Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune, June 15, 1873, Page 11

Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune dated June 15, 1873 Page 11
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hygiene of the ear. Why Children's Ears Should Never Be Boxed. lie Ear Often Impaired by the Attempt to Clean It. From the People 1 * Magazine. cauldron’s ears ought never to be boxed. We have seen that the passage of the ear is closed ja thin membrane, especially adapted to be in fluenced by every impulse of the air, and with, nothing but the air to support it internally. What, then, can be more likely to injure this membrane than a sudden and forcible compres sion of the air in front of it? If de signed to break or overstretch the membrane, bo could scarcely devise a more effective means than to bring the hand suddenly and forcibly down upon the passage of the ear," thus driving the air violently before it, with no possibility for Its escape but by the membrane giving way. And far too often it does give way, especially if from any previous disease it has been weak ened., Many children are made deaf by boxes on the ear in this way. Nor is this the only, way : if there is one thing which does the nerve of hearing more barm than another, it is a sndden jar or shock. Children and grown persons alike may be entirely deafened by falls or heavy blows upon the bead. And boxing the ears produces a similar effect, though more elowly and in leas degree. It tends to dnU the sensibility of the nerve, even if it does not hurt the membrane. I know a pitiful case, once, of a poor youth who died from a terrible disease of tbo ear. He bad. tin.l a discharge from it eince be was a child. Of course hia bearing had been dull: and what bad nappeued was that bis father bad often boxed hie ear for inattention! Most likely that boxing on the ear, diseased as it was, had much to do with hia dying. And this brings me to the second point. Children should never be blamed for being inattentive, until it has been found out whether they are not a little deaf. This is easily done by placing them at a few yard’s distance, and trying whether they can understand what is said to them in a rather low tone of voice. Each ear should be tried, while the other is stopped by the finger. Ido not say that children are never guilty of inattention, especially to that which they do not particularly wish to hear; but I do say that very many children are blamed and pnnished for inattention when they really do not hear. And there is nothing at once more cruel and more hurtful to the character of children than' to bo found fault with for what is really their' misfortune. Three things should be remem bered here: 1. That slight degrees of deafness, often lasting only for a time, are very common among children, especially during or after colds. 2. That a slight deafness, which does not pre vent .a person from hearing when he is ex pecting to be spoken to, will make him very dull to what he is not expecting; and, 3. That there is a kind of deafness in which a person can hear pretty well while listening, but is really very hard of hearing when not listening. Among the causes of injury to the ear mnst unfortunately be reckoned bathing. Not that this most healthful and important pleasure need, therefore, be in the least discouraged; but it' should be wisely regulated. Staying too long in the water certainly tends to produce deafness as well as other evils; and it is a practice against which voung persons of both sexes should be carefully on their guard. But, independently of this, swimming and floating are attended with a certain danger from the difficulty of preventing the entrance of water into the ear in these positions. Now, no cold fluid should ever enter the ear; cold water ie always more or less Irri tating, and, if used for syringing, rapidly pro duces giddiness. In the case of warm water its entrance into the ear ia 4caa objectionable, but even this is not free from disadvantage. Often the water lodges in the ears and produces an un comfortable sensation till it is removed; this should always bo taken as a sign of danger. That the risk to hearing from unwise bathing ie not a fancy, is proved by the fact, well known to lovers of dogs, that those animals, if in the habit of jumping or being thrown into the water, so their heads are covered, frequently become deaf. A knowledge of the danger is a sufficient guard. To be safe it is only .necessary to keep the water from- entering the ■ ear. If tM. cannot be accomplished otherwise, the head may he covered. It should be added, however, that wet hair, whether from bathing or wash ing, may he a cause of deafness, if it be suffered to dry by itself. ‘Whenever wetted, the hair should be wiped till it is fairly dry. .Nor ought the practice of moistening the hair with water to make it curl, to pass without remonstrance. To dren. too, care should be taken that all the little folds* of the outer ear are carefully and gently dried with a soft towel. 4 Probably the most frequent way In which the ear is impaired is by the attempt to clean it. It ought to be understood that the passage of the ear does not require cleaning by ns. Nature undertakes that task, and, in the healthy state, fulfills it perfectly. Her means for cleansing the ear is the wax. Perhaps the reader has never wondered what becomes of the ear-wax. T will tell him. It dries up into thin fine scales, and these peel off, ono by one, from the surface of the passage, and fall out imperceptibly, leav ing behind mem a perfectly clean, smooth sur face. In health the passage of the ear is never dirty: but, if wo attempt to clean it, we infalli bly make it so. Here—by a strange lack of jus tice, as it would seem, which, however, has no fount a deep justice at the bottom —the best people, those who love cleanliness, suffer most, and good and careful nurses do a mis chief negligent ones avoid. Washing the ear out with soap and water is bad; it* keeps the wax moist when it ought to become dry and scaly, in creases its quantity unduly, and makes it absorb the dust with which the air always abounds. But the moat hurtful thing is introducing the comer of the towel, screwed up, and twisting it round. This does more harm to ears than all other mistakes together. It drives down the wax upon the membrane, much more than it gets it out. Let any one who doubts this make a tube like the passage, especially with the curves which it possesses; let him put a thin jnem brane at one end, smear its inner surface with a substance like the ear-wax. and then try to get it out with a towel I But this plan does much mors mischief than merely pressing down the wax. It irritates the passage, and makes it can off penult flakes 'of skin, which dry up, and become extremely hard, and these also are pressed down upon the membrane. Often Uis not only deafness which ensues, but pain and in flammation, and then matter is formed which the hard mass prevents from escaping, and the mem brane becomes diseased, and worse may follow- The ear should never be cleaned oat with the screwed-up comer of a towel. Washing should extend only to the outer surface, aa far as the finger can reach. Ear-picks, again, are bad. If there is any de sire to use them, it shows that the ear is un healthy'; andit wants soothing, not picking. And there is another danger from introduc ing any solid thing into the ear. The hand may get a push, and it may go too far. ilany is the membrane that ha* thus been broken by a bod kin. Sportsmen sometimes have their mem brane pierced by turning suddenly while getting through a hedge. And it even happens that a bey at school may put a pen close to another's ear, in play, and r-&Ti to Mth to make him turn his head; and the pen pierces the membrane. Very loud sounds may cause deafness, too. Ar tillerymen, and also eager sportsmen, and very zealous volunteers, incur a danger from this cense. It is well to stop the ears when exposed to loud sounds, if possible; also to avoid bel fries when the bells are about to ring. A man who was once shut up in one became stone-deaf before the peal *** done. The sound of guns is more injurious to those who are In a confined space with them, and also if the mouth bo open, jyoiy from loud sounds, also, is much more to occur if they are unexpected ; for, if Jo®! are anticipated, tho membrane is prepared lot then, without our knowledge, by its musclaa.