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\ f ? ~ ""in |nifptnJitnt rariir iflrwspa,-.:: *'o: ;Cf flrcmctici of Ijjt |olifel *?0(hl. \cri,"iti;ra! ;uD Commcr^|ntosfs of % 'gm% "VOL. 13. ' ' YORKYILLE,' S. C., THURSDAY, -JULY 18, 1867. ' - '' yfO. 13, .Jfefofel fwfog. SATURDAY AFTERNOON. BY N. P. "WILLIS. I love to look on a scene like this, Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself tnat I am not old, Ana my locks are not yet gray ; For it stirs the blood of an old man's heart, And makes his poises fly, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, And the light of a pleasant eye. I have walked the world for four-score years, And they say that I am old? That my heart is ripe for the reaper death, And my years are well mgh told. It is very true?it is very true? I am old, and I "bide my time;" Bat my heart will leap at a scene like this, And I half renew my prime. - Play on I play on! I am with you there, In the midst of yonr merry ring; I can feel the thrill of the daring jnmp, And the rush of the breathless swing. I hide with you in the fragrant hay, And I whoop the smothered call, And my feet slip upon the seedy floor, And I care not for the ffclL I am willing to die when my time shall come, And I shall he glad to go? For the world, at oest, is a weary place, And my pulse is getting low; But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail ' In treading its gloomy way ; And it wiles my breastfrom its dreariness To see the young so gay. ? ' gtkciti Jtorg. THELADYOFLAROSE. ; Not many years ago, the gay world of Paris was 1 excited by a strange and romantic affair. Emilie Lamont, a young lady with a splendid fortune, and 1 highly accomplished in mind, and manners, an- J nounoed to the world that she would bestow her 1 hand and fortune upon any gentleman who pleased ? her, but that he must be willing, in consideration ] of her wealth and other attractions, to put up with i a face of unparalleled ugliness. A certain time ] each day was appointed to reoeive the suitors at i Laroee, Mademoiselle Lamont's beautiful residence < in the vicinity of Paris. ^ A""""" fix* Wkn numnn^ tn tVlA sinonlftr j announcement was Sir Charles Dashington, a young Englishman of noble family, who had squandered a princely fortune in the gambling houses of the dissipated capital of Franoe. He eagerly seized upon the opportunity to mend his broken for- , 1 tunes, and to establish himself again in the world 1 of pleasure. Dashington was possessed of that , beauty of form and face which attracts the gaze of artists and wins the love of woman. His self con. oeit led him to suppose that no woman could re.- ^ sist him; and he thought it only necessary to pre- ( sent himself before the Lady of La rose in order to 1 win her hand, and what he valued more, her for- ! tune With this object in view he attired himself ' in a magnificent suit of clothes, hired a carriage ^ and proceeded in dashing style in search of wfealth 1 and wife. It was a delicious day in June, and the gardens 1 and grounds of Larose presented a scene of rav- ' ishing beauty to the eyes of Sir Charles Dashington, who looked upon himself as soon to be 'mon- 1 arch of all he surveyed.' After a drive of a quar- ( ter of an hour, through winding roads bordered ( with sweet and brilliant flowers, and through shady . and cool groves, the superb villa of Larose burst , upon his enraptured sight As he drove up he was met by a servant in handsome livery, who conducted him through an elegant marble gallery into the spacious reception room. The matchless splendor of this apartment daz- [ zled the eves of Sir Charles Dashington. The floor |' was composed of exquisite mosaics, wrought into quaint and curious patterns; the walls were beautifully frescoed after the manner of Raphael; be- , fore the crimson tinted windows hung purple silk curtains, which trembled in the vibration of low, I melancholy music whose origin could not be dis- { " covered; tables of pearl and agate were placed in different parts of the room; some of them loaded with richly bound books, and others having on them gorgeous vases of flowers, whose odor pervaded the whole apartment. In one corner stood a massive cabinet containing curiosities, and surmounted with busts of celebrated authors, among whom the Englishman was pleased to see Shakspeare crowned with immortelles. While he was admiring the splendid saloon a door glided softly back, and Emilie was announced. Dashington rose and advanced to meet the person who entered. He was prepared to see a face ugly, indeed, but when his eyes fell upon the frightful features of the lady, he shrunk back with an exclamation of horror. Her lips were withered and bloodless, her eyes were sunk deep in their sockets; her large and misshapen nose was a revolting object; and her skin was dry and yellow as an Egyptian mummy. Without appearing to notice Dashington's embarrassment, Emilie welcomed him to Larose in a ^-w sweetly spoken words; and, to his surprise, she spoke in English with a slight but charming accent ; for among the many accomplishments of this angular creature was a perfect knowledge of the I modern languages. Sir Charles was somewhat reassured by her kind, welcome and winning voice; and he succeeded in overcoming, or at least in concealing the disgust which the horrible ugliness of her face at first occasioned. After a long preliminary conversation he ventured to approach the subject which had brought him to Larose. "Mademoiselle," he said with a bow, "If I did not know that the Garden of Eden was in Asia, I should think that I had found it to-day in your delicious retreat" "Sir Charles Dashington is pleased to flatter my poor Larose." "Mademoiselle, it is no flattery; the beauty and splendor of your grounds tar surpass all my expectations. 