Chicago Daily Tribune Newspaper, December 15, 1872, Page 8

BEo77. to Journey Fachionebly and Comicriably. Drésses end Peraphernolia---Arti- cles ntiol to Reil- ¢ and by, Kight--Fat- ndressing male Voyagsurs- to Car-Builders. Peopla will get married, eod they will travel, despite 21l warnings o the conirery ; go it only remains for us to teli them how to do the latter fashionsbly end comfortably. The former comes by Nature, like original sin. For TRAVELLING DRESSES, revy-blae has the pre-eminence, as it has for ordinary wear. Any dark, heavy cloth may.be used, however, and all suits now Lave an outer wrap of camel'shair. A travelling dress fora bride wes of prune velvet #nd cachemire in two shades, trilimed with faon faille. The drées- skirt wes of velvet, with a gathered flonnce piped with the faillo. An overskirt of cache- mire had a broad band of velvet around it, piped - with faille; while & Louis Quinze basque of the velvet had cachemire gleeves, vost, and square pockets. The basque was trimmed with & band of sealskin, and a cap of the same accompanied it. Faon gloves of undressed kid wera coa- fined by three buitons and were worn under others made of scalskin. A long capote of rough-camel’s hair, lined with squirrel-skin, and trimmed with fringe end woreted embroidery, was intended for an outeide wrap. A small muff of velvet like tha dress wes edged with sealakin bands, and had a bias band of faon faille tied aronnd the centre, with bow and ends; this was tied by a'ribbon which passed through it and was attached to cach shoulder by clasps of dark ted lava that matched the other ornaments. These were carved to represent the Sphinx, snd were possibly intended to suggest the far decper 1iddle of lifo which the wear- er was about to atiempt solving. The CADAY, FOOT-MUF¥, ETC., were unique of their kind. The small sacde wiyage was of sealskin, attached to a Dussia- lesther beli. It hod the uenal equipments of buiton-hook, ecissors, knife, aud pungents, all gold-monnted and monogrammed. The lerge travelling-bag was of. embroidered leather, gold- mounted, the lady's monogram surrounded Ly & sercll worked on one side, and on the other the usual motto, * Zon toyese.” This unique cabat wes flled with pockets, containing = com- plete set of toilette articles in ivory, with thi lady’s monogram on them in gold, A larzo raf way-rug of soft, heavy, ottoman reps, in stri es of Orientil richness, waa liced with squirrel-skin. = The foot-muf¥ - was of embroidered Russin leather to - match the” travelling-baz, 83 wers also the meees- And sary straps for therng and wrappings. now, having told how poees sterting on her journes of lile, we ¥ g2y afew words o our friends who bave not yeb started matrimonisily, or are on iheir way alreads, about TOW TO TBAVEL COMFO ‘How few people know how to leset possiblo discomiort, is & fu the convicton of every one who jourites to & fro, especielly over ko rallwats of tinenf. Ledics universally dresd rors of the middle pas the might which is send fhe two davn that it takes them to get tothe Atlantic scaboard. A word from one wko Imows, mey not bo smiss. In the first plece, et your -railway-sendwich consist of two pights znd s day, if you are going East without intending to fop en route. This decided upon, take the largest travelling-bag you can procure, Toilet erticles ave, of course, indispensable, but add fo ihezen roledenuif. Don't shrug your retty or scrawny shoulders, and sey, “I'm suro P over oonld nadress in those horrid cars.” Thatis just what you ero to do, and. unless your shoulders are very serawry, you will not be ¥ery much ehockoa. £ho that makes daint, ehe, IT swear, hath corns, Am I come near you now? Next, place within your cabat & woollen wrep per, daintily made &s you please, but a blackand white flanuel or a grey cashmere, pretiily trim- med, would answer all purposes ; ean de cologne ; violet powder; some soft, light covering for your hesd, it you obgect to eurplus cinders in our bniry and last, but not least, that pair of Laltowore slippers thet have been doing bresk- fest duty for some times'also,—I hod mearly forgotten it,—the hand-glags that hangs by your iniitor. Add plenty of _clean collars #ud cufis, end you are equipped defensively. Next, if you ero & lady travelling alone, Eccure the- entire section. Two ladies can accommodate them- selves in one; but, if yon are alone, you cannot be comfortable unless you have the Whole com- partment to yonreelf. Now you may don your distingue travelling- drees ; ‘gTow red in the face 0s you £toop to but- ton the refractory boots that ard not tight in the least, oh, no!—and fall in love with your own sweet self as you adjust beforo tho mirror that love of a sealekin, or tho jauaty felt with its curling plumes. Yes, you look heavenly, and e quite ready to stert, and father, hushand, or Lrother goes with you to the depot. The last bell, 3 hurried “ Good-bye,” and father hurries bome, while the two latter relatives go—vell, §erh2ps you had better not ask any questions. ‘ou are now fairly STARTED, and have found that yonreelf and belongings Lave abundant room in the gection. For the fizst half-hour you may look supercilious, end let your fellow-passengers admire you. ‘Then your head will begin to ache a little and-your nose grow slightly red,—the first the offcct of that Sealskin, or Madame Carte-Blanche’s velvos and festhers, so stylish, but soheavy; the Intter cansed by your new, elegant boots, that ara not tiEhL but new boofs never do fit, you kmow. 'The other ladies in the car will probably look very much as you do ; and now, if you wish to triumph over your fellow martyrs, your bour has arrived. Just unfasten your travelling-bag and tzke out _those loose glippers and that Xephrr-covering for “your head. - Take off- those glove-fitiing boots (but you had better bite vour lips 0 8s Dot to draw 100 long a breath of relief all at once,—you can do it afterwards in instalments), lot the feet creep lovinglyinto the easy-fitting slippers, and, ifit is winter, “huggle them closo from the cold” in your foot-muff. If you are papa’s darling, he is sure to have brought it for you ; end, if you are Charlie's wife, you are quite 28 certain to have it, foritisa singulsr peculiarity of husbands that they are always very anxious zbout their wives comfort when they are going away from them on along journey, even at times paying exorbitant funerzl expenses without & muormur. Next you will remove that marvel of milli- nery, or the stunning cap that is to help you add ¢ list of your victims. Wrap your thick ~eil about it, fo keep it from the dust, and wind that goft, warm, fleecy ecarf about your head. How nice you begin to feel; your headache vanighes, and that Greeian or ' tip-tilted-like- the-petal-of-a-flower” nose, loses its suspiciouy hue, avd sssumes its delicate whiteness. - I foar e have told a secret here, thongh, and {hat all men whose nasal organ has a tendency to as- sume Bienn hues will call it “new boots.” Tt can’t be helped, and you, my charming voyageur, will fecl that your frowns aro emoothed away, and that you can now settle down to your last new novel with a very at- home-ish kind of feeling. How the rest of the women hate you, until, in despair, their head- gear is jerked off and ‘thrown zside, snd there i& & suspicious bending over, and e certain sur- reptitious unbuttoning of their perfectly easy boots, “& miletoo big, in fact.” But they have forgotten the little additions to their lugpage, that have made you so luxuriously bappy. They cannot let their dainty boots stand just in view for the edification of the other sex. s you may, if you like, for they must at least keep the ends of their toes covered. You may take your SUPPER “mer, this permits yon to have the window at tho ‘of air d upou |- “lower berik, Le dono until sve havo hotel-cars on all the routes to prominent points. It will be dark, £0 you need not resume your boots, but had better slip your Arctics on. “You will probably have to talke care of yourself, as the male biped, scent- ing the food from afar, will make = rash for it. Teep cool, and you will Jave no troublo. A lit- tle frectional currency, judiciously administercd toiho porters and waiters, facilitates matlers wonderiunlly. : . 