* Appertain points on the Bhine, it is. or was. the custom cf the captain of tho steamboat to nre a cancon, to exhibit tho echo. When this •JJJ* wen done without due warning, it baa pro Ted mere than once a cause of lasting deaf -s®®®* Bonetimea these loud sounds rupture the membrane, sometimes they deaden tho nerve: least eviL also, to put cotton-wool m Utaanum or chloroform into the ear Jot tbs relieftoothache. It may be eome «mca effectua r for the nervous connection he ir®® 11 • and the car is very close. Bnfc j: 8^ 18 ho delicate and valuable an organ •?, na ®d as i medium for the application of remedha for disorders of other and less “"gOTtant parte; and lahdanum. and more es pwauy chlorohim, is a powerful irritant. The ahopm blocked after in ind for them and, if tmihache spreads to the ear. that is the more reason for taking them thoroughly in hand; for prolonged pain in the head, arising from the teeth, may itself injure the nearing. YThen achild’a ear becomes painful, as it often does, everything should be done to soothe it, and all strong, irritating applications should be avoided. Pieces of hot fig or onion should not be put in; but tram flannels should be applied, with poppy-fomentation, if the pain does not soon subside. How much children suffer from their ears, unpltied because unknown, it would probably wring tbo hearts of those who love them suddenly to discover. It is often very bard, even for medical men, to ascertain that the cause of a young child’s distress is seated in the ear, and frequently a sudden discharge from it, with a cessation of pain, first reveals the secret of a mysterious attack which has really been an inflammation of the drum. The watch fulness of a parent, however, would probably suffice to detect the cause of suffering, if di rected to this point, as well as to others. If children cry habitually when their ears are washed, that should not be neglected; there is, most likely, some cause of pain. Many mem branes are destroyed from discharges which take place daring ‘‘teething.” Whenever there is a discharge of matter from the ear, it would be right to pour in warm water night and morning, and so at least to try and keep it clean. But in to the treatment of diseases of the ear it would not be suitable to enter here. GERMAN NOVELISTS. Spielliagen, Auerbach, Freytag* Bteysc. Prom St pants Magazine. I know no modem author who has laid human nature so universally under contribution, and with such uniform success, as Spielliagen. His canvas is crowded with figures all true to nature, but all more or loss typical. The inheritor of ancestral imbecility, whose talk is of dogs and horses, and whose virtue consists in a constant readiness to stake his own valueless, against some fellow-creature’s valuable life—the profes sor whose seething brain boils over at last in a madness replete with strange and startling wis dom—the young girl who, possessed of physical desire, tempts to a love whose fruit Is bitterness of sorrow—the beauteous, matron who, also lov ing, sheds the charm of holy self-denial over an intercourse that else bad passed the bounds of friendship—above all, tho poor, perplexed na ture, which, full of noble impulses and lofty aspirations, is yet the tbmll of self and inde-. oision—these are but a few of the characters, which, drawn with realistic hand, yet reveal to ns an idealist who aims at something higher than the reproduction of more extemalism, who is ever conscious of the mystery of life and the surpassing interest of psychological develop ment. That Spielhagen has many faults It is . impos sible to gainsay. Hia novels are too long and too loosely put together. In this respect he might learn much from his English rivals. In spite of the flowing beauty of his style, they leave an impression of clumsiness and want of fintßh. His genius is in fact too robust and im-. perious to descend to petty technicalities. He pursues ah ideal with gigantic strides, but with out much attention to grace of movement. But in spite of these and other faults, he contests at this moment the literary supremacy of Germany with Auerbach and Froytag, and in many im portant qualities is superior to either. in Auerbach, again, the same strong convic tion of the superiority of mind over matter, of the invisible over the visible, of psychology over incident, confronts one at every torn. Take, for example, the “Villa on the Rhine.” In what does the real interest of the book consist ? Not assured in its “action,” for of this-there is but little, and that little tame, and, except at the very end, commonplace. It is interesting solely as a study of character —as aminute analy sis of psychical development; and, viewed m this way, it is a work of marvelous capacity. In almost every character in which such develop ment is possible, there is a gradual growth and expansion of the inner nature traced with a subtlety and a vigor positively astounding. In reading it we become at once aware that all of life winch is external—its so-called adventures the moving accidents by flood and field, are indeed, in tho strictest logical sense of the term, but accidents—not bound up with its essence — not even endued with the inseparability of prop erties—in no wise constituting its truest and deepest interest. It is in the region of the spirit, in the subtle play of emotion, in the gradual development of character, in the dex terous unraveling of the tangled skein of human motives, that Auerbach, like every true romancist, alone can find a congenial sphere for hia abili ties. „ That such a work should find small acceptance In England, I can well believe. In the first place, Auerbach’s typo is inimitable in its mas sive simplicity and child-like originality. It is the purest and most pellucid medium—with the . single oTonptipu of the style of Goethe in his "Borrows or nariner —iniuugu nmcn urnuu romancist ever transmitted the rays of human thought and feeling. And all this is lost in a translation. But there are other reasons going far deeper to account for the fact that, whilst a sensational novel runs through manifold edi tions, this grand work of the Gorman novoiliat has, in England, remained comparatively un read. Ido not refer to the fact that there are a certain number of people in England yho could and would read it in the original; this num ber is small, indeed; for the parrot-like knowledge of Gorman acquired by an English school-girl, and the ponderous misapprehension of it attained by the academician in the infruc tiious seclusion of his study, are alike insuffi cient for the proper understanding of snob a work. The root of the matter lies far deeper. There is in the English nature of the present day a disrelish for aught but the sensational, the morbid, the artificial; and it is simply impossi ble that the lover of mere externa! incident should read such a work with interest. It is written for men and women of the nobler typo, not for puling clerks and lackadaisical soubrettes. Spite of Freytag’s enormous popularity, the highest place among German writers of fiction cannot be assigned to him. His creations are manly and objective, but they lack those finer touches which reveal the insight into s onls. This is very evident if we contrast his “Debit and Credit ” with Auerbach’s “ Villa on the Ehine.” In each alike tie interest centres in the histoir of two young people. But in Auerbach's work the interest is internal and physical; in Fray tag's it is external and physical. The latter is true to the Horatian maxim, which itself is so often untrue to nature that a character should remain to the end as it stood in the beginning. His Anton Wohlfahrt ondTeitel Hzig, though we are introduced to them both at an age when character is seldom formed, undergo in the whole course of the story no other change than such as is inevitable to physical growth and larger in tercourse with men. The fact is, Freytag has perception but no instinct. Ho paints marvel ously well what he sees, but has no power to feel toward the invisible. There