,- heart as on a father’s. As well she might, for the years between us. I knew then that the voice was true, though tho daily mash she wore was false. I know I could trust her tarough that, though I might never ’.now the whole. Ido not know how long I stood there, mutely caressing the dear head, till the fierce passion of weeping had given place to a quiet stillim*?" that showed her self-control •had returned. “I will go to, ray room. Send Marian to me.” She wrung my hand, thou passed quietly and swiftly to her chamber. In the morning there was no trace of the ovening’s agitation save a deeper shadow over tho eyes. If 1 had thought to give her a word of help or sympathy, in tho presence of that calm, still, passionless face tho words died upon ray lips. I could almost fancy my remembrance a tlream, a creation of my own brain. That evening, as I was taking my usual sunset stroll ovuf Long Beach, on tho highest summit of Pinnacle Rock stood a iiguro almost gigantic in the fading iight. Something indescribable, as all personality is, sent my thoughts away to tho Alps and a'pleasant traveling companion, an Englishman whom I met on tho Mor-do-Glaco, afterward at Vienna, where the. Lichtenstein her self lost her heart to tho handsome stranger, who scattered money liko water. I had not in memory got cut of the gay masquerade where wo parted, when a warm grasp of tho hand and a hearty “ Wio gebt’s ? ” brought mo faco to faco •with tho subject of my thoughts. “ Did you drop from tho clouds ?” I cried. “ No; I am a restless wanderer, hero to-day, there to-morrow; walked from tho station, and took the rocks instead of tho road.” Wo linked arms and strolled toward tho house, pcssing tho merry groups at croquet, too intent on tboir game and too excited oven to .notice tho advent of a stranger. On the piazza sat Mrs. King, tho thick vines concealing our ap proach till wo woro close upon her. 1 thought it strange I had never before noticed the effect of the sunlight through tho green leaves. She look ed absolutely pallid, like Boucicault’s Phantom. “Allow me. oy dear Mrs.. King, to introduce my friend and traveling companion, Mr.”—the name had slipped from my treacherous memory, but the gentleman suppli 2d tho omission—“ Mr. Wentworthbut it did not sound familiar to me after aU, though I repeated it to myself twenty times. Very stately always in her manner toward strangers, I - thought I detected a tinge of satire in Mrs. King’s suent acknowledgment of the introdacr'on. They were a handsome couple os they rtood for that instant togeth er; but there was one odd thing—no other man in the world could havo extended his hand in greeting and withdrawn it without seeming awkward; nc other woman conld havo so quiet ly ignored an outstretched band without seem ing rude. Bowing coldly, bat with perfect breeding, Mrs. King passed into tho horse, a little to my disap pointment, if not tc Wentworth’s. “Handsome, isn’t she?” I said, very stupid ly. “There’s something so remarkable in that white hair, with the block eyes and eye brows.” “ Her eves are gray,” ho answered. It struck me chan os strange that he should in that instant have discovered what I had failed to in six weeks : out I replied, testily enough, “ You are such a keen observer, per haps you can solve our enigma in six minutes, though we have bean six weeks ascertaining we know nothing.” “Ah? is there anything remarkable about the lady beyond her white hair and young face ? For mv part, 1 prefer a little goldou-baired fairy like this!” and he snatched up little Marian King as she came running in from the lawn. • The child was very-beautiful, but quite unlike her mother. Absurd as the thought was, I could not help comparing her Saxon beautv with that of the typical Englishman, who held her aloft for a moment, then smothering her with kisses, placed her on her feet. “ What is your name ?” “ Marian King.” I do not know what possessed me, but I laugh ed and said. “It ought to bo Marian Wentworth ; she looks moro like yon than her mother.” Tho little one »au away,’shaking her glit tering curls. Wentworth laughed a little low laugh—a shade of bitterness in it, I thought—as ho said. “ I am alone in the world ; no living be ing claims kinship with me.” His words echoed sadly enough in my own heart, and I