The southern enterprise. [volume] (Greenville, S.C.) 1854-1870, November 26, 1857, Image 1
1 .... %*
. iiiiiiiiiiiiatiii i -lifirn r -ini?niii'ii i ' " - ' *
A REFLEI^OF PO.FPLAIt EVENTS.
Dmrtsb to progress, lije fiigljts of i\)t 53ontl), nnb 11)t Diffusion of ttssful Unoxolrirgf nthon# oil Onsets of XUorhinfl iilrn.
"VOLUME IV. GREENVILLE. SOUTH CAROLINA. THURSDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 20.1857. nmtmuvo on
g&UiiAsgasesmKmssg!-???? " ' - Ml
'&!].; j?ontl|tm (Enitrprisc
. 1? XSST7BD BVBRY THUMDAT MORN WO,
BY FBIU? jB noti uaZIn.
SwiLRIAM P. PRICE,
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
C. M. M'JUNKIN,
~j- p R I N T E R .
Out bdUat anil Firrr Ctxm in advance; Two
Deu^as If delayed. ' ^ .... \
CLUBS of PIVK and upwards, Onh Doiui,
tha money in every instance to accompany the
order.
ADVERTISEMENTS Inserted conspicuously nt
tht rates of 79 centa ner square of 11 lines* for
th? first insertion, and 37$ cents for each subsequent
insertion.
Contracts for yearly advertising made reason
able.
AOBWTS.
Wi W. Walk**, Jr., Columbia, S. C.
Pars* SvkPLK*. Esq., Flat Rock, N. C.
A, M. Peak*, KulrView P. O., Grsenvllle Plst
William C. lUiLcr, Plennnnt Grove, Greenville.
C vpt. It Q. Amokssox, Hnoree, Spartanburg.
Itltrteh $ortrt|.
The Primrose.
br mrs. IIKMAX8.
I saw it in my evening walk,
A little lonely flower';
Under a hollow bank it grew,
Deep in a mossy bower.
An oak's gnarled root to roof the cave,
With Gothic fretwork sprung.
Whence jeweled fern and arum leaves,
And ivy garlands hung.
And close beneath came sparkling out,
From an old tree's fallen shell,
A little rill, (hat dipt about
The lady in her cell.
And there, methought, with bashful pride,
She seemed to sit and look
On her own miiden loveliness,
l'ale imaged in the brook.
No other flower, no rival, grew
Beside my pendve maid ;
She dwelt alone, a cloistered nun,
Iu sollitude and shado.'
No sunbeam on that fairy pool
Darted its dazzling light;
Only, methought, some clear, cold ctar
VI inth ? * k!n i linrn O rviSvKt
i*I MVIIIUIV ?1IVI V M?
No ruffling wind could reach her there,
,,No eye, mctbought, but mine ;
Or the young lamb* that cmne to drink
Had spied her secret shrine.
And there was pleasantness to me
(n nuch belief?cold eyes
That alight dear Nature's loveliness,
Profane her mysteries.
Long time I looked and lingered there,
Absorbed in alill delight;
My spirit drank deep quietness
In with that quiet night.
I i i
fttt Suterrstitig &fonj.
The Hussar's Saddle.
Can the bracelet of the union bo composed of
unequal I Tultt of a Parrot.
Old Lndovic Harts always regarded his
saddle with the deepest veneration, and yet
there appeared nothing about it capable of
eocittng his idolatry, it was a Turkish saddle,
old and deeply stained with blood; yet
to the brave Ludovic it recalled n tale of
other days, when he, young, ardent, enthusiastic
in defence of ins country, first drew
bia sword against its enemies.
lie had been opposed in battle to the hostile
invaders of his native Hungary, and
many a misbelieving dwg |,ad hi* good sabre
smitten to the earth. Various had been the
fortune of the war, and too frequently was
iua ( lore of the Holy Cross uimmeu uy the
Jnsire of the triumphant Crescent. such
( -"4 <h?n*terrt wero seldom alluded to by the
brave hussar, but ha loved to dwell or. the
fuoaawfui action* in which ha had been engaged.
