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Vol. IV, 

MARCH, 1860. 

No. 1. 


So well executed in the present number, will be seen to be a shrub 
of most remarkable beauty and interest. It was recently discov- 
ered and introduced from Cerros Island by Dr. J. A. Veatch. In 
its native state it is found growing in open, sterile, rocky and clayey 
soils, at an elevation of from 600 to 2000 feet above the level of 
the sea. 

Many members of this species of plants — the (Enotheras (or wine 
seekers) — only expand their flowers in the evening, at which time 
they are the favorite resort of moths and owl butterflies : on this 
account they have been styled Evening Primroses. 

Technical Description. — Stem woody, erect, 6 to 8 feet in height, seldom moie 
than 2 or 3 inches in diameter, branches short, erect or ascending, twigs scar- 
let or madder purple, bark of the body whitish, or leaden hue, wrinkled and 
roughened, wood yellowish, very brittle. Floral portion of the branchlets mi- 
nutely short villous, with glandular hairs, often puberulant below. Leaves 
small, linear lanceolate, entire, (?) undulate, sessile, villous, apex glandular, 
tipped with scarlet, alternate, solitary, or in fascicles. Flowers in dense spikes 
elongating as the fruit matures, floral branchlets purple, tube of the calyx long, 
tubular-funnel-form, the lower third attenuated or somewhat suddenly con- 
tracted into a slender tube ventricose above, about 1 inch in length, (the acute 
reflexed segments about 4- the length of the tube) minutely hoary villous exter- 
nally, the lower third hirsute within. Flowers on stems (pedicles) ]- to -g- an 
inch in length, deep scarlet, segments purple, unchanged in drying. Petals 
obovate, roundish, shorter than the stamens and pistil or calyx segments, buds 
and flowers erect, style essert beyond the stamens, capitate stigma often with a 
white frosty exudation or flocculose tomentum attached, purple lilac color. Sta- 
mens exsert, the 4 opposite the petals shortest, the flattened filaments inserted 
a little lower down, anthers yellow, striped with a scarlet line along the back, 
tipped with a crimson mucro, oblong, linear fixed near the middle versatile. 
Flowers diurnal. Capsules erect, somewhat curved or ascending, from f to 1 
inch in length on stout pedicles from \ to 2^ an inch in length, persistent (for 
years,) linear subquadrangular, 4-celled, 4-valved, opening at the apex, and the 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year lSo9, by Mrs. F. H. Day, in the Clerk's OiBce of the 
District Court of the United States for the Northern District of California. 


valves recurve-expanding, separating from the persistent central placenta, seeds 
compressed with a thin membranous testa, linear oblong appendiculate, ascend- 
ing in a single rovr in each cell. 

The seeds have been sent to Europe and to the East, and we hope soon to see 
this charming shrub in cultivation. 

We regret that the admirable chromo-lithograph of this lovely plant has 
been marred in some degree by wrong lettering. Anothera is given as the 
name, instead of (Enothera. 


Juniperus Cedrosiana — Kellogg. 

The above figure is an outline of a new and very valuable species of 
Juniper. About two years since we received specimens from Dr. J. 


A. Veatch, found upon tlie mainland in the vicinity of New Idria ; 
from these we made an incoinplete drawing, and invited the atten- 
tion of the California Academy of Natural Sciences to the subject ; 
but the fruit being immature, and desiring more ample materials, we 
had not deemed it proper to take^ further public notice of it until 
the recent reception of full and complete specimens from Cedros Is- 
land, Dec. 2d, 1859. This tree is of slow growth, requu-ing 150 to 
200 years to attain to the height of 10 or 15 feet, with the diameter 
of a foot. The branches spread horizontally in an irregular man- 
ner, with very dense foliaceous branchlets, often literally loaded 
with fruit. These blue cone-like berries abound in a terebinthine 
aromatic gum, probably as valuable for medicinal and economic pur- 
poses as any of its kindred. Found in forests it would doubtless rise 
to a tall columnar form, with a straight grain. The wood is remark- 
ably close and fine-grained ; in color and texture it resembles the 
apple-tree, although we think the quality much superior. In the 
recent state it is quite heavy. 

The timber is apparently the most suitable for engraving purpos- 
es of any native titnber known to us. To the turner, \h.e artist, the 
carver, and the cabinet-maker, the wood is invaluable — suitable for 
the finest work. It takes a beautiful polish, and is probably equal, 
if not superior in durability to many others of this almost inde- 
structible family of forest trees. Its live-oak manner of growth 
forming natural knees, ought to recommend it to the attention of 
ship-carpenters and boat-builders, especially upon this side of the 
continent, where such timber will soon be needed. If the bark 
were removed and the tree left standing to partially season before 
cutting, and perhaps macerating it well to remove the sap and sub- 
jecting it to slow seasoning, it would probably be found to work with- 
out warping. We hope those living in its vicinity will furnish us 
with the result of their experience. 

Technical Description. — Leaves minute ovate, acute, appressed, irabricate in 
six rows, an oblong gland on the back, leaves on the younger branches of re- 
cent growth oblong subulate, on the older intermediate branches diamond- 
shaped, apex short, subulate incurved. Berries (on the female branch No. 1) 
somewhat oblong-ovoid of 6 to 8 oblong sub-peltate mucronate scales, cohering 
into a three-seeded berry (see No. 3,) the flattish mucro eccentric on the back 


of the upper tbird, erect or somewhat recurv- 
ed. The older more matured, fruit sub-3-an- 
gled, more or less tuberculate, "with oblong 
ridges or longitudinal ribs ; densely clothed 
with a blue bloom. Fruit large (about l an 
inch long and a little less in diameter.) Male 
aments or cones (No. 2) very small ovate, 
light cinnamon color. 

It is worthy of observation, that on every 
specimen of this species of Juniper — although 
collected by other parties and from other lo- 
calities — should all present remarkable strob- 
iliferous cones as seen in the marginal figure. 
They are evidently produced by the poisonous 
sting of some insect causing this peculiar met- 
amorphosis of the leaves. Viohsihlj a, cynips. 


This Juniper grows rather abundantly in some localities on Cerros Island. 
It is found most abundant about the middle of the island, on the eastern side, 
in deep ravines, usually at an elevation of 600 or 700 feet above the sea. 

I have observed it in great profusion on the mountains bordering the western 
side of- the great Tulare Valley, on the head of Panoche Creek, and in the 
neighborhood of the quicksilver mines of New Idria. It is remarkable for the 
great horizontal extension of its branches, generally within a foot or less of the 
ground, and not unfrequently touching it their whole length, branching ofF from 
the main stem at a height of a few inches. When in full fruit, the twigs are 
literally bending with the weight of the minute cones. Its spreading boughs 
afford an appropriate and favorite shelter for quails, rabbits, and other small 



0, sad-voic'd winds of Spring, 
To-night your mournful music suits me well, 
For from the unforgotten Past ye bring 

Thoughts which I may not tell ! 

The Past, Oh mighty word ! 
Mighty in human good, and human ill ; 
How are the secret founts of nature stirr'd, 

Obedient to thy will I 

The millions past away. 
Are sleeping calmly in thy bosom now, 


And millions basking in the Present's ray, 
To thy decree must bow ! 

Sad thoughts come welling up, . 
And chase my individual grief away, 
I see the myriads that have drain'd life's cup, 

And spent their short lived day ! 

Ambition's eager men, 
The glorious and degraded ones of earth, 
They who have nobly wielded plough and pen, 

And votaries of mirth ! 

Fair women, in whose hearts ' 

Rested the holy image of our God, 
And those lost beings whose destroying arts 

Curs'd the bright earth they trod ! 

And children, fair and sweet. 
As the blush rose that opens to the sun. 
Who needed but a guide to teach their feet 

Guilt's thorny paths to shun ! 

The thoughts, the hopes, the fears. 
That sway'd in hearts as sensitive as ours. 
All have pass'd down the stream that swelled with tears 

Or that was deck'd with flowers ! 

How little can we guess 
The living feelings of the countless dead; 
The voiceless misery, or happiness, 

Through which their earth-life sped. 

Yet some had glorious souls, 
And some left records of a mighty mind ; 
And such, till time's last fading cycle rolls, 

Are landmarks for their kind ! 

And such, tho' dead, live still ; 
The good man's memoi-y is forever green ; 
'T was ever glorious, and it ever will 

Reflect in quenchless sheen ! 

The whole of life is this, 
Or short or long, past, present, gives no more, 
A stainless past, expectant future bliss, 

When present scenes are o'er. 

Then let each fleeting hour 
That adds its number to the checker'd past, 


Add also to eternity's rich dower 

More treasure than the last ! 

So, when with time and change 
All that we ever have to do is done, 
Our souls shall find a wider, nobler range, 

In worlds of glory won ! 



No. 11. The Latin Writers — Continued. 

Among the Latin writers, whose names are connected with the 
early period of Anglo Saxon Literature, Adhelm, Abbot of Malms- 
bury, and afterwards Bishop of Sherborne, is one worthy of at 
least a passing notice. His writings belong to the latter part of 
the seventh century, and he died a few years after the commence- 
ment of the eighth. Adhelm is said to have been educated by a 
learned Irishman named Meldun, by whom he was thoroughly indoc- 
trinated in Greek and Latin letters. He himself takes pains to in- 
form us of the extent and variety of the studies with which he oc- 
cupied himself, among which were astronomy, astrology, and the 
Roman law. He seems to have been of a highly speculative turn of 
mind, and among the subjects to the investigation of which he de- 
voted himself, were, the solution of the famous scientific problem, 
which at the time occupied so large a share of the attention of the 
learned — the proper mode of computing the Easter festival — and the 
mysterious and sacred virtue of perpetual virginity. The latter, 
indeed, seems to have been the good bishop's favorite subject, and 
he treated it at large, both in prose and verse, making it the theme 
of an elaborate religious and philosophical work, and also, of an 
extended poem — both in Latin. In addition to his other talents and 
acquirements, he is said to have been an excellent musician. 

The Anglo Saxons, we are told, delighted greatly in rythm and 
harmony, and King Alfred in his " Hand-Book," has preserved an 
anecdote of the Saxon Bishop, which, whatever credit it may reflect 
upon his musical powers, would be regarded now-a-days as scarcely 


consistent -with the episcopal dignity. He tells us that Adhelm, 
when he could find no other mode of commanding the attention of 
his uncultivated parishioners and townsmen, did not scruple to 
mount upon the bridge at Sherborne, and entertain his audience by 
singing a ballad of his own composition, — a performance which, as 
the royal chronicler intimates, seldom failed to interest and charm 
even the rudest spirits. 

Tradition further ascribes to Adhelm, a character of saintly pu- 
rity, together with the power of working miracles, some instances 
of which are mentioned by subsequent writers. Of the numerous 
works attributed to him, but a few have been preserved, among 
which are the treatise and poem in praise of virginity, already al- 
luded to ; and these two, we believe, are the only productions of his 
which have been printed. 

Adhelm, however, is chiefly worthy of note and remembrance, in 
connection with English literary history, as having been one of the 
first, if not actually the first, who translated portions of the Scrip- 
tures into the Anglo Saxon tongue. 

Bede, usually styled the Venerable, is the next of the Anglo 
Saxon writers, in the order of time, worthy of special mention, with 
the exception of the poet Caedmon, who, as he composed in his na- 
tive tongue, and not in Latin, does not belong to the class of au- 
thors treated of in the present paper. The other names which oc- 
cur between the period of Adhelm and that of Bede, — Ceolfrid, Ab- 
bot of Wearmouth, and Felix of Croyland, — are not of sufficient 
importance to call for more than mere passing mention. In his Ec- 
clesiastical History of the Anglo Saxons, Bede has left us a work, 
which is valuable even in the present age, and one which is cited by 
all subsequent English historians, as the main authority and source 
of information upon the events of the period which it covers. Of 
all the writers in the Latin tongue, who figure in the list of Anglo 
Saxon authors, he is the only one whose name is familiar to the gen- 
eral reader, — and of him, no well-informed person should be entirely 
ignorant. He was born about the year A. D. 675, at Jarrow,a village 
near the mouth of the Tyne. His life was the quiet and uneventful one 
of a modest but enthusiastic scholar and churchman, devoted to study 
and reflection. The greater part of it was spent within the walls of 


the Monastery of Wearmouth, where lie died, in the year 735. At 
the age of nineteen he took deacon's orders, and in his thirtieth 
year he was ordained a priest. From this period to that of his 
death, he remained almost constantly shut up in his monastery, giv- 
ing his whole time to study and writing, in which alone, according 
to his own account, he could find happiness. "It was all my life 
sweet to me," he says, with an unaffected simplicity, "to learn, to 
teach, and to write." Ilis love of retirement, and his de^'otion to 
quiet and studious pursuits were so great, that when Pope Sergius, 
induced by his fame for learning, solicited him to leave his monaste- 
ry and take up his residence at Rome, he declined the flattering in- 
vitation. Among the learned of his own countrymen, he was held 
in the highest estimation, and Egbert, Bishop of York, seems to 
have been one of his warmest friends and admirers. An epistle 
which Bedc wrote to this prelate, is still preserved, and is highly 
valuable and interesting for the curious information which it con- 
tains in reference to the ecclesiastical affairs of the period. Both 
at home and abroad, his writings called forth the highest praise of 
his contemporaries, and some of them were even deemed so valuable 
and edifying, that they were recommended by an ecclesiastical coun- 
cil to be publicly read in the churches. But while thus honored, 
and almost canonized in his own generation, he has been less fortu- 
nate in undergoing the ordeal of later criticism, and his literary 
merits have been severely canvassed, and, (judged by any absolute 
standard,) successfully impeached, by modern writers. If we look 
upon his productions without a just consideration. of the age in which 
he lived, and apply to him the cannons of modern taste, we cannot 
well quarrel with the strictures of Du Pin, who says that " he wrote 
with surprising facility, but without elegance, art, purity, or re- 
flection ; and though his style is clear, he appears to be a greater 
master of learning, than of judgment or true critical taste." Had 
Bede's reviewer pointed out to us a single contemporary writer to 
whom these remarks would not be equally applicable, there would 
have been greater justice and good sense in his criticism. These re- 
marks upon the " style " of a British author of the eighth century, 
writing in the Latin tongue, and who had never been beyond the 
limits of his native island, seem to us somewhat overstrained. Equal- 
ly unreasonable are the censures which have been launched against 


Bede for his " puerile credulity," because he has chronicled in a 
spirit of simple faith, some of those legendary miracles, universally 
believed in, by the pious of his age. If Herodotus, and most of the 
other "classical" historians, were to be criticised in the same spir- 
it, it would not be difficult to convict them of a credulity at least as 
puerile as that of the British churchman. But the prodigies and 
wonders, chronicled by Greek or Roman writers, seem for some rea- 
son, to have been viewed in quite a different light, from those narra- 
ted in equal good faith by some devout and simple monk, or zealous, 
perhaps fanatical, churchman. Judged by any fair and reasonable 
standard, Bede must be admitted to have been a man of superior in- 
tellect, and one of the brightest luminaries that shone out amidst 
the darkness of the rude age in which he lived. 

His Ecclesiastical History, the most celebrated, as it is the most 
valuable, of his works, embraces the period from the invasion of 
Csesar to his own time, covering a space of more than six hundred 
years. The materials for his History were collected from old chron- 
icles and traditions, and the annals of the convents, and there is no 
reason to doubt that it is in the main quite as reliable as the great 
majority of the early histories of nations. It bears every trace of 
having been conscientiously written, and its faults are those which, 
in an equal degree, characterize every composition of the kind, pro- 
duced in a similar age, and under analagous circumstances. Many 
different editions of this work have been printed, the first of which 
was produced at Esling, in Germany, in 1474. 

When the voluminous character of his writings is remembered, 
the fact that there have been three continental editions of his entire 
works, (the last of which was published at Cologne in 1688,) will 
show the high estimation in which he has been held by the learned, 
even in comparatively modern times. Some notion of Bede's inde- 
fatigable industry, as well as of the range and variety of his stud- 
ies, may be gathered from the mere names of his principal writings, 
among which were commentaries on nearly every book in the Old 
and New Testaments ; a History of Martyrs ; a chronological trea- 
tise, entitled " the Six Ages " ; a treatise on the metrical art ; ano- 
ther on orthography ; a volume of hymns ; another of epigrams, 
together with a number of biographies, and theological essays or 
treatises. In addition to these productions, which were all in Latin, 


there is reason to believe that he was something of a poet, and the 
author of several metrical compositions in the Saxon tongue. 

St. Cuthbert, his pupil, tells us in an interesting account which 
he has left us of Bede's last hours, that at the time of his death, he 
was engaged in translating St. John's Gospel into his native tongue. 
Cuthbert also declares that his master was " very learned " in Eng- 
lish (that is Anglo Saxon) songs, and that " putting his thoughts 
into English verse, he spoke it with compunction." 

Though upwards of sixty at the time of his death, it is said that 
his life was shortened by excessive study and confinement. To the 
very last, though suffering under a distressing complication of asth- 
ma and consumption, he persisted in his literary labors, and also in 
devoting a portion of his time to the instruction of the monks of his 
convent. He finished his " History " only a few years before his 
death, and at a time when he was already a prey to the complicated 
disease to which he finally succumbed. Even with his last breath, 
St. Cuthbert tells us, he addressed to his affectionate disciples, who 
were watching around his bed, some "recitations" in the Anglo 
Saxon, — probably hymns, or devotional songs of his own composi- 
tion, in that " English verse," which we are assured he could speak 
with so much "compunction." 

It is not at all remarkable, though much to be regretted, that 
while Bede's Latin works have been so carefully preserved, we have 
not a single remnant of his composition in his native tongue. Lat- 
in was then the language of the learned, and even afterwards in the 
time of Alfred, the attempts of that monarch, to make translations 
from the Latin into the vernacular, for the benefit of the com- 
mon people, were discountenanced by the scholars, on the ground 
that such attempts were in disparagement of learning, inasmuch 
as all who desired access to the fields of knowledge ought to acquire 
the Latin tongue. 

The new-born languages then in process of formation, were re- 
garded by the learned, as crude j^aiJoz's, and were designated as "the 
rustic tongue." The employment of such barbarous jargon for lit- 
erary purposes, would have been considered absurd and monstrous ; 
nd as to rendering any -portion of the sacred writings into these 
vulgar and plebeian idioms, bearing, as in the eyes of the educated 
classes they did, the stamp of coarseness and ignorance, — the very 


contemplation of such an undertaking, would have seemed little 
short of profanity and sacrilege. This feeling seems to have been 
general, and indeed almost universal, among the clergy of France, 
Spain and Italy, even after the languages of those countries had ac- 
quired sufficient consistence, and regularity for literary uses. 

Thus, a knowlege of Latin was absolutely necessary, in order to 
make any advances in learning: and when we remember the utter 
lack of modern facilities for its acquisition, — the absence of lexicons 
and well arranged grammers, (Priscian being the only grammatical 
author whom the learner could consult) we shall be able in some de~ 
gree to appreciate the formidable difficulties which at this period be- 
set the road to the temple of knowledge, and the resolution, indus- 
try and perseverance, of the few courageous and determined spirits 
who succeeded in conquering those difficulties. Books were very 
few in number, and commanded enormous prices. Printing being 
unknown, they could only be multiplied by the tedious and labori- 
ous process of transcription. That was an extensive library, which 
could boast its two score volumes, and for the acquisition of the lan- 
guage in which were locked up nearly all the treasure of learning, there 
existed but a meagre vocabulary, of which sometimes but half a dozen 
opies existed in a whole Kingdom, and each copy of which was worth 
a fortune. Under these circumstances, the only mode by which the 
majority of students could acquire a knowledge of the Latin, was 
by oral instruction — a process involving the most appalling difficul- 
ties ; and it may safely be affirmed that the youthful student who in 
the days of Bede mastered that single tongue, put forth in the ef- 
fort, an mount of intellectual energy, equal to what would be now re- 
quired with the aids and appliances in use, to become familiar with 
all the languages of modern Europe. It is only by bearing in mind, 
and giving due weight, to facts and considerations of this nature, 
that we can justly estimate the scholars and writers of this remote 
period, and avoid the unfair and shallow criticisms of those who 
apply the standard of the nineteenth century to men who played 
their part on the stage of existence under widely different circum- 
stances from ours, a thousand years ago. 

A brief mention of a few other names, of secondary importance, 
will close our notices of this division of British literary history. 

Virgilius (an assumed name, his real one being "Feargal") a 


learned Irishman, and bishop of Saltzburgh, is principally memora- 
ble for having asserted and maintained the existence of antipodes, a 
dogma for promulgating which he was denounced as a heretic. 

Alcuin, another celebrated Irish scholar of this period, was in- 
vited by Charlemagne to the Court of France, of which he was 
long one of the most distinguished ornaments. He was appointed 
by his imperial patron to preside over a seminary, out of which the 
University of Paris is said to have grown. As a writer, he distin- 
guished himself chiefly in religious controversy, having written sev- 
en volumes of divinity, designed to confute the heretical opinions of 
Felix Bishop of Ugel. There are also some productions of Alcuin's 
still extant, which are of a lighter and more readable character, 
among which are a number of Latin poems, said to be remarkable 
for their vivacity and elegance of style. 

But by far the most memorable name, — next to that of Bede — 
that adorns this portion of British literary annals, is that of a very 
remarkable genius, sometimes designated as Erigena, but more gen- 
erally known by the name of Joannes Scotus. He is spoken of as 
"the glory of Irish scholarship," and from the number, scope, and 
variety of the works which he has left, abounding as they do in the 
evidences of an almost universal learning, and treating of nearly 
every branch of knowledge and science then known, he must have 
been a man of profound and subtle intellect, as well as of immense 
erudition. Among his writings are treatises on metaphysics, theolo- 
gy, astronomy, and physiology. His works abound in quotations, 
not only from all the principal classical writers of antiquity — both 
Latin and Greek — but also from Chrysostom, Origen, Jerome, and 
other patristic authors. The bent of his genius seemed to incline 
him toward philosophical investigations of a metaphysical character, 
and his subtle speculations have not been considered unworthy of 
engaging the serious attention of modern thinkers who have written 
on kindred subjects. Indeed, Guizot and Cousin, as well as other 
eminent continental authors, ascribe to the writings of Erigena a 
very considerable influence upon the philosophy of succeeding times, 
and more particularly in introducing into the theology of Europe 
those Neo-Platonic elements which characterize, even to this day, 
the religious and metaphysical speculations of a certain school of 
German philosophers. He is certainly entitled to be considered the 


boldest and most original thinker of his age. The independence 
and philosophical audacity which he manifests in his writings, fully 
justify what he declares concerning himself — " that he feared nei- 
ther authority J nor the fury of unintelligent minds, enough to make 
him hesitate to declare loudly what his reason revealed to him." The 
characteristic freedom and boldness of some of his religious specu- 
lations, called down upon him the censures of the Church, and a 
treatise against predestination, with another maintaining the eucha- 
rist to be merely a commemoration of the sacrifice upon the cross, 
were condemned by an ecclesiastical council. Like Pelagius, he as- 
serted the freedom of the will, insisted upon the intrinsic and sav- 
ing merit of good actions, and denied the exclusive efficacy of grace. 
His most important work, De Bivisione Naturae, has been preserv- 
ed. It exhibits his whole system of philosophy in the form of a di- 
alogue between a professor or teacher and his pupil, concerning na- 
ture, the universe, and universal being. The philosophical views 
developed in the book are unmistakably pantheistic, but it is evident 
that among the pious churchmen of the age, there were none who 
possessed sufficient acumen to discover and understand the real na- 
ture of the system thus taught by Scotus ; for had they been capable 
of discerning the pantheistic bearing of the book, it could scarcely have 
escaped the ecclesiastical censure which was visited upon his religious 
opinions expressed in other treatises. As it was, the Be Bivisione pass- 
ed unquestioned, because not understood, by his contemporaries, and 
long afterwards met with a tardy condemnation at the hands of the 
Council of Paris, in the thirteenth century, when for the first time the 
zealous guardians of orthodoxy seemed to have become aware of the 
pantheism which it embodied. This illustrious doctor was probably 
educated in Ireland, where there is reason to believe that the tradi- 
tions of the Alexandrian school of philosophy had been preserved 
among the learned. The statement found in some of the encyclo- 
pedias and biographical dictionaries, that Scotus "quitted his native 
country, where only ignorance aoid superstition j^revailed," and went 
to Athens to pursue his studies, evinces the utter ignorance of the 
writer concerning the real condition of learning in Britain, and par- 
ticularly in Ireland, at the time referred to. In like manner, the 
assertion contained in so respectable a work as Appleton's New En- 
cyclopedia, to the efiect that the two appellations, " Scotus," and 


"Erigena," refer, the former to the supposed Scotch, and the lat- 
ter to the supposed Irish, origin of the individual so designated, 
springs from ignorance of the fact, that at the period when these 
names were bestowed upon him, the term"Scotus" meant, not a 
Scotchman, but an Irishman. Ireland was unquestionably the Sco- 
tia, or Scotland, of the early writers, down to the ninth century, 
and Vossius, in his dissertation upon Pelagianism, quotes the words 
" Scotium pultibus praegravatus," applied by Jerome to Celestius, 
the pupil of Pelagius, in such a manner as to show clearly that he 
understood Scotum to refer not to the Scotch, but the Irish. 

Respecting the facilities for education, which existed in Ireland 
during the fifth and sixth centuries, we had occasion to make some 
observations in the preceding paper. Bede informs us in his Eccle- 
siastical History, that it was customary for the English of all ranks 
to go to Ireland to pursue their studies, and that they were all re- 
ceived there, with such hospitality, that they were supplied gra- 
tuitously, not only with books and instruction, but also with food. 
And in fact nearly all the distinguished scholars of this period, 
throughout Europe, appear either to have been Irishmen, or to have 
been educated at Irish schools. Nor did the state of learning de- 
cline in that country at all, during the age succeeding that of Bede. 
Mosheim, as quoted by Moore in his History of Ireland, tells us that 
" the Hibernians, who were called Scots in the eighth century, were 
lovers of learning, and distinguished themselves in these times of ig- 
norance, by the culture of the sciences beyond all other European 
nations;" and also that learned men of that nation, "were to be 
found discharging with the highest reputation and applause, the 
function of doctor, in France, Germany and Italy, both during this 
(the eighth) and the following century." 

With Erigena, who brings us down to the latter part of the ninth 
century, we conclude our notices of British Latin authors. At this 
period, the vernacular had already begun to be used for literary 
purposes, and in the next paper we shall take up the earliest writers 
in the Anglo Saxon tongue, of whom we have any remains, includ- 
ing King Alfred, and the poet Caedmon. 




Yonder, a few rods distant from the Parsonage, in the one-story, 
reddish-looking building with shelving, moss-covered roof and fall- 
ing chimney, resided these important personages of the village. 

" Old lady Spoonall," as she was courteously termed by the neigh- 
bors, had lived in the house in which she was born until her head 
had grown white with the snows of eighty winters. In the early 
part of her married life she became a widow, and her daughter Polly 
had been her constant and only companion for many long, dreary 
years — from time immemorial, it appeared to the younger portion of 
the community — until her brow, too, had grown white, and her step 
tremulous with age. 

Attend a moment and you shall have an introduction to this an- 
cient maiden. Picture to yourself a tall, angular figure composed 
principally of bone and muscle, with a large-sized head, broad fore- 
head, face narrowing suddenly downward to a pointed chin, thin 
lips, sharply turned nose of the nondescript order, narrow, pene- 
trating gray eyes, and sandy hair and complexion. The term sandy, 
softens the color of the hair a little ; it was called red in Polly's 
day ; in our own, it has been converted, by a figure of speech, into 
auburn; red, being too plebeian for the patrician ear of the nine- 
teenth century. The hair, which you can name as you fancy, was 
combed smoothly backward from the temples, drawing the eyes a 
little downward and outward, which gave them the appearance of 
enjoying a wider range of vision than ordinary eyes, and knotted 
behind with a silver bodkin. Attire this figure in a short, Kersey 
skirt, closely fitting bodice, high-heeled shoes, and you have before 
you a full-length portrait of Polly in the bloom and pride of her 
youth ! 

Polly was regarded by the "neighbors" as a pattern of neat- 
ness and propriety in dress and manners ; had she been taught from 
childhood, by the most approved exampler of deportment, how to con- 
duct herself under all social and polite exigencies, and to repeat 
"pickles, prunes and prisms," in a peculiar way for displaying, at 
once, precision of articulation, and the dimpling graces of the mouth, 


she could not have attained to greater perfection in the art, and she 
was not at all lenient toward those of her own sex who did not ap- 
proach her standard of excellence. 

Polly had, in truth, but few feminine weaknesses ; she felt herself 
to he superior to them, and yet, she was exceedingly tender in one 
crowning, womanly point — she admired an elegant and becoming 
bonnet — and it was the height of her ambition in dress to display 
on Sundays the most expensive article of the kind worn in the vil- 

On one occasion, in her early years, she crossed the bay to W — , 
selected a costly beaver with long, curling plumes, and returned to 

E with the beautiful hat nicely bestowed in a bandbox. The 

distance from the ferry to "old lady Spoonall's " residence could be 
greatly diminished by leaving the public road and crossing an inter- 
vening wood. Availing herself of this route Polly walked slowly 
and stately along beneath the tall trees, quite secluded from observa 
tion. Pausing suddenly in her walk she drew the costly hat from 
the box, adjusted it to one of the projecting branches of an oak, 
and stood at a little distance, turning her head alternately to the 
right and to the left, to judge of its effect and comfort herself with 
its beauty, and to calculate, may be, upon the sensation it would cre- 
ate among the neighbors on the following Sunday. But, alas for 
woman's vanity ! While gazing with profound admiration u^on its 
waving plumes and .ribbons she heard the report of a fowling-piece, 
and saw, at the same moment, her darling beaver flying from the 
tree. A sportsman had mistaken it in the distance for a partridge, 
and it lay shattered before her. She heard the crackling of his foot- 
steps in the underbrush as he pressed forward for the expected 
game, and quickly replacing the fragments of her costly hat in the 
bandbox, she returned home crestfallen and disappointed. The story 
took wing, among the NEIGHBORS, and the annoyance she experi- 
enced at the incident, was the least of all the mortification which 
it occasioned her. 

Polly Spoonall had the reputation of being vastly intelligent in 
her day ! And, certainly, she knew every thing that was said, done, 
or worn in the village ; and was sparing or liberal, in her commen- 
dation or censure of others, as, in her '■'■humble ojyinion," the cir- 
cumstances of the case required. Polly vras one of those " strong- 


minded " persons, if you please to so designate them, who "would 
like to hold the reins of government in their own hands and admin- 
ister the spur and the check, at pleasure. Poor Polly ! there was 
none of the spirit of toleration in her nature ; she did not live in 
tolerant times, and inherited none of the quality from her Puritan 
ancestors. The opinions and peculiarities of others annoyed her 
beyond measure, and she felt it to be her imperative duty o regu- 
late the consciences, as well as the actions and general affairs of her 
acquaintance. And she consequently intermeddled without scruple 
in all the sayings and doings of the neighbors, striving all the 
wl^ile to persuade both herself and them that she was a very humhle 
individual. " Uriah Heap " was not more boastful of this amiable 
virtue than she. Polly appeared to feel, indeed, that she held an 
indisputable claim to humility by right of church-membership, and 
that she was in like manner enriched with all the Christian graces. 
She was a rigid Presbyterian of the "old school," and set her face 
as a flint against all other religious sects, and against all innova- 
tions in her peculiar form of faith. Had Polly lived in the present 
day she would never have been convicted of any of the heresies 
that have crept into the church. She was an uncompromising be- 
liever in the doctrines of election and foreordination — of which she 
was a living example ; and in total depravity — to which she was, of 
course, an exception; and in a place of literal "fire and brimstone" 
for all out of the church. 

Polly believed, in truth, that "the soul must be saved by faith 
and sound doctrine." She repudiated the idea of works having any- 
thing to do with man's salvation ; said that she regarded it as a 
" grand device of Satan for ruining sinners and dragging them 
down to perdition." Whenever she felt it to be her duty to visit 
the sick and the ajfflicted of her church, the first inquiry was : " Do 
you feel yourself to he firmly established in the doctrines ? " And 
if she discovered any wavering, or doubt, in the mind of any poor 
sufferer, on an "essential point of doctrine," she did not fail to im- 
part her conviction that the affliction was a just retribution of Hea- 
ven, and also to express the hope that it might prove the means of 
inducing a proper state of feeling on a subject of such vital impor- 

Polly could not conceive of any salvation out of her particular 


church and creed. She would have been cruelly shocked at the 
idea of some modern philosophers, that there is a higher Christian- 
ity in the v/orld outside of the church, and which has been adopted 
by many of the noblest types of mind, than that embraced within 
them. While they who advocate this idea believe that they have 
the true key to the " Church Universal," to "the little stone that 
was hewn out of the rock without hands and grew until it became a 
great mountain and filled the earth." They teach and practice the 
ttvo great commandments which the Savior himself said embraced 
all of moral obligation — " love to God, and love to man." Their 
Christianity is broad enough for all people and for all time, because 
it admits of any form of faith and conduct that does not conflict 
with the holy law of love. Hence they have no acrimonious dispu- 
tations about forms of faith, and definitions of terms, such as have 
always marked the history of the churches : and their motto is— 
"Peace on earth, and good will toward men," which admits of no 
fearful wars to deluge the earth with blood, and wring tears of ago- 
ny from the heart of sufiering humanity. Like the Christ they go 
about doing good, scattering along their path the beautiful " fruits 
of the spirit — love, joy, peace, long-suifering, gentleness, and char- 
ity " ; and striving everywhere to remove evil and discord from the 
world, and to introduce the divine harmony which follows obedience 
to the law of love. 

But to return to Polly ; who was not only the religious, but the 
social terror of the neighbors. Wherever she appeared in society, 
she possessed the unfortunate faculty of exciting a feeling of dis- 
comfort and annoyance. Whenever she was observed approaching 
a neighbor's dwelling, the lady of the mansion would cast an appre- 
hensive glance about her apartment, re-arrange and dust the furni- 
ture, and receive her with a courteous, timid manner, "as if pray- 
ing one offended." And so completely, indeed, did the strong-mind- 
ed, self-reliant Polly hold the neighbors in check, that they dared 
not give expression to the indignation with which she often inspired 
them. Occasionally, some one more courageous than the rest, would 
declare that she was rightly named Spoonall^ because she was al- 
ways dipping into other people's mess. 

As Polly advanced in years she became particularly watchful 
over the young of both sexes, often remarking that such and such a 


young lady had been very indiscreet in manifesting too decided a 
preference for so and so ; never failing to add how differently she 
conducted herself when she was in her teens, and how shockingly so- 
ciety was degenerating. Many a timid maiden shrunk abashed from 
her scrutinizing gaze as she cast upon her swain " a sidelong look 
of love," fearing that she had almost committed a crime in allowing 
her heart to take a natural peep out of her eyes ; and many a bash- 
ful Jonathan wished her to antipodes as he stole a hurried glance at 
the object of his affection. 

But I must crave your clemency and sympathy, too, dear reader, 
for the ancient Polly, as undeserving as she may appear at a super- 
ficial view of her character and surroundings. Polly was many 
years in becoming the hard, censorious person she was — years of 
bitter disappointment — of unsatisfied heart-yearnings — of chagrin 
and mortification. In her youth she became attached to one who 
forsook her for a fairer maiden, and the love that would have soft- 
ened her nature and expanded her affections, rendering her genial 
and sympathetic, was thrown coldly back upon her heart to chill its 
kindly charities. No second lover came to kneel before her — the 
ancient manner of showing devotion to the ladies — tremulously 
praying for the honor of her hand ; and so she lived and died — that 
reproach of society — " an old maid ! " And it is doubtful if Polly 
would have trusted and accepted a second lover ; for she was one of 
those who venture all upon a single cast of the die. 

Polly was sensitive ; she did not like the epithet — "old maid." 
It was as odious at that period as it is in our own day, and equally 
as unpleasant to be endured. Young ladies were taught then, as 
now, that to secure husbands is the chief ambition, the alpha and 
the omega of their existence. And they had fewer resources then 
than the present generation, to divert their minds from painful or 
unprofitable subjects of thought, and to afford, at the same time, at- 
tractive and healthful occupation. The fine arts were not taught in 
the best schools for young ladies of those days, the nearest approach 
that was made to art being to embroider upon canvas or satin a few 
grotesque, unmeaning figures. Books were generally " banned and 
barred"; for the descendants of the Puritans thought it deleteri- 
ous to the interests of society for woman to read any other than the 
Bible, Hymn Book, and Assembly's Catechism ; they feared that 



the cultivation of her intellect would unfit her for the practical du- 
ties of life. And so universally did this opinion obtain, that even 
■woman herself believed it, religiously, and limited her knowledge to 
the kitchen, nursery, and drawing-room. 

It is, in truth, one of the saddest features in the history of hu- 
man progress, that mankind has not recognized the fact that the fac- 
ulties of mind which both man and woman possess are endowments 
of Heaven — were bestowed by the Father in infinite love and wis- 
dom, and were intended to be cultivated to their utmost capacity for 
development in order that our human nature may become harmon- 
ized and elevated to partake more largely of the divine. In man's 
weakness, darkness, and limited knowledge, he has claimed the pro- 
vince of judging which of the faculties of mind God has bestowed it 
were wisest and safest to cultivate. But, thank Heaven, a new era 
is dawning upon the earth. The problem of woman's capability 
and destiny, which has remained a secret since the foundation of 
the world, is being solved in the nineteenth century. The wise have 
already discovered that if an enlightened knowledge of the laws of 
nature is important to the proper development and self-government 
of man, it is equally so to woman, and that society has far more to 
apprehend from ignorance than from knowledge. 

