S42 
THE RURAL WEW-YORKER. 
not an arm among the hundreds here out- ra 
stretched to pluck It from the waves?" b 
“ Heaven forbid !*’ shouted Louis 8t. Ours; and ti 
with the words he cast aside ilia coat and sword, ti 
and leaping from the bank, dashed out Into the s’ 
stream. The welkin rang with enthusiastic b 
cheers; and many a one who had shrank from h 
the peril, now envied the young man who had n 
dared It the glory of the act. h 
The retreating foe were still noar enough to 6 
mark the proceedings on shore; and hoping to w 
rescue their fallen nag from the grasp of the vic¬ 
tors, they renewed their slackened lire. But re- 1’ 
gardless of danger, though the halls fell fast 
around him, S'. Oar3 pressed on. The throng a 
upon the shore watched his progress In profound 
silence; hut when Ue safely neared the flagstaff, 11 
and grasplug It, held up the flag, a burst of gratu- e 
latton, long and deafening, greeted bis triumph, P 
and was again renewed, and yet again, as he c 
swam back with the trophy to the shore. Leap- e 
lng up the bank, he laid It with a proudly throb¬ 
bing heart, at tho feet of Al.de Frontenac. 
Surrounded by his staff, tho old noble stood 
upon the highest point of the hank, watching the 
scene with Intense Interest. A smile at Its gal- 
lant Inane lit up the veteran’s haughty face soft¬ 
ening its stern expression, and revealing by Its 
Bunshlne tho kindness which really formed a ‘ 
part of his character, though too often obscured 
by tho arbitrary manner which his love of rule 
had fostered. Bending courteously towards St. 
Ours: 
“ Well and bravely done, young sirsaid he— 
«* well ami bravely! the crowning act of a heroic ‘ 
day! On the spot which has witnessed your valor, 
It is tilting that. In my sovereign's name, 1 decree 
yon tho guerdon It deserves. Kneel down, Louis 
St. Ours!”—and drawing Ills sword from lt3 scab¬ 
bard, he held the glittering blade, flashing In tho 
sunlight, over the young man’s head for a mo- ■ 
ment, then laying It upon his shoulder—" Rise, 
Baron do Mornay !’’ he exclaimed; “ and be thou 
fortunate In love, as thou hast this day Bhewn 
thyself valiant In ftrni3, and loyal to the service 
of thy king! 
At these words the new-made baron rose, flush¬ 
ed and excited, pleased by the approbation of his 
commander, and the approbation accorded him; 
but above all my stifled and astonished at being 
accosted by the paternal name he had so long dis¬ 
used as the symbol of his legal bondage. Twice 
within the last few hours he had heard It re¬ 
peated by those to whom he bad never been 
known as other than Louis St. Ours; and now he 
was rebaptized with his lamlly name, dignified 
with a lordly title. 
The city that night presented a scene of re¬ 
joicing, except where, here and there, a closed 
dwelling told of the desolation which the brief 
combat had brought Into it. A banquet at the 
castle celebrated the victory of the garrison; and 
conspicuous amoug the adornments of the grand 
saloon, hung the English flag, dividing tho atten¬ 
tion of tbe guests with the youthful hero, who, 
at the pern of bis life, had snatched It from the 
waves. Euphrosync looked the very Incarnation 
of happiness. Never before had she so plainly 
manifested her preference; It seemed as if she 
designed to convince him of It, and that so uudls- 
guls:dly, that even while his heart struggled be¬ 
tween the joy and anguish which the certainty 
of her love brought, with It, he was half Inclined 
to censure Its almost triumphant demonstration. 
More painfully than ever came home to him bis 
hopeless bondage —his hateful obligations to 
another; and reproaching himself that he had so 
long tacitly permitted the growth of her affec¬ 
tion, he resolved that very evening, even while 
her hand held the cup of happiness to his Ups, to 
turn from It, and reveal to her his true position. 
