114 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
Jn the evening he visited Edith Harmon, than 
his betrothed. Their meet !hr was one of glad- to tb 
ness, and in the first greetings both forgot, for Tin 
the time, the groat calamity. Edith was au and * 
essentially lovely girl, with a laoe through Beau 
which beamed the purity of her spirit and the Ktup 
true womanliness of ber nature. She, too, was leas, 
a victim of the disaster, her father having been Qu< 
despoiled of the greater portion of his posses- ed. 
slons. Doth Edith and Ohakleb vied with “M 
each other in veiling the oppression that van shea 
at the heart each. The latter was the first to child 
face the future before tbem. have 
“Dear Edith." ho said, “our bright, plans devo 
have received a check." most 
“ Yes.” she replied, her voice trembling for Th< 
the first time, " but only a check, I trust—not Then 
anything insurmountable." said i 
“No, oh, no; but 1 have got to begin at the fond 
bottom round of tlrts ladder," 44 D 
“ We are both young and strong.” Huge 
“Yes, strong In spirit and determination.” A roud< 
shade passed across lii* face. rerna 
Edith knew that be was thinking of his own wife. 
Infirmity, and she said : “Spirit and determin- Euj 
ation are worth everything. You have such Italy 
talent that I know you will succeed." apart 
“I mean to succeed; I shall succeed. But it wept 
will be slow work." cabin 
“ Perhaps somebody will lend you the capital < onil 
you need, so that you can go right on as you Iu j™ 
intended." 
“ Yes, perhaps so." lie looked at her hope- ! ™ r ] v " 
fill face compassionately, for he knew that " 
hundred" of others were as badly off as himself, deep 
and that many who might be Inclined to tender sa ^ ce _ 
aid were unable to do so. “One thing is set- ^ 
tied, I suppose," he said at length, “ we cannot of lie 
be married Christmas, as wc intended." Vicci 
She made no reply, but looked Into his face ll,,r r( 
wistfully. to * 0 
“You darling bravo one!" ho exclaimed, rhi 
drawing tier suddenly to him, “T know what hlaej 
you are thinking of. But how can 1 boar to 
take you to a comfortless homo and make you wide 
share the hardships of a st ruggle upward ?" 
“ What is a good wife for, Charles?" j .i« pt • 
“ A good wife Is to bless and comfort a man, teres 
and to cheer him as no other being can !'* he a,n 
paid, with enthusiasm. “ But he must give her fat]™ 
something in return. His part is to protect, and Thu 
care for ber tenderly." | arm 
“Has a wife no higher mission ?” she asked, dowt 
con vi 
gently. 
“Higher? Is not that high enough? Oh, nioin 
Edith, you are a blessed angel! You take | i ,er ' 
away the weight of my burden ! You light my fam 
way! I Bhall succeed; I must succeed for your 
sake, whether you arc wit h me, or whether you tor. 
wait for mo!" ! * 
Long they sat talking over the future, each dlarn 
inspiring the other with hope. At a late hour A * 
Charles took his departure, with a buoyant the < 
heart and a sanguine confidence in his ability was t 
to overcome any and all obstacles that stood in the n 
the way of Jus and hit* Edith’S welfare. But 
this was only the exhilaration of the hour. An overs 
the morrow, and on succeeding days, stern brief 
reality came in all its blackness. Tim future l saul: 
for Charles looked dark, unless the prospect T 
of an humble clerkship, with a pitiably small the v 
salary, could be oa'Jod n bright, one. Ho bo- 1 vans 
came taciturn and desponding, and Edith her- lwopl 
than my will. My dearest affections must yield 
to the welfare of France.” 
The dreadful blow prostrated the Empress 
and she foil fainting to the floor. TheCountde 
Beaumont was called, and by the aid of the 
Emperor Josephine was borne, apparently life¬ 
less, to her apartment. 
Queen Hortense (her daughter) was summon¬ 
ed, She said reproachfully to the Emperor: 
“My mother will descend from the throne as 
she ascended it, in obedience to your will. Her 
children, content to renounce grandeurs which 
have not made them happy, will gladly go and 
devote their lives to comforting the best and 
most affectionate of mothers." 
Tbo Emperor sat down and wept bitterly. 