Polly Spoonall pessessed an active, vigorous intellect, which ren- 
dered employment a constant necessity of her nature ; and, having 
but few kitchen, and no nursery duties to perform, she occupied 
herself, perforce, with the affairs of others. Had she lived in our 
time she might have wedded herself with divine art, or espoused the 
noble cause of education ; and, thus consorted, aided in elevating 
others to a knowledge of the beautiful and true, and slaked her own 
thirst for love at the deep fountain of inspiration, instead of becom- 
ing a busy-body and detractor, hateful to herself and obnoxious to 
others, and all the while restless with a consuming fever of the heart. 

The time is not far distant when woman will receive as thorough 
an education as man — her ability will keep pace with her knowledge 
— and her ambition will equal her strength to rise. Then will she 
become a companion with him in the various branches of literature 
and the fine arts — then will she win unfading laurels from the can- 
vas she vail have animated with life, and tune her harp for immor- 
tality upon the loftiest heights of Parnassus. 



Humboldt river ! Oh, most horrible of rivers, let us rename it. 
Let us call it the '-'■ River of Death," For three hundred miles its 
banks are one continuous burying-ground. Like the monster serpent, 
which once impeded the march and thinned the ranks of the Roman 
army, by filling the atmosphere with his pestiferous and death-dealing 
breath, so doth this monster stretch itself along the route, and 
lying in wait for the great annual army of emigration, fill the air with 
death-producing miasma. It literally fattened its lean sides with 
the flesh of the emigrant husband, wife and babe. If, as some think, 
departed spirits remain in the vicinity where lie in corruption the 
fleshy tenements once inhabited by them, then indeed must the banks 
of this stream, at midnight, when spirits are supposed to commence 
their nightly roaming upon the earth, present to the spirit eye a 
sadder sight than ever caused human eye to fill with tears of sorrow. 
Naught but the ghost of worn out and starved fathers, mothers and 
babes ! Oh, horrible, most horrible of rivers ! Let us call thee the 
River of Death. — Shasta Courier. 

The River of Death, as it rolls 
With a sound like the wailing of souls ! 
And, nursing their dust, may be seen 
The ghosts of the dead by the green 
Billowy heaps on the shore — 
Dim shapes, as they crouch by the graves, 
And wail with the rush of the waves 
On-seeking the deeert before! 
Nursing their dust against the morn 
Which shall see us, new-born 
Arise from the womb of the Earth — 
That, through rain or through dearth, 
Through calm or through storm, 
. Through seasons and times, no part may be lost, 
By the ruthless winds tost, 
Of the mortals which shall be immortal of form. 

No leaf that may bud 
By that dark, sullen flood ; 
No flowers that bloom, 
With their tomb-like periume, 


In that region infectious of gloom - 

No subtilized breath 

That may ripple that River of Death, 

Or, vapory, float in the desolate air. 

But it is watched, with a vigilant, miserly care, 

Lest it steal from the dust of the dead that are there. 

For the elements aye are in league, 

"With a patience unknowing fatigue. 

To scater mortality's mould, 

And sweep from the graves what they hold L 

I would not, I weeuj be the wight 
To roam by that river at night. 
When the souls are abroad in the glooms j 
Enough that the day-time is weird 
With such mystical sights as are feared 
ilid the silence of moonlighted tombs. 
Weird shores, with their alkaline white. 
That loom in the glare of the light; 
Weird bones as they bleach in the sun. 
Where the beast from his labors is done j 
Weird frost-work of poisonous dews 
On shrub and on herb, which effuse 
The death they have drank to their core ; 
Weird columns up-borne from the floor 
Of the white-crusted deserts which boil 
With the whirlwinds' hot, blasting turmoil! 
As ghost-like he glides on his way. 
Each ghostly, worn pilgrim looks gray 
With the dust the envenomed winds flail j 
And the beast he bestrides is as pale 
As the steed of the Vision of John, 
With Mm, the destroyer, thereon. 

Dark river, foul river, 'tis well 
That into the jaws of thy Hell — 
The open-mouthed Desert* — should fall 
Thy waves that so haunt and appal. 
'Tis fit that thou seek the profound 
Of the all-hiding Night underground j 
Like the river which nine times around 
The realm of grim. Erebus wound, 
To roll in that region of dread — 
A Stygian Stream of Death ! 

• The "Sint ofthe Humboldt.' 



Aristocles. Noble Metellus ! Welcome to Athens ! 

Metellus. Alas, Aristocles, I can give you no kindly greeting in 
return. Since landing day before yesterday, I have heard that you 
have corrupted my sons, and I had prepared to speak you in harsh 
terms ; but the sight of your venerable face and the remembrance of 
past friendship turns my anger to sorrow. 

A. I am not conscious of deserving any reproach, and if de- 
served, it would be doubly bitter if it came from my pupil, friend, 
and benefactor. 

31. I left Rome full of joy, and have borne the trials of a long 
voyage with a light heart, anticipating the pleasure of finding my 
son learned in all the philosophy of Athens, and of again embrac- 
ing my ancient tutor. But scarcely had I landed, when I was told 
that my son had deserted the gods of his fathers and become a de- 
clared follower of the detestable new Jewish superstition. And you, 
my teacher, my friend, whom I have assisted and protected, you 
have misled him. 

A. Noble Metellus, your son Marcus has arrived at the full es- 
tate of manhood, and is familiar with rhetoric and logic, and besides, 
is eloquent ; and if he has been convinced that any of my opinions 
are correct, his reason, not my arguments, must bear. the responsi- 
bility. And indeed, I wrote to you several years ago that I had be- 
come a convert to the doctrines of Paul, the new Jewish teacher. 

M. At Rome we know little as yet about the new superstition, 
and I, having never heard the name of Paul, supposed that his doc- 
trine was merely a new theory in philosophy, of which theories, as 
all the world knows, Athens is full, as its schools are of strangers 
from all parts of the world. Far then was I from imagining, when 
I sent my son to finish his education under your charge, that I was 
preparing for myself such a terrible blow as his desertion of the 
gods of his country. I should have thought little of it if his con- 
viction had fallen upon any divinity save that of Jesus, but there is 
some singular infection about that barbarian faith, which induces all 
its followers to treat our temples, sacrifices, priests and divinities 


with, contempt. Such conduct was never heard of before. We have 
adopted the gods of all our conquered provinces, and all save Egypt 
and Judea have adopted our gods ; but the misanthropic, miserable 
Jews and Egyptians and their new sect alone, refuse to recognize 
our deities, and, when brought before them, commit the grossest sac- 
rilege, even when they know that death will be the certain penalty. 
And here am I, a priest of the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, and 
the commander of a legion, who had hoped that my son Marcus, 
whose bravery, sagacity, gravity and honesty have been proved in 
several public trusts, would be my successor in the temple and in 
arms, now declares that on no account will he be a soldier or bow 
before a divinity of stone, as he insolently styles the gods of the 
State. Alas ! life is full of terrible and unexpected blows. 

A. Noble Metellus, your grief affects me sorely ; but if you 
should consider this new faith attentively, perhaps you would find it 
less hateful to you than it now appears. 

M. Never! It is as detestable as the people among whom it had 
its origin. Did you not yourself write to me, that in all your trav- 
els made in the service of the Emperor after I had induced him to 
favor you, for the purpose of enabling you to study the manners and 
customs of the different people of the world, — did not you write|to 
me that of all the races which you had seen, the Jews were the most 
hateful, not only to you, but to all Romans and Greeks ? 

A. Indeed I did, and I then thought so ; but since then I have 
learned something. 

M. Yes, you have learned to submit your will to the influence of 
some base sorcery, to the dominion of a barbarous superstition. 
And you, the proud Greek, who, after having visited all the prov- 
inces of the Empire, from Gaul to Asia, and from Dacia to Numid- 
ia, wrote me that in Athens alone men knew how to be men, and to 
enjoy freedom and appreciate art and philosophy. 

A. I then thought so. 

M. And you must seduce my son from this beautiful Grecian 
mythology to follow a sombre doctrine as barbarous as its Jewish 

A. That Jewish people, gross as I thought them when I trav- 
eled through Judea, and when I was ignorant of their tenets, have a 
sublime faith, and they alone know what it is to have a religion. I 


thought once that as Rome is master of the world in arms, that 
Athens was master in all branches of thought, but have perceived 
my error and frankly confessed it. 

3L Dear Aristocles, I cannot forget our ancient friendship, but 
I cannot feel charitable to this singular infatuation. When recount- 
ing to me the results of all your observations in the barbarian prov- 
inces, you told me that there was no eloquence, no grammar, no 
history, no poetry, no sculpture, no architecture, no painting, no 
music, no theatre, no philosophy, no logic, no free citizens, no re- 
spect for humanity, no magnanimity, no true patriotism, no pure 
sense of duty towards fellow-men, except among those who have di- 
recty or indirectly been taught by the teachers of Greece : and yet 
you abandon the divinities under whose care Athens has grown to 
this immortal greatness, and follow a sorcerer of the most despicable 
tribe of Bai'brunius. If there be no magnanimity, no philosophy, 
no logic, no freedom, no proper estimate of humanity'-, and no art in 
Jerusalem, how can there be any true religion? 

A. It would be a matter of much difficulty, noble Metellus, for 
me to explain all this to you, with a hope of representing the truth 
to you fairly ; and one great reason of this difficulty is that your 
state of mind is inclined to assail me, rather than to listen patiently 
to my doctrines. The expounder of new doctrines, as you will re- 
member I always told you when you were my pupil, should be listened 
to with patience, and even when he speaks wide of the mark, he must, 
not be interrupted long, but must be allowed to finish his exposition, 
and then he must be led back by modest and brief questions to the er- 
rors of his argument. If he is unable to explain his errors, then 
his doctrines may be set down as absurd. I merely repeat here the 
Socratic rule in this matter, and since it is universally accepted 
among our philosophers, you will not take offence at my calling your 
attention to it. 

M. Measure a barbarian superstition by Socratic rules ? I fear 
me much, good Aristocles, that you are in want of many large doses 
of hellebore. 

A. Not so many, Noble Metellus, as you may suppose. My faith 
had not its birth in Greece, it is true, but it is nevertheless beauti- 
ful and sublime. I believe in but one God, and he infinite, perfect, 
immaterial, free from all base taint of earth, the father of all races 


of men, and equally kind to all. You may call that superstition, 
but indeed I call it religion, and everything else appears to me base 
superstition. The Christian bows to no idols or statues ; he per- 
forms no sacrifices; he has but one God; the divine nature has 
none of the grossness or immorality of the divinities of Olympus ; 
he loves all good and hates all evil; whereas the gods whom I have 
deserted, are supposed to look with favor on all wickedness ; and are 
themselves so base that the people are better than they. 

M. And you seriously dare to look me in the face and justify 
yourself for seducing my son to desert the religion of his country 
and to worship a barbarian rebel as a God. 

A. I dare to look any man in the face and tell him that I have 
outgrown the narrow superstition of numerous national, partial, 
gross, immoral divinities, and that my mind has expanded to the 
conception of the only true God, who looks upon all men as his 
equally favored children, and governs the whole universe with an 
impartial dominion. 

M. \ Alas, the glory of Athens has indeed departed when her 
ablest sophist turns traitor to the teachings of her philosophers. 

A. To become a Christian requires no abandonment of Grecian 
philosophy ; on the contrary, my faith is merely another step for- 
ward. True religion must be based on true philosophy, and both 
upon reason and evidence. The sublime and universal principles of 
the Socratic philosophy were hostile to our ancient mythology, but 
they offer the true foundation for the new doctrines of Jesus and 
Paul. And, indeed, I think that those doctrines are destined to at- 
tain their highest success and receive their highest development 
among the persons familiar with the learning of Greece. Religion 
and morality must be dependent for their progress on intellectual 
cultivation ; and as all education henceforward till the end of time 
must be built upon the knowledge first discovered in Athens, so I 
by no means discard my country from the domain of my faith, but 
put Greece along side of Judea. Indeed it is said that now the fol- 
lowers of the apostles of Jesus in Jerusalem, unable to widen their 
minds to the conception of a universal religion, are bitterly hostile 
to the doctrines of Paul, and declare that their religion was never 
meant to be preached to the Gentiles. If this be true, we must look 
for the perpetuity and purity of our faith to the Greeks and Ro- 


mans, and bid farewell to the aid of Judea, which would have been 
so welcome to us. I look upon Alexander as a necessary precursor 
of Jesus, as having prepared the world, by bringing many nations 
under one sceptre and thus exposing the absurdity of their petty 
religions, to receive one universal faith and one benevolent God ; 
and Athens paved the way for Alexander. So you see that I by no 
means desert my country or abjure my philosophy. 

M. You have at least violated the oaths which you took as a 
priest of Eleusis, and which you imposed upon me when you initia- 
ted me in the mysteries. 

A. By no means ; if you had remained another year in Athens 
as I wished, you would have taken thethird degree in the mysteries, 
and would have learned the insignificance of all the sacrifices and 
ceremonies, and the all-importance of a pure morality and a belief 
in one Divine Ruler of the Universe. Christianity is only a higher 
development of the doctrines of Eleusis and of the wisdom of Athens 
— a higher degree unexpected but legitimate. 

M. And do these vain, dogmatic assertions satisfy you for the 
disgrace which you have brought upon yourself among all the re- 
spectable people of the city, and the dismissal of your son from the 
public employments wherein he was so rapidly advancing on a bril- 
liant career ? 

A. My son, when he had become fully converted to the faith of 
Jesus, resigned bis position as centurion with my approval, and he 
does not regret his action. He is content to be an humble teacher 
of his religion, and having been baptised by Barnabas, he is now a 
missionary in Egypt, where he has made hundreds of converts among 
the people of Alexandria and vicinity. He sent me word that he 
is far happier than when^ith his legion during their most successful 
campaign in Dacia, and nis happiness is pure and virtuous, far dif- 
ferent from that excited by murder and pillage. For myself I do 
not regret my disgrace. True, many of my old companions avoid 
me and do not speak to me, but their conduct gives me little pain. 
Athens is a wide-hearted city, and she has many magnanimous peo- 
ple that can esteem every person who respects himself, attends to 
his own business, speaks only when spoken to, and strictly performs 
his duties to his neighbors. Fortunately I have a moderate patri- 
mony where I can live comfortably; and the most learnrd and elo- 


quent men of Athens, and the most illustrious Romans visiting our 
city, frequently come to my house. Thus I can live the few years 
that remain to a man eighty years of age. I am misunderstood 
and misrepresented, and that even by learned and good men, who 
have long known me. It is only of late that I have learned to ap- 
preciate the full meaning of that saying of Socrates, that when a 
man in the course of his philosophic and religious development rises 
above the multitude, he must keep his thoughts to himself or expect 
to be denounced as an enemy to every good thing. 

M. Do you care nothing for the indifference in religion and the 
looseness of morals which you are encouraging by preaching new 
doctrines and breaking down the ancient faith ? 

A. I am not responsible for any such evils. I do not preach 
any indifference in matters of religion ; on the contrary, one of my 
great complaints against your mythology is that it leaves the heart 
cold, and the mind listless, whereas the followers of the Messiah are 
full of piety and enthusiasm, as may be proved by the great trials 
and sufferings which many undergo rather than be false. The great- 
est support of popular indifference in religion is the predominance 
of a creed which bases itself upon tradition and superstition, forbids 
inquiry and discussion, and avoids reason and evidence. The loose 
morals may be traced to the same source with the lukewarm faith ; 
the sacred ideals of the past are no longer suited to the enlighten- 
ment of the present; and the hearts of the people, brutalized by a 
barren scepticism, and lacking the necessary excitement and assist- 
ance of religious light, have become almost as indifferent to their 
duties as to their doctrines. You seem to think that the morals of 
the common people might be preserved, if all the learned men would 
be hypocrites, but really I do not agree -^Ih you. I shall continue 
to act the part of a man, and speak freely my earnest convictions 
on all proper occasions. If our civilization cannot be saved without 
general hypocrisy, it is doomed to overthrow. When a love for re- 
ligion must be. shown by systematic and persistent falsehood regard- 
ing our opinions in the highest sphere of our intellectual existence, 
then indeed human nature will have become depraved far below its 
present condition. You, considering the decay of your mythology, 
and imagining it to be sacred and identical with religion, may look 
only with painful forebodings to the coming time ; I, contemplating 


my young and vigorous faith, foresee a glorious future for humanity, to 
advance through an endless career of intellectual, moral and relig- 
ious progress, to new conditions and higher spheres of being. The 
energies and powers of humanity are not exhausted; the final over- 
throw of your superannuated mythology will no more destroy the 
moral perceptions and sacred ideals of our souls, than does the wean- 
ing of the child lead to the injury of its body. The transition, 
though accompanied by pain and fretfulness, is necessary to the full 
development of the man. Throw off the shackles imposed upon you 
by the ignorance and superstition of the past, give free rein to your 
soul, and fear not the result. 

M. Give me your hand, good Aristocles, and farewell. To-mor- 
row I shall sail with my son to Rome, when I hope to free him from 
the influence of your teachings, and yet make him an honor to his 
family and the Empire. Farewell; health and prosperity be yours. 

FLOWERS.— By Anthrax. 

" No marvel woman should love flowers ; they bear 
So much of fanciful simlitude 
To her own history ; like herself repaying, 
With such sweet interest, all the cherishing 
That calls their beauty and their sweetness forth ; 
And like her, too, dyina beneath neglect — " 

Women of California! Mothers, wives, sisters ! Hear me; for my 
cause is yours. Would you make your dwelling place a Home, cul- 
tivate flowers. When your heart is sad and weary, go among your 
flowers, and through these nurselings of your care the voice of 
guardian angels, soft and still, will whisper comfort to your aching 
hearts. You may be far from early friends and home : but the 
flowers will whisper " God is here : see his bounty ! be you content ; 
and as He cares for us, will He not care for you !" 

There is no such thing as home, without the little undergrowth 
of small pleasures, which, after all, make up the spice and living 
essence of domestic enjoyment. We are a discontented people. 
Amid the balmy air of this soft climate, with herbage ever green and 
flowers blooming always, how is it that the wail of sorrow ascends 
to heaven, bearing token of ingratitude ? 

Whatever the earth yields for man's comfort elsewhere, is given 


here more profusely. But it is our own thoughtless minds and thank- 
less hearts that are at fault. Here we have no homes — no social 
centers. But is not this our own fault ? Providence supplies every 
element to make homes attractive, and to win men to enjoyment. 
Now, shall we not put our heads and hearts together ; that we may, 
by unity of counsel, devise a course that will enable us to make the 
most of the rich blessings of Providence for our common good ? 
Let us no more say that California is unlike other countries ; and 
therefore we cannot make homes. 

Everything diifers here : we even find raising grain and fruit 
difierent. So, in the moral elements, everything may be different. 
But these simply suggest that we must study these variations of as- 
pect, and adopt a course in harmony with them. Man is everywhere 
essentially the same ; the same passions and the same yearning for 
social attachments exist everywhere : and these can be brought out 
if we address them winningly. The woman now lives in our State 
whose discerning mind will, under Providence, successfuly undertake 
this work of social regeneration. Perhaps the words we utter may 
be the happy precursor in the good work. Until this work is done, 
in vain are pulpits and theology. All preaching is of none effect 
that falls on homeless ears and knocks at unsocial hearts. 

The Jesuit missionaries are wiser than their protestant comrades ; 
they first instruct the heathen in the art of making a home center : 
then they preach the gospel. In (Jur present condition, loaded with 
gifts of heaven, and returning therefor the murmer of ingratitude, 
how far are we from being heathen? 

It may seem a very small beginning in a mighty work ; but we are 
assured that the day every woman resolves in the spirit, that she 
will plant flowers and shrubbery, and bedecks her home with these 
sweet adornments — that day the good work is not only begun, but 
its most difficult half is accomplished ! The spirit that resolves this 
will not die. It will gain in growth and in power as it goes forward. 
A woman on a waste, is not the same person as a woman among flowers. 
The one is not far from the animals that wildly roam around her : 
the other is not far from the angels who guard the flowers and give 
them their beauty. 

Then let us to the flowers : they will give us homes, and open the 
path to Heaven ! 


The following is an extract from a lecture by Dr. John A. Veatch, 
before the Mechanics' Institute, of this city, on the " Poetry of Me- 
chanical Inventions :" — 

" The days of romance are gone, it is said, and true it is we have 
no knights errant on prancing war steeds, with fluttering gonfalon 
and glittering spear ; no troubadour chanting his roundelay beneath 
his lady's window, and ready to transfix any one who has the hardi- 
hood to suggest that some cross-eyed beauty is not the most lovely 
being on earth. We have no crusades, and no Crusaders, save the 
modern Filibuster. We have no minstrels who are princes in dis- 
guise — wandering over the country in search of the enchanted cas- 
tle in which resides his lady love. We have no men ready to per- 
form dangerous and foolhardy feats at the command of a headless 
and heartless woman ; no one who would brave a lion to pick up a 
woman's glove ; no slayers of giants, rendered doubly strong by 
magic powers, who had carried off captive ladies. All this we have 
not ; and yet we have more romance in these days of reality, more 
poetry in the facts of every day life, than was concentrated in all 
the heroic ages. 

It has been often said that truth is stranger than fiction ; yet few 
persons seem to realize the fact. This failure to see the romance of 
every-day realities is probably owing to minds becoming habituated, 
as it were, to events as they glide along before us. It is like 
looking at a picture, presented to us only in detail, each part sepa- 
rately and distinctly, by "Itself. We might view the hand of a por- 
trait, and then an arm, and afterwards a foot, or a fold in the dra- 
pery, and so on ; each might be admirable, and yet if we viewed not 
the whole together, taking in at a glance the harmonious blending 
of all the parts, we should carry away no pleasing recollections, and 
soon discharge it from the memory. An artist's mind might form 
the combination, and re-corfstruct from disjointed fragments a beau- 
tiful entirety. And this we all might do by educating the mind to 
artistic combinations. It is so with the every-day romance of life. 
If we cultivated the poetic element of our natures, poetic forms 
would surround us, and facts would furnish us with never-ending 
materials for a life-extended romance. 

I will give an instance of romance in real life, clothing the story 
in the language of fiction, although Poetry requires no fable-gar- 
ment to set off her graceful proportions. 


There was once a wicked and cruel sorcerer wlio delighted in no- 
thing so much as in creating wretchedness amongst the weak and 
defenceless. He chose women, the more young and beautiful the 
better for his fiendish purposes, on whom to exercise his terrible 
power. He imprisoned them in cold, damp and dark cells, tortur- 
ing them daily for many hours together — to as great a degree as 
their strength would permit, not totally to extinguish life. He fed 
them only with coarse and scanty food. Many were sent to early 
graves, but their places were promptly supplied by other victims, 
and the monster's prison houses were always full. 

This state of things had gone on for many years. No one dared, 
or seemingly no one cared, to lift hand against the tyrant. Deliv- 
ance at last came in the persons of two knights. They were brave 
as lions and feared not personal danger, and their mental powers, 
improved by study of the occult sciences, were quite a match for 
the hellish arts of the sorcerer. They came armed with neither 
sword nor lance, for those weapons were useless in such a contest, 
but they carried an engine of their own construction, more dreaded 
by their enemy than all the swords and lances in Christendom. 

Battle was waged strong and fearful. It seemed truly a demon 
contest, for flames and sparks of fire were freely used in the most 
approved wizard style. The knights, however, were victorious, and 
the ladies were released. 

This would be a pretty romance for a thousand years ago. And 
we should admire it the more could we believe in its literal truth. 
Now I can assure you that though it did not occur a thousand years 
since, but even as it were yesterday, it is really and substantially a 
true tale. I know personally some of the ladies. I know the names 
of the young knights. I call them young, for such men never grow 
old. I know the old sorcerer, too. I have seen the identical en- 
gine that foiled him. The knights are mechanics. They are by 
name Wheeler & Wilson. The ladies relieved are toil-worn, care- 
stricken seamstresses. The engine is a sewing-machine, and the 
sorcerer is poverty. 

Here is poetry and romance in the realities of to-day ; and yet 
some will doubtless fail to see it. But to my mind there is more po- 
etry in the click of the sewing machine than in the armor-clang of 
a thousand mailed knights engaged in a brutal conflict for a brutal 



* Our Passengers. 
A VOYAGE from England to India twentj-three years ago was an 
awfully tedious affair. Despite of a splendid table, amateur theatri- 
cals, dancing, reading, card-playing, chess, and flirtation, not five 
of the forty passengers of the good ship Perampore, but was sick 
of the sight of blue water, sick of themselves, and tired, not to say 
disgusted, with everybody and everything on board, weeks before 
the welcome cry of land caused a general rush to the poop. 

The land, which had been in sight from the masthead for some 
time, was now visible from the deck. The sun had just disappeared 
behind St. Thomas' Mount. The handsome white houses with the 
lighthouse and fort, on the lower shore of Madras, contrasted beau- 
tifully with the luxurious foliage of the tropical trees, and was in- 
deed refreshing after the weary waste of waters on which the eye so 
long had rested. 

Colonel Hautiman, of the light cavalry, and Lieutenant Labra- 
tash, of the same regiment, the only two Madras officers on board, 
pointed out the various points to the ladies, expatiated on the dan- 
ger of passing through the surf, the manner it was done by the na- 
tives in those queer-looking boats, the certainty of the sharks get- 
ting you if capsised, and of the salt water wetting you through if 
not. But even the horrors of landing described by the Colonel 
could not depress the spirits of people, who were almost inclined to 
favor the idea of being digested by sharks, to that of longer con- 
finement in their floating prison. 

It was night when we anchored, for in those latitudes the twilight 
is very brief, but, notwithstanding, several gentlemen came off from 
the shore to meet relations or friends. 

Captain Botley came first to claim his two sisters whom he had 
not seen for ten years. Captain Botley was not a reflective man, 
indeed he had not much brains to reflect with ; — forgetful of the 
lapse of years, he had brought with him a dissecting map, two dolls 
and a small wheelbarrow, wherewith to propitiate the favor of his 

= The whole of the incidents here related, are actual facts. 


sisters ; — even when introduced to their presence, it was some time 
before his obtuse understanding could reahse the effects of time in 
the two very lovely girls before him. 

In coming on board, Captain Botley had not reflected on the ef- 
fects of aquatic motion ; so taking hold of the manropes too low, 
and stepping from the boat to the ship's side at the wrong instant, he 
had plumped into the water up to his waist, nearly. " Man over- 
board ! " — " all safe," was the cry, and Captain Botley reached the 
deck to hear a hysterical voice crying, " Bring him to me ! oh, bring 
him to me !" 

Miss Rawson, on the poop, had heard the alarm and bent forward, 
— she saw him reach the deck, — the moon shone on his silver-laced 
cavalry cap ; — of course it was her affianced husband whose praises 
she had trumpeted to the other girls the whole of the voyage ; — she 
gasped " oh, bring him to me," and fainted. 

Captain Leechline called for water, and dipping his finger into the 
tumbler let drop after drop fall on the tip of her nose with mathe- 
matical accuracy. It was a very small mark, and a very pretty 
nose, but he took his aim scientifically. 

Bless your heart, it was no use ; she drew long sighs, clucked a 
little in 'her throat, and remained gracefully reclining on his arm in 
a state of syncope. " Call the doctor; why don't you call the doc- 
tor?" quoth the skipper, losing faith in his dropping operation. 

"Allow me, sir," said Laurence, a youngster famed on board for 
his excessive impudence; "raise her upright; incline her a little 
forward; give me the glass," and before any one could interfere, 
he had inserted his finger in the back of her dress, distended it as 
much as possible, as also the corset, and poured the water slowly 
down the centre of her back, — (talk of burnt feathers, salts and 
sal volatile, mere esculapian humbugs I assure you, perfect humbugs 
to this play,) — when the water trickled down her spine the effect 
was instantaneous ; (it always is.) Miss Rawson was herself again ! 
Mem. — Laurence s recipe never fails ; iced water is to be preferred. 

Yery shortly afterwards, however, the real simon pure did arrive. 
The meeting was very affecting, — I believe I shed tears, — I know 
lie did. How she sobbed, and laughed, and grasped his hand and 
arm, so tight, oh, so tight ! 

Poor girl ! Poor Mary Rawson ! In three days they were 


married ; in three niore she discovered that he had taken to drink- 
ing, and gambled — three weeks more and he beat her. Within 
three years she died, truly and bitterly of a broken heart. — Who 
says women's hearts do not break ? Go seek the drunkard's home, — 
the ruined girl's garret, — the deserted wife's lodging, — the convict's 
mother's fireside, and say not that hearts are not broken. True, 
they may not die, they may live by the strength of a powerful will, 
or better, far better, by the strength afforded to the true Christian 
from on high, but their hearts are broken nevertheless. True, that 
hearts seldom break even at the removal of those dearest to them 
from a world of care, but that is the will of the Almighty who 
^Hempers the wind to the shorn lamb." But they do break, I say, 
daily, hourly, at our very doors, and from what cause ? — from the 
acts of man, acts traceable to him who ought to be their natural pro- 
tector, their guide, their best earthly friend. Oh, man, whom God 
hath made in his own image, be but more true to yourselves, to hon- 
or, to your God, and such things would not be. 

When we assembled in the cuddy that evening, (for it was too 
late for all but a very few to leave the ship,) it would have been 
hard indeed to recognise in the merry party, the discontented faces 
which had scowled at each other for the last month of the passage. 

Let us look at a few of them, and at some of their after fortunes. 
One always feels an interest in those whose good and evil qualities 
have been fully exposed in the close association of a five month's 

We were, I have said, very merry ; even Captain Botley, if not 
bright, was lively, his sisters less so, — I could see that his intellec- 
tual shortcomings were not without their effect on them, — they were 
sharp, clever, well read and accomplished girls, and were evidently 
disappointed in their brother. If they thought him silly and igno- 
rant they did him some injustice, however, for he was considered one 

of the very best judges in the Madras Presidency of the harse. 

Let us conclude their tale. They got, I suppose, tired of the one 
subject which he could discuss, so they each found some one who 
could talk something else than horse : one married an officer, who 
rose to great distinction, and fell in the late Indian mutiny; the 
other, the elder of the two, we were confidentially told could not live 
six months, so far was she gone in consumption. Well, she married 


a civil servant of the East India Company, who by his talent rose 
to high position and great wealth, and the last I heard of her she 
had nine children and weighed 180 lbs. avoirdupois. 

My American friends, India is a certain cure for consumption, as 
infallible as Laurence's before mentioned remedy for hysterics. Don't 
send your consumptives to Cuba, or to Madeira, {Madeira is a per- 
fect humbug) or to the Sandwich Islands, but if you send them to 
India, (and if they escape cholera or dysentery, which very seldom 
trouble delicate persons,) it will be sheer waste of money to insure 
their lives. 

If, on the other hand, your friends are stout, ruddy, and fair, it is 
a good speculation to insure their lives for, say three years. Bye 
the bye, there is Major Goldface of the Pungledown Fencibles, sit- 
ting all this time talking to Mrs. Cutts, whose husband looks at her 
so sulkily. The Major is not not now in the army ; he engaged in 
trade, was found out, and dismissed from the service, but he had 
made a very pretty pile, and did not care about it. How did he make 
it, do you suppose ? Simply by insuring the lives of fourteen or fif- 
teen cadets who were stout and ruddy faced ; six died within two 
years; the Major pocketed the amount of their polices, and was in- 
dependent for life. 

" No use to insure them more than three years " says the Major ; 
" if they live so long they are safe. But it is not easy to prove a 
a direct interest in their lives and to render the policies available as 
the law now stands ; the game is spoilt, sir." The Major has come 
out again, to collect statistics for an Insurance Company. 

Mercy on us, there is Mrs. Cutts having another bottle of Allsop's 
pale ale opened : that is the ninth bottle she has had to day, {seven is 
her regular alloivance,) and she always talking of the too free use 
of wine amongst the ladies in India. She excuses herself, on the 
ground that her joints are stiif, and that beer renders them supple. 

If they were so, it would be a great convenience to her ; for twice 
a week her husband gets drunk ; under the influence of " mania 
a potu" fancies himself the pope, and keeps her for hours alternate- 
ly kneeling down to kiss his toe, and getting up to bathe his temples ; 
he looks suspicious to-night, so perhaps she is trying to get supple 
,for the proper performance of his orders. 

Beer has done its duty ; Mrs. Cutts died in six months, and Dr. 


Cutts cut his throat in a fit of delerium tremens. Some wag pasted 
the following on her tombstone. It was in bad taste, certainly, but I 
may as well give it to you. 

" By drinking ale died Mrs Cutts, 

Perhaps you'll think it queer ! 

She lived to drink some forty butts, 

Of Allsop's bitter beer." 

Let us get back to the cuddy table and our friends. On my right 
hand sits the Rev'd Mr. Tombs, and next to him his wife. A curate 
on fifty pounds per annum, for thirty years in England, he had by a 
wonderful chance been appointed a chaplain in India, at some four- 
teen times the amount of his former stipend. His two daughters 
are to follow when he has saved sufficient for their outfit and passage. 
He was a beautiful example of the humble christian pastor, fervid 
though not eloquent, sincere if not able ; kind to our faults and yet 
not slow to chide, he was the impersonation of Goldsmith's village 

When he first arrived on board the ship, his manner not being 
polished, his appearance plain, and his wife plainer, he was the ob- 
ject of many a ribald joke, and a contemptuous sneer, but before the 
passage was half over, from oldest to youngest all loved, respected, 
and wished to serve him. Poor Tombs, he has met his reward in 
another and better world, — yet, why should I say poor ? — rich in 
faith and simple in" his reliance on his saviour, he had the wealth of 
a pure conscience, and died as he had lived, peacefully and happily, 
resting his hope on him he had so long and so faithfully served. 
Peace be to his ashes ! 

I may here say that his daughters came out some three years af- 
terwards. One married an officer of high family and of not less 
high principle, who lost his life at the battle of Inkerman, in the 
Crimean war, four years ago. It is years and years since I heard 
of her sister, then living with her after the death of their parents : 
she deemed me unworthy of her love, and she was right ; but had it 
not been so, I had perhaps been a better man ; for her sweet exam- 
ple could not but have corrected my many faults, at least I some- 
times think so ; — if she lives, may every blessing be hers; — if she 
be dead, I cannot wish her more than I know is hers. 

One more sketch and I come to that of one with whom the happi- 
est epoch of my life is associated. 


The tea equipage has been removed and wine is placed on the 
table. Observe that tall, delicate-featured man with the handsome 
whiskers, and that fragile but very lovely girl at his side ; he is pro- 
posing the health of Captain Leechline and his officers in a neat 
and appropriate speech. There is no awkward hesitation, no hum- 
ming and hawing, so common on such occasions ; he speaks fluently, 
easily, and all that he says is in good taste : he does everything else 
equally well ; — well-bred, kind and agreeable, he is a universal fa- 

That is Mr. Nathan King, and that is his sister ; they are from 
New York. They came together but they won't go back together. 
Mr. Nathan came to England with his mother, sisters and brother, 
they, to make a European tour, and he to proceed to Calcutta on 
commercial business connected with his firm in America. He pro- 
posed coming out in an English vessel, partly because of the supe- 
rior comforts and living of a first class Indiaman, and partly for 
the pleasure of society. But how came his sister there ? Well, thus 
it happened. They were the guests of Mr. Hadley, an extensive 
merchant in London. His son, Capt. Hadley, of the Bengal artil- 
lery, was at home on leave of a,bsence. Of course Miss Lizzie wish- 
ed to know all about Calcutta, where her brother was going. Now 
Captain Hadley was a very polite man, and he afforded her every 
information on the subject, until the subject got threadbare — then, 
he found her voice so sweet, (an excellent thing in woman,) that he 
must needs inquire a great deal about New York, not that he cared 
so much about that, having been there himself, as the manner it was 
told ; and so it came about, that he at last persuaded her that Cal- 
cutta was better with him, than New York without him ; besides she 
would be able to see her brother whilst he stayed there, and who 
she thought was delicate. This last settled the matter, and so they 
got married, and she postponed her European tour till Hadley next 
got leave. That's him huzzaing so lustily to his brother-in-law's 
toast. Look at the merry sparkle of his clear blue eye, ■ the frank 
expression of his face, and how tender his glance when he turns to- 
wards her. 

I had little fear of their future, and so it proved. I dined with 
them at their pretty place in Devonshire in England, twelve years 
ago, and found, that indeed, " They twain were one." 

(To be continued.) 

We transfer to the columns of the Hesperian from tliose of the Daily 
Times of this City, the following exquisite feranslation from the 
German of Freiligrath's Revenge of the Flowers, by Theodore H. 


[translated from the GERMAN OF FREILIGRATH,] 


On the couch's downy pillow 

Rests a maiden softly sleeping, 
Deeply sunk her brown eyelashes, 

Purple o'er her hot cheeks creeping. 

Near her on the rush-made table 
Stands a goblet sparkling, shining, 

And in goblet flowers fragrant, 
Freshly grthered, intertwining. 

But a sultry heat o'erpowers, 

Through the narrow chamber brooding : 
Lattices in casement bowers 

Closed against the night's intruding. 

Stillness 'round and deepest silence ! 

But now harken ! hear the whisp'ring 
In the flowers, in the foliage 

Rustling, murmuring, longing, lisping. 

See, from flowret-vases springing 
Forms ethereal, fragrance bearing, 

Vapors thin their tender garments. 
Coats of arms and crownlets wearing. 

From the rose's crimson bosom 
Steps a queen-like lady slender ; 

In her tresses loosely flowing 

Sparkle pearls with dew-drop splendor. 