It was in one of ?he*e fierce combats, that
cut off suddenly from hie party, ha found
ldpueif auriounded by four infuriated Turks ;
.?. "but the recollection of yon and your angel
m Uhcr," would Ludovic say to hi* daughter,
"nerved my arm. I was assailed by all
my opponent*, ilow three MI ? knew not;
but severe and long was the conflict with
the laat of my fees, whose powerful ami was
rtd*ed against ma. Already I saw toy wife
g mournful ilrktow, and my child father
end these dreadful t&oaghu infusing fresh
vigor into my arm, I smote the infidel dog
'V to d?ath, hurled him from hie steed, and tided
bin* as he lay. At this motaaat several
o^fmd qpemy appeared in sight; but X was
I. exhausted to rontw the pSriloun
horse lay wounded,
i^^MM^Em^Aofdeath. I threw my.
on at tba n^p^Md until I regained my
1 v JjaMwiigk .... I
squadron. The Middle was steeped in the
blood of my foe, end mine mingled with it.
When e cessation of hostilities permitted the
troops to rest for a space from the horrors
of war, i hastened with the treasure which,
during the campaign, I had acattirod, to my
home?purchased these fertile fields around
my dwelling, and forgot for a season the
miseries of war."
The good Ludovio would here pause. He
still retained a lively recollection of his lost
wife ; and he oould not bear to relate the
circumstances of her illness and death. After
that sad event, his home became hateful
to him, and he resolved again to engage in
the arduous duties of a soldier. The little
Theresa was kindly adopted into the family
of his only brother, and there after a lapse
of some years our good hussar found his
daughter blooming m youthful beauty.
Ludovic arrived only in time to close
his brother's eyes, who, on his death bed,
entreated him "to bestow Theresa on bis only
son when they should have attained a
proper age. Grateful for his almost parental
care of his child, and moved by the situation
of bis brother, whose whole heart seemed
to be bent on this union, Ludovic promised
that when his daughter should have attained
the age of eighteen she should be
come the wife of Karl, provided Karl himself
desired the connection at that time; and
satisfied with this promise, the old man died
in peace.
Thie engagement was concealed from
Theresa, but it was known to Karl, who ex
ulted in the thought that this rich prize
wotdd one day be his. With low habits
and a coarse turn of mind, the delicate
graces of Theresa had no chaims for him;
he lo\ed her not, but he loved the wealth
which one day would be hers, and which he
looked upon with a greedy eye. The tlious
and soft and nameless feelings which accoinEany
a generous passion were unknown to
[arl. It was a hard task to him to attend
his gentle inistre&6 ; nor did he ever appear
disposed to play the part of a lover, except
when some other seemed inclined to supply
his place.
It was a rural fetegiven by Ludovio to his
neighbors at the termination of an abundant
harvest, that Karl first chose openly to assert
his right. He had taken it for granted
that he should open the dance with '1 heresa.
What, then, was his indignation, when, on
entering the apartment w here the guests weie
assembled, he saw Theresa, her slender waist
encircled by the arin of a young hutaar, and
moving in the graceful waltz.
The evident superiorly of his rival, whose
well knit limbs, firm step, free and martial {
air, formed a strong contrast to his own
clownish figure and awkward gait, only increased
his ire, and in violent wrath ha advanced
to Theresa, insisting on his right to
open the dance with her. Theresa pleaded
her engagement; he persisted ; she refused
his request, and laughed at his anger. He
became violent and rude. The hussar interfered.
and tliA nimi-rftl ?a?ii ?a > ~
draw Ludovic to the spot.
Karl, in a voice almost choked with passion,
laid his grievances before him.?
Theresa, in a tone of indignation, complained
to her father of his insolence, and appealed
to him whether she were not at liberty
to select any partner for the danco she
thought proper.
u You have no such liberty," thundered
forth Kail; M you are iny betrothed wife,
and as such belong to me alone."
Theiesa cast on him a smile full of scorn
and contempt, but it faded as she looked
to her father; and n paleness overspread her
countenance as she inquired, " Father, docs
this man speak the truth t"
M lie does my child," was the reply ; and
she dropped iusensible nt his feet.