2ED arrives, usually at an exrly hoar on_the cars, and tho porter makes up ihc lower berth for You. Youhave the adventago of both mattress- ¢, which eoftens matters, and order your bed made with the head toward the engine. ~ In sum- foot open, ndmitting plenty of fresh air, without exposing you to cold by 2 draughf i on your head and _ shoul- ders, while -the cinders will fiy by and not lodge in your face. While you sare waiting for the porter to make all things ready, go to (ke ice-cooler and fill emall empty flag¥, which you must have in addition to the onse you should always carry with good brandy or sherry in it. Placo your travelling-bag at’ the foot, of your berth, and withdraw behind the curtains. "Pin theee closely together with stout pins, down tho centre, and also at the sides, to the cushioned Dacks of the Eeats, 50 as to prevent their being brushed mpart DLy passersby. There are tome male animals who scem to take par- ticolar delight in thus smusing themselves. W you eore gecure from intrusion, for_ihero is eafety in the numbers about you, and be would be an audacious wrotch who woul dare intrnde upon you. Capulot's query may be put to the test, and the process of disrobing com- mence. After the clothes are unfastened,—and on! how good it feels, for they had grown just the leest bit uncomfortable,—the robe de nuit mayboslipped on, and over it that pretty wrapper which was made for you when you had that at- tack of Parisfeverafter your return from tho gay cepital. This may all be done kneeling cr sit- ting; then, heving fastened the wrappar, Tiso to our feef, and let the dainty be- ongings that have made you g0 charming through the provious houra drop to your feet. Hang mp your dress on the hooks vou will find, and fold up tho other garments ; iale off 2l the superfluous braids; loosen your hair, and herring-bone it over your crimping- pins, the eame a8 _you would at home,—an ett 0 loug practised, I am_wura you esn do it by the sonso of féoling. Now you can slesp the sleep of iunocenceaud poace; and just go to -work and do it. Don't lie awnke waiting for a collisiori or any other accident. You aro ina sufliciently dainty toilette to come gracefully out of any elight nitair of the kind, and, if you aro very badly smaehed up, why, s Alr. Toots says, “It's nop of the slightest consequence,"—tho dress or undress, of course we mean. Your thoroughly-fastened curtains have se- cured you from any peeping Toms of Coventry, and yom need fear no other molestation. Take then, and wake with the dawn, Your eyes will probably look two spatks ina burnt~ blanket, especially if it is summer-time ; but you have the appliances toremedy that. It is ealy; the first rays of tho sun have not yvet pierced the gray vell of morning ; but you have elept well in your-loose, -flowing garmeats, and ere wide awake. Yarious sounds rescmbling steam-tug whistles will con- vince you thatmost of your fellow-voyageurs are * in ‘dreamland, —the feminine por- tion who are not posted having at_last fallen into & doze of exhzustion, cach whalebone end hoop having made its spceial indentation in the bruized flesh. Kow commance your ORNIS@ TOILEITE. . Tzl from your bag one of the nulf-dozennan- Xins with which you bave supplied yous-2lf, sat- arete it with Cologne, and thoroughly waeh vourself. ILwill refresh you, and remove the cinders far moro efectusily than water; bu, -with that liqnid which you eccured the night be- fore, you will batho your exas and cleanso your toeth; for, of courss, you have n travolling-cup it n. Those of vulesnite, that shut #nd have a cover, 2ro nico for this pur- tho aid of your hand-glass and vour scetion, dress your hair, and ihen vou will find it comparatively easy to stand up in your berth nnd T a1 collar and endfs will m fectly fresh, and you can ua cadeand come forth quite ag comme i jaut as it Fou bad jast left your own dressing-rosm. Tho porier will replaca your section, and vou mey d yonr suceess il his chony face snd ivories, d lic i5 1:0 1mean connoisseur, I can assure you. Zow cozicrmlato YOUE ILLLOW-TOURISIS. u the eomyartment oppozifo arc o family com- 20ng—an old man and s boyoc- 7 the upper berth, while a long, thin omenand a fall, fatone are crowded itic the o 2 pair of Congress s, proirude beyond the curtain, the women, nat the boots—Lave- been in a state bordering .on distraction ell night, with heat, hoops, a=d kecdacke, end have no faith in sleeping—cars, &0 will probably nover travel in ona aguin. Tho non-gecured curteinsare brushed aside, showing a dishevelment of aitire not par- tieweddy attrackive, - .. . - - Just beyond, from an upper_berth, you see a pair of Is3s euddenly thrust forth, but hastily withdrawn, whils gnarm is waved wildly, 2ad and an entreating voico, ina shrill soprano, calls, Steward, won't you bring the stops 27 After a brief delay, the appeal is answered, and the owner of the voice descends by no means gracefully, and it is not an ankle to bo proud of. . Can that be the woman whoso coiffure you ad- i y the night before ? "Such o tangled mass; whilo her poplin dress is oue large wiiukle, infinitely subdivided. You take a side-glance at tho mirror, and your complacenco increases immeasarably ; bub how tkis victim of ignorance glowers 25 you. She bstos you, while you cea afford (o pity her; and you do, and would help her if you could. By this time, the masculine portion of the travellcrs are 2lso clirring, and, until their toiletics zre com- pleted, they will utterly ignore. the place aus dames of oxdinery politenezs. 5 Your [rowsy meighbor waiches her opporta- nity, and, when thoraeh of Cheviot shirt-sleoves iz sl ed iuto its duster and seat, ead sct- tled iteclf to watch the Elenginia of femininily from which the veil is rather rudely torn aside in thess rail gels a chanco to plenty to supervise, n your barr a s s BRUTE tnlies his place at the car-Goor, so as nok to loso ihle opportunity of making & nuisance . Owr unfortunate friend is obliged towash her face in_the sams besin where 0 many have preceded her. providing there is water enough left to do it with. She tries push- ing the Lair-pius back in ker hair, but it will not do; the structure is tumbling and must come dovn, Sho looks 2t you, and wishes she was a ciild and could make aces, or man end might swear, but, Leing & woman, raust grin and bear it; =0, with oue deliant glance, she commences operafions. Of come thio braids, and the rats, sud the rolls, and the pufls, until the “no back hair to spesk of” bangs revealed in all its gcanty brevity. She ought £o keep cool, but shedoesn't, and it 18 xather a trying situation ; so, instead of combing gently through that microscopic capillary orna- ment of Nature's bestowal, thenotion eomewhat Tesembles hetchelling, and the comb is very apt tobreak in the process, The natural basis is socn adjusted, howaver, and the structure is re- built. How the men chuckle ; how she wants to box the ears of the sgecill brute &t the car-door, standing there with his hands in his breeches- Euckets. and whistling somo burlesque melody ; 0w red she gets in tho face as she realizes that The worst that can be has been done; and that, in spite of herself, ‘“She