thought of her who was to mb now in those few weeks tho one woman in the world, . before whom I would have laid ray love, my heart, my life perhaps uot so worthless, cither, as my plain exterior and gray hair might imply; for, by God’s grace, heart, life, and soul have cver*been as pure and clean ns befits one who believes tho body to bo the temple of the living God. Mrs. King seldom left her room after this. “ Christie was not go well,” Marian said. I visited tho child several times. It was evident ho was failing rapidly. I felt sure he would not sec tho merry Christmas-tide of which ho loved toeing. There was an indefinable change, too, in Mrs. King. Often as I looked at her I thonght of snow-crowned volcano©', and dreaded the devastation that might bo boded. An indefinable terror seem ed closing in-upon us. 'Without the least mis pickta of the truth, I resolved to wait, to bide mv time, and cither shake off the morbid fancy of an idle brain, or stand ready to help and com fort tho woman whom I loved "in the trial before her. My room was on ihe lower floor, the only sleeping apartment there, the offices, dining, and- billiard rooms occupying the remainder. I had just waked from my afternoon nap, and lay there revolving all manner of possi bilities and impossibilities ; wondering if tho boating party had returned; where Mrs. King might bo; whether sho would accept an old 'man’s beer*, and homo ; thankful that toy simple habits had allowed the fortune of earlier days to accumulate io absolute wealth, valued now only that I might give it to her. A vision of a home withavoung gra'y-haired queen flitted before mo. I coula almost hoar httlo Marian’s laugh, and Christie’s quieter glee. A voice, a dear voice, her voif-3, not far away, but close at hand, fell on my dreaming car. I could almost dis tinguish tho words. What is sho saying ? It is no dream; it is Mrs. King speaking; “ I promise. Not hero, not now ; not within tho walls that shelter my innocent, helpless children.” • Tho answer I coold not distinguish, nor recog nize the voice, save that it was a man’s. Her reply came clear and distinct; tho lowest tones of her voice, with all its sweetness and pnrity, ha<l always an incisive quality, even in tho faint est whispers: “ I will meet you at midnight.” I wan numb with surprise and pain. She, my paragon, my Queen among women, purer, colder than the eternal snows, making a vulgar assignation with a lover, or one at least who had a hold over her. a power that compelled com pliance ! There * that in her voice that was not love, not even the passion so often mis named. I w *nted to see how she would look. I harried through my toilet, and on reacuix>g tho veranda found her stated with her writing just outsida my closed blinds. Sho was quite alone ; tho children were in the low swing ; Wentworth ami Gaifieid were on the croquet-ground knocking tho bidls abont. Wun it a dream ? Was the night on the balcony a dream? Icon*'* net tell. Tho reins were firmly held: the lips perhaps a trifle more closely pressed, tho face as colorless, as intense- Iv calm, as ever. , , , . . ' I could not bear tho thousand torturing thoughts, anv one of which seemed an insult to the p°ure soul I knew looked forth from those deep gray *yea—eyes that I almost fancied looked vearningly up to mine for an instant, with that mute eloquence that tells the hunger of a soul perishing in the midst of plenty. I could not boar it. I would not watch her. I would not even go to my room, lost again I should become an unwilling eavesdropper. How the evening wore away I cannot tall. By half-past il the house was still— I and two others waking and watching. Who was the third ? The thought was maddening; the air in my room seemed stilling. Throwing my traveling rug overmy arm, I started deter minedly for the Long Beach. It would bo low tide at 12; the farther seaward point of Pinnacle Bock would be bare; the night tine for the phosphorescent effect on the water; the sea-anemones would bo in view. I had never told anyone of the fairy sights hidden from mortal eyes save on such a night and with such a tide. 3kly favorite nook was a deep water-worn hollow, ‘ where one would bo quite invisible except from the sea. I would not let my thoughts stray back to tho place I had left. I would commune