t~t
aot .avILd1n'tt~,Ct
"WVe will cling; to the Pillars of the Temple of our U rS , amid if it must fall, we wil' rs mds h un.
W. F. DURISOE & SON, Proprietors. I JEtIELU, 0.1., JOL. 18NO I80
NEOS EPISCOPOS, Editor.
" He that is first in his own cause seemeth just,
but his neighbor cometh and searcheth him."
SOLOMON.
Cor. SzKIs,-My dear Sir: Although
this article is in the form of a communica
tion, I prefer, for several reasons, to occupy
the corner to which I have been accustomed
for some months past.
You were not more surprised, I appro
hiend, at seeing my endorsement in the issue
of the 4th inst., of Rev. Mr. TUCKER'S letter
than was your editorial associate in reading
your article of the 11th inst., headed " Per
sonal ;"-which party had the best cause for
.surprise will perhaps be seen in the sequel.
Allow me then first to correct an impres
sion which your piece may have made on
the minds of some who "Know Nothing"
(in the natural way) of the manner in which
I became connected with the paper. It is
very true as you state that " a .friend of ours
voluntarily offered his services to conduct a
' Religious Department' in the paper ;" but
unless my memory plays the traitor, that
friend did not know you in the transaction.
We did indeed have some conversation on
-the subject, but not until after the arrange
ment was effected between myself and the
Junior Proprietor. It is much to be regret
ted that this thought did not occur to you,
as it might in some degree have tempered
the tone of superciliousness which charac
terised a part of your article.
But that which has occasioned the most
surprise to myself, and to every one else
with whom I have passed a word on the
subject, without distinction of party, religi
ons or political, saint or sinner, was, that the
letter to which. I -gave a " downright and
hearty approval,". should have presented it
self to you as such a monstrum horrendum
informe, in all tihe hideousness of Anti-Catho.
lie Know Nothingism. ' I have however
worked out a solution of the Matter which
to myself at least is satisfactory, and to which
in the spirit of charity I shall ad e, until
a"_raft___ tit' that.is,.
that when you penned the article you had
not read Mr. T's letter, but simply glancing
at it, and seeing that it called in question the
ccuracy of some statement made by Mr.
STEPHEN'S, you concluded it to be "Know
Nothing" and hence your " personal" re
flection.
I shall not stop here to offer any com
ments on the document which has given
.offence to you and perhaps to others. That
:has been widely published, and become part
.of the history of the times; it can be seen
and read of all men where a free press sends
the light of knowledge throughout our happy
country, and the flag of freedom waves
"O'er the land of the free and the home of the
brave."
Thanks be to God, that flag still displays its
:ample folds high above the sectarian stand
ards that would displace it, and under the
shade of the Palmetto all can meet and build
the altars of their religious faith.' Esto per
petua, be the prayer of every Christian, the
sentiment of every patriot.
All that I submit in reference to the letter
and my own "approval," is, that the matter
discussed in it was of a religious and not a
political character. 'The question at issue
was in relation to a point of priority and
historical fact, respecting the establishment
of religious liberty in America, and in proof
of this I offer not my word, but refer you to
the document contained in the Advertiser
of the 4th July.
-But Sir, the next thing which is presented
for your consideration, as an act of injus
tice to one who had a right to expect better
things, is not a mere matter of inference
<drawn from what you have written, but a'
-"pen. and ink sketch" placing me in the
ranks of a political party, which, in your
exprsed opinion is of " dangerous tenden
- cies and especially useless to Southern inte
rests." This is certainly taking bold ground,
and which, if put to the proof, you might
find it digieult to maintain. No evidence
can be found in any thing which I have
written or "approved" in this paper, and
" my mannier of life" has not been such as
commit me to the declaration of political
principles or preferencees. 1There are few
,men of my age who have had less to do than
I in the strifes of contending parties, so
much so that I have been reproved by my
friedsfor not exercising a freeman's fran
chise. Unless actuated by considerations of
personal friendship, I have seldom if ever
visited .the hustings. 'The' only exception
that'now occurs to my memory, was in the
case of the last Senatorial election, when I
advocated the return of the theo incumbent
for what I honestly esteemed hii faithful dis
charge of an unpopular dut. But Sir, I
am disposed to attribute this also to a hasty
Lemperamenit, and not a'deisign to injure one
.eko has never given you cause to do so..