With this purpose he turned to seek her; but not 
flndlug her among the crowd, he strayed on to¬ 
wards a small apartment, whose glass-doors 
opened upon the terrace, which, at that hour, he 
thought to Hod untenauted, and where he could 
collect himself for the Interview he sought. 
With dowcast eyes, and arms folded across his 
breast, the very impersonation of melancholy 
musing, Louis entered the apartment; but as he 
slowly crossed its threshold, a murmur or voices 
startled him, and raising hla eyes, he Baw, 
seated in a high-hacked Gothic chair, surmount¬ 
ed ioy his own arms, tho Comte de Frontenac, 
while beside him stood Eupbrosyne, one am 
thrown caressingly round his neck, and her fair 
face, a very Aprll-tace, with Its mingled smiles 
and tears, half-hidden on his shoulder. Entranced 
by the unexpected sight, yet retaining a dim con¬ 
sciousness of intrusion, Louis mechanically turn¬ 
ed to retreat, when the voice ol the governor ar¬ 
rested his steps. 
“Nay, do not quit us, Baron de Mornay,” he 
cried. “There surely Is an unseen Power that 
directs our actions, or you would not have been 
drawn hither at so apropos a moment. Come 
and tell me what sUall he done to the man whom 
we delight to honor! I feel that I have but poorly 
acknowledged your chivalrous conduct by the 
bestowal of an empty title; and now I would sig¬ 
nalize my sense of your brave and gallant bear¬ 
ing, by enriching you with a gift, priceless above 
rubles, if—as the young believe—the heart’s affec¬ 
tion Is more to he coveted than worldly wealth 
and honors—Eupbrosyne 1“ 
She did not answer to his call, but Kneeling In 
silence beside him, strove with her small hands 
to cover her blushing face, as It rested on his 
knee. The comte turned his eyes from her with 
a Bmlle, and again addressed SC. ours: 
“ Young man, I knew your father, and loved 
him; and so loving him, rejoice that he has left 
such a son to honor his memory, and bear up hla 
ancient name; and being such a one, I not un¬ 
willingly intrust to your keeping the happiness 
of my child, my Ruphrosyne—mine by adoption, 
the p celous gift of a sister whom I shall never 
coase to mourn.” 
There was a breathless pause: the young man’s 
tongue clave to the roof of his mouth his heart 
seemed to cease Its pulsations; he stood for a 
minute as If transformed;to[marble, then roused 
by an overpowering rush of agony, he rapidly 
traversed the apartment. It was a moment of 
terrible Buffering; be could not. hear It long; and 
suddenly nerving himself to the act, he paused 
before the chair of M. de Frontenac, and raised 
Mg eyes to read a sentence of wrath and banish¬ 
ment In that'despoUe face, but Instead thereof, 
he saw an expression of kindness, softening the 
eagle glance of the veteran, such as he^had never 
witnessed there before, 
A mist, obscured his sight, and dimly through 
It ho saw the still kneeling figure of Eupbrosyne, 
her face bowed down p.Dd hidden In her hands; 
and Impulsively he cast himself bpslde her, 
broatblng out In broken sentences his love aDd 
his despair, rapidly detailing the history of his 
early and forced marriage, and deploring with 
passionate eloquence the relentless destiny that 
crushed from his bean the hope dearest to It on 
earth. 
»This Is a strange story, forsooth,” said the 
comte In a tone that sounded mockingly to the 
diseased sense of the unhappy lover. “£u- 
phrosyne, my bird, heard you ever the like of it?” 
“ Ay, almost the same, de?r uncle,” she said, 
raising her lovely face, now so radiant with hap¬ 
piness that the young baron, almost Indignant, 
gazed fixedly upon her for a moment, half ready 
to believe himself the dupe of some concerted 
jest. 
“The same, say you!—pray, how so?” ques¬ 
tioned the comte. 