From the monkshood, iron flower, 

From the dark green foliage branching. 

Springs a knight encased in armor, 
Helm and crest and sword bright glancing. 


On his helmet nod the feathers 
From the silver heron taken ; 

From the lily white there rises, 
Veiled in gossamer, a maiden. 

From the Turkish lily's calyx 
Struts a form of negro seeming ; 

Bright upon his dark green turban 
Golden bow and crescent gleaming. 

Robed, from out the crown imperial, 
Strides a monarch, scepter bearing ; 

From the iris blue there follow 

Sworded huntsmen, livery wearing. 

From the bosom of Narcissus 
Comes a youth, with sorrow laden. 

Softly stepping, offering kisses, 
Bends he o'er the sleeping maiden. 

But around her sway and hover 
Angry spirit circles, sweeping ; 
' Sway and hover, and thus sing they 
' To the fair one softly sleeping : 

1 " Maiden, maiden, thou hast torn us 
; From the earth, our tears denying. 
Now in goblet here we languish — 
Languish, wilting, withering, dying. 

" Oh, how peaceful had we rested 

In the earth, our mother blessing ; 
"Where, through leafy branches breaking, 
1 Sun rays sought us, warm, caressing ; 

, 1 " Where in spring time Zephyr cooled us. 
Soft our slender stalklets bending ; 
Where we played with elves and fairies, 
From our festal homes descending. 

" Dew-drops there and showers balmy. 
Golden sunsets, mornings sunny ; 

Here we languish ; but ere dying 
Maiden, our revenge upon thee." 

Still is now the song ; but bending 
Bow they o'er the fair one sleeping ; 

And returns the sultry silence 
And the whisp'ring, cadence keeping. 

HOME. 41 

What a rustlino;, what a murmuring, 
How the maiden's cheeks are glowing ! 

See the spirits hotly breathing, 
And the odors waving, flowing. 

See! — but there the sunlight's sparkles 
Greet us through the casement porches, 

On the couch's pillow slumbers, 
Cold, the loveliest of corpses. 

She herself so weak and tender, 
Still her cheek its bloom discloses 

There she sleeps beside her sisters, 
Dead, a rose beside the roses. 


" The fire burns brightest on one's own hearth." 
" A tree often transplanted neither grows nor thrives." 
" He who is far from home is near to harm." 
" He who is everywhere is no where." 

Wind and water wander round the world, and grow fresher for the 
journey. The lost diamond knows no difference between the dust 
where it lies and the bosom from which it fell ; but every thing that 
has vitality requires a home. Every thing that lives seeks to estab- 
lish permanent relations with that upon which it must depend for 
supplies. Every plant and every animal has its country, and in that 
country a favorite location, where it finds that which will give it the 
healthiest development, and the most luxurious life. Maize will not 
grow in England, and oranges are not gathered in Lapland. The 
wlite bear pines, and dies under the equator, and the lion refuses to 
live in polar latitudes. The elm of a century may not be trans- 
planted with safety, unless a large portion of its home be taken with 
it. In jungles and dens, in root-beds and parasitic footholds, in 
rivers, and brooks, and bays, in lakes and seas, in cabins, and tents, 
and palaces, every thing that lives, from the lowest animal and plant 
to the lordliest man, has a home — a place, or a region, with whose 
resources its vitality has established relations. I have no doubt, 
with analogy only for the basis of my belief, that God, the fountain 
of life, has a home, and that there is somewhere in space a place 
which we call heaven. — Crold Foil. 


When St. John, exiled by the crowned tyrant, had landed on Pat- 
mos, he threw himself down on a rock, and sorrowed through many 
hours of the night. 

Suddenly the darkness was dispelled, and, surrounded by a halo 
of rosy light, the two guardian angels of the beloved disciple, Ra- 
phael and Salem, appeared before the mourner ; and the gray rock 
gleamed like a cloud in the evening sky. 

" Why mournest thou, John ? " asked the heavenly spirits. 

He answered and said: "The events of the day press heavily 
upon my soul. The tyrant murders thousands of those who tell the 
truth. The friends of our risen Lord are scattered, and I must ^le 
far from them." 

Salem smiled, and said : " Didst thou not stand on Grolgotha when 
the Holy One gave up the ghost, and after three days by the empty 
sepulchre? " 

"I know," answered the Apostle, "that the truth will come off 
victorious from the strife, — the gates of hell shall not prevail against 
it. But this separation from the friends and witnesses of the truth, 
whom I love, — alas ! I see nothing but the miseries of the present 

"Courage!" said Raphael; "when the present oppresses thy 


spirit so grievously. Though I cannot give thee the wings of the 
seraph so long as thou dwellest on earth; yet, thou shalt not have 
need of them," 

Thus said Raphael, and touched the forehead of the exile. Then 
his eyes were opened. He gazed athwart the dark clouds and saw 
the sanctuary of heaven ; he heard the music of the spheres, and 
hehe]d truth triumphant in the glory of heaven. Salem gave him 
the harp, and bestowed upon him the beauteous gifts of prophecy. 

The inspired Apostle felt no more the trammels of the narrow 
sea-girt Patmos. — Parables of Krummacher. 


Hiram, king of Tyre, and Solomon, king of Israel, were walking 
together in the cedar-forests on Lebanon. Hand in hand the two 
kings walked under the fragrant shade of the lofty wood, and Hi- 
ram rejoiced in the wise sayings of the king of Israel. 

Beneath their feet lay spread out the land, blooming in peace and 
happiness ; for Hiram and Solomon had made a covenant, and were 
friends ; thus also their subjects were friends with one another. 
And the kings stood still, and looked into the distance. 

Then Hiram, the sovereign of Tyre, opened his mouth and said: 
'' Blessed are we that are friends. Are we not like cedars on the 
heights, with our people round about?" 

And Solomon answered and said : " The cedar is rightly called 
the royal tree. It is the highest of all trees, and its form is full of 
majesty. It grows on the summit of the mountain, drinking from 
the clouds, and needs not the brook that murmurs at its foot. Its 
roots grasp the rocks in the bowels of the earth, and its top is 
bathed in the blue sky. The storm has been raging for centuries 
about these trees, and the thunders have rolled over the brow of this 
dark forest ; — yet it stands unshaken, firm, and free, like a god, 
without the wants of the low valley. Therefore the cedar is called 
the tree of God, planted by Jehovah, and an image of the anoint- 
ed of the Most High." 



" One tiling is wanting," said Hiram ; " the fragrant flower, and 
the refreshing, strenghening fruit." 

Then Solomon smiled, and said : " Speakest thou in jest, Hiram, 
or as the monarch of a trading nation ? Is not the whole cedar 
fragant ? And why should the towering queen of the forest bear 
a refreshing fruit ? Doth she not carry the daring sailor over the 
surging billows ? Doth she not furnish the palaces of kings ? And 
soon, Hiram, she will stand on Sion, a temple to Jehovah. My 
friend, there are nobler fruits than those which are sweet to the 

As they were conversing thus, a tempest arose over Lebanon, and 
the thunder rolled terribly. The kings stood in a thicket of the 
forest, silent and full of awe. Suddenly a flash of lightning de- 
scended from the clouds, rending a cedar from the crown even to 
the roots. With a loud crash the tree fell down the precipice of the 
rock. Then the hurricane passed on. 

The kings drew near to the fallen cedar, and said : " What is 
earthly greatness in the eyes of the Almighty ? He rolleth up the 
heavens like a garment, and the earth is before him as a drop of 
water in a vessel. Who may stand before the King of Kings ?" 

When they had stood awhile in deep and silent thought by the 
shattered cedars, Hiram said : "After having seen Nature in'' her 
terrible greatness, it seemeth almost foolish to build a Temple to 
the Lord of Creation. What need hath he of a temple made by 
men's hands ? " 

" Not he," answered Solomon — "but man needs it. The stupen- 
dous work of creation bows him down, and makes him like unto 
dust, whereof his body was fashioned. His own work — which, as 
it were, contains and surrounds the Invisible Omnipresent — elevates 
him. The flesh and bones of the body are not the spirit of man. 
Hiram, we also are of a divine nature." 

The kings were silent for a long time. Then the monarch of 
Tyre said: "Alas! the life of kings is like the cedar before the 

" Be it so," replied Solomon : " may it be also like unto the cedar 
after the tempest ! Dost thou perceive the fragrance, Hiram, which 
the cedar sheds now in death through the forest?" — Parables of 

€'H tar's Cafch. 

We present our patrons in this, the commencement of our fourth volume, the 
additional attractions promised in our last. The superb plate of Spring Fash- 
ions will be ■welcomed, doubtless, by our lady readers, — indeed, by all who have 
an eye for the beautiful, and a taste for the artistic and elegant. This feature 
of the Hesperian will be continued hereafter, arrangements having been made 
to that effect ; and we can promise the latest innovations and changes in style, 
from the highest and most reliable sources. 

Our Fashion Plate will blend and harmonize with our superb floral illustrations 
and nature and art, side by side, afford food congenial for feminine purity of 
thought and taste. 

The non-arrival of the description of the Fashion Plate in time for this num- 
ber, left a vacuum which was promptly filled by a lady of this city, whose 
talent and refined taste render her abundantly competent ; and to her kindness 
we are indebted for the following : — 

" Spring Fashions. — Description op Plate. — 1^^ Figure — Pattern, brocaded 
silk dress, of delicate salmon color. Plain waist, without seams except under 
the arms. Tunic slashed on the hips, with side pockets — trimmed with varie- 
gated velvet ribbon or braid. Small loose sleeve, with gauntlet cuff. 

'' 2d Figure — Dress of olive poplin ; basque reaching to the knee, from which 
the skirt is gored and trimmed with from 9 to 11 ruffles. Tight sleeve, seam 
to the elbow; narrow, full cap. Bows from the top of the corsage to the top ruf- 
fle — also from the hand to the elbow on the sleeve. 

" 3(i Figure — Walking dress of dark blue brocaded silk — bodice, back and 
front — ruches forming a vest-ivoni. Loose sleeves, with points folded back, 
trimmed similar to the waist.'' 

The Little Pioneer. — This child's periodical is one of the legitimate offsprings 
of Progress. It is born of that principle within us developed and life-awaken- 
ed by Christ, that recognizes children as worthy of being classed with angelic 
beings. The Little Pioneer is edited by two gentlemen, one a poet, and the 
other a man of science. On what common ground could the two characters so 
appropriately meet and mingle ? 

"Anthrax" sends us the following " Poser" and selected albumrverse : — 

A Poser. — Children, in their simple way, often put questions that mock the 

the cunning of philosophers, and puzzle the logic of professors — for instance : 

A learned Doctor of Divinity told a case in point. His little son, havino- re- 
turned from hearing him preach, was observed to walk back and forth, absorbed 
in thought. His reverend father aroused him fromhis revery, and said : " My 
son, a penny for your thoughts." Then occurred this dialogue : — 

Boy. " Pa, didn't you say the Devil made people naughty ? " 

Father. " Yes, my child — and our own wicked hearts." 

(The boy pauses, for a moment, in thought.) 



Boy, " "Well ; you said God can do everything." 

Father. " Yes ; certainly," 

Boi/. " Then, Pa, why don't God kill the Devil, and make good hearts for 
us instead of wicked ones ? " 

Father — (taken back.) "My dear son, I can't explain that, so you can un- 
derstand it." 

For a Lady's Album. — [Selected.] 

" Lady, I fain would see your album sheets 
Become a splendid paradise of sweets. 
There may the tree of knowledge gain a root, 
But not to prosper a forbidden fruit. 
Like Eden, fragrant ; and like Eden, fair : 
But, unlike Eden, have no serpent there." 

The dollar and cent tendency of the day is given in evidence against the age, 
as proof of the charge of growing selfishness. I admit the fact, but deny the 
inference. The disposition to exact the true value of every service we render 
is but a manifestation of the growing appreciation of justice — -justice to our- 
selves as well as others. The right of this demand is universally acknowledged, 
even by those who are inclined to denounce the strict exercise of it by calling 
individuals " hard fisted," " small minded," &c. It grows out of the true prin- 
ciples of fraternity, where man concedes habitually all that is justly due his 
brother. Selfishness may show itself in undue demands, but is likely to be 
counteracted by a corresponding selfishness not yielding too much, while both 
recognize the principle. As life becomes of higher value, from a just estimate of 
its importance, time, as an element of life, becomes likewise of growing inter- 
est. Time never, however, became an element of social and commercial econo- 
my until the invention of machinery led us to compare the labor done by hand 
with that performed by the untiring, non-eating, never-sleeping combinations of 
levers, pullies, and inclined planes. 

Time was thenceforth a value, computable by and commutable into dollars 
and cents. The brain power became for the first time a paying institution, as 
the head might now enable the hands to apply a force unknown to nerve and 
muscle. A contest soon arose betwixt labor and capital. Like all contests, it 
served to call forth the worst feelings of the man ; but like all commotions, 
truth was elicited, and a better understanding of mutual interests arrived at. 
It caused mechanics to associate and fraternize more closely ; and now, feeling 
and realizing the blessings of union, that union is becoming a cemented broth- 

In connection with the charge of selfishness against the age, is that of grow- 
ing immorality. It is said that men do not keep pace in morality with the won- 
derful progress of inventions and scientific discovery. I admit the fact, but 
again deny the inference. It is like blaming the light for not reaching us be. 
fore the sun rises. From the savage state up to that of the highest condition of 
refinement, the mechanic arts have been the pioneers of moral progress. Those 
arts necessary to comfortable animal existence must be learned and practiced 

editor's table. 47 

before men can emerge from the savage state. The arts necessary to the forma- 
tion of home must be learned and practiced before man, emerging from the sav- 
age condition, can be inducted into the simple practical truths of Christianity. 
A higher degree of art must be learned and practiced before the Christian man 
can be endowed with those exalted qualities of mind requisite for great moral 
development. If the world is at present behind in moral development, it is 
only in accordance with the laws of progress. The inventions and discoveries 
of the day are of a most striking and dazzling character. Moral progress does 
not bound and leap like that of science, but advances slowly and genially, like 
the coming of spring. I appeal to history for the justice of my position. The 
mechanic arts have been the forerunners, and the instruments in the hands of 
God, of elevating humanity above the brute existence of his undeveloped na- 
ture. They pave the way for the truths of revelation. 

The characters of the Hero and the Poet are as completely united in the 
modern mechanical inventor, as they were in the Poet-kings of classic Greece. 
That the inventor has ever embodied the true heroic character, is to be gath- 
ered from the history of every struggle made in the glorious field of discovery^ 
Could the lives of the inventors be written and all their sacrifices, and toils^ 
and bitter cares ; their disappointments ; alternations of hope and despair ; 
the slow and certain approach of poverty ; the desertion of friends and the 
heartless derision of the world, be fairly noted down, what a tale of patient hu- 
man endurance it would unfold ! What heroic suffering ! wedded to a great truth 
that others cannot see ; following a mercurial principle that is ever palpably 
before him, and yet eluding his grasp. Dwelling and associating with that 
which is invlsable to other men, until he loses human sympathy, and his fellows 
desert and shun him, and he stands alone in that gloomiest of all deserts, 
a human crowd where no one loves him. He may sink under it as some, per- 
haps many do ; to be soon forgotten, or remembered only as toiling madmen. 
But a fraction of the labor, patience and firmness of purpose, expended in slay- 
ing human beings, and elevating himself to power would have made him re- 
nowned in history, — a pet of fame, — in short a great hero. Had he fought, not 
to grasp power for himself, but for the elevation of some imbecile prince to a 
tottering throne, then had he been lauded as a great patriot. Had he been a 
politician in our own glorious country — the leader of a party, who had elevated 
himself or a member of his own political creed into power, the world would have 
been enraptured with the great statesman. But he was an humble 'mechanic 
and though he labored for mankind at large and had unmasked principles that 
will live forever — he is ignored and forgotten. 

Let us not, however, accuse the world of injustice and cruelty. Men are 
disposed to yield to justice when its claims are made apparent. But men at 
large are not far-seeing. That which touches the immediate interest of to-day 
will meet attention ; but that which affects the interests of to-morrow, or next 
year, to say nothing of the next generation, can scarcely be expected to awaken 
recognition. Men fail to adopt truth, more from a lack of power to see its im- 
mediate applicability to their wants, than from a disposition to reject it on its 



own account. As education advances, mental vision becomes clearer, and a 
wider and nobler range is given to ideas ; the circle expands daily ; and al- 
ready the first ripples are touching the far-off shores of human perfection. 

Our Botanical Department. — The interesting plants we illustrate are totally 
new to science, having never been figured or described before, except the Rose 
Bay of the last number. We only publish such plants as serve to illustrate 
the peculiar botanical features of the Pacific slope, and such, at the same time, 
as may be useful either for ornamental or economical purposes. In the April 
number vsdll be a splendid colored engraving of the " Elephant Tree." The 
highly ornamental Arboreal (Enothera, the figure of which embellishes the 
fresent number, is one of the most elegant and attractive of our native flowers, 
and may be truly ranked as Queen of the Primrose tribe. The plate is admi- 
rable in its truthfulness. It is to be regretted that the name was wrong spelled, 
viz : "Anothera," instead of (Enothera, its true name. 

The remarkable Juniper described in the present number is another of our 
peculiar forest productions, worthy the attention of amateurs as well as prac- 
tical arborists. 

We hope to make the fourth volume of the Hesperian worthy of presentation 
as a record of the progress and development of some, at least, of the many re- 
sources of our beloved, golden California. We hope, too, to make our future 
numbers each more attractive than its predecessor. We also hope that our 
friends will not forget to renew their subscriptions for the incoming volume. 

Correction. — The likeness of Mr. W. D. M. Howard, in the December- number, 
was erroneously entered as having been photographed by R. H. Vance. It should 
have read, " phographed by Silas Selleck." We make the above correction in 
justice to the parties concerned. 

Mrs. F. H. Day. — Our readers will doubtless be happy to hear from the edit- 
ress of the Hesperian. She writes us from Galveston, Texas, under date of 
January 25th. Her health had suff"ered considerably by the climate of Havana, 
where she was detained several days before a conveyance could be had to New 
Orleans. She had a through ticket, by theVanderbilt line, from San Francisco 
to New Orleans, but it seems no provisions had been made to communicate di- 
rect with the latter city, as the public was given to understand. The conse- 
quence was a painful delay in an unhealthy climate, until a chance might offer 
to convey the unlucky southern passengers to their place of destination. This 
outrage was only in keeping with the accommodations and general discomfort 
that all were subjected to who were unfortunate enough to trust themselves to 
that miserable, slow-paced concern. 

Mrs. Day's health was improving, and she would leave Galveston on the 26th 
of January, for a short excursion into the interior of Texas. She would then 
proceed immediately to New York, and then home, to California, — which she 
seems to love the better, the farther she gets from it. 

«. *•' 

veatchs ele^'hant tree 


In consequence of the non-arrival from New 
York of the Plate intended for this issue of the 
Hesperian, we are reluctantly compelled to go to 
press without it. 


Vol. IV. 

APRIL, 1860, 

No. 2. 

Rhus Veatehiann — Kellogg. 


The Elephant Tree is one of the curiosities of Cerros Island. It 
derives its name from the elephantine proportions of its sturdy, 
heavy looking trunk and branches. The main trunk of a full-grown 
tree will probably average two feet in diameter, the height being 
but little more, and often less, than the diameter. In some favora- 
ble situations I observed a few that reached an elevation of six 
feet ; this was however an unusual occurrence. The trunk divides 
into several ponderous branches that shoot off horizontally, and are 
bent and contracted into grotesque resemblances of the flexed limbs 
of a corpulent human being. These huge branches often terminate 
suddenly in a few short twigs, covered with a profusion of red flow- 
era, reminding one of the proboscis of an elephant holding a nose- 
gay. The resemblance is heightened by the peculiar brown, skin- 
like epidermis that forms the outer bark, which splits and peels off 
annually, accommodating the increase of growth. This epidermis, 
when removed, exposes the smooth, greenish colored surface of the 
spongy inner bark, which is from one to two inches in thickness. 
When this bark is cut through, a milky juice exudes, that soon hard- 
ens into a compact mass of gum and resin. The quantity furnished 
from a single cut is considerable. Whether the exuded matter be 
of any value I have had no means of testing as yet ; but as the tree 

Kalered according to Act of Congrpm, in the year 1859, by iin. F. IT. Day, in the Clerli's Office of the 
Didtrict Conrt of the United States for the Xurftpm District of California. 


belongs to a natoral order that furnishes our most valuable and ex- 
pensive gum-resinons products, it is not improbable that it maj 
prove worthy of attention in that regard. The wood is light and 
porous and soon decays, and is not likely to be of any economical 
utility. In this respect it is exceedingly unlike its congener, Lent's 
Sumach, which grows with it, and presents the most heavy and com- 
pact wood I remember ever to have seen. The elephant tree, how- 
ever, claims our attention on the score of its beauty and the ex- 
ceeding singularity of its general appearance, independent of any 
other valuable quality. 

The branches of the larger trees often shoot out to a horizontal 
distance of twenty feet from the trunk, thus covering an area of 
forty feet in diameter. Smaller subordinate limbs spring upwards 
from the upper side of the large boughs, and in ^his way give a neat 
oval appearance to the outline of the tree. When loaded with its 
bright red flowers, the effect is strikingly beautiful, particularly 
where hundreds of the trees stand near each other, intertwining 
their huge boughs, and forbidding ingress to the mysterious space 
they cover and protect. The leaves are minute, and fall off befmre 
the blooms are fairly developed. The young tree looks a good deal 
like a huge radish protruding from the ground, with but a slight 
root and a few twig-like branches expanding from t^e top. 

On the mountain sides, from a little above the sea-shore to an el- 
evation of fifteen hundred feet, these trees grow scatteringly, singly 
and in small clumps ; but in the narrow vales of the ravines, they 
sometimes form groves of several acres in extent, presenting the 
impenetrable and compact form above described. From June till 
August seems to be their blooming season. It is to be regretted 
that none of the ripe seeds oould be procured during my visit to 
Cerros. Good specimens of the leaves and flowers were obtained 
for the California Academy of Natural Sciences, from which Dr. 
Kellogg has made the description below appended. 

The colored lithograph plate offers an exceedingly correct appear- 
ance of one of the trees growing in a favorable position. 

The specific name we giv^ in honor of Dr. J. A. Veatch's son, Mr. 





Andrew A. Yeatch, a worthy gentlemen, to whose ardent zeal and 
enterprise in the cause of natural science we have been frequently 

Sperijie Description. — Leaves, alternate, oddly pinnate ; if from the older 
branch buds, in condensed fasicles of 3 to 6 ; leaHets opposite in about 6 pairs, 
small (i to 1 of an inch in length) ; these lateralleaflets sessile, ovate sub-acute, 
obsoletely serrate tuwarJ.-* the apex (with relatively large rounded teeth), termi- 
nal odd leaflet obovate, cuneate, 3 or more cutlobed, or tridentat* ; velvety, hoary 
villous, with appressed hairs above, somewhat silvery hoary beneath, (leaves 
about an inch long, the common petiole occupying about \ its length.) 

.Flowers very numerouf, in closely-clustered, oblong, fasciculoid panicles occu- 
pying the t^irminal portion of the rigid branchlets ; pedicles filiform, attenuate be- 
low, enlarging upward.s to the continuous calyx ; very villous, minute subulate 
bracts at the of the pedicles (pedicles | to J an inch long.) Panicles 
bright red. Calyx 5-parted, membranous, bright scarlet, hirsute ^ith white 
hairs, a fi^w red glandular hairs intermixed ; segments ovate acute (about J the 
length of the petals) ; petals 5, imbricate, membranous, paler red, a brighter 
scarlet lino along the midrib, obloug-ovate acute, somewhat carinate, apex 
slightly incurved (texture translucent reticulate) hirsute mostly along the 
prominent midrib on the back. 

Stamen.s 10 (seldom 8) inserted upon the scarlet cupped disk under the ova- 
ry ; introrse anthers 2-ceUed, opening together ; st^ens very short, white ; 

anther glabrous, filaments colored, villous at the base, shorter than the anther. 

Disk deeply 5-lubed, the 5 stamens opposite the lobes longest. 

Pistils 3 to 5 ; 3 fertile capitate, (occasionally 4 fertile,) hirsute, ovary very 

very villous. 

This singular brilliant scarlet species of Rhus of Tor. k Gray, 
belongs to the division of Sumachs D. C, all of which are gener- 
ally considered perfectly harmless. We have however known one 
well-authenticated case of poisoning by a species of this subdivis- 
ion, to wit : the Smooth Sumac [R. glabrum.) The instance alluded 
to, happened at the Female College, Macon, Ga. Two young la- 
dies of the botanical class under Prof. Darby, it appears, were poi- 
soned while examining a recent branch ; but in general, we believe 
all of this division to be innocuous. 

The fruit is unknown to us ; and likewise the bark, timber and 
gum-resin in an economical point of view. 



BLUE STAR TULIP. Cydohothra ceruUa— Kellogg. 

The outline here 
given of the Blue 
Star Tulip will ena- 
ble any one not fa- 
miliar with technical 
descriptions to rec- 
ognize the plant re- 
ferred to ; but we 
need scarcely say it 
is barely a faint rep- 
resentativelof the real 
beauty of this inter- 
esting liliaceous flow- 

Specific Dtscripfion — 
Stem 4 to G inches, in- 
folded by tlie single rad- 
icle leaf nearly the whole 
length ; umbel 5 or 6- 
flowered : peduncles IJ 
inches long : bracts va- 
riable, from minute se- 
taceous to long lance-lin- 
ear, ofien colored with 
jiale pinkish bloom. — 
Flowers small, pale blue, 
decked with innumerable 
specks and striae of dark, 
er blue ; petals obovate, 
rarely sub-acute, serru- 
ate fimbriate, somewhat 
vcntricose ; base cuneate 
glabrous, bearded to the 
apex ; petaloid sepals lanceolate acute or convolute-acuminate, also bluish sj»ot- 
ted and streaked, cariuated 5 the length of petals, filaments flattened, attenua- 
ted upwards, about half the length of anthers ; anthers large, erect, looking 
inwards, whitish, with a pale bluish tinge ; recurved stigmas 3, beaked at the 
point ; capsule oblong-ovate, sulj-3-winged, at length pendulous by the recurved 
necks of the peduncles. The solitary radicle leaf lung, linear twisted, erect; 
aacending archwise bulb about the size of an hazel nut. 



This specimen was found above Forest City, not fai- from the region of per- 
petual snow. We have seen bat 3 or 4 specimens ; probably a rare plant. 

In our specimen from Placerville presented to the Cal. Acad. Nat. Sciences, 
and figured Dec. 4th, A. D. 1854, there was a manifest effort to form a second 
umbel. In this specimen the stem is apparently a scape ; the powers are paler 
blue, smaller, more globose, and bracts colored. 

A beautiful species, worthy of the attention of florists. 



North of San Pablo Bay. and opening upon it, are three valleys 
side by side parallel with each other and with the coast, their gen- 
eral direction being N. N. W. and S. S. E. Each is drained by a 
creek bearing its own name, and bounded by a steep range of moun- 
tains on both sides ; and each is rich in wealth different from that 
of the others. Petaluma has the dairies, Sonoma has the wine, and 
Napa has wheat. The latter, of which I propose now more partic- 
ularly to speak, makes a better appearance than either of the other 
two. It is thirty miles long, half a mile wide at the upper end, and 
five where it opens on the bay. Nearly all the land is fenced, and 
most of it under cultivation. The .soil is a black loam in the centre, 
inclining to be red and sandy at the sides, all of it rich and deep. 
Much of the black soil is " adobe land ;" that is, if broken up when 
wet, it forms hard clods which are very hard to pulverize. The 
land, as compared with that of most valleys in California, is moist, 
and in times of heavy rain, the main county road running up the 
valley is almost a continuous swamp. In the summer, however, it 
becomes extremely dry, and the dust is almost as great an incon- 
venience to the traveler as the mud of winter. 

The scenery in the valley is beautiful. Picturesque mountains, 
brown when near and blue when distant, majestic oaks, brilliant 
laurel and madrona, emerald fields of new wheat, well-ploughed 
fields, good fences, elegant farm-houses, numerous gardens and or- 
chards go to make up the landscape. The valley should be seen 
from the adjoining hills, whence it appears spread out, apparently 
• level as a floor. The fields, some dark brown, nearly black with the 



fresh ploughed land, some turning green with grain a few weeks old, 
others brilliant with wheat two months old, others tinged red by 
peach trees — all lie like a great checker-board, over which are scat- 
tered numerous farm-houses, and irregular streaks of oak trees, 
marking the course of Napa River and its tributary streams. The 
main elements of the beauty of the valley, for me, consisted in the 
large amount of land cultivated, the excellence of the tillage, the 
neatness and look of comfort about the dwellings, and the knowl- 
edge that a very large proportion of the residents, for California, 
own the lands on which they live. A few glances satisfy the trav- 
eler that the people have permanent titles. There are no signs of 
squatter sovereignty. The farm-houses are well built, many of them 
elegantly desjigned, well finished, painted, and surrounded by or- 
chards ; the fences are fixtures, substantial, and made for service 
and durability j the trees have not been hacked away ; everything 
indicates permanence — provision for the future. No better evidence 
of the blessings 6f permanent titles can be presented to an intelli- 
gent man, than a comparison between Napa Valley and some other 
places in the State where all the titles are in dispute. Indeed, it is 
not necessary to go beyond this valley; a comparison may be drawn 
between what was formerly Salvador's ranch, now divided into a 
multitude of farms, and that portion of Yount's ranch held by the 
squatters. In the latter place all is uncertain, temporary and troub- 
led; in the former all is secure, permanent, peaceful and prosper- 
ous. This pernicious system of spoliating persons owning lands 
under grants from Mexico by bringing the Federal Government to 
contest all the land titles in the Courts, through a period of fifteen 
years, has done irreparable injury to the country, and done little 
good to honest men as a class. Fortunately for Napa, most of her 
early residents bought their lands, and made homes for life ; and 
now, Napa Valley is the prettiest part of the State, with more land 
fenced, more land cultivated, more permanent improvements, and 
better tillage than any other district of equal extent. 

The oak trees of Napa Valley are smaller and less patriarchal 
than those of Sonoma Valley, but still they are large and beautiful. 
When first seen from a distance by a person familiar with the oak 
trees of the Mississippi Valley, the white oak of California makes 
the impression of an elm. It is wide in proportion to its height. 


low, thick iu the trunk, heavy in the main branches, many of which 
have a horizontal or downward course. The top of the tree often 
has the arched shape, and the smaller boughs have a pendant grace 
seen in the East only in the elm, though the pendant character of 
the latter is so far outdone as often to rival the vine. The main 
branches of the California white oak usually have at their extremity 
some twigs that hang perpendicularly down. These are frequently 
five or six feet, and sometimes twenty feet long, and not more than 
an inch thitjk at their base, so that they look like vines, and many 
of the trees, for this reason, in the summer look as though they 
were covered with vines. Add to these peculiarities, the abundant, 
gray Spanish moss, hanging like venerable beards from all the 
boughs, and the dark, druidical mistletoe, and we have one of the 
important features of the Napa landscape. 

The climate of Napa is two or three degrees colder in winter than 
San Francisco, and four or five degrees warmer in summer. Fogs 
are comparately rare. The 28th of January was the coldest day last 
winter, and then ice half an inch thick was formed in tubs of water 
standing out of doors. On the 27th January last, fifty-five roses 
were blooming on one rose bush in the open air, at Mr. Yount's 
farm, the bush having been fastened against the wine house, but 
having no other protection, and no warmth from any other artificial 

Napa is a word of Indian origin and unknown meaning. It was the 
name of a tribe of Indians, now extinct, who formerly dwelt near 
the site of the present town of Napa. The word has been applied 
to Napa county, Napa town, Napa valley, Napa river, which runs 
through the whole length of the valley, and Napa creek, which runs 
from the west and empties into Napa river at the town. Napa riv- 
er is not larger than many of the " creeks" of the State, but it must 
be called a river to distinguish it from the Napa creek, which goes 
dry in the late summer. 

Twenty-five years ago there was not a white resident in the val- 
ley. The only inhabitants were Indians, of whom there were six 
tribes. The Mayacomas, (pronounced Mi-a-c6-mas) dwelt in the 
vicinity of the hot springs, in the upper end of the valley ; the Cal- 
lajomanas, (Cal-ya-ho-ma-nas) had their home on the land now 
known as the Bale ranche ; the Caymus (Ki-moos) tribe occupied 


the tract now owned by G. C. Yoiint ; the Napa Indians inhabited 
the Salvador Vallejo ranch of Entre-Napa — that is, the place be- 
tween Napa river and Napa creek ; the Ulucas (Oo-loo-cas) lived on 
the east of the river, in the vicinity of the present town site; and 
the former domain of the Suscol Indians, afterwards known as the 
Suscol ranch,, became the property of M. G. Vallejo. These tribes 
spoke different dialects, and were almost constantly at war with 
each other. Their rancherias were numerous throughout the length 
of the valley, being built on the banks of streams or near springs. 
Their food consisted chiefly of acorns, horse-chestnuts, grasshoppers, 
fish, clover, and amole or soap-root. It is not known how many of 
these Indians there were, no census having been taken nor any care- 
ful estimate having been made, at the time, by anybody. Mr. Yount 
thinks their number was not less than three thousand, and possibly 
twice as many. It would have been an easy matter to collect a thou- 
sand warriors in those times. Not more than a hundred or two, 
including women and children, remain. All the rest have been 
swept away. 

In 1836 George C. Yount, the first white resident of Napa Val- 
ley, made his home at the place which he still occupies and now 
owns. He is an American by birth, and had been a mountaineer 
and trapper. He was a true representative and a legitimate suc- 
cessor of the pioneers of the Mississippi Valley in the hist century. 
When a youth of eighteen he had served under the command of two 
sons of Daniel Boone, against the Indians, in the war of 1815, and 
he had seen and conversed with the great Daniel, their father. In- 
spired with the same fondness for adventure which drove Boone from 
the Yadkin to the Missouri, Yount took up the trail on the border 
of the Missouri and followed westward through the valleys of the 
Platte, the Arkansas, Green River, the Colorado, the Mojave, and 
the Sacramento, until he arrived at the shores of the great western 
ocean, and there he chose him a home in a dale, which promises to 
rival the glories of paradise. Here he obtained a grant of 11,800 
acres of land, where he made his permanent home. This grant has 
been confirmed to him by the United States Courts, but the squat- 
ters occupy much of his land, dispute his title, and, as he says, 
trouble him more than did ever the Indians against whom he had so 
often fought in the earlier portion of his life. He is now about 


sixty-five years of age, not very active physically, but his mind is 
clear, and he is a very pleasant companion. Soon after he had 
taken possession of his ranch, the Indian tribes to th^ northward, 
numbering five or six thousand braves, made war upon him. With a 
band of about fifty friendly Indians, he invaded the territory of his 
enemies, gave them battle and defeated them, recovered the cattle 
stolen from him, started back, was attacked in the night, but kept 
the assailants at bay until daylight, then drove them off with severe 
loss, and got home safe with his cattle and men to his block-house, 
where he was soon after besieged for a short time. He also had a 
battle at Suscol, he and Salvador Yallejo sustaining an attack from 
a large number of savages. 

The next white residents of Napa Valley, after Yount, were Sal- 
vador Mundo Vallejo, Cayetano Juarez and Jos^ Higuera, all born 
citizens of Mexico, who came in about 1838 and obtained each his 
grant of land : the Vallejo grant being north of the site of ISTapa 
town, the Juarez grant east, and the Higuera grant south-west. 
About a year later. Dr. Bale, an Englishman, married to a Mexican 
wife, obtained a grant north of Yount's place, and settled there. 
These five with the Suscol, made six ranches, all of which have been 
confirmed. The Berreyesas claim part of the land at the head of 
Napa Valley, but it is generally said that the claim is not a valid 
one. Dr. Bale and Jose Higuera are dead ; Vallejo, Yount, and 
Juarez still live, and have their homes on their ranches. Nearly all 
of the Vallejo and Higuera ranches have passed into the hands of 
Americans. Juarez and the widow Bale have sold probably one 
half of their lands ; while Yount has disposed of very little of his 
land, except a thousand acres to each of two sons-in-law — Sullivan 
and Vines. 

About 1842 the Fowlers, father and son, and Mr. Kilburn, set- 
tled in Napa, and in 1844 Mr. Bartlett Vines. In the fall of 1846 
a number of Americans arrived in California from Missouri by 
way of the plains. Of these, James Harbin, Arch Jesse, the Stilts 
brothers, and the Long brothers, the last now residing in Solano 
County, took their families to Mr. Lorent's house, and themselves 
went off to join Fremont in fighting for the country. In 1847 Nathan 
Coombs and Captain John Griggsby, who had been in California 
some time, settled in Napa Valley. 


The toAYn of Napa is of American origin. It was laid off in 
1848 by Nathan Coombs, at the ford of Napa river, on the road 
from Benicia to Sonoma. In those days there were no bridges or 
ferries, and the position of the ford determined the location of the 
town. Now the ford is never used, but the investment of capital 
has made the town permanent. If mere natural advantages were 
to be taken into consideration, the chief town of the valley should 
be at iBuscol, for at low tide Napa is not accessible by steamboat, 
while Suscol always is. Napa has the start, and appears as certain 
of her supremacy against Suscol, as is San Francisco against Yal- 
lejo. The houses of Napa are mostly of wood, with a few of brick, 
and none of adobe. There are enough new buildings to show a 
constant and regular growth. The houses are built in better style 
than is customary in California towns, and many of them are, evi- 
dently, the homes of prosperous families. At the last general elec- 
tion 826 votes were cast in the town, which is. the voting place for a 
large precinct, extending perhaps four or five miles in every direc- 
tion. The population of the town proper is about eight hundred, 
or a thousand. 