The young hussar now knelt down beside
her, passionately kissed her fair fore
head, and raising her in Ids arms, bore her
to an adjoining apartment, followed by the
father, and Karl. Theresa slowly revived.
At fhst she saw no one, and breathing a
deepsigh, sho murmured, '* It was all a horrid
dream ;" an anguished groan startled her
into prcception nnd agony. She looked up
and saw her father standing before her with
a countenance clouded with giief; Kail aino
wiC?od near with au exulting smile: aud the
hussar knelt beside her, but hi-> face was
buried iu his lutiui*. Si* then found it
was uo dream. Shu looked to tier father.
* Father, is there no hope !"
" None, my honor is pledged !"
She turned to the hussar, and placed for
a moment her oold hands on his; then ris.
inif t? t)\A llifAiv ?
1" J I ?- ??* ?uw cci'
Karl.
M Oh, Kail, have mercy I I love another?
you do not love me?have pity on us !"
" By alt the power* of heaven and hell,
you shall bo mine, There** !"
MI appeal to my father."
" Will your father violate hi* prorouo to
the dead!
44 I will not," aaid Ludovio with solemnity.
14 Then, Theresa," exclaimed Karl, with
i fiend like exultation, no power on earth bhall
k save you frout being mine! and saying thus
, he loft the house.
Theresa rose fro** her knees and throw
i herself into the arm* of bor lover. The
r pretence of her father we* no restraint ou
her pure tenderuess. Jler tears fell fast upon
liia countenance, but his agony was too
great for that relief. Ludovic wns deeply
moved. He approached them, and he related
under what <-ircuinstances his promise
had been given; but bis concluding words,
** that he must hold it sacred," threw them
into a new paroxysm of grief.
44 We must part then, Arnold," aaid the
weeping Theresa, 44 we must part?ah ! can
we survive this cruel blow 1"
"No," said Arnold, 44 no, I cannot live
without you; let us once more entreat your
father to have pity on usand the youthful
lovers threw themselves at his feet.
44 Arnold," said Ludovie sternly, 44 thou a
1 soldier, and ask ine to tarnish iny honor 1"
Arnold felt the appeal; he started up,
raised the weeping Theresa, cut off with
his sabre one long tress, embraced and kiss
ed her, placed ber in the arms of her father,
and fled.
Every passing day carried with it some
portion of the fortitude of Theresa, as she
saw the near approach of the period which
wns to consign her to a fate so dreadful.?
Three little weeks were all that lay between
her and misery. Ludovie endeavored to
soothe her, but she would not be comforted.
Even bad her atfections been disengaged,
Karl would have been distasteful to her;
but, with aflections placed ou another, tlio
idea of a union with him appeared insupportable.
44 My dear child," would Ludovic say, interiupting
a passionate burst of grief, 44 l>y
what Maoifi lias Arnnlrt rruino.l
your heart ?"
I " lie is a hussar," replied Theresa.
There was something in this reply which
moved Ludovic. lie recollected that he :
himself had imbuded the mind of his daughter
with sentiments of respect and esteem
for the character of a good soldier ; and conscience
reminded hint that he had too often <
exulted in the profession of arms oier the i
peaceful and unobtrusive occupations of the
husbandman. Was it w<>ndciful, then, that j
Theresa should have embil?ed something of
this spirit, or that she should have yielded
Iter heart to one who |K>sseased courage to
defend her, and tenderness to soothe her under
the afflictions of life? Arnold dwelt
near them, he had been the early playmate
I of Theresa, and together they had often
with glowing checks and sparkling eyes, listened
to the warlike exploits which tho good
Link vie delighted to narrate to them and
to these conversations may be altirbuted the
passionate desire of Arnold to adopt tho profession
of arms. Accustomed to see them
play together as children, and liking the society
of the generous and spirited boy, Lu
dovic forgot the danger, when their childhood
passed away, of their affections assuming
a totally different character. It was so,
Lndovic now saw. with deep grief, that his
daughter was unalterably attached to tho
youthful soldier.