“ List if It be not,” she answered. " A story of 
a maiden wedded In ber childhood, left unclaimed, 
forsaken by her perjured lord, whose pictured 
face only kept alive her remembrance, ay, and 
nourished her affection tltl they met again; and 
D0W -•’ The words faltered on her Ups, as, 
with a trembling band, she unclasped a chain of 
gold from her nock, and held the miniature sus¬ 
pended rrom it towards him, bendlog down, hid 
her blushing face from his gaze. 
lie took It eagerly, and pressing the spring, 
disclosed the likeness of a youth, beautiful as 
Adonis; yet, was It not—could It, bo a transcript 
of his own boyish features! It was a strange be¬ 
wildering thought, nor would he have yielded to 
the conviction of Its truth, had it not been forced 
uponhltn beyond a doubt by his own name en¬ 
graved upon the rase. Yet even that evidence 
seemed insufficient, for he held It up In the strong 
light of the hanging lamp, reading with fixed 
gaze the name Louis de Mornay clearly cut upon 
the gold. 
“Rosyne!” he cried, catching her impetuously 
in his arms—“Rosyne—Rosyne de Laucey! she 
whom l have wronged, and shunned, and hated 1 
can it be that she and the beautiful Euphrosyne, 
the day-star of my life, are one—the same? If 
this is true, will not she to whom I have been so 
UDjust show mercy, and let the sufferings I have 
hut feebly pictured atone for the fatal error of 
the past?” Looking up with a smile of trusting 
love, she replied: 
“ it Is forgotten, now—forgotten dearest Louis, 
The joyful reunion of this moment Beals 
and sanctifies the empty vows of our childhood. 
Henceforth, let us live for God, who has so 
blessed us, and for each other.” 
" Ah, take her, my young gallant; and make 
her what amends you can for your past folly and 
neglect," said M. de Frontenac In ft tone of un¬ 
wonted emotion, “ For years she has been my 
precious charge, and for her sake I have marked 
your course, and at last brought you to my side, 
that incase I found you worthy of my peerless 
little blossom, a happy denouement might crown 
your melancholy romance. The name she bears 
Is an assumed one, of course—for with that mar¬ 
riage-symbol onherfloger, which I could never 
prevail on her to lay aside. It was not meet to 
deprive her of her matronly dignity. And now I 
will leavo you to mutual explanations; our guests 
are dispersing, and ft few hours still remain be¬ 
fore the morrow summons us to sterner duties. 
Be well assurred that you are satisfied with each 
other, else It win be easy for the church to undo 
the knot which affection has never rlvettcd. 
But If all Is right and true in your hearts, we 
will have you re-marrled on the same day that 
we chant a Te Deum for the victory which has 
chased the invaders irom our shores.” 
A bland smile brightened hlB face for a mo¬ 
ment, then turning away, he left them to their 
happiness.— Chamber's Miscellany. 
take her; that she had never known much of 
happiness, for her husband had died very early, 
and the sweetness of motherhood had been hprs 
but a little space; her relations had been mur¬ 
dered before her eyes; the revolt of her vassals, 
the Intrigues of her court, had familiarized her 
with danger In all Its forms. She CemaDded nt 
her brother, tho state’s ambassador, how he could 
have so little regard for the honor of their name 
aB to ask of her a deed that would blacken it in 
the eyes of all posterity. She had resolved never 
to marry, and t hus at her death the crown of Cy¬ 
prus would revert to the republic. Until then 
the noble senators might wait,. 
This answer, with all Its defiant st.renth and 
queenly dignity, flung at the feet of the Venetian 
senators, filled them with tho surprise that one 
might feel who should watch agozclle at Its gam¬ 
bols, and returning In the morning find it trans¬ 
formed Into a tigress. 