has told all her secrots ” to a car-full, while her empire hus fallen. The back hair is finally arrenged, but the lovely crimps of yesterdsy are rough, harsh, impliablo locks, that must be combed Straight back,—frightfally unbecoming, 08 she knows; aud #ho looks again at you, and sees that yours are as wavy as ever. Certainly, you had ‘used your crimplng-pins the mght before; no acci- dent had happened to betray the fact; and, even if it bad, you would have been no worse off than you were last summer when your hat blew off on the sands at Newport, the day of the Grand Hug, .and_young Fitzflattery told you hoe thought “crimping-pins were divine, just the thing to hook a fella’s Leart, and o girl looked so very swell at night, yon know.” Our fated friend has washed her fece in_the minimum of ice-water, until it looks much like & Scuth Sea Islander's, red aud black in spots and streaks. - That woman’s temper is ruined for the day. Her collar is rumpled, and her cuffs ditto, and she has only the extra ones, which must be saved for use when she arrives st her destina- tion. Under ordinary circumstances, she is & charming, agrocable woman; but Ler nsefulness 1o society is completely lost for the present, be- cauge sho did not know how to make her toilotic en route 28 you did, You nextreach the . BREAXFAST-STATION, but this morning you need not depend upon por- ters or conductor oven to put you right, That young men thinks, ** What o pretty woman ; no art about her ; and ehe looks ko cool, clean, and fresh. Wonder if I might offer to ‘nccompany Ler to breakfost#” and ho bruehes his haf, straightens his collar, eettles his necktie, strokes his hoped-for moustache, and calls the porter to give him an extra dusting. in your lunch-basket, which will be preferablo if you have dined late, or you may get out, as it best euits you. Ono or the other will have to Before dinner you will grow more or less so- cial, according to the characteristics of your considerations, It is just as well to bo cour-. teous in travelling, and ‘thus while away what might otherwise prove very monotonous hours. Again, the scent of = DINNER afar off will zend tho male bipeds to tho wash- room. No earthly show for the gentler scx, es- ficcmllym\mrm weathor; bunt, my dear, you ave the odd trick. Toke out your hand-gluss and Cologno, bathe sour face, and attack the griminess of your cirs. The delicato spirit will overcomo it a5 magicelly as Aviel could Caliban 3 then just cool your slightly sun-burned or roughened skin with a dash of vio- lei-powder, all superfluity of which you can 'wipe off with your hendker- chief. Your lady trevelling companions will frown; those of advanced ycars, from the rural districts, probably think you are not quite E’:o er; while the others will hate you for ihe -quietly make a ‘mem.” of it for future use. Puton the new hoots, if you like, now ; take ‘the veil from off that stunninghat; don clean collar, cufis, and mouchoir; brush off your dress, and you will be as fresh as though you bad just started, while the rest look miore travel-stained than ever. Eat your dinner quietly; the conductor will seo that you are not left; and thero will be a superfluity of gentlemennow to attend toit. After your return to the car, restore your hat to ifs dust-protector, Em‘. on your slippers ngain, aad, if you fecl like it, take's nap. Tell all peddling news-agents that you never went to public- school, that you don’t know how to sew, and that your father keeps & grindstone to sharpor the needles you never learned touse. Of conrse, supper and s!eeiing preparations are but a reca- pitulation_of what you havo alreedy accom- plished, with such erinent succees. Youwill have had two nights' proper eleep, and, your'toilette again nicely made, yonm.l} reach Four destination as frosli aswhon you left home, and as clean as it is gosuiblo for you to be under the circumstances, thongh very glad, no doubt, of o warm bathas soonas it is feasible. Ea your meala regulerly, avoiding all trash, and eating nothing botween them, then, instead of requiring a week's rest to overcomo fatigne and nausen, you will be roady to go sight-sceing or pleasure-eseking at once. And now, 2 word to MESSRS. PULLMAN AND WAGNER, or other car-builders: Could there mot be sliding doors made, similar to the siate-rooms, forall the sections? It would bo so muc pleasanter for ladies, and yield them tho privacy they require. The state-rooms are objection- able a3 usually bei.nq &t the end of the car and over the wheels, making them particularly un- ploasant to a_delicate, Rervous women, as every motion and stop 15 especially discernible. on, as thero are usually two saloons, one &t each end of tho car, would it not be quite as well if one was kept for ladies only, and screened from public view by & ground glaes or curtained door, so that some litfle privacy might be ettained by the feiror £ex, and that Peeping Tom, who boldly presents himself in tho immediate vicinity (usually by the door, with his hands in bis pockets), in the hope of detccting Godiva's blemishes or beau- ties, thus have think, would be better and more economical then scparate cars for the eexes, 2s has been suggested, for ladics alone might p S come stupid, and men would probably fail worse state. THE VEXED QUESTION GHCZ FORE. To the Editor of The Chicago Tribune: Sin: It has becomo gnite common for writers upor: American domestic ills to besiow much _pity on the suffering mistresses of houseliolds, eud to suggest means whereby they may bo emancipated from toil and anxiety, and allowed boundless rest and leisure. That woman is a sorely-abused creature, is readily tuken for grant- ed; énd, when any one is &o dering as 1o soy that ehe needs more labor and responsibility, -not less, he is sure to be met bya stormy out- break of reproof and contradiction; and he is ‘brave indeed if he be mot giad to abzndon the subject. Wonld you have women become elaves to do- mestic cares; narrow thoeir lives down to the duii routine of honse-drudgery; leave them no leisure for culiure end recrection? Shamefull ery woman's best {riends. Such defenders of the sex seem incapable of discorning that there is & medium between ¢ drudgery” and sloth, 2nd thet intelligent eu- pervision of housebold affairs is as far removed from the one as from the otier. There is no. wish on the part of thoge who re- prove the indolence and incapacity of Amorican women, to make elaves of them: on the contra- ry, they scek but to emancipate them from the .tyranny of self-love, which is marring all thab is noblest and beat in their natures. It hos been snid a hundrad times that the ‘blame of woman’s worthleaaness lies with man; that, by their choice of wives, they puta pre- _mizm on femitine incompetency. * Who over heard of a mon . selecting & wife becauso of ber careful domestic training?” eeid 2 maga- Zine wriler, not long Einco. “A preity face, =a. sweel voice, winsome Ways, touch 8 man’s heart or captivaie bLis fancy; and, knowing.this, 8 girl makes no ai- tempt to become proficient in tho Imowledge which, 28 2 wife and the mietress of a house- hold, she will find needfal. The remedy is in the hands of men. ‘Whenever they choose their wives for their usefnl quelities, women will be 2ll which now they are not.” It is to be hoped that the day will never coma wheu men shall become so grossly material as to choose wives a3 they would dray-horses, for “their useful qualities.” It is to be inferred from the eatisfoctory manner in which mcht husbands and fathers porform the daties which fall to their lo%, that women are guided in ‘their choice by common sense and reason, instend of unthinking affection. Such an in- ference - certainly ecems the only matural