Ikowld it to be the right however of every one
"de got desire by this to make the impression
that! was indifferent to your feelings on the mubjieet,
fbr Ifrceey acknowledge that had i supposed there
wae any objection on your pert to the arrangement
I eertsinly should not have pone into it. And such
't .u-.,..a. w t.s..ntiments of Mr. Duassos.
in this free land not only to have an opinion,
but when occasion calls for it, to speak out
on all subjects, religious and political, which
effect the common interest, and as such, if
it will afford you or any one else any satis
faction, you have herewith my views in re
gard to the great struggle that now absorbs
the 'attention and energy of the common
wealth. It is indeed a very small matter
what I or any othe: individual in like humble
circumstances may think about these matters
A fly on the balance-wheel, might perhaps,
as much influence the running of the steam
engine. It is though of'some importance to
myself inasmuch as the politics of " Nzos
.EPiscopos" have been sent around the orbit
in which revolves the Advertiser, "distinctly
disclaimed" by the chief Editor.
What then, I ask in "defining my position,"
is Know Nothingism I Well, not being now,
and never having been a member of the order,
I emphatically and literally know nothing
about it except what I have seen in the news
papers and what I have on different occasions
gathered from the conversation of a few in
dividuals that I suppose were members. And
like all other creeds, whether relating to
politics or relig ion, that which is set forth as
embodying a manifestorof Know Nothing.
principles, contain some things which in my
judgment are good and others bad. I have
before me two sets, and as I do not remem
ber having seen either of them in the Edge
field Advertiser, it will afford me much
pleasure to furnish' them for publication,
which, as it is by the diffusion of knowledge
among the people that we hope to maintain
our free institutions, it strikes me would be
better than to suppress, for party purposes,
that which the people have a right to see.
But, does Know Nothingism propose. the
election to office of Native Americans in
'preference to Foreigners ? Then, as a general
rule, it meets my "approval," and such I think
has been the policy of this and every other
country which has had the direction of the
government in its own hands. But to sweep
out all Foreigners with the broom of pros.
cription, is not in my opinion, right or pru
dent. There are foreign-born men *known
tonis,%nd .perhaps somee in this. Village,'
who are as thoroughly American as will be
their descendants five generations hence.
Does Know Nothingism advocate the en
tire separation of Church and State, and
guarantee to all alike the rights of conscience,
and oppose the placing in power of any
who would violate these heaven-descended
and dearest of all privileges ? Then am I
a Know Nothing, " dyed in the wool," born,
raised and educated, present, past and for
ever, until a new dispensation comes from
heaven ; and in this faith,' I hope by the
grace of God to die, even if it is as the stake ;
and dying hope to leave as a legacy to my
children, a charge to advocate and perpetu
ate the princip le. -
Does Know Nothingism\ propose to ex
lude Catholics as such from officei Then
am I not a Know Nothing. The St. Louis
Church and the Louisiana delegation to the
late Philadelphia Convention, with others
that might be mentioned, have given evidence
that American Catholics are a different tribe
from the priest-ridden, heathenized Christ
iane that come from lands long oppressed by
despotic rulers, and groaning under the do
minion of a corrupt and decaying hierarchy.
The best boon that could be confered on
such as these, would be D'ot only to forbid
them from holding office, but- that they
should be allowed no vote, and that their
children should he taught in Government
schools, letters, industry and the principles
of liberty ; and then, grown up, they might
act out their parts with credit to themselves,
and benefit to others, on this great world
theatre of ours. This latter I understand
Know Nothingism in substance to teach, and
in this I advocate the "-Order." The dan
ger to be apprehended from Romanism is
through the influence of Jesuit Priests, the
train band life-guards of Trans-Alpine Pa
paey, who have made themselves obnoxious
to almost every country where they have
obtained a foothold, and have been banished
from country to country, for intrigue and
interference with governments that have tol
erated them. If Know Nothingism proposes
to debar these men from all interference
with our governmental affairs, it meets from
me an "approval" as "downright and hearty"
as did Mr. TUCKER's letter.
But, my dear Sir, it is dificeult to find a
stopping place when one begins to write on
subjegts like these, and I therefore give you
what has been written as a specimen of my
polities, and if you are disposed to take the
trouble to canvass the country, you will find,
in the language of the famous razor-strap
man, " a few more of the same sort left,"
and like the magic reproduction whichcon
tinually renewed his exhausting stock, so
will the spirit of American freedom fill
up the ranks. The principle of liberty,
in medical parlance, has " entered the cir
ulation" of the body politic, and it will take
hard physicking to get it out.