The senate replied to the queen In an Indignant 
strain. Catarina asked for the time to deliberate, 
and loud and angry were the discussions between 
herself and her brother. He was the only mem¬ 
ber ot her family for whom she felt any affection, 
and the senate bad remembered this when It 
chose him tor its ambassador. Tho covert menace, 
the inrlclng Insult of the senate’s protest, showed 
Catrina what she had to expect from those tender 
nurturere of her youth. The threat, ot force 
wbteh crouched behind the courtly phrases re¬ 
vealed the dread Venetian tribunal In all Its hid¬ 
eousness. But. resistance meant rain and desola¬ 
tion to her people. If the senate withdrew Its 
support, the barbarian hordes would rush down 
upon the helpless Cyprus and tear It Umb from 
limb. If she threw down the gauntlet to t he Ve¬ 
netians. their fleet would In a moment surround 
the island and take It by storm. Every outlet 
was closed, every avenue of escape walled up by 
the crafty senate, it was only the sacrifice of 
her own prldo that, was demanded, and she was a 
widow without a child. A tew short years and all 
would be over, and should she make other wives 
widows and other mothers childless by fighting 
for her crown ? The woman’s heart was stronger 
within her than the sovereign’s pride. 
She avoided all direct mention of the Venetian 
cocrcoln, “Too well I see how fleeting was tho 
show of happiness with which Fortune sought, 
to tempt me In my first youth, for I have received 
nothing at her hands but grief and disappoint¬ 
ment. Thus I renounce the pomps and the am¬ 
bitions of the world as I renounce my klDgdom. 
Never again will happiness enter my life. I see 
too clearly the uncertainty aud the futility ot 
earthly circumstance. I give my thoughts and 
my soul to God, Imploring Him to grant me His 
grace In return for the sacrifice of roy kingdom.” 
The news of the queen’s abdication and return 
to her native land spread throughout Cyprus. 
The people followed her In procession to Fama¬ 
gusta with shouts of clamorous applause and 
demonstrations of regret. The people loved her 
deeply and truly, for they knew her to he a 
Cypriote at heart through her love for the dead 
king. In Famagusta the Venetian general 
offered her tho dispatch from the senate. But 
she answered that she was disposed to obey the 
state blindly, only praying It, to have at heart the 
happiness of her kingdom, for although her body 
was about to leave It, her soul would remain. 
A council was held. In whch tho queea made a 
formal renunciation of her rights, the island 
magistrates took the oath of allegiance to the 
republic, and after a solemamass the standard 
of St. Mark was consigned by the queen to the 
Venetian general, who caused It to be reared 
alort in the market-place of the city. 
A few months later (a. d. 14S9) the queen took 
her departure. Crowds followed her to the shore. 
Mothers held up their children that they might 
look upon the last ot the sovereigns of Cyprus. 
The old proud line of Lustgnan had been swept 
from the earth, and the storm-ridden island 
which had held Its own for so many years was 
now hut a vassal of the arrogant republic. 
HEALTHFULNESS OF FRUIT. 
CATARINA CORNARO’S ABDICATION. 
The island of Cyprus, alwaya an object of In¬ 
terest to the scholar, has become “ popularly” 
attractive since Its Incorporation Into tho Brit¬ 
ish Empire; everything which throws any light 
on Its history, progress, peculiarities of soil 
or climate, Is eagerly read. Catariua Cornaro, In 
Harpers for September, (from which we make 
following extracts) Is a roost entertaining and in¬ 
structive addition to the fund of Cyprus Infor¬ 
mation :— 
The queen sat unshaken and erect upon her 
tottering throne, and turned a deaf ear to all the 
insinuations of the senate. The kingdom was 
her own, the people her subjects, and so long as 
one Heart remained loyal to her she would find 
strength to sfileld It against the cralt of her 
mother-state. The senate, finding that this soft 
tool of theirs had hardened to toughest steel in 
the stormy years of her reign, had recourse to 
open negotiation. They sent the queen’s brother, 
Giorgio Cornaro, to the lBland to demand of her, 
in the name of tho republic, to yield up her king¬ 
dom. To this proposal the queen proudly replied 
I that, she was astonished beyond measure at the 
charge the reverend senators brought agalust 
her of having allowed the sceptre to slip from her 
hands; that she had been too long accustomed to 
the splendor of a court to live at ease In the sim¬ 
ple slate of a private gentlewoman; that her 
strength had already been tried, and was able to 
meet whatever new misfortune might over- 
No intelligent person can doubt that the free 
use of ripe fruit Is conducive to health. On the 
other hand, It Is obvious that fruits as an exclu¬ 
sive article of diet do not meet all the wants of 
the system. The chemistry of the apple, the 
pear, the tomato, the grape, etc., Is well under¬ 
stood, and It can be stated how much nutriment 
or assimilable food each Is capable of affording; 
but this does not answer all the questions con¬ 
nected with the subject of the healthfulnes3 or 
fruit. Besides furnishing nutriment, fruit exerts 
other influences upon the animal economy of the 
highest Importance. The acids of fruit are not 
properly nutritive substances, but they produce 
physiological effects of a cooling or corrective 
nature which are highly salutary. 