is, however another well-known name in modem Gorman literature which is attached to works at once distinctly German and extraor dinarily beautiful. I mean, of. course, Heyse. It is true that a celebrated German oritio has said, comparing him with Spielhagen : “ Spiel bagen is like a grand antique statue, lacking, perhaps, this or that interior member, but never without that which gives expression and majesty to the whole—the head. Heyse, on the contrary, is a modem statuette, exquisitely finished in other respects, but unfortunately without the head." But I venture to think that, in passing this severe judgment, the critic has been unconsciously . influenced by the fact that all Heyse’s works ore diminu tive. They are miniatures, and possess all the elaborate grace and finish which we as sociate with such productions. -But they are not headless and meaningless images; on the con trary, every one of them is a perfect psycho logical study. I know of nothing in any htera ature more beautiful than some of those short stories so full of a tender grace and an inimita ble pathos. Alas 1 that it should be so im possible to convey any adequate idea of them to the English reader. Not only has Hoyse’s style a peculiar and delicate aroma which abso lutely defies translation, but,’ in the whole range of English literature, there is no. author with whom he could be compared in such a manner as to enable the English reader to form an' intelligent estimate of his genius, He does not exclude himself from bis writings —you see him ever standing in the midst of his creations, with the same pensive brow and calm, deep-watching eyes, and, for the most part (for he is by nature hopeful and joy ous), the same placid smile upon his bps. So he stands, the very embodiment of human sympa thy, never rising to the angels or sinking to the devils, but always on the just level of average humanity; prepared to see and welcome all that there is around of good and noble; prepared to pity, yea, Bhocking as It may sound, even some times to pardon, much of error and of sin. Such is Heyse. Perhaps, In strictest justice, one baa no right to place him on the majestic elevation of Spielhagen or Auerbach. But who can be absolutely-impartial in judging of such an author ?’ : Ho creeps into one’s, heart and storms it with his tender force of sympathy, whether w B will or no, And few works, indeed. THE CHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, JUNE 15, 1873. have such a directly softening and humanizing' influence as these little tales of helpless passion or requited love. . Their perfection of structure and delicacy of mental analysis are simply per fect. I have already said that It might be too much to assert that Heyse is an artist of the very highest type, hut never assuredly has there : breathed a human being more intimately pene trated with the art-instinct. His sensibility to artistic impressions, whether physical or psychi cal, Is unsurpassed. He moves'-from land to land, and character to character, reflecting ' the changed scenery of the one and the altered pas sions of the other with equal facility and truth. In reading bim, I become anxious to know if there is anything in this wide earth which, to his eyes, has not in its inmost kernel some lurking sonl of good: if there isany variety of man’s mysterious nature, any passion of his suffering heart, with which he cannot sympathise. —St Pants Magazine. THE french salons of to-day. Paris Correspondence of the Ko&otu Among the most brilliant receptions of the winter have been, for instance, those of tbo Minister of Foreign Affairs, M. de Bemusat, and nobody was bettor placed to form a connecting link between the various elements of society, Madame de Bemusat. by her connections, is united to the oldest families of France, but the blood of Lafayette is in her veins—she ia a Liberal as well aa her husband; and though they have both belonged till the present time to the Orleanlst party, they are quite at home in the Republic of M. Thiers.; Besides the diplomatic body, which naturally, is always a great centre of attraction, there may be Seen in -Madame de Bemnsat’a rooms the representatives of all the old parties, as. well as Republicans even of the -deepest dye. - Count Amim, with. bis high forehead and hia inquisi tive eye. will be near some Deputy of Gambetta’s party; an Arago will be announced immediately after a Clermont-Tonnorre; people look at each other with some curiosity. The scene is very much like a premiere (a first repre sentation) at some theatre, whore the ladies of society turn their glasses on the ladies of the half-world, and where the young dandiee stare at each meh as Pumas the younger, About, or the most famous critics and drama Ho authors. H may also be compared to the short trace of two armies, when toe officers are allowed to mix and exchange newspapers and cigars. A deep feeling of hostility is felt running under tbo soft manifestations of worldly politeness. I saw a lady, the other day, shudder when she heard the servant announcing. H. Challemel-Lacour, the Deputy who wrote at Lyons the famous note, “Snoot all these men,” on the margin of a re port. Bat M. Challemel-Lacour has been a Pro-: lessor in the university, he is a scholar, and is quite capable of playing bis part in a salon. At M. tie Bemusat’s,receptions, as well as at all the official receptions, only one element is mlss imr _the Bonapartists- are nob invited by the Ministers of M. Thiers. But the Empire had last ed so long that they had become quite an impor tant element in French society. The diplomats, who for years have been in relation with them, cannot drop them completely; but it is. only in their houses that.they are to be mot.' Princess Orloff, wbo lives in the heart : of the Faubourg St. Germain, receives more than any other mem ber of the diplomatic, body.; and I saw, a few days ago, at one of her routs, .the tocu famous Due de Gramont, for the first time since the war. All eyes.were directed on him—on the tall and majestic form of the man who had played with the destinies of* France with a levity worthy of the younger days of his famous ancestor. Not far from nun was Canrobert, so long an intimate friend of the Emperor, still respected for the great courage he displayed at the battles be fore Metz.- - -Yon hardly take a step in one of these reunions without meeting some suggestive name or person. ' Here is the Comte de Paris talking to some Deputy on the book he has just published on the condition of the working-men m America; not far from him glides the Duch eese de Moucby, who is -a -Murat, and who re grets in her heart the glories of the Imperial court. That young officer yonder, Count Eeug not, was with Gen. Lecompte in the Rue dea Hosiers, on tho 10th of Marche when the old General was shot: he* himself barely escaped, and came back to Versailles with, his uniform in rags. The old General with the white beard is the silent Governor of Paris, Ladmiranlt. wbo is answerable for the maintenance of order in the Communistic Capital. These gentlemen, cov ered with crosses and ribands of all colors, “are quite unknown; and they are seen bowing to their Ministers, who have not even the little riband of the Legion of Honor. The other night, at the new Prefecture of police. I glanced a moment through the win dow, ana saw the ruins of all the palaces and houses which have been burnt round tho Sainte Ohapelle, and wondered bow the noble spire bad been saved. Was it possible 1 all these flowers, and this music, and this quiet urbanity—was it only the dream of ah hour ? In this palace of the’police, I could not help remembering ft day when I was riding on the plateau of Chatillon, rally. the wife of a policeman, had run away from Paris, and was finding her way to Versailles, ignorant of the fate other husband. How distant all these memories seem already, and, if it wore not for the awful skeletons of onr palaces, how unreal all this seems now! We have all heard of the bale dea vittimes after the terror; we also have our balls, where the victims of yesterday meet the victims of to-morrow. One of the finest and most hospitable houses in Paris is the hotel of the Countess Ducbatel, widow of one of