If Theresa was unhappy, her father was
scarcely less so. lie blamed his own imprudence
; and on contrasting tho characters
of the two youths, a violent conflict between
his feelings and his duty arose in his breast;
but the stem honor of the soldier triumph
ed, and be deemed himself bound to complete
the sacrifice. Unable, however, to endure
the sight of her grief, ho carried her to
the abode of a youthful female friend, who
formerly resided near them, but on her marriage
had removed to a village about sixty
mile* from the dwelling of Ludovic. There
he left Theresa, after receiving hor solemn
promise that she would return with him the
day before that on which she should complete
her eighteenth year. 14 Father," said
she with streaming eyes, 441 have never deceived
you. If I live, I will return ; but do
not grieve too deeply should my heart break
in this fearful struggle." The old hussar
dashed away a tear which strayed down his
scarred and sun-burnt cheek, embraced his
child nnd departed.
Time wore gradually away and at Inst the
day arrived which was to seal Theresa'* fate.
It found her in a state of torpid despair.?
Exhausted by her previous struggles, nil
feeling seemed to be dond, but her mind
wat awakened to new suffering. A fiietul
, arrived to conduct her to her father. The
; good Ludovic apparently lay on the bed of
death, and with breathless impatience Theresa
pursued her journey,
j On her arrival, her father's sick room was
| not solitary. The detested Karl there.
aud tliere, too, was the youthful husband.
M My child " said Ludovic, 44 my days are
numbered ; my fate must soon be decided,
And alasl yours Also. To my dying brother
I solemnly promised that on this day 1
would offer you to Lis son for bis bride.?
Without fulfilling my engagement, I could
not die in peace?even the grave would afford
no rest. Can you sacrifice yourself for
tnv future repose!"
"I can?I will," cried the unfortunate
Theresa, sinking ou her knees,14 so belp ine
I leaven !'
14 Heaven will bless s dutiful child !" said
Ludovx with favor. * Karl, draw near."
Karl obeyed?Theresa abuddored.
H That, however," continued Lndovie,
" which I look upon a* my greatest earthly
treasure, I give tny daughter. Yon, Kar),
believe me to have some virtues. Alas I
alaa 1 you know not tfie secret sins which
have sullied my life?the rapine, the murder
.s i f*I .nxf ml IMww i'?! )'-1
??but enough of this. I have confessed to
my ghostly father, and have obtained absolution
for the dark catalogue, but on the
condition that I leave all my wealth to the
church m an atonement ft.r my transgressions.
I could not forget I was a father?I
pleaded tho destitute state of my child ; 1
implored, 1 entreated. At length I wrung
from the pious father his consent that I should
retain my greatest treasure for my Theresa.
I chose my saddle. Keep it, dear child, in
rcmemberance of nn- affectionate father.?
And you, Karl, are you satisfied to relinguish
worldly goods for my soul's health.?
Are yqn content to take my daughter with
this portion ?"
" Fool 1" exclaimed Karl, "doling idiot!
how dare you purchase exempdon from
punishment at my expense ? Your wealth
is mine?your possessions should bethoportion
of my biido. I will reclaim them front
those avaricious monks and tear them from
the altar!'*
" You cannot?p ou dare not !n replied
Ludovic, raising his voice in anger! " my
agreement with your father bad reference
to my daughter only?my wealth formed
no part of it."
" Driveller?dotard !" vociferated Karl?
"think you that I will accept of a portion
less bride? you must seek some oilier for
VAIlV nlUMvno/* T * 1
j |...i |nnKj?i luuuuiice ner,'
44 Give her to me, father," cried Arnold :
44 I swear to cherish and protect her while
life is in mv body 1 Give her to mo, dear
father ; and when she shall be the loved wife 1
of my boeom, I will live for her?ay, and
die for her !"
Karl laughed in mockery. " You value
life but lightly," said he, ** when you talk of
I sacrificing it for a woman ; I never knew one
worth the trouble of winning, and least of
all, Theresa."