0 ! how dream-like my life would be passed in this lovely spot! With a congenial com panion to share its sweets, this place would be a paradise on earth." ''W hat do you mean by a congenial companion ?'' Emilie asked. "One who possesses an appreciating love of nature, one who finds a greater delight in books than in balls; one who prefers meditation and study to the frivolities of modern society." ^ "You say nothing of beauty?is not that a requisite ?'' demanded Emilie, who saw the serpent Imking beneath his flowery language. "Give me the lasting beauties of the mind and I care not for the fading beauties of a pretty face," cried Dashington. Soon after this interview terminated, and Sir Charles rose to depart Emilie told him he should hear from her in a week. "I shall expect your communication with impatience," said Dashington, bowing himself from the room. As he crossed the long gallery to reach his carriage, he muttered, in a sufficiently loud tone to be overheard by a servant who had kept close behind him: "What a monster ! But for the gold that gilds her hideous face, I never could have gone through that interview. But her manners are easy and elegant, and her voice?how can such sweet sounds proceed from such repulsive lips ?" These remarks were duly reported to Emilie La mont, and they were not likely to advance Sir Charles Dashington's suit. Inquiries were instituted about his habits and prospects, and nothing very favorable to that gentleman was elicited.? The consequence was, that one evening as Dashington was preparing to go to one of his accustomed haunts of vice, the following note was placed in his hands:? "Mademoiselle Emilie Lamont begs leave to say to Sir Charles Dashington that he need not take the trouble to repeat his visit to Larose." This unexpected termination of his suit destroyed -all Dashington's hopes of retrieving his position, and to "avoid the wrath that was to come" from tailors, shoemakers and other creditors, he fled from Paris to Baden Baden, where he soon afterwards was killed in a gambling quarrel with a Russian nobleman. The novel announcement of Emilie Lamont continued to attract many persons to Larose. They all admired the beautiful grounds and magnificent wnanfinn Mftm Knf whon Emilie nnnp.ired. her frightful face drove them away in disgust At last Victor St Aubyn, a poor but accomplished youth, ventured to advanoe his claims. He was of an old, respectable family, which had become impoverished during the stormy days of the French Revolution. At twenty, Victor went to Paris to begin the battle of life. Like Alexander the Great, when he set out to oonquer the world, be took nothing but hope; the Grecian hero depended for success on his sword?Victor relied on his pen. He was a graceful and elegant writer; but poor and friendless, his success was not equal to his genius; he was obliged to write for bread, not fame. Victor was not discouraged by his want of success. He was persuaded that the dark clouds which hovered over him, would at last be dispelled, and that the world would acknowledge bis merit Young St Aubyn's dreary existence was sometimes brightened by delightful dreams. In these exquisite moments his disappointment was forgotten and his cheerful chamber was changed as if by magic. He saw before him galleries of light and airy beauty filled with lovely women, who crowned him with amaranthine wreaths as he approached. One morning, while Victor was dreaming a gorgeous dream like this, the etherial fabric was suddenly demolished by a gentleman coming n and exclaiming, "Victor, would you like to exchange this poor room for a charming retreat near Paris, a beautiful villa in the midst of shady proves and blooming gardens?" "Certainly, a most desirable exchange, my dear Eugene I?But how is it to be done?" "By marrying Emilie Lamont" "And pray who is Emilie Lamont?" "Who is Emilie Lamont ? why, all Paris is ringng with her name." 'The sound has not ascended so high as my room, rell me about her." ."Emilie Lamont, better known as the Lady of Larose, has announced that she will accept the ad Iresses of any gentleman who pleases her and bestow upon him her hand and fortune, if he can be satisfied with an inconceivably ugly face. Many have visited her, but only one gentleman as yet has mustered up sufficient courage to pop the question." "Really, Eugene, this is a most singular and interesting affair. I am tempted to visit the Lady af Larose merely out of curiosity." "Do so, Victor; perhaps something may come afit Good-bye." A few days after this conversation, Victor put an the best suit of clothes that his scanty wardrobe contained, and proceeded to visit the Lady of Larose. He did not go at once to the house, but wandered about the grounds, delighted with the beauty of the scene. A new surprise met him at eveiy turn. In one place he came to a little rivulet running through the grassy turf, which was gemmed with a thousand flowers. Here he came across a grotto, whose cool recesses wooed him to enter. In another place he saw a fountain of water sparkling in the sunlight He reached the flowery eminence, which was adorned with a pavilion so delicately constructed that it might have been the work of fairy hands. Around and about the spot, gorgeous pheasants and stately peacocks walked with pompous steps. At last his eyes rested upon the crowning glory of the scene?the superb villa of Larose. Victor advanced with hesitating steps to the magnificent porch, where he was met by a servant, who politely invited him to walk in the house. Entering the saloon, the poor young man was amazed at the splendid display. He began to repent of his presumption in daring to offer himself as a suitor to the possessor of so much wealth; he dreaded to meet the Lady of Larose, and a thousand times he * * * * i 1 ,1 1 wisnea mmseu dock id ius poor caauiuer. Whale oocupied with the thought, the door opened and Emilie Lamont entered. Victor arose and bowed as she came forward, without raising his eyes to her face. With a voice as sweet as angels, when welcoming souls to elysian bliss, she addressed him, and on the subject which is always interesting to every man?himself. "May I ask whether you are Monsieur St. Aubyn, the poet?" "I do not know, Mademoiselle, whether I deserve the name of poet, but I plead guilty to publishing a verse a year ago, which brought but little fame and less money." "Your beautiful book should have secured you both." "Am I to understand that Mademoiselle Lamont has read my little book ?" "I have read and admired-it over and over again, and if all the world were like me, your book would have made you famous." "If all the world were like you, this world would be a paradise," cried Victor, oveijoyed to hear his neglected book praised. "Look at me, Monsieur St Aubyn, is paradise composed of such?" Victor raised his eyes to her face, those lips were indeed hideous, but from them had come words of praise and encouragement to cheer hiir onward in his effort to reach Fame's proud temple, Those cheeks were thin and yellow, but perhaps they had glowed with enthusiasm over his poetry, "If you will excuse me, Mademoiselle, I wil say that the hottris are not quite so plain?" "Don't mince matters, Monsieur St. Aubyn? my glass tells the truth, and I want you to do like wise." j "But