the last Ministers of Louis Fhillippe. The magnificent collection of pictures would be enough to attract any body; and be sides, this salon has the privilege of uniting the Orleanlst and tho Legitimist society. It is in such places that you can better understand the difficulties of the Orleanist party, which, by its principles, is almost drawn to the Republican side, while socially it has always been drawn to ward the Legitimists. And the Legitimists, un fortunately, Rave tbo most nntractable leader in the person of the Comte de Chambord. For many montha.the hope of a complete fusion be tween the twß branches of the royal family was naturally the occasion of the most cordial fusion of two societies which before bad little in common The young Duchess and Marchioness of the no ble faubonrg were only too glad to abandon the solitary and gloomy salons where their mothers had cherished for years the fires of hatred .against modern France, modem ideas, and 1880; the handsome Ducheese de Larochefoucault-Bis accia opened her house, which was once guarded like tho paradise of legitimacy, to the colleagues of her husband in the Chamber. The Legitimists are, socially speaking,, such an important ele ment in French socle fry that this fusion was quite an event in Itself. The Liberals, to their great delight, found that there were many men in the Legitimist camp who were very open to progres sive ideas; the Legitimists, in their turn, found that the Liberals were not all of the school of the Commune; but this happy union did not last long, and the letters of the Comte de Cham bord have again disunited the ranks of the mon archical army. The connections which have been formed will, however, not be broken im mediately. For Nnt-Crackeiff From the Topeka {Kan.) Commomr taltK A correspondent in Lyon County, who appears to be agitated, sends ns the following, which he clips from a paper published in bis Tillage. Wo judge him to be the author of tho story, and al low to it whatever credit tho reader may give: “In the house of one of the oldest citizens of this county is a maple dining table, which has been in use for thirty years. Becently. while the daughter was working about the table, she noticed a small heap of saw-dust, as she sup posed, near one corner, and brushed it off, when, to her astonishment, it • soon reappeared. On examination, a large wood-worm, with a bead half an inch wide, was found working in the table-top. All efforts to get him out proved abortive, and a considerable quantity of not water was poured into the hole. Supposing the worm to be scalded, the bole was plugged up, and nothing more was thought of the mat ter for several months. One day, not long since, another heap of sawdust was piled upon tho table near the former opening. Efforts were again made to capture the denizen, and a knife? blade was thrust through his head, but he drew back and has not since been seen. It is not known how long ha was, but the hole is over half an inch wide. Investigation proved tho table-top to bo eaten all along one side. “ The question arises: How long maybe have been there ? Could the egg have been deposited in the bark of the tree, ana lain dormant over thirty years ? If not, now else could ho have got there ?” _ A JFamons Female Climber* We will next turn to one who was famous long before the Alpine Club existed,* as haying made the ascent of twenty-five Swiss mountains. This was Mile. d’Angeville, who was bom in 1701, and was early seized with a the climbing monomania,” for which her vigorous health and strong will early prepared her. Her first at tempt, leading her in tho end to try the ascent of Mont Blanc, was to the Her do Glace and the Jardin. After more- than twelve hours stiff walking, she returned without to Oha mounL Looking up to the summit, thenillnmmat edby the setting sun, and transported with ad- miration, she said: “ I shall go. there.” A few months after, her desire wasjttfblfilled • the Grand Plateau was reached witßout difficulty; but the pulsation of the heart, owing to the rare fied air, amounting to 140 neats in a minute, rendered the latter part painful; but once seated on her snowy throne, she could enjoy the view, wrote several letters to her friends, and drank the health of the newly-bom Prince, the son of the Duchess of Orleans. Passing over many other ascents she made, here is one Of the Iciest. At the age of 60, accompanied by a single guide, she climbed the Oldenbom in ten hours fron the Hotel dea Diablerets. The night overtook them, and the guide declared he had lost his road. IGle. d’Angeville decided to wait on the spot'un til the break of day. so as to incur no risk ; but this the guide said would be too danger ous, on account of the cold. They separated, and he went in search of the nearest chalet, for a lantern: in two hours he returned, and then the courageous lady saw, not without emotion, that her resting-place was but a few yards from a tremendous precipice. Happily, they soon do • scended into a place of safety. During her travels, she made a large collec tion of plants, minerals, autographs, and the portraits of those she met. Bhe was an excel lent mimic, and one of her amusements was to dress up in character and act a part. Thus, bor rowing that of an old beggar, she started on the tramp; the cottages treated her liberally; the cure’s servant shut the door in her face; but in the course of three hours she found how good a trade it was, having received between four and five franca.— Chamber? Journal, HIND-PICTURES. The world is asleep and in dreams, love ; . . I, only, have wakened to tears, For I dreamed of the beautiful past, love, ' Of the past with its rose-crowned years, When we had no thought of the morrow,— o’erclouded with fears/ .•■• • • < Ton remember the boose on tbo hill, love, . With the swallows’ nests up in the eaves; And the poplar-trees down by the gate, love. That whispered with restless leaves; And the fields, where tbo harvesters gathered The wheat into golden sheaves 7 There were gables, and pointed chimneys, Coo! rooms, and the wide old hall; They are desolate now; only Echo Speaks back when the wind-voices call; No dear forma are under the hemlocks,— Those grim and tall. In the shady path down through the forest, The brambles are growing to-day; The rustic chair under the cedar la broken and gone to decay; While the min, where the great wheel was turning. Has been swept by the freshet away. Under an old oak, century-crowned, I sit on a rock that is mossy and gray, And turn from watching the clouds above, To watch the waterfall’s tossing spray, That foils down into the basin below, — Just as ice watched it, one other day. A» I thint of the promise you made me then, And *hin¥ of the fete that stepped between,— The hearts that through life should have beat as one,— I trace out the future that 44 might have been,” And tears fall fast o’er its ashes cold. For there are but ashes left, I ween.' My darling t my darling I it all comes bach; Bitter indeed la the cup I drink; Yet, if I might but dash it away from your Ups, ; I could bear It better alone, I think; But I see you lire on with your broken heart. And 1 fly lest you know bow my own will alnk. OansrsT B. Fbzeuaw. A Dog: Chases a Railroad Train for Fourteen miles, and-Keeps Dp Will* It* * From the St Paul Press. Wednesday last was 44 a good day for the race” —the canine race is referred to—aa the follow ing true tale of a Minnesota dog, related by a reliable eye-witness, shall prove. On that day, aa one of the trains on the Lake Superior & Mississippi Bailroad stopped at Centreville, a few miles beyond White Bear Lake, a lady took a seat in one of the passenger coaches, and the train started. When it stopped at White Bear Station a dog of medium size, and with rather a shaggy coat, came alongside upon the platform, and was noticed to be very warm, and panting heavily; again a few miles fur ther on, a halt was made to take water, and Conductor Bond called the attention of some of the passengers to the fact that that dog had followed them from White Bear Lake, as be supposed. The train was going off, and shortly doggy was seen close behind. Passengers be came interested, and crowded to the rear of the car to watch the race. Occasionally, at some pool beside the track, doggy would dash down, take a few drops of the cooling fluid, varying this sometimes with a bath, and then, with a sharp yelp or two, as if in pain at the Idea of being left behind, dash on. In this way an even race was maintained until a down grade was reached, when the train made a long swift dash to gain impetus for a rising grade beyond. Doggy now fell behind; he tried hard, but it was‘too much for .him.;, his little body was, however, just full of pluck and perseverance, and to the delight of the passengers, whoso sympathy was fully aroused for the canine hero, when the up grade was reached doggy made good his loss null - tip TTIUI U0 tl&lQ. OOndUC—