In eonclusion Colonel, suffer me, in all
sinserity, to extend to you the right hand of
friendship. We are not strangers to each
tAP_ *ougbh ongn for many yars in
circles locally apart. " We have been friends
together" in the days of joyous boyhood,
when tops, trap balls and marbles were-things
of vast importance, whose rightful possession
involved nice points in school-boy law, and
the determination to maintain which would
have done credit to the spirit which stood up
for " fifty-four forty or fight." When hic,
hmc, hoc was the ne plus ultra of nonsensi
cal stupidity ; when teachers were tyrants
that could come to school on rainy days
just to spite the boys, that wei-re always show.
ing partiality, and had a special grudge
against the luckless wight whose turn it was
to hop the hickory, or hang by his fingers
and toes on the posts now gone, but never
to be forgotten by the boy that went through
the motion. Happy days were those when
in reference to futurity,
-" airy dream, sat for the picture,
And the poet's hand, imparting substance to an
empty shade,
Imposed a gay delirium for a truth."
May kind heaven forbid that we.should meet
again in our native Village for discord and
strife; but may the "light of other days"
come round us, and may a better light shine
upon our pathway, illumine the valley thro'
which we must pass, and bring us to the
land of everlasting deliverance.
With respectful and friendly esteem,
E. L. WHATLEY.
07' AT the request of Rev. W. W. SPEAR,
President of the South Carolina Tract So.
ciety, we present our readers with a statisti.
cal summary of the operations of the Socie
ty for the past year. Accompanying a let.
ter just received from this gentleman, was a
detailed report of this Society's extended
operations, some extracts from which we
propose publishing in future numbers. Mr.
SPEAR has recently been on a visit to our
village, and by-his gentlemanly and Christ.
ian deportment, commended himself to the
favorable regard of all who formed his ac
quaintance.
AMERICAN TRACT-SOCIETY.--30Tu ANNI
vERsARY, NEw YORK, MAY, 9, 1855.-Sta
tielical Results of the Year.-New Publica
tions in six languages, 36; total publications,
1,948; total approval for circulation abroad,
in 122 langt gtgs gaid dialects; 2;972A1aths
ly circulation of the American Messenger
shout 200,000, German Messenger, 27,000,
Child's Paper nearly 300,000.
CIRCULATED duringhthe year 961,363 vol.
umes, 10,091,214 publications, 292.361,233
pages. Total since the formation of the So.
ciety, 158,319,412 publications, including
10,424,737 volumes. GRATUITOUS DISTRI
BUTION for the year, in more than six thou
sand five hundred distinct grants by the Com
mittee, 66,464,036 pages, besides 11,041,470
to Life Membersand Directors; value, $51,.
737.
REcEIP'rs, in donations, including $13,
302 42 in legacies, $157,298 13; for sales,
including periodicals, $265,87 73; total,
$413,17386. EXPENDITURES for publishing
books and periodicals, $225,030 12; for coi
porteurs, $100,113 31; cash remitted to for.
eign and pagan lands, $16,000; total expen
ditures, $419,225 34.
COLPORTAGE.-Number of colporteurs
laboring the whole or part of the year 659,
of whom 126 labored among Germans and
emigrants, and 104 wvere students from col
leges and theological seminaries. They visi
ted 639,193 families, with 281,697 of whom
they conversed on personal religion or prayed.
Of the families visited, 83,126 -habitually
neglected evangelical preaching, 68,686 fam
ilies were Roman Catholics, 51,392 families
were destitute of all religious books but the
Bible, and 36,259 households destitute of the
Bible; and they held or addressed 12,763
religious meetings. Six colporteur conven
tions have been held.
FOREIGN PREssEs AND PAGAN LANDs.
Remitted in cash, for the Sandwich Islands,
$1,100; China, missions of Presbyterian
Board, $500; Canton, Southern Baptist
Board, 8100; Shanghai, A. B. C. F. M. $200
and Southern Methodist Board $100; Siam,
Presbyterian Board, .8500; Burmah and.
Karens, $500; Northern India, $2,000;0Oris
s, $300: Teloogoos, Baptist mission, Nel
lore, 8200; Lutheran mission, Guntoor,
8300; Madras, $1,500; Arcot mission, $500;
Madaura, $200; Bombay, $500 ; Nestori
ans, 8200; Syria, 8300; Turkey, Amenians
1,800, Jews, 20; Greece, A. B. C. F. M.
$500; Episcopal 8200; Baptist 8200; Italy
and Sardinia, 8500; Sweden, $300; Baptist
mission, Germany, $1,300; Lower Saxony
Tract Society, Hamburg, 8300; Dr. Marriott,
Basle, 8300; Belgium, 8200; Strasbourg,
$100 ; Paris Tract Society, $800; Toulouse,
300 ; total $16,090.