Fruits are largely composed of water, and this 
fluid has come to them through extraodlnary 
channels. The tiny root-fibres have collected it 
in the dark earth, and by vital action it lias been 
forced through the most minute tubes, until It Is 
finally deposited In tho fruit cells. So far as wo 
know, the wat er undergoes no modifications ; It 
1b water In tho soil, aud It Is the same In its won¬ 
derful associations In fruits. It however holds 
saccharine elements and other principles which 
modify Its physical appearance and taste. The 
great amount ot water contained in frultBlBln 
itself an advantage, as It aids in cleaning the ali¬ 
mentary canal and the other excretory ducts, and 
thus promotes healthy action. 
Fruits are capable of sustaining life for long 
periods, bat the lack of the nitrogenous elements 
detracts from tlietr strength-giving power, and 
auy one living exclusively upon them would not 
be able to labor effectively. We have heard of 
the man who rowed bis boat along the entire 
coast of Nex England, sustained alone by wortle- 
berries; but If the voyage had lasted six months, 
or even three, his nerves and muscles would have 
entirely failed him. 
The past, year was a Beason of abundant fruits. 
Perhaps never in the history of the Northern and 
Eastern states were apples more plentiful. We 
were glad to sell the products of our orchards at, 
about twenty cents a bushel. The present sea¬ 
son promises as good. The rich and the poor can 
Indulge In this noble fruit, to the greatest, possi¬ 
ble extent, at small cost, If the fruit Is largely 
consumed, In connection with a proper proportion 
of animal or nitrogenous foods, a much higher 
standard of health will ho attained among all 
classes .—Boston Journal, of Chemistry. 
---- 
Among the fountains In Brussels there Is none 
that commands such attention of the stranger as 
the diminutive figure called Le Mannekln, and 
there Is none that Is held In such reverence by 
the people of Brussels. It Is a droll curiosity, 
whilst, at the same time, It Is a true picture of In¬ 
nocence and nature. He stands on hts pedestal 
showing by his countenance that he Is oblivious 
of the fact, that he Is surrounded by spectators 
and that, some of them glance at, him from be¬ 
hind their fans. It Is the figure of a hearty and 
robust little boy. about flve years ol age, standing 
on a pedestal over a hair-circle basin, and as he 
has becu frequently stolen or defaced, an orna¬ 
mental Iron railing incloses both the basin and 
the statue. But Le Mannekln Is a historical 
character, and he has stood for four hundred 
years In hts present position. The first statue 
was in stone, but ‘-’00 years ago It was replaced by 
the present bronze figure by Duquesnoy. There 
are various legends In connection with It, the 
best accepted of which lath at the son of a dis¬ 
tinguished man had been lost for some time, hav¬ 
ing strayed away. This part of Brussels was 
then a thicket, snd it was on tho spot that the 
fountain was subsequently erected by hts father 
that he was found, after dlllgeut search. Just in 
the position aud In the act which the statue rep¬ 
resents, In gratitude for his recovery the foun¬ 
tain was erected, and has stood during all the 
vlssltudcs ol war and changes of government. It 
has been from time immemorial an object of pop¬ 
ular affection. On grand holidays It has always 
been the custom of Lo Atannelcln to wear a cos¬ 
tume, and an officer is regularly appointed and 
paid by City Council of Brussels, whose duty Is to 
dress him on these occasions and to keep him in 
repair and in running order. When Louis XV. 