tor Bond said that he would stop and take np the weary runner, now showing signs of exhaustion, but there was no one to take care of him or to deliver him to at the jour ■uey’s end. By this time the lady passenger from Centreville became interested to know what it was which eo excited the passengers, and ae she saw the little racer, she immediately recognized him as the pet of the friends with whom she hod been visiting at Centreville. He had followed her to the depot, and gallantly at tended her on foot on her journey, until within about four miles of St. FauL Conductor Bond seized the bell-rope, the train was quickly stop ped, and doggy was taken on board, where he was given first-class quarters and a free ride, which he had amply earned, by fairly running a fourteen-mile race with a passenger train mak ing its usual time. It is needless to add that doggy was as delighted as his weary little body would allow, to regain eight of the friend he had followed, and that he was the hero of the hour with all on board the train. JECalser William’* Present to a Ger- man Church in Pennsylvania* The Titusville (Pa.) Germans are wild with patriotic excitement over the arrival of the can non. presented to the German Protestant Church of that city for bell-metal, by the Emperor Will iam of Germany. It is a bronze 18-pounder flold-piece, 7 feet 8 inches in length, 6 inches bore, and weighs 1.944 pounds. It cost when new about $4,900, and is worth at least $2,000 for old metal. On tho breech is engraved, “Bourgea, July 37, 1869,” indicating the place and date .of its man ufacture. In front of the touch-hole is the let ter “ N,” surrounded by a floral wreath and sur mounted by the imperial crown of France. The name of the gun, “Le Mauvais,” or the Fiend, is carved on the muzzle. The battle of Sedan was the first service into which the gun was brought, hut it was not fired during the battle. It is cerr tainly one of the finest pieces of ordnance ever brought to this country, and it is well worth in spection. Early in the day the gun was removed to Corinthian Hall, under the superintendence of the Bev. Mr. Foundling, pastor of St. Paul's Chureh. Theodore Harts and William Harts, two of King William's soldiers, who served at the battle of Sedan in the Nineteenth Fusiliers, un der Maj.-Gen. Berger, handled the gun with the greatest ease, and, after polishing it, mounted it on a miniature carriage in the centre of the hall. 'These men stated that tho gun was removed on the second day after the capitulation of Sodan, from tho eastern intronohments. The Mayor has granted tho privilege of firing the gun on some of the surrounding hills, which will be done by a company of experienced artillerists, selected for the purpose, before it leaves the dty. Four fine lithographs accompany the gun; the first is ft copy of King William's reply to Napoleon’s declaration of war, on the margin of which are representations or the principal battles of the war, also pictures of the heroes of Germany. *The other three pictures represent the battlq pf Gravelotte, the battle of Sedan, and thp Crown Prince at Wcisenburg 1 . all of which are framed and executed in the highest style of art. Koble’e Christian Tear* On the 29th of March last the copyright of Keble’s famous Christian Year expired, and within the five weeks following no less than ten different editions appeared from those London publishing houses who concern themselves chiefly with expiring copyrights. Of course these reprints are not from the author's latest and most improved copies, but have been taken from the first editions issued by the Messrs. Parker, at Oxford, in 1827, and it is a curious fact that, but for a careful fac simile reprint which the Oxford publishers recently issued as a literary curiosity, it is very doubtful if even one of the ten un authorized reprints could have appeared, for the genuine original, in two volumes, is among the rarest of modern books—almost as much prized by collectors as the first edition of Mr. Tennyson's poems. A second edition of The Christian Tear was called for five, monthwrfter the first appeared, and from 1827 ta the present time one or more fifjitifmH have appeared each, year, and now we believe the Oxford publishers are selling the 155 th edition! It was to the third edition, which • appeared la 1823* that the poems were added for “Forma of Prayer to be used at Sea,” “Gun powder Treason,” “King Charles the Martyr,” “The Restoration of the Royal Family,” “foe Accession,” and “For Ordination.” ' The emendations which the author made from time to time add materially to the value of later editions, and it is interesting to note, as each issue appeared, with what care the poet regarded every word which in the slightest manner shadowed forth the settled convictions of bis faith. It was only in the later editions, we may remark, that pronoun a 2 etc., having relation to the Almighty, were printed with a capital initial letter. As on authorized edition may now be had for sixpence, and as there is a rumor in Paternoster row that an enterprising publisher contemplates issuing a reprint of the original edition at a penny, we may conclude that henceforth Keble’a Christian Year will rank with those works which are usually heralded in advertising columns as “ marvels of cheapness.” —The Athenaeum. HUMOR, The body politic of Spain needs spring diet— Dux and peace. —A Boston firm of clothiers have got out pat ent trousers for boys, with copper rivets and steel kneo-platea. —The man most likely to make his mark in, tiie world—one who cannot write his own name. 1 —There is more flattery in an egg than in any thing else.' Nothing la so given to addleation. —A little boy asked a lady who made her teeth. “My Creator,” she replied. “Well.” said the youngster, “Dr.,- — made my ma’s, and they boat your’n clean out o’ sight.” —“ The bride wasn’t remarkably handsome,” speaking of a Kentucky wedding, “but her father threw in seven mules, and the husband was satisfied.'*’ —“First Law of Nature” at Fault—ln open ing a case of sardines, one sees plainly that little fienoa are not endowed with the instinct of self preservation ; sardinely not! —Business—“ Here lies Jane Smith, wife of Thomas Smith, stone-mason. This monument was put up out of respect for her memory and as . a specimen of. bis workmanship. Tombs in the same style, $250.” . —“ what is the difference between you and my old doll ?” asked a little girl of her sister’s snob bish beau. “Aw—weally, roy little, deah, I can’t say—aw.” “ Well, you have an eye-glass, and my old doll has a glass-eye,” said the tri umphant urchin. —Mrs. Thaxter. in her “ Reminiscences Among the Isles of Shoals,” tells of a primitive and unlettered Shoalsman who went to the main land, and, discovering a frog for the first time, triumphantly asked: “ What kind of a d—d bug do you call that ?” —One of the bluest of Bostonians, on being requested, by a rich and vulgar young fellow, for permission to marry “ one of his girls,” gave this rather crushing reply: “Certainly; which would you prefer, the waitress or the cook ?” —An inquiring man thrust his fingers into a horse’s mouth to see bow many teeth he had. The horse closed bis* mouth to see how many fingers the man had. * The curiosity of each was fully satisfied. —A Southern editor, who had written what he conceived to be some very stirring verses, called “The King of Terrors/’ was horrified when ho found them printed with the head, “The King of the Tuscaroras.” —The hornet is beautifully defined to be the red-hot child of nature. —The reader will remember the ostler spoken of by Sam Weller, who wrote his last will and testament upon a stable door. A Tennessee tp an has published and declared his testamentary intentions upon a paper collar, which passed pro* bate well enough, though it was found a little unhandy for filing. —The advocates of capital punishment answer their opponents by saying: “ You must draw the line somewhere.” —A Peoria gentleman has a valuable library of over a thousand volumes, and he got it cheap. He took agricultural reports which were sent to frim and had the backs tastefully labeled as the works of the great authors. — 4 * Moat extra-ordinarysaid Sergeant' Wa rren, the author of 44 Ten Thousand a Year," who was always boasting of his visits at great houses; 44 dined at the Duke of Northumberland's on Monday, and there was no fish for dinner.” 44 No,” cried Donglas Jerrold, 44 they had eaten it upstairs,” —The Boston Transcript says that persona who send poetry to the newspapers should al ways retain copies. The New York Times sug gests that they should also retain the originals. —Teetotalers who felicitate themselves on the progress of their cause will do well to digest the following: An old stager was compelled by his worthy spouso to “join the cold-water army,” which he did, promising never to touch a drop of anything else, except in sickness. So far the story is excellent. But now for thd moral. The reformed individual has never been well since. —Lord Chief-Justice Cockburn has just made a joke. A Mrs. Jury being examined as a wit ness in the Tichborne case, stated that she had bad eleven children, whereupon His Honor ob served he had always understood it took twelve to matte a jury. England is still echoing the laugh which convulsed the court. — 44 Arrah, Pat, and why did I many ye? Jiat tell me that; for it’s me self that's had to main tain ye iver since the blessed day that Father O’Flanigan sint me hum to yer house.” “Swate jewel,” replied Pat, not relishing the charge, 44 an’ it’s meself that hopes I may live to see the day you’re a widow waping over the cowld sod that Mvora me—thin, by St. Patrick, I'll see bow you get along without mo, honey.” ' —The local editor of one of our exchanges has a bursting paragraph, aa follows: 4 * Delinquent subscribers should not permit their daughters to wear this paper for & bustle. There being so much due on it, there is danger of taking a cold.” .—“ Got any medicine ? ” asked a boy entering a drug store the other day. 44 Yes. lots of it. What do you want ?” inquired the clerk. 4 4 Oh, it don’t make any difference, so it something lively. Dad is fearful bad.” 44 What ails him ? ” asked the clerk. “Punno,” said the boy; 44 but he’s run down awful. He just sits around the stove all day and mopes ; he hasn't wallopped mother since Christmas. I guess he’s going to die.” —A bridegroom seldom renders his mother-in law speechless, but here Is an intereßtlog case : A self-possessed young man called at a house in Atlanta, Ga., a few mornings ago, and asked to see his wife. “ She is not here,” replied tho mistress of the house. “ There is none here but the members of my own family.” “ Well,” ho replied, “ it’s one of them I want to see. 1 mar ried your eldest daughter last night.” —A man in Cincinnati owned a pet panther. Last week he went off with his wile and family foravisitof a couple of days, leaving the pet panther and his mother-in-law to keep house. On his return his grief can be imagined on dis covery that it was the panther that was dead, not tire mother-in-law. The old lady had talked the poor aninial to death. —An unfortunate culprit was recently brought before an lowa Justice charged with assaulting and battering a maiden. Investigation showed that the defendant had merely saluted the dam sel against her will. Bhe was in court, and gave her testimony looking so very beautifully that the Judge was compelled to make a special rul ing. He could not, he said, in conscience fine tho man for doing what was done ; *‘ For.” said His Honor, “I have been obliged to hold on to the arms ot my chair to keep from kissing the complainant myself.” —A Cincinnati drummer who, with the aid of his feet, filled two seats on the morning train of the 1., C. & L. Boad, a few days since, and who was too ugly to move, though the car was crowd ed, was Completely upset when the conductor quietly took out his foot-rule, and after delib erately taking the measuM of his feet, an nounced, in a loud tone, 41 'Eighteen and throe quarter inches!” the great roar of laughter all through the car which followed causing the fel lows' feet to come down in a hurry, as he made himself as small as possible in the one seat that he had paid tor,—lndianapolis Journal —Sydney Smith, —so Lord Houghton In his “ Monographs ” tells us,—has written depreciat ingly of all playing upon words, hut his rapid apprehension comd not altogether exclude a kind of wit which in its best forms takes fast hold of the memory, besides the momentary amusement it ezdtea. His objection to the superiority of a city feast: “I cannot wholly value a dinner by the tost you dohis proposal to settle the question of tho wood pavement round St. Paul’s: “Let tho Canons onco lay their heads together, and . tho thing will be done;” h|a pretty compliment to his friends, Mrs, Tighe and Mrs. Cuff: “ Ah! there you are: the cuff that every one would wear, tho tie that no one would loose”—may be cited as perfect in their way. —The Austrian greed for money at the Ex position has drawn out the following carrica tures at Vienna: A stranger stalking naked from a restaurant whore he has left purse and garments in payment for a dinner; a waiter bringing a hill about ten feet long, and the guest, in despair, jumping out the window; another, a waiter —an exquisite picture of super cilious condescension—saying: “Here's a glass of water sir!” while the alarmed and embarrass ed stranger replies: “I’d like to have one, hut—, really—l’m afraid I can't afford it,” Some of the dialogues represent the waiter as adding five or ten kreazerw after every dish, in order to '* round off.” or make oven sums, while another, after counting a small piece of boiled befef at one florin, asks the guest: “ Was it good ?” and when the latter answers “Yes,’ adds: “One florin more I” A SUPPER WITH RACHEL. The French at least seem disposed to give Al fred do Musset the place that properly be longs to him in their literature* This is scarcely less than a debt of honor they owe bis memory, for he has till now been fre quently, if not generally, misunderstood and falsely judged. Olid reason may he found in the fact that he differed widely from the majority of modem French authors. His romantic, dreamy turn of mind made him more German, perhaps, than French in his nature, although Heifle, in his undue love of ridicule and satire, wholly mis understood him. Of late, his works and his gen ius have been favorite themes with the French literary journals; they seem determined to do full justice at last to the memory of their gifted countryman, who died May 1/1857. His posthumous works consist of a small volume containing ‘“Faustina,” a dramatic frag ment, “ L’Ane et le Bnifisean,” and a collection of bis letters. In one of the latter we find an exceedingly graphic account of a supper with |the renowned tragedienne, which will aid us materially in appreciating the development and understanding the character of the greatest actress France, and perhaps the world, has ever produced. The poet requested the lady, who received the letter, to preserve it, in order that the remembrance of the evening might not be lost. Fortunately, his wish was complied with. It was one sight after a representation of “TancrecL” In the fifth act Bach el had drawn floods of tears from her auditors, and she scarcely had strength to go through the last scene. After the representation she walked leisurely through the arcades of the Palais Boyal, in company with a number of her col leagues of both sexes, toward home, when she met our young poet, whom she invited to join the party. They directed their steps toward the residence of the tragedienne, which was near by, and where they expected to find a sumptuous repast in waiting. They were disappointed. No preparation whatever had been been made for their entertainment, and, to make matters worse, Each el was compelled to send her only servant back to the. theatre for some jewelry she had negligently left in her dressing-room. Now. there was no one to prepare the snppor, except Rachel herself. She withdrew for a minute, and returned in a “ modest muslin gown,” a little white cap a la bonne, a white apron, and a neckerchief. Do Musset says she was as beauti ful &a an angel in this costume, but it would be bard to imagine an angel of the Bachel descrip tion. In her bands she carried a platter, on which there were three large beefsteaks, which she had herself prepared. She placed the dish on the table, and cried out: “ Fall to, everybody I” then back she went to the kitchen for a terrino of soup and a dish of spin ach. This was all she could find, and was, con sequently. all she had to offer hor guests. There were no plates or spoons, as the servant had the keys in her keeping. Bachel went on another tour of'discovery, and found a bowl of salad. Sans ceremonla she took the spoon and began to eat her soup with’it. “But, child,” said the mother, “there are some tin plates in the kitchen.” Out went Bachel again, and soon came back with a handful of tin plates, which she distrib uted among her guests. “Child,” began the mother again, “these beefsteaks are too much done.” “ That’s veiy true, mother,” returned Bachel. “ When I was in practice, I cooked better. Bat, Sarah,” turning suddenly to her sister, “ what’s the matter with yon ? Why don’t yon eat ?” “ I would sooner go hungry than eat off tin plates,” replied Sarah, sullenly. “Humph! It won’t bo long till you will want a servant at • each elbow,” returned BacheL Then, turning to De Musset, she continued: “Would you believe that, when I played at the Theatre Moliere, I had only two - pair of stock ings, and every morning—” Here Sarah began to speak German in order to prevent her sister being heard ; but Bachel was not to be interrupted. “Ah I stop speak ing German! lam not ashamed to tell how poor we were. I had only two pairs of stock ings, and was, therefore, compelled to wash one pair every morning, in order to have a clean pair for the stage in the evening. And then I had to do nearly all our housework. I rose every morning at 6, and by 81 had all the chamber work done. Then I went to market. I was an economical and honest cook —was I not, moth er ?” “ Yes, that you were. I never had any fault to find with you,” said tho mother. “ Only once,” continued Bachel, “ was I guilty of pilfering. What I paid four sous for, I reckoned at five, and continued to do so until I had three francs.” “And what did you do with your money?’* aaked the poet. .. “ She bought & Moliere with it,” interrupted the mother. “ Yes/* continued Rachel; 44 I already had Ra cine’s and Corneille’s works,and wanted lloliere’s. I bought it with my three francs, and then con fessed my crime.” In the meantime the servant returned with the jewelry that had been left behind, and some of the guests took leave. Sarah still persisted in continuing her fast, and in speaking German, hut without succeeding in preventing Rachel from narrating anecdotes of her youth and pov erty. Finally, she took into her head to make some punch, which she set on fire, and then pat the candles under the table, in order that the blue flame of the burning liquor could be better seen. But only a casual word was necessary to put a stop to this merrymaking, and bring art and on the tapis. “ How beautifully yon read the letter in the fifth act this evening!” observed Be Musset. “ You seemed to be very deeply moved.” 4( Yes,” replied Rachel, “I felt as though I were dissolved into atoms. Nevertheless, 1 don’t care much for the tragedy of 44 Tancrod,’—it is go unnatural! ” “ Yon prefer the tragedies of Corneille and Ea-. cine,” said the poet. “ I love Corneille,”' aha answered, “ although he is sometimes trivial and bombastic, and then be is not always tree to nature. The verse in * Les Horaces,’ for example, ‘ The mistress, yes, but not the -consort, can we change,’ always seemed tome course and commonplace,” "But true, notwithstanding,” observed Da Musset. “ Perhaps—that, however, does not prevent its being unworthy the poet, which it surely ia. Compare him with Bacme, noble, sublime Ra cine! Oh, bow I worship him! And do yon know that I have resolved to play Phffidra ? ” As she made this declaration she brought her fiat down heavily on the table. “ They toll me lam cot old enough, have not strength enough. I won’t listen to such nonsense! Phffidra is Racine’s greatest creation, and lam going to play it. They shall see whether I am old enough and have strength enough or not!” “If yon fail, yon will ha sorry yon did not listen to advice,” interposed Sarah. “ Mind your own affairs I” cried Rachel. "Try it lam determined to. Rot equal to the port ?—■ well, we shall see 1 A woman, being devoured by a criminal passion, and yet prefers death to dishonor,—a . woman, who is being con sumed by an inward firs, —it is Impos sible that such a woman can' be round and fat like .Madame Paradol. It would be con tary to Nature. I have gone through the part at least a dozen times within the last few days, I don't know yet just how I shall play her, but I do know that I shall not fail. Let the critics write what they please, they cannot and shall not turn me from my purpose. They say every thing they can think of to injure and discourage me. Never mind. let them. I’m determined to play Phffidra, if not six people in the house.” Her ill-will toward tho critics was evinced by several other remarks of a similar nature. “ My child," interposed the mother, after a time, “ yon talk too much. Ton were op this morning at 6 o'clock, and your tongas has hard ly been still all day. You will talk yourself sick.” “ Neyer fear, mother; it’s only when I am. talking that I feel., thoroughly well,” replied! Bachel; and then, turning to Be Musset: “ Shall- I get the book ? Shall we go through the tragedy together ?” . ‘‘lf you like—yes, certainly," said the poet. Sarah observed that it was already half-past 11. “Well, suppose it is ? If you want to go to bed, you know the way, don't you ?" replied Bachel. Sarah, acting npon the suggestion, retired, and Bachel went into an adjoining room for a' volume of Racine. When she returned, her whole being seemed to have changed—there was something grand and sublime in her bearing. She looked like a heathen goddess about to per form a sacred rite. The mother had fallen into a doze. Bachel took a seat beside , the poet, and, bending over the'book as she opened it, said:: “Oh, howl loveßacine! I could read him day in and day out, and never think of eating, drinking, or sleeping! ” - ' j They now read together, bolding the book between them. ~ .... “At first,” says Be Musset, she read m a monotonous tone, as though she wore repeating a litany but gradually she became more ani mated. Wo exchanged ideas over every passage. pin ally, she came to the declaration-scene, and, although she used only half her voice, still she ecemed to surrender herself entirely to her auth or; hifl genius transfigured her. Never haTe X beheld anything bo beautiful, so thrilling; never on the stage has she made so deep an impression on me. The fatigue, a slight hoarseness, the punch, the lateness of the hour, the almost feverish excitement she betrayed, lent to this young face an irresistible chum, Add to all this the disorder on the table before us,, tin trembling flames of our two candles, and the sleeping mother, who sat in the corner back 01. ns, —all. this would make a picture worthy of a Bembrandt, or ach&pter in a romance worthy ol a * Wilhelm Meister.V* It was long after midnight when Bachel’s father came home from the opera. He had hard ly entered the room when ho began to scold her for sitting np so late, and commanded her tc stop reading. She closed the book violently, and cried: “It is not to be endured! I’ll buy myael# some candles and read alone in bed!” And the big tears that rolled down her cheeks seem to have touched the poet’s heart. Ho says' he fell for her in his inmost