Mademoiselle, it is not customary for gen tlemen to speak so plainly to ladies about their per sonal appearance." "Monsieur Victor St. Aubyn, I want you to un derstand once for all, that Emilie Lamont is - noi like other women. Therefore, do not hesitate U say what you think of me." "Well, then, if you insist upon it, I can only saj that you are bitter ugly." "Bitter ugly! I like that, indeed; that is re freshing?bitter ugly?very good!" cried Emilie with a laugh as sweet and musical as a silver bell "I am glad my plain language has not oSendee you. It is certainly venturing upon rather dan crpmu s ground to tell a lady that she is ugly.'' O O "You must remember that I am not like othe women." Emilie rang the bell and ordered the servant U have everything arranged in the blue room. "You have a harp, Mademoiselle; do you pla; and sing?" asked Victor, drawing her attention t a superb instrument in one corner of the room. "Sometimes to while away a weary hour." "Willyou favor me with some music?" he ask ed, handing her the harp. "With pleasure," said Emilie, lightly touching the strings, and eliciting strains that might haw oome from the inspired fingers of St Cecilia. " What shall I sing?" "Your favorite; I am sure what pleases you will please me." 1 'Thank you. Listen.'' And Emilie sang one of his own little songs with a voice sweetly pathetic. Victor was deeply affected, and when the last sad notes had died away, he said, "Mademoiselle, I thank you on my knees for your sweet kindness in singing that and calling it your favorite." As he spoke a door at the lower end of the room glided back, displaying an inner apartment arranged for a repast. "Monsieur, will you partake of some fruit which is served in the next room?" "Thank you," said Victor, rising and offering Emilie his arm to escort her into the next apartment. "Monsieur," said Mademoiselle Lamont, as they set down to a tempting array of delicacies, "Mon? T mloli ?/<n aaa wliat T^rnae mn nrndlKW. 31CU1J JL VTIOU JVU IW tT^w TTUUW J wwvwv ? r? W?? w^. All the fruit on the table oomes from my garden." "They are like eveiything else here?delightful," said Victor, tasting a luscious peach. "Indeed, I can hardly believe all that I have seen today is real and substantial. Walking through your splendid grounds I could have imagined myself in the garden of the Hesperides. Seated in your gorgeous saloon, I could hardly help fancying that I saw an enchanted vision which would soon dis- 1 solve, leaving me nothing but the dull realities of : life." "You poets are like that ethereal bird, the huma, which never touches the ground; you are al- i ways flying in the air, and dislike to touch this poor earth of ours." "Had I the wings of an angel I could not fly to a more delightful abode than I have found to-day, nor receive a more gratifying welcome than which you have so kindly given me." Victor returned to his books and studies, from his visit to Larose, with a feeling of satisfaction to which he had long been a stranger. His prospects looked brighter. He had secured a powerful friend in the Lady of Larose. Her kindness to him had touched his tender heart, and it seemed as natural for her to be agreeable as it is for the flowers to bloom and birds to sing. * 1 Emilie had invited Victor to visit Larose by : moonlight He did so one beautiful evening. They | strolled about the lovely grounds. He told her of his struggles, of his golden aspirations, and of his disappointments. She consoled him with sweet 1 and gentle words, and she pointed to the great fu- i ture and assured him that his hopes would be realized. Victor felt the influence of that delicious 1 voice, and in that soft hour he knelt at her feet < and told her that he loved her. To shorten the story, the day appointed for the wedding arrived?everything was ready. Victor, ( handsome and expectant, advanced to meet the J bride, when a lovely girl of nineteen, with a face and form which might have served as a model for i Apollos when he painted his exquisite picture of i Venus, came forward and took the hand of the fu- 1 ture husband. This beautiful being was none other than the Lady of Larose, who had so long excited the curiosity of the people of Paris, her ravishing beauty being concealed by a frightful and ingeniously constructed mask. Her object in veiling those charming features from the gaze of the world was to secure a partner who would not marry her for the accidental advantages of wealth and beauty alone, but for her own intrinsic worth. She obtained such a partner in Victor St. Aubyn. YOUNG MAN, YOU ARE WANTED. A lady writer, under this heading, hits off the young men as follows;?"A woman wants you.? Don't forget her. No matter if you are poor. Don't wait to be rich; if you do, ten to one if you are fit to be married. Marry while you are young and struggle up together. But mark, young man, the woman don't want you if she is to divide her affections with a cigar-spittoon or a whiskey-jug. Neither does she want you if you don't take care of her and the 'little afterthoughts' which are pretty sure to follow. Neither does she want you because you are a man, the definition of which is too apt to be?an animal that wears bifurcated garments on his lower limbs, a quarter-section of stove pipe on his head, swears like a pirate, and is given to filthy practices generally. She wants you for a companion, a helpmate; she wants you to have learned to regulate your appetites and passions; in short, the image of God, not in the likeness of a beast. If you are strong in a good purpose, firm in resistance to evil, pure in thought and action, as you require her to be, and without which inward purity neither of you are fit for husband and wife; if you love virtue and abhor vice; if you are gentlemanly, forbearing and kind, and not loud-talking, exacting and brutal?young man, that woman wants you; that modest, fair, cheerful, right-looking, frank-spoken woman, we mean, who fills your idea of maiden and wife. It is she that wants you; marry her when you like, whether she is rich or poor; we 11 trust you both, on the above conditions, without any further security. Position in our Chairs.?All com-in tive peopie, and all afflicted with spinal deformities, sit habitually crooked, in one or more curves of the body. There was a time in all these when the ' body had its natural erectness, when there was the first departure on the road to death. The make of our chairs, especially that great barbarism, the unwieldy, and disease engendering rocking chair, favors these diseases, and undoubtedly in some in1 stances, leads to bodily habits, which originate the 1 ailments just named, to say nothing of piles, fistula, and the like. The painful or sore feeling which ! many are troubled with incessantly for years, at the extremity of the backbone, is the result of sit' ting in such a position that it rests upon the seat ' of the chair, at a point several inches forward of 1 the chair back. A physiological chair, one which shall promote the health, and preserve the human ' form erect and manly as our Maker made it, should . have the back straight, at right angles with the seat, the seat itself not being over eight inches deep. A chair of this kind will do more toward ' correcting the lounging habits of youth, than raul" titudes of parental lecturings, for then if they are seated at all they must sit erect, otherwise there is no seat-hold. Noble Sentiment.?Never use a lady's name in an improper place, at an improper time, or in t mixed company. Never make assertions about ) her that you think untrue, or allusions that you feel she herself would blush to hear. When you t meet with men who do not scruple to make use of a woman's name in a reckless and unprincipled - manner, shun them, for they are the very worst , members of the community?men lost to eveiy . sense of honor, eveiy feeling of humanity. Many 1 a good and worthy woman's character has been - forever ruined and heart broken by a lie manuiactured by some villian, and repeated where it should r not have been, and in the presence of those whose little judgment could not deter them from circula3 ting the foul and bragging report A slander is soon propagated, and the smallest thing derogato1 iy of a woman's character will fly on the wings of 3 the wind, and magnify as it circulates, until its monstrous weight crushes the poor unconscious victim. Respect the name of woman, for your - mother and sisters are women; and as you would have their fair name untarnished, and their lives I unembittered by the slanderer's bitter tongue, heed 3 the ill that your own words may bring upon the - mother, the sister, the wife of some fellow-crea-| ture. A KISSING SONG. The following suits us, and, may suit somebody else, so we give it. The last line is really a tinkling cymbal, if not more so: Air?"Let me kiss him for his Mother." Let me kiss her for her mother? * The bewitching Polly AnnLet me kiss her for her mother Or any other man. Let me kiss her for somebody, Anybody in the world, With'her hair so sweetly auburn, And so glQrionsly curled. Let me kiss her for her "feller," And I do not care a red. If he taps me on the smeller With his "billy made of lead." Let me kiss her for her daddy? The pretty pouting elf? Or. if that don't Buit the family, Let me kissher for myself! From tho Southern Cultivator. "geme8 munro," again. Mississippi Territory, May, 1867. Editors Sothern Kitlttvator From this stand pint, looks tor me like the Suthern folks are goin stark crazy, these her tunes?runnin about, pichin inter every new-fangled thing?strikin wild?quittin ther old persuits, and agoin into business they know nothin about Like the nigger arterthc surrender, the want ter change?standing with mouths wide open, ready to gulp down anything you throws in em. Somebody's agoin to git pisoned. Farmers that kno nothin but diggin dirt, rent out, move ter town and begin sellin ribbons and rat traps; tin-smiths set up grocery stores? tailors become hotel-keepers. Jo Mullins, my nabor. rented his farm to a musick teacher whar had been singin far-so-lar's fur more en 15 years?he'll make a beautiful krap now, won't he ? I seed our family doktor goin roun in a kart gitten up kowhidcs?"gwine inter thetanyardbisness," he said. Parson Brown, what uster keep the mill and preach er Sundays, are now keepin a holeeail and retail fancy milliner's shop in town. Every feller has changed his clothes ter suit his perfession. I met Parson Brown in town and hardly know'dhim?he war kivered with a short tail koat, speckled briches, flat-top, square-brim hat and turned out a small pallor patch er har atwixt the chin and underlip. When I seed that har, aforesaid, thinks I ter myself, with the poit, thinks I: "0, agonies, that J ? J , ! I J J er centurie ur mure mia pruuuccu uu uiuiau vrc& uui moie bountifuller harvest" I war a sittin on a goods box whitlin, when he come up. Says he ter me, "Good mornin, Kurnell?come in a tradin, I spose?give me a call." Never axed hows yer folks, even. Says I, "Parson, how's yer mill runnin now." He draw'd a sorter sigh and said: "Ah! my friend Munro, (it lister be Brother Munro, when he run the mill,) that millin bisness war too plebian er okupasion, and I drapped it?besides I wanted ter git more in society." "Quit preachin and gone ter makin money now, I spose; society agoin to by yer old woman clothes?" said L "Butiful day for shoppin." said he, and off he put, steppin fast and short, just like he'd bin raised in town, and never tuck toll at a mill. Thinks I, I never knowed the wheels of a waggin changed thout havin a smashup, and all these folks what or changin ther pursuits, ar tryin ter work strange wheels on old waggin's, and somebody's agoin ter git up-sot shore.? Yes sir, they rent out, ter move ter town, sell ribbins and rosins, war short-tail koats, talk like town folks, step high, quit preachin an turn out a bunch er liar, but the wheel don't fit?you kant grease it so it won't skreak?it keep's cuttin inter the axle, and great will be the fall, purty soon. I wouldn't keer if Kongriss war to come down South as a Koramittee of the Whole on the State of ignoranse, and take up every feller sloshin round as above, aforesaid; xamine him?if he can do anj'thing put him at it; if he cant do nothing, take him and prentice him away up North, whar lazy folks konsume God's daylight pedlin on nutmegs and 8 day clock fixins?whar "Konstitutional Amendments" ar hatched fur the okasion at J price, and the "higher law" is so high up you might climb Jacob's ladder, straight up, 14 yeres and never find it Yes, sir, let him serve there 7 years, and when he gits back home, he'll go to work bout right This here sloshin round is doin more harm now to the South than Territories.? Let every feller go ter work at what he knos something about?pitch in with his own hands?quit runnin about, talkin politicks and reading newspapers. These here latter (newspapers) are very demoralizing. They keep me in a kontinual stew.? Now and then I git sorter kalm and serene and believe I'm most rekonstructed?try ter have a kin der liken for the U. S.?then I