captured Brussels 174T he wore a large white 
cockade on his hat. In 1TS9 he was dressed out 
lu colors or tho Brabancon revolutionists, and the 
empire girded him with tilts French tri-color 
under Napoleon. The Dutch Government Im¬ 
posed the orange colors upon him. The days of 
September beheld him dressed In a blouse, and 
under tho present relgu, on grand occasions, he 
proudly wears the tunic of the civil guard. This 
little inanimate figure has been the object of sev¬ 
eral bequests, from which some Ideas of the sen¬ 
timent, ot the people of Brussels In relation to him 
may be Judged. The object of these bequests was 
to furnish a fund, not ouly to furnish him with 
dresses for fetes, hut also to keep the fountain In 
good order, and repair and renew it when neces¬ 
sary. This Is the fund which the city adminis¬ 
ters, and which pays for his chamberlain.—[Cor. 
Baltimore American. 
_ _♦♦ ♦ 
The First Finger-ring.— An amusing myth is 
told of the origin of the fluger-rlng. When Jove 
released Prometheus from the bouds by which ho 
had been confined, he condemned him, as a sort 
of penance—perhaps somewhat after the fashion 
of a modern tlcket-of-leave—to wear upon his 
Anger as a ring a link of the Iron chain that hound 
him to the Caucasian rock, In which was set a frag¬ 
ment of that rock Itself. In this way, so fable 
goes, the custom of tho Auger-ring originated. 
There la every reason to believe that this use 
of tho engraved stone began with the Greeks, 
and from them was copied by their servile Imi¬ 
tators, the Romans. It is every- way a conven¬ 
ient and natural one, and our grandfather’s cus¬ 
tom of wearing their seals at the fob, as It was 
called, or hanging from the slde-pooket, was a 
recurrence to oldJASsyrlan usages, which did not 
long hold its ground. 
An Expensive Boarder. —The elephant, a large 
one, kept at the Zoological Gardens of London, 
seems to be a pretty hearty feeder. His dally 
food consists of four hundred pounds of hay and 
three bushels of oats. He washes this enormous 
quantity ot provender down his throat with four 
barrels of water. Besides all this, he thankfully 
receives candles, cakes, apples, aud such small 
trifles, from the visitors. 
RECENT LITERATURE. 
Henry Grevili.es new book, and most dra¬ 
matic and uiOBt powerful novel, and the one that 
established her fame In Europe, Is “Saveli’s 
Expiation,” now in press and to bo published In 
a tew days by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Phila¬ 
delphia. It Is a faithful portrayal or Russian 
despotism In the time of serfdom; and although 
the character on which the plot rests Is strongly 
drawn, It Is not overdrawn, but Is true to the 
times anClsituation, for the pictures of Russian 
life arc drawn In a manner which could only 
have been acquired through actual observation 
and experience. Powerful us It Is, It la free from 
exaggeration, while a pathetic, tender love story 
Is presented for relief. This novel shows more 
power and wonderful concentration than any the 
author has written; the descriptions are so vivid, 
and the characters and surroundings presented 
with such clearness and strength, that one is car¬ 
ried to the very scene and feels the atmosphere. 
Henry Gievllle, Indeed, Is a charming ftfld exqul- 
stto writer It will be Issued In uniform Btyle ana 
price with “Theo,” “Kathleen,” uabrlelle,’ 
and “Miss Cresplngy,” published by the same 
firm. 