Then raising his eyes, flooded with tears, ho 
said to II or tense, whom he loved with parental 
fondness: 
“ Do not leave me, Hortense. Stay by me with 
Eugene. Help me to console your mother and 
render her calm, resigned and even happy, in 
remaining my friend while she ceases to be my 
wife.” 
Eugene (Josephine’s son) soon came from 
Italy. He immediately repaired to his mother's 
apartment and clasping her in his arms, they 
wept in mutual anguish. He then entered the 
cabinet of tlie Emperor and recoiling from the 
cordial embrace with which the Emperor would 
have greeted him, said: 
“Biro, permit me to withdraw from your 
service." 
“What!" said the Emperor sadly, and with 
deep emotion, “ will you, my adopted son, for¬ 
sake me?" 
“ Yes,sire,” Eugene firmly replied. “Theson 
of her w ho Is no longer Empress cannot remain 
Viceroy of Italy. I will follow my mother into 
her retreat. She must now find her consolation 
in her children." 
The Emperor was deeply moved. Teargfilled 
his eyes. 
“You know,” said he, “the stern necessity 
which compels this measure. Will you forsake 
mo? Who, then, should I haven son, the ob¬ 
ject of my desires and the preserver of my in¬ 
terests, who will watch over the child when I 
am absent? If I die, who will prove to him a 
father?” 
They both thon retired to the garden and, 
arm in arm, for a long time walked up and 
down one of its avenues, engaged in earnest 
conversation. The noble Josephine, with a 
mother’s love, could not forget the interests of 
her children. .She urged Eugene to remain 
faithful to the Emperor. 
“The Emperor,” she suid, “is your benefac¬ 
tor. To him you are indebted for everything. 
To him, therefore, you owe boundless obe¬ 
dience." 
A. fortnight passed and the day arrived for 
the consummation of t his cruel sacrifice, it 
was the 15th of December. All the members of 
the imperial family were assembled in the grand 
saloon of the Tuilerie*. Au extreme paleness 
overspread the face of the Emperor. In ills 
brief address to t.be assembled dignitaries, he 
“The political interests of my monarchy and 
(ho wishes of my people require that I should 
transmit to an heir, inheriting my love for the 
people, the throne on which Providence lias 
°oH felt only o Htlm of the confidence with placed uie. It Istlils consideration alone which 
w hlcb she endeavored to inspire him. Induces me to sacrifice the dearest affections of 
Mean while another cloud arose. Mr. Hah- my heart, to consult only the good of my sub 
JL began to urge on his daughter a new jeets and to desire the dissolution of ourmar- 
*r_7 It was nothing more oor less than to rtage. Bod only knows how much snob a de¬ 
scent the overtures of the son of an old friend, termination baa cost my heart. Butthereisuo 
a man of wealth, whom tbo conflagration had H.-icillcc too great for my courage when it is 
not affected He sot forth to her tbo comforts proved to be for the Interests of trance. Far 
she would have to deny herself as the wife of from having any cause-of complaint, I have 
r>,,, r<T rs fYii e • he alluded to hl8 own embar- nothing to say but in praise of the attachment 
financial condition, and pictured the and tenderness of my beloved wife, She has 
prosperity that would follow such a union as embellished fifteen years of my life and the re- 
he nronosed He wa? skillful in pleading, and membrane© of them will be forever engraven 
2 >ith was a loving, dutiful daughter. Cause- on my heart Let her never doubt my affection 
rTmmUv her existence became one of distress, or regard me but as her dearest friend," 
qu y Josephine then endeavored to read her con¬ 
sent to the divorce. But tears blinded her eyes 
got wind Of what was going on and sent to the divorce. But tears blinded her eyes 
trrew more gloomy than ever. The future did and sobbings choked ner voice. Sinking into a 
fnrieed look dark !—[Conclusion next week. chair and banding the paper to M. Reynaud, she 
indeed jook u«ua i •<> i.h, 
JOSEPHINE, 
BY R. W. CHALMERS. 
We do not know- of any event in history that 
is so affecting or so full of pathos as the divorce 
of the Empress Josephine. 
burled her faco in her handkerchief aud re¬ 
mained in tiiatpoBitlon while it was read aloud. 