reads a paper and finds somethin they are hatchin np North and I gits hungry, melankolly and mad, kombined altergether?feel worsen a' baby what cant talk and has the hives. I'll be dad-rabbed ef I ain't gettin mighty tired of this here sorter way of living, atwixt a nigger and er Choctaw Injun. The nigger he can vote-*-aint got much taxes ter pay, cause he aint got nothin to pay on; but then he's in the Union and free, bein loyal?his black skin ar his passport through disfranchisement and konfiskasion, up ter the public crib. Thar he can set down, skratch his frizzed kranium and chaw whats handed round, thout ever takin an oath, even.? In gun he don't keer for nothin, no how?no taxes nor votin fur him?but then he's free?can paint his face er skyer-blue, and wars his shirt as short as he pleases ; ever and anon he has a war dance, secedes and piches into the U. S. green-eyed.? Then thars a short treaty or surrender, and Mr. Ingun goes back to his tent fuller of money, whiskey, beads arid red blankets?thar ain't nothin said about konfiskasion then, narry time. Well, we ar somewhar atwixt these here two. Some time ago, Mr. A. Jonsin of the "WhiteHouse," fired up a rekonstrucaion train of kars, and told us all ter "go git yer tickets, jumper board, and I'll take you to Union city, without distinkshion of race, sex er kuller?childen and all? over the Konstitushion bridge." Well, after a heap er squabblin about oaths and baggage, we all got aboard. The old trick whistled* and off we put. It war a rough road?I tuk the hed ake fore we got to the 1st station. Rhody lost her ridikule, and war gittin in a konsiderable kommosion when the "kars drawed up at the stasion; and to clip the klimax, Rob had lost all our tickets. Here kome a feller with a dispatch, sayin A. Jonsin (the* konductor) war turned off for loadin the tram so heavy and runnin ahead er time; that we must all git out er that train, bag and baggage "and get some more tickets; a feller named Stevens (called Thad for Bhort) was konductor now, and he said that bridge aforesaid, war purty well broken down, and he'd hafter put some more planks in it afore we 15 "4 TIT.11 ~ for cof nn f coiiiq git over, yv eii? wc u?u ww uvnu vu vuw i ground right thar, and take it easy. It war rainin ?a heap of northers komes these days?they do; and them what aint northers, aint veiy bracin Ircozes. These Territori winds don't suit folks subjick ter tremblin in the knees?insomuch that one old feller from, Georgy hollered out' laU aboardT' afore Thad give the word. However, Thad shuck his fist at him, and he popped down in the mud agin. "Served him right?some people will be too peart" said Rhody. Well, we've been standing out here in the wilderness ever since. Some of us ar now so hoarse we kant hollow hurrah 1 for nobody?besides, Thad's building a side track ter switch off the baggage kar, and a heap er folks ar gittin this here trimlin in the knees aforesaid.? ( Bhody says if the kar goes, her "band-box" will, ' certain and shure?then yon kno me and Robert ] will hafler go two. ( I am yours, quite hoarse, as per above, * GrEMES MUNRO. } Postskript.?I don't believe I told you how Massissippi got knocked outer the Union. Well, j it happened in this wise. Not long er go Bill Mose- t ly kome ter my house and axed me and my folks j to er getherin at his mammy's, and not ter fail to f bring our nives, forks, spoons, dishes, and all onr ( krockery. Rhody said she felt sorter kakefied, and ? we must go. We ete no dinner that day?savin t oureeffs. Well, we got thar about 5 o'klock in the P. Mj The folks bad begun ter arrive, in konsid- c erable sqads?some on horses, some in waggins and ? some er foot?all of em in Sunday klothes and look- r in hungry. Everybody seem ter turn out?even ? down to a Yank skoolmaster?he kome too. This f here feller was tryin ter marry some er the gals, , and war always pokein bis face whar it want want- j ed. Dork kome, and nice long tallow orbt er night ; war lit and skattered permiskuous in the house, ^ and then, such a rumpass as the young folks did f kick up?playin "Pon Onnor," "Old Sister Pheby," "Kome Kiss me Quickly," and so 4th?I t thought they'd shake the top er the house off.? i 'Bout 9 o'klock old unkle Davy, the nigger fiddler \ kome. Then that aforesaid rumpass got konsider- r\ ably rumpasser?they piched inter a reel, old fash- { ioned?ther heels mighty nigh talked, and that thar ( fiddle?well, it made old folks sygh for being old. f After while they sot down ter rest I noticed none of the gals would dance with the skoolmaster, and t he didn't have a chance to show hisself off. He [ tried Sal Morry?she wouldn't dance with him, \ but went rite out on the floor with Bob. Bob ar a c good reel dancer, and in a single loot jig, can beat ? anybody that ever shuck a foot They hadn't sot thar long restin, afore somebody said: "Let's in- E tersperse with a jig!" When this war said, Bob t steDDed out on the floor, solus bolus, and said he l could beat anybody thar, in that sort er dancing, y The skoolmaster, thinkin this the best time to c show off, stepped out and said if they'd give him \ afarshoin, he "guessed he'd try to trot a reel r with Bob." They then throwed up heds and tails r for who should dance 1st, and it fell on Bob. He y walked out on the floor, lookin like a Prince; he ar j ahandsomeboy?takes after the Munro's. "Well," s says he ter Unkle Davy?says he "give us Rack ] Back, Davy, on yer insterment old man, and I'll a lossen my jints fur you.'' Unkle Davy showed all his frunt teeth?give a skratch at the fiddle with the bow, and she began talkin in her most melli- t fluous language. I couldn't keep from pattin my 1 foot I looked aronnd, and Rhody war giving me y one of her old time, berwichin smiles. I know'd t she war thinking how we uster to dance that same r jig, 30 yeres ago, when we war kourtin. Yes, sir, like bubbles bileing up in a hot pot, these old time things kome wellin up through the mist of the t past, to the top of my present rekollection! Bob he bergun walkin round and round on tip-toe? y heels strikin now and then ter keep time; then he > turned squar to the fiddler, and bergun some of his j prettiest licks, a regalar dema-sema-quava double shuffle; then his feet got so fast you couldn't tell which was which. All of a sudden he jumped t round, faced the gals, and bergun the knock-kneed r step. "Kome down to yer knitten, Marser Bob," J said Unkle Davy, and first thing I knowed, he war , down on the floor, keepin time with his knees, j toes, elbows and hands; then he sprung out