Napa city is a lively, pleasant town, and a most agreeable place 
for a country residence, but it has no great future before it. There 
is no probability that it will ever grow to be a city in fact, though 
it is already one in name. It can command no trade save that of 
its own valley, and possibly that of Clear Lake Valley. It lies too 
far north to be on the course of a railway from Vallejo to Petaluma, 
and besides it is above the head of low-tide navigation on the Napa 
river. The town of Petaluma, commanding the trade of its own 
valley and of Santa Rosa, Bodega and Russian river, has superior 
advantages, and has therefore more frequent connection with San 
Francisco — at least one steamboat going each way every day, where- 
as the Napa steamer goes up one day and comes down the next. 

A considerable proportion of the people of the valley are natives 
of the Eastern States — a greater proportion than are to be found 
in any other large agricultural county. Most of our immigrants from 
the west were farmers, and many went to tilling the soil here. Of 
the men from the far East, there were more merchants and mechan- 
ics, and these have usually followed their previous occupations here, 
or become miners. The consequence is that among the farmers of 



Santa Clara, Sonoma, Yolo and Solano, the Western men have a 
decided majority, but in Napa Valley the Yankees are almost, if 
not quite, as numerous. The States in the northeast of the Union 
are opposed to the policy of the present Administration, and so is 
Napa — the only county which gave a majority against Latham at 
the late election. 

The most noteworthy people are Gr. C. Yount, L. "W. Boggs, 
Salvador Vallejo, and J. W. Osborn, the last, the leading farmer 
of the valley. Lilburn W. Boggs was Governor of Missouri, about 
twenty-five years ago, at the time of the Mormon troubles, when he 
was shot by one of the Latter-Day Saints, who attempted to assas- 
'""sinate the Gentile ruler. Gov. Boggs came to California overland, 
in 1846, with his family and children, and made his home in Sono- 
ma until 1852, when he removed to his present home, seven miles 
northward from Napa, on the western side of the valley. He is an 
aged man now, and has been so ill of late that it is feared he will 
not long survive. Mrs. Boggs is a grand-daughter of Daniel Boone. 
The Governor has five or six children living in Napa and Sonoma 
counties. Salvador Vallejo is a brother of M. G. Vallejo, and is 
one of the historical characters of the State. His home is in Napa 
Valley, but he spends most of his time away. 

Napa Valley contains a number of large farmers — men who farm 
many acres. The following list gives the names of some of them, 
with the number of acres which they own and have under cultiva- 
tion : — 

No. Acres 
rarmers. " Owned. 

G. C. Yount 13,000 

Thomas Knight 5000 

C. Juarez, 3000 

Salvador Vallejo, . . 2300 
Edward Stauly .... 1800 

J. 'U^ Osborn 1600 

James Hill..' 1.500 

Henry Fowler 1500 

Glassford* 1200 

Shehy* 1200 

Eugene Sullivan. . . 1000 

John Tormy* 1000 

Peter Fagan* 1000 

Lancarshorm* . 1000 

J. Chiles'. 1000 

Thomas Thompson. 800 
Samuel Brannan... 800 

Those names marked with an asterisk belong to the Suscol dis- 

No. Acres 

No. Acres 

No. Acres 






L. W. Boggs 




George Reeves*. . . 




Gillespie *. . . 




Seagrist Brothers. 








R. Cottrell 




Charles Hopper. . . 




W. A. Fisher 




Jeremiah Mansfield 




Nathan Coombs. .. 




TerrelGriggsby. .. 

. 400 



George Griggsby. 




John Griggsby . . . 





. 320 



S. Thompson 

. 320 



D. Gibb* 

. 29 



Jesse Griggsby.. . 




trict, v/hicli is sometimes spoken of as distinct from Napa Yalley. 
The above list is not offered as complete or exact, but simply as the 
best which I could obtain during a three days' visit to the valley, 
by inquiries of persons who had given no thought to the subject 
until I began to question them. 

The largest farmers are not those who have the most land under 
cultivation. Thus, although 3000 acres of Mr. Yount's land are 
under cultivation, yet a large portion of it is tilled by squatters, 
who dispute his title and pay him no rent. Twelve hundred acres 
are tilled by his tenants, but he himself does, it may be said, little 
or no farming. The largest field in the valley is on Salvador Val- 
lejo's place, and contains 2200 acres, all in grain, chiefly wheat. It 
is tilled by Mr. Basciano, an Italian, who has the reputation of be- 
ing an excellent farmer. Mr. Osborn really farms more than any 
land-owner in the valley. 

General repute gives to Mr. W. A. Fisher the credit of being the 
most careful f<irmer in the valley, and of raising the cleanest grain. 
Mr. Coombs' " Willow Farm," (so named from its willow hedges,) 
two miles from Napa town, is beautifully situated, and has a fine 
barn — a rare " institution " in California. Mr. Coombs also has a 
fine race track on his farm, and half-a-dozen racers well known to 
the fast-horse men of the State. 

The following is a list of the orchards in the valley: — 


J. W. Osbora 140 

Daniel Gibb 120 

S. Thompson 100 

W.Kilburn 35 

G. C. Yount 22 

T. Knight 29 

B.F. Kellojyg 15 

W. H. Nash 15 

T. Griggsby 12 

— Hudson 10 

R. Cottrell 10 

W. Hornback 10 



C, Hartson 10 

—York 10 

— Barker 8 

S. Broadhurst 8 

— Fisher 6 

S. Loveland 6 

E. Sullivan 5 

L. G. Lilly 6 

— Hudson • 4 

J. Amsbury 4 

Seagrist Brothers 4 

J. Mansfield 4 


To these may be added many smaller orchards, of two or three 
acres, and adding all these to the 564 on the above list, we may es- 
timate the total acres in orchards in the valley at 700 acres, con- 
taining 150,000 trees ; of which about two-thirds are apples, and 
one fifth peaches. About two-thirds of the total number of trees 



will bear, or are old enough to bear, this year, and the remainder 
are too young. Apple trees bear at four years, and peaches at 

These " orchards " include some vines, and more vineyards have 
been planted since my visit to the valley. 

Of imported stock, the most notable are the horses of Nathan 
Coombs, one of which cost §5000, and another $2000 ; the Durham 
cattle of J. Chiles ; the Ayrshire cattle of Osborn, and the fine 
merino sheep of Samuel Brannan. 

Napa Valley is, in proportion to its size, the richest and most 
productive grain district in the State, The number of bushels of 
wheat, barley and oats raised yearly in this valley, is about 1,300,000, 
and the wholesale rate price is put down at $1,600,000 or $1,800,000. 
The average crop of wheat per acre may be put down at 25 bushels ; 
of barley, 30. To speak in general terms, four times as much land 
is sown in barley as in oats, and nearly three times as much in wheat 
as in barley. Little attention is paid to the cultivation of other 
grains or garden vegetables. The soil of the valley is not suitable 
for potatoes, and the climate is not suitable for cabbage or corn. 
There is, however, some maize planted in tributary canons and ra- 
vines near the head of the valley, in many places inaccessible for 
wagons ; and after the crop is ripe it is not harvested, but hogs are 
driven into the fields and left until all the grain is eaten. 

^ « »-»^— 


Alone — thou sleep'st alone ! 

Above thy ashes cold, 
The holy stars look mildly down, 

The mountain n^ists are rolled. 
And the night winds sing thy dirge, 

In wailings, sad and deep. 
Or, swelling to a thunder tone, 

Through the solemn forests sweep ! 

Alone — thou sleep'st alone ! 

Wo ! wo to them who wait 
And watch at eventide for thee, 

At the lonely cottage gate. 

Thy mother looketh out 
Across the misty sea, 
Crj'ing, ! come to thy childhood's home ! 
Wand'rer, return to me ! 

Alone ! thou sleep'st alone ! 

No winds that round thee sweep. 
Nor rattling thunder's loudest tone. 

Can break thy long tranced sleep ! 
But, when the trump shall sound. 

And heaven and earth shall flee. 
Arouse, thou sleeper, from thy grave ! 

Thy loved ones wait for thee ! 




" 'It is groTving dai'k — scliool maybe dismissed now,' were the last words of a dj'ing 
old man who had spent a long life as village schoolmaster." 

The sun's last rays the clouds had tinged 

A rosy hue, 
And through the bending trees that fringed 
The lake so blue, 
The flower-scented gale was breathing sweet and low, 
A symphony unto the song of waves below. 

By distance mellowed came the village hum — 

A peaceful sound ; 
The busy voices of the day were dumb ; 
A calm profound 
Pervaded Nature, bidding Passion wild be still, 
And causing Pleasure's harp 'neath Memory's touch to thrill. 

Yet there were those to whom that hour 

Brought no relief. 
And eyes were glist'ning 'neath the shower 
Of heartfelt grief; 
For in a room, within yon vine-clad cottage fair, 
The poor old village schoolmaster lay dying there. 

With faithful zeal from year to year 
He'd taught their school — 
The children all through love, not fear, 
Obeyed his rule ; 
And as they passed the house where sick the master lay, — 
" Do n't make a noise — perhaps he sleeps," they 'd fondly say. 

And when upon the leaves were seen 

The dew-drops bright, 
When daisies Smiled o'er all the green 

In morning's light, >. 

They 'd cull bouquets of wild flowers from the verdant mead, 
And with their off'rings to the old man's bedside speed. 

Well pleased I ween was each, as he 

Looked up and smiled, 
And weakly said: "Are these for me, 
My dearest child ? 
Sweet is thy gift — come, lay them on my pillow, dear, 
And kiss me, for I soon shall journey far from here ! " 


Thus were the sick man's moments cheered 

From day to day ; 
Kesigned and calm, he e'er appeared 

To pass away : ; 

And now, whilst dying, as he watched the shadows creep, 
A smile o'erspread his face, of holy trust most deep. 

"Why weep ye, friends ? 'tis sweet-to die," 

He gently said ; 
" Soon, soon my soul shall mount on high, 
By Mercy led ; 
Far, far beyond all scenes of earthly pain and woe, 
To that blest land where founts of love do flow." 

There was a pause — deep silence now 

O'er all was cast, 
For Death's cold dews upon that brow 
Were gath'ring fast. 
But soft — he starts : " 'Tis growing dark," he slowly said ; 
" The school is now dismissed," he gasped, and fell back, dead:' 

Within the churchyard, 'neath the trees 

The low winds wave. 
The musing trav'ler haply sees 
The master's grave ; 
No sculptured marble tells his virtues or his worth — 
His tombstone is the hearts of those he knew on earth. 

Nathan.— Nathan, a prophet and wise teacher at Salem, sat 
among his 'disciples, and the words of wisdom flowed like honey 
from his lips. 

Then said one of his disciples, named Gamaliel: "Master, how is 
it that we love so well to receive thj instructions, and to listen to 
the words of thy mouth?" 

The modest teacher smiled, and said: "Is not my name inter- 
preted ' to give ?' Man receives with pleasure, if you know how to 

"What dost thou give?" asked Hillel, another of those who sat 
at his feet. 

^ And Nathan answered: "I offer you a golden apple in a silver 
rind. You receive the rind, hut you find the apple." 



No. III. The Anglo Saxon Writers. 

In a former paper of this series, the first introduction of civiliza- 
tion and letters into Britain was attributed to the Romans. Never- 
theless, it has been claimed that there existed among the Celtic 
tribes which Caesar found in possession of the island, a body of na- 
tive literary productions, preserved by oral tradition, and handed 
down by one generation of bards to another, which indicate a high 
degree of refinement, and romantic elevation of character in the 
people who could originate them, and whose manners and sentiments 
these poetic fragments may be supposed, more or less, faithfully to 
reflect. "If," says Gibbon, in treating of the Caledonian war 
which followed the invasion of Britian by the Emperor Severus, and 
in which Fingal is said to have commanded the native forces, — " If 
we could with safety indulge the pleasing supposition that Fingal 
lived, and that Ossian sung, the striking contrast of the situation 
and manners of the contending nations might amuse a philosophic 
mind. The parallel would be little to the advantage of the more 
civilized people, if we compared the unrelenting revenge of Severus, 
with the generous clemency of Fingal ; the timid and brutal cruelty 
of Caracalla, with the bravery, the tenderness, the elegant genius 
of Ossian ; the mercenary chiefs, who from motives of fear or inter- 
est, served under the imperial standard, with the free-born warriors 
who started to arms at the voice of the king of Morven ; if, in a 
word, we contemplated the untutored Caledonians glowing with the 
warm virtues of nature, and the degenerate Romans polluted with 
the mean vices of wealth and slavery." 

In a future paper, we propose to refer more particularly to these 
literary remains in the verse language, — productions which cannot 
fail to possess a certain interest, from the fact that a portion of them 
have been the subject of the most remarkable, protracted and viru- 
lent controversies that ever agitated the world of letters, — a con- 
troversy in which the greatest names, and the most respectable au- 
thorities may be found arrayed against each other, — in which Blair, 
Hume, Johnson, Robertson and Gray, actively participated, and in 
which the first Napoleon did not disdain to take a lively interest. 



The remains of tlie Anglo Saxon literature wliicli have been pre- 
served, are chiefly valuable as specimens of the language upon which 
our own is founded. But their actual merit as literary productions, 
has been over-rated, from the importance which they undoubtedly pos- 
sess in an antiquarian and philological point of view, and the light 
which they throw upon the origin and progress of our language. 
Intrinsically, it must be confessed, they are of but little value, and 
when the jealous Saxonist seriously undertakes to institute com- 
parisons between the poems of Ctedmon, and the author of "Beo- 
wulf," on the one hand, and " Paradise Lost," and the " Illiad " on the 
other, he simply furnishes us with a striking example of the extent 
to which the pursuit of a favorite study i^ay prejudice the judgment 
and demoralize the taste, converting even the elegant and accom- 
plished scholar into the mole-eyed biblomaniac : — 

'i . 
" Who on black letter pores, 

And what he does not understand, adores ; 

Buys at vast sums the trash of ancient days, 

And draws on prodigality of praise. 

These, when some lucky hit or lucky price. 

Has blessed them with ' tlie Boke of Gode Advice,' 

Tor ' elces ' and ' algates ' only deign to seek 

And live upon a ' ivMh home' for a week." 

The Anglo-Saxon tongue was not, as is sometimes supposed, a 
language brought into Britain by its Teutonic invaders. The- 
Angles, the Jutes, and the Saxons, who constituted the bulk of the 
foreign bands that poured into the island after the Romans had with- 
drawn, each had their separate language, and it was from the fusion 
of these into one tongue, that the Anglo-Saxon of the age of Alfred 
was formed. This fusion seems to have been completely accomplished 
before the time of Bede. But the Angles, and not the Saxons, gave 
their name to the new language, which, by those who spoke it, was 
ordinarily called English. 

Soon after the Norman Invasion, the amalgamating process com- 
menced, which in the thirteenth century resulted in the dsiappear- 
ance both of the Anglo-Saxon and the Norman-French, out of which, 
by gradations which we have no means of tracing with accuracy, had 
grown, what may be called the Old English. 

All the accounts which have come down to us of Cfedmon, the 



earliest AAglo-Saxon writer of note, of whom any remains have been 
]3reServecl, are of such a character as tend to invest him with the 
attributes of a mythical or legendary personage. From an awkward 
and unlettered hind, unable even to read, and so ignorant of num- 
bers that he was wont to retire in confusion, when the harp came 
towards him at supper, where, by Saxon usage, each guest was ex- 
pected to sing in turn, he was, according to the monkish legend, de- 
veloped in a single night, by the influence of a dream, into a full- 
fledged poet. The Saxon antiquarians delight to style him " the 
Father of English Song," and " the Saxon Milton," and profess to 
discover in his poems exalted merits, which, if they exist at all, are 
imperceptible to the majorky of those who have been led by their 
enthusiastic praises, to search for them in the English translations. 
The story of the marvellous awakening of C^dmon's poetic genius, 
runs in this wise. Having retired overwhelmed with chagrin, from a 
feast where he had found himself unable to take his part in " the 
circling song," he repaired to the stable where it was his turn to 
keep guard during the night. He does not appear, however, to have 
been a much better sentinel, than he had proved a minstrel, for while 
indulging in bitter reflections upon his lyrical incapacity, he fell asleep 
at his post. The thoughts which had occupied his waking mind, 
gave direction to his dreams. A stranger appeared to him, gave 
him a harp, and bade him sing. Csedmon sadly urged his inability. 
With a benignant smile, the vision insisted. "How shall I sing," 
remonstrated the as yet unconscious minstrel, " who have never been 
able to sing?" But the stranger would take no denial; he encour- 
aged the reluctant peasant by his look and gesture, and assigned him 

a theme. " Sing," he said "the origin of things!" Thus urged, 
Caadmon seized the harp; the impulse and the inspiration came, and 
the cow-herd, astonished at his own voice, found himself all at once 
transformed into a Poet. In the morning every detail of his mar- 
vellous vision remained imprinted upon his mind. He even remem- 
bered syllable for syllable, the lyric rhapsody which had flowed from 
his unfettered lips, at the bidding of his strange visitant. He flew 
to the town-reeve, or bailifl"of Whitby, and told his story. The latter hurried him to the neighboring Convent, where in the 
presence of the abbess Hilda, and the assembled monks, he recited 
his verses, — verses which Venerable Bede has pronounced to be the 


offspring of pure inspiration. The poem has been handed down to 
us. It consists of eighteen lines, the burden of which is, "Let us 
praise God, the maker of Heaven and earth!" Some of the 
zealous admirers of Saxon literature claim to have discovered " three 
distinct ideas " in it. We give a tolerably faithful translation, that 
the reader may judge of its merits for himself : — 

" Now we shall praise 
The guardian of Heaven, 
' The might of the Creator 

And his counsel — 
The glory— -father of men 1 
How he, of all wonders 
The eternal Lordj 
Made the Beginning. 
He first created 
For the children of men 
Heaven as a roof-^ 
The holy Creator ! 
^ Then the world. 

The guardian of mankind 
The eternal Lord 
Provided afterwards,—^ 
The earth for men 
The Almighty Master.*' 

The pious monks rejoiced greatly over the newly discovered poet. 
They thought such wonderful gifts were worthy of exclusive conse- 
cration to sacred purposes. As the peasant-bard was unable to read 
himself, they read to him the Scripture histories of the Old Testa- 
ment, to furnish him with fitting themes for the exercise of the power 
which seemed to be a direct gift from Heaven. The narratives which 
he drank in from their lips, he turned into song, amplifying, and 
clothing them in poetical forms. His teachers listened with delight to 
these effusions, and reverently "wrote them down from his mouth." 
The elder D' Israeli, alluding in his "Amenities of Literature," to 
this account, derived from Bede, remarks: "these teachers could 
not have learned more than they themselves had taught. We can 
only draw out of a cistern the waters which we have poured into it ;" — 
a singularly flippant and shallow criticism, from so distinguished a 
source. As the tree first assimilates, and then transmutes the ele- 
ments which it derives from the earth, and bears them in leaves and 


blossoms to the skies, so genius, by its subtle alchemy may repro- 
duce in nobler and more perfect forms, the crude materials which it 
has absorbed. So from old, rude tales, and half forgotten romances, 
Shakespeare wrought his immortal master-pieces. Things which the 
monks could not see or feel, in the histories they recited, might be 
apparent to the vision of the poet, and be made apparant to their 
own duller perceptions, when amplified and informed by an active 
fancy, and clothed in the warm hues of a vivid imagination. 

Casdmon died in the year A. D. 680, and his great poem, " The 
Creation," is generally attributed to the latter part of the seventh 
century, although the oldest manuscript of it which has been pre- 
served, belongs to the tenth. Several writers have advanced the 
opinion that Milton has drawn largely from the Saxon poet ; and it 
is certain that a number of passages from " The Creation," may be col- 
lated with others from " Paradise Lost," so as to exhibit a strong re 
semblance, — a resemblance which also extends to some portions of 
the general plan of the two poems. In both, as D'Israeli remarks, 
there is a bold departure from the scripture narrative, or rather the 
adoption of a narrative not supported by any thing contained in 
the sacred writings, particularly where the respective poets treat of 
the rebellion of Satan, and his expulsion from Heaven, with his 
apostate legions. Both agree in representing these events as occur- 
ring prior to the creation of man; and Casdmon, in the harangue 
which he makes Satan address to his angels, reminds us strongly 
of the similar scene in the early part of " Paradise Lost." So in regard 
to the departure from the common notion of representing the arch- 
fiend as a hideous and frightful being. The Saxon poet describes 
him as " the brightest, fairest in Heaven ; beloved of his master, 
beauteous in form, and like to the light of stars," while Milton com- 
pares his countenance to — 

" The morning star that guides the starry flock ;" 
and elsewhere presents him thus : — ' 

" His form had not yet lost 
All her original brightness, nor appeared 
Less than archangel ruined." 

But notwithstanding these, and similar coincidences, there is 
scarcely suflBoient ground for charging Milton with plagiarism, or 
imitation of his Saxon predecessor. The parallel passages, which 
are to be found in the two poets, may easily be accounted for, as in- 


stances of the fortuitous resemblance of ideas, and assuredly no ac- 
cusation of literary theft should be entertained, except upon the 
clearest and most conclusive grounds. " Among the innumerable 
practices," says Dr. Johnson, "by which interest or envy have 
taught those who lived upon literary fame to disturb each other at 
their airy banquets, one of the most common is the charge of plagi- 
arism. When the excellence of a composition can no longer be con- 
tested, and malice is compelled to give way to the unaminity of ap- 
plause, there is yet this one expedient to be tried, by which the au- 
thor may be degraded, though his work be reverenced ; and the ex- 
cellence which we cannot obscure, may be set at such a distance, as 
not to overpower our fainter lustre. This accusation is especially 
dangerous, because even when it is false, it may often he urged ivith 
every appearance of probability .'' 

But so far as the present case is concerned, it is more than prob- 
able that Milton never heard or read a line of Casdmon. 

It would scarcely be consistent with the scope of these papers, to 
go into the consideration of the reasons for this conclusion, which 
would involve the history of the Cffidmon MS. and the discussion of 
several subordinate questions. Some of these reasons, (though not in 
our judgment the most conclusive of all) are stated by D'Israeli, in 
his interesting paper on " Csedmon and Milton," and they are abun- 
dantly sufficient to entitle the defendant to a verdict of acquittal, 
without even invoking in his behalf the doctrine of that "reason- 
able doubt," the benefit of which the law gives to the accused. 

We shall conclude our notice of the Anglo-Saxon poet, with a 
brief extract from Satan's speech in the " Creation." 

" Boiled within him 

His thoughts around his heart ; 

Hot, was without him 

His dire punishment. -. i, jjuB . 

Then spake he words :^r-r rr ; ' 

This narrow place is most unlike 

That other ivhich we formerly knew. 

High in Heaven's Kingdom, 

Which my master gave me ; 

Though we it for the All-powerful 

May not possess 

Yet hath he not done rightly, 

That he hath struck us down 


To the fiery abyss 

Of the hot Hell, 

Bereft us of Heaven's Kingdom 

And decreed 

To people it with mankind I" 

Even in such material as this, some of those microscopie critics, 
who seem to find a peculiar happiness in mousing after instances of 
plagiarism, have fancied that they discovered the original sugges- 
tion of one of Satan's speeches in Paradise Lost : — 

" 'Is this the region, — this the soil and clime ', 

Said then the lost archangel — ' this the seat, 

That we must change for Heaven ? — this mournful gloom. 

For that celestial light 1" 

-"Farewell happy fields, 

"Where joy forever dwells ! — Hail horrors, hail 
Infernal world ! and thou, profoundest Hell, 
Receive thy new possessor!" 

"The exploits of Beowulf," is the only considerable poetical 
work, besides those of Caedmon, of which the Anglo-Saxon litera- 
ture can boast. All its remaining wealth, — at least all that has 
come down to us, consists of short pieces, such as the "Ode on King 
Athelstan's victory over the Danes," and the "Traveller's Song." 
About the genuineness and antiquity of "Beowulf," there seems to 
be no dispute. The poet has been called "the Saxon Homer," and 
there is, at least, something of Homeric simplicity in the poem. 
Beowulf, a hero of the old Teutonic type, such as we find in the Neb- 
elungen Lied and the Edda, is the Achilles of the Saxon lUiad. 
He possesses all the valor of the Greek, without his sullenness, and 
is far too amiable a character to quarrel with his comrades, or sulk 
in his tent while they are contending with the enemy. An enthusi- 
astic German writer somewhat loftily styles him "a God-descended 
hero, who fought with, and vanquished, monsters of all kinds, 
but lived in harmony with all heroic natures." The poem abounds 
in the usual materials and incidents of the Scandinavian Epic : — 
warlike exploits, terrific combats ; fillibustering expeditions, — with, of 
course, a due admixture of love-making. There are mailed Knights, 
in "terrible armor," and bards to sing their exploits at the ban- 
quet ; likewise a mysterious being, something between a fiend and a 
ghoul, with an insatiable thirst for blood, (not a poetical, but a lit- 


eral thirst) to destroy which the Gothic hero goes upon an adven- 
turous voyage. Of course the hero vanquishes the monster, in ac- 
cordance with alLepic precedent; a result for which the poet fully 
prepares the reader by mentioning among the other accomplish- 
ments and qualifications of Beowulf, that "he had the strength of 
thirty men in his gripe." Next to the suppression of the Vampire- 
monster, perhaps the hero's most noticeable feat, is a terrific marine 
engagement with Walruses which lasts seven days and seven nights, 
during all which time he is swimming in a "raging wintry sea," 
without so much as a life-preserver, or even a hen-coop to support 
him. The genius of the poet is of that robust and daring charac- 
ter, that spurns all trammels, and does not allow the imagination to 
be restrained by nice or timid scruples as to probabilities ; yet he 
gives us many picturesque glimpses of a rude and primitive kind of 
hero-life, of an entirely different description from that revealed 
in the Ossianic poems " Beowulf," upon the whole, bears the unmis- 
takable stamp of a genuine production of the age to which it is at- 
tributed, but a claim has been advanced by a number of scholars 
and antiquarians of Copenhagen, that it is a Danish poem, and that 
the Saxon version is a translation from a lost original. 

In its form, the Anglo-Saxon poetry is only distinguishable from 
prose, by a certain system of alliteration, requiring two or more words 
in each couplet, to commence with the same letter. It has neither 
metre, like the Grreek and Latin poetry, nor rhyme like the English, 
and depends for its effect, mainly upon that species of elevation of 
style and expression, aimed at by McPherson in his Ossianic pieces. 
Whatever rhythmical principle it contains, is regulated by the ear 
and taste of the poet, rather than the by any fixed rules of prosody. 

During the long contest which commenced with the invasion of 
the Saxons, the arts, the learning, and the language which had been 
introduced by the Romans, were gradually extirpated, so that when 
the struggle was over, and the invaders had established themselves 
in the firm possession of the southern portion of the island, scarcely 
a trace remained of that Roman civilization, which it had been the 
cherished policy of Agricola to foster. The churches and monaster- 
ies were destroyed, the bishops, who, as Gibbon malicously phrases it 
"had declined the crown of martyrdom," fled the Kingdom, and 
every vestige of Christianity so completely disappeared, that when, 


near the end of the sixth century, the missionaries of Home, with Au- 
gustine at their head, arrived in Britain,they found there a heathen 
people, who retained not even the remembrance of the doctrines or 
rites of the Church. Soon after the mission of Augustine and his 
coadjutors, a revival of learning appears to have been inaugurated, 
which continued and increased, until, at the time of Bede, in the early 
part of the eighth century, both learning and religion had fully re- 
gained their former sway. At this period, as we have seen, instances 
of extensive acquirements were not uncommon among the Anglo- 
Saxon clergy. But this state of things was destined to no long con- 
tinuance. Scarcely were the Saxons firmly fixed in their new seats, 
with leisure to cultivate the arts of peace, when they became in their 
turn the victims of foreign assailants. The Danish fleets freighted 
with fierce and rapacious hordes of northern pirates, commenced 
those descents upon the English coast, which continued until a Danish 
Prince occupied the throne of Alfred. These incursions, and the 
incessant wars which resulted from them, soon produced among the 
Saxons the same effects which the attacks of the Saxons had formerly 
Avrought, and to this cause is generally attributed the rapid decline 
of cultivation, which took place from the age of Bede, to that of 
Alfred. The new invaders seem to have been animated by the same 
spirit which had manifested itself in their Saxon predecessors. The 
churches and religious establishments were the especial objects against 
which they directed their fury. Many of these were burned or 
razed to the ground, and with them were destroyed the only libra- 
ries and schools of the period. Through the operation of these 
causes chiefly, the clergy themselves had relapsed into an ignorance 
so deplorable, that King Alfred, when desirous of acquiring the 
Latin tongue, found it difficult to procure a teacher capable of in- 
structing him. "South of the Humber," he himself tells us, 
" there were but few priests when I began my reign, who could un- 
derstand the meaning of the common prayers, or who could render 
a line of Latin into English." Nor was this the worst. Even read- 
ing and writing were accomplishments possessed almost exclusively 
by the clergy; and ' Clericus' or 'Clerk,' signifying originally an 
ecclesiastic or one in holy orders (in England it is still the legal ap- 
pellation of a clergyman) became at length synonymous with ' pen- 
man,' the sense in which it is now most frequently employed. The 


mere fact that a man could write, was considered presumptive evi- 
dence that he was in holy orders. Laymen, who had occasion to 
subscribe any instrument, scratched the sign of the cross at the foot 
of it, and the clerk then wrote the name opposite the mark, and from 
this custom is derived the phrase to sign, as now used in speaking 
of the execution of a deed, etc. 

Such was the condition of things in England, when Alfred began 
to revolve those plans for the diffusion of knowledge among the 
great body of his subjects, the mere conception of which, in that 
age, stamps him as a great and extraordinary character, and entitles 
him to be held in grateful and everlasting remembrance by the 
English people, and by all who derive from them their language, 
their literature, and their civilization. 

If talents and virtues, rare even in subjects, and an enlightened 
patriotism almost unexampled in Kings, can give a passport to im- 
mortality, the halo which invests the name of Alfred, will only be- 
come more vivid in the lapse of ages. "In him," says Gibbon, 
" were united the virtue of Antonine, the learning and valor of Cas- 
sar, and the legislative genius of Lycurgus." But in reality he pos- 
sessed more of the elements of a Washington, than of a Csesar or a 
Napoleon ; for he was one of those instances, so rare in the history 
of the world, of a man wielding the supreme powers of government, 
who seems to have been uniformly actuated by a sincere and un- 
selfish passion to promote the public welfare, independent of the in- 
citements of personal ambition. Csesar and Napoleon were unques- 
tionably pati'iotic, in a certain sense, but the love of glory and the thirst 
for domination, seem to have animated the former in his efforts to 
advance the power and grandeur of Rome ; and if the latter mani- 
fested a wise and unaffected solicitude for the interests of France, it 
was for Ms France, the source of his greatness, the instrument of his 
conquests, the bulwark of his pride, — the shield which protected him 
against his foes, the sword with which he humbled and destroyed 
them. When he devised wise laws for her government, and vast 
schemes to promote her material prosperity, when he built roads, 
and bridges, and acqueducts, founded hospitals, and endowed insti- 
tutions of learning, it may be urged with the appearance at least, of 
plausibility, that he acted in much the same spirit in which a private 
gentleman plans and labors for the improvement of his estate. But 


in the Saxon King, there seems to have been a noble simplicity of 
purpose, a singular absence of mere personal ambition, and a genuine 
devotion to the welfare of his people. His labors in the promotion 
of learning, the general diffusion of knowledge, and the improve- 
ment of the internal administration of justice, appear to have been 
inspired by a truly paternal solicitude for the best interests of his 
subjects. His campaigns, if they can be so called, against the Danish 
invaders, indicate more of the solid judgment, the unshaken per- 
severance, and the patient fortitude of Washington, than the military 
genius of Caesar. Nor can we more successfully claim for him the 
literary talents, or the elegant acquirements of the author of " the 
Commentaries." His writings evince more earnestness of purpose 
and solidity of judgment, than taste or scholarship ; and he was re- 
markable rather for his studious disposition, and his thirst for knowl- 
edge, than his actual learning. His title to be ranked as a Ly- 
curgus, rests upon no better foundation. He adopted and enforced 
the laws devised by his predecessors, rather than originated new ones. 
Even the statement so often made, and so generally received, that 
he is the author of the division of the kingdom into counties, shires, 
and hundreds, must be rejected, inasmuch as there is good reason to 
believe that these divisions existed from the first settlement of the 
Germanic race in Britain, though in Alfred's time their limits were 
more distinctly fixed than before. Upon the whole, it would seem 
that Gibbon, in the comparison which he instituted with reference to 
the Saxon ruler, as a scholar, a soldier, and a law-giver, has strained 
a factitious resemblance, in order to round an imposing sentence, 
with the great names of Antonine, Caesar and Lycurgus. 

Yet Alfred can lose nothing by such comparisons. His greatness 
was of another, a rarer, and a loftier type than that of conquerors 
or legislators. It is impossible to read his history, without being 
impressed by his beneficent wisdom, and the genuine goodnes^of his 
whole character. When we find him opposing, though almost alone, 
the narrow policy of the clergy, the tendency of which was to con- 
fine the benefits of education to a particular caste ; when we see 
him contending manfully for the propriety of " translating useful 
books into the language which we all understand," as being "for 
the benefit of the Youth of England," who, he goes on to argue, 
" cannot profit in any pursuit, until they are well able to read En- 


glish;" y^hen we contemplate his own assiduous and persevering ef- 
forts, by translations of useful works, by founding schools, and by 
inviting scholars from abroad into his Kingdom, to secure to the 
masses of the people a right in the common inheritance of knowl- 
edge ; when we recognize in his whole conduct the masculine good 
sense, which rejected the prejudices of the learned, and rose supe- 
rior to the best wisdom of the age, we find it easy to sympathize with 
the reverent affection of his countrymen, witnessed by the traditional 
epithets handed down to us in connection with his name — " The 
wisest man of England," — -the darling of the English — the Shep- 
herd of his People." 

But the present paper seems already to have extended itself to 
such unexpected length, that any further consideration of the liter- 
ary aspects of the age of Alfred, must be reserved for a future 


\_Translaied from the German of Freiligrafh.'] 


Midvraj in the desert was it, where at night, exposed, we rested ; 
B3- the tired, unbridled horses slept my Bedouins tried and trusted. 
In the distance lay the moonlight, on the Nile's far hills reclining; 
Scattered in the sand around us, bones of dromedaries shining. 

Sleepless lay I ; for a pillow only did my saddle serve me, 
Bolstered underneath with satchel, filled with dry fruit of the date tree, 
And my outspread kaftan drew I upward o'er my feet and bosom ; 
Near me lay my naked sabre — all my weapons and provision. 

All is silence ; — only sometimes crackles low the dying embers ; 
Only sometimes shrieks the vulture that from nest, belated, wanders ; 
Only sometimes stamps in slumber 'mid the horses here and there one ; 
Only sometimes grasps a horseman, dreaming battle, for his weapon. 

There ! at once the hot earth trembles ; o'er the moonlit places chasing, 
Shadows follow gloaming shadows ; o'er the desert beasts are racing. 
Snorting prance the frightened horses ; and our standard-bearer whispers, 
Pale, his banner dropping : " Master, 'tis the caravan of specters ! " 


Yes, it comes ! before the camels stride along the ghostly drivers ; 
111 their saddles high, luxurious, loll unveiled the women riders ; 
Near them too are maidens slender, pitchers bearing, like Rebecca 
At the Avell once ; horsemen follow — sweeping haste they all to Mecca. 

More still ! — has the train no ending ? — ever more! — now who can count them? 
See ! the very bones are starting, and again to camels mounting ; 
And the yellow sand, which whirling up in dark brown masses, rises 
Turns itself to dark brown pilgrims, and each one a, camel seizes. 

For this is the night when all they, whom the sand seas have devoured : 
Those, whose elemental ashes e'en to-day our tongues have soured ; 
Those, whose crumbling skulls our horses' hoofs have trodden into layer, 
Rise and hurry troopwise forward to the holy place of prayer. 

Ever more! — and still the distance with the coming trains is blackened, 
But the vanguards, see! returning, hurrying back with bridles slackened, 
From the dark green promontory to the Babelmandeb water 
Haste they — ere my horse can loose him, struggling 'gainst his tightened halter. 

Up ! my comrades, and stand each one steadfast by his frightened courser ; 
Tremble not ; these are but shadows vainly dancing in the night air ; 
Let them even touch you with their floating robes and loose talares ; 
Cry but : "Allah ! " — and they hasten onward with their dromedaries. 

Stand ye, till the winds of morning in your turban feathers flutter ; 
Morning wind and morning dawning will these ghostly specters scatter. 
With the day again to ashes turn will all these wanderers straying ; — 
See, it dawns already ; bravely greets it now my courser's neighing. 

Friendship. — Friendship is a tacit contract between two sensible 
and virtuous persons. I say sensible, for a monk or hermit may 
not be wicked, yet live a stranger to friendship. I add virtuous, 
for the wicked have only accomplices. The voluptuous have com- 
panions, the designing have associates, the men of business have 
partners, the politicians form a factious band ; the bulk of idle men 
have connections, princes have courtiers, but virtuous men alone 
have friends. Cethegus was Cataline's accomplice, and Mecsenus 
was Octavius' courtier; but Cicero was Aticus' friend. — Voltaire. 

Fear. — Ignorance is the mother of fear, as well as of admiration. 
A man intimately acquainted with the nature of things, has seldom 
occasion to be astonished. — Lord Kaimes. 