The young hussar laid his hand on his
sabre. At the same moment Ludovic sprang
fiom his couch?toro the coveting from his
head?snatched his saddle from the wall
whore it hung?seized the sabre?with one
stroke laid it open, and a stream of golden
bezants, oriental pearls, and sparklingjewth
fell on the earth. Wretch ! worm ! vile
clod of the earth ! art thou not justly punished
? Hence, reptile ! fty l?efore I forget that
thou art of my blood !" Ludovic i aired his
sabre, and the dastnrdv Karl fled, without
daring to give utterance to imprecations
which hung on his colorless lips.
I Tramping under the foot the costly jewels
( which lay strewed around, Theresa rushed
forward and embraced her father, exclaiming,
* is this a dream ? tiro you indeed restored
to mo ? caii this bliss be teal ?"
44 Forgive me, my child," exclaimed Ludovic,
44 the pain 1 have been obliged to
give your gentle heart. My*effort to make
that wretch resign his claim to your hand
lias been successful. Grudge not that a pail
of our store has been appropriated to the
Holy Church ; not to purchase the forgive
ness of the sins I enumerated, and of which,
thank Ileaven, I nm guiltless, but to be the
blessed means of saving you from a misers-'
ble fate. Kneel down, my children?ay,
support her. Arnold?lay her innocent head
upon your bosom, Hnd receive the fervent
beuedictioo of an old hussar."
Jfiistellimtnits 11 wiling.
Boles for Ladies
ETIQUETTE OF THE DIXKKIl TAD1.E.
To perforin faultlessly (lie honors of the
table, is one of the most difficult duties imposed
by society.
The lady of the house, to make her friends
feel at ease, should express no anxiety, and
mention no disappointment to them.
! When the servant announces that dinner
is served, every gentleman conducts a lady
j to the dining room. If the company merely
pass from one room to another, he gives
the lady his right hand ; if they descend a
stair, lie gives her the wall.
The lady of the house should be led to the
I dining-room hy the principal person present,
j or the pcrsou in whose honor the dimier is
I given.
| She should enter the dining-room first,
and take her station at the head of the table;
for if she enters it last, as was formerly the
custom, she finds some difficulty in assigning
eats to her guests, which it is her duty to |
do, if tbero are ladies amongst the company.
The gentleman of the house, should a)- |
ways enter him.
The ladies take their seats immediately
but the gentlemen remain standing, until
every lady present is seated.
The conversation of the dinner table
should be very general.
Napkins and linger glasses are essential
to all retined society.
When the party is large, it is customary
for the table to be beautifully spread with
the desert, and decked with flowers; the
viands are then carved by servants at side
tables. When this i? the case the cloth is
not removed.
Too great a display of plate, or too dax
sling a diow of crystal, unless upon toine
particular occasion, is in had taste. Simplicity
? the soul of good breeding, as it in
the essence of nntnral beauty, and to put
your Visitor on looting with yourself, is the
best compliment you can pay hint. When I
you see company, therefore, lei the ?al?Ie he|
set out tastefully. but not ostentatiously in h
manner suitable to your station, but uot, ns
it were, to exhibit your piido and wenllji,
more than your hospitality and social feeling.
At a party never take soup or fi>h twice;
at a family dinner, this is not of consequence.
Never load the plate of any one ; and in
helping sauce, do not cover tho meat or
vegetable, but put it on one side of the plate.
Never put inorelbnu one spoonful of soup
into a plate.
Take carc that the bread be cut in n cube
form, not in slices, but in pieces of about
Mi incb and a half thick.
Knives weie made for cutting, and those
who carry food to their mouths with them
frequently cut their lips. Eat always with
a fork or a spoon?unless, indeed, in those
old fashioned houses whore '.hero are only
two-pronged forks, you are obliged to use
your knife. No, one, however, who gives
parlies, omits to linve broad silver folks.
In using your fork, bold it in your right
hnnd.
As knives spoil the delicacy of fish, and <
are apt to he corroded with the sauce, fish ?
is generally eaten with the assistance of a
fork and a piece of bread. 1
Pears, curry, tarts, and pudding, should J
be cnlcn with a spoon rather than a foik.