full length on his stomick, rolled over and war standin strait up before you kould think. Bob turned to . the skool man, made a sort of kurtsy, and said:? "You're welcome to the floor now, Sir." That r feller walked out on the floor. Jest then Sally ' Morrow slipped a split goose aig in his hind coat pockit. She war a rappid gal, always in some mis- , chief. The feller looked sorter flustered, and ber- i gun dancin a slow sorter step, whar you uses in a , reel?it wouldn't fit a "jig, and he war gittin konsiderably non-plushed, when Sally Morrow hoi- ( lowed out, "jump up andkross-your legs." Thinkin this would please the gals, he sorter squatted, then jumped about 2 feet off the floor, and krossed his legs, sorter smilin and lookin at Sally; but . when he was krossin his legs in the air, that thar aig busted in his hind koat pocket, like a young . gun, and he kome down on the floor flat-footed, and shuck the hole house. He war skeered?hav- . ing herd the burst, he knowed sumthin war rong. T)...44.In ^AAlIol?oof rrrnrt T Atrnr cno/I ft fVillpr , j: UllUI UU tUQ IWilOllbOU gllU A VIVA UVVVk H AVMVk j have, he bergun lookin round one side, then on j tother. "Twan't me," said Bob; "Me, nuther," ] said Sally Morrow. "Better go out and shake yerself,"said Bob. '1 W-h-y I llobert!''saidRho dy. Just then?Jarushalam I?what a smell kome puffin up inter our noses! Such a nuther runnin out er the room you never seed?everybody wanted to smell somethin. "Whars my ridikule, with hartshorn in it ?" said Minerva Stales. "Sates er live! break a bottle er camfur," said Miss Kissiah Krump; and old Miss Marrow, the parson's wife, war left sittin up in the korner by the fire-place, dippin snuff. She war such a good cristian, she wouldn't jinein the ginneral skedaddle. However, she sot thar as long as she kould stand hit. Suddenly she got a whiff and jumped up, and as she run ont er heavin, said: "Some brother will please burn a rag." That Skool man got out er the winder in the dark and aint been seed since. Howsever, a piece er aig shell war found at the depo next da. That war an amusin cirkumstance at the time; but our fokes here are konsiderably steered now. 'Bout 4 weeks after this here transpired, one of Thad's Rads gits up in Kongriss, and made a rip-snorting speech agin the South; wanted us throwed back 100 yers in a Territori; all our laws kilt; konfiska[ sion, fire and blud to rip riot all over Dixie. Then he bergun road in letters from persikuted and tiled loyel men, whar had been run out er the South; i read 'bout one what war invited to a publik festival, and while enjoyin the okasion, publikally, and in presence of more'n 200 Southern folks war blow'd up plum through a winder by a torpedo, placed in his hind koat pocket, and hardy eskaped with his , life, and a small portion of his koat tail, ter tell the r sad tail. Ever since I herd er that, I've been j lookin fur a Kongriss Kommittee ter kome down here and try some of us fer our lives. When they ( | do kome, I want that Duchraan (Shellabarger) ter ( briog along a piece of that blowed up koat taQ? . | maybe it smells er that aig yit, aqd we kan prove j j a pint by it?that is to ter say, by the odor. That ^ thar topedo letter settled Massasippi's hash, and ] she two war made a Territori. Yourn, G. M. ( Bkmaeck's Last Seqar.?"We learn to ap- ' predate the value of a good segar only when it is ' the last of its tribe, and when there is little pros- < pect of getting another," said Count Bismarck < smnVimr his Havanna with great relish. "AtKo- f niggratz I had but a single segar left, and I kept 1 it during the whole battle as a miser guards his 1 treasure. Just then I would not treat myself to < it. I depicted in my imagination in glowing colors 1 the blissful hour when I should smoke it after the battle in victorious tranquility. But I had made i another miscalculation. You see, therefore, you were wrong in ascribing to me only one miscalcu- 1 lation." . i "And who spoiled your calculation ?" < "A poor dragoon. He lay helpless; both his ( arms had been shattered, and he was wailing for 1 some refreshment I ransacked all my pockets? < I found nothing but gold?and that would do him 1 no good; but, hold on. I had that precious se- j jar! I lighted it and put it between his teeth.? t Ton ought to have seen the grateful smile of the * xx>r sufferer No segar has ever done meas much h food as this one which I did not smoke!" t Cincinnati Commercial. v BOW THE PACIFIC RAILWAY IS BUILT. ? We have already noted the rapid progress made , )y the construction parties who are laying down the rack of the Union Pacific Railway. The best ex- ? donation of the actual process of construction is urnished by a correspondent of the Cincinnati 2 Irazette, who has recently been with the SenatoriJ excursion party from Omaha to the western terninus of the road. He says: There is really little known by the people, of the 2 iharacter of the enterprise. Most people think that k company of capitalists are hastily putting down a a Tide trade, over which cars can be moved with e ore, for the purpose of securing lands and money ? rom the government The fact is, that one of the ^ ? ? 1 A- A V nost complete roaas or wmcn me coimiry ?w , wast, with equipments that surpass many, is be- , ng laid with a speed that Ms to impress the naion, simply because it is not believed. But let the acts tell their plain yet wonderful story. Gena J. S. and D. C. Casement, of Ohio, grade ti he road, lay the track, and put up the telegraph, n Che graders go first There are two thousand of o hem. Their advance is near the Beach Hilla? d rhey protect themselves and are digging the great t ortification which makes the future sure for us, >n through Indian?battle-fields, while the daily 1< ight goes on. Their work is done to Julesburg. s Of tie-getters and wood-choppers there are one a housand five hundred. Their axes are resound- s ng in the Black Hills, over Laramie Plains, and ti n the passes of the Rocky Mountains. They have n >ne hundred thousand ties in these hills awaiting g iafe-guards for trains to haul them. v A mile in advance of the track-layers are the p quads which plaoe the ties. There are three of ii hese. First, however, the engineers set their w evelling stakes at distances of one hundred feet on o he straight lines and fifty feet on curves. At each ti >f these points sawed ties are placed and leveled p >y them. Then come two men with measuring fi od, marking off spaces equal to the length of a v ail, and also the half of this space. These sawed b ies arc laid