It is "probably true^ that^ in no otlier ipart of the toorlcl, can be found 
equal tendencies for tlie diversion of the mind from a pursuance of 
its natural avocation, as in the experience of a life in California. 
Here,' above all other localities, the adventurer sets foot within an 
arena of turbulent excitement, and of constantly changing, and di- 
versified interests. Fortune seems pleased to piay " bo peep " with 
individuals, and individuals, not to be outdone, play "bo peep " with 
fortune. That which, to-day, becomes a matured plan, invested Avith 
the panoply of reasonable deductions, on the morrow, chameleon- 
like, changes its coloring, and discarding the wisdom of yesterday, 
puts on a new robe, adapting itself to the necessities of the mo- 
ment. Thus, in the ever varying tide of evils, one learns to do as 
he can, not as he would. Notwithstanding the mutability of these 
immutable laws by which we are governed, the mind, though turned 
from the channel of its natural current, is ever ready to renew the 
pastimes and exercises of its real inclinations — only remoA'e the bar- 
rier which at the fountain-head clogs up and dams the primitive 
path, and mark how joyfully its waters will resume their flow and 
ripple along their nature-formed causeways. 

The question is often asked: "Why is it, that in a land whose 
citizenship is made up of talent ; whose scenery is inspiration ; 
whose atmosphere is the soul of inspiration, and whose alchemy is 
the very essence of science?" — "why," it is repeated, ■ "are there 
not more to be' found in our own number whose ambition is literary 
and scientific excellence ? " The problem has an easy solution — to 
use a rustic yet popular expression, neither the one nor the other 
"pays." Both are obtained at the price of application and untir- 
ing assiduity. Wealth, in most cases, is the ultima tJmle of the Cali- 
fornia adventurer, and it lies not at the shrine of literary excellence ; 
if it does, it still requires wealth for its attainment and duplication. 
He who has been successful in the accumulation of riches, in most in- 
stances, is not one whose inclinations predominate in favor of refined 
mental culture ; and, he who has not been the recipient of fortune's 
gracious smiles, remains the sport of adverse minds, and of hope's 
fitful promises. When Israel was led captive to Babylon, her chil- 



dren were required to sing, but "witli "harps upon the "willows," they 
answered : " How can I sing ? " Upon these were the chains of a 
servile and insurmountable bondage ; and it is much the case with 
those in the golden State who desire literary excellence. The de- 
mands of the wardrobe and the larder call for that which will pay ; 
and even the editor is limited to "news," the staple article, and the 
wants of which, are distressingly predominant. Immersed in diffi- 
culties like these, is it strange that talent and genius not unfre- 
quently sink in th,e dark and murky slough of a mental despond ? 
Nature, it is true, breathes upon us its balmy and invigorating 
breath, and beneath cerulean skies, opens out the modest beauty, 
the sublime glory of scenes which the artist may well admire and 
worship, but which his pencil can never emulate. And yet, genius 
feels the one and beholds the other — not unmoved — ^not without the 
kindlings of a living flame ! but rather in the spirit of a patriot who 
realizes the disgrace of his country's bondage, and vainly sighs for 
her deliverance. Such has been the experience of California life 
in times past, is so now, and, in a lessening degree, must continue 
for several years to come. But it is a subject for rejoicing and con- 
gratulation, that the reddening dawn of a new era is unmistakably, 
necessarily opening upon us. Stability and wealth, in community, 
is the auxiliary and precursor of refined mental culture ; and, as 
cloth tents gave place to rustic cabins, and these, in turn, are sub- 
stituted by more comfortable and permanent dwellings, we will soon 
be able to look upon the cosy "homestead " as the fruitful nursery 
of tranquil, refined and matured thought — the reflective mirror to 
all that is beautiful, useful and good. The past will then be re- 
garded as the " chaos of matter " from whose wonderful elements 
originated greatness of soul and of mind ; and, progressing from 
strength to beauty, and from beauty to glory, who shall anticipate 
her crowning achievements ? 

Though without possession of the heaven-born gift of genius, the 
author of this little sketch still clamis to write from exj^erience. 
The burthen of bright visions and of fading hopes has been his ; 
and his the ambition which, when wounded, it would have proudly 
flashed its wings in the sunlight of a higher destiny, has as often 
been pinioned to earth, and by the freaks of a fickle fortune ! and, 
until like the crippled eagle, though born to soar, seeks a grovelling 


covert refuge from inward mortification. A more brilliant in- 
telligence might have triumphed, but his is the experience with 
which the majority of readers can but sympathize. Victimized 
to that lethargy which reviles at even the suggestion of effort, I 
deem myself fortunate in the possession of a friend who promises to 
take from my shoulders the responsibility of the " quill," and who, 
by especial request, proposes to furnish the Hesperian with a series 
of letters, familiarly, though unpoetically, to be entitled: "Uncle 
John's Private Desk." A few words introductory to Uncle John, 
and. my literary acquaintance with the Hesperian ends with its "re- 
newal," — not, however, without an indulgence in the hope that the 
experience briefly related above will be recognized as containing 
many truths pertaining to a life in California. 

"Uncle John" was born and educated in "Boswell," — a beauti- 
ful little village in one of the western Atlantic States, and which 
Goldsmith describes as the 

" Loveliest village of the lawn." 

Coming to this coast of adventure and of gold early in the summer 
of 1849, and, while yet a youth, he passed nine years of bachelor 
life in pursuit of that treasure which is as essential in making pro- 
vision for a comfortable home — and was at last successful ! — nine 
long years of " ups " and "downs " ! nine long years of experience 
in a country which, for excitement, and extremes in life's various 
phases, has no parallel ! — nine long years of separation from the 
scenes of his childhood, and the dearest object of his heart's first, 
purest affection ! — nine long years of " single blessedliess," — but, 
he is no longer alone ! With him the "night" has passed; and in 
the mellowing light of glorious morning is revealed an enchantingly 
bePcUtiful cottage, o'er whose trellis windows, vines are luxuriantly 
entwining, and around whose doorway flowers are blooming, unfold- 
ing their delicate petals in an atmosphere and country, of which 
Bayard Taylor says : "there is wo equal." Hail, California! beau- 
tiful queen of the West, and paradise of earth ! Italy, thy prestige 
is gone ! and thou dear "Boswell," green in the hearts of all pos- 
sessed of soul ; canonised by every association of early years ; yet, 
here, here, in some lovely valley of the bright Pacific, shall be my 
trysting ground I here shall cluster around me the endearments of 


the domestic circle, and here, where the earth is most beautiful, and 
the skies most serene, will I build my home, and erect the sacred 
altar of my life's daily worship ! But I am digressing. " Uncle 
John " is the subject of my theme, and I said that his home is with 
us, and he is not alone I Traversing oceans he, nearly two years 
since, redeemed the pledges of his early love, and, returning to 
California, has become a permanent fixture of the New World. 
One of the first settlers of the State, his experience in the different 
phases of early and later life in the great El Dorado of the West 
is perfect. Possessing keen perceptive faculties, but little has es- 
caped his observation ; and having a soul alive to all the finer feel- 
ings of our nature, and commanding an easy and interesting " pen," 
I have selected him as an admirable substitute for that honored po- 
sition in the pages of the Hesperian which was designed for my- 
self. Let it, however, be borne in mind, that my friend's experi- 
ence in writing is less_^than_ his proportionate knowledge of the 
world, and that his sketches are more especially designed for those 
who seek for that which may be eiitertaining and instructive, than 
for the scrutinizing investigation of the critique. But we now leave 
"Uncle John" and his "Private Desk" to speak for themselves, 
with the simple request that, as he is no aspirant for fame, he may 
be judged of by the public as he is — a plajn, unpretentious and do- 
mestic man, who, having an occasional leisure hour, is pleased to 
devote it, if happily successful, in an humble contribution to the 
pleasure, and, it may be, to the edification of his fellows. 

At this moment it occurs to me that my own sketch in life expe- 
rience is too incomplete. "Why," it may be asked, "will one who 
may have tasted, though in ever. so small a draught, of the pearly 
/Spring of Hope's bright promises, — why will or can he at last de- 
spair ? " True, it is said that 

" In the bright lesicon of youth, 
Which fate has ordained, 
There's no such word as fail ! " 

But will these beautiful and hopeful lines apply to " old bachelors ?" 
and if they can be thus applied, which, to say the most, is very 
doubtful, may not one over-estimate his ability ? — may not a vessel 
be provided with steam capacity sufficient to drive it smoothly 


against a common current, and yet incapable of progress against a 
torrent ? Better, it must be admitted, bad tbe bope never been 
born ! And still, in tbe melancbolj quiet of despair tbere remains 
a sorrowing pleasure in recalling tbe bright images of dreams tbat 
once were real, just as tbe full-grown man lives over again, in retro- 
spection, tbe loved incidents and scenes of cbildbood. Indeed, but 
few realize the bitter experience wbicb destroys all pleasure. Ab, 

no ! — 

" Let fate do her worst ; there are relics of joy — 
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy ; 
That come in the night-time of sorrow and care, 
And bring back the features that joy used to wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled, 
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled : 
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, 
But the scent of the roses will hang 'round it still." 

Even deatb cannot bury all tbat affords consolation. Let disap- 
pointment follow disappointment as wave follows wave, and, let de- 
spair follow dejection until it is eugulfed in tbe grave, tbere will yet 
be found a Letbe, tbe current of wbicb, passing through sleep's de- 
licious and unconscious bowers, that will finally open out into glo- 
rious immortality. Then will the shadows of death have disap- 
peared before tbe brightness of tbat great and eventful morning, — 
aye!— ^^ 

" See Truth, Love, and Mercy in triumph descending. 

And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! 

On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, 

While beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." 

Let me, for a while, calmly sleep in the chrysalis web of a reviv- 
ifying bope, and it may be that tbe resurrection of a renewed and 
strengthened intellect will yet prove that your correspondent "still 
lives." But, in the meantime, be kind to my friend " Uncle John," 
and not too critical on the contents of his " Private Desk." 

Criticism. — Some people take delight in criticising thg trifling 
faults of a book so closely tbat tbe habit vitiates their taste and 
renders them incapable of relishing its beauties. — Palmer s Col. 



[We republisli this poem injustice to Mr. Ridge, as well as to our readers. It appeared 
in the Hesperian for March, but so mangled by tj-pographical errors that its beauty was 
greatly marred. We hope the annoyance felt by the talented author may be removed by 
its present appearance, corresponding strictly with the manuscript. It would not mend 
the matter on our part to make excuses for the former mistake ; it should not have hap- 
pened under any consideration ; and we promise no such blemish shall again mar the 
pages of the Hesperian. — Ed. Hesperian.] 

Humboldt River ! 0, most horrible of rivers, let ns rename it. Let 
us call it the "River l)f Death." For three hundred miles its banks 
are one continuous burying-ground. Like the monster-serpent, which 
once impeded the march and thinned the ranks of the Roman army, by 
filling the atmosphere with his pestiferous and death-dealing breath, 
so doth this monster stretch itself along the route, and lying in wait 
for the great annual army of emigration, fill the air with death-pro- 
ducing miasma. It literally fattened its lean sides with the flesh of 
the emigrant husband, wife and babe. If, as some think, departed 
spirits remain in the vicinity where lie in corruption the fleshy tene- 
ments once inhabited by them, then indeed must the banks of this 
stream, at midnight, when spirits are supposed to commence their 
nightly roaming upon the earth, present to the spirit eye a sadder sight 
than ever caused human eye to fill with tears of sorrow. Naught but 
the ghost of worn-out and starved fathers, mothers and babes I 0, 
horrible, most horrible of rivers ! Let us call thee the River of 
Death. — Shasta Qourier. 

The Kiver of Death, as it rolls 

With a sound like the wailing of souls I 

And, nursing their dust, may be seen 

The ghosts of the dead by the green 

Billowy heaps on the shore — 

Dim shapes, as they crouch by the graA'es, 

And wail with the rush of the waves 

On-seeking the Desert before ! 

Nursing their dust 'gainst the morn 

Which shall see us, new-born, 

Arise from the womb of the Earth — 

That, through rain or through dearth. 

Through calm or through storm, 

Through seasons and times, no part may be lost, 


By the ruthless -winds tost,- 

Of the mortal -which shall be immortal of form. 

No leaf that may bud 

By that dark, sullen flood ; 

No flo-wer that may bloom, 

With its tomb-like perfume, 

In that region infectious of gloom ; 

No subtilized breath 

That may ripple that River of Death, 

Or, vapory, float in the desolate air. 

But is -watched, -with a vigilant, miserly care, 

Lest it steal from the dust of the dead that are there. 

For the Elements aye are in league, 

With a patience unkno-wing fatigue, 

To scatter mortality's mould. 

And svreep from the graves what they hold 1 

I -would not, I -ween, be the -wight 
To roam by that river at night. 
When the souls are abroad in the glooms ; 
Enough that the day-time is -^-eird 
With such mystical sights as are feared 
Mid the silence of moonlighted tombs. 
Weird shores, with their alkaline -white, 
That loom in the glare of the light ; 
Weird bones, as they bleach in the sun, 
Where the beast from his labors is done ; 
Weird frost-work of poisonous dews 
On shrub and on herb, which efi"use 
The death they have drank to their core ; 
Weird columns up-borne from the floor 
Of the white-crusted deserts which boil 
With the whirlwinds' hot, blasting turmoil ! 
As ghost-like he glides on his way, 
Each ghastly, worn pilgrim looks gray 
With the dust the envenomed winds flail ; 
And the beast he bestrides is as pale 
As the steed of the Vision of John, 
With him, the Destroyer, thereon. 

Dark river, foul river, 'tis well » 

That into the jaws of thy Hell — 

The open-mouthed Desert * — should fall 

Thy waves that so haunt and appall. 

'Tis fit that thou seek the profound 

Of the all-hiding Night underground ; 

Like the river which nine times around 

The realm of grim Erebus wound, 

To roll in that region of dread — 

A Stygian Stream of the Dead ! 

* The " Sink of the Humboldt." 

\_Sequel to Something Attemj^ted.^ 

BY S. c. H. 

Five years have gone hj, with their joys and sorrows, since last we 
looked on Anna Lee. The mellow light of an October sun, as it 
sheds its departing beams, streams into the sitting-room, where she 
is -seated, lighting it up with a soft, rosy hue. Her children are 
gathered round a table, looking over a choice collection of en- 
gravings, a late present from an uncle, a brother of their father. 
Mr. Lee is momentarily expected from the post-ofiice, at the little 
town of Hopeville. The mother and children now await his return, 
ere they partake of the evening meal, neatly spread in the adjoining 

"Mother," exclaimed Harry, now a boy of some nine years, 
closely followed by Eva, " look here," at the same moment placing 
an engraving in her hand; "isn't it like our little angel sister 

The mother eagerly grasped the picture, and, with tearful eyes, 
gazed long and fixedly. Then heaving a sigh, she replied, " Yes, 
darlings, very like. It could not be more so if intended for her. 
We must keep it as her picture hereafter." 

As thus they were engaged, Mr. Lee entered with pleasant greet- 
ing, crossed the room, and took his station behind his wife's chair. 
Involuntarily, as his eye caught sight of the picture, his hand was 
reached forth with a sad yet joyous burst — " Our darling May !" 

" Yes, Edward, could we ask for a better resemblance than Prov- 
idence has placed in our hands ?" inquired the mother. 

Absorbed in the picture, Mr. Lee replied not, but continued — 
"The same laughing, joyous face, with its rose-bud mouth; the 
little, dancing curls around the broad, open brow ; those loving, 
trusting eyes; even the tiny, tapering hand is there." 

Silence reigned for some moments after Mr. Lee passed the en- 
graving back to his wife, and they all continued an earnest gaze on 
it. Quiet tears found their way down the mother's face, as she 
viewed the image of her lost child. 


"I would not have lier back, Edwerd, but, ob ! if it bad been 
His will to have spared bar to us." 

"His will is always best done wife, and He did not spare ber," 
rejoined Mr. Lee. 

'^ Motber," said Harry, slipping bis baiid into bis motber's with 
a quiet pressure, " xiunt Mary told Eva and me, as we looked at 
May in ber little coffin, tbat little children were tbe Saviour's lambs ; 
and tbat Jesus bad taken sister home to His fold, so tbat notbing 
sbould ever barm ber. Tbat sbe would be one of tbe angels, sing- 
ing like tbe birds of God, and that we must always remember ber 
as our angel sister." 

" Yes, motber," wbispered Eva; "and sbe said ber curls would 
always be brigbt and sbining ; tbat tbey would never grow wbite,' 
like ber bair, with age. k:o we kissed ber, motber, and bade ber 
good bye till God takes us to live witb ber." 

" Now, motber," continued Harry, "we always caliber angel 
May, and we don't tbink of ber as dead, but only as living in a 
beautiful golden borne, witb beautiful cbildren, flowers and birds, 
where she is very, very happy, and it makes us happy too, when 
Eva and I talk it all over sometimes." 

The motber was beguiled of her sorrow as she heard the simple 
words of her children, and the pleasant thoughts of their sister's 
death, that tbe dear aunt had impressed on their minds, soothed and 
comforted ber own heart as she listened. Four weeks bad elapsed 
since she laid ber darling of three summers in tbe grave. Sbe was 
the joy and plaything of the house. It was impossible not to love 
ber, for she always welcomed with a pleasant smile, as if an index 
of the happy spirit tbat reigned within. From her earliest moments 
of notice a coo of love greeted those that were around her. The 
helplessness of a babe makes a path of love to every heart, but, 
when associated with winning ways, and loving, joyous caresses* 
from the little one, idolatry almost takes its place. Deeply entwined 
were the tendrils of love for ber May around the heart of tbe 
motber. The startling call for ber precious jewel bad almost bereft 
her of reason for the time, and left a settled feeling of sadness in 
her calmer moments ; knowing it was best that sbe was taken, yet 
failing to realize it. She bad prayed that God would help her to 
say — " Thy will, not mine, be done." At a moment when she least 


expected it, God had answered her prayer through her little chil- 
dren. She sat for some minutes after Harry and Eva had spoken, 
then stooping over them kissed them, saying in a subdued manner, 
" Aunt Mary was very good to tell you such dear things." 

" Shall we go to tea now, Anna ?" inquired Mr. Lee, giving his 
wife his hand, as she testified assent, followed by the children. 
When gathered round the table, Mr. Lee made inquiries for Aunt 
Mary, who now was a permanent resident of their home, and one 
of their dearest lights. 

" Gone to spend a few days with our friends, the Stones, as they 
insisted on a visit," was the wife's reply. 

" What a forgetful man I am, Anna," said Mr. Lee, as he drew 
forth a package of papers and letters for perusal, as they were 
seated for the evening ; "here is a letter for Jane that I entirely 

" Give it to me, Edward ; I will carry it to her, as I will have to 
read it to her. It is probably from her sister's oldest girl." 

"Have a letter for you, Jane," remarked Mrs. Lee, as she en- 
tered the kitchen and took a seat by the table at which Jane was 
engaged with her knitting; " I think it is from your niece, Lucy " — 
breaking the seal and glancing at the signature, as Jane expressed 
a wish to have it read — "Yes, it is from her." 

" Glad to hear it, Mrs. Lee, as I have been rather anxious about 
them lately," replied Jane. Her needles flew with excited activity, 
the bright steel glistening in the candle-light, as she settled herself 
in her chair with a listening ear. 

" Bear Aunt Jane, 

" It is some time since I wrote you. We are all well at pres- 
ent. Mother had a bad attack of fever, but is getting quite strong. 
We tell her she is as pert as ever. Father has had a steady job of 
work the whole season, on a farm close by, and expects to as long 
as his boss and him agree. The boys are getting on well at school. 
They have taken care of the garden this summer, and kept us well 
supplied with sass. We will have quite a store of cabbage, pump- 
kins, tomatoes, and other vegetables, for winter use, so you see they 
have done the family some service. They hope to be able to hire 
out this coming summer. Your namesake, Jane, lives with neighbor 
Barnes, and has a very good home. Mary is at home, and we keep 



house, sew, knit, and are busy with something all the time. Now, 
Aunt Jane, I have a favor to ask, and I want you to grant it. It is 
that you will come and spend Christmas week with us. It is so long 
since you paid us a visit that mother pines to see you. 
be at home Christmas day, and we want you with us 

come ? Send us word soon, for we will want to know. 

We will all 
Can't you 
All of the 

family send love. 

" Your niece, " Lucy." 

Jane heaved a heavy sigh as Mrs. Lee ended- who turned to her 
with smiling face, asking her where that long sigh came from. 

" Ah, marm, I would like well to go, but I know it is impossible ; 
Christmas-times, too." 

" Don't heed that, Jane, for I intend you shall go. I can do 
very well without you for a short time. You forget what a compe- 
tent housekeeper I have grown to be." 

" No, marm, I know you can take hold amazingly now-a-days, 
but I don't like to leave at such a busy time as the holidays are." 

" We can easily arrange work so that you can go with perfect 
comfort to yourself. Our pies and cakes can be baked a few days 
before leaving, as they will keep well in the cold season. All the 
other matters I can easily manage, with Aunt Mary and the chil- 
dren to assist. You see I have quite a respectable force for the 

" Indeed, marm, I take it very kind of you." 

" I don't forget, Jane," replied Mrs. Lee, " that you have been a 
great source of comfort to me since a house-keeper, and have proved 
yourself a friend in our dark days. Though I can hardly call them 
dark days now, for I esteem myself a happier woman than, when 
rolling in wealth, I led a life of idleness." 

" I believe that, Mrs. Lee, for you bear it in your face." 

" I am glad if I do. But, Jane, when would you like your letter 
answered? To-morrow?" 

" Just when you please, marm, though I wish I could do it my- 
self, and save you the trouble." 

" No trouble, Jane. You might easily learn to write if you de- 
sired, as you read well." 

" Ah, marm, my fingers are so stifi'ened with hard work that I 
would make out clumsily with a pen." 


"If you Avould like to learn, I will give you a half hour every 
evening. Think of it. I know you would succeed so as to read 
your letters, any how." 

" Thank you, marm ; I'll think it over," said Jane, with pleased 
face, as Mrs. Lee left her. 

Mr. Lee glanced up as his wife returned to the place at his side, 
pleasantly greeting her with — "Your mission of mercy accomp- 
lished ?" 

A cheerful nod was the reply, followed by a recital of the ex- 
pected visit of Jane. 

"Rather too much for you, I fear, but we must contrive a plain 
Christmas dinner for once." 

" I think we ought, dear Edward, when we remember all her 
Christmas days have been devoted to us. It is a poor return, if we 
cannot grant her one holiday to herself. I know the reunion of 
that humble family Avill be the remembrance of a life-time, for it is 
a joy they are not often permitted to possess. It is so common with 
us that we forget what the poor suffer in being forced to deny them- 
selves this gratification, as they are generally compelled at such sea- 
sons to devote themselves to their employers." 

" My dear, thoughtful wife." 

"Don't, Edward, that seems almost a reproach to me, for my 
heart tells me such a different tale. Look to the years spent in 
luxury, and devoted to self alone — only have I begun to live in the 
few past years." 

" That only proves me correct, dear Anna. If the past was a 
failure, and you are now redeeming it by a life of active usefulness 
for husband, children, and neighbors, I can very well afford to call 
my wife thoughtful." 

" Yet, Edward, I feel more comfortable without commendation, 
for I simply accomplish present duties ; the past is lost to me for- 

"Rejoice that you have a willing heart for duties in the present, 

"I do, Edward, yet with a chastened heart for past omissions." 

" Have it your own way, wife ; we shan't quarrel over terms, as 
I see you are determined to maintain your own position. One thing 
I will say — Mr. Lee would not exchange his dear, faithful helpmate 


for tlie riches of Croesus. The wise king rightly said, ' Her price 
is far above rubies.' " 

"I am willing to accept the model presented, hoping I may attain 
unto it." 

"There, there, Anna, no more." 

The same evening let us glance in on the family of Stones, where 
Aunt Mary is visiting. They are gathered in the sitting-room, pre- 
senting a large family of girls and boys, with father, mother, and 
Aunt Mary. Few changes have taken place in her appearance, for 
her face looks as fresh and cheerful as ever ; her eye shines with 
the same bright glancing lustre. The hair alone marks a change, 
for it is whiter than of yore. 

"Aunt Mary," remarked Mrs. Stone, "I was just thinking over 
the past, and the injustice we once did your niece, Mrs. Lee. "We 
formed a very wrong estimate of her when she first came among us." 

" How so ? " inquired Aunt Mary. 

" I am rather ashamed to confess it, but we thought her a purse- 
proud lady, who measured her friends by the length of their purse. 
I made up my mind that plain farmers' wives need expect no friend- 
ship from that quarter, as I judged she did not desire it. Now I 
know her rightly, I would count her leaving our neighborhood the 
greatest loss we could experience." 

"You were not wholly wrong, Mrs. Stone, in your first impres- 
sions, though you mistook the cause. Mrs. Lee had mingled with 
a class where wealth and fashion were the stand-point of excellence. 
She did not understand that she could derive pleasure from the so- 
ciety of those who were plainer in their surroundings, yet possessed 
an equal degree of common sense, and, in many cases, more heart. 
Her tastes and pleasures were wholly difierent from yours, and 
there was little congeniality between you. When you first visited 
her you saw a repining, discontented woman, wholly wrapt up in 
self. With the loss of the pleasures wealth had conferred, she 
thought there was no more happiness for her in life. She was un- 
accustomed to an active, useful life, and looked upon labor as derog- 
atory ; the least responsibility as drudgery. With a mind thus oc- 
cupied with regrets for her lost treasures, and an aversion to the 
position to which she was reduced, she was wholly unprepared to 
reciprocate the kindly feelings her neighbors testified. I do not 


think she despised them for want of wealth, but was unable to un- 
derstand the character of those among whom she was placed, and, 
with a mind preoccupied with selfish regrets, she was blind to the 
construction that might be placed on her conduct by strangers, 
when received with evident indifference. She has grown to under- 
stand the true pleasures and happiness in life, and is a changed 

"You may well say that," said plain-spoken farmer Stone, "for 
I used to call her Lee's doll." 

"Father !" exclaimed Mrs. Stone in an expostulatory manner. 

" No offence intended, wife, as I consider no one need ask for a 
more worthy woman than I know Anna Lee now to be. I think 
she is deserving of credit for the great improvement made. It 
shows she was good stuff, only wanted a little training, sphere's 
one thing I wish, that all our acquaintances would wear as well as I 
find Mrs. Lee does." 

"Yes, father, I can fully echo that wish. It don't matter to me 
what Mrs. Lee was when I first met her ; I know she is our right- 
hand woman now, and the boys and girls will say the same," ac- 
companied with an expressive nod from the speaker, Mrs. Stone. 

" Indeed we will," exclaimed an elder girl, " for she is our help 
and adviser on all occasions. We love her next to our mother — at 
least she is our elder sister." 

"I am glad to hear you so truly understand my dear Anna, and 
may she have strength imparted to her to ever merit your approba- 
tion," replied Aunt Mary, with considerable show of feeling, after 
listening to the conversation prolonged some time in commendations 
on Mrs. Lee. 

One more glance at the Lee family, with Aunt Mary within the 

"Edward," remarked Mrs. Lee, "can you aid me this morning in 
securing my plants against the nips of winter ?" 

" Can't you wait till next week?" replied he. 

"Yes, if the frost will promise to do the same," she suggested, 
with some mischief. 

" Father," said Harry, laughingly, " Jack Frost is a rogue. You 
must not trust him. I am sure I would not, after reading about the 
tricks he performed ' one still, clear night.'" 


" Ha !" exclaimed the father, with pleased attention, " who intro- 
duced you to Miss Gould's Jack Frost ?" 

" Mother and Aunt Mary." 

"Well, Harry, if 'he did one thing that was hardly fair,' you re- 
member he did some very pretty things to make up for it." 

" Yes, he did," interrupted Eva, " for it tells of his dressing the 
boughs of the trees 'in diamond beads,' and painting beautiful pic- 
tures on the window-panes as the people slept." 

" So he wasn't all rogue, was he, darling ?" said the father, draw- 
ing her to his side. " But I guess we won't trust him too far, 
mother, as he might play us a trick if we were not prepared for 

"It would be rather hard to bear, Edward, if he did, after Anna 
has brought the garden to such a state of perfection. Nothing like 
taking time by the forelock," remarked Aunt Mary from her easy- 

"What does that mean, father?" interrogated Eva. 

" It is only that Aunt Mary intends to treat an old gentleman of 
her acquaintance with considerable cruelty. You must go to her 
for further explanation, as I must attend to your mother now." 

"Yes, children," replied the old lady, jocosely, "come here, but 
I will give you a very different version of my meaning." 

" Now, Anna, for your commands. The pinks, candy- tufts, 
sweet-billies, and up-jump Johnnies, are to be carefully protected 
with straw, as they are very tender." 

" Stop your roguery, Edward; you know as well as I do what 
plants need protection, so prepare yourself with the necessary, and 
I will meet you in the garden presently," 

Let us now bid adieu to Anna Lee, trusting she has fully shown 
that she won what she attempted. 

Sierra County, 1860. 

Politeness. — True politeness is modest, unpretending, and gener- 
ous. Its appearance is not striking ; because a truly polite person, 
while acting courteously, would conceal it. It engages a man to 
esteem his neighbor, because he thinks it manlier to descend a little 
himself, than degrade another. 






In icJiicJi is described the Monlcey Flotcer and the Monkey himself— and the little 
Mexican Pony — Tells the first steps the Monkey took totcards a Military Ti- 
tle. — Chap. I., like the Pony, conies to a stop. 

At the side of the page you will see an outline 
picture of the Yellow Monkey Flower.'^ In 
many respects this is a very handsome wild flow- 
er ; — one of the most common plants in Califor- 
nia, found flourishing abundantly in patches in 
wet, springy places. The root creepers spread 
abroad in the rich mud, and send up many 
straight, smooth, square stems, with opposite 
roundish or egg-shaped leaves, heart-formed and 
>hugging the stem at the base, the edges toothed. 
YELLOW MONKEY FLo-svEK. ^o you SCO those parallel lines along the leaves 
all running down to the stem ? These lines are called "nerves," 
and such leaves are said to be '■'■nerved." These flowers swell or 
pout out their lips, very much like proud spoiled children, and silly 
monkeys. If the flower is pretty, it need not be proud of its beau- 
ty, and scornful towards others ; for it so soon fades away that peo- 
ple shun it when they wish to make up a choice bouquet. This old 
acquaintance of ours is a very useful plant for salad, and it is actu- 
ally cultivated in the gardens of Peru for this very purpose. While 
living in the mines in 1849, we esteemed this wild lettuce a rare 

Perhaps you will remember the Monkey Floiuer better, if we tell 
you a true story about our monkey. 

Once upon a time, our partner in business had a monkey — so 

*Mimulus Ivteus. 



people would persist in calling it our monkey. Now, although we 
never had any objection to people saying "your dog," or "your 
cat," or your any thing else that was in the least degree useful, yet 
we must confess, when they talked of our monkey we always felt a 
little mortified — but we had to bear it. 

The little ringtailed rascal was a disgrace to us, and every body 
knew it. But after all, we must own he was sometimes very amus- 
ing, and he did contrive now and then to while away some tedious 
hours of camp and fort life. (We were then stationed at Ft. Jes- 
sup : take your map and see if you can find it.) No one could help 
laughing at his funny tricks, as we often did ourselves. 

Monkeys, you know, are great mimics : whatever they see you 
do, they are very apt to try and do it too ; that is, after their fool- 
ish fashion. So it was with the Ringtailed Major. By the way, 
let me tell you how it was that he obtained such a grand military 
title. You must know it was not exactly "in the regular line," as 
we say in the army, or step by step from one post of honor to an- 
other, or as a little boy once said to us when gloriously romancing 
upon military matters. Said he : "I would be a corporal first, and 
then I'd get to be a captain, and then a major, and then a big gen- 
eral, and then clear up to Post Master Creneral! " Our monkey ma- 
jor took no such course — not he ; but he took a shorter cut to re- 
nown — as most monkey majors usually do — what in our day has 
been politely styled brevet promotion, or a kind of short, impudent 
leap into high station. Now if the game were not too small, we 
regulars would unmask our grape in the cause. But we conclude it 
is best to reserve our fire — tom-fool-titles don't cover quite all the 
land yet. It's a glorious thing. Jack, to preserve one's temper un- 
der the greatest of provocations ! 

As we were about saying, the major of our regiment had a beau- 
tiful little Mexican mustang pony, which he used to ride on ordina- 
ry camp duty — a tolerably well broke nag, but very spirited withal, 
having, as it appears, a little spark of the wild fire left in him yet. 
The major, as we were saying, rode up to his tent, one bright morn- 
ing, after review — dismounted mustang in a hurry — not that any 
thing serious was the matter, only perhaps a little thirsty. On a 
stump near by sat master Ringtail. Quick as thought, or a bit 
quicker — without any thought at all — master monkey mounted mus- 



tang's back ; o'erleaping in his eagerness the pommel of the saddle, 
he alighted on mustang's neck, and seized him by the mane. Start- 
led by the phantom of a black imp ! pony dashed along the lines, 
snorting and kicking as though the Old Boy had him sure enough. 
The monkey was not so easily thrown off as you might suppose, al- 
though in truth he was not much accustomed to that sort of exer- 
cise. With native skill he whipped his tail tight around the pommel 
of the saddle, and seizing pony faster with all fours, he gripped for 
dear life. Meanwhile mustang plunged and snorted after the most 
approved wild way, amid the continued shouts and roars of the reg- 
iment. This only added consternation to poor pony's fright. There 
sat the self-possessed ringtailed monkey, who had too little sense to 
be concerned about anything — he really seemed to enjoy the fun 
hugely, judging from the curt cock of his neck, and downward, 

sidelong look with the corners of 
?^\Ws^V^ his mouth drawn up so comically. 

'Vjj The more the pony tried to throw 

rhim off, the more he wouldn't — run- 
ning was no use — kicking ditto — 
and as for "bucking" stiff-legged, or 
pitching, why, it was simply ridic- 
ulous ! What do you suppose he 
did next ? Just what we would al- 
ways advise you to do under simi- 
lar circumstances. * * * 

After he had done all he could, 
he did no more. 

A Pearl of lustrous, rosy tint, is sometimes found in the old pearl 
fisheries at the head of the Persian Gulf; but these rose-pearls are 
so rare and beautiful, that they are sedulously gathered and re- 
tamed among the jewels of the richest Asiatic princes, and are sel- 
dom encountered in Europe. So few and inferior are the rose- 
tmted pearls that find their way to European gem-dealers, that the 
famous pearl called the "Blush of the Morning," by Persian poets, 
was almost deemed a creation of fancy. 

€'Ht0r's Cabh. 

We regret the necessity of commencing our Editor's Table witli an exculpa- 
tory paragraph. The Hesperian has been forced to go to press without its 
usual number of illustrations, on account of the non-arrival of the engravings 
from New York. Our Floral Department is, however, we believe, of more than 
usual interest, and the brilliancy of the plate of the "Elephant Tree" will, in 
some degree, compensate for the absence of other illustrations. 

The article in this issue of the Hesperian, entitled "Notes on Napa Valley," 
was prepared at our request by the author from a number of scattered articles 
previously published by him in the Daily Alia. It appeared to us that the in- 
formation was such as deserved to be collected into an article and put in a form 
more convenient for preservation than a daily newspaper, which is thrown away 
on the day of its publication and never thought of more. L. "VV. Boggs, whose 
name is mentioned in the article above named, died on the 14th instant, after 
the article was in type. 

We received the following communication from Dr. Carpenter, of Sierra County. 
It speaks for itself: — 

Editor Hesperian : — If there is any one trait in the human character that is 
more contemptible than another, literary larceny is that trait. The person who 
steals money may possibly be excused on the ground of necessity ; but where, 
or what is to be the excuse for the thing who will so far degrade himself as to 
steal the hard earned product of another's brains ? The vile act is too horribly 
mean for a moment's serious contemplation ! I have been induced to make the 
foregoing remarks from observing in a January number of the Waverley Mag- 
azine, a paper published in Boston, a wholesale theft of an eloquent editorial 
from the November number of the Hesperian, entitled " The Bible in Common 
Schools." It appears as an editorial, and from a scissored copy which I enclose, 
it will be observed that it is verbatim et literatim, with the exception of " our 
Magazine" being substituted for "The Hesperian." I would say shame on 
Moses A. Dow, were it not the act in question is incontrovertible proof that he 
is beyond the pale of its influence. I have the honor to subscribe myself an 
admirer of the Hesperian. W. W. Carpenter. 

The world is not sufficiently advanced for the Love principle to shed more than 
a transient, occasional gleam. The mist ef error still englooms us, and the dis- 
tant but steady approaching Millenium gives but the faint auroral blush of its 
coming glory. An age of progress requires every man to make his own fight, 
to struggle for his own individual labor. Selfishness to a certain extent is 
essential to that intense individuality that constitutes the progressive man. 

" Humboldt Eiyer." — It will be observed that we republish Ridge's beautiful 
poem, as an act of justice for the typographical torture it was subjected to in 
onr last. Such niistaJces shall not occur again. 


The Pacific Medical and Surgical Journal, edited by Charles McCormick, M. D., 
and David Wooster, M. D. The February number of this periodical has been 
placed on our table. We are happy to see the name of our old friend, Dr. 
McCormick, of the U. S. A., as senior editor. From an intimate personal ac- 
quaintance of twenty-five years we are enabled to place a high estimate on the 
attainments, literary and professional, of that gentleman. We know of no one 
on the Pacific slope better calculated for the responsible position of editor of a 
scientific periodical. A good journal, devoted to medicine and its kindred sci- 
ences, is one of the wants of our professional and scientific men. The present 
number of the .Journal shows ability in its conductors, and its pages are filled 
with appropriate and interesting matter. We observed one little paragraph, 
however, from the pen of the junior editor, that gave us pain. A scientific 
journal should certainly not be the medium, if possible to avoid it, of proclaiming 
the world the private quarrels of medical men. 