one, Does & girl 1ove & man because of his manhoed, his truth, his tenderness ; or does sho simply consider his income, his b ank-account, his busi- ness-faculty ? For the sakoof the argument, Iob us grant her to be equally as disinterested a8 her lover, Do hor faith, her unthinking affec- tion, make it less incumbent upon him to use his falent, skill, and induetry to provide for her ‘wants when ehe has become_bis wife 7 Does a man stand excused for winning a wife whom he has meither ability nor desirs to maintain ; be- cauge, before marriage, she did not consider the question of iucome ‘zud spending-money ? None would be found willing to exonerate him from blame, ovon amorg the persons who hold that & man's neglect to ascortain the extent of a girl’s domestic knowledge is sufficient excuse for the ignorance and indolence of o wife. Before domestic happiness can be obtained, woman must acquire & finer sense of justico than she now has. She must lcarn to fecl that sho ia not merely to b tho, puskive recipient of the good things which man's generous affection bestow upon her, but” that 1t is incumbent on her to give of her {ime, to sacrifico somewhat of her onse and comfort, in order to contribite to his happiness. <1 : A material view of the matter, perhaps; but this is a practical world_of ours; and, after all, the luxuries and delights with which a man strives to surrouad the woman ho loves are also material ;.though not the less are they sign anéd token of an affection which ia above and beyond all material things. Woman's work is not_pleasurable,—neither is man’s. Tt is not agreeable to her to overseo af- foirs in the kitchen, and laundry, and nursery; but it is just s far’ from agreeable to s man to go through _the routine of work in offlce, store, or shop. Tho question of agreeablencss had nothing to do with the matter, however. n and woman are not_ placed here to dis~ cover the way to get through life with the loast possible toil and imconvenience. They are here rather to accomplish some good results, to add something to the comfort and well-being of others; and woman has no right to lose sight of this fact. “1In spite of the combined eloguence of Mra. Stanton and Misses Anthony and Dickinson,” Bey8s a writer gleefully, *woman has shown that sho has no desire to do man’s work!” Ha should have added, “nor her own work sither.” How not to do it, is the chief study of her life, and the results which she accomplishes are snr~ prising, if not gratifying. As there can be no good thing without its corresponding ill, eo, doubtleee, the chivalric tendernessof the Ameri- canman toward woman has been in part the cause of her ihcompetenoy and selfishness. It appears to be & part of the nature of the Ameri~ can mon to submit patiently to enubbing and imposition. He does not like to find fault, either at home or abroad, and would be surprised, were he told thot he has s perfect right to insist that his home should be pleasant, orderly, and well man~ aged ; the same right which his wife has to de- mand that she be sheltered and provided for in that home. In the endeavor to make her fellow-passengers, your own age, aud incidental home all that it should be. by the exerciso of o toilette luxuries you can indulge in, but. ‘his_eyes put out? This, we | .spect of her cesi skill and judgment,—by manual labor, too, if needinl,—women is uplifting, not degrading herself. George MacDonald has said that no vice is so ruinous to the human ‘soul o3 indulgence in “respectable gelfishness.” Since women, in most cazet, hes 06 anxiety as to meinfenance, if she Lo freed from the burden of household cares, there is left her an indclent leisureé fo be spen -in tho meanest self-gratification. ~ Nor i it possible for_her to evoid paging the severest penalty for such evasion of her .duty. The nervousness which so often makes a woinan 2 burden to herself and every one about her, is, in almost every caro, the direct result of an “in- dolent, ivresponeible mode of lifa. Tvery human being is posscssod of o certain degree of energy, wiich must find & channel,— an outlet. 1t follows, then, that & women must ke usc of her energics, 83, if ghe fail to do 50, Naturo will take revenge by transferring the guilty ono into a nertous, fretiul invalid. That woman among us}is not sweet tempered, is an esgertion which few will atterapt to” dony. Go cut upon thé strect,or into & crowded assem-~ blage, and yon cinnot {ail to be strack by the look of peevish dissatisfaction on the faces.of women, After regarding them, it will be an ebsolute relief to turn to the men, whese frank, ploasant demesnor would never lead you to guess that neerly every one amorg them “carries constantly 2 heavy burden of care and anxiety. Man would becomo as fretful as woman wers 16 to throw aside labor and responsibility, snd foldbis hands in idleness. He would eat out his own heart, just as woman does, under pre- cisely similar circuinstances. “ But, it is urged, wo would not have women idle ; we wish her to devote her time to culture ; to widen_ her range of thought ; to add to her store of knowledge.. Such a plan sounds very well ; but, unfortunately, there are rmany ‘women, just as there are many men, whose men- tal endowments are not such to admit of o great degreo of culture. That the work of man is very often brain-work, is true ; still, such labor iz a _matter of.absolufe need ; and calture, in_such s cage, does not follow as a necessary implication. If & woman have not the capacity for intellect- ual improvement, -no leisure can make her cul- tivated; sad the comparative ignoranco of women. whose time is wholly their own is suf- ficient proof of this statement. Thetime which many &_woman spends in dressing, in making calls, in amusemonts, ~would, if roporly 'empfoyed, transform her mto a _szcons fydis Maria Child or Maria Mitchell. Al that is lack- ing is mental capacity,—en endowment which in- avm.blfi brings & thirat of knowledge with it. Since that is not present with the_majority of women, it ig folly to ask them to ‘devote their leisure to literary pursuits. Nothing can muke of tho average man a culti vated person. .He will read Lig newspaper dail; will, perhaps, get through acouple of magazines onca a morth ; will listen patiently to a lecture, provided it be intoresting, and not overburdened with technicel termsy or bofogged, with meta- physics ; beyond that he does not care to_ go. ‘And those who .most earnestly hope for and ad- vocate a high degree of culture in woman, will beve to learn that she is nof, any more than ‘man, capable of atteining to it. Such being the case, docs it not become appa- rent that emancipation’ from Ilabor cannoi be a blessing to womau ? T3 3 And now for o few words on_the servant-girl question: - 2 Why is it that, in the majority of cases, a man succeeds in directing the labor of employes to the best possible end? Simply because he him- eolf understands every detail of the work to . which he i giving his supervision. An igonorant master or foreman does not com- ‘mend tho respect of bis men; too ofton-he de- | moralizes thom, instead. Tho sameis true as regavds » woman and the servants in her house- hold. A mis; i donestic dutis does sn incompsient houselesper meet unwillingness and importineiace from those in der employ, Desapite of allthe blamo which has been laid upon domesic servants, the writer Lelioves thab | thioy ere more sinned sgainst than sinning. An 'ignorant, unskilled girl is called mpon by tho mistress to do labor, for the proper performance of which carefal training is required. Of courso, the girl blunders; equally, of courae, she is sharply cLided for her failure; boing only hu- man, sho flics into a rago, and, if she do