Napoleon then embraced Josephine and led 
hor, almost fainting, to her apartment, where 
ho left her alone with her children. The next 
day the Senate met to sanction the divorce. 
The Emperor, careworn, wretched, pale as a 
statue, loaned against a pillar. A low hum of 
mournful voices alone disturbed the gloomy 
Tbo Emperor Nap deou I., (the Great Etnpe- silence of the room. There was a table in the 
ror ( weary of incessant wars, thought if he center of the apartment, on which there was a 
could form a marriage alliaoos with some one writing apparatus of gold. Josephine entered, 
of the royal families of Europe, he might put leaning upon tbo arm uf Hortense. Her face 
an end to these conflicts and perpetuate the wa- as palo as tbo muslin dress she wore. The 
order of things established in Franco. For a daughter, not possessing the fortitude of her 
long time be dreaded to speak upon the subject mother, was sobbing aloud. The whole assem- 
to Josephine, who had become aware of hei* bly arose. Tears blinded nearly all eyes. Jo- 
imnonding doom and was overwhelmed with sephine sat down and, leaning her pallid fore- 
grief. At last the fatal hour came when the 
Emperor was to make the dreaded announce¬ 
ment to the Empress. It was at the Palace of 
Fontainebleau, tbe last day of November, 1800. 
Dark clouds obscured the sky and a freezing 
head upon her hand, listened to the reading of 
the act of separation. Eugene and Hortense 
stood hy the side of their mother, the daughter 
weeping convulsively. 
Josephine, as the reading w i» finished, for a 
wintry wlud moaned through the towers of the moment pressed her handkerchief to her eyes 
castle. The Emperor and Empress dined alone, arid then rising, in clear hut tremulous tones, 
Neither had the heart to speak a word. As the pronounced tbe oath of acceptance. She then 
attendants retired at the close of the repast, nt sat down and, taking the pen. signed the deed 
which it was said that neither could eat a which sundered the dearest ties which can be 
mouthful, the Emperor, pale and trembling, formed on earth. 
took the band of Josephine and said: Eugene fell fainting to the floor. His inani- 
“My own dear Josephine, you know how l mate form was borne out of the room by the 
have loved you. It Is to you alone that I owe attendants. Josephine retired with her daugta- 
the few moments of happiness l have known in ter. Night came. The Em neror, utterly wretch- 
the world. Josephine, my destiny is stronger ed, had just placed himself in the bed, from 
which he ejected his faithful wife, when the 
door w-as slowly opened and Josephine trem¬ 
blingly entered. 
Her eyes were swollen and her hair and dress 
disordered. She seemed scarcely conscious of 
what she was doing as with hesitating, totter¬ 
ing Bteps, she approached tbe bod. Then, in a 
delirium of grief, nil the pent-up love of her 
heart buret forth and sho threw herself upon 
the bed, clasped the neck of the Emperor in 
her arms and exclaimed, “My husband I ray 
husband 1” while sobbing as though her heart 
would break. 
Napoleon also wept convulsively. He folded 
Josephine in his arms and assured her of bis 
undying love. For some time they remained 
in each other’s embrace, while mutual words of 
tenderness were interchanged. The VCtiel d« 
rhumbrr, who thus far had been present, was 
dismissed, and for an hour the Emperor and 
Empress continued In their last private inter¬ 
view. Josephine then departed forever from 
tiie husband whom she had so long and ten¬ 
derly loved. They remained thobest of friends 
until the death of the Empress. And one of j 
the last words of the Emperor as he was dying j 
at St. Helena, was “Josephine,” 
- •» 4 » 
THE WAY A GOVERNOR COURTED. 
This is the way Gov. Chamberlain of South 
Carolina did up bis courting, and the kind of a 
woman he won. The story is told by a Wash¬ 
ington corretpondent: 
In the album cf a lady friend he came across 
the picture of a young girl, with sweet, pure 
eyes and hauntlngly-Jovely face. In his un¬ 
demonstrative manner lie asked her name and 
whereabouts, and, without stopping to ask the 
advice of any “ mutual ” friend, determined to 
see if the real picture compared favorably with 
tbo ideal, and if so, and the thing were possi¬ 
ble, to gain the young Jady for his bride. He 
saw and was conquered, not only by tbo per¬ 
sonal beauty of sweet Alice Ingersoll, but by 
her additional charms of mind and manner. 