Our Correspondent " Nauticus." — We received a letter from Nauticus, ex- 
pressing his annoyance at the appearance of his "Oriental Incidents and Epi- 
sodes " in the Hesperian, at the same time that the same story, or one exceed- 
ingly like it, appeared in Hutchings' Magazine. It seems the manuscript had 
been sent to the Hesperian in the first place, and from its non-appearance after 
a considerable time, the author supposed it was deemed unsuitable : he there- 
fore sent it to our neighbor. We found the manuscript after Mrs. Day's de- 
parture, amongst the Hesperian's correspondence, and liking it, sent it to press, 
and were quite as much surprised as " Nauticus " was annoyed by seeing it in 

Mrs. F. H. Day. — Letters from the Editress of the Hesperian announce her 
safe arrival at New York. Her Southern tour, through the wilds of Texas and 
the swamps of Louisiana, seems not to have had any bad efifect on her health, 
notwithstanding the unpleasant concomitants of rain-storms, bad roads, slow 
coaches, and the millions of questions to be answered touching California. 

We pity the unlucky Californian, condemned by a hard fate to traverse a 
country where people do not take the papers. The land where the gold grows 
seems to have been heard of, but whether the inhabitants thereof are savage 
or civilized, seems to be a matter of considerable debate. It is to be hoped the 
question will be ultimately cleared up to the satisfaction of our enlightened 
brethren of the eastern portion of the earth. 

Washoe. — The rush to Washoe still continues. The rage for speculating in 
"claims "has not yet reached its culminating point. The sums that daily 
change hands is astonishing, and the stories of suddenly acquired fortunes call 
up the reccollections of the early days of gold. The silver-land is now the El 
Dorado of the hopes of broken miners, ruined speculators, and merchants of 
tottering credit. Even politicians are on the move. A new Territory will be 
organized. Vissions of Governors' thrones, seats in the TJ. S. Senate &c. &c. 
stir them to mighty effort, and great is the rush to Washoe. 


Idv'irj i'(t]i.uniui vici - '^^ ^ 


YoL. IV. M A Y , 1 8 6 . No. 3. 



In presenting to the readers of the Sesperian a brief biography of 
this distinguished soldier and hero, I feel that I am presenting no 
stranger, but one whom California delights to honor, and Avhose 
name and memory she will ever gratefully cherish. 

WiNFiELD Scott was born near Petersburgh, Virginia, on the 
13th of June, 1786. At the age of seventeen he was left an or- 
phan, and, fortunately for him, those who had him in charge appre- 
ciated the value of education, and determined to give him one. He 
was accordingly placed in a high-school in Richmond. Thence he 
went to William & Mary's College, and attended law lectures for a 
year or more. He finished his legal studies under Mr. Robertson, 
and in 1806 was admitted to the bar. Not succeeding as well as he 
desired around his native place, he removed to Charleston, hoping 
to establish himself there. But the law of the State did not allow 
any one to practice within its limits, who had not been a resident 
for at least one year ; he therefore abandoned his project and re- 
turned to Virginia. 

About this time the troubles with England began to assume a se- 
rious character, and the expectation that war must ensue became 
general. Scott shared in the expectation, and, like many other 
gallant young men of the South, turned from the profession of law 
to the army. In the spring of 1808 he was appointed captain of 
light artillery, the same year the purchase of Louisiana from France 
was effected, and Gen. Wilkinson, to whose division Scott belonged, 
was stationed there to protect New Orleans from any hostile dem- 
onstrations on the part of Great Britain. 

" The next year," says J. T. Headley, to whose interesting work 
we are indebted for much information, " Hampton assumed the com- 


mand, tliougli Wilkinson remained on the field of operations. Scott, 
coinciding with those who believed that Wilkinson was in Burr's 
confidence, and hence involved in the conspiracy of the latter, in- 
dulged rather freely in remarks on his superior officer. He was ar- 
rested and tried by court-martial. The first charge, intended as a 
mere rider to the second, that he had intentionally withheld money 
from his troops, was declared groundless. The second, of unofficer- 
like conduct in using disrespectful language towards his superior of- 
ficer, was sustained, for Scott acknov/ledged it, and attempted to 
justify it. Failing in this, he was suspended from the army for one 
year. To a sensitive, ambitious young officer, panting for distinc- 
tion, this arrest of his footsteps on the threshold of his career, was 
painful in the extreme ; yet he lived to be thankful for it. Return- 
ing to Virginia, he cast about to see how he should spend the inter- 
val of idleness. His fortunate star guided him to B. Watkins 
Leigh, who advised him to devote himself to the study of his pro- 
fession, — especially military tactics. He offered him his library and 
his house, and Scott spent the year in mastering his profession." 

The knowledge of military art he gained during this period of his 
disgrace, the caution and skill it taught him to mingle with his chiv- 
alric feelings and boiling courage, laid the foundation of his after 
brilliant career. 

The next year war was declared, and a month after, in July, he 
was commissioned lieutenant-colonel in the 2d artillery, then under 
the command of Isard, and was ordered. to the Niagara frontier, to 
assist the army of invasion. 

We have not time to follow him through the desperate and bloody 
battle of Queenstown, where, overcome by the force of numbers, he 
surrendered to Gen. Sheaffe his whole force ; not, however, until 
Gen. Van Renselaer had from the opposite shore sent word to 
Wadsworth to retreat at once, and he would send every boat he 
could lay hands on to receive the fugitives. He howeyer left every 
thing to his own judgment. 

Col. Scott, mounting a log in front of his troops, harangued them 
in a strain worthy the days of chivalry. He told them that their 
condition was desperate, but that Hull's surrender must be redeemed. 
"Let us then die ! " he exclaimed, arms in hand; " our country 
demands the sacrifice. The example will not be lost. The blood of 



the slain will make heroes of the living. Those who follow will 
avenge our fall, and our country's wrongs. Who dare to stand?" 
A loud "All ! " rang sternly along the line.* 

Gladly would we follow this noble hero through all the way of his 
adventurous life--— through the attack and capture of Fort George — 
through the battle of Chippewa — the battle of Niagara, where 
Scott, charging like fire at the head of his exhausted battalion, re- 
ceived a severe wound which prostrated him ; but his last words to 
Leavenworth, as he was borne to the rear, were : " Charge again ! 
charge again! Leavenworth;" where every regimental ofiicer in 
Scott's brigade was killed or wounded, of which it is recorded that 
^'^ only one out of every four stood up unhurt." 

Nor have we time to bend with him over the sick and dying at 
Rock Island, where his kindness and humanity to those suffering 
with that fearful disease, the cholera, stamped him not alone a hero 
on the battle-field, under the excitement of blood and smoke and 
carnage, but a hero in his calm serenity and devotedness to those 
who were suffering from a disease, frightful enough from its rapid 
and fatal effects, but rendered still more appalling by the belief, at 
that time, that it was contagious. " To those who can remember 
the terror which at that time paralyzed every heart, this conduct of 
Scott, while he himself was suffering under the symptoms of the 
disease, will stamp him not only the hero of the battle-field, but the 
hero of humanity." 

We can not follow him in his career through South Carolina, nor 
yet in his efforts to preserve peace on the Maine boundary. 

From the time of his taking command of the army in Mexico, his 
landing at Vera Cruz, the siege and capture . of the city, his march 
to Cerro Gordo and the battle there, the three battles of Churubus- 
co, the assault on Chepultepec and victory there, as Californians 
you are all familiar with ; and should you wish to refresh your mem- 
ory, we would refer you to J. T. Headley's admirable work, " Scott 
and Jackson," to which we have been much indebted. 

As a soldier, Gen. Scott is brave and heroic ; as a man, kind 
and humane. Lofty attributes of soul go together ; and in Scott's 
character they are blended most harmoniously. How he is cher- 

* Mansfield's Life of Scott. 


ished in the hearts of the people, was evinced during the past year, 
when on a visit to California. We heard he was coming, and for 
three days and nights his arrival was anxiously looked for. From 
the heights of Telegraph Hill men looked forth anxiously to the 
Golden Gate, and the waters beyond. Banners floated in every di- 
rection, the streets of San Francisco were canopied with garlands 
and banners, and every ear was turned listening for the steamer gun. 
The Sabbath morn dawned bright and glorious, and now the steamer 
gun is heard, and the guns on the adjoining islands take up the sig- 
nal, and answer, boom — boom — boom. "Gen. Scott has come," 
echoes from every lip ; and not even the holy sanctity of the day 
will prevent or suppress the general outburst of joy from the hearts 
of the people. The general's expressed desire to avoid a public re- 
ception on that holy day could not stay the enthusiasm of the people ; 
and seated in an open carriage, his white hair exposed to the gently 
fanning breeze, he was borne through the crowded streets of San 
Francisco. Strains of most eloquent music floated on his ear, while 
from every housetop, window and balcony waved the white favors 
and banners of the fair, and at every step fell about his path beau- 
tiful flowers, the natural offering of the country to one whom she 
delights to honor. 

We present to you this month a fine steel plate engraving of Gen. 
Scott, believing that it will be acceptable to our readers, and at the 
same time hoping that it will be acceptable as an earnest of our in- 
tentions to improve the embellishments of the Hesperian until they 
shall be second to none in the Union. 

Our biography of the Early Settlers of California we are obliged 
to discontinue for the present ; but we hope to resume them at no 
distant day, in a manner which shall render them even more inter- 
esting than heretofore. 

You should not account every one churlish and unfriendly, who is 
selfish and covetous. For many men will be very ready to advise 
you, speak in your favor, and do you many acts of kindness ; when 
they had rather part with their blood than their money. 



The Columnar Iclria is a new member of the natural family Fou- 
quieraceae, all of which are highly ornamental trees or shrubs ; 
Fouquiera and Bronnia are still little known, and not very satisfac- 
torily arranged. Our specimens will agree with neither ; we are 
therefore compelled to institute a third genus until some better re- 
vision can be made. Any information tending to illustrate this 
interesting family, or more mature and perfect specimens, would be 
gratefully received and duly acknowledged. 

This singular columnar tree grows to the height of twelve to fif- 
teen feet, and is about ten inches to a foot in diameter. Its appear- 
'ance is quite unique, being almost entirely destitute of branches, 
save the terminal erect arms, sometimes present, which abruptly 
crown the top of the trunk and support the long panicles of flow- 
ers ; these floral branches or panicles — as seen in the drawing — are 
usually from a foot to eighteen inches in length, without leaves, 
which doubtless are early deciduous, leaving large scars and strong 
decurrent ridges descending along the common flower stem. 

These floral branches being annual, dry up, and persistently re- 
main from year to year, stuck or embedded in the body as if placed 
in artificial pits ; from erect these branches become horizontal, and 
at length refracted. The tree*is spineless and rather smooth, of a 
soft and spongy texture, like a cabbage tree,. so that an ordinary 
blow with a hatchet or an axe, sinks the blade to the eye. The flow- 
ers are not so brilliant as the scarlet Bronnia Spinosa; but its bright 
golden crown renders it an attractive object when seen in its glory. 

Technical Description. — Idria, (Kellogg.) — Sepals five, colored, two exterior 
roundish, entire or emarginate ; corrolla cylindrical, tube straight, limb erect, 
five parted, style included, ver^y short, thick or slightly clavate, sub-three- 
angled, undivided. 

I. Columnaria — (Kellogg.) — Calyx colored (light straw yellow) consisting 
of five sepals, in two series — the two exterior orbicular emarginate — the three 
interior rounded — divisions obcordate, rigid concave, closely imbricated about 
half the length of the tube. 

Corolla half an inch long, erect, segments of the limb rounded, sub-oricled 
at the base. Stamens ten, (rarely moi-e ; ) filaments thickened and somewhat 
flattened, free (or rarely slightly adlierent in parcels,) geniculate; pappillose 



pubescent below ; naked and attenuated above ; somewhat unequal. Anthlers, 
oblong-cordate; mucronate, fixed below the middle; introrse, mostly erect; 
versatile, opening laterally. Embryo triangular acute three-valved, three- 
celled, loculicidal, a portion of the placenta parting and adhering to the center 
of each valve. Ovules ascending in a double row in each cell, about three in a 
row, or six in a cell — eighteen in all. Ovules neither winged nor margined, 
sub-angular (?) with two slightly compressed or flattish sides, somewhat rounded 
on the back, oblong-cuneate, warped, scarcely sub-acute at the apes. Mature 
fruit unknown — also the leaves. 

Note by Dk. Veatch. — I found the Idria Columnaria growing rather abundantly on the 
margin of the Bay of Sebastian Viscano, at a .point East of Cerros Island, on the 
coast of Lower California. It was observed mostly on the sandy and graveley flats formed 
by the expansion of hill ravines in their approach to the shore. Near the same locality, 
was also found the kindred genus Foitquiej'a, whose bright scarlet blossoms contrasted 
strongly and pleasantly with the pale, yellowish inflorescence of the Idria. 


[Rhamnus ilicifolius. — Kellogg.) 

The above outline sketch we have prepared from an accurate draw- 
ing which was made from a specimen brought from Clear Lake by 
Mr. Andrew A. Veatch. They were presented before the Califor- 
nia Acadamy of Natural Sciences nearly two years since ; but the 
description deferred until Dec. 19th, A. D., 1859, in hopes of ob- 



taining the flowers. The long time that has elapsed is our apology 
for the present incomplete public notice of it. 

If this should come under the eye of any one familiar with it, 
will they please remember us. 

Technical description. — Leaves, oval cordate and sub-cordate at base, sub- 
acute, sometimes emargiaate; short, spinosely-dentate ; pinnate-veined, smooth 
and shining above and below ; dark green above, (when dry, a yellowish shade 
lighter below) evergreen, thick, very rigid and coriaceous, lamina recurved un- 
dulate, finely reticulate, on short villious petioles (about ^ of an inch long,) 
alternate, stipules subulate, caducous. 

Stem, 1 to 2 feet in diameter, 10 feet in height ; branches often a foot in 
diameter, spreading, subdivisions much branched, unarmed, smaller branchlets, 
short villous madder-purple ; wood dark, almost as black as rosewood, compact 
and heavy. 

Note BY Dk. Veatch. — This tree is found sparingly about Clear Lake, but more abund- 
antly in the neighborhood of Red Bluffs, on the Sacramento River. Near the Tuscan 
Springs, ten miles east of the place above mentioned, they are met with on the sterile and 
stony hills, rather frequently. The wood is of remarkable beauty, and from its qualities 
is worthy of a place amongst the most valued products of the forest. Should localities fur- 
nishing any considerable quantity of this wood be found, they could doubtless be made 
available, and add another feature to our growing resources. 



[Written in'a lonely cabin in the " Bald Hills," Shasta County, at the approach of and during a storm.] 

The rains have come, the winds are shrill, 

Dark clouds are trailing on the ground ; 
The mists have clothed each naked hill, 

And all is sad and drear around. 

The swollen torrents rapid rush, 

Far down the mountain-gorges deep ; 
Now, falling o'er the jagged rocks, 

Their thunder shakes the hollows steep ; 

Now, in a basin boiling round, 

They dance in maddest music high, 
Or, with a sudden leap and bound, 

Dash on like bolts of destiny 1 

Far off the loftier mountains stand, 

Calm, saint-like in their robes of white, 
Like heaven-descended spirits grand. 

Who fill the darkness with their light. 


Black clouds are rolling round their feet, 

And ever strive to higher climb. 
But still their wings dissolve in rain, 

And fall below that flight sublime. 
Gone are the birds with sunny days, 

But flowers shall enter in their room, 
And shrubs, which pined in summer rays, 

Shall top their leafy boughs with bloom ; 
, The grass grows green upon the hills, 

(Now wrapt in thickly falling clouds) 
Which tall and beautiful shall rise, 

When they have cast their wintry shrouds 
But Fancy paints the scene too fast, 

For thus she always loves to leave 
The bitter present or the past, 

And rainbows from the future weave. 
Lo ! Night upon my musings here 

With rapid, stealthy foot hath crept, — 
Unheard amid the sullen sounds 

Which o'er my head have lately swept. 
The pouring rain upon the roof, 

The winds in wild, careering bands, 
Seem bent to see if tempest-proof 

The building on its basis stands. 
The fiend of this dark night and storm 

Stands howling at my very door — 
I dread to see his haggard form 

Break in, and pass the threshold o'er. 
But, hold thine own, mj"- trusty door, 

Yield not thou aught to 's utmost might, 
Nor let the hellish, wild uproar 

Which reigns without come in to-night ! 
It stands — my lonely candle burns. 

The single light for miles around, 
Reminding me of some last hope 

That still will light life's gloom profound. 
Howl on, ye elemental sprites, 

And mutter forth your curses deep ! 
The anarchy, e'en you afi"rights, 

Shall rock me soundly into sleep ; 
For, oh ! I love to slumber, 'neath 

The tempest's wrathful melody, 
And dream all night that on its wings 

My soul enchanted soareth free ! 



iVb. IV.— The Age of Alfred. 
" There are few topics," says Prescott, himself the most elegant of 
all modern civil historians, " of greater attraction, or when properly 
treated, of higher importance, than Literary History. For what is 
it but a faithful register of the successive steps by which a nation 
has advanced in the career of civilization? Civil history records 
the crimes and the follies, the enterprises, discoveries, and triumphs 
it may be, of humanity. But to what do all these tend, or of what 
moment are they in the eye of the philosopher, except as they accel- 
lerate or retard the march of civilization ? The history of litera- 
ture, is the history of the human mind. It is, as compared with 
other histories, the intellectual, as distinguished from the material — 
the informing spirit as compared with the outward and visible." 

But this can only be predicated of Literary History, where it 
embraces something more than mere disquisition and criticism, and 
encroaches so far upon the province of the biographer and the civil 
historian as to exhibit fully the public events, the national vicissi- 
tudes, and even the individtial characters which have strongly influ- 
enced the general progress. Hence, it Avould be impossible to take 
an intelligent view of the beginning and development of the litera- 
ture of any particular race of people, which did not include a his- 
tory more or less complete, of contemporaneous civil affairs, and of 
the great actors in them. Regarded in this light, the somewhat 
extended notice vrhich we have thought it proper to give, of the pe- 
riod of Alfred, and of that great monarch himself, whose influence 
upon his age was so powerful, will not seem disproportioned, or out 
of place. It is a circumstance sufliciently singular to be worthy of 
mention, that the most complete and satisfactory biography of 
Alfred, which we have, if not in all respects the best, is the work of 
a German author — Dr. Pauli. "The plan of the work," he says, 
" was conceived at Oxford, in the November of the eventful year 
1848 ; — at a time when German hearts trembled as they had seldom 
done before, for the preservation of their fatherland ; that was a 
fearful winter ! A daily visit to the venerable Bodleian library, with 
its wealth of literature, and especially its collection of valuable man- 


uscripts, could alone for a few hours dissipate my gloomy thoughts." 
Under these circumstances, he tells us, he began, almost impercept- 
ibly to himself, to take a lively and growing interest in the labors, 
the struggles, and the victories of Alfred, until he at length con- 
ceived the idea of faithfully portraying the character and career 
of the great Saxon monarch and patriot, as one of the most valu- 
able tributes which he could render to the cause of freedom and of 
popular rights throughout the world. The biographer justly as- 
cribes to his hero a vast influence in the development of English 
liberty, and the formation of those institutions, and that national 
character, which are the most durable monuments of English glory. 

Like most of the other historians of this period, from the gravest 
of the antiquarian chroniclers, down to Mr. Charles Dickens in his 
"Child's History of England," Dr. Pauli attributes, in a great de- 
gree, to the influence of the excellent Osburga, the mother of Alfred, 
the virtues and the greatness of her son. 

"His mind," says Dr. Pauli, with a certain picturesque and 
almost poetic grace, " was early quickened by the songs and poems 
of the fatherland;" — (the Dr., like a true Teuton, is evidently dis- 
posed to insinuate a claim on behalf of "the fatherland," to the credit 
of being in some way the source and inspiration of Alfred's genius;) 
" the mother or the nurse first narrated to the little one, tales and 
legends of the heroes of past days, and of their battles with men 
and monsters. If any mother could do this, Osburga was eminently 
qualified for the task, for she was well acquainted with the whole 
poetical treasures of her people, which still lived entire on all lips, 
and in all hearts. Of these things her little Alfred could never hear 
enough; and his young heart rejoiced day and night in those power- 
ful ballads, which sang the exploits of his ancestors and his people." 
Though this style of writing may seem somewhat too imaginative to 
comport with the exactitude and sobriety which ordinarily become the 
historic nurse, we find in it something quite refreshing, and have lit- 
tle doubt that in this manner, truths may be conveyed, which a mere 
prosaic and matter of fact chronicler could not give us even a 
h nt of. 

It was not, as we are told, until he was twelve years old, that 
Alf: ed learned to read. His mother, Osburga, as the story goes, 
exhibited to him and his brothers an illuminated and gilded volume 


of Saxon poetry, and promised the book to whichever of her boys 
should first be able to read it. Alfred, though the youngest, soon 
carried off the prize. At even an earlier age he had manifested a 
love of poetry, by the eagerness with which he listened to the verses 
recited by the minstrels and gleemen in his father's hall. The taste 
thus early formed, never forsook him. " During the whole of his 
life," says one of his recent biographers, "poetry continued to be 
his solace and amusement in trouble and care." 

It was not until the middle stage of life had passed, and he had 
reached the age of forty years, that the settled state of his kingdom 
and the relaxation of public cares permitted him to turn his atten- 
tion to those studies which, from his youth, he had longed for an op- 
portunity to prosecute. Up to this period, the pertinacious and 
incessant incursions of the Danish fillibusters, had rendered it ne- 
cessary to devote all his energies to the defence of his crown, and the 
protection of his people, leaving him but little leisure to look to the 
interests of education or literature. But a quarter of a century of 
active life, amid the cares of government and the turmoil of camps, 
could not eradicate his early tastes or dampen his enthusiasm for 
the acquisition of knowledge ; and no sooner was he released from 
the pressure of graver duties, than he turned with joyful alacrity to 
the delights of study. His first step was to make himself acquainted 
with the Latin language and literature. To promote his long cher- 
ished schemes for the diffusion of knowledge among his people, no 
less than to aid him in the prosecution of his own studies, he invited 
learned men from abroad, to settle in England. Among those who 
accepted his overtures, were the famous Asser, (from the western 
extremity of Wales,) afterwards his intimate friend and faithful 
biographer, together with the learned Grimbaldi, and the acute and 
philosophic Erigena, or Joannes Scotus, the last of whom was the 
subject of an extended notice, in a previous paper. 

With the exception of such fragmentary productions as we have 
above alluded to, we have no Saxon prose works of an earlier date 
than Alfred, who may be called the father of Anglo Saxon Liter- 
ature. His first attempt at authorship appears to have been of an 
exceedingly unambitious and humble character, scarcely aspiring to 
the dignity of original composition. He commenced by writing out, 
or "common-placing," as we should now phrase it, such passages 


from the fathers, the Bible, or from other works, as impressed or 
pleased him, whether he encountered them in his own reading, or 
heard them quoted or alluded to, by Asser, or any other of the 
learned men with whom it was his delight to converse. Thus origi- 
nated his " Hand-hoc," or manual, which was in fact no more than 
a common-place book, though it contained, scattered here and there, 
some observations and reflections of his own. 

He next conceived a greater and more arduous literary enter- 
prise — nothing less, in fact, than an attempt at a complete Anglo 
Saxon version of the Scriptures. How far he had advanced in this 
vast undertaking at the time of his death, is uncertain. Some writers 
have been of the opinion that he completed the greater portion of 
the work, — others that he only made a beginning. But however 
this may be, he had set an example in conceiving and attempting 
such a task, (if he accomplished no more) which did not prove bar- 
ren of good results. It is quite certain that translating from the 
Scriptures into the " rustic tongue," soon became fashionable among 
scholars. Mr. Palgrave tells us, that copious extracts from the 
sacred writings began at this time to be introduced into the homi- 
lies or sermons, and quotes from Bishop Alfric's " Treatise concern- 
ing the Old and New Testaments " in support of the statement. It 
seems, too, from this, production of Alfric, that the study of the 
Scriptures was encouraged by the British Church. " The subject," 
says the writer last quoted, " cannot be propeidy investigated until 
the monuments and muniments of the biblical studies of our ances- 
tors shall be brought to light. From the Anglo Saxon age down to 
Wickliffe, we in England can show such a succession of biblical 
versions, in metre and in prose, as are not to be equalled amongst 
any other nation of Europe. But we have not yet produced our 
stores : nay, though the greater part of the manuscripts of these 
versions are in the libraries of the University of Oxford, I regret to 
say that they remain to this hour utterly neglected, and mouldering 
on their shelves." Since this lamentation was penned, Wicklifie's 
Bible, the only portion of these " stores," which possesses any value, 
except for the Saxonist or the antiquarian, has been given to the 

The reason assigned for the numerous versions of the Scriptures 
which were undoubtedly made at this period, cannot fail to surprise 


the reader, affording as it does, a most striking illustration of the 
rarity and value of such "books" as then existed. "In a remote 
part of the country," says Palgrave, " it might sometimes he easier 
for a 'prelate to make a neiv translation, than to horroiVM manuscriiJt 
for the purpose of transcription." 

From the time of his acquisition of the Latin tongue, Alfred's 
literary activity knew no respite. He translated Bede's Ecclesias- 
tical History ; the "Pastorale," or Pastoral Instructions of Pope 
Gregory ; the " Chronicle," or General History of the World down 
to the 5th century of Orosius ; "Boethius De Consolatione Philos- 
ophisB," and a number of miscellaneous works. In his preface to the 
"Pastorale," he alludes feelingly to the decay of learning in England, 
and speaks of "the happy times," when "wise men, both laymen 
and ecclesiastics," abounded in the kingdom. " The sacred profes- 
sion," he says, " was then diligent both to teach and to learn ; men 
from abroad sought wisdom and learning in this country, though we 
must now go out of it, if we would wish to have it." Speaking of 
the policy of translating into the vulgar tongue, for the benefit of 
the people, he writes thus : — " I wondered greatly, that of those 
good, wise men, who were formerly in our nation, and who had all 
learned fully these books," (in the Latin) " none would translate 
any paift into their own language; but I soon answered myself and 
said, they never thought that men would be so reckless, and that 
learning would be so fallen. They intentionally omitted it, and 
wished that there should he more wisdom in the land, hy many lan- 
guages heing known." He then expresses his own conviction, in 
opposition to that of the "good, wise men," aforesaid, and his de- 
sire that "all the youth that are now in England, who are freemen, 
and possess sufficient wealth, may fox a time apply to no other task, 
till they first zvell knoiv to read English. Let those learn Latin 
afterwards," he adds, "who will know more, and advance to a 
higher condition." , 

In these literary labors, the royal translator did not seem to feel 
under any obligations to confine himself faithfully to his text. On 
the contrary, his idea appears to have been, to furnish his subjects 
with a "Library of useful knowledge," without any regard to the 
sources from which the materials were derived, and without any 
punctilious respect for the rights, or the etiquette of authorship. 


Accordingly, he interpolated and added with a liberal hand, in most 
of his translations. He enlarged the text of Orosius, by numerous 
additions, derived from original sources. The narratives contained 
in Boethius, are in like manner so much amplified by Alfred, that 
his version is entitled to be considered an original work, rather than 
a translation. Bede, alone, seems to have been regarded by him as 
too sacred to render any liberties with the text admissible ; and the 
translation is scrupulously exact. In addition to the works above 
enumerated, Alfred rendered into the Anglo Saxon, portions of the 
" Confessions of St. Agustine," and either translated or imitated 
some Latin collection of fables and apologues. These apologues, 
however, said to have been " of wonderful sweetness," have not 
been preserved. 

But Alfred's literary productions, taken even at the most flatter- 
ing estimate, are the least of his labors in the cause of knowledge. 
He established schools in various parts of his kingdom, and revived 
the monastic and episcopal seminaries v^hich had formerly existed. 
The notion, so zealously maintained by the antiquaries, that he was 
the actual founder of the University of Oxford, seems indeed to be 
without sufficient evidence to support it. Yet we have Asser's au- 
thority for the statement that he established a seminary for the sons 
of the nobility, upon a scale so extensive, that an eighth of his whole 
revenue was required for its maintenance. He also exerted his 
who'e influence to render education coiwpuhory upon the higher 
classes, and even went so far as to require every person of rank, 
lolio from age or incapacity, could not learn to read himself, to send 
a son or relative to school as a substitute, or in default of these, a 
servant. The king also made it an indispensable requisite on the part 
of all persons in his immediate employment, that they should either 
possess, or set diligently about the acquisition of, the rudiments 
of knowledge. Deprivation of ofiice was the penalty of a lack of 
sympathy with his zeal in the cause' of education. " Aldermen, 
Mayors, and Governors," we are told, were compelled to submit to 
the "grievous penance " of going to school, upon pain of yielding 
up their authority and emoluments. Actuated by the same spirit, 
he sought to gather at his Court as many as possible of those active 
and enterprising spirits of that age, who had by their own travels 
and researches, added to the current stock of knowledge, concern- 


ing foreign countries. Among these Tvas the adventurous Audher, 
who, in his frail vessel, had coasted along the shore of Lapland in 
the attempt to ascertain how far Europe approached the North Pole. 
Another of Alfred's "explorers," was Wulstan, from whose lips the 
king derived those particulars concerning the Baltic Sea, and the 
country and people along its shores, which he has narrated in his 
Orosius. In some instances, it is supposed, he specially commis- 
sioned individuals to travel into foreign countries, and bring back 
information concerning them. 

The most singular, however, of all the enterprises undertaken or 
countenanced by Alfred, is his famous mission to the Jacobite Church, 
existing in Hindostan, and on the coasts of Malabar and Coroman- 
del, where it is supposed to have been planted by the Syrian believ- 
ers, at an early period in the history of Christianity. The precise 
object of this mission is not known ; but it is by no means improb- 
able that the king, having heard of the existence of a Christian 
Church in India, from some of the travelers who resorted to his 
Court, was induced to send out an expedition for the mere purpose 
of acquiring such information as might be attainable, in regard to 
its condition and history. Palgrave and other writers, who have 
felt bound to imagine some special distress or danger, threatening 
this distant community of Christians, which Alferd desired to re- 
lieve or avert, in explanation of so extraordinary a mission, seem to 
have lost sight of the insatiable thirst for knowledge of every de- 
scription, which so strongly characterized the Saxon Monarch, and 
which of itself may be regarded as furnishing a sufficient explana- 

According to the Saxon Chronicle, Swithelm, Bishop of Sher- 
borne, was the leader of this mission or embassy. The zealous pre- 
late safely accomplished his long and perilous pilgrimage; visited 
the shrine of St, Thomas, (near Madras, as Gibbon surmises) who, 
according to the ancient tradition, first preached the Gospel in In- 
dia, and who is claimed by the Jacobites as the founder of their 
church. The ambassadors delivered to the Eastern prelates, the 
gifts and greetings with which they had been charged. " Their re- 
turn," says Gibbon, "with a cargo of pearls and spices, rewarded 


the zeal of the English Monarch, who entertained the largest pro- 
jects of trade and discovery." * 

Notwithstanding Dr. Pauli's enthusiastic admiration of his hero, 
he is far too honest and conscientious as a historian, to conceal or 
* withhold any of those facts which tend to show that in Alfred's 
time the royal prerogative ^nd power were in some respects en- 
larged, and upon the strength of which, several writers have so far 
deviated from the common judgment of posterity, as to attribute to 
him an arbitrary, overbearing, and despotic disposition. Yet the 
German biographer, while giving a just prominence to everything 
calculated to shade the brightness of his picture, as if too jealous 
of the fame of his great original, and too confident of its inherent 
excellence and nobility, to incur even the appearance of conceal- 
ment or disingenuousness in his defence, invariaby furnishes such 
explanations of all facts of the tendency hinted at, as either al- 
together to deprive them of their significance, or to shitf the onus 
of responsibility from the shoulders of Alfred, to those of the monks 
and the clergy. But in some respects it is certain that Alfred has 
enjoyed with posterity a credit to which he had no just claim. 

Worthington, who, although a legal writer, seems to have been 
more willing than Pauli, to repeat statements at second hand with- 
out due examination, says, in his " Inquiry into the power of Juries," 
that "the admirable institutions devised or adopted by Alfred, were 
the foundation of the Saxon jurisprudence. His division and sub- 
division of England into counties, hundreds and tithings, was wisely 
adapted to the circumstances of the people, being well calculated to 

* The rites and ecclesiastical constitution of this body of Christians, -which has ex- 
isted in the East, from a very early period, without any communicatioa with the rest 
of the Christian world, have been the subject of much investigation from their bearing 
upon the questions at issue between Protestant and Roman Catholic controver- 
sialists. They rejected the Supremacy of the Pope, and adhered to the communion 
of the Nestorian Patriarch. When the Portuguese opened navigation to India, they 
are said to have numbered two hundred thousand souls, and fourteen hundred 
chui'ches. Gibbon intimates the opinion, that so far as their creed, and mode of 
church-government, bore upon the discussion between the Protestants, and the adher- 
ents of the Bishop of Rome, neither party had much the advantage. "Their separation,'' 
he says, '• from the Western World, bad left them in ignorance of the improvements 
or corruptions of a thousand years ; and their conformity with the faith and practice 
of the fifth century, would equally disappoint the prejudices of a Papist or a 


secure the proper and efficient administration of justice." But the 
fact is, as already intimated, that Alfred's code of laws differed in 
no essential respect from those systems of jurisprudenceigwhich had 
been in existence under his predecessors. " On this point," says 
Palgrave, in his History of the Anglo Saxons, " we can speak pos- 
itively, for the greater part of the laws from which it ■\ps composed 
are yet extant ; and all the variations arising from insertion, alter- 
ation, or omission, do not, when taken together, afford any peculiar 
characteristic. Nor can we, upon mere perusal of the text, discover 
those excellencies which so endeared Alfred to the English that in 
after times all their more important legal institutions were ascribed 
to his wisdom." 

This statement is unquestionably correct ; and indeed there seems 
to be no better ground for the common opinion, attributing to 
Alfred the division of the kingdom into shires and hundreds, above 
referred to, the trial by jury, etc., than this, — that the love and rev- 
erence in which his memory was held, and his general reputation for 
wisdom, created a disposition in the popular mind to look to him as 
the source of all that was best in their laws and institutions, of 
which the origin was unknown. As a legislator we can claim for 
him only the credit of a judicious compiler. All the antiquarian 
and historical writers are unanimous, as Blackstone declares, in 
representing that " in the time of Alfred the local customs of the 
several provinces of the kingdom were grown so various that he 
found it expedient to comjjile his 'Dome-Book,' for the general use 
of the whole kingdom." According to Palgrave, Ethelbert had re- 
duced the traditionary legal customs of the Kentish Jutes into 
writing, and other Saxon Monarchs, before the age of Alfred, had 
promulgated their "Dooms" or Judgments, establishing definite 
rules, in the place of uncertain usages. From these materials, 
Alfred selected such portions as he approved. In fact, one of the 
characteristic features of his mind was a cautious conservatism, 
which amounted almost to a morbid dread of innovation. He 
shrunk from the responsiblity of introducing "novelties" in the 
spirit of a man, wise enough to distrust his own wisdom, where it 
pointed to radical changes in long established institutions. He tells 
us himself, that he was checked in the impulse to enact new laws, by 
the fear that posterity might reject them, and that it seemed better 


to him to permit the continuance of a defective law, than to sap the 
foundation of all law — respect for established authority — by sud- 
den changes. This is undoubtedly a temper of mind which is prone 
to run into an extreme, as it did in Alfred's case, when he refrained 
from following his own judgment, in making murder, (which by the 
law was punishable by a pecuniary fine,) a capital offence. The 
crude and barbarous criminal code then in force, punished a wound 
on the head with a forfeiture of one shilling ; if on the face, the 
fine was two shillings ; the loss of an ear, was estimated at thirty 
shillings ; and a price was even set upon human life, by the pay- 
ment of which, the murderer could escape further punishment. 

. ^ « » » »»- 


BY M. L. Y. 

The veil which hides the beaming sun, 
Bringing the pleasant shadow down, 
Showing the golden, beauteous beams 
By contrast, on the hills and streams — 
It waters all the earth with tears 
And quick, the greener herb appears. 

And so, of human life ; the cloud 
Makes brighter sunshine on the road, 
And shapes the soul for purpose strong 
To do the right, and shun the wrong ; 
And, sometimes with its burning tears, 
Prepares the soil for fertile years. 

The mystic cloud, which iiangs its folds 
Around our infant heads and souls, 
Retreats, as we advance in view. 
Forever veiling what is new; — 
Thus, step by step it glides away, 
Marking the progress of the day — 
The light would dazzle, but for thee, 
Sublime and glorious mystery ! 

All clouds are for good mission sent — 
All, with a silver lining blent. 
San Francisco, March 20th, 1860. 



Mr. Strong. Mary, lias Mr. Barton ceased to visit you? 

Mary, Ms daughter. It is two months since lie was here ; he 
used to come three or four times a month. 

Mr. S. I heard to-day that you rejected him. 

Mary. It is true. 

Mr. S. Why^ Mary, I am astonished at you. You know that I 
invited him to the house, and took every opportunity to bring him 
into your company, as you must have observed. Under those cir- 
cumstances you should at least have asked my advice before reject- 
ing him. 