soul, although it would bf difficult to see. as it seems to us, from his own representing, that the young lady was so very badly treated. After playing ton or twelve of the greatest' female characters in the French drama with unparalleled success, she finally, on the 21at ol January, 1843. just one month before completing her twenty-second year, essayed tbs character ol Phxcdra. The result showed that she had not over-estimated her powers. On that mi’hiorable night in the history of the Theatre Francais she achieved, perhaps, her most bril liant triumph. From this moment to the time of her death aho was without a rival, it being universally conceded that she was the greatest actress of her age, if not of any age. She ex celled, however, in the classic rather than in modern drama. She. was Greek from head to foot—in her walk, in all her movements, in her entire person. She had received everything from Nature that was necessary to the personation of those char acters in which she particularly excelled—large ness of gesture, majesty of rmec, nobility of ex pression, and resonance and flexibility of voice. Bat the great tragedienne, the incomparable Fhiedra, was not without her weaknesses, and one of the greatest pj these was her in ordinate love of gold. She was a genuine worshipper of Mammon. Hor first appear ance at the Theatre Francais was in June, 1638, when her salary was fixed at four thousand francs ; this sum was increased from timn to time, until she received forty-five thousand francs for playing twice a week for -six months. For extra performances she received five hun dred francs each. She spent the remainder ol the year in “starring,” earning from two hun dred to two hundred and fifty thousand francs each season, which then, in Europe, was about equal to as many dollars now in the United States. Despite this enormous never occurred to her that she -should provide for the indigent members of her numerous family; she chose rather to make them pensioners ofcthe thea tre. Her brother and all her sisters evinced a desire to enter the..dramatic profession; the consequence was, .that the director of the theatre was compelled to engage them at very respectable salaries. Sarah, Rebecca,, Raphael and even the youngest sister, Dina, were all on the salary-hat at the same time, and drew very handsome sums. This gave rise to many a bon mot, and the theatre came to be known as the Asylum for the Felix family. The Parisians no longer said, “Let ua go to the Comedie Fr&ncaise; ” but, “ Let us go to the synagogue.” ■What even those of her own faith thought of Rachel’s avarice was illustrated by a clever and forcible remark of Mademoiselle Judith, also a very talented actress of the Comedie Francaise, who, however, in everything else, was quite un like Bachel. They were always on bad terms. 11 Yon should try to get on more harmoni ously with Mademoiselle Bachel,” said tho director one day to Judith. “ You are wrong in always opposing her; she has a greater claim on your sympathy and friendship than any ona else in the theatre. Are yon not of the same re ligion ?” “ Certainly we are/* replied Mademoiselle Ju dith, “ but, nevertheless, there is a wide differ ence between us.” •‘How so?” “I am only a Jewess, while Bachel, besides being a Jewess, is —a Jew 1” ■ Bat the theatre was not the only sonrce from which Bachel sought to gratify her love of possession. She, like moat young women of re nown, bad many suitors, and she had a happy faculty of intimating to them that she lodged of the sincerity of their protestations by the val ue of their presents. If they sometimes evinced a disposition to practice greater economy than, in her opinion, became the ardor ofjheir pas sion, she usually found some means Wscizamate their generosity. Tne manner in which*, on one occasion, she even de ceived her good friend Count Walewakl, a natural son of Napoleon 1., and the confidant and minister of Napoleon HI., is very well known. Happening to pass through a side-room of the residence of her rich friend, Madame 8— she noticed a venerable guitar, black with ’dirt, standing in one comer. 14 What is this piece of old trumpery doing here, machete? Give it to me; I We a special use for it,” said Phaedra. 4 4 What use can you have for it ? It’s good fop nothing.” 14 That does not matter—it will answer my purpose just as well.” 44 But what can you want of it ?” l * Oh, that’s my secret,” replied Rachel. 41 Very well, I will send it to you,” and that evening one.of the lady’s servants carried it ta Rachel a residence, Rue Jouberi. Two or three days later the old black instru ment was noticed by Count Walowski in Phaedra’* boudoir, carefully protected by an ele gant silk cover. His curiosity led him to exam ine the contents of the cover more closely. t( Where, in Heaven’s name, did you get hold of this old thing?” he asked. 4< That ia the guitar,” Rachel replied, putting on a sentiments! Inien, “ with which I once went from cafe to cafe, and placed and sang for sons. My parents fortunately preserved it.' 1 "Is it possible?” cried the Count,examining the Old instrument with the deepest interest. ‘‘Yon must let me hare the souvenir of your child hood, mon amie. It la an inestimable relic, and most not he allowed to fall into strange hands.** "For that veiy reason I have taken pos session of it,” said Phffidra. " 1 would not part with it for fifty thousand francs.” “ But I will have it, cost what It may! What shall I givo yon for it ?” *■ Oh, you are foolish!" *■ I will give you fifty thousand francs for it— come!” ’’Did I not tell yon just cow that the goiter iff not for sale ?’’ , “I will tell yon what—l will give yon the diamond bracelet we were looking at af B 'a tbs other day in the bargain. Yon. may send for it immediately. What say yon ?” “Well, then,” signed Phffidra, “if yon are ea determined, take it.” The Count waa overjoyed. Ha carried away his treasure in trinmpb, showing it, in bis de light, to all bis friends. Bat,.unfortunately, a week had scarcely elapsed when Madame 3——. paid a visit at the Count's residence. The relio was, of course, shown her, and her exclamation of surprise, on recognizing it, very naturally led to an exposure of the cheat.— Appleton's. Journal. The War in Sumatra- ■By advices vis China and Japan, farther de tails of the war in Sumatra are at hand. On the Bth of April the Batch troops, to the munber of about 800, made another attack on the mud forts, while the ships threw shells into it; bat after bravely standing fire about twenty minutes, the Dutch were again obliged to retire. The Batch loss in the day’s action was said to be 3 officers and 7 men killed and 80 wounded; the Achineese loss was believed to have been very great. On the 10th the Batch troops, to the number of about 1,500, marched upon the fort to storm it and, after manoeuvring for a while, they made a rush into it and found it deserted. VWhen the Athlneeso left, or where they went, , was not known. The Dutch flag was hoisted and a guard left, and the force returned to their encampment The fort contained twelve largo guns, *"0 it was to bo blown up. The troopo then commenced their march through tho jungle, fighting their way. On the same day. (the lOthJ they stormed and captured a small ! fortress, and also a church, which was stoutly defended, and then pushed on toward the Snl- ■ tan’s pslace, which was strongly fortified, indeed the strongest place in Acheen. On the idth, the Dutch loss was 3 killed and 30 wounded. Capt. Bngelvaart, of the Cochorn, also died that day of sun-stroke. On the morning of the 14th, the attack on the Saltan’s/'castle was made. The . conflict was very severe, and the Butch suo seoded in taking a portion of it, only standing ground, but in this action their General was allied, being shot through the breast. This calamity seriously affected the spirits of the Dutch army, who had great confidence ip him. It was reported that the Achineese forces under arms in and around the castle 'attacked num bered 10,000,- and -that the. total force of the Achineese is not less than 40,000 fighting men. Many of the Batch in the expeditiouhad, it was said, began to despair of its success. 11

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