Ho saw ber but twice and hardly seemec! to 
notice her. addressing but very Utile conversa¬ 
tion directly to her, but Immediately upon his 
return to Columbia wrote her a letter such as 
girls dream about as coming from their ideal 
lovers; and sweet Alice, astonished, pleased, 
delighted that such a reserved, Intellectual 
man should be charmed by her beauty and 
simplicity, said “Yes,” aud they were married 
three or four mouths afterward. Miss Ingersoll 
was the daughter of an eminent lawyer, who 
was at one time Attorney-General of the State 
of Maine arid a warm friend of Senator Fessen¬ 
den. After the father's death their ample in¬ 
come ceased, and the eldest daughter deter¬ 
mined to put her line education to some prac¬ 
tical use. Accompanying her mother she came 
to Washington, and both obtained positions in 
lhe newly-organized Banking Bureau, over 
which Mr. McCulloch was then Controller, For 
years the girl, fresh from school, occupied a 
clerical desk making the lone room all the 
brighter for her presence. She was then a 
slender, golden-halred girl, with large blue 
eyes, shaded by dark lashes, dark penciled eye¬ 
brow;, white teeth, and complexion of that 
vlyid pink aud white which the partial gods 
only bestow upon New England girls, and no 
others. Now she is a spit ndid-looking, ma¬ 
tronly woman, with complexion unimpaired, a 
youthful bloom undimmed, and with happiness 
written on every feature. 
-- 
A POST-OFFICE ROMANCE. 
Mil John H. Hallktt, one of the oldest pub¬ 
lic servants in tho New York Post -office, re¬ 
members that in 1825 a young woman used to 
call every week for a letter addressed, “Miss 
MaryH. Russell, Post-office.” Tbe regularity ! 
of her visits and her apparent unwillingness to 
give any account of herself elicited much curi¬ 
osity among the clerks, hut tbclr Inquisltivtv 
uess was never grat ified. Years passed away 
and gray hairs appeared upou the woman’s j 
head, hut she made her calls as regularly as 
ever, and the expected letter was always wait¬ 
ing for her. Nearly ten years have elapsed 
since hor last visit, but the letters stlllcome ad¬ 
dressed to her name, although tbo intervals be¬ 
tween them are longer than in the old time. 
These letters have of course been opened, but 
they contain no clue to the identity of either 
the writer or the recipient. E-u'h contains a 
$5 bill, with a few lines of writing, to eay when 
the next remittance would be made. No ad¬ 
dress, no date, no sienaturo. The handwriting 
Is apparently that of a man fcc-blo with age, and 
another letter with the usual BUjierscrlption Is 
now lying unopenod at the Post-office. Mary 
[ H, Russell, an^dderly woman teu y cars ago, Is 
probably dead. Tho letters with their contents 
are sent to Washington, but no one can guess 
who the anonymous writer is who so faithfully 
I maintains his correspondence. Post - offices 
are essentially practical places, but little bits of 
romancemaysometin.es be found even in their 
history.— N. T. E uni ml Post. 
1 Infinite toil would not enable you to sweep 
a mist, hut l>y ascending a little you may over¬ 
look it altogether. Bo it is with our moral im¬ 
provement; we wrestle fiercely with a vicious 
habit, which would have no hold upon us if we 
asoended Into a higher moral atmosphere. 
-- 
Wisdom is oftentimes nearer when we stoop 
than when we soar. 
$abkili Reading. 
IN MEMORIAM. 
BY D. W. C. PACKARD. 
So young, so pure, and thou art dead— 
Dead in Life’s early morning? 
Thy life, but not Us light. Is fled, 
A blessing and a warning, 
On tlmt pale brow a seal is set. 
To know not tears, nor laughter 
Thou leav’st us weeping, gazing yet 
Into the dread hereafter! 
How can we, groping in this shade, 
With poor, uncertain seeing. 
E'er hope to read, by stars that fade, 
The mystery of Being? 
Wc only know that thou hast gone. 
And closed is Death's grim portal. 