(The above article was handed in for pub
lition by " NEos EPIscoros" last week,
but unavoidably delayed until this issue.)
PUB.
THE late Dr. Chalmers, of Scotland, be
ing interrogated by an. old woman of his
congregation as to. what he ment by the
"catastrophe," of which he had spoken so
much the previous Sabbath, explained the
term to her as meaning " the latter end of
a thing." This satisfied the old woman,
who thought she might now safely introduce
so fine a word in her vocabulary. It so
happened that the Doctor had to pass the
old wvoman's house the same evening; and
being buried in deep thought, as he rode
along, he did not observe that a large thorn
ad been fastened to his horse's tail, until he
came opposite the house and heard her
shouting, "Ab, Doetor, d'ye see that big
thorn at yer horse's catastrophe !"
A young stockholder; having married a
fat old widow, with $100,000, says it wasn't
his wife's face that attracted him so much as
thaefiure.
There was a time wh the countries now
so unnaturally conglomer, d in the grasp of
the doubled-headed: A 'an eagle, each
formed an inSlependent d happy realm,
under its own native ;.when the dukes
of Austria, although::' ors of Germany,
possessed but a small' of land on either
bank of the Danube, bb. ed by Passan and
Presburg: when una - defend themsel
ves against their - nei they lost even
their hereditary posses _and were living
as fugitives on the,-un "f one or other of
their vassals in (Jnian
The latter was parti arly the case du
ring the second moiety" the fifteenth cen
tury, when the Epe Frederick IV.,
Duke of Austria, by hi peated invasions
of the border-coun Hungary, whilst
their sovereign, Ma Corvinus, was en
gaged in a severe contes with Turkey, pro.
voked the just resent of that renowned
king, Matthias not.o -ronted the-Austri
an forces, but in ;a feat onths conquered
Stiermark and Uppes: ria, with all their
fortresses, extending 11 andaries of his
realm to Tyrol and Car a and taking up
his residence at Vien ~hose inhabitants,
dissatisfied with their for continually
imposing new taxes. m, gladly submit
ted to the liberal a a oay of the Hun
garian prince. ;
In order effectually rotect the borders
against any future inr of the Austrians,
Matthias gave the adj t countries a mili
tary organization, dis 'ng the woodlands
along the frontiers the most deserv
ing veteransof his iti f ble Black Legion,*
and bestowing on the e rights and privi
leges of noblemen, or ..bich they, in time
of emergency, were toy d the borderers of
their district against th, vading enemy.
The portion of thextern frontier of
Hungary, where- Matt put this salutary
measure into 1reef is 1 rsected by several
low ranges of-'the St I Alps, abounding
in gigantic as well as. ntile scenery, and
their higher points' co d. with primitive
forests. Besides the. ming views, that
vary at every step .in. ature and beauty,
that traveller is struck the many ruins of
castles and towers w 'crown the isolated
mountain peaks.. M of these fortresses
played art importaqt during the endless
wars of the mid each of them, as if
reflecting a p rti of se barbarian times,
posssingi -..
melancholy nature.
There is, for example, the castle of Lock.
enhaus, in the lovely Ginez Valley, once the
property of the mighty Knights Templars,
who, in the beginning of the fourteenth cen
tury, at the order of King Charles Robert,
were extirpated in Hungary as well as in
other countries. To the visitor of that an
cient, but still habitable building, and the
great hall, commonly called the " Hall of
Blood," where the assambled brethren of the
Temple were surprised and massacreed by
the troops of the king. The large dark
spots on the stone pavement are said to be
the innocent blood of the chevaliers, which,
in spite of every effort to efface them, retain
their reddish hue, as if to bear eternal wit
ness of the cruelty perpetrated on them.
Higher up in the mountains the castle of
Landsee rises above the surrounding country.
One of its earliest possessors, in consequence
of a fit of jealousy, caused his yoUng and
beautiful wife to be immured there. A few
days afterwards, on being convinced of her
innocence, he broke doivn the walls of her
prison. But his repentance came too late.
Overwhealmed by incessant remorse for his
foul deed, the husband made a vow to pass
the remainder of his days as a hermit, in
the very cell in which his wife had endured
all the horrors of a death by starvation. In
the vicinity of Landsee, upon a steep rocky
summit, is the fortress of Forchtenstein, still
in good preservation, wherein the vast fami
ly treasures of the jprinces or Eszterhazy are
guarded by grenadiers kept in their pay.