by the second squad, to give firm sup)ort to the end and middle of each rail. These a ire placed by sighting along the guide ties already a aid. The third squad then places the intermedi- U ite ties, and the bed is then ready for the iron. v Now go back twenty miles on the road and look 1 iWthe immense construction trains loaded with o ies and rails and all things needed for the work, ti it is like the grand reserve of an army. Six miles si jack are other trains of like character. These are h he second line. Next, near the terminus, and a ollowing ;t hour by hour, are the boarding cars md a construction train, wbich answer to the actu- 7 il battle-line. The one is the camp ; the other is he ammunition used in the fight. b The board in e cars are eight feet long. Some are ? itted with berths; two are dining halls; one is a b ritchen, store-room and office. Under the whole tl hose men who prefer fresh air have swung ham- a nocks. Kifles are hung overhead, plentiful in * lumber, loaded, and convenient The party pro- & ects itself without attention from die government b ["he track-laying gang numbers four hundred. On a ;he three hundred and fifty miles already built f ;here are one thousand track repairers constantly 1 in proving the road bed. a The boarding cars go in advance. They are 8 pushed to the extremity of the track; a construe- I ion train then runs up, unloads its material and i starts back to bring another from the second line. F The boarding train is then run back till it has clear- c id the unloaded material. Three trucks, each drawn by two horses, ply be- i ween the track-layers and their supplies. The t aorses run outside the track, pulling with a long I :ow line, as boats are moved on canals. They t must be out of the way of the workmen. One of * hese trucks takes on a load of rails, about forty, ^ with the proper proportion of spikes and chairs, e Baking a load, when the horses are started off on t 1 full gallop for the track-layers! On each side of i :hese trucks are rollers to facilitate running off the I ron. On reaching the end of the last rail the 1 .ruck is stopped. A single horse is attached to t move it otffer each successive rail. Meantime, the c truck last emptied has been turned on its side to ^ lllow the loaded one to go to the front The two * horses released are started back on a keen gallop i for another supply. The third one moves up in 1 like manner, and thus through all the day they are j rushing forward with their iron load. To see them, ? rod reflect what their rush and roaring, means, is 1 is exciting as it ever was to watch a batteiy thun- i ier into position at a needed moment, at the vital point in its line. The rails within reach, parties of fivq men stand Dn either side. One in the rear throws a rail upon j the rollers, three in advance seize it, and run out ( with it to the proper distance. The chairs have, e meantime, been set under the last rails placed.? ? rhe two men in the rear, with a single swing, force c the end of the rail into the chair, and the chief of c the squad calls out 'down,' in a tone that equals g the 'forward' to an army. Every thirty seconds j there came that 'down,' 'down,' on either side of ( the track. They were the pendulum beats of a j, mighty era; they marked the time of the march y rod its regulation step. ? One of the rear men drove the cars, in addition ( to handling the rail. The horses started as each A rail fell into its place, the truck rolled on to the ( and of it; a second rail was projected into the wil- j ierness, with the same precision and haste; then t jame the magic 'down,' the car moved on again, j rod another length was accomplished. ^ Two spikers followed each rail, one party a little c in advance of the other. One rail was fastened at ^ he end and at the middle. The second party then . Irew the opposite rail to the exact gauge, and fas1 - *- i J Jl/% *M/1 Ar>/1 'I'Krtn itomn .enea an me inmate auu uic cuu. xu?u u>w? )ther squads of spikers, moving along with the t precision of military drill, each having a particular ^ jpike to drive, and no one interfering with another?. Frock liners followed these, and with their cronr- t jars rectified the line. The fillers came last* One e party of these filled and packed the spaces at the j ;nds and middle of the rails; the other completed ;he intermediate intervals, and the job was left till ^ he squads of track repairers should come up and inish the ballasting. But as the fillers leave it, hll trains can run over it, with safety, at twenty * niles an hour. 0 These are the dry details. Let the reader pic- 6 mre the scene. The rush.of the loaded track; the 2 mccessive dropping of the rails in place; the ratio of the spiker's hammer, sounding like a hotly T lontested skirmish; the roar of the distant supply c rains moving up; the resounding of the frequent ' jignals, near at hand; the univefsal bustle; "the 0 umble, and grumble, and roar" of the wonderful * idvance. Let the elements of savage warfare, and E ;he actual presence of hostile Sioux along the ^ jlufis, be woven into the picture, and together it 11 'orms one that the world has not seen before, and 5 vhich the stories of magic can scarcely equal. e Nor is any of this energy wasted. If it is asked: * 'How does the work get on?" again Jet the facts " inswer. On the 9th of May, 1866, hut forty miles )f road were completed. In an hundred and eigh- * y-two working days thereafter two hundred and ? forty-five additional miles were laid and put in prime condition; every rail and tie and spike having been Drought up from the rear. Seven saw mills ftrrn- c sh the ties and lumber. All bridges are framed, I be pieces numbered, and set up wnere warned rithout the least delay. The bridge at Loup Fedc. 3 fifteen hundred feet long, and as fine a Howe russas can be found in the land. While our train ras running the sixty miles from North Platte ver a mile of trade had been put down and one rain passed over it From one o'clock till fburin be afternoon a mile and two hundred feet were dded to tins while the party were kx>king on. ? "he progress was astonishing, and the more ause the ground was wet and; the 'soil stiff an? ard with alkali. Unless driven off by Indians, which does not ow seem probable, the road will touch the base f the Rocky Mountains the coming Autumn.? he California end has already readied a point bout an handled miles'east, and is descending the astern slope of the Sierra Nevadas into the valley fthe Humboldt It is ooofidently expected that lalt Lake will be reached next year, and