Which opes to but one touch alone. 
Nor answer gives to mortal: 
We only know our hearts shall keep 
And count thy graces over 
AVc toil ami weep, but tltou asleep 
Hast, peace benent h the clover. 
What quickness comes to burled dust. 
The Spring shall tell in blossom— 
So wc, with an unfailing trust, 
Give thee to Earth's kind bosom,— 
Knowing of Life thcro Is no loss. 
Through Him, its God and Giver, 
And calmly wait Ills hand across 
The dark and silent river. 
Brockton, Mass. 
-- 
SILENT CITIES OF THE DEAD. 
BY BAR AII XI. MAVERICK. 
I wonder why it. is that, an involu nfary shud¬ 
der passes over us as we approach theso holy 
resting places. Surely there can be no terrors 
in the thought t hat we, too, shall one day enter 
into the same dreamless slumber of those be¬ 
fore us, that over vs will l»e placed tho pure, 
white marble, bearing some loving t hought en¬ 
graved by mourning friends. Yet it is but nat¬ 
ural to feel a dread of prsf-lne from the world, 
end being numbered with “the things that 
were," forgotten even, < xcept by our nearest 
and dearest. It seems strange, however, that 
any one can look upon death as a dreadful 
messenger, when he is only the blessed QDgel 
who comes to call us away to peace and ever¬ 
lasting life. It inspires ns with a longing to 
flee instantly away when we think of going to 
the house of our Fall -r, and being led beside 
the sUll waters and made to lip down in His 
green pastures. Life seems very tame when 
compared with the fullness of joy and rest m 
store for us. Wc know, too, that the highest 
development human brain can reach is naught 
beside tho comprehension and knowledge to be 
bestowed upon us in the Hereafter. 
It is hard (bow WtXtrly hard we know by our 
own experience) to part from t hose with whom 
our lives have been spent from childhood—to 
watch them gradually fading away; to know 
that hands invisible to us are beckoning to 
them from the unseen shore, till at last the 
spiritual triumphs ovor the material matter 
and they pass over tho Border Into the Spirit 
Land. I'nice* wo are Christians, possessed of a 
deep, unwavering faith, wo are apt to forget 
that “ He doctb all things well,” and question 
our kind Father’s love. We wonder why this 
sorrow should come to us-this terrible tribu¬ 
lation which seems more thun we can bear. At 
length, tho first tempest of grief being past, 
certain comforting passages come to us, as'lf 
one of 11 is angels whispered in our car, “ God 
tempers tho wiDd to tbe shorn larnb;" “Whom 
the Lord loveth He cliasteneth and a peace¬ 
ful tru&t comes over uis as we bow cur heads 
and say with heartfelt confidence, “Not my 
will, 0 Lord, but thine be done.” But eveu 
then It is a hard struggle to keep down soul- 
murmurings as we follow the precious remains 
to the “ SileDt City," and leave them there to 
await tbe Resurrection morn. Who alter this 
can look upon the City of the Dead with fear? 
I All of us have some blessed tie to bind us to 
the upper wmrid, and these tear-dewed mounds 
are but reminders of tbe loved ones gone be¬ 
fore. God grant that the purity of our lives 
»iay be such as to permit our meeting them 
when we shp.ll put off this mortal for the robes 
of immortality. 
-♦-*--*--—_ 
SERIOUS AND SUGGESTIVE. 
1 MAY be ever so rich, ever so finely educated, 
ever so handsome, ever so much admired, and 
1 yet tbe day is coming when I shall die. What 
then will these profit me ? 
Tertcllian saitb, “If thou endurest wrong 
for Christ's sake, He is a Revenger; if sorrow, 
He is a Comforter; If sickness, He is a Phy¬ 
sician ; if loss, He is a Restorer; If life, He is a 
Reviver. 
It is not with spiritual rose-bushes as with 
material ones ; in the latter, the thorns remain 
and the roses pass away; In the former, the 
thorns pass away and the roses Btay.— St. Fran¬ 
ce de Sales. 
One cannot enough wonder or h* thankful to 
Providence that, from time to time, he places 
in the spirit of a whole people, or of individu¬ 
als, those truly God-llke thoughts on which 
our inner being reposes.—Humfootof. 