'The most picturesque of all castles in that
neighborhood are stately ruins of Kirchsch
lag, encircling the brow of a conical moun:
tain projection, and overlooking magnifi
cent valley and a; borrough of the same name.
About half an hour distant from that
place, in an easterly direction, stands an in
solated tower of a granite block, its massy
walls partly hidden by lofty firetrees. It wvas
in former times one of the fortificationa erec
ted at the command of Matthias for the pro
tetion of the borders, and is situated on the
left bank of a mountain rivulet, which at that
point, for several miles, forms the boundary
between Hungary and Austrian. This se
luded spot is known as the "Grave of the
Hungarian Girl," a name well adapted to its
loneliness and solemn stillness. But the
melaneholy the place inspires is changed
into pai'nful sympathy, when recalling the
tradition attached to it, the touching as well
as soul stirring episodes of which invest
that otherwise unimportant ruin wvith an un
fa4ing interest, and at the same time con
nects its fate . with that .of the castle of
Kirchschlag.
'The facts, as they were narrated .to us,
ran thus :--When Matthias establishe-i his
line of defence, the land in the vicinity of
the " Grave of the Hungarian Girl," fell to
the share of Karol, a gallant officer in the
Black Legion, wvho, after building his strong
hold, settled with his fatnily and a dozen
men-at-arms, clearing from the woodland as
such ground for agricultural purposes as w~as
necessary for their subsistence.
At that period, the castle of Kirchschlag
belonged to a powerful and wealthy Austri
an magnate, the Count of Puchheim, who
besides possessed several other castles and
seigniories throughout the land. Ha was
one of the favorites of Frederick IV., batig
the Hungarians, most heartily, and ravaging
*The Blak Legion was a corpe of six thousand
regular foot roldiers. Matthlas organised them
himself and kept them on his pay also in time of
pece, as the elit of his army. -This legion muster
ed the bravest men, who with -their irresistible
charge often deeided a viotory. The king knew
mosat of tk..m by name.
their country on every plausible opportuity.
As he, however, plundered not only Hunga
rians, but also his own countrymen, the people
.bestowed on. him the expressive denomina
tion of the Knight of Evil.
'Puchheim was a widower, with an only
son, Rudolf, a youth of a noble disposition,
who, quite the-feverse of his father, abhorred
his nightly revels and predatary excursions.
He, therefore, so offen as he could, with.
drew from the banqueting at Kirchschlag,
and, taking his bow and arrows, rode out to
hunt in the forests of his father's dominions,
which even now-a-days have an inexhausti
ble supply of game.
One summer evening, as he bent his way
homewards along the winding course of a
rivulet, his ear caught the tones of a female
voice, singing the " Ave Maria," with touch
ing sweetness, while the evening bell tolled
from the castle. With. mingled feelings of
pleasant surprise and curiosity, Rudolf fo.l
lowed the sound, and after a short walk,.at
a sudden turn of the path, behind an over
hanging cliff, he discovered a scone of pecu.
liar interest. On the deep bank of the spark.
ling-streamlet, which there formed a clear
little bay, a maiden of uncommon loveliness
kelt on the greea turf, teaching- her little
sister the melody of that evening prayer,
her countenance lighted up with an expres
sion of childlike piety. The group was
charming, but still more so the songstress,
who, in the'first bloom of youth, looked the
very picture of innocence and beauty. No
wonder that the scene produced a marvel
lous effect upon the young count, and he
uncnsciously tarried, lost in contemplation,
until he was accosted by a warrior of impo
sing appearance, who, on learning the name
of the stranger, introduced himto his daugh
ter Gizela, inviting him at the same time, as
a good neighbor, to his house.
Karol led his guest and children up a
flight of stairs, rudely hewn into the rock,
to a spacious clearing where, round. a mas
sive watch-tower, stood several buts, sur
rounded by a plot of arable land, the whole
enclosed by a rampart and difch. There,
on Hungarian ground, Rudolf enjoyed the
hospitality of the simple but true hearted
inhabitants, giving himself up wholly to the
uncontrolable emotions which the presence
of the commander's eldest daughter awoke
on him. The host's friendly wishes, that
the young count should repeat his visit, was
a welcome pretext for his coming again and
again to the Hungarian settlement; till at
last he felt that he could not exist one day
without listening to that voice which thrilled
through his -every -nerve-without seeing
those festinethst resindedtiiinif-a-pieture
of a guardian angel in the castle chapel of
Kircbschlag. When unable any longer to
resist the force of his love, he avowed the
state of his heart to Gizela, whose affection
he already possessed, they mutually plighted
their faith, and the father of the maiden bles
sed their happiness with a feeling of. per
fect security and content, caring little within
their own fairy circle for the egotistical
schemes of the outer world, where, however,
the storm was already gathering around
their heads, that would so soon break upon i
their bliss with an annihilating power.