Mary. I did not love him. Advice could not have changed my 
mind on that point ; and I would not marry without love. 

Mr. S. He is a man that deserves respect, and when a woman 
gets to be the wife of such a man, she soon loves him. He is young, 
rich, regular in his habits, a member of Dr. Pict's church, and one 
of the best business men in Eront-street. He has |40,000 out at 
interest, and does a large business besides. He stands a fair chance 
to be a millionaire. I knew that he admired you, and I hoped to 
have him for a son-in-law, but I never dreamed you would be so fool- 
ish as to reject him. I think you did not treat me with due respect 
in rejecting him without asking my advice, or even telling me of it. 

Mary. I thought it due to Mr. Barton to keep perfect silence 
about the rejection, and I have never spoken a word about it to any 
one. As to the advice, what was the use of asking it, when my 
mind was fully made up beforehand ? Besides, I knew, without ask- 
ing, what your advice would be. No argument could have changed 
my mind in the least. As to your theory of love after marriage 
succeeding indifference before, that implies, first, goodness in the 
man, a quality which I think is wanting in Mr. Barton ; and, sec- 
ondly, either ignorance or stupidity in the woman, both of which I 
imagine to be lacking in me. I cannot risk my happiness on such 
a very remote contingency as the possibility of loving Mr. Barton. 
Mr. S. Mary, you are a stubborn girl. 

Mary. Yes, father, I am stubborn, when any attempt is made 
to trespass upon my rights and privileges ; but when those are re- 


spected, I try to be as amiable and obliging as any body ought to 

Mr. S. Did you send Mr. Barton away harshly ? 

■Mary. I gave him a simple rejection. In the course of conver- 
sation South Park was mentioned, and he said he had a fine house 
there, and then he asked : " Miss Strong, will you not honor me by 
becoming its mistress?" I replied: " I thank you, Mr. Barton ; 
it is impossible." He turned the conversation upon something else, 
spoke a few minutes, went away, and has not been back since. 

Mr. S. I think you might bring him back, and get him yet. You 
will meet him at Mr. Blank's party to-morrow night. 

Mary. I do not wish to go there, and I do not wish to have Mr. 
Barton back, and doubt whether I could get him back if I should 
try. I never liked him, always treated him coldly, and did every- 
thing I could, short of gross impoliteness, to drive him away. 

Mr. S. Well, but, Mary, consider my position. If Mr. Barton 
were my son-in-law, his influence would throw a great deal of busi- 
ness into my hands, and you know that business is everything here. 
Besides, his marriage with my eldest daughter would get husbands 
for all the younger ones, and would help establish all the boys. If 
you reject such offers as that of Mr. Barton, you will probably die 
an old maid, and be a burden to me and an obstruction to all your 
sisters. My present property would not amount to more than a 
couple of thousand dollars for each of the children, and the expens- 
es of educating them and keeping them and my house in fashiona- 
ble style, at the present rate of business would eat up all my profits. 
Do go to Mr. Blank's party and be gracious to Mr. Barton. Smile 
on him, press his hand when you meet him, invite him to call again, 
and I know you can get him. You are handsome and intellectual, 
and I know he admires you very much ; I overheard him speaking 
of you. 

Mary. Father, it would make me miserable to marry that man. 
I could not love him ; I do not respect him. He does not love me, 
and he never would. He can not love any thing but money. He 
wants me as an ornament to his house, and an assistance in his bu- 
siness. He would like to give splendid parties, and have me go 
about managing the wives of the men from whom he expects to make 
money. I understand him precisely on that point. When be be- 


gan to come to see me, I suspected him, and got mother to draw him 
out by conversing about Mrs. Black, and Mrs. White, who are re- 
quired to serve their husbands in just that way. Mother praised 
them and so did he. I took a dislike to him then, and it has been 
increasing ever since. Although I have discouraged his attentions, I 
have watched his conduct. He is sycophantic to the rich, and inso- 
lent to the poor. His life is grossly material. He smokes and 
chews tobacco, and drinks brandy. He was tipsy when he came to 
our house on New Year's Day. I detest such filthiness. His soul 
is as course as his habits. He has no refined feeling, no delicacy of 
perception. His politeness is a matter of restraint and whims. He 
would be a tyrant in his own house, insolent and rude to everybody 
about him. He has little mind beyond so much as is necessary to 
overreach his neighbors in trade, and take abundant security for 
money loaned. He and I do not live in the same world at all. We 
have no tastes or sympathies in common. He does not know any- 
thing of polite literature. He does not like poetry, and he boasts 
that he never read a novel. His religion is a mere matter of rote 
and fashion. I could not live with such a man. A woman of con- 
siderable education and noble character can not be happy unless she 
has a husband morally and intellectually her equal, tender, and de- 
voted to her. Her whole happiness is dependent upon him. His 
character should be everything to her ; as compared with that, all 
pecuniary considerations must sink into nothing in her eyes. My 
husband, if ever I get one, must be a man who will love me for my- 
self and for love, and who will give me his soul to exchange for my 
own. He must devote himself to me as I to him. He must find his 
chief delight in pleasing me. He must be as tender as a woman. 
His intellectual and moral development must be up with our time. 
He must believe in Jane Eyre, John Halifax, Aurora Leigh, and 
Mary Scudder. Of such a man I am worthy ; I could do as much 
for his happiness as he for mine ; but if I cannot get such a one, so 
help me Heaven, I will die a maid. Marriage is not a necessity for 
me, and to all women it brings numerous serious trials and dangers, 
such as I am not willing to encounter without a strong confidence 
of getting abundant compensation in the love of a good man. I 
have spent many a day and night in cultivating my mind by hard 
study, while other girls were gadding about and attending balls, and 


I will not now throw myself away on a man who cannot appreciate 
me or sympathise with me. 

Mr. S. Well, Mary, I see you are bent on having your own 
way, and I suppose I must just let you go ; but there is no need of 
your dying an old maid. I know that if you were not so uncivil to 
most of the gentlemen who visit our house, you would have oiFers 
from nearly all of them. There is Mr. Morse, a man of literary 
tastes, and fine property. 

Mary. I do not like him, and he is old enough to be my father. 

Mr. S. Then there's George Maxwell ; he 's rich and well edu- 

Mary. George Maxwell is a boy, just out of college, hardly as 
old as I am in years, and not half so old in character. I want a ripe 
man, not a hobbledehoy. The husband should be superior to the 
wife in experience which can only come with years. Besides, a wife 
can have no confidence in the morals or business capacity of a raw 
youth ; and if he be defective in either respect, marriage may prove 
a curse. Every man candidate for matrimony should be subjected 
to a probation in business for several years, to prove that he is com- 
petent to provide for a household. If he lack the industry, com- 
mon sense, understanding of the ordinary relations of trade, or 
willingness to undergo those trials and toils which may beset a poor 
man when entering upon life, he must not expect to get, nor will he 
deserve, a discreet woman. He may be a good man, but that sort of 
goodness is not enough in matrimony. No inherited wealth has any 
security in California, save in the prudence and business talent of 
its owner. A fortune may vanish in a month, if in the hands of a 
rash speculater, or an unwise manager. 

Mr. S. Well, there is Mr. Franklin, a good lawyer, a sharp bus- 
iness man, rich, with a large practice, and fine literary tastes, and 
well read. 

Mary. He is too fond of hearing himself lecture. When he gets 
into company he invariably tries to monopolize attention by lec- 
turing with an endless flow of words and a loud voice. I dined at 
Mrs. Blank's several weeks ago, and he spoke all the time, and when 
any body, even at the other end the table, tried to get up a little 
side conversation, he tried to talk or bawl them down ; I have no 
patience with such men. Conversation is a very important means in 


increasing the happiness of those about us, and a violation of its 
equalities and rights is a certain sign of some serious lack of proper 
feeling, or delicate perception, or attentive consideration for the 
happiness of others. The big talker shows an inability to be gentle 
towards men generally ; and gentleness towards a wife is not to be 
expected unless accompanied by a tender regard for humanity at 
large. The man who disregards the comforts of his neighbors can 
not make the perfect lover of his wife. If he treats others with 
mean selfishness, he will soon cease to make an exception of her. 
Whenever Mr. Franklin comes into a room, I wish myself out of it. 

Mr. S. What does all this sermonizing mean ?' Have you made 
up your mind never to marry ? You talk as though this world were 
full of perfect men and you bad your choice among them all. You 
are nearly twenty-two years old, and at that age an unmarried wo- 
man becomes an old maid — they say. It is high time that you 
were established in life. 

Mary. So I should like to be, with a husband to my notion, but 
unless I can get such a one, I will live single. I do not ask perfec- 
tion, neither will I accept gross imperfection. 

Mr. S. Well, Mary, gratify me in at least one respect; discour- 
age the visits of Mr. Norton. I dislike to see him coming to our 
house. His relations are all mechanics, and Black Republicans, 
and bitter enemies of my brother William, whom they are now try- 
ing to eject from his of&ce. As for Mr. Norton himself, he is out of 
place in the society of the people who visit us, and many of whom 
do not want to be intimate with teachers in the public - schools and 
their associates. 

Mary. Father, Mr. Norton is a good man, who can talk well 
about those things that interest me, and I do not wish to dismiss him. 

Mr. S. You will at least allow me to determine who may visit 
my own house. 

Mary. Certainly, and as I am of age, you will allow me to go 
where I please. If I cannot receive my friends here, I will live 
where I can receive them. 

Mr. S. You would not leave my house ? 

Mary. Indeed I will, rather submit to your dictation in regard 
to the reception of visitors. To please you I have sent off several 
gentlemen for whom I had a high regard, and I shall never do the like 


again. I have sense enougli to know who are fit companions forme, 
and spirit enough to assert my rights. I have been an obedient and 
kindly child to you, but my duty of obeying you ceases Avhen you 
could forbid me to receive the visits of Mr. Norton, or several others 
of my acquaintance whom I know you dislike. 

Mr. S. What do you mean to do ? You would not live in any 
other house without money ? You are not in the possession of a 
large property, that you can live from your own income. 

3Iary. When you ordered me to send away Mr. Galbraith, three 
years ago, I did so without saying a word ; but I was indignant, and 
determined to become independent, so I have been studying and 
working ever since, and now I am able to support myself well by 
my work. 

Mr. S. Fudge ! that's a mere notion. You'll be a seamstress, 
I suppose? 

Mary. {taJcing a piece of hox-ivood from a drawer and handing 
it to her father) Look at that. I am cutting that engraving for 
Mr. Westman. It will be printed in the next number of the Illus- 
trated Magazine. It will cost me about fifteen hours work, and I 
shall receive $20 for it. I have made ^300 that way in the last six 
months. Here's the money, [taking out a paper roll of double 
eagles from her drawer and opening it ;] I have not spent a cent of 
it. To earn that money, I worked only when I was alone, so that 
nobody supposed I was engaged in any serious labors. Mr. West- 
man is the only person who knows that I do anything of the kind. 
He ofiFers me as much work as I can do, and says that after his 
partner, Mr. Roomis, I have the most rapid hand with the graver, 
in California. You know that I often visit Mrs. Danishstar ; well, 
I have spent many days assisting in teaching in her boarding school, 
and, she says, considering my ability to teach music, drawing, 
French and Spanish, as well as all the higher English branches, 
there is not a teacher in the city that can command a higher salary 
or be more certain of a position than I. I asked her, as if in joke, 
what she would give me, and she ofiered me $200 a month, for teach- 
ing three hours a day, and when I replied jestingly, she said that 
she was serious, and if that offer did not suit me, she would make 
me a partner with her. So you see that I know what I am about 
when I speak of being independent. 


3Ir. S. Well, Mary, I always knew that you were brave, but I 
never gave you credit for such spirit. I hope your brothers will be 
equal to you. If you were a man you would make your fortune, 
but as you are only a woman, I am afraid you will only get me into 
trouble. Come, we will make a compromise. You drop Mr. West- 
man and Mrs. Danishstar ; for if the people about us were to know 
that you work for money, they would say that we were out of place 
on Rincon Hill ; and if you will please me in that respect, I will 
make no objection to the visits of any of your friends. 

Marg. Thank you, father ; I consent to that, at least for the 
present. I do not need any more money than you give me, and I 
will abandon my plans for engraving and teaching until they are 
forced on me by necessity. 

Vices of the Imagination. — To the young, especially, is the ex- 
position necessary — to those whose imaginations afe active, whose 
passions are fresh and strong, and whose inexperience leaves them 
ignorant of consec|uence3. There is no field of danger less talked 
of than this. Through many years of attendance upon the public 
ministrations of Christianity, I have never but twice heard this sub- 
ject pointedly and faithfully alluded to. Books are mainly silent 
upon it. Fathers and mothers, faithful in all things else, shrink 
from the administration of counsels upon matters which they would 
fain believe are all unknown to the precious ones they have nurtured. 
Thus it is in schools, and thus it is everywhere, where counsel is 
needed, and where it is demanded. An impure word, a doubtful 
jest, a tale of sin, di'unk in by these fresh souls, excites the imagi- 
nation, and straightway they discover the field of contemplation, so 
full of danger and of death, and learn all its paths before they know 
anything of the perils to. which they subject themselves. Let me 
say to these, what they so seldom hear from other lips and pens, 
that whenever they find themselves attracted to it, they can never 
abide in it, or enter upon it, without taint and without sin. Sooner 
or later in their life will they find that from all willing dalliance with 
temptation, and unresisted entertainment of unworthy and impure 
imaginations, their character has suffered an injury which untold 
ages will fail to r-emedy. — Extract from Grold Foil. 




Once I met him him in the garden ; 

'Twas the noontide of the day ; — 
Sleeping in the quiet of the arbor, 

One, my treasured idol, lay. 
lie, that stranger, whispered to her, 

Entering softly by the door ; 
Quickly she rose and followed, 

And I never saw her more. 

A^'ext, within my cottage parlor ; 

'Twas the twilight, soft and still ; 
And the breeze scarce ;Stirred the jasmine, 

Whispering at my window sill. 
Suddenly that stranger entered — 

How my heart within me died ! 
As he beckoned her to follow — 

Her, the loyed one, at my side. 

Next, within my quiet chamber, 

In the cradle, near me, lay 
One, with fringed lids just then opening — 

Rosebuds in the softening day. 
He, that pale-browed stranger, entered — 

Not one word he spake, but still 
Crept so softly towards the cradle, 

Touched those lids, and all was chill ! 

Then, ! then I knew him — learned him ! 

Looked into his eyes, to see 
All their deep and mystic meaning — 

All their words of love to me. 
Messenger from God in heaven, 

Pale-browed, silent, robed in white — 
Now I bless thee, my deliverer 

From earth's darkness into light. 

Fanaticism. — Fanaticism, whether religious or philosophic, is the 
child of Pride, a violent and terrihle power ! Reason, on the con- 
trary, even when she deceives us, is a mild and tranquil influence, 
free from passion, and never inducing men to quarrel with each 
other. — La Harin. 



The term " culinary," I suppose was derived from cullender, an es- 
sential article in a cooking paraphernalia. Had the word been for 
instance, " in the cullender department," its full and proper signifi- 
cation would have been at once understood, even by the uninitiated, 
for they would naturally conclude that it had reference to stewing, 
boiling, frying, or straining. But ever since the celebrated doctot 
Kitchener changed the term " cook-room," to kitchen, many things 
have be.en twisted unmercifully to suit the fastidious notions of some 
polite professor of gastronomic art. 

There have been, however, it must be confessed, some improve- 
ments in the use of terms, as for instance, small chunks of bread 
just from the oven, formerly called warm bread, are now called hot 
rolls, implying their connection with the rollmg pin ; while old-fash- 
ioned slap jacks are surnamed griddle cakes, after their respected 
parent the griddle; and instead of spitting a piece of beef for a 
roast, thereby conveying the idea that to have it properly cooked, 
a certain amount of expectorating over its red and white surface 
was necessary, — we now hake our roast beef in the stove instead of 
spitting it in a Dutch oven. Spit ! Croesus, what a term to use in 
cookinoj. Faugh ! 

The " cullender art," however, is considerable of an art; and it 
is not every one who is qualified to practice it. Study, and experi- 
ence, are both necessary to be accomplished in it, and its import- 
ance has been not only eulogised by kings, but sung by poets. By- 
ron says in canto X, of Harown Alkarchid, where the chief cook of 
the sultan sings the glories of his august master, — 

" Blest is the maa who lives ia peace, 
He slips thro' the world as slick as grease." 

And Tom Moore, the celebrated Irish Lion, after a long fast, sings 

so sweetly, — 

" I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curl'd, 
From the chimney below that a cook-shop is near, 
And I thought if a steak could be found in the world, 
The man that is hungry might look for it here." 

Ancient California was celebrated for its cooks. Cooking was 


one of the grand orders of the day. Everybody cooked in 1849 
and '50, but women. They were not entrusted with so sublime a 
secret in those days. Our 'greatest men did not think it beneath 
them to fry their own bacon. Merchants, ministers and miners, 
lawyers, bankers and loafers, all had an ambition, not only to get 
enough to cook, but to cook it themselves. Things have changed 
now, and the sublime science of Soyer has fallen into the hands of 
women, or men who can do nothing else. Verily, the glory of slap- 
jacks hath departed. But the day of the heroes of the "cullender," 
of what I call the Golden Era of California, shall not be lost en- 
tirely, so long as my fingers can wield a pen, or the types can speak 
words of burning, fire, and blasting, sizzling gravy. 

" I have a frieud, a glorious friend, 
As e'er cook'd a gudgeon or roasted a clam." 

He is now the editor of the most popular newspaper in California, 
has already won fame and dimes for himself, and deservedly stands 

high among the list of editors in our grizzly State. Well, he 

but I'll let him tell his own story. I don't want to steal any man's 
thunder, so Jeri-y shall be his own mouthpiece. We were sitting 
one day, not long since, in his sanctum, discussing reminiscences of 
the ancient days of California. " There is one phase of California 
life," said he, "that I think I never told you. In the summer of 
1850, I found myself at Rose's Bar, on the Yuba, and, what you 
know was a little surprising in those days, (over the left,) I was by 
some accident completely strapped — not a dime to buy a biscuit. I 
was standing in the bar-room of one of those magnificent cloth ho- , 
tels so common in those days, cogitating on the subject of ways and 
means, when the landlord came into the room in a kind of dispair. 
He had a house full of boarders and his cook had suddenly left him. 
'What to do I don't know,' said Boniface, waxing warm; 'I've 

enquired everywhere — can't hire a cook this side of .' 

He didn't say where, but every one was left to draw their own infer- 
ence. Here was a chance, then — fame and fortune before me ; why 
should I hesitate ? I didn't, but stepped forward at once, conscious 
of my own merits, which I felt only needed development to be un- 
derstood and appreciated. 

"You want a cook ?" I asked with proper gravy -ty. " I am one." 

duff; or the French cook. 


"You?" and the landlord looked pleased; "do you understand 
cooking in all its various branclies?" 

"I am a Frencli cook," said I — mj blushes were all saved within 
my empty pockets. "If you want a cook I have no engagement, 
and if we can make a bargain I will go into your kitchen." 

" A cook I must have, but he must be a first rate one, or none at 
all. My boarders are very particular, and I keep a first-class 
hotel." Think of that — a first-class hotel ! — 0! International. 

" I understand my business ; I am a French cook, I tell you. If 
you want a cook, No. 1, he is before you," I said, with commendable 

"Well, how much do you ask a month?" 

"Two hundred and fifty dollars," I replied, feeling that men of 
true science should lose nothing in my endeavor to promote respect 
for true greatness. 

"Why, that is an enormous price," said the landlord; "I have 
never paid any such price. I can't stand that." 

"Well," said I, with perfect truth, " I never cooked for less than 
that in my life, during the whole practice of my profession." It 
was true, by hokey, for I never had cooked at all, professionally. 

Well, after considerable bantering, we made a bargain, and I con- 
sented to cook the first month at one hundred and seventy-five dol- 
lars, to be paid every Saturday night, and the second month, if I 
staid, I was to have two hundred dollars. The bargain concluded, 
I was shown into the kitchen — pulled oj0f my coat, rolled up my 
shirt sleeves, put on an apron, and commenced making pie in a 
cook shop, as I had previously made j9z' in a printing ofiice. I can't 
pretend to say how I got along, but during three Aveeks, in which I 
presided over the Rose's Bar cullender department, I am sensible 
that I originated many new dishes, which the palates of our board- 
ers could not appreciate ; and when they found fault, I just told 
them to go to that they could not appeciate French cooking. 

Among the boarders were several sailors, and every Sunday they 
were clamorous for Duff. " Cook, give us some duff — can't live 
without duff once a week. No decent boarding house lives without 
duff; a man might as well live on chips as without duff; cook, give 
us duff." To pacify them, I told them that the next Sunday they 
should have duff for dinner, and they were satisfied to wait. Now, 


what duff was I didn't know,'-any more than the man in the moon. 
Whether it was baked, boiled, stewed, or fried ; whether it was 
potatoes, cabbage, apples, onions, peaches, or what, I could not tell. 
Yet the duff they were to have, and it would never do for a French 
cook to show his ignorance. 

Well, Saturday night came. I settled with the landlord for my 
three weeks' services, and, to tell the truth, he paid me very honor- 
ably. Sunday morning came, and with it breakfast. The sailors 
were in high glee. " Now, cook, don't forget that duff to-day for 
dinner — duff, boy, duff." "Aye, aye ; you shall have it sure," said 
I, wondering if some good god-mother of a witch would come in and 
help me out with the duff. Well, she did, and admirably too. Now 
here is my receipt for duff — such as I made — and I make it free to 
the whole world, for I wish to be a public benefactor, and will not 
hide my light under a bushel basket : Take a six quart tin basin, 
roll out some dough and cover the bottom ; take, each, a handful of 
onions, garlic, dried apples, peaches, baked beans, potatoes, turnips, 
fat pork or beef, and lard ; season with a large dash of mustard, a 
good sprinkle of pepper sauce, with half a pint of claret ; sweeten 
well with brown sugar or molasses, then roll out a thin piece of 
dough and cover the whole, and crinkle the dough cover into fantas- 
tic shapes, to please the eye — the taste will be reserved for the in- 
side. Set it in the stove and hake till you think it is done. 

In these latter days I learn that sailors call a boiled pudding duff, 
but at Rose's Bar, in the old days of 1850, French duff was a (to 
speak scientifically and geologically) conglomerated mass, baked in 
a pan. Dinner was ready — the acme of my glory was approaching. 
The meats were discussed, but a place was still left by the expect- 
ant boarders ; directly was heard : 

" Come cook, come cook, bring on youi- duff, 
And crammed be he who cries out hold, enough !" 

That cry, coming from Shakspeare, or the sailors, I forget which, 
roused me from my reveries, when I told the waiter to take in the 
duff. " Where is it ?" he innocently asked. " There, in.that basin," 
I replied. " This?" said he, with a grin, as he looked deliberately 
at the baked dish; "I'm afraid they wont like this very well." 
" No matter what you think ; take it along — they are impatient — 
set it at the head of the table." Not knowing how much of a relish 


they might have for French duff, I hastily threw off my apron, slip- 
ped on my coat and hat, and took a place behind the door, where I 
could see what was going on in the dining room. As the waiter set 
the pan before a stout, brawny sailor, who held his knife and fork 
ready to dissect the coveted dish, I heard the latter ask : 

" Waiter, what's this ?" 

" Why, it's the duff, sir." 

" The duff — 'this duff?" and he slashed his knife through it, when 
an odor of garlic and onions came out, followed by a red, oozy, lava- 
like matter; he exclaimed, in a rage, "duff — duff — hang that 
cook, let me get hold of him," and as he arose from the table, in 
his wrath, I sprung to the back door, ran out and over the hills, and 
didn't go back till three years afterwards, when I was soliciting sub- 
scribers for our paper. Honest merit, however, is highly appre- 
ciated at Rose's Bar, for we have a large circulation there. 



Through the purple hush and glooni, 
Wildly fell the midnight showers — 

Weighing down the acacia's bloom, 
Rustling grass and silken flowers. 

Now beneath the golden tide, 

From morn's crystal chalice flowing, 

All the raindrops, far and wide, 
Are like rarest jewels glowing. 

When, like night, this life is fled,' 
And the holier life is dawninj;, 

Earthly tears, in anguish shed, 

May seem pearls in that fair morning. 

San Francisco, March, 1860. 



'Tis in San Francisco harbor; 'tis a clipper trim and tall ; 
With flapping sails and anchor poised, she waits the boatswain's call ; 
The flooding tide will soon run ebb ; she soon will sail away ; 
And she's bound across the ocean for the land of rice and tea. 

There is ballast in her lower hold, but boxes on her deck. 
With Chinese markings covered, and for Hongkong all direct : — 
" What freightage may be in them? for what profit thithei* sent ? 
I thought that silver only in that market could be spent ?" 

Quoth the shipper : " Not all commerce is a matter but of gain. 
Nor all freight a source of profit, that is shipped across the main ; 
These are nothing but dead Chinamen, mere cold and lifeless clay ; 
Without usefulness or value, not a copper worth are they." 

" But, Anglo Saxon trader, this indeed is wondrous strange — 
While the most enlightened nations think of nothing but exchange, 
That heathens and idolaters should tender so their dead, 
As to forget their cent per cent ! " — Then thus the shipper said : 

" 'Tis a custpm of their countrymen — if dead men countries own — 
To gather up the foreign dead and ship them all back home ; 
That in the land which bore them, as on a mother's breast. 
They at last may find a welcome, and their bodies be at rest." 

" It is well," — a third time spoke I — " to carry home the great ; 

For their funerals to many may a source of profit make ; 

But the Coolie and the pauper, whose coffins here I see ; 

To ship back all this worthless trash, what reason can there be? " 

Quoth the shipper : " In the sexton's lists, so low and mean is none ; 
But his native land still bears a place that he may call his own ; 
And, thanks to strangest custom, though oceans wide may roll. 
He still at last shall rest there, within his native soil. 

" 'Tis with hundreds every year thus, in their coffins svich as these. 
That our clipper ships are laden, ere they plough the Chinese seas ; 
For the living all maj toil oppressed, and languish to the grave, 
But death breaks every fetter, and ennobles e'en the slave." 

"Well spoken, Anglo Saxon " — 'twas thus well pleased I cried, 

As the noble clipper moved away upon the turning tide, — 

" AVell spoken, thou hast taught me, what the world will scarce believe, 

That there's virtue still in Chinamen, e'en after they are dead." 



'Tis again the same wise lesson that Tvas taught in days of old, 
But the world is unbelieving, and the rede must be retold ; 
That naught is wholly low or mean, or evil on the earth ; 
There's virtue still in squalid rags ; there's good in Nazareth. 


BY S. C. H. 

How many of the readers of the Hesperian ever wintered among 
the Sierras ? — the region, we had nearly said, of eternal snow ; and 
with some degree of truth, as last year's snow rested on many 
mountain sides till August, and was renewed in the early days of 

The thought of winter and snow pictures to most minds silvery 
bells and prancing steeds gliding swiftly over a smooth expanse, 
while a merry ring of voices play a sweet accompaniment to the 
jingling melody of bells ; a time for merry-making and enjoying the 
sports of winter. 

A glance at the steep mountain sides, that at wide intervals show 
a few cabins claiming inmates, tells us the picture of sleigh-rides 
cannot here find an abiding place. 

Travel and communication during the period of winter in most 
mountain places, depend principally upon man's ability to exercise 
his pedestrian powers ; often the ease with which he can manage 
snow-shoes. This of course applies to the high mountain towns 
and tillages. 

The first few snows of November generally cut oif all mule travel, 
as the narrow trails are immediately blocked with snow ; and the 
perpendicular waste then presented does not ofier a very secure 
footing to animals, alone to promise hope of an envied sleigh-ride. 
You will readily disbover, then, if you have allowed your fancy to 
picture mountaineers as following out the winters East, that you are 
sadly mistaken. 

Nothing could allure man to call these lonely mountain sides, 
where the eye roams over an unbroken surface of snow, with naught 
of vegetable life to be seen except the towering pine and fir, some- 
times a stunted growth of oak, home, if it was not for the golden 

* * 


treasure found deep within their hidden recesses. Let us inform 
Mr. Hittell, no necessity for the " sale of mineral lands to secure 
permanent residence," if you can prove gold to abound, for resi- 
dence is generally permanent as long as the treasure is found — of 
course some restless spirits are found in every locality, and would 
not be content under any circumstances — and when worked out, 
few regret to leave these high mountain regions, that offer few spots 
for cultivation, and for such a short time, that it does not repay one, 
however much inclined; to plant, or if there was ever so much land 
to cultivate. A truce to this digression, however, for it is "Winter 
among the Sierras," of which we must discourse. 

The depth of snow this season, up to the time of writing, has 
been much less than any previous winter experienced since 1856 — 
as long as the writer's knowledge extends. At this time last year 
there was at least ten or twelve feet on a level, now not more than 
one third of that depth. The snow-blockade we endure every win- 
ter, compels our residents to provide themselves with a bountiful 
store of provisions, where beans and dried apples hold a conspicuous 
place as reigning dainties, that is, in the majority of cases- ; also, an 
abundant supply of wood. Some of you may smile when it is as- 
serted that the largest part of most mountain establishments is the 
wood-house, yet it is nevertheless so, and with good reason, when it 
is remembered that the ground is generally covered with snow from 
early November till late in May. 

It strikes those curiously who are accustomed to winters East, 
when they see one in the mountains of California. There we look 
for skeleton trees and frozen streams, Avhile here, though every ob- 
ject is half buried, or hidden altogether in deep show-drifts, the fir, 
pine and cedars that grace the mountain sides in such number, re- 
lieve the scene of the desolateness of Eastern winters, where the 
trees, excepting occasional evergreens, are stripped and leafless. 
The bushes and low chapparel are hidden for the most under the 
deep snow, and winter's withering influence on them is lost to sight. 
The frozen streams we have not. Flumes that are much exposed 
during the prevalence of severe north or east winds are sometimes 
frozen. Seldom would any thing freeze in our homes, if we pos- 
sessed the warm, tight houses that you have in your cities. Dwel- 
lings are built mostly of shakes, which afford little protection from 


cold or Avind; most settlements though can boas't a log-cabin oi" so, 
which are always pioneers. If the cold of the East prevailed here, 
we would suffer much in our thin, shake houses, with canvas lining. 
We require little more clothing than the inhabitants of the " Bay 
City" do, though we clothe our feet more warmly. Paper-soled 
shoes are not tolerated by our mountain ladies ; long boots, heavy 
soled and well nailed, are their only resource in climbing over these 
beds of snow. ... 

As a general rule, rain seldom falls here in any month. This 
winter is an exception, as we have had almost as much rain as snow. 

Secluded as we are from the reach of most sources of improve- 
ment, the bent of individuality necessarily developes itself. Those 
of a reflective and literary turn, surround themselves, when possi- 
ble, with works that will improve, amuse and elevate, and thus em- 
ploy the many solitary hours they are compelled to pass with profit. 
Others, that have no resource within themselves, and care little for 
the higher enjoyments of life, too often spend their, time in endless 
rounds of cards, and, still worse, seek excitement in drink. They 
certainly cannot plead the Russian's excuse for excessive indulgence 
in the former excitement. Says Atkinson in his book on Liberia, 
when making reference to this habit among the Russians: — " Con- 
versing with the most intelligent men on this subject their reply 
was — ' In England you have the daily papers, the monthly period- 
ical, a literature unequalled, and the liberty of discussing every sub- 
ject with freedom ; if we had such things to occupy our minds, we 
should not care for cards.' " 

Few sermons can be spoken to us, as we are so difficult of access, 
and the trails so often impassable. Some are favored with copies of 
the Pacific and Independent, and are not at a loss for well-springs 
of good. 

Few are permitted the joys of home, yet there is much friendly 
intercourse, and more than in many of our cities. The fact of is- 
olation places many on their good behavior ; compels many in seek- 
ing sympathy to lay aside their selfishness and empty distinctions of 
society. There is much living out of self in these mountain local- 
ities. The air breathed infuses some of its purity into character. 

Shut in, as these little communities are, to themselves, we have 
shown they want not companionship or the means of progress. 



Neither lack they the refining influences of the fine arts. Grand 
panoramic views greet the eye from these eyrie nests called moun- 
tain homes. Fairer pictures of gorgeous sunlight ; soft moonlight 
scenes; the sleep of nature in her winter robes; the snow storm ; 
are given to us, than ever sprang from the hand of a Claude Lo- 
raine, a Titian, or a Salvator Rosa. 

No need of Californians journeying to the Alps to discourse of 
heavily nailed shoes to scale the mountain heights, and the feats ac- 
complished among those regions of snow, for they can have that 
experience within their own State for six months in the year. Here 
you can see those snowy peaks sparkling and glancing in the morn- 
ing sunlight like silver sheeted mirrors in every conceivable shape. 
Little monotony here. You'll discover battlements and towers, 
whose heights have never yet been scaled, keeping frowning watch 
over all the scene ; ridges covered with dense forests of pine, look- 
ing like armed hosts with bristling spears, the outposts for the im- 
aginary fortress ; perfect cones in others ; bold promontories capped 
with rocky defences jutting into the river two or three miles below. 

In this particular locality is one gentle slope forming a quad- 
rangle, presenting one unbroken plain of white, except the lone tree 
in the centre ; the mountains around hold the same relation to it as 
the celebrated fortresses of Mantua, Pescheira, Yerona and Legnano 
do to the noted European Quadrangle. Our quadrangle has been 
the witness of more peaceful missions, though fought with no less 
spirit, than its European neighbor. The foot of many a weary trav- 
eler has pressed its soil, in their long journey to Eldorado, in hope 
of gaining some of its treasures. Many weary feet have regained 
elasticity, and hearts their lightness, as they passed over its surface, 
knowing their journey was well nigh ended. 

JSver changing shadows, as the King of Day pursues his march, 
give various pictures of the scene. The mountains in their gar- 
ments of sheen, are not those at nooD or sunset ; for the varying 
shadows bring out in bold relief points that hitherto were in shadow 
and unnoticed. Don't journey to Italy to behold her skies ; she 
cannot claim brighter or more serene than often smile o'er all our 
winter scenes. 

Why attempt to describe all the beautiful scenery our Sierra 

SHEEP. 133 

winters portray ? The mountains are grand and beautiful at any 
season, but chiefly so in winter. Then — 

" This earth to fairy land is changed, 
With glittering silver sheeted o'er. 
A shower of gems is strew'd around, 
The flowers of winter rich and rare ; 
Rubies and sapphires deck the ground, 
The topaz, emerald, all are there." 
Sierra Co., Feb , 1S60. 




No. I. 
As may be inferred from the heading of this article, it is not intend- 
ed to enter into the specific qualities of all the known breeds of sheep, 
or even its numerous and most esteemed varieties. Many kinds, such 
as the huge Lincoln and Treswater sheep, entire flocks of which are 
not unfrequently known to weigh 240 lbs. the carcase when dressed 
for market, and to clip 18 to 20 lbs. of wool, are quite unsuited to 
the general soil and climate of California ; more especially under its 
existing imperfect state of agriculture. The huge breed now under 
consideration, might be reared on the rich tules when drained and 
covered with a rich sward, occupied only by the richest grasses and 
clovers, and due provision made to maintain them in good condition 
during winter ; until such is the case, it would be ridiculous to 
attempt raising the very large breeds of sheep. 

In entertaining the question as to what kind of sheep will be most 
likely to repay the husbandman for his time, trouble and capital, it 
is requisite to bear in mind, that, according to circumstances, car- 
case or 'the wool may be of inferior or equal value to each other. 
In Australia, until the gold discoveries caused a large and sudden 
demand for animal food, limestone was not unfrequently burned with 
the bodies of the ovine race ; and thousands have been slaughtered 
simply for their tallow. Even at present, in the sheep districts, the 
carcases have little or any value. At present a reversed state of 
things exist in California. The c'arcase is more valuable than the 



fleece, and it is the adjustment of these two properties in the pro- 
portion best adapted to the soil and climate of California on which 
will depend the most profitable returns. In Australia, two circum- 
stances combined to indicate the proper course to pursue. The cli- 
mate was dry and warm, consequently only calculated to raise with 
advantage an animal with a moderately sized body, for it must al- 
ways be remembered that large sized animals can only be success- 
fully reared amidst plentiful and succulent herbage, or other food, 
as rape, turnips, &c., to replace in winter the ordinary grasses. At 
the same time, the market for meat was limited, whilst that for wool 
was distant, and the freight consequently heavy in proportion to 
the value ; which propor'tion would have been even more considerable 
on coarse, low-priced wool. All things contributed, therefore, to- 
wards the state of things as they now exist, namely : the growth of 
an animal not so much valuable for the carcase as for the fleece. 
^These- circumstances are in some degree modified as regards Califor- 
nia. In the first place, we are likely soon to manufacture no incon- 
siderable portion of our coarse and medium qualities of wool into 
.blankets, flannels, pilot and other rough clothing, so that the native 
breed of sheei^, possessing a present market value with the butcher 
, when fattened, nearly equal to the more improved varieties, approach- 
.es in consequence more nearly to an equal value with finer fleeced 
• sheep than was the case with the Australian farmer, and to that ex- 
;tent, will not so much necessitate the importance of instant and de- 
cided improvements in the breed, especially when to do so would be 
jan expensive operation. 

It should always be kept in view, that a dry, warm climate, is the 
natural habitat of sheep. Although the climate of California may 
;be generally described as a dry one, yet occasionally, the rainy sea- 
;sqn is not only heavy, but also continuous. The health of sheep is 
more injured by damp and wet, than cold ; the former occasioning 
the foot rot, and the latter effecting the staple of the wool, and 
occasioning a great variety of diseases, which in Scotland has the 
common name of Braxy. Cold — if the weather is dry — does not 
affect sheep very much, as is evidenced by the manner in which the 
merino flocks of Old Castile sustain themselves during the severe 
winters of that inclement upland. It must, however, be always un- 
derstood that very fine wool canaot be obtained from animals ex- 

SHEEP. 136 

posed at any time to great or continuous cold. Thus the finest Sax- 
on and other German wools, which, although of Spanish origin, 
have by cultivation and care, displaced the Spanish merino for the 
manufacture of the finest description of broadcloth. This superi- 
ority, however, is only obtained by great care, the animals being 
housed, and fed on forage during the inclement season. 

These remarks are introduced with the object of drawing atten 
tion to the fact that the kind of fleece best adapted to protect the 
animals from cold, if dry, is a fine, close fleece — in fact a fine felting 
wool, adcipted for the manufacture of the finest broadcloth, whilst 
one of a more open character serves better to secure the sheep from 
the injurious effects of cold, caused by rain- — the more open fleece 
causing the water to run oiF more rapidly, whilst the close one ab- 
sorbs it like a sponge. This fact will be noticed again in a paper 
on " Wool and its Uses," which will follow this series. 

The great difficulty which the California sheep farmer has to con- 
tend with, (and the remark applies in a greater or less degree to all 
kinds of stock,) is the obtaining an adequate supply of winter provis- 
ions. Clovers and other legumenosge, if judiciously cultivated, might, 
in a great degree, supply the present void, and perhaps, on the whole, 
will afford the readiest and most convenient means of doing- so. 
Without having some such aid it will be vain to attempt, or to ex- 
pect that fine-bred stock will retain their original superior qualities. 
A brief resume may now be entered upon as to the chief points 
of interest, both as regards fleece and carcase of the breeds which are 
most likely to attract the attention of the California sheep-grower. 

The Neiv Leicester, has attracted the attention of a few breeders. 
This breed is remarkable for its extraordinary property of arriving 
at early maturity for the shambles — some have been sold in Wash- 
ington market weighing 100 lbs., not twelve months old. It has an 
extraordinary property of putting on a great amount of fat, quite 
out of proportion to the lean or muscular part ; the latter has not 
th« sapid quality of less rapid growing animals, and as a whole, 
would have an unfavorable opinion passed upon them by epicures. 
In g, market, however, where one kind appears not to be preferred 
over another, provided the externals are in any degree alike. There 
can be no doubt that in a suitable climate this breed will make the 
largest return to the farmer, in the shortest time, if intended for 


the butcher. The wool is of a useful quality and the fleece heavy. 
The southern counties are best calculated for this breed, the open, 
but heavy fleeces readily casting off the rain, unless the showers en- 
dure for an unusually long period. 

The improved Southdown. This breed is one that during the last 
twenty years has perhaps had a more extended range amongst farm- 
ers, than any other species. Its superiority over the Leicester, con- 
sists in the superior quality of the meat, but it does not come to 
maturity so early as the latter. The fleece is of a finer quality, but 
can scarcely be said to have a greater value. There are many kinds 
of improved southdown ; but the one which is probably best adapted 
for California is the Shropshire Down — a district in which the cli- 
mate is much more moist than in the south of England, and conse- 
quently would the more easily acclimate themselves to California 
winters. Allied to this head, it will not, therefore, be out of place 
to notice one which, centuries ago, held a prominent place in 
British sheep culture, and from which tradition relates that even 
the celebrated merino are descended. We allude to the Ryelands, a 
breed smaller than, but possessing a striking resemblance to the 
merinos. They are remarkably hardy, and can endure hardship and 
hunger, probably beyond any other ; certainly beyond the greater 
number of breeds. It would, perhaps, now be impossible to obtain 
any of the pure breed, as twenty years ago there was only one pure 
flock in existence in Herefordshire. The meat of the Reyelands is 
excellent. As best adapted to the climate and pasturage of Califor- 
nia in general, a judicious cross between the Australian Merinos, 
Shropshire Down and Reyeland, (if the last could be obtained,) would 
contain to the highest degree the most valuable properties of toler- 
ably early maturity, weight of carcase and good quality of meat 
— along with hardinesss of constitution and endurance — without 
material injury when put to straits for food ; and possessing a 
fleece of fair weight and of high value for the finest descriptions of 
combing purposes, such as shawls, cliallis, and mixed stufls, a kind 
in more constant demand than the highest priced felting wools. 

Where a larger animal is needed for rich bottom land, the cele- 
brated Currah * sheep would, perhaps, be found as suitable, if not 
more so, than any other species. 

* County Kildare, Ireland. 





The Major resigns Ids false position — the False Monkey Flower— removal of the 
CAUSE does not alwaijs destroy the effect — Major mounts the stump, and, 
like most politicians, does'nt come off quite whole. 

After the adventure mentioned in our last chapter, the Ringtailed 

Major resigned ; and although he shouldered a stick and entered the 

ranks as a common soldier, he still retained his ringtail title. He 

could shoulder arms ! present arms ! and order arms ! and charge 

bayonets pretty well, considering he was only a brevet soldier. To 

be sure, he was rather behind time, but Aijes, we know, always are — 

he seemed to be poking fun at other people's folly with that long 

stick of his. However, we must not be too critical ; his present 

modest position in the ranks, became his genius much better than 

the false monkey manners of commander of the regiment. 

Here is the False Monkey Shruh ; some peo- ^ /'^ 

pie call it the Sticky Monkey Shrub. * The "^'V'-t^ 

plant is gummy or glutinous, as its name implies, r^ ""^^r^^ 

and it will stick closer to your fingers and clothes ?>V^:;^\ 

than the monkey did to the pony's back if you /^-S^!'- 

handle it carelessly. The light orange flowers .\ 

in pairs are very pretty indeed, but the upright false monkey shrdb. 

* Mimidus glutinosus. 


shrub itself is not very beautiful. It has lips and a mouth like a 
monkey. Do you think you would know this flower if you were to 
see it ? Examine it carefully and try. 

We could tell you of a little girl three years old, and her tAvo 
brothers a few years olcler, who remembered a flower five years 
afterwards. We traveled many years in a foreign country and then 
came back, and called on them — as soon as they saw the flower 
they knew it, and told us the name. 

But to return to our narrative : we left the Major drilling away 
might and main in tho, ranks, while we stepped aside a moment to ex- 
amine the False Monkey Flower. There are many means by which 
a monkey, or a man, may obtain a name ; and full many a false and 
foolish way too. Now Major Ringtail naturally took to this latter 
silly sort of ambition, just as we have seen some apish people do 
before him. Monkeys were doubtless made for the very purpose of 
showing up the ridiculous and silly side of our lowest nature ! Cer- 
tainly, in all that is manly ! Monkeys are the most remotely hu- 
man — the mere skin of creation ! In short, we always abhoi-red 
the brute. You have already seen how easy it is for an ape to get 
a name ; but it is not so easy to get rid of it. Some people say 
" cut off the cause, and the effect will cease," but that is not always 
so, as we intend to show. 

You remember the stump from Avhich the monkey jumped on to 
to the pony's back, don't you ? Well, the Ringtailed Major was 
one of your cunning, saynothing sort of politicians, for although he 
often mounted the stump, seldom made a speech. 

Perhaps we forgot to tell you that this particular stump was used 
for a meat-block — but so it was; and on it lay the little camp- 

The Ringtailed Major was tired of parading around. Like use- 
less people in general, he always did pretty much as he pleased ; 
that is to say, loiter about and do nothing at all. So in order to 
have a little fun and frolic on his own account, he mounted the 
stump ; at first he ordered arms, and then sat himself down to rest. 
But neither head, hand nor tail would ever stay still long at a time. 
Sitting a little minute or so, and thinking about nothing, as usual, 
he espied the shining hatchet — "a very fine thing to chop with," 
thought he ; and the Ringtailed Major was all in raptures — tickled 



to the very life 'with the new trinket — he began to express his 
emotions, as all animals do, by the tail. All at once he discovered 
the motion himself, he did. You must know, he was down with his 
hatchet on any thing just then, so completely carried away was he 
with one idea. 

He had chopped his. own tail 
clean off, and left in a hurry, 
long before we got there. 

It is not every one, you see, 
who mounts a stump, that comes 
off whole. 

For many long days we lost 
sight of the retired politician. 
But they are a singular kind of 
animal ; like a cat, you may 
throw them up which way you 
will, they are sure to light on 
their feet. So did the Ring- 
^ tailed Major put the best foot 
- foremost, as we shall see in the 
next chapter. 

If this world be not a place for education of some sort, it has lit- 
tle meaning. The idea that a man should be placed in the circum- 
stances that surround us, and subjected to this great experiment 
without reference to another existence — that he should die as soon 
as he has learned to live — is simply absurd. Admitting, then, that 
we are the subjects of education, how does it become us to see that 
the end of its period do not steal upon us unawares and unprovided. 
How does it become us, as rational men and woman, to make the 
most of our life, and see that in our case, at least, the experiment be 
successful. The man who receives life as a blessing, to be cherished 
and loved, and enjoyed and ^preserved, is a coward if he be afraid 
to consider its intention and its end, and a guilty spendthrift if he 
let it pass by, month after month, and year after year, without se- 
curing the education it was meant to convey. — Cfold Foil. 

€' 1} i 1 r ' s C a I) U , 

The following editorial we have received from Mrs. F. H. Day : — 
There are times when the full heart refuses to give utterance — when the unex- 
pressed words die away in a feeble wail, like the night wind in the desert, and 
sobs and tears choke the utterance of the soul. So has it been with us of late, 
kind Friends and Patrons. Our feet have been treading the paths of earlier 
years — but, alas ! we tread upon the dead. The crisp, sere leaves rustle in our 
pathway, and the winds shriek through the leafless trees — " Gone ! all gone I" — 
the requiem of our heart. 

Here last we listened to a father's voice ; — 'tis a long way down in the shad- 
owy past, for he was called ere we had left the shady paths of childhood ; — and 
here, in after years, we heaped the earth upon our mother's breast. A soft, 
white mantle of snow now rests upon the earthy mound — but we know that 
her spirit is clothed in a robe that is whiter and purer than that. 

Old memories are busy at our heart, strangely blending the joyous and the 
sad together. Here is the very tree, beneath whose shade we sat, book in hand, 
weaving strange, bright fancies of the "days to come." The birds were singing 
in its branches, but they have flown ; and the brook that babbled at our feet, is 
bound in icy chains. All along are litttle hillocks, covered with the cold frosts 
of disappointment — mounds, of buried hopes ; and so it is through lifo, — we 
weave bright dreams, and build airy castles. The dreams must fade, and the 
airy fabrics fall to the ground. Happy are we, when surveying the wreck, if 
we iind the fragments forming the foundation for a more elevated and enduring 
structure, and lofty temple of moral worth — the chief architect of which, is 
earthly discipline — and the dreams fading to give place to the realities of an 
earnest, sincere life^-a life which all must, sooner or later, come to regard as 
a school where thS elements of our being are first brought into action ; — where 
they must be enlarged, and cultivated, and strengthened, until we are prepared to 
graduate from the earthy school-house and take our place in the higher courts 

We are sitting by the side of a sister, whose heart, like Rachel's of old, is 

mourning and Avill not be comforted, " Because her children are not." Twice 

the shadow of the white-winged angel has darkened her home, and each time 

has borne away with him a little child. We know that there are many more 

sitting under the same dark shadow, — some, even in our much loved home on 

the shores of the Pacific. But, we Avould say to all, — beloved sisters, lift your 

hearts to where your treasures are, 

And let 3'oui- troubled souls find peace and rest. 
Your babes are folded to your Father's breast. 

AVe are seated in the " Old Arm -Chair," which was once our mother's ; by 

the side of which, we listened to her counsel, and, unconsciously gathered the 

instruction which was to guide us on our way in after years, from whence her 

blessings descended upon our head, and her prayers for our welfare ascended 

to heaven. We are dipping ink from the very inkstand from which our father 

dipped ere he was called to take up the " Golden Harp ;" and are writing upon 

editor's table. 141 

a table of solid mahogany, which was made for General Irving, of Pievolution- 
ary memory, and from which Dr. Franklin has often partaken of the good things 
needful for the outer man. Smiling upon us from the wall, is the benevolent 
face of General La Fayette, taken from life in 1824. The rich gilt frame is tar- 
nished, and gives signs of decay, but it is still preserved and cherished with 
more care than the more fashionable and elaborate workmanship of modern 
time would be, for it hung in our father's library, and is associated with the 
earliest memory of our childhood's home. Oh, blessed, halcyon days of peace 
and joy! when a father's counsel guided, and a mother's smile cheered on. 
They are gone, forever gone! — but their influence is upon us still, and their 
memories are the guiding stars in our sky, which will never set till our earthly 
pilgrimage be done. 

We have been overhauling the contents of an old walnut secretary, which is 
of itself a, valuable relic of the past. We find strange parchments, old volumes, 
faded and discolored by age, and old, musty papers bearing the handwriting of 
such men as John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, Commodore 0. 
II. Perry, and many others. Oh! Time, Time ! could not the consecration by 
such hands preserve even a bit of paper from thy relentless and destructive 
grasp ? Close to these we find others of later date, bearing the handwriting of 
Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, Wm. Henry Harrison and others, all long since 
fallen asleep. 

Among a file of old papers, we find one bearing date, Erie, Nov. 29th, 1832, 
containing the following obituary notice of the last Signer of the Declara- 
tion OF Independence : — " The last of the Signers is no more. Charles Carroll 
of Carrolton is numbered with the dead. He died at Baltimore on the 14th 
inst., in the 96th year of his age." 

And in the same file we find one from which we make the following extract, 
to show the regard which was then paid to the subject of 

"Female Education. — The Bellows Falls paper gives a pleasant description 
of the marriage of an honest farmer with a young lady just graduated from a 
Female Academy, after a residence therein for about six months. The husband, 
boasting of her learning, says : — ' She can tell the year and the day of the 
month when our forefathers landed at Plymouth; knows, the name of every 
capitol town in the Union ; can tell to an inch how far it is from here to the 
Aniijwdes, I think she calls^'them. If you should bore a hole through the globe, 
and chuck a mill-stone into it, she can tell to a shaving what will become of the 
mill-stone. She is likewise a monstrous pretty painter, and can paint a puppy 
so well that you'd take it for a lion, and a sheep that looks as big and gi-and as 
an elephant. She knows all about chemistry, and says that Avater is composed 
of two kinds of gin, that is to say, ox gin and hydrer gin ; and air is made of 
ox gin and nitre gin, or (what is the same thing in English) salt-petre-gin. She 
says that burning a stick of wood in the fire is nothing but a play of comical 
{chemical) infinity ; and that not a particle of the matter which belonged to the 
stick is lost, but only scattered about like chaff in a hurricane.' " 

Among other things we found an old history of the Revolutionary war, written 
in the style of ancient history, and published in 1793, and make the following 



extract from the fifteenth chapter, beginning at the thirtisenth verse, simply to 
show the graphic st^^le of the author, whose name is to us unknown: — 

" 13. And the war raged with great violence in the- land of Columbia; and 
many houses in the borders thereof were left desolate, great and fair, without 
an inhabitant ; the fields were unoccupied, and the flocks and the herds were cut 
off from their pasture ! 

"14. The widows and the fatherless were multiplied! and the sword de- 
voured the young men ! it was a day of deep distress ! fear and dismay cov- 
ered the faces of the husbandmen! and the joy of harvest was turned into 


" 15. Young children asked for bread and no man brake it unto them — they 
said to their mothers, when will our father return — when shall we see the face 
of our father ? — They looked through the lattice — they saw not him whom their 
souls desired ! 

" 16. .Alas ! he will never return ! — the eye that hath seen him, shall see him 
no more ! — he is gone down to the stones of the pit — he fell by the hand of the 
enemy — the sword of the warrior pierced him through — the sorrows of death 
encompassed him round about!" 

And we find also an old book on Chronology, in the old style of Latin, which 
much resembles the German. It was .printed in 14S5, and although it has seen 
many years, the paper is still strong, firm and good, only a little discolored by 

The next volume that attracts our attention is an original copy of " Speed's 
Great Britaixe," printed in 1623, and richly embellished with engravings of 
the Kings and Queens, from Julius Ctesar to King James the First, to whom it 
is dedicated in the following curious manner: — 


Of Great Britaixe, France And Ireland, King : 
The Most Constant And Most Learned Defender Of The Faith ; En larg- 
er And TJniter Of The British Empire ; RESTORijjt Of The British Name ,: 
EsTABLisHER Of Perpetval Peace, In Church And Commonwealth; Pres- 
ident Of All Princely Virtues And 

Noble Arts. 

HIS maiesties most 

lowly and most loyal Subiect 

and Serwant, consecrateth these his labors, though 

vnworthy the aspect of so high an 


From an old volume of unpublished poems, written by our father, we extract 

the following. How little did he think, when penning these lines, that the ex- 

perieuee of his then infant daughter -vrould teach her so fully to realize and ap- 
preciate the truth of the sentiments so beautifully expressed in the following 
lines : — 


Oh ! 'tis not -vrhen the fairy breeze fans the green ocean, 
That the safety and strength of the barque can be shown ; 
And 'tis not in prosperity's hour, — the devotion — 
The fervor and truth of a friend can be known. 

No ! the barque must be prov'd, when the tempest is howling, 
When dangers and mountain waves close round her press; 
The friend ! — when the sky of adversity 's scowling, 
For the touchstone of friendship 's the hour of distress. 

When prosperity's Day Star beams pure and unclouded, 
Ten thousand will mingle their shouts round the throne — 
But, oh ! let its light for one moment be shrouded. 
And the smiles of the faithless, like shadows, are gone. 

Then comes the true friend, who to guile is a stranger. 
The heart of the lone one to soothe and caress — 
Whose smile, like the Beacon Light blazing in danger, 
Sheds a beam o'er the gloom of the hour of distress. 

Oh ! 'tis sweet mid the horrors of black desolation, 
When pleasure and hope seem eteruall}'' flown — 
When the heart is first lit by the sweet consolation, 
That a haven of happiness yet may be won. 

Grief fades like the night cloud — bliss mingles with sorrow — 
When the first sunny rays through the darkness appear, 
And the Rainbow of Hope beameth bright, as it borrows 
All its splendor and light from a smile and a tear. 

'Tis those who^e life's path have been clouded and cheerless. 
Can feel that full burst of pure transport and bliss. 
When the trusted and tried friend comes boldly and fearless 
To share or relieve the dark hour of distress. 

Past griefs may yet cease to be thought of, but never — 

Can time make the feeling of gratitude less. 

May the blessing of heaven rest for ever and ever 

On Him who forsook not in the hour of distress. 
In an ingeniously constructed private drawer, we find parchment rolls, which 
have evidently been highly valued, as they seem to have been handed down from 
father to son. Some seem to have belonged to our father, and others, again, to his 

=i-W6 onca repeated from mpmory, to Mr. J. M Hutchings, the first two verses of the above article, and 
believe he published them in his magazine ; but the article entire has never before been published. ' 


father, and his father's father before him. There are beautiful but strange de- 
A'ices upon them, and great seals attached ; some with one colored ribbon, and 
some with another. Cold chills crept over us as we touched the time-stained 
memorials, and a voice seemed to whisper, "Beware! for Silence, Union and 
Peace, reign here;" and they to whom these presents once belonged, have been 
indeed "Exalted to the Canopy of Heavei^." So we shut the drawer reverently, 
and turned away, wondering what these things could mean. 

The time allotted for our stay here, has passed; and to-morrow we again re- 
sume our journey, in furtherance of the improvement and extended circulation 
of the Hesperian. Everywhere we meet with encouragement, and the Hesperian 
bids fair to become as great a favorite at the East, as it has hitherto been at its 
own bright home on the shores of the Pacific. It seems long since we parted 
from those bright shores, and our heart is yearning to again resume our place 
among ye. Stern duty here yet says, "Press on," and we ohej hopefully and 
cheerfully, for we have work to do and feel equal to its accomplishment ; and 
moreover, we believe your hearts will not grow cold, nor your confidence be 
dimmed by our absence: and that you will cherish with jealous care the little 
ofi'ering which we have so long sent to you from month to month — and by your 
aid and support, enable us to carry out our intentions of improvement, and en- 
largement, concerning it. 

Mrs. Day, MarcJi, 1860. 

Sheep and Wool. — The rapidly growing interest attached to these subjects, 
has induced us to arrange for a series of papers thereon. Should they meet 
with the favorable attention and approval of the readers of the Hesperian, we 
may probably extend the papers to other branches of agricultural industry, 
such as cheese and butter making, horned cattle &c. 

We present our readers Avith a splendid engraving of General Scott, which 
will doubtless meet a welcome greeting from the admirers of that noble and 
truly great man. The accompanying brief sketch, written by Mrs. F. H. Day 
concentrates in a small space the leading points of the illustrious Avarrior's life. 
We can not imagine a more attractive feature for our California readers, in par- 
ticular, as probably no State in the Union can present a greater proportion of 
warm-hearted friends of General Scott, than does our own golden land. 

Cerros or Cedros Island — The Alia takes us to task for using the name Cer- 
ros, for the aforenamed island, and quotes Prescott to prove the name to be a 
corruption of the word Cedros. We do not know Prescott's authority for the 
statement, but we believe him to be mistaken, and that the probabilities are 
strongly in favor of Cedros being the corrupt and CeiTOS the true name. Any 
one approaching the island from any side will be impressed with the appropri- 
ateness of its name, Cerros ; presenting as it does a clustered mass of moun- 
tains, rising from the water's edge. The Cedar trees, from which its name " Ce- 
dros" is supposed to be derived, grow but sparingly; commencing at an eleva- 
tion of 600 or 700 feet above the water, occupying mostly the deep ravines, and 
to be seen must be sought for with no small labor. I would add, that Cerros is 
the name given by all the voyagers and map-makers ; Cedros being sometimes 
added, but more frequently omitted entirely. 

(Phsica. fasti diet -Kellogg. J 

Drawn from, 'Watnr('jL-y^,prc><ssJv for fh^ HESPERIAN. 



YoL. lY. J U N E , 1 8 6 . No. 4. 



Phaca fastidia. — Kellogg. 
Plants allied to the Pompous Pea or Bastard Yetch, are known to 
be staple articles of culture by the continentel farmer. The roots 
of P. Aboriginum of the Rocky Mountains, are eaten by the In- 
dians ; the leaves of some species are also esteemed medicinal. 
Perhaps no plants are useless when fully known ; every step, there- 
fore, towards a better acquaintance with the vegetable kingdom is 
prophetic of much good to posterity, whatever may be the estimate 
we place upon the few fragmentary facts elicited in our day. A 
few plants of this natural tribe have been cultivated for ornament- 
ing rocky sites in the old country ; they are, however, chiefly inter- 
esting to the scientific inquirer. 

Techtiical Description. — Stem, perennial ; woody at the base, ascending, much 
branched; 1 to 2 feet high; all parts densly white soft villous-tomentose 
striate. Leaflets, oblong, obovate, cuneate at the base ; mucronate, emarginate 
(about J an inch long,) articulated on very short petiolules, hoary, the younger 
leaves white hoary, as is the stem and rachis, 10 to 12 pairs ; rachis grooved 
above, 3 to 4 inches long ; stipules, triangular, accuminate, united below. 

Flowers erect, in a somewhat loose, long raceme, ochroleucous on a slender, 
white villous tomentose peduncle, much longer than the leaves. Calyx tubu- 
lar-campanulate colored, slender subulate teeth; subequal, about half the 
length of the tube, which is slightly S-nerved, hoary-villous on a stipe about 
half the length of the tube. 

Pods inflated, translucently membranaceous, obliquely eliptical, keeled, apex 
acuminate ; short villous ; upper suture slighly introflexed, pod erect on a stipe 
i of an inch long ; bracts subulate. 



Marah minima. — Kellogg. 
The outline figure here given, is a cliaracteristic condensed form of 
tlie natural size of the respective parts of the plant, except as to 

This is a new and interesting cucurbit, found by Dr. J. A. Veatch 
on Cerros Island. The plant tends clearly to confirm the genus 
Marah, instituted by us 
in March, A. D. 1855. 
The description of the 
original species {Marah 
muricata — Kellogg) was, 
however, read before the 
California Academy of 
Natural Sciences about 
two years previous to this 
date. These cucumber- 
like vines have the habit 
of an Echinoeystis, and 
are closely allied to Me- 
garrhiza — the monster, 
mammoth root of this 
coast, also known as 
"Giant of the Earth" 
and "Giant Root," from 
the fantastic human forms 
these tubero-fusiform 
roots often assume. Some 
of the turnip-shaped sort 
we have seen ten feet in circumference. 

The generic name we have chosen is intended to commemorate its 
most eminent quality, viz. : that of the most unmitigated of all 
earthly bitters. Eor further significance, see Exodus, XV., 22 — 26. 

Technical Description. — An herbaceous yine, two feet or more in length, 
scabrous alono- the angles ; tendrils 2-parted ; leaves palmate-cordate-sinuate, 
three to five-lobed, (seldom cordate-angled), one to two inches area ; petioles 


about the length of the lamina, both surfaces scabrous in the recent state — when 
dry, studded with minute silicious bulte or shagTeen-scabrous, minutely 
toothed. Sterile flowers in compound racemes, two to three inches in length, 
from the same axils as the fertile, greenish white, companulate-rotate, border 
five-parted, calyx teeth minute or obsolete. Fertile flower on a long stipitate 
tube, calyx segments minute, acute or subulate, stigma with globular lobes 
obliterated. Fruit small, quarter to half an inch in length, echinate (prickles 
stout with a broad base) oblong-eliptic or somewhat obliquely inflated and 
tapering to either extremity, two-celled, longitudinal dissepiment complete and 
persistent, bursting at the apex, forming a double orifice, which form remains 
by the strong mareescent rigid parieties. as seen in the figure ; " " represents 
the double orifice of the pepo. The seeds ("S'" in the fig.) are oblong, flat- 
tened, somewhat truncate above, narrowed at the hilum, black, minutely warted 
or rough ; imbricately ascending, two or more in eaeh cell. 

We have a drawing and specimens of quite another form, if not 
a distinct species, from the interior. These were brought before 
the Academy about five years since. Did our space allow, it would 
aiford us much pleasure to speak of their medical properties. 



Upper California, when conquered by the Americans in 1846, con- 
tained about 5000 Mexican inhabitants, who with their fathers and 
grandfathers had lived here sixty or seventy years. Their chief 
occupation and the main source of their wealth were furnished by 
their herds of kine, horses and sheep. Most of them dwelt in the 
country upon ranches which had been granted to them for purposes 
of pasturage by the Mexican Government. They held their lands 
under written titles, supposed to be, in most cases, legally perfect 
under the laws of Mexico. The government of that country never 
questioned or denied the validity of such grants as those held by the 
Californians. The grants were made to suit the habits and wants 
of the people. The Californians owned large herds, which were 
never fed on cultivated food, never kept in fields, nor placed under 
shelter. In a country where an almost unbroken drought reigns 


from May to November, and where cattle get no food, save wild and 
indigenous grasses, much more land is required to sustain a cow, 
than in those lands where careful cultivation and frequent rains pro- 
vide a regular and certain abundance of food through the year. A 
fertile soil, like that of a large portion of the Mississippi valley, 
will sustain five or six head of cattle to the acre, but here three 
acres of uncultivated fertile land are necessary for the support 
of one cow. Herds of thousands of kine were not uncommon 
in California under the Mexican dominion. To accommodate 
these cattle great tracts of land were necessary. The public 
land was granted not by the acre, as in the American States, but 
by the square league, (containing 4438 acres) which was "the unit of 
measurement" in granting public lands outside of the towns. The 
government granted away its lands willingly, and without compensa- 
tion; no pay was required ; the only condition of the grant was that 
the grantee should occupy the land, build a house on it, and put 
several hundred head of cattle on it. Whenever he promised to 
comply with those conditions, he could get a grant of any piece of 
public land of eleven square leagues or less, for which he might pe- 
tition. It was a grand Mexican homestead law ; and the chief com- 
plaint made about it, was by the government, that the number of 
applicants for grants was not greater. The grants were not made 
according to the American land system, which would have been en- 
tirely unsuited to the wants and habits of the Mexican people. The 
public lands in California were never surveyed. I do not know 
whether a Mexican surveyor was ever seen in California ; I feel 
confident that no ranch was ever surveyed and its boundaries de- 
scribed with bearings and distances previous to 1846. The descrip- 
tions of the land granted were very vague. In most cases a certain 
number of leagues were given within well known natural land-marks, 
which might include a district of fifty or a hundred miles square. 
In such case, the grantee could loc;ite his ranch at any place within 
the limits. Sometimes a grant of so many leagues was made at a 
place to which a name had been affixed by the Indians or Califor- 
nians, and then the ranch included that spot ; sometimes a ranch 
was described as bounded on one side by a range of mountains, on 
another by a river, and on other sides by ranches of older date. 
The Californians did not quarrel about their boundaries. If A's 


cattle crossed to B's ranch for better pasture in the summer, B's 
would probably go to A's at another season. The herds were not 
closely kept. The cattle roamed about almost in a wild state, often 
unseen of man for months. So wild were they, that though they 
knew very well that a man on horseback was a superior animal and 
their master, yet they considered a man on foot as a base and fero- 
cious beast, and attacked him as they would attack a wolf. Their 
owner knew his property only by the brand placed on them when 
they were calves. From the time when the red hot iron burned into 
their flesh, they roamed untouched by the hands of man, until fate 
decreed that they should be slaughtered to furnish fresh meat for 
their master's household, or hide and tallow for foreign commerce. 
Evidently this people, with such habits and such occupations, did not 
need to have their lands precisely described. Most of the titles 
were legally valid under the Mexican law. There was no motive to 
commit fraud because land was of little value, and great tracts of 
rich soil were, up to the time of the American conquest, open to 
every petitioner. In most cases the actual occupation took place 
previous to 1840, and had never been interrupted. This occupation, 
the most conclusive proof of good faith, and an equitable title in 
itself, was notorious, and susceptible of proof by hundreds of wit- 
nesses. The paper titles were mostly of indubitable genuineness, 
written by the hands of well known officials, bearing regular num- 
bers, referred to in public lists of land titles, and mentioned in gov- 
ernment documents of various kinds. The proof of the genuineness 
of the title papers, the good faith of the claimants, and the equi- 
table validity of the claims in nine cases out of ten was abundant, 
and, to any man at all acquainted with the subject, indubitable. 
It was then evidently the duty of the Government of the United 
States to provide for the summary examination of the documents, 
and in every case, where genuine title papers were found with an- 
cient occupation, to order a survey for the establishment of bound- 
aries, giving to the claimant, at least a prima facie recognition of 
title, subject, perhaps, to investigation in the courts, if any person 
should see fit to assail the validity of the grant. But the Federal 
Government pursued a policy very different from this plain duty. 
It delayed action through '48, '49 and '50; and first in '51 passed 
an act nominally to " settle " private land claims in California, but 


really to unsettle them and the whole country, and keep them un- 
settled. That act provided for the organization of a court or land 
commission to try these claims; declared every grant of land in 
California to be legally void, though it might he equitably good, and 
provided that every equitably good claim should be lost to the owner 
unless he should sue the United States in that court, and gain the 
suit there or on appeal ; and that there should he an appeal to the 
TJ. S. District Court and thence to the U. S. Supreme Court. In all 
these courts the claimant was to be opposed — that is persecuted — 
by a law agent appointed by the United States, with instructions to 
contest every claim to the utmost. The land commission organized 
in San Francisco on the 1st of January, 1852, and continued its 
sessions until the 3d of March, 1855, when it expired by limitation. 
It had received 813 petitions. The owner of land, under grant 
from Mexico, was compelled to petition the Government of the 
United States for the privilege of keeping it. Of these 813 peti- 
tions, some were for lands which had never been occupied ; in some 
cases there were two or three petitions from different persons claim- 
ing the same piece of land under the same original grant. In some 
cases the original grantee had sold out a large ranch to a number of 
Americans, each of whom presented a petition for his piece ; and in 
perhaps 25 or 30 cases, the title papers were forged ; leaving about 
600 original ranches which had been held under indubitably genuine 
written title and notorious occupation. 

Thus there were 813 important law suits involving the titles to 
10,000,000 acres, nearly all the private lands in the state, to be 
tried in one court. This tribunal had three judges, good lawyers, 
and industrious, honest men. No serious complaint has ever been 
made against any of them. They did what they could. When, at 
the end of three years, the time came for them to close their court, 
they had dispatched all the cases. The trials had been fair, the hear- 
ings deliberate and public, the opposition on the part of the U. S. 
law agents stubborn. All the law agents were competent men, and 
no one can justly complain that the interests of the United States 
were neglected by any one of them. The claimants had been kept in 
litigation three years ; they had been compelled to bring numerous 
witnesses from remote parts of the State, to pay for interpreters, 
to fee lawyers at rates unheard of before in the world, to dance 


attendance upon the court, and to leave their homes and their busi- 
ness for months at a time ; but this was not enough. In every case 
where the land commission confirmed a claim, the United States 
Government ordered an appeal to be taken to the U. S. District 
Court. This was nominally an appeal, but really an order for a 
new trial. Every question of fact and law was opened anew. Wit- 
nesses were again examined ; the whole case was tried as in the orig- 
inal proceeding. There are two U. S. District Courts ; one for the 
Northern and another for the Southern part of the State ; each 
being the appellate court for all the lands wihin its own jurisdiction. 
Each of these two courts had other business besides land suits ; and 
in the Northern District where the most important cases lay, the 
court had almost as much admirality business alone as the judges of 
Federal Districts in the Atlantic States have to manage. Both these 
Californian District judges were good men. There has been no com- 
plaint against Ogier in the Southern District, so far as I know ; and 
of Judge Hoffmam, in the Northern District, I can say from a long 
personal acquaintance with him, that I believe him to be an honest 
man, and as a lawyer, more competent for the position (with his 
present experience,) than any other man in the United States. In 
these courts, too, the "interests of the United States" were pro- 
tected by able and industrious lawyers instructed to oppose the 
Mexican land claims to the utmost. Seven years have elapsed since 
the first case was appealed from the land commission, and there are 
now a number of cases still undecided in the District Courts : but 
in most of the cases decided the claims of the Mexican grant hold- 
ers were confirmed a second time. The Federal Government still 
not satisfied to let the claimants cater their lands, ordered appeals 
to the U. S. Supreme Court at Washington. This order was not 
accompanied by any proper provision to pay the clerks for making 
out the transcripts, and as the appeal could never be decided and 
the claimant never get a perfect title until the transcript should be 
sent up, and as the transcript never could go up until the clerk had 
received his fees, so, the claimant was often compelled to pay the 
expenses of the transcript, amounting in some cases to several hun- 
dred dollars. This was an expense which custom and law impose 
upon the appellant, but in these cases, the United States made no 
provision for repaying the respondent, although he was compelled 


to advance the money. After the appeals had been talcen to the 
court of the last resort, the U. S. Attorney General ordered the 
appeals to be dismissed in about 400 cases, and in about 40 cases 
the U. S. Supreme Court have given judgment in favor of the claim- 
ants, making 440 claims finally confirmed. About 140 claims have 
been abandoned by the claimants or finally rejected by the courts, 
and this estimate would leave 230 cases still before the courts for 
adjudication upon their merits. 

I have said that 440 cases have been finally confirmed, but final 
confirmation is not equivalent to final settlement. Up to 1859 it 
was supposed that when judgment on appeal had been rendered in 
private land claim by the U. S. Supreme Court, in favor of the 
claimant, that the litigation between him and the federal govern- 
ment, so far as that title was concerned, was at an end. But last 
year a new law was passed by the U. S. Supreme Court, requiring 
the surveys of the Californian ranches to be subject to review by 
the U. S. District Courts. The exact boundaries of the claim could 
only be determined by a survey, and in large ranches, where the 
boundaries were not clearly defined, the location of the ranch be- 
came a matter of very great importance, often involving values of 
tens and even hundreds of thousands of dollars. This power of 
locating the ranches and fixing their boundaries, was placed by the 
U. S. statutes in the U. S. Surveyor General. The Act of 1851 
expressly provides that the U. S. Surveyor General of California 
should ha,ve the same power in regard to the location of the ranches 
as was conferred on the Register and Receiver of Louisiana by the 
Act of March 31, 1851 ; and that Act said : — " In relation to all 
such confirmed claims as may conflict or in any way interfere with 
each other, the Register of the Land Office and Reciever of Public 
Moneys for the proper district are hereby authorized to decide be- 
tween the parties. * * * And it shall be the duty of the Sur- 
veyor General of the said State to have those claims surveyed and 
platted in accordance with the decisions of the Register and Re- 
ceiver." It will be remembered that the conflicting claims in Louis- 
iana, were private land grants, similar to those of California. With 
the surveys of the private land claims in Louisiana and Florida, the 
courts never had any thing to do ; and those claims were numerous, 
important, long contested, were often made the subject of congres- 


sional action, and were frequently under consideration before the 
U. S. Supreme Court. An Act of Congress of July 4tli 1836, ex- 
pressly styles the surveying of public lands and private claims " an 
executive duty," and prescribes that it should be "subject to the 
supervision and control of the General Land Office." In the case 
of Cousin vs. Blanc s JEJxecutors et al., (19iA Howard, 209) the U. 
S. Supreme Court said " the confirmation is an incipient United 
States title, which our Government, in its political capacity, reserved 
to itself the power to locate by survey and to grant by the acts of 
executive officers, with which the courts of justice have no jurisdic- 
tion to interfere." This represents the unquestioned law and the 
invariable practice until 1859, vfhen the U. S. Supreme Court, by a 
decision unