Chicago Daily Tribune Newspaper, March 3, 1878, Page 10

s 10 Avenne Church, corner of Warren svenue, at 10:30 2. m, and 7:30 p. m, # —The Rev. E. K. Cressey will preach fn the Corentry Street Church, corner of Bloomingdale road, 6t 10:30 8. m. snd 7:30m. —The Rev. C. E. Hewitt will preach in the Cen- tennfal Church, corner of Lincoln and Jackson streets, 2£10:308. m. ana 7:30 p.m. - —Tbe Rev. R. . Allison wii preach in the North Star Church, corner of Division and Sedg- wick streets, at 10345 s, m. and 7:30 p. m, —The Rev. E. O. Taylor will preach in the Cen- tral Chureh, Martine's Hall, Chicago avenue, be- tween Clark and Dearbom strecte, at 10:452, In. —The Rev. H. A. Keichenbach il preach in the Nordish Tavernacle, corner of Noble and West ~The Rev. Joi ngman preat g;rzdolshchnn} Oax strect, néar Sedgwick, -at :30 a. m. snd'7:30 p. m. - e Reve W 4. Hermote will presct: fn the gflmd‘sucet Church, lguw!e;n“flog%afl;fl manrl ‘orty-second streets, ot 11 a. m. and 7:30 p. m. iiliard-Avenge bflz:,urcn. Lawnaale. Services 8t10:30 2. m. and 7:30 p. m. HIe G SO Al preach fa Evangel Charch, Rock Isiand car-chops, Dearborn strect, Tiear Forty-seventh, st 10:45 3. m. and 7:30 v. m. —Thelter. . X" Carr will preach fn Downer's ve Charch gt 11a. m. and 7 p. m. O CHer. G 1, Eumbal wil preach fn Engle- wood Cliurch. Englewood avenue, nearStewart, at 11:30 & m. 2nd 7:30 p. m. ¥ ZThe Rev. F. L. Chapell will preach in the First Evanstop Church 8¢ 10:30 a. m. and 7:30 p. m. —The Rev. H. L. Stetson will preach injthe Lake- Shore Church, Winnetka, 4t 10:30 a. m. —The Rev. J. K. Wheeler will preach in Austin Churchat10:43 . m. and 7:45p. m. —The Rev. A. Blackburn will preach in Oak Park Church, Temperance Hall, ot 10:30 a. m. and 30 p. m. Zhe Rev. C. C. Marston will preach in Norwood Park Churchat11a. m. and 7p, m. - —The Rev. H. L. Stetson will preach in Uinty Church, Wilmete, in the evening, The Rev. C. W.Olney will preacn in Hyde Park Church at 10:30s. m. REFORMED EPISCOPAL. The Rev. M. D. Church preaches at St. John's Church, Eilis avenve, near Thirty-ninth’ strecl, ‘morning and evening, —The Rev. W. J. Hunter preaches at St. Paul's Charch, corner of Washington and Ann streets. Morning subject: **Do the Spirits of the Departed Fecl an Interest in and Know What Is Tragepiring on Earth.” Evemng: **The Drama of Lifc,” by request of numerous parishioners who heard the Eermon a week ago. ~The Rev. R. H. Bosworth preaches atGrace Church, comer of Hoyreand Le Moyne strects, morning and evening, and at Enziewood in the af- ternoon. ° —There will be regular eervices at the Church of 1he Good Shephera, corner of Jones and Homan strects, morning and evening. ~The Rt.-Rev.-Bishop Cheney will preach lin Christ Church, corner Michigan avenue and Twenty- fourth strect, at 10:45 a. m. and 7:30 p. m. Morning subject: **“What Is That to Thee'; evening: **Clean Christians.” T XNEW JERCSALEM. The Rev. W, F. Pendieton preaches In the Tem- pic, cormer of Washington street and Ozden ave- xnne. at 3o'clock. Subject: **The State of Chil- dren After Death.” He preaches at New Charch Chapel.. corner of Clark and Menomince strcets, in the evening on the same subject. ~—The Rev. L. P. Mercer preaches at Hershey Hall this morning. Subject: *‘The Armies of Heaven." —The Rev. 0. L. Barber will preach in New Church Hall, cormer of Eighteenth street and Prairie avende, at11a. m. INDEPENDENT. The Res. John E. Morris preaches at West Aadiion street, morning and evening, —The Rev. H. M. Paynter preaches ar Calvary Tabernacie, Ogden avenuc, near Harrison strect, morning and evening. —Mr.°C. M. Morton wil! epeak fn the Chicago Avenue Church, corner of LaSalle street, morning and evening. —3ir. Georze W. Sharp will preach 1 Burr Mission Chapel, No, 380 Third avenue, at 11 g, m. 20d 7:30 p. m. 0. 213 UNITARIAN. The Rev. Robert Collyer will preach in Unity Church. comer of Dearborn avenue and Walton Place, morning and eveninz. : ~The Rev. T. B. Forbuh will preich in the Third Chureh, corner of Monroc and Lafiin streets, 2030:455. m._ Subject: **Loalty." The Rev. J. T, ‘Sunderland wil) preach in {he Fourth Church, Prairie avenue mear Thirtieth Btreet, at11a.m. —re. Eliza R: Sunderland will preach in Union Hall, Evanston, at7:40 p. m. Mr. J. k. Collins will sing two solos in connection with the service. CHRISTIAN. —The regular eervices will be held at the church corner of Indiana avenue and Twenty-fifth street, —The Rev. A. J. White preaches at Central Church, corner of Western svcnue and Congress £trect. * Moming eubject: **The Word of Jesus.” Evening: **The Present Age—Its Conflicts, Sor- rows, snd Responsibilitics ™ ! —Elder M. X. will preach in the Central Church, Campbell ‘Hall, corner of Van Buren street and Campbell avenue, in the morning. UNIVERSALIST. The Rev. Dr. Ellis preaches at the Church of the Bedeemer. Evening subject: ‘*Another Word About Washington, K —The Rev. Dr. Ryder will preach in St. Paul's Charch, Michigan avenue, near Eighteenth strect, inthe morning. and Dr. Reynolds, the sleader of the Red-Ribbon temperance mosement, in the evening. LUTHERAN, The Rev. Edmund Belfour preaches in the Church of the Holy Trinity, corner of Dearborn avenue and Erie sireets, morning and evening. MISCELLANEOUS, Elder Russell will preach at the Tabernacle, No. 91 Soath Green street. morning und cvening —The Progressive Lyceum meots at Grow's Hall 3t 12:30. : —Discipies of Christ will meét at No. 229 West Randolph streetatp. m. - —The First Soclety of Spirituslists will meet in Grow's Opera-Hall, No. 518 West Madison streer, 8t 10:452. m. and 7:45 p. m, Mre. Cora L. V. Richmond, trance epeaker. Morning ‘fubject: *+ Proofs of Immortality from Pure Reason, The- ology, and Spiritnalism," by the epirit of William Eliery Ci . Evening: **The Solution of Several Social Problems,’ by the apirit of Rovert Dale Owen. —A mediums and Spiritualists’ meeting will be Beld in the parlors of Mr. Richarneon, third floor of No. 239 West Madison street, at 3 p. m., and also in the parlors of Kate Bryant, third fioor of No. 334 Milwaukee avenue, at 7:30 p. m. The Rev. C. Petren will preach n hio chapel of the Washingtonian Home at 3 p. m. Tempor- ance experience meeting in the evening at 7:30 oclock. —The Gospel temperance service formerly held in the cofee-house No, #04 Cottuge Grove avenue will be eid to-day in Carr's Ball, No. 780 Cottage Grore avenne, from 4 13 & p. m, : —The Rev. ‘Sumuer ENS will preach for the Christian Unlon Soclets in Tillotson's Hall, Bo glewood, at3:30 p. m. —Dr. . &. Renolds will speak this 18 the Charch of ibe Good Shepherd, J¥hes and Harmon strects, and this evening ot St. Paul's Tniversalist Church, Michigan avenue, near Six- teenth street. : CALENDAR FOR THE WEEK. EPISCOPAL. Afarch 3—Quinquagesima, March G—Ash-Wednesday. 2areh 7—-Second Day of Lens- Afarcl, 8- Third Day of Lent, ternoon _ Mgreh 8—Fourth Day of Lent. %:?Z\‘ tfifigf\'\'eanc'uda;.q;:glnnln'z o; Lent. AMtarch 7—St, Thomas Aquinss, C. D.; SS. Per- Afarch 9—St. Frances of Rome, W. HE WOULD BE A RED-RIBBON MAN. *What new style Is thisr gaf e ¥l s id quaint Farmer ‘Y‘ TRed ribbons are finttering all over the town, i d:.‘l‘\'e up 1o Simpson's and rinse out my roat, And l;l::Lhrlgbmzt of ribbons will trim this old Ta shaw these vain peaple that };eu{nkazen;; udn):?n up 1o the freaks he times, ™ ed his wagon, and, cracking the whi Ther plowed through the mid like a Balt stramied handfal of dimes The bar-room was flled with fte Satnriay enests, &nd red ribbons adoraed nearly all of the vents, While nobing but red could be read inthe Even red was the color of each g : Rted was the liguor that Troely 01 flove " 4nd red were the cyes the rerlection would show; d Brown, when he joined them, t0 prove e was . ready, Exposcd 018 red head with a hand quite unsteady. Bright slars were peepin ’ g from a heaven of bluo— Eisrity's watchers—the pure and the trae; ool by hile out of the west Arose tae full moon, 0 Hlghten the night of & radiant Junes - inh L, 'neath the soft lustre of silvery sheen, 4 huge, enoring slecper wcas found on the green— 48 Tound with a bottle tight-clasped ta his breast, And 2 yard of red ribbon Ppinned on to his vest. They pioneea the sound sleever, and bore him Wncr: &e Steps of & watchman would mot dare to A Enight of the ribbon eo bisely disorasy And 2 new mode of life he quickly sare g, Cuiciao, Febroary. gamer oLl Smbracea. e Viiprre, A THOUGHT. The days will come, and the days will Bringing jov to some, 10 others wor | 50 But, as they pass, to me they say, » Gone from your life is anothar day. Say, What of thebud? What of the flower? 18 the promise bright for the fnal hour? For, sigh a3 we will, regret 2s we may, Tears and sorrow recall no day. Live, then, the life of promuse bright. That,gladdens the day, illumes the night, Brings with esch mors the wil to do The Master's work while here below; And 85 time passes, and Desth draws near, “The fatare for us is hopeful and fair. Cucaco, Feb. 22, 1878. A.W. P BOSTON. Boston's Last Audacity---The New Ef- gland Theatre-Reform As- sociation. Elevating the Stage Through the Jolly Toper, “Rip Van ‘Winkle.” A *Christian Matron » Joins the Ranks of the Elevators—She Denounces Nogjeska and Clara Morris. P The General Feeling About This Ele- vating Business. Modjeska. at the Museum, and “the Idleness of Warnings. From Our Own Correspondent. ‘BosToxN. Mass., Feb. 27.~One of the absurd~ est ot Boston andacities is the Soclety for the Elevation of the Stage, or, as they elibly put it, **The New England Theatre-Reform Assovi- ation.” Just think of their initlal title,—N. E. T. R. A. It looks as formidable as the S. P. C. T. A. People have thought little about this new whim of a Society, and said less, uutil toey came before the public, as they did the other afternoon at the Globe Theatre, with the play of *Rip Van Winkle.” Then the dozs of war are Jet loose, and from all sides, except, of course, that of the Soclety itself and its friends, come the cries of criticism and question. ““Why in the name of common sense,” shouts the in- digoant admirer of Jefferson, *did these ama- teurs with the blg purpose and the big name seck to stultify themsclves at the outset by attempting to perform Joe Jefferson’s master- Dicce?” *And howdo they propose to give us, who need it, the initial lesson in reform by depicting the life of the jolliest drunkard on record?” asks another of the critics. Into the 8. B. Club, the other evening, after this amateur performauce by theN. E. T. R. As., our Dom comes in a high state of excitement. “What do they mean to do by this kind of thing, or what do they think they mean to do?” he burst out irrelevantly, to his auditors’ aston- ishment aud mystification; for our thoughts were not 8®the N. E. T. R. As., or thir doings or undoings. A question brought him to the point, and made things clearer. He had been to the Globe that afternoon to witness the new Reform Society’s attempt to play *Rip Van Winkle.”” Was it well done? “ 1t was a very fair copy of Jefferson. But the question is not whether it is well or ill done, but what in the mischief they think they are doing in the way of reform by giving us this picture of the most fascinating toper in existence,— AJMAN WHO MAKES ALL THE AUDIENCE IN LOVE WIrg une, even when he drivks away house, and lands, and honor, and reduces his wifeand daughterto destitution. Why, it was the funniest thing in the world forme to sit there and watch Mr. Richardson do the thing 50 well, and to know alt the time that he was doing it under the ban- ner of Reform.” “Reform!” struck in Brunetta, lifting up ber chin. “Does anybody really suppose that they did it for any idea of reform? Well, per- haps they had an idea of that kind in the be- ginning, or thought {hey had,~for it is aston- ishinz how peoble can persuade themselves into any belief that happens to go with their in- clinations. Why, it was_only last week that I persunded myself that I needed a new bonnet, when I had three alrecady! Sothese N. E. T. R. As. have persuaded themselves that they are interested in the reform of the stage, and that their little Society is going to do_some wonder- ful wonders, and that cverybody 1s going to rise up aud call them blessed for it ; whereas, at the bottom of it ail, the great and sole reason for the N. E. T. As. being is their own itching w come before the public. And I think it is the most presumptiious audacity for them to make pretense, as they do, that their reason is for the elevation of the stage. THE ELEVATION OF THE STAGE! Look at the men and the women that have been—that are now-—professionally upon the stage. Read the history of the stage, of the efforts of the men and women who have been gifted with genius to bring before the publec the higber kind of plays. Look at the plays that were countenanced in the days of Congreve and Wycherly, and then at the stace of to-day. ‘What 2 prain in purity of tone aud expression! OI course, we have a great deal to do yet. We have got to climinate ‘Pink Dominoes,’ and others” of that ilk. But‘Pink Dominoes? is white as snow beside some of those old plays, that can’t be used now without cutting out line after line. The doing of this work will never be with amateur associations. It will be with the professional actors, as it _has always been. And they wait upon the public. They are al- ways oniy too elad to zo forward and upward; but they are constantly held back—they have always been beld back—by the people. What I mean, of course, by professional actors is the leaders,—such men as Jef- ferson, and Barrett, and Booth, and others who are following them. These are actors who play the emotional dramas. Taking Southern and "Raymond as the representatives of the comedy, what fault have we to find now with the plays they have made famous? Too light and frivolous? 1 should like to know if we are to have no more cakes and ale—no more fun —beeause some Goody Two-Shoes declares that fun is not allowable unless it;inculeates a heavy moral. I have never been able to find anything amiss inthe * Dundreary’ play, or ‘ The Crushed Tragedian,’ or in Rayinond’s Col. Selers. Has anybody, | wonder? Have any of those anxious ones who propose to do the work of centuries found ANTTOING UNCLEAN OR DETRIMENTAL to public morals in these plays? And there are scores of others that are as zood as these, Scoresof 'em! It’s onlynow and then that a olay with a really pernicious moral gets mpon the stage in these days; and does {t hold like that fing, healthy picee of realism which even Goody Tvo-Shoes and the whole family apolaud,~ ‘Our Boys'! No: I insist that the stage and its” real -representatives are ahead of the people, and the elevating business will not be done by tbe outside Goody Two-Shoes family, by ony meaps, but by the actors themsclves, as they have dlready brought us on to where we are. I think the presumptu- ous couceit of these outsiders—to suy nothing of the untruthfulness of pretense in their pur- pose—is something utterly abominable. T is sbout time that these would-be critics—these holier-than-thou people who think that they ab- sorb all the virtues, and who for years have in- sulted actors and the drama itself by their holy borror and thelr ignorant assumption that the stage was a pit of infamy—were instructed as to their own shortcomings, their own ignorance of the reality of things, and that, perhaps, if the woes of those hard workers could be compared With thelr own,—if the two coula be brovght face to face with the public, both under the 2leam of the searching footlights which reveals cverytling to tne world,—the players would lose nothing by the comparison.” With this peroration Brunetta suddenly wound up, leaving us all more or less impresseq by her impetuosity and carnestness. At any rate, her words, as well as_those of the Dom, pretty well illustrate the spirit of the outsiders, —the people who are looking on at the doings and projected plans of the N. E. T. R. Apropos of all this, in last Sunday's Herald there appeared a letter from some person WHO SIGNS MERSELF, COOLLY, “ CHRISTLAN i d )lt’rxo.\'.” e assumption of tlis signature is considera- ble. The spirit of the letter is what might l?u expected from the sigpature. It fully justifes Brunetta’s deouncistion. This critic’s sereed opens with a regret, very elaborately expressed, that “The great dramatic artist and fascinating { Woman. Mme: Modjeska, had allowed herself to study and create that disgraceful part of Ca- mille, which nothing but the moral egradation of the French metronolis could have produced, and which notbing but the fatal laissez ailer of contemporary society on all subjects connected with the morality of the sexes could for one moment tolerate upon a public stage.” From this generalizing the writer goes on'to say that she hos never scen the play in question harself but thata friend of hers, in Whase jnaginent she bas entire confidence, *'as she is both 4 good woman rm;i that rure combination, a woman of the world,” saw Clara Morrls act. in it, ana told ber that “it was the most demoralizing thing she ever witnessed in her life, and that, if sha hiad lad any idea what she was moine 1o cec, sho never would have lent ber countenance to' the :fi{,’&i’fl,‘;""f;" After #‘;u,dud alittle further om her lend, g i Matron” goes on to say: “his “Christian Itwas bad enongh when a woman of &0 muih THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE::SUNDAY: MARCH -3 genius a8 Clara Morris descended to make vice noble, fascinatine, and exciting, snd_virtue cruel aud stupid; but Clara Marrie is not a Iady by birth or education, and ehe can never conquer in her ac- centand manner. the native refinement of one. Her performance is saved, therefore, from its last subtlety of poiton and demoralization, becanse she makes it evident, after all, that the daughters of the people, from whom the ranksof the demi- monde are generally recrulted, can hardly, in the long run, compete euccessfolly with the resistless charm which velongs to the refinement, fastid- iousness, and exclusivencss of real ladies, From tnis the demoralizing eflects of the scenes where ‘“ the toilettes de princesse, unattaina- bleby virtuous women,” and the localeof the'play itself, are commented upon with the declara- tion, * As if a free woman who ever pretended to give herself to any but the man she loves can’ be anything but infamous.” From this there is & gencral attack upoa everybody who roes to see ** Camille,” and the decided position s taken that the play must be demoralizing to its audience, and that the counter-position taken by some that its representation is justifiable on the ground of its revelation of the suffering that follows the lifc of sin, is all pretense and nonsense. Then the following summing up is given: ‘Traly, the marriage reiation is in an awful crisis in this' countrs. What with the Chinese in Cali- fornia, who have no marringe whatever; tho Mor- mons in tah, who have as many wivés as they leage; the Free-Lovers of Oneida, wholive inthe owest style of aegradation that the human mind Tas yet developeds and the aristocrats of the cluby and the lords of the Exchange, who muke no secret of their lawlessness: what with husbands spending their lives on the railroads on account of their bus- iness, and wives and children going into the coun- try every summer, orto Lurope for months and years of residence; what with French novels and plays, and the Wagner opera and opera-bouffe for the educated, and burlesques, pantomimes, scn- eution novels, and low illustrated weeklies for the half-educated; what with the woman-suffragfst striking bands with polygamy, and the fashiona- ble worien upholding Clara Morris_und Modjeska iuthe role that practically langhs marriage to scorn, —the citadel of dowmestic virtue is, indeed, rocking to its very foundutions among us. Add to all this that slence coolly declares that there is no foundation in naturc for the marriaze imposed apon humanity by the Bible, snd what have we came tof Why, e have come to a simple ** choos- ing this day which God we will serve ™ in this mat- ter,—the Bible or ** Nature (?)." With the conclusion that no good man or woman should witness * Camille,” and A GENERAL DENUNCIATION OF THOSE WHO DO, the letter winds up. It reads, of course, like the plea of a person who lhas been or is suffer- ing from tue real or fancied wrongs whichalways make a specialist in prejudice, especially amongst women. The attack upon Clara Mor- with the accusation that she is not what the writer calls a “reul Jady,” and the assumption that from “the people”—as the writer calls those who are not what is termed ariscocrats— the ranks of the demi-monde are recroited, is not only umbecoming a “Clristian Matron,” but uiterly falsitied by facts. It would be fuuny, if it were not so insolent, to note the curlous Inconsistency, the entire ignoring of {facts, that can produce such a statement. “As if a free woman who ever pretended to give her- self to any but the man she loves can be any- thinz but infamous,”—the inconsistency, ete., lying in the fact that in the helife marriace amongst the class whom the “Christian Matrou " calls real ladies probably this civing for mercenary purposes is quite as common, though maue respectable by the law, as amongst the unfortunate class of which she speaks. The letter, showing as it does the heat of cither an unbalanced mind or of an unbalanced state of mind through some special experience, should bardly be taken asa fair exponent of intelligent thought from women. To theclass to which the writer assumes to belong it does needless injury; for any class has a rizht to be {udzcd by its ideals, and this *Christian Matron,”’in overstepping carnestness and de- scending to ADUSE AND VIOLENCE, while she takes upon berself the office of gen- eral censor and eritic, certainly will not deserve the name of an ‘ideal Christian. But, iu spite of all this appealing, the tickets for Mme. Modjeska's representations of * Camille” have sold like the tickets for the first Dickens Read- ings years ago. People were at the theatre- doors at 5 o’clock in the morning to purchase. And such people too. Let the * Christian Matron ” station herself ontsidc the * dreadful entrance ” on the opening nlghts, and see for herself how tne intellect, and culture, and good- ness of Boston fcels about its morals. They are not afraid of coming to grief in any way through * Canille,” and entirely disregardful of a “Christian Matrou’s™ warning. N. P. PROUD PEARL’S CAPRICE, CHAPTER L The blaze of countless waxlights, the scented air ot sweet flowers and therr rival perfumes, the hum of many volees, the fluttering of gauze and silks, the gliding of hundreds of {ect, some shod in lacquer and others in daintiest satinj the sparkle of innum- crable gems, the more bewildering sparkling of human eyes, the importani whisbers of sweet lips, the langhter of light hearts—perhaps the heaviest ones laugh the loudest, who can tell?— aud above all this is the moving spirit of the middily gay scene—music!—Strauss’ dance- musle, bewildering strains, played with so won- @erful 2 power that they seem to force even the most lethargic of men and the most affected of women on to their feet, cager to join the whirl- ing festive throng. " The ball Is given by Madame la Comtesse de Monteferrata, and celebratds the twenty-fth birthday of Victor, her only son, the pride and joy of his widowed mother. Madame is an Englishwoman, who has grand relatfons and great personal wealth. In her young euthusi- astic girlhood she married a noble Spaniard, moved by the eloquence of Lis melting eyes, his graceful dancing, and, sbove all, by that charm- ing fashion he had of serenading her, before the windows of the British Embassy in Madrid, Oh! those wonderful moonlit nights when she leant from her balcony and rewarded him with a rose she had worn, and which he pressed so ardently to his Iips. But all that happened many years ago; it would have been forgotten now, but thosc are just the episodes of life that women do mot forget. Tt s over a score of years since the *‘nobil senor?? has been eathered to his ancestors, but Mad- ame la Comtesse has by no means forgotten his dark eyes and bright smile even now. After ber husband’s death the Countess returncd o Encland to live among her own peopie, and de- voted her days and all' her thouahts to her two children. Victor—fair-haired, blue-cyed—is es- sculifllli‘ an English-looking 1ad, while Incz seems the gentle connterpart of the handsome dark senor, her father. *What o charming assembly you haye here to-night, Madame la Comtesse! It gladdgns even the eyes of an old soldier, S goes to-morfow to look on very differ. ent scenes.” So says, with a “profound bow of greeting, a veuerable-looking French- man, onc every inch a soldier, from his keen black eves and heavy white mustache, down to the extra polish on his square-toed boots. ‘¢ Are things really looking so eerious with you, General?” "asks the Countess with sym- pathy. * Serious, Madame? Heavens! but we shall have war—absolute hand-to-hand war, and they shall learn to tremble in Berlin when they know us better. We will teach them. Ah! there goes my noble young fricnd Victor. Would he were fo my regtment. Of such stuff are heroes made.” i Pray, General, do not let him hear you.” *¢ Not for worlds, Madame, if it should cause you a moment's anxiety.” 3 * Young men are so enterprising, so enthusi- astic,” suys the fond mother; * they are always cager to rush into danger, and any novelty at- tracts them. I should not like Victor to be led away by wild emulation in this cause, which to me, T must coufess the fact, appears a veritable chimera.” “On that point we will not argue, Madame, and as to Monsieur Victor, the mother’s fears are surely uncalled for,” says the General drily. “The young man seems far too much engrossed at present to give heed to the remarks of any outsides. Well, I don’t wonder! his companion is very lovely. Who is she1” “Oh! alittle nobody—my daughter's com- anfon. An orphanwe have partly adopted; I knew her poor mother well. Sheis rather pret- 1y, as you say ; and dear Victoris so considerate, and thinks if_his duty to dance with all, as far as Possihch Remember he is kost to-night.” ** And a host in himself, Lady Monteferrata,® says an influential Englishman, coming up at the moment; on which these three immediately plunge into the great war question azain, which at this time is begiuning to azitate Europe, and toreatens soon to convulse the Continent. Meanwhile Victor and ‘‘the little nobody * have a subject of more vital import to them- selves to discuss than general questions con- cerning empires and dynastics. 1 * Come into the conservatory, Pearl. I must talk to you away from this maddening, nolsy crowd,” and as he speaks Victor draws her little band close within his arm. She leaves it pass- ively, and walks on silently by his side, thronzh a fong, dimly-lichted corridor, which lends to the farthest entrance of tle great glass-house. CHAPTER IL The consersatory is very lurze—it is buflt along one entire side of the house. It contains mapnificent nlants of troofeal erowth. BHuze palms and graceful ferns form a verdant and shading screon. Enteripg at the last door, Victor feels secure from the pryinz eyes of visitors. He places Pearl in a low rustic seat, and stands before her in silent contemplation. **I thought you wished to talk tome, Mon- sicur le Comtel™ she says presently, and as she socaks she lifts her clear gray eyes steadily to is. ** Has it ever happened that I do not want to talk to you? Oh! why have you so utterly with- drawa yourself from me of Jate, Pearl? Iscarce- ly ever see you at all, and never alone. You avold me as though you hate me,—you, Pearl,— who are my very life! How I have longed, hoped, prayed for to-night! 1 could scarcely awalt 1ts coming. ‘But L thank God 1 have had my reward. Ihave held you in my arms, and wenave danced together; you are the loveliest of women. aud 1 am the happiest, the very hap- piest of men,” He pouses for 2 moment. She is 1o longer-looking up 2t him, and sits motfon- oss. Hecatchesat herhand and presses it fervently; she meets his eyes again, and a faint smile comes to her lips. In truth she is a very lovely woman. Her hair is of that wonderful chestout color in the waves of which golden light seems to play at hide-and-seck ; her clear gray eyesarce shadowed by dark lashes, the firm chm is cleft bya deficious dimple, ana it was for the tinting of her wondrous skin that her romantic mother called her “Pearl.” “Deurest,” says Victor, with renewed ten- derness, ‘‘do “my c*'es betray me? does my volce move you?! does not my heart speak to yours of its passionate adora- J’an 7 Pearl,—you Pearl beyond price,— I have donc your bidding, I have waited in stlence for o whole year! To-day I have attained my majority. Iam myown master, 1 know no will but my own, and I zet possession of a for- tune that even you might detgn to accept. And all this—will—fortunc—absolute command of myself and all that ever may be mine, I lay at i;our feet. Will vou bless me? Pearl, will you ¢ my wife?? ‘As he speaks his passion over- powers him. He says no further words, but r.hrmvsthlmsell & suppliant upon the ground at her feet. She is strangely quict, and hesjtates a Jong minute before she answershim. Ofallher charing perhaps the greatest is Pearl’s voice. Initslow musical tones she now speaks to her lover, and he hears her to the cnd; but as he listens he Is thrilled by a measureless pleasure and 8 meas- ureless pain. He himself scarcely knows which emotion i3 keenest. “ Monsieur le Comte,” she says, * believe me I value truly the ercat honor you are doing me, and more still the truc love winch, as you have now proved, lives in your heart for me. I have Jearnt it well ere this. You have indged bravely kept your word. Forawhole long™year you have been silent on this subject, on which just twelve montns ago you first spoke to me. And now you come to repeat your question, and nos having changed your mind expecf an answer. You are rich, handsome, noble. You can hold up your head with the highest in the land, and youcometame whohavenothing,~amnobodr,— a poor dependant, living on your mather’s charity, befrlended by your gentle sister,—you come fo me, and ask me to become your wife! Oh! if only you were poor! -If we might work and live together! If you were an artist like my poor dead father, who struggled so hard— and to ®¥hom a wife was as a right hand—u help and a blessing!—how 1 could elory in helping you, in watching you rise, as rise " you surely would, aye, and assert yourself, your own true nohle self, among men. "1 am very proud, Vic- tor! fs that a fault? Think how proud Ishould be of you, and of your success! Now you have no neéed to work, no desire to distinguish yourself, Your ' ather's title and your wother’s wealth make you an object of admiration aud envy to your littlo world. Such a Hitle world, afterall!” Your whole life has been one of indulgence; flattery has surround- ed you. There has never been need for you to 1ift your little finger, or to endeavor to be use- ul to yourself or others. [like you much, Victor, but I can never marry yon. fam no fitttng wiie for the Comte de Monteferrata. I must look up to my life's lord with veneration, and he must bave Won somcthing for himself and by his own merits,.~something no mouey can buy. Then Icould sit at s feet in abso- lute content, admire, worship, and obey my hero!” She rises and with 2 gentle move- ment withdraws the hem of her dress, on which be is kneeling. He has scarcely realized o1l she has snid, but he feels she is poing, oing from him, who, alas! has no laurcl crown to lay at the fcet of this proud, ambitious, lovely, lovable woman. He also starts up now and seizes ber arms almost roughly. * You mean to leave me, Pearl—is this to be our farewell? It is best to part at once, as it mustbe for all time. I cannot marry the Comte de Monte- ferrata.” ** Because to his mother and his father alone he owes his position? he cries. * You have said! ”” she auswers qaietly, “There is no other shadow ~ divid- ing us? There not fraven inthat deep heart of Eours the plcture, the thought even, of any other man? 7 **Great heaven, ni “If I—for you—unaided—alone—can win honor and renown—prove myself a man among men, fight my way upwards, if I can—thus win distinction for you, will you deem me worthy? Will you then be my wife? ™ ST il ‘ You promise faithfully, on your honor??” “Iswear it” . . . . shé pauses for a moment, then flings her arms sbout_his neck and looks into his eyes. *I swear it, Victor, by the love that in my heart of hearts I gave to you, cven before you asked it.”” And she lifts Eier head and seals her bond with a kiss upon s lips. CHAPTER III. 3 There Is terrible trouble and confusfon {n the house of Madame la Comtesse the morming after the ball. Victor has gonc. He has fled from his house in the early dawn, and has Joft only a few lines addressed to his mother. The note runs thus: ‘Mother, forgive me. I dared mot epeak to you before I left, for you would have bid me stay! Pray do not seck me; it is my carnest wish not to be found, and I ehall take every precaution azainst discovery. My resolve fs to quit the life of luxury and idleness 1 have hith- ertoled. Ifeel that my better self is getting ignobly lost. I must work—must learn to as- sert mysclf. Thus and thus only can I honor the woman who has promised (wnen such suc- cess is achieved!) to be my wife. I bavelong loved Pearl Turquand, and all my hopes of hap- piness centre in her. When 1 am gone, dear mother, love her for me, this I pray of both you and of Inez—dear gentle sister Inez. You have both reason to be prond of my Pearl, For she will give you cause to be proud of your son, as it is she who has raised the spirit of emulation with me; and I mean to prove my- self worthy of the love of the three best women in the world, whom Ileave under this roof to- night.” 2 Roused to unknown fury by the passion of motherly love and despalr, by wild anger aninst Pear] and wilder fearafor her first-born, Madame la_Comtessc summons “Miss Turquand.’ “You have lived with mydaughter and been her constant companion, Pear],” says the Comtesse, striving hard to speak calmly, considerately. [ believe, 1 hope 1 have never failed in my duty towards you, the pleasaut duty of a hostess towards an honored euest, Is that so” Gravely swect Pearl bows her head. Her beart is heavy within her, and her cheeks, her very lips, are pale; but' her voice does not tremble as she replies: “* No lady vould have treated a trusted friend with more uniform courtesy and kindness, madame, than you have invariably shown tome. Believe me, I am deeply grateful.”” Her humble tone, her”downeast looks, exas- perate the Comtesse, and arousea feeling of burning anger in her maternal bosom. Her usu- ally pale face flushes hotly as she cries: * And do’ you dare to speak to me of tiust and gratitude, wretched, miserable girl—you who have broken my heart? You, who have stolen my beautiful boy from me! Ybu, who have crept with your sly looks and your sly words iuto his lower nature and made yourself mistress there? Thatis the empire you have obtained. Trulys csuse for pride! Do not dure to answer me! I thought I could bring myself to speak quietly to you—io you, But nature Will assert herself,—the mother's nature,— and you shall be punished. I will punish you, and you shall suffer,—if you can suffer! To think that §, his most unbapoy mother, should staud bere to be defied by you,~you pale-faced girl,—by you, who have robbed me ol my son,— my joy,—my pride. Where has he gone? Where have You bid him go? You know his secret,— he has trusted it to you, for you have driven Dhim away, while I, his mother, am left desolate. in utter ignorance of what has become of my son. Onl it is hard,—too hard.” “Indecd, madame, { kuow nothing, truly nothing. Your son honored me too much. He sought to make me his wife, and I, intensely ‘proud of him, for him, besought him to distin- guish himset, to win a name to—" “Enough! cruel, crunel girl. Perhaps you -eannot realize the awful thing you have done. You bave rulned my peace of mind; you have robved me of mr joy, my hove and pride, for you have sent him to his death!” “God forbid ! cried the girl, and & gleam of terror dilated her eyes. ‘“ Pear], you must have some pity, some feel- inz for me. Oh! tell me where he has gone! 1878—SIXTEEN- PAGES. Let me go after him, kneel to him, pray him to gome back, eren s;‘l now implore you:-—J im- '€ You. you have given our promise to keep his intentions secret, bxui that prom- ise, break it for his mother’s sake. Pear), let us po together to pray him come back.” Her hauoghty spirit was quclled, and the wretched mother, forgetful o? all but her love and her, {ears for Lier boy, actually knelt a supplicant at the feet of trembling Pearl. I give you my true word, I know nothing, absolutely ‘nothing, of your son’s movements,’: saysPearlinutterconsternation. “We partedlast night without his saying one word to me beyond his expressed intention of earning distinction for himself, . He vowed be would win a name apart from his titte, and prove his manhood among men. Those were his words, How he has gone, or where, I cannot tell you, for I donot kuow.’ “ Then you defy me and refuse me, is that 803 cries the Comtesse, fiercely. s “ Indeed, madame, I do nefther.” “ Shall I tell you where you have driven him? He had been talking to you during that length- ened absence from the ball-room.” He was pale and flurried on his return. I saw it. Ah me, how little I guessed the truth! Then he entered into an animated dis- cussion with my old friend the General, who left immediately after. Victor conveyed to me the General's parting words, and told me that the valiant old soldier intended starting for Paris at daybreak. Thither, no doubt, in some ignoble disguise, Victor has foliowed also.” *Ignoble? impossible,” says Pear), raising her nead for the first time during this painful interview. Do -you really belteve this, Madame?” **1 am convinced of it,” says the Comtesse, “and this is your doing.. Now, I think it will scarcely be ‘necessary for me to point out to you, after what has oc- curred, that my roof can_ shelter you no longer, Pear! Turquand. I hope, I'pray, [ sball never have to look upon your face agaia.’ “ I will leave you this day, Madame.” “”ch, 20, now, &t once, it is the least you can ao. Pearl makes an attempt to touch the Comtesse’s band, which fs hastily withdrawn. Then poor Pearl, with bent head and tear- filled eyes, makes her way to the door. On the tbreshold Inez meets her. ‘“You will not leave me, Pearl? You will not forsake me also? Victor loves you! I love you both, dearly. Let us wait for him to- gether. Be my sister still, as you have everbeen, gud when Victor returns he will draw the loving tic between us closer still.” So speaks Inez, and layiog her hands caressingly on the shoulders of Pearl seeks to detain hér. “[ncz, my daughter,” erics tbe Comtesse, 1 have bidden the false girl go. Do not attempt to detain her. She and Iean breathe the same air no longer.”” With a stified cry, the Com- tesse sinks back in her chair, half closing her eyes. Inez fiies to her mother in tender com- passion. Peari goes from the room, and a little time after from the house. ) CHAPTER 1IV. It {s midnight. Such a night! The ground frozen hard as iron, every sound, every move- ‘ment, reverberating with a metal clang through the still coldness. The sky has been showing o brooding ominous blackness for hours past. If only that threatening snow would begin to fall! Auny change must be for the better; any down- coming, aoy drops, be they of hail or snow, must bring less cruel bitterness into the cutting, biting air. Outside the walls of Paris, the brave “Garde Natfonale” is on the watch. Here and there camp-fires are crackling and blazing, and at- tracting as closely as possible to their welcome warmth such of the men as dare leave their ap- pointed beat. Those soldiers who have been on outpost duty for the last twelve hours, keep- ing Incessant and wearisome watch, have now stretched themselves wearily enough on the bosom of mother earth. She is a cold unnatural mother to-night, and-gives but scaut welcome to her oyerwrought children. To a stranger there is something appalling in the great boom of the fron messengers that send startling reminders of their Lideous power through the silent night. But to those watchers without the gates, the horrid sounds bave become familiar by perpetual repetition, asa Monts Va- lerien and Bicetre may send forth their deadly minute messages of massacre un- heeded. . . . Neither the boom of the guns nor the heavy breathing of his wearled companions, who are lyinyg asleep fn the cold without tent or other shelter, apgear to disturb the meditations of & young sentinel, who steadily continues to step to and fro on bhis limited beat. His heavy gray coat is closely buttoned up to the chin, his small kepi is pressed well down over his fore- Tead, but his fair hair, curly in spite of his close clipping, peeps out underneath. No head- ear could possibly hide or disguise ?hu straizht outline of profile, or the clear paze of those bluc eyes, which had bee to that young goldier’s mother the most welcome and beautiful sight in the world—the sizht_for which she is now longing and praying—how wearily ! It was thus Pearl’s lover had determined to “distinguish” bimself. Here, he believed, was a chance of winning, unknown and without the influcnce of high-born relations, that laurel crown which he had resolved to ecarn, to take home and lay at the feet of the ugroud woman whotn be loved! To-morrow will be his first chaoce. To-morrow he Emoes into action, to- morrow he will strike his first blow. Fired by Pearl’s ambitious words, and by the answering throb in his own breast,” he will rush iuto the thick of the battle—dare greatest danger joyru)H, likely thus to secure greatest success—and sli for the sake of Pearl—proud Pearl! Oh! she shall haye cause to be proud of him yet! He holds her plighted word, and she with her own sweet lips bas told bim how she loved him—lonz ago—and she gave him her promise, and sealed it too with o kiss—a soft, lingerivg, intoxicating, bewilderingkiss, . . . Even now his heart beats wildly at the delicions recollection, and tHe remembrance sends the blood tineling hotly through every vein. Pres- ent cold, privation, most uncongenial compan- ionship, all are forgotten for the time being, and Vietor in imagination is once agafn in that shady nouvk behind the great fern screen in the couservatory. Close to his heart he bolds the " one wouman he adores bevond her kind, he feels her kisses —Pearl's kisscs—for whose caprice he has now proved himself willing to risk bis very life. And_fervently he prays, “God bless and keep my darling, and let me comg home to her vic- torious! ¥’ And In her chamber, far away over the sea, his mother on her knees is also praving: God bless and keep my darling, and let him come back to me soon and safe.” She little guesses, poor mother, where her curly-haired darling is at that moment ; still lcss does she dream of the spirit of joyful enterprise with which he intends to rush into the heat of battle to-morrow—risking hia orecious life, to do honor, or, rather, to satisfy the ambition of the woman he loves. CHAPTER V. The heat of the fray is over. Under U'Aurelle des Paladines an important sally was made, and 8o fierce an attack on the Prussians that it not only temporarily disconcerted their leaders, but spread alarm among the beleaguering troops. Night is creeping on, apparently willing to do her gentle share towards shroudiug in darkness the horrid sights that the garish sun and the crisply, glittering snow have made too awfully apparent during the past ten hours. ° For the time being truce is proclajmed—after afashion. The great forts have not ceased sending out thelr greeting of destruction; nor is there any relaxation in the preparation for further raids oo the morrow. But that wild combat to which Victor had looked forward with such a spirit of smbitious enterprise has ceased. It has ended with the light of day, and how sad a day bas it been for some of the bravest and best! Victor had rushed wildly into the thickest of the melee; he had steeled his neart wiih the brtght thought of Peari’s steady gray eyes, and wished for nothing so much as the chance of proving himsel! un- daunted. The amoitious intention was genulne and grand, but the carrying it out rash and reckless, and its results by no means such as the young hero had hoped for—nay, reckoned ou. 1n lieu of the first step towards promotion, his career has receiyed a fatal blow at the very outset; for he now lies sick to death, faint and almost unconscious, with a deep home-thrust from a vengeful sabre in his breast. . . . At last the heavy rumble of the cross-protect- ed ambulance smites on the ears of the wound- ed, who lie so wearily listening—listening. So they bave lain for bours i the enforced lethargy of azonizing pain, numbed, crushed, unaole to move—dying of cold, or maddened to fever, and suffering from its sccompanying parching rst. Poor Victor is beyoud the hearing of any promise of relief, when suddenly there comes upon him the fecling of a_horrible wrench, as strong arms lift him. Then he feels himself cruclly jolted, every bruised muscle shaken, every nerve in his body terribly strained. Final- 1y he loses congciousness as to feeling fll or well ; 4D & deathlike trance he lies, obifvious of all swrroundings. Such a swoon truly s the great- est boon mother pature can bestow onworn-out, suffering humanity. CHAPTER VL How grateful fs the hush, the absoluterepose, that comes to those weary soldfers, wheu at last they find themselves laid at rest,in theneat beds provided for them by kindly Samaritans fn the temporary hospital for the wounded and the dying. Gentle women watch over the helpless ones with anremit{ing patience and care; with hushed voice and ulet tread they 2o from one couch to another, offering comfurt for the body and solace to the mind of the wounded and the dylng. - N\ Victor les at rest in onme of the soft- est beds of the ward, set apart for dangerous patients, that is, for those whose lives are at stake. - And this ward is estab- lished within the precivets of an ancient royal residence, and on its floor dainty satin slippers and handsome buckled shoes have danced many s stately minuet. That deadly sickness is on poor Victor still, but he is no longer faint, though he lies absolutely motionless. . He now hears and heeds the various scunds about him, even as with weary eyes befnotes those who pass to and fro, and sees vaFuely the outlines of other sufferers as they lie stretched on their beds of pain, to the right aud “the left of him, and away against the furtier windows. Thus Victor watches listlessly enough with half-closed lids, end prescotiy-remarks, leanfog over the bed opposite to shis, the graceful outline of a woman’s form, that in spite of the strange Sister of Mercy garb seems to him— homelike—familiar. ¢ looks at the nurse with growing interest. If she but turn her bead! With growing attention he opens his eves fully now. O that he could really see that face! Sct on such shoulders it surely must be fair! Could he raise bis head just a’littief He tries to do so, but, alas! the mere attempt 1ias made Bim groan ina spasm of agony. His cry of pain ot once attracts the nursei.she ‘turns swiftly and runs to his side. Their eyes weet, and into his comes a look of tenderness and intense longing as _he sees_the Jove of his 1ife once again and whispers ‘* Pearl.” But her outstretched Lands fall by her side helpless, as she stilles the shriek thit she cun scarcely repress. ‘What falnt color there was in her fuce leaves it now, and she looks as ghastly as he who lies before her—her hero, her betrothed, the true love of her proud young heart. & Oh! how Jow has that pride laid him! With all the strength that is In her, and it is great, she conquers her trembling, overwhelm- ing agitation, and sinks quietly on to her knees by Vicior's side. She takes his weak band in hers, and covers it with passionate kisses; she prays with all fervor to the Father ia Heaven to spare the life of this bravest and best-loved of his creatures. Then comes a sudden thought that prompts her to quick action. Help—im- mediate help! Victor needs the best care and instant attention. Good advice slie can procure for him, and this shall be done instantly! So Pearl goes swiftly to seek the doctor in whom she has most faith, and who-has already proved himself 2 kind and patient friend to_all who suffer, and to her who tends them. The doctor comes. He has seen Victor before, and knows well that his is & hopeless case. The kindly doctor meets the eyes of the young nurse with & wistful sadness that says more than. words. This nurse hasalways shown an earnest devotion to the good cause, and has been nnre- mitting in her care and attention to all the suf- ferers. But now there is more than_ordinarg anxiety in the poor girl’s manner as she learns the fate of the handsome young soldier Iying sick unto death before her. ~ 1t is-a keen feeling of personal agony that blanches poor Pearl’s face, and sends that look of despairing entreaty into hereyes. . . . “Oh! save him, save him, doctor, for his poor mother's sake!” she cries with uplifted hands, while tears course freel; over her cheeks. “]s it really too late! Cannot you send for her, mny poor mother, my dear mother?” asks Victor teebly. There is no answer. And the invalid fully un- derstands the iniport of this omivous silence. “ Ah!? he prescutly says with a long-drawn sfeh. **Then it {5 too late, all too late, 1 feel {t now. Kiss me, miy beautiful love. 1 wished to live for you,and mow Iam dyiog—dying for vou.” 3 * My glorious hero!” cries Pearl, the ring of passionate despair trembling in her sweet voice, *‘do not say it, do not think it. Live, Victor! You must live, You shat: live, for your mother’s salke, for poor Inez, for your own heartbroken, miserable Pearl.” ¢ Ay, and I will,” he cries, and with & super- human effort raises himself aod lifts the arm that is not maimed and puts it up to her neck. With 2 sudden revulsion from agony to hope, she folds him close to her warm throbbing bosom, and kisses his hair, his brow, his ifps pas- sionately, as though she would fill him with the vigorous current of her warm life’s blood. My darling!” she cries, *Oh, say it again! You will live, live to forgive me. to bless your ‘poor mother, live to be mine—mine!” “I will live to bless you. my beautifal Pearl; but as to formiving yuu, sweetheart, what can there be to forgive! "I have loved you, and love you.now, aod shall—and shall— The words come slowly, brokenly. His Hfe's blood and breath are both failing him. Pearl,” he whispers, * mydarling, kiss me.” ‘Then, more faintly still, ‘* Mv proud love—my beautifut love—aud shall—forever.” ., . . His hand holds hers closely, and his head falls heavily on her bosom. Pearl’s pride, her bero, and ber hope in life— are dead.