Amongst the garrison at watch-tower was
a youth, by birth a German, whom Karol,
when a boy, had rescued from destruction 1
at the storming of an Austrian fortress.
From that time, the warrior kept him in his
family as a play mate for Gizela. *The
youth conceived a violent passion for the
maiden ; his suit, howvever, having been re
jected, his love changed into hatred, to which]
the success of the'young count added fresh
aliment. His keen, jealous eye detected,
without much difficulty, the cause of Ru
dolf's daily visit, and on remarking the pro
gress he made in the maiden's favor, the un
grateful miscreant, forgetting the numerous
marks of kindness bestowed upon him by
the family of his benefactor, resolved on bb
traying the secret of the lovers to Rudulf's
father. He accordingly hastened to the cas
te, and informed Count Puchheim how af
fairs were going on in the Hungarian watch
tower. The wrath of the haughty magnate
was terrible. Besides his hatred against
H ungary, he felt his aristocratic pride and
prjudices deeply wounded by the proceed
ings of his son. In order at once to put a
stop to his'youthful folly, as he deemed it,
he informed his son that twvo weeks from
that day he was to wed the daughter of a
neighboring cavalier.
At this intimation Rudolf felt the crisis of
his fate fast approaching. Fully aware of
the uselessness of openly opposing his fath
er's will, or of imploring his pity, he with.
drew apparently satisfied, and rode over to
Karol, to communicate the sad intelligence
to him. The war-rior knew of only one way
to surmount the mighty obstacle, and that
was, to go without delay to King Matthias
at Vienna, from whose justice and humanity
he promised himself the most satisfactory
result. When the day for their setting out
was once fixed, the betrothed quickly forgot
troubles, and now began to look upon their
dreams of a glowing future as already re
alized. - .
Although the preparations for the journey
were made with great precaution, still the
Austrian traitor's suspicions were aroused,
and no sooner wvere they confirmed, than he
again sped to Kirchschlag imparting the
tidings to the count, who was just then ma
king merry with several boon companions.
Heated by wine and passion, Pochheim
swore, in the presence of his guests, to pre
pare a suitable nuptial couch for his Hunga
rian daughter-in-law.
It was the evening before the day of do
parture. Rudolf and Gizela had visited, for
the last time, all the place3 so endeared to
them by a thousand sweet remembrances.
Before entering the dwelling, they lingered
at a lovely spot not far from the ramparts,
easting a farewell look on the glorious
mountain-senery, bathed in the gray hue
of approaeching twilight. Lost in silent reve
rie, and overwhelmed by in inexplicable
feeling of sadness, they did not remark that
night and darkness gradually spread over
valley and mountain.
As the girl Ieanton his shoulder, Rudolf,
n a sudden, felt her whole frame shud
der violently. The next moment, with a
faint shriek, she sank into his arms, her
breast pierced by an arrow, and heart's blood
gushing in a warm. stream over her lover,
who, in a paroxysm of mingled agony and
madness, sprang forward towards a thicket,
from whence the deadly missile was shot.
Perceiving the figure of a man moving off
stealthily, Rudolf, with a bound, fell upon
him, plunging his dagger, in mate rage, re
peatedly into the breast of the murderer.
The catastrophe soon became known at
the settlement, and Karol hastened with
lighted torches to the spot, from whence two
bodies were carried into the fortification;
one was Rudulf's father, the count of Puch.
heim, and the other the victim of his ven
;eance, the gentle Girela, lovely even with
impress of death on her pallid cheeks. The
ormerstill.lived, and he spent his last breath
in cursing his son, who stood aghast between
the corpses of those whom he most loved
and venerated upon earth.
Gizela was buried near the tower, and
her untimely fate awaked so much sympa
thy that the people immortalized her memo.
ry by giving the place the name already
mentioned.
The bereaved father left the mournful
spot, and settled farther eastward, in the
Rabnitz Valley, where the village of Karl
now stands.
Rudolf, broken-hearted, joined the war in
the East against in infidels, from whence he
never returned. He was the last of the di
rect line of the Puchheims. The castle be.
name deserted, and left gradually to fall into
ruins.
The inhabitants in the vicinity of Kirch
schaig affirm, that, at midnight, they distinct
ly hear the tramping of Rudolf's horse, as
he gallops up the mountain ridge that sepa-,
rated the castle from the watch tower, where
lie halts at the grave of his betrothed, until
the cock calls him back to his distant res
ting place.