In helping any one at a table, it is not '
proper to use a knife and fork, if a spoon
, can be as easily substituted.
{ In supping, eating and drinking, make as 1
I little noise as possible.
Never press people iocat moro than they
choose ; never press any particular dish, it is '
sufficient to recommend it. '
Never send awav your own plate until nl' ,
your guests have done so. ,
Ladies should never have gloves on at
dinner ; servants should never want them ;
above id'., tako care that your servants' gloves
be clean and white.
Ideas of Woman.
A recent work, published at lirnssels, con
tains, among other interesting matter, a collection
of aphorisms hy various authors, I
mostly French, of which we append a few. i
We give the names of the authors in sinnll i
caps* I
Ciiamfout.?In the choice of a lover a 1
woman considers more how lie appears in 1
the eves of other women than in her own.
Love is more pleasing than inntiimonv, jus|
as romance is moro pleasing than history.
norQi'KMtr.?If we speak ill of the sex
generally, they will all rise against us ; if we
do the same of any individual woman, they
will all agreo with us.
Ciimu.ks Lkmkslr.? Most of their faults
women owe to us, whilst we are indebted to
(hem for most of our belter qualities.
Dakikl Stkrkk.? Most women are en
dowed with such naturally endearing charms
that oven their very presence is generally
beneficial.
Madamk. de St a el.? Love, in a woman's
life, is a history ; in man's, an episode.
Catalina.? Only lie who has nothing to
hope from a woman is truly sincere in her
praise.
Diderot?Tlmr# ovuiu nmn?? . I
l<
secret tie, like I lint among piiests of the came
faitli. Tliev hate each otlier, yet protect
each others inleiest.
Staiil.?No woman, even the most intellectual,
believes h<n?df decidedly homely.
This self-deception is natural for there are
some most dimming women without n particle
of beauty.
Octavk FkuIlutt.?Providence has so
ordained it that only two women have a true
interest in the happiness of a man?his own
mother and the mother of his children, liesides
these two legitimate kinds of love, there
is nothing between the two creatures except
vain excitement, painful and idle delusion.
Ai.riionse 1\ a nit.?Say of a woman that
she is wicked, obstir.nle, frivolous, hut add
that she is beautiful, and be assured that
she vvill ever think kindly of you. Say that
she is good, kind, virtuous, sensible, hutvery
homely, and slio will never forgive you
in her life.
Madamk dr Maixtknov.?In everything
that women wiite there will be thousands of
faults against grammar, hut also to a certainty
always a charm never to be found in
the lettors of men.
Duclos.?Great and rare heart offerings
are found almost exclusively among women;
nearly all the happiness and most blessed
momem* in love hio oi tnerr creating, and
so also friendship, especially when it follows
love.
Madamk Fkk.? A woman frequently resists
tiio love she feels, but cannot resist the
lovo she inspires.
J. J. liocHHKAC.?Men can better philosophize
on the huninn heart, but women can
read it better.
MicnKLitT.?It is a universal rule, which,
as far as I know, has no exception, that
great won always resemble their mothers,
who impress their mental and physical maik
upon the sons.
Maw are like hugles?-the more brass they
contain tire further you can hear them.
A 1 V
Pay Your Small Debts.
Time is a general call in our exchange
!>npent, upon nil people who pay their small
Ieltls, And no more sensible or tiuioly ap >eal*conlil
be.made at the present juncture.?\
general compliance would furnish the key
o unlock the doors of that abundance of
which is now hoarded for wnut of confidence.
Tlio evil of the day is too much credt.
People have gone in debt too much.?
It is scarcely Incorrect to say every body is
n debt. The exceptions are as one to one
thousand. This Wmg so, we may safely
?ay, that every dollnr paid, will, on an averige,
in leas than a week, pay ten dollars of
lebt, by muwHig from hand to hand. You
Icar reader, pay us, (wo are supposing a
rase,) we pay our debtor, he pays a third
>eison, tie a forth, and so on ; and perhaps
n its current the same dollar may coine
jack to first hands in payment of a debt
lue himself, l.el a man think of the good
tie can thus do to his neighborhood and his
jountry, to ray nothing of his own personal .
ntiffaction and independence, and wo think
tio will act accordingly, if he l>e a just man,
with any feeling of kindness to his fellow
tnd to uimscif.