not quit Der pluce, she wili look npou her misiress es s personel cneiny. and take every occusion to dis- 2ppoint and annoy her. 3 * Hired girls ore so etupid end ungracious,” mavy a woman will way, oa reading the fore- going. *Ouly try Dridget and Mury for a few weeks ; you will then eco how impossible it is to b paticat and forbearing in your dealings with them d tkat they aro not w wonld with; it romaing ihen, f cullivate patienco. Hana and Hliko means modely of intelligenco aud amiab yet their enployers manzge to get on with thom exceedidgly well. How can o mistress cxpeet vespeciful treatment from a servant toward whom she has not demeaned Lerself courteous- .1y ? The social inferiority of the Bcrvant rec ers it an easy matier to wound her feelings; makes her keenly fensitivo to every unkind word and ungracious action on the part of hor superiors. Yet hiow few aro tue mistreeses who remember {hat their sersants fre women too, r,;x‘xl nced kindness acd sympathy, rest and recra- stion. Woman’s fretfrl, rasping temper, and iftensi- fied selfishness, stand in the way of the ‘propct training of her Gorvents. Indoed, itwould boa difficult matter to find & woman who would ackmowledge it to o hor duty to devote n cer- tain share of time and attention to the tenching of her hired girl. Nevertheloss, it is tho dnty of every woman,—partly because, by ko doing, ehe 2dds to the comfors and well-being of her own family; partly becanse she can render the ser- vant better fitted to carn o livelihood and to make & home for herself some day. “The woman ywho does eo will show hersclf o for betior Christian than the one who assists ot fairsand fostivals, sowing circles and missionary meetings, or any of those two-penny charitics in which woman €0 delights, It has_been eaid, again and again, that o mother shonld train her dzughters to houschold 1abor, as & father trains tho sons who are to suc- ceed him in his calling ; and of that part of tho subject it s scarcely necossary for the writer to speak. To the ofi-ropented objection, What would & man gay were he to call and find a_girl omployed in a kitchen or laundry?—it need only bo enswered that n man is not likely to call _at the hour when domestic duties engage attention; that, if he do 80, he will scarcely fake the liberty of penetflfiniitso Litchen or laundry in search of the object of his visit; lnstly, that, oven were ha to do such a thing, he would be neither shocked nor gstonished, but wonld take the whole pro- cecding quite a8 a matter of counrse. Because of the neglect on the part of mothers to train their dsughters, and impose upon them their responsibilities, thousands of women either refuse utterly to commence honsekesping o, after a few languid attempts, give up the nn~ dertaking, and persuade their husbands to seelt tho plensant haven of hotel or boarding-houso. The woman who thus ebandons home-life is guilty of as_contemptible cowardice 28 a man would exhibit were he to sbandon his business because of the cares and perplexities which be- set him on every side. " All thonghtful persons loment this steadily~ growing teridency on the part of woman to ex- changethe swoet and safe ehelter of her home for this barren homelessness of a boarding- house. Boarding breaks home ties ; .exposes children to countless dangors ; loosing the band which unites husband and wife ; is productive of numberlees ills ; and has not one compensat- iné good. - annot women be brought to see this; an laylng aside selfishness and love of ease, & hergelf to the task of making her home 5 homs in the truest mense of the word, the abode of happiness and peace, the sweetest spot on earth to husbend and children not less than eohect‘s:zt? Eishop Haight. The Bishop-clect of Massachusetts, the Rev. Benjemin L. Haight, D. D., LL, D., is on as- sistant minister of the %flnfi parish of Trinity Church, New York, and is Rector—in connection with that office—of St. Paul's Chapel, in the same city. Dr. Hfigm received his spocial - theological training at the General Theological Beminary of tho Episcopal Church, "~and for o long time filled its Professorship of Pulpit Eloquence and the Pastoral Care. He was also for some time Rector of All Saints’ Church, in New York. It would be almost im- possiblé to enumerate all the high positions of trust and responsibility which he has held in the Church; among them are places upon.its General Foreign Board of Migsions; npon the oint committee on ihe religious reform in taly, and upon the Church “Commission to the Freedmen. Dr. Haight has repeatedly representod the Diocese of New York in the General Conventions of the Church, and he is, and has been for many yenrs, * the custodian of the standard Etnyex-bu ‘Within his_own Dioceee, his offieial positions have been almoat without number. e is about (5 years of age ; his health bas besn somewhat feeble in the past, but is now understood o bo well established. Three ardent female converts to tho Baptist Church wero recently immersed in o Wisconsin river, with the thermometor below zero. EUGEHIE GRANDET; Scenes of Provineial Life: Translated from the French of Delalzac for The Chi cazo Tribune, XTI At lost, one evening, toward the close of spring, Hadame Grandet, consumed by grief far ‘more than by sickness, and not having succeed- ed, with all her entreaties, in reconciling Eugenio and her father, confided her seccxot sorrows to tho Cruchots. : «Put o girl of twenty-threa.on bread and water!” exclaimed the President de Bonfons, « and without cause! But that constitutes ill gal ill-udage; ehe can protest contra, and—-" “ Come, my nephew,” seid the notary; “drop your court-room jargon. Be:quiet, Madame. I ' Will have a stop put to this imprisonment by to- morrow.” 3 Eugerio, hearing them talk of her, lefi her room. C “ Gentlemon,” said she, nrged forward by an impulse of pride, ‘* I beg younottoconcern your~ selves with this matter. My father is moster ab home. 8o long asIlive in his house, I must obey him. His conduct should not be open to the approval or disapproval of the world; he is responeible for it to God alone. I demand from your friendship the profoundest silence concern= ing this. To blame my father would be to at- tack our own honor. I thank you, gentlemen, for the interest you take. in me; but you would oblige me more if you would stop the offensive reports which circulate in the city, and of which 1 have been informed by accident.” “She is right,” said Madame Grandet. #Mademoiselle, the best way to make people quit talking is to have your liberty restored to you,” replied, respectfally, the old notary, struck by the beauty which seclusion, melancholy, and love had given to Eugenie. “Well, my daughter, leave it to Mr. Cruchot to settle this matter, since ho enswers for his success. He Lnows your father, and under- stands how to take him. If you want to see me happy during the little time I have left to live, ‘it is necessary, at any price, thet your father and you should be reconciled.” The pext day, in accordance with & habit which Grandet had fallen into since Eugenie's im- prisonment, he came to wallke back and forth, & certain number of times, in his little garden. He had selected for this promenade the time when Eugenie combed her hair. When the goodman reachod the great walnut tree, he hid himself behind its trunk, remained for some moments Jooking at his daughter's long treszes, and wa- vered, doubtless, between the thoughts which the obstinacy of his character suggested to him and his desiro to embrace his child. Often he “remained sosted on the little bench of rotten wood where Charles and Eugenie had sworn eternal love, while she too looked furtively, or in her glass, at her father. I he rose and re- sumed his walk, she sat down good-naturedly at the window, and began to oxamine the bit of wall, from which hung the prettiest of flowers, and from the crevices of which shot forth Venus' hairs, bind-woed, and a thick glaut, yel- Iow or white, a sedwm, which is very abundant in the vineyards of Ssumur and at Tours, Mr. Crachot camo carly, and found the old vino- dresser seated on tho little bench, in a fine June day,—his back leaning againgt the boundary- and busied in looking at bis dsughter. What can 1 do for so, Mr. Cruchiot 2 snid the notary. 2, hove-come o (ot businss.” ¢ 4h1 sh1 haveyou alittle gold to give me for crowns ? » Xo, no; it does not relute to mouey, but our daughter Eugenie. Everybodyis talking of 4 Why do they moddlo with it. Every manis master in his own honse.” Wie “ Certaiuly ; he i free to Lill himself, or, “which is_worso, to throw his monoy out of tha windowa."” ‘HHowso?" % 2 “Why! your wife is_very eick, my friend. You ought to consuli Mr, Bergerin ; she is likely ‘todie. If she were to die without having been _mp(:'l;ly cared for, you would not be easy, I be- ¥Sfa, ta, ta, tal youlmow whet is the matter with my wife, These doctors, if they onca put & {oot in your houso, ihgy como five or six times'a Qay ‘Well, Grandet, you will do a3 sou see . We aro real friends; I donof believe thalin all. Soumur thero is o man who takes moro interest in what concerns you thanIdo; therefore, it wasmy duty to eay toyou what Ihave. Now, ‘come what may, you sre of 2ge; you can take caro of yoursclf; go ahead. Dub that iy not the mattcr which brings me. It is some- thing of more importance for you, perheps: Af- ter 2ll, you do not want to kill your wifo; she is too usefnl to you. Just think of the position in which you would bo in regard to your dnfixfh(ar, if Madame Grandot were to die. ~You will have to-account to Eugenie, sinco you and your wife heve & joint estate. Your daughter would have the right to claim o division of yopr fortune, nbd to have Froidfond sold. Inaword, she takes from her mother, from whom you cannot inberit.” 4 These words were & thunderbolt for the good~ man, who was not a8 lezrned in Jaw as he prob- ably was in commerce. He had never dreamed of & sale by order of Court. 5o I advise you to treat her gently,” ssid Gruchot, in conclusion. o “But do you know whet she did, Gruchot 2" “What 7' said the notary, curious to be told a secret by Father Grandet, and to know the cause of tho quarrel. = ““She gave away her gold. «1¥elll yas it hers 3% asked the notary. « They all soy that to me,” eaid tho goodman, letting his arms drop with & tragic emotion. “ Do youintend, for & mere nothing,” re- sumed Cruchot, * to put obstacles in the way of obtaining the concessions which you will ask her to Take you on her mother's death ?” *¢ Ah!do you call six thousand franes in gold a mere nothing 7" “Yell, my old friend, do you know what it will cost to make an inventery, and set off your wife's fortuns, if Eugenie requires it ?” ¢ Whaot 2" “Two, or three, or Feflm{s four hundred thousand franca. Vill it not be necessary to 5o into court, and fo gell, to_know the reel vaiue ? While by coming to an understanding—" “By my father's pruning-knife!” exclaimed the vine-dresser, who sat down, pale, “‘we will seo about that, Grachot.” : Aftor & moment of silence, or of agony, the goodman looked at the notery, and said to him, *Lifo is very hard. Thero aré many eorrows in it. Cruchot,” e2id he, solemnly, “you would not deceive mo; swear to me on your honor that what you have been telling me has the law for it. Show me the Code; I want to see the Code.” 1y poor friend,” replied tho notary, **donot I know my trade ?” “So itis really trne. I shall be plundored, betrayed, killed, devoured, by my daughter!” “ She inherits from her mother.” *What are children good for, thon ? Ah! my wife, I love her. Luckily, sho is sound ; she is & La Bertellicre.” ¢ She has not a month to live,” The cooper struck his forehead, walked away, came bacl again, and, 5}fin§ Cruchot & terrible look, said, ** What ehall Ido?” A “Eugenie can unconditionally rénounce her mother's estate, You do not want to disinherit her, I suppose ? But to obtain anything of this kind, do not uso her harshly. What I am sngmi 0 you, old fellow, is against my intercsts. Jus think what I would have to do ?—liquidations, inventories, sales, divisions—7" : ““We will see; we will ee. Let us ssy no more sbout this, Cruchot. You tear my heari out, Have you received any gold ¥ *“No, but I have some old louie,—a_balf-acre; I will give them to yon. _1Aly good {friend, make peaco with Eugenfe. You' see, all Ssumur is Ppiiching into you.” “Tho knayes !" 4 Come, rentes are at ninoty-nine. isfled for once in your life.” +¢ At ninety-nine, Crachot ?” “Yeu.” “Eh! oh! Ninoty-nine,” said the goodman, escorting the old notary to tho front dcor. Then, too much excited by what he had heard to stay home, he went up to his wifo, and said to her, “Come, mother, you can spend the da; with your daughter. Iam going to Froidfond. Be jolly, both of you. This is our marringe- day, my good wife! Seo, hére are six crowns for your altar on Corpus Christi Day. You have wanted ono for & long time; trest yourself. Amuse yourselves; be gay; be well. Long live pleasure!” He tossed ten crowns, of six francs each, on to his wifc's bed, and took her head to Xiss her on the forehead. *Dear wife, you are getting better, are not you?” = L U T “How can you think of recciving in your house the God who forgives, while you kee your daughter banished from your heart ?” -gai she, with emotion. Do be sat~ “Ta, ta, ta, ta!” said the father, in & soothing voice; *wo will see abou thet.” - %Goodness of Heaven! Eugenio,” cried the mother, reddening with joy, “‘come and kiss your father; he forgives you!” - But the goodmen had disappearsd. Ho hur- ried off at full speed to his_vineyards, trying to systematize his ideas, which had been turned topsy-turvy, Grandet wes then beginning his T6th year. Daring the last two years, ospflei:m!!y, his avarice” had grown, 28 do en- during human passions. In =accordance with = what has “been observed in misers, embitions persons, and all those whose Tives havo been given up fo onecontrolling ides, he had been seized with a epecial affection for the eymbol of his ruling passion. The sight of gold, and the ownership of gold, hed become his monomania, His disposition to_despotism had fromm, with his avarice, and to givs up the con: trol of the smallest portion of his possessions at his wife's death scemed to him fo be a thing 2gainst nature. To state the amonnt of his for- tune to his daughter ; to inventory all his real and personal property ; to heve it sold? It would be cutting one’s throat,” said he, aloud, in the middle of 'a, vineyard, while examining'the vines. Finally, he made up his mind, and returned to Saumus at dinner-time, determined to yield to Eugenie, to cajole her, and wheedls her, 5o that he could div right royally, holding till his Jast sigh tho Teins of his millions. Just ‘as the goodman, who had accidentally taken his ‘pass-key, went stealthily up stairs to his wife's room, Eugenie had token the beautiful dress- ing-case o her mother's bed. Both, during Grandet's absence, enjoyed the pleasure of see- ingthchules’ picture by looking at that of his mother. #Thatis just his foreheed and his mouth,” gaid Eugenie, 23 the vine-dresser opened the door. ‘As Madame Grandet saw the look her husband gave the gold, she exclaimed, ““IMy God, have mercy onus!” X * The goodman pounced upon the dressing-cage a8 o tiger does upon & aleeping child. * What is thia 2" said he, cnngn'g away the treasure, and ‘placing himself by the window. “ Good gold ! gold!"” exclaimed he; ‘‘much gold!! “This ‘Wweighs two pounds. Ah, ah! Charles gave you this for your pretty coins. Well! why did not yontellmeso? This is & good bargain, little daughter. You are my child; I recognize youw.” Eugene trembled in every limb. “Not so; this is Charles'?” continued the oodman. ! ) &% Yes, my father; it isnot mine. That article is & eacred trust.” 4y ta, ta! hohas taken your fortune; we ‘Tonst replace your little treasure.” “ My father—" o The goodman wsnted to get at his knife 50 as off & gold plate, snd was obliged to put the sgnsingcua on_a chair. Engenic sprung for~ ward to regain it; but the cooper, who had an eye on both daughter and box, put ouf his arma and pushod her away 8o violently that she fell on her mother's bed. 55 i “Girlgir!” cried the mother, sittingupin Grandet _had pulled out his Iknife, and waa getting ready totake off thegold. +¢ Ay father,” cried Eugenie, throwing herself on her knees, and wnlkm;i‘;)g them, 0 a8 to get ‘nearer the goodman, and iifting up her hands to im, ‘¢ My father, in the name of all the gaints, and of the Virgin, in the name of Chrisf, who died on the cross for the sake of your eternal ‘salvation, my father, for tho sake of my life, do ot touch that. That toilet-case is neither youra nor mine ; it belongs to sn_unbappy relative, who intrusted it to me, and [ have to give it back to him unharmed.” =~ # Why did you look atit if it was a trust? Looking i3 worse than touching.” ) Ny father, do not destroy it, or you dishonor me! M; father, do you hear 2" “Sir? for mercy’s sake! " aaid the mother. 1y father " cried Eugenie, in 80 piercing & ‘voice that Nanon was frightened and came up. "Engenie sprung on & knife which was within reach, and armed berself with it. : #\ell 7" said Grandet, coldly, toher, with a cold smile. 3 4¢ Sir, pir, you kill me1” said the mother. « ]y father, if your knife merely scraiches a i of that gold, 1 wil stab mygall with this one. ‘You have nfm ‘made my mother mortaily ill ; you will also kill your dsughter. Go on, now; wound for wound.” Grandet 1aid his Inife on the foilet-case, and e looked st his deughter doubtingly. . % Are you really capable of it, Eugenie!” said ho. “Yes, sir,” said the mother. r; ¢“She will do what she eays!” cried Nanon. #Do be reasonable, sir, oncein your lifo.” The cooper looked ajternately at the gold and his daughter for o mement. Madame Grandst swooned. . - “There, do you 6ee, my dear sir? Madame is dying!” exclaimed Nanon. “Here, my daughter, do not let us quarrel sbout & box. Take it, then!” exclaimed the cooper eagerly, throwing the dressing-case on the'bed. You, Nenon, go for Mr. Borgorin. Como, mother,” eaid he, kissing his wife's hand, “this'is nothing; we have made paace. Not €0, little dsughter 7 No more dry bread. You sh: eat whatever you please. ! she opens her eyes. -Well, mother, memmy, como. Look here; I am kissing Eugenie. Sho loves her cousin; she shall marrybiin if sho wanta to; she shall koep his little box for him. Batlive long, my poor wife. Como, stir! Listen; you shal have tho finest altar that was ever made in *‘ %y God ! how can you treat your wife and child thus?” said Afadima Grandet, in & wealk voica. - I will siot do it mg more, any more,” cried tho cooper. * You shall see, my poor wife."” He went to his closet; and came back with a haodfol of louis, which he scattered about on tho bed. * Here, Engenie,—here, my wife,— these are for you,” said he, playing with tha louis. *Come, be merry, my wife; get well; yon shall want nothing, nor shall Eugenie. Here are o hurdred gold louis for her. You will not give these away, will you, Eugenio2” Madame Grandet and her daughter looked at one another with amazement. “Take them back, father ; weneed only your affection.” - “Well, it is all right,” s2id he, pocketing the louis, ““let us live like good friends. Letus all o down 1o the sitting-room for dinner, and play penny-loto every evening. Have your little amusements. Eh, my wifs 2" wi Alas! I should be glad to do 8o, sinceit might pleass you,” faid the dying woman; “ut T cannot got up.” #Poor mother,” said the cooper, ““you do not know how I love it::. And you, my daughter!” o hugged. and kissed her. Ok, how gaod it is to kiss one's dsughter after a guarrel! My little daughter! There, you see, mammy, we are only one mow. (o and lock that up,” said he to Eugenie, pointing to the. dressing-case, 4, Go—ung fear nothing. I shall never speak to you of it again.” L Mr. Bergerin, the most noted physician of Baumur, soon came. The consultation over, he positively told Grandet that his wife was very iIl, bat that undisturbed mental quiet, gentle treatment, and constant care might protract her Life till the closo of autumn. “1Vill it be dear ?” gaid the goodman. ‘Wil it tako many drags 2 5 “Few drugs, but much sttention,” replied the physician, who conld not refrain from smil- ing. §:Wen, Mr. Bergerin, you are a msn of honor, are younot? I trust toyou ; come and see my wifé just as often as you think it_advis- sbie. Save me my good wife. I love her . grest desl, you. seo, without its showing, because, with me, everything sirikes in snd harrows mysonl. I amin dis- tress. Distress. came into my house when my brother died, for whom' I spent in Paris’ sums—the eyes from my head, in a word; and it has no end. Good dsy, sir. If my wife can be saved, save her, evon if it was necessary to spend ome or two hundred francs.” 1In spite of tho fervent wishes of Grandet con- corning the health of his wife, the opening of the question of her inheritance being a first death for him; in spito of the ingness which he conalmtlfidinplsyed fo carry out the least wishes of the astonished mother and danghter ; in spite of tho tenderest cares lavish~ od by Tugonio; Madnme Grandet went rapidly | toward death, Day by day she grew weaker, - and . wasted swsy.. as do. most women of her age who are attacked by sickness. She was as fragile as the leaves of the trees in autumn. The rays of heaven made her-lean like those leaves which the sun ‘shiuesthrough and gilds, It was & denth worthy of her life,—a perfectly Christisn denth; and does not that mean s sublime one? During ‘the month of Octoper, 1822, her virtues, her angeli¢ " patience, and het love for her daughter, specially manis fested themselves; eho faded away without hav- ing allowed the slightest complaint to escape her. A “spotless lamb, she. went'to Heaven, and re- etted of carth ouly the gentle companion of E‘;r cold life, to whom her last. looks seemed to predict a thousand misfortunes. She trembled at leaving that sheep, white as herself, alone in the midst of an égotistical world, which desired to tear from her her feece, her treasures. ¢ My child,” said she to her, before dylvx;ii ““thero is happiness in Heaven alone ; you Wi Inow it some time.” i The day after her death, Eugenie found new Tessons for attachment to that house where she 'was born, where she had suffered so much, and where her mother had died.- She could not look at the window 2nd the raised chair in the sitting room without shedding tears. Sho believed she had misconceived hor ol the:’s feelings, when &b saw horself the objitif Lis most devotcd attentions;he offered br I3 arm to coms dovn to breakfast , he bokediner with cn almosg kindly eye, for henrs ;ir shott, he brooded over her, as i¢ ghc hd been of gold. The old cooper WiNgo rlje_himself, ho trems bled so before histangle) that Nenon and tha Cruchotins, witnesg oils wealkness, aitribat= ed it to his advanca, geand therefore fearad that his mind wes invay; bub the day om which the family p‘ 1mousning, aiter tha dinner was over o Ych Mr. Cruchot, who slon Imew bhis clnlseerst, wes iavited, tha conduct of the goo_in;;,! expiained. *¢ My dear child, 8sid to Eugenic when the 1abl8 was clearedad thejgors carefully closed, “you &8 Jout wha:‘s sircse, acd we hava some littlo mven to sile betwi 0n ot go, Crachor™ - de betwoen wa b Yes,” ““Is it really 2Cossarr 1o aind to them toe day, my father’ i“Yes, yes, lledanglter. | cannot stand the present uncerinty. Ilo ng believa you wand to cause me trible.” 