SHE CH NGED HER MlID.
There are some persons who are never
sick without thinking themselves very much
worse off than they really are. Of this
mlass was Mrs. Haskins, a married lady, and
the mother of two fine boys. On one occa
sion, being with a fever, the consequence of
mprudent exposure, she gave herself up to
the melancholy fancies which usually assail
ad her and persuaded herself that she was
oing to die.
In consequence of this melancholy pre
sentment, she assumed so woe begone an
appearace that even her medical attendant
was startled-int-believing.- that. she was,
really much worse than from her symptoms
he had judged her to be.
Under these circumstances he advised her
to make what earthly preparations she had
yet to make, while there was yet time to
o so.
Mrs. Haskins was an affectionate mother,
md the thought of parting from the children
;o whom she was so warmly attached, at a
ime when, more than any other, they need
ad a mother's care, was peculiarly distress.
ng.
"Their father will be kind to them no
loubt and see that they are amply provided
or, but nothing that lie can do will supply
o them the loss of a mother."
Gradually the idea of a step mother sug.
rested itself to the lady's imagination, and
;uch was her care for the happiness of her
bildren, that she became reconciled to an
des so repugnant to most wvives, and actual.
y began to consider wvho among her acquain
;ances wvas best fitted to become a second
Mrs. Haskinis.
" My dear friend," said Mrs. Haskins, in
i feeble voice, " I have sent for you for wvhat
ierhaps you will consider a singular reason.
But, believe me, it is a mother's anxiety for
er children that prompts me. I am very
ick, and shall not live long. So the doc
:or tells me, and my own feelings tell that it
nust be so. The situation in which I shall
eave my poor boys, wvho will thus be de
prived of a mother's watchful care, distres
ses me beyond measure. There is only one
gay in which my anxiety can be relieved,
md this it is which has prompted me to send
or you. Promise me that when I am gone
ou will marry Mr. Haskins, and be to
hem a second mother. Do not refuse me,
t is my last request !" '
Desirous of comforting her friend, Miss
Parker assented to her request, adding,
"I will comply with your request, and the
nore willingly, for I always liked Mr. Has-.
" Always liked Mr. Haskinsv," exclaimed
ts dying wife, raising herself on her elbow,
er feelings of conjugal jealousy for a mo
nent overpowering her maternal affection;
'you always liked my husband, did you!
rhen I vow you shall never marry him, if I
iave to live to prevent it!"
And Mrs. Haskins did live. The revul
ion of feeling resulting from Miss Parker's
mexpected declaration, accomplished, in
ler case. wvhat the skill of physicians had
aeen unable to effect.
There is an old 'saying, which, like most
>1d sayings, has in it not a little truth, that
hen a women wills, she will, depend on't
md when she wont, she wvont, and there's
mn end on't. So it was in -the case of Mrs.
Efasins. She has determined that if Mr.
Easkins ever does have a second wife, it
rhall not be Miss Parker.
LovE is as necessary to a woman's heart
1 a fashionable bonnet to her head. Indeed,
ie think, rather more so; for nothing less
han a largea measure of love~will content her,
hereas tihe recent fashion has showvn that
rhe can be satisfied with a very little bonnet.
:tis unooubtedly a scandalous observation,
>ut a modern philosopher has remarked, and
e give the aphorism for what it is worth,
hat " Love is so essential to the very lire of
roman, that in celibracy she- is unhappy
vithout a lover, and after marriage, if she is
0 unfortunate as not to love her own hus
land, she is pretty certain to love somebody
rse's !"-N. York Leader.
THE Boston Bee sas--a mah1 can get
aong without advertising, so can a wagon
.uta greasing. but-it goes hard.
GIRLS WHO WANT HUSBANDS.
Girls, you want to get married; don't you ?
Ab, what a natural thing it is for young -
ladies to have such a hankering for the
sterner sex. It is a weakness that woman hag,
and for this reason she is called the weak
sex. Well, if you want to get mnarried,
don't for conscience sake act like fools about
it. Don't go into a fit of the hips every
time you see a hat and a pair of whiskers.
Don't get the idea into your heads that you
must put yourselves in the way of every
young man in the neighborhood in order to
attract notice; for if you don't run after the
men they will run after you. Mind that.
A husband-hunter is the most detestable
of all young ladies. She is [full of starch
and puckers; she puts on many false airs,
and she is so nice (I) that she appears ridi.
culous in the eyes of every, decent person.