Tliero is unquestionably a great deal of
wealth in the South. The prices of produc
ions have ranged so high that tuany have
l>ccome rich. Too often, however, instead
>f paying debts with their income, men have
laid it out buying more lands and negroes,
and have suffered their d?l?ts, especially their
small ilehts, to go unpaid. If tins wan
wrong, heretofore, when times wore easy, it
would relieve himself and many others from
trouble. One of the immediate causes of the
5resent trouble which have spread from New
'ork all over the country, is, that country
merchants who bought goods on credit, do
not pay them when their notes are due.?
And how can they pay, when the goods
be ci edited out all over the neighborhood
and no amount of dunning will induco the
debto: 8 to pay ?
We put this to every reader's conscience.
Who can he cxcure himself, to himself or to
his creditors, for cither neglecting or refusing
to pay, when his own credit and the ciedit of
his neighbor, the retailor, and the credit of the
country, depend in a measure, great or small,
on his conduct I Pay up, pay up, we say
lo cveiy one who reads this. Pay your mechanic,
your merchant, your printer?pay
everybody who needs what you owe them,
more especially if you owe theni borrowd
money.
Messonier's Table Cloth Sketches.
An odd anecdote is told of Messooior, the
great French forest artist, lie was lately
dining at Brussels and among the company
was Baron de Kuyff, who recently exhibited
some charming landscapes At the Palais d'ludustrie.
Smoking was the order of the day,
and Messonier, while lighting his cigar, took
it into his head to make a sketch on the table
cloth with the burnt end. The Baron
kept lighting matches, and as soon as the
end was carbonized, placed them by the
French pninter, nnd by the time ho had
smoked iiis second cigar he had finished a
charming sketch of an old rentieur, beautifully
executed. When the evening was over
M. de Kuyff took the table cloth, folded it
up and going down to the mistress of the
establishment, said :?" Madame, be good
enough to lock up this table cloth witii great
cure. To morrow I will call for it and pay
you the value of it." "But sir," was the
answer, " I must at least get it washed."?
" Nothinfr of llie sort" oni.l tl>? ?? r
O - ?
wish to have it just as it is, with all its spots
and inaiks." The next day, accordingly, he
came ami took away the precious table cloth,
which he has since had framed in a curious
style, with a double frame, the sketch being
placed in the smaller one, and tho rest of
the linen carefully and tastefully arranged ill
tho space between thu frames. It is said
that an amateur has already offered M. d?
Kttyff 5,000 francs for it.
HkSI'LTS OF A CoitN lll'fiKINO.? At a
pleasant lural village, down in Connecticut,
called Ilitchcocksville, a few evenings since,
their was held one of those merry meetings
called corn husking*. Hast eior l>ecn at
one, icadei ? If not, thou hast missed an experience
in life well worth enjoying. On
this particular occasion there were 300 bushels
of corn husked, 40 giils kissed, 6 44 engagements
" made up, and every body home
before 10 o'clock.
It strikes us that TTi'cLc5ck?vi!!e must be
n liicc place to live in.
Tiik notorious Loin Monies is lecturing in
Boston against the Chinch of Home. She
Attempts to show that there is only one great
element of evil in the worhl?the Human
Catholic Church?ami that she, the said
Lola, is the only f?er*on tit to comlm; that
evil. During one of her lecture* a man present
shouted, " Yon are n liar," and left the
llull. As he passed out, the indignant lady %
sent a well aimed pistol after him, that came
well nigh arresting his exit.
Mari.noitot/cn's Mkanxf.ss.?-The Duke
of Marlborough was sordidly uvuileiouA.-Ono
duy a beggar u-ked nlm* of Lord Peter
borough, taking him for the Duke. 11 Yon
are mistaken, my good fellow," said his
lordship, " I am not the Duke of Mnrlt?oro';
and to prove it, there's a guinea for you."