with tho Eternal, the Infinite, the Unchanging, Tho waves, as they rose and fell, were liko emotion'*, aspirations of tho soul, reaching forward illimit- j ably, it would seem; then comes the fiat, “Thus far. and no farther ” —backward, downward,* re luctant, yet inevitable in its desertion, lenvinj tho ragged rocks, tho desolate, barren sands. Was it tho murmur of waves or of human voices that came to me on tho night wind, nearer and yet nearer ? Her voice again I “I will not hear yon. Forgive yon? Never,' this side the grave.' Why you pursue mo, why you torture me ho relentlessly. I know not. You have wronged me and mine as only a man cuu. wrong a woman and her helpless children. I nn* alone in the world; but (rod has opened a way, and I will walk in it. Von cannot injnro my so cial position. I havo none. My children, shall never know my wtong. unless ycir forco mo to disclose it.- When you look'ort that helpless one. recall your mad. jealous fury. Remember tho pitiless storm in which you drovo me forth, with Marian in my arms and tho un bora resting beneath my heart, taunting mo with’ a revelation of the blackest deed of your Mack life—a mock-marriage with the trusting girl who broke her old father's heart by her desertion of his dreary, lonely home for the false warmin' of your'love! Ho has forgiven mo in tho Heaven from which ho looks down on my yours of straggle and bitter anguish. Forgive yo.» ? Wien you restore my lost youth, when you,' give back my faith and hope, when you re deem your lost life, then ask for forgiveness ! ! ‘ “ Marian, you wrong mo. Unceasingly for fi% o long years have I Bought yon, to retract the falsehood born of jealons.drnukcn rage. Markin, you loved mo thou. Come back ami take agtriu tho name no other woman will ever have u rigut to wear.” “Do you think I have fallen ho low- DiJ I lovo you, Christopher Wentworth? It ia bo long ago, I have to take your word for it. Lovo you now ? I would tear my heart out if I thought it held ono tender thought to ward yon! I will not listen to you. lam not ia this place at this hour to hear you recall the past, but to speak myself of the future—to do maud os tho only possible reparation for that past that vou leave mo and my children unmo lested. I’hank Heaven, my boy never drew one breath of his father’s native air! Tho land of. refuge where I gave him birth has given mo woi k for trilling hands and brain; it is our borne. Of you wo ask nothing but silence and forgetful ness.”. “Marian, Marian! will yon not hear mo ? I have wandered over the earth with tho brand of Cain npou my heart, if not upon my brow. V have never ceased noping, behoving, in ouri meeting, in your forgiveness. My teruuer is my, inheritance; Qod knows if it is not almoat in sanity! I loved you honorably, truly. I mar-, ried von honestly, truly. You and no other aror' my lawful* wedded wife. In my drunken,; jealous frenzy I lied to you. I was a* brute, a madman. "When I came to myself you had disappeared. From that hour till* I* saw you on tho balcony I havo never J ceased my search, nor found one trace of you. I cannot hope for. forgiveness to-dav nor to-mor-; row; let mo win tho love that you gave me in' the first flush of youth and beauty. I will not • ask you to bear my name until it seems to vou. i worth the bearing—till you can lay your hand in mine, and willingly, gladly say. *My husband !*: The glass that made .me a fiend and cursed your life held tho last drop that .will ever pass my lips. I havo made a vow beforo high Heaven. Kevor will I enter tho state-. ly halls that now are mine till you walkj proudly by my side. Do not answer mo t now. In tfio stillness and silence of your room, • with the little ones—our little ones—nestling in your arms, think of tho happy home', tho long years of peace and love, that yet may bo in storo for us I” A vivid flash of lightning and tho low mutter ing of thunder, unobserved till now, warned them of the approaching storm. The drops were falling thick and fast as they hastened for shelter. I was glad to bo released and follow at a safe distance the retreating figures. My romance was shattered. Was there sr melodrama, or was there a tragedy, in store?’ How tho storm raged! How pitilessly it beat on tho shell of a snimiior-honse, shaking it to its very foundations! Tho heavens ouo constant sheet of flame—the thunder one continuoui roar. No wonder tho ancients termed such war of tho elements tho battles of tho gods ! Hour after hour it lasted, increasing rather than di minishing. Tho entries wero filled with half dressed women and children, awo-struck Into silence. One crash, a flash that blinded every one, and a piercing shriek that rose high above the storm. “The house is struck I” “It ia on fire!” “In the left wing!” “Who rooms there?” “No one.” ** Yea, Mrs. King.” I do not know how I reached the room, nor what blind instinct taught rao Lho shortest wav., A few precious moments wore lost before I could break open the door. Mrs. King lay senseless on the floor, still in her wet clothes. Marian was calling vainly on “ mamma I” X raised the death like form and boro her in my arras through tho blinding smoke, down tho shattered staircase, little Marian clinging to her still. I carried her to my room, and applied hastily such re storatives as were at hand. In a few moments her eyes slowly opened, her lips trembled. “is Christie safe?” God forgive me, I had forgotten tho crippled, helpless child ! I rushed once more to tho scone of disaster. A crowd had gathered,watching eagerly, earnc.st- Iv, for something, some one. A glimpse at tho window of a stalwart figure with a child in his arms! No ladder I no trellis! he must try the stairway, and that is smoking and crackling ’ Will tho engines ever come ? The stairway falls, and bath are buried in the mins. Floods of water now, but they avail nothing save to preserve unmarred the fair baxon face and the child so like his mother. “ Is it well with my child ?” “ It is well with thy child.” “ Why do you not bring him to me ?” I could not tell hcrwLy: the prophetic shadow of her soul gave answer. “ Take mo to him. I can Lear it.” The old habit of self-control came back. Sho leaned upon my arm, and silently followed whither I would. One instant’s pause before the door that hid bo much that had been dear tr> ; her. Wo had not parted those whom death had* united. The little one’s face lay on the strong, man’s breant, tho tiny hand thrown over t;:ef neck in a clinging embrace ; the loving, protect-, ing arms still firmly clasped their new-fou*;.! treasure. A smile of peace and beauty rested on cither face, as though in that moment of life ;u death recognition had been given, and Chiis;*© indeed found his father iu Heaven. Marian stood for a moment as one rtanm-., I da not think it was possible at first entirely • >.* take in the fact before her. Her darling nev ni his father’s anas, both in the cold embrace <-f death 1 Had he not redeemed his life? Hod ho not given her faith and hope? Were there n.a better things than youth and beauty? C’ouiJ she not forgive? Two living arms enfold the dead: hot tears rain down upon the, cold white face. Oh, ti,a tenderness, the love, tho yearning, tho px-sicu ato desolation of her cry-*-** My hx.baii'J, cl., n.y\ husband I” There is little more to add. Eci:e:ytb one store bleep Chrintoplicr V«’c:itworib ami liifi * on, Ma rian Wentworth ia beautiful still, u'itu a Lcaui\r more like Heaven then earth. Her ncalrii ;.j freelv given, but a greater ticauurc in her f : yur ~i-thy thy and love, that lighten, every burden an I aootho every sorrow within her. W hero ‘there was desolation. God has given life. Bin; ia not alone, nor .will sbo be, though LtsJc Marian xeign in a happy home of her own. The wile, the mother, looks mill to the heavenly mansio-i where tho husband of her youth, with the' chilu. of their love, awaits her, forgiving uua forg.vcn. —Uarpcr'* Maijaiiui for April. LIFE. Oar life is fall of hidden string*, Tlut thrill and throb wan-.- iu.vt vro tL!uk And chains of being, link by dr.’:; Do run through ad ensiled turn,;*. And dormant hope, and love, and liar. Awake within, when we wou’d dt;m Thera dead for ever. .Ah! oar life Is like some half-awakening dream. I hold him guiltless who may ern b A woman’* heart, or love’* d ultq ; I hold her foolish who may truot In man, or to his love aspire. Tor manhood is a daily lie, And woman i§ a yaltrr cheat; Alt things are false ; and I, ah ! I Am jurt as ranch f* counterfe:! Chicago. March‘i-i, IcTJ. Ctcinix Lassdos 11

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