that 1870 rill see the whole line completed. While the na? i ? t n * , W ' wlJ _ ion Has scarcely neara 01 wnat was neing done* be work has beeanear one-third accomplished. . FRENCH WOMEN? i( Dr. Guthrie, in commenting on .the fact patent 0 all travelers, that leas of poverty and wretchedess is visible in Paris than in most cities of the ontinent, or in London and Edinburgh, pays a earned compliment to the industry and good aste of the French woman. He says : Call her, if you choose, and as some do, firxvoins, or, as others, deceitful, she hasataaie imd ense of propriety which would make "her a-' hamed to show herself with an upwashed face or end forth her husbaLd or children with aiag.on heir backs or a hole in their dress. In Paris you lay" see people with mended, but none with raged clothes; so that until we came to Brittany, 'here the people areas remarkable for their polish bigotry, and deep drinking, and dreadful marjg, as for their antique and picturesque coefaimes, re almost never saw a French woman with a rag n her back or a spot on her face ;.iand even here, he women, speaking of thfem generally, as they ly the distaff while they/tend their cows in the eld, or walk the roads knitting, or sit at their rindowB sewing, show atidineas that is remarkale as their industry. ' In fact, for neatness of attire, respectfor person1 appearance both in herself and in her fiimify, nd habits of industry, the French woman is a patera to the world. Scarcely ever do we finditheo rhat the Scotch call handridle: and slatterns never, lie girl who keeps a sHbp is busy with some piece f work when customers do not require her attenion. The woman who sits by her stall in the Open treet, with her feet on a box of hghted charcoal 3 keep them warm, is usually sewing orknitfcing; nd only lifts her head from her work to say, when he becomes aware of your presenoe, "What do ouwish, sir?" And but yesterday, in walking through the week7 market at Quimper, where the Breton women itall tidily attired, with towers and wings of snowy nen on their beads, and on a table before them he produce of their dairy in curiously carved pats _ j _ru c n?A ,?i.1 T nu piuurs vi vjxxukul uuiwr, j. was gicauj ouiua rith the spectacle of industry which the scene preented. Hardly one not engaged with a customer ut was busy with wire or needle?& lively, as well 8 pleasant spectacle, for their tongues went as ast fls their tools. I have seen in the humble tomes of our own country how a taste for tidiness nd habits of industry will throw over poverty itelf a decent appearance; and characterized as the IVench woman is by these, to her, in some measure, nay be attributed to that happy absence of the ap>earance of extreme and abject wretchedness, which listinguishes the streets of Paris. We boast of our superior virtues, but there are ninor virtues in regard to which we would do well o take a lesson from France. It is nothing to the >urpose to say that the respect which is paid to he personal, outward appearance hereriabpt the rhitewashingof a sepulchre; the embroidered pall" vhich covers the coffin and corruption. Wfcaterx immorality may lie concealed in France under he appearance of outward decency?nor do I deny ts existence, although, according to the Scotch >roverb, "ID doers are ifl dreaders," I believe it las been often greatly exagerated?the immoraliy in France is certainly not owing to those habits if industry, and to that taste for personal deoeacy rhich eminently and honorably characterizes its romen. These ample and attractive graces are lot vice; and so far is the abstinence of them from >eing a proof of piety, that it is a Hot upon it? Che body is the temple of the Holy Ghost; and ixperience proves, as the old divine said, that loliness and cleanliness are nearly allied?a remark rhich owes its triteness to its truth THE OLDEST RELIC OF HUMANITY. The oldest remnant of mortality extant is the ikeleton of one of the earlier Pharaohs encased in ts original burial robes and wonderftdly perfect, ?nsidering its age, which was deposited, about iighieeu or twenty months ago, in the British Mueum, and is justly considered the most valuable if aU its archaeological treasures. The hd of the soffin, which contained the royal mummy, was incribed with the name of its occupant, Pharaoh ? ' * i i .i t. .1 t n j ttyKenmus, wno gucoeeaea tue aw ui uxo uwua >f the Great Pyramid about twenty-two centuries jefore Christ. Only; think of it; the monarch rhose crumbling bones and leathery interguments ire now exciting the curiosity and wonder of numsrous gazers in London, reigned in Egypt before Abraham was born, and only about-two centuries >r so after Mizraim, the grandson of old Father tfoah and first of the Pharaohs, had been gathered o his fathers! Why, the tide-marks of the deuge would scarce have been obliterated, or the ;opher-wood knee-timbers of the Ark have rotted in I&ount Ararat, when this man of the early rorld, lived, moved and had his being. His flesh ind blood were contemporary with the progenitors if the great patriarch; his bones and shrivelled skin ire contemporary with the nineteenth century ; and he date of Crucifixion is only about midway beween his era and burs. What a gulf of time is bridged, as it were, by hose mouldering relics I Of all the resurrections fleeted by the archaeologists, that of Pharaoh Myserimus is undoubtedly the most extraordinary and nteresting. When he flourished "remote, annuity" had just begun. > Origin or the Printer's Devil.?For the inbrmation of those who are ignorant of the origin f *hb important character, we give the following xpkmtion, which we find in the Advertiser's .Gbeffc.-? Whin Aldus Manutius set up in business as a irirter at Venice, he came in possession ofa little legro boy. This boy was known over the city as 'the Ettle black devil," who assisted the myatarius bibliofactor, and some of the ignoraat'peooos lelieved him to be none other than the embodiment of Satan, who helped Aldns in the proamnion of his profession. One day, Maimtrp*, desrag to dispel this strange hallucination by publka y} displayed the young "imp" to the poorer das* s. Upon this oocaaon he made thw short bat ery characteristic speech?"Be it known to Venje, that I, Aldus Maautius, printer to the Holy Ihurch and Doge, have this day made public exposure of the pedttee's devil. All those who hink he is not flesh and blood may oomeand pinch i_-? . : ' -i-7 lli1l . i ? Twelve deaths by yellow fever, recently ocurred on board a steamer which had arrived at Elton Head, S. C., fromHavana. A,r* '