She may generally be found at meeting,
coming in, of course, about the last one;
always at social parties, and invariably takes
a front seat at concerts. - She tries to be the
belle of the place, and thinks she is. Poor
girl! you are fitting yourself for an old maid,
just as sure as Sabbath comes on Sunday;
Men will flirt with you, and flatter you, sin
ply because they love to do it, but they have
no more idea of making you a wife thain
they have of committing suicide. If I was
a young man, I would have no more to do
with such a fancy titan I would with a rattle.
snake.
Now, girls, let Nelly.give you a piece of
her advice, and she knows fr.om experience
if you practice it, you will gain a reputation
of being worthy girls, and stand a fair
chance of getting respectable husbands. It
is all well enough that you learn to finger,
the piano, work embroidery, study gramma,
&c., but don't neglect letting grandma, or
your mother teach you how to make bread
and get a-meal of victuals good enough for
a king. No part of a house-keeper's -duty "I
should be neglected ; if you do not marry a
'wealthy husband you will need to Vuow how -
to do such work, and if you do, it will be no
disadvantage to you to know how to-bver,
see a servant girl, and instruct her to do
these things as you 'wouldenes them done.
In the next place, don't pretend to be what
you are not. Affectation is the most des.
picable of accomplishments, and will only
cause sensible people to laugh at you. No
one but a fool will be caught by affectation
-it has a transparent skin easily to be se
through.
Dress plain but neatly. Remember that
nothing gives a girl so modest:becoming
add.lovely appearance asaa neat and.plain
dress:. All the flummery and-tinsel wsleef
the dress-maker and milliner are unneces.
sary.
If you are really handsome, they do not
add to your beauty one particle; if you are
homely they only make you look worse.
Gentlemen don't court your faces and jew.
elry, but your own dear selves.
Finger-rings and folderols may do to look
at, but they add nothing to the value of a
wife-all young men know that. If you
know how. to talk, do it naturally, and do
not be so distressingly polite as to spoil all
you say. If your hair is straight, don't put
on the curling tongs to make people believe
you have negro blood in your veins. If
your neck is very black, wear a lace color,
but don't be so selfish as to daub on paint,
thinking that people are so blind as not to
see it; and if your cheeks are not rosy,
don't apply pink saucers, for the deception
will be detected and- become the gossip of'
the neighborhood.
Finally, girls, listen to the counsel of
your mothers, and ask their advice in every
thing. Think less of fashion than you do
of kitchen duties-less of romance than you
do of realities of life--and instead of trying
to catch husbands, strive to make yourselves'
worthy of being caught by them.
NELLIE GnAY,
LIE AS IT IS.
Let us make an excursion down the street
and see what we can learn. Yonder is the
wreck of a rich man's son. lIe was per,
mitted to grow up without employment,
went and came as he. pleased, and spent his.
time in the gratification of spontaneous pas.
sions, desires, and inclinations, with no one
to check him, when his course was evil, -or
encourage him in the ways of wvisdom. His
father was rich, and for that renson the son
thought he. had nothing to do, no part in
honest labor to perform,
Well, the father died, and the son inherit.
ed a portion of his abundaat wealth, and
having never earned muoney -by honest toil,
he knew not the value of it, and having no
knowledge of business, he knew not how to
use it, so be gave loose reins to his appetites
and passions, and ran at a rapid pace down~
the broad road to dissipation. Nowv be,
hold him-a broken down man, bowed with
infirmity, a mere wreck of what he was,
bioth physically and mentally. His money,
is gone, and he lives on the charity of those
whose hearts are open with pity. Such is
the fate of hundreds and thousands that are
horn to fortune,
And there, on the opposite side, in that
comfortable mansion, lives the son of a poor
cobbler. Fifteen years ago he left the hum,
ble room of his parents, and went forth into
the broad world alone to seek his fortune,
All his treasures consisted of his chest of
tools, a good knowledge of his trade, honest
principles, industrious habits, and twenty.
five coppers. Now he is the owner of that
elegant mansion, is doing a -thriving busi
ness, possesses an unbroken constitution,
and bids fair to live to a good old age,
Such is the lot of hundred and thousands
who never boasted of wealthy parentake.
.Go into the city, and you will almost in
variably find that the most enterprising men
are of poor parentage--.men who have had
to rowv against wind and tide; while on the
other hand a majority of the descendants of *
mediocrity in talents, live a short time like
drones, on the labor of others, and then go
down to untimely grves.
If the rich would train up their children
to regular habits of industry, very many of
themt would be saved froiintemperance, mim,
ery, and an untimeLy eud..