3 On! my faer—" “ Well, it is:cessaryto sattle ali this, this evening.” :‘ f;“i“ud& ¥ “hntt I nould do, then > ¢ But, littlavghter, & is not my business, Tell her, Cractr e s ¢ Mademoise, your fher would be glad to avoid a divisi the eale of his property, and the payment s immense taxes on the ready money he maave. Butin order to escapa that, it will becessery taomit making an in- ventory of thntire fortums of which you and your father gnow joint owners—" ““Crachot,’ yon sure of that, to speak of it thus before 1ild?"” “Tet mo gk, Grendet.” “Yes, yes,7 friend. Neither yon nor my daughter wap despoil me. Is not that so, little daughte ¢ But, 3Ir. ichot, what must I do2" asked Eugenie, impntly. - % #¥Well,” saho notary,” you must sign thix deed, by whiyon waive your right to yomz mother’s estaing leave your father the usu- fruct of yournt property, and of which ha guarantees yole bare ownership.” + I do not utstand aword of what you are tem:E me,” e2iugenie; * give me the deed, and show me tllace where I am to 5ign.” - Father Grancooked alternately ot the deed and his daughtéis daughter and the deed.—é prey to au;l:n vt emofioun% bflfib }?fmr ‘Sined Bway some dropi gyeat whi on. B s o . o ittle dangh gaid he, “instead of signe ing that deed, thugistration ‘of which wonld cost & good deal“you will mncorditionally waive your right konr poor, dear dead mothe er's proparg, an amf apon me for the fu~ ture, I should lngn. I will then allow yor a big round sum of hundred francs & month. See; you can by aiany masses as you please- for those for Wiorjou want thew said. EhL ahundred franc aignth in livres 2" ~ “Iwill do whteryon lite, my father.” “ Mademoigeb, "said the notary, “it is mwt daty to tell youhayon deprive yourself —" ““Well, good eaing | gaid she, ** what doeat that matter to 32" ‘ Be nilent, Gicht, Ttis said; it i3 eald,” cried Grandet, kinghis daughier's hand and striking it agait his, “ Eugenio, you will nok back out ; you » & trithful girl, eh 2 “Qh! my fatr— Hekissed herisaionstely, and geve her am slmost stifling k. 2 ‘¢ Go, my chi; you give your father lifes but yougive bato him what b2 gave you ; we are even. This tho way busines transactions ehould be carriem, Life is a tusiness trans« action. Lblessy, You are a virtuous girl, who trulyloves bpapa, Do wist you Blea.;e now. 1willseey to-morrow, Crnzhet.” said he, looking st thamazed notary. * You wilk gee about having s deed of renwnciation prop~ erly drawn up at { Clerk’s office.” E The next day, gut noon, the paper by which Eugenie robbed helf was sigaed. However, despite his word athe close of.the firat year, the old_cooper bmot given eren a penity of the hundred francemonth, g0 solemnly prom- jsed his daughter. o, whg? Ergenio spoke of it to him, jolking he%could not keep from. blushing ; he went3 quickly tohis closet, re- turned, and offert her abou: o third of the jewelry he bad takefrom his nephow. ¢ Hore, little onc said he, n an _iromical tone, ““will yon talthese for yoar t'velvo hun= dred francs #” 1 . “Oh! my father Will you really give them tomes:” 41 will give you; many more next year,” said he, tossing theinto her apron. “§o, ina little while, you willsve all his trinkeis,” added e, rubbing “his han, and happy at beiug sble to speculate on his aghter’s affecton. Novertheless, the 1man, thongh still hearty, felt the necessity of itiating his denghter into the secrets of his hoehold. For V0 consecu~ tive years he made b, in his presence, give the necessary orders reliva to_housekeeping, and receive his rents. Etaught her, slowly and successfully, the nars and the characteristica of his vineyards andis forms, By the third ear he had so thoromly accustomed her to all is avaricions ways, &l had so completely them habitnal with b, that, witkont fear, ba loft her the keys of 1o paniry, and roade har tho mistress of the hose. [To bs contdied next week.] ———— THE TW/CHIEFTAINS, et DE. 4, 1872, Trom the coast of Califfni to Masmchnzerts Bay, The thirty-seven Natids stretch, it choose thelr Cuief to-day; And thirty-seven meetigs upon this day were set, But the Ruler of the ¥tions has calkd =notker yet; "These called by earthy powers, this by the Ring of These x_—.lisga asong of triumph, this funersl anthem sin B Al meet 1o wown » Chieftein ; the briag thero lsurek crovn g And thia the wreath if immortelles oz 4l white brow lays down; i And the chaplet of e victor is seen through tesra e And theshout of 7 that hails im & broken by & The land was sordy shaken by the sinie that eved Tho Brt with fercest hatred—the £xfe of formes friends. Forgot are hate and rancor, regretted werfare's heat 3 *Tia in a pesceful temple that, at last, ferivals meet. A Mightier than either doth within tha tunpls rel, Ang, in His awful presence, the ez are fi sgaln. . = Tho vigtor cormus in sedzess ; 1ow beods bis faurelled ea “Tho vangulshed somes fn digrity—the st of worthy ea 4 One w{hmm;?{ with conqueror’s glory ; ce, beaten im c strife, ‘Wears yet his cfown of honor of finidet, noble 1ife,~ The richest of regalis that can e’er op mortal lie, 2 For wg‘ can count nope famous till #e have seen himy. 0. One secs tho beck of Natlons and bears the callof tates; ° One s heard his Master whisper, Come thou within. m)} tes ‘Both haye waged a mighty warfare, oge With pen and. one with sword ; One is chosen of the Natlons, ane elected of the Lord. But a life has closed in sadness that in fru¢ful tofl wes = Bpent A leader, used 10 victory, beneath defeat 1as bent, Heard overy Jest and eviry smeer hesped on s Barde And, 12 that darkest hor, the awful Summens came. Was'this fit end of thosa decades of naver-ceaiing ight, Of magy 3 desr-bonght Victory {or Freedom aad 108 g! To feal ot Iast s bleeding heart, laid open to theday, . Pecked at by every buzzard that chose it for ha prey B TR honaanolds the-ona most t308 snd) tru That might baro soothed. his sorvor, gane o B e : Waa it Bt 60 for earnest 1ife to dio in sors defiat, With recling brain and sickened soul, the grily King tomect? : Lot that vast concourse answer that gathers rcund his v ; Hear fhe atswor of the frecdmsn, for Weary SeaTs & slave ; Hear the answer of the sges as they gather himal From the turmoil of the Present to the quiet of thy Who has lived to servo his people ehall never whally dis; i Ho sball live when in ohlivion all his weak defsmerd e Time, to his wreath of honor, shall but add lrlrihe{ bloo; For A 1ife that left us better” Is carvea cn his fomb} 731id all tho wreck of 3ges such opitaph remains; Btorms, which erase all stains, ¢ his death wss omo of sadness, we can only bow aud} #a: : Tord, Waknow Thou livest ever, though unsearchab ‘Thy way, Bo dieth taany a leader of 3 Heaven-chosen ban And many & Moees faileth to reach the Promised Aye, well, may they be tender s they lay bim to Tesi 3 Well lay the flowers heloved in 1ifo upon his prlseles reast ; % o would not dim the lLauzels that twine ronad victo ead ‘But grecner is the garland that is worn by the dead, ‘s at last hie finds bis victory, at lust forgets defeat, Bencatl his ricls )ifes aymbl, the skl af Tipe wheat, 5 FIIGELAND Panx, Dec, 10, 1872, ') —Some people m:g not Ymow that tho tobace men, the ffltb e mortar and pestle, the bj shoo, and other symbolic_signs of txaénaml;fi are relics of a time when the public was 80 ig norant that letiered siens were uselese. others, but clear away §