—Temple Bar for ¥ebruary, 1878, ot ol il TIME AND THE TOMB. [Monday, March 4, will be the 100th anniver- sary of the birth of Robert Emmet, who suffered death in 1803 for his attempt to separate Ireland from English rule. The following poem has ref- erence to the time and his tomb, that your Irish readers will nderstand. Jous F. Scaszax. ] Hark to the voice of the last one hundred years, ‘That echoes out from the tomb of Time! Its day-star of Frecdom makes us all peers, While we sip from the zephyrs of Liberty's rhyme. List tothe crash and glow of crumbling thrones, That rumble and light the hundred years through; *Tis the chorus of Freedom, whose birth it adorns— +Tis Tyranny's wail, from which Liberty grew. By the l’l‘ihl of our faith and the strength of the night. That, through the vale of defeat, brought us ont en, In the wires of the mind turn back for to-night, And gather a lesson from Life's mystic pen. Then list to the thunder that's above Liberty's chorus; *Tis the voice of Jehovah. that orders us on Ta the goal, our sire-lund, the Green floating o'er us, Pledgea for 01d Ireland to be many in one. Thas mast we be If our brows it adorn With Freedom, that comes "midst Tyranny's bier, As came 1o Ireland our Martyr, born’ Amidst the clunk of the Voluntecr! Then Liberly was forging the starry fag of the es And France, as a libation, was bathed in gore; In the dawn of that morning, Erin was her haven of rest— ‘We tasted her lips, and we loved her the more, But \v'e ];nl]cd down her temple, with trezson and hutred, Just as Freedom had breathed her epirit within it. Hibernia wept when ehe saw the ruimn red With the blood of Wolf Tone, Fitzgerald, and mmet, Beside the wreck of the temple and onr Martyr's grave, With the sting of defeat eating out our henrt's core, We swore to be free! Cowards conld crave For their rights—we ceased to be slaves evermore, Look back o'er the road! Our fathera have gone Through gibbet and rack; let us follow their doom— Their fanlisleave behind us~in their virtaes press o) n To the Mecca of Erin, the Uninscribed Torab. Far that Tomb and that Land, O Irishmen, Bring forth the trucst. the best, and the brave; ** Your voice be the cannon, your sword be the penres The waichword, *‘Union, Liberty, snd Unin- scribed Grave.” Fallin! The hour draws nizh for our Land When who wants ber free must strike the blow, And ask not from Heaven success with craven hand, But draped in the blood of ber conntry's foes For Heaven smiles an him'who for country dies, While Angvls gaide his splric to the home of the rave, And watch for the heroes that ralse to the skiea ‘The name of Emmet o'er the Uninscribed Grave, RESURGAM. Throneh Sorrow's darksome depths there breaks Joy's golden, glinting ray; Despair's dull night doth siowly fade Before Hope's dnwning day. Across the vista of the Future floats, In vibgant volume or melodious notes, T A soulful song; 1t poueth o'er my spirit the gweet balm 2 For which T long; My neart's wild turbulence becometh calmas Resurgam, Glad numbers through the wide world spread, That more who fafnt and fall May broathe the Inspiration, and obey plogateitienscall, S ould that thy barden en sooner mine, 1long had cehsed to marmur and repine At Fate's dectecs, Deemed every blast of wo as but s breath Of wanton breeze, And made my soul's refrain, e'en after death, esurzazn. " G.R. Sraaeur. THE GAME OF DRAUGHTS, Communications intended for this Departmegt should be addressed to Tre TrisuNE DRATGHT B, 1ToR, P.-0. Box 215, Chicago, T1. CHECKER-PLATERS DIRECTORY. Athenzum, Nos. 63 and 85 Washington street, PROBLEM NO, 55, By F. N. Jonxsoy, Chicago, © White. 7 BE e 8,8 7 Y W B R Black. * Biack to move and win. The solution to this problem wilj ¢ een variations. 1t is rcblete with clementeny k- ations, and will prove Instructive to the stadpgt. 5 FOSITION Xo. 5. y CranLes BATENAN, Grand Rapids, Black men on 1. 2, 5, 14, 20, 21, 24 ki, 31 White men o 9, 10, 16, 16, %3, 2453 3% 29, White to play and win. TO CORRESPONDENTS, 3. Eelly—Next issne. C. M. Wilder—It shall be a3 you esy. D. . Pomeroy—Request complied with, Biily Conkling—¥ill examine your analysyy J. H. Workman—Will examine your position, C. Hefter—Thanks for your kind contribution, H. C. Chipman—Solutivns correct. v give youa ** bard one " goon. Vill tryto J. 0. Falrchiid—W1il send missing n write 500n as time will permit. e N. J. Rodier—20~—16, 2—20, 3—7, 20—, and Black wins by first pasition. Seerusfi?v: AT TRIRCNE Jan. G, 1678, for fuil solation of tyg first position. Amateur—\Where are your eyes that yor see that Black must jump 2220, and loso st sy third move, fstead of moving 7—10to win. |3 Sotutions correct. F. Greenlee—Thanks for the zames and pasitions, which are always welcome. (2) Mr. Davideon stated that position No. 5+ was an end-zame bor tween yourself and him, bat we omitted o publish it in thut way. -H. P. Elgemore—Spavth's A. D, P. gires 1814 at fourth move of Cross for adrw, (2) Your Iittle problem is rather too easily solved for publl- cation in this paper. (3) Everybody likes this column—of course. 7 CHECKER CHATTER. ‘The fourth annual draugits tournamentin th Bridgton Workingmen's Club Is in progress, Mr. M. C. Pricst recently had a tilt with the lesd. ‘ing_Philadelphia players, winning thirty-seven, losing three, and twenty-six games were drawn. ‘The Glasgow (Scotland) flerald is publishing an interesting analysis of the Bristol, by Mr J, S\»‘in. of Leslie, and revieed by Mr. C. Adamson, of Leven. There seems to be quite o rivalry existing be. tween Mr. Merry, champion of Rhode lsland, ani Mr. Freeman, chamoion of Providence. -'The sev- eral scores published of Iate in the Dispatch seen t0 Indicate that Mr. Frceman is a snade the strong- est player. SOLCUTIONS. SOLUTION TO PROBLEM NO. 5. By H. F. >chellhass. 10-15 | 832 oo 121 HE e e w-27 | 19-20 ! SOLUTION TO POSITION No. 5. By W. E. Davidson. |8 1329 227 9 2318 16—s2 GAME NO. 167—TRREGULAR. (Seventh game. ) Played in the Fitzpatrick-Bowen correspondenco mated, Bowen’s move, P P ~15 (a)] 2 =18 |1 | 117 =18 17 202 21y 1615 %0 -1 Drawn. =13 ] 2619 | 2313 2y | 2ug2 {a) 18—14, -White wins—Robertson, () Same as published play in Paisley’s Gazelle, 1874—Bowen. Bowen wrote me that he did not see hisloss until too late. and then he tried to cheat me out of Ty win and succeeded. I never saw the gh, quoted, of course. F. AR GAME NO. 108—KELSO. (Eighth game. ) e Played in the Fitzpatrick~Bowen correspondencs match. Fitz, 10-15 GAME NO. 169—GLASGOW. (Ninth game.) Played in the Fitzpatrick-Bowen correspondenc. match. GAME NO. 170—SINGLE CORNER. (Tenth game.) Played in the Fitzpatrick-Bowen correspondenc match, Fitzpatrick's move. 2025 8~—12 241 107 21-17 18-19 GAME NO. 171—-ALMA. (Eleventh game.) Flaved fu the Fitzpatrick-Gowea correspondeace Bowen's move. 11-18 11-15 26-30 2824 7-11 57 1417 30-23 4 (Twelfth game. Pisyed in the Fitzpatrick-Bowen correapondents matcl . TFitzpatrick's move. 29-25 1—5 [ 2i-2 G.\!l‘l_im.\'o. l'E—KE[;sO. ( rteenth game. Pllnged in the Fitzpatrick-Bowen correspondesd mateh. 5 * GAMEXo. 174—&nnxcmx-> (Fourteenth game. Plng.ed in the Fitzpatrick-Bowen corrcspandencd matct * Fitzpatrick's move. i 20-18 1110 u—le [ 5= 20-16 |20-24 (17 1611 gt 31-28 |19 u—z . =17 22 e o (27 T e 518 i L 08 -0 |2 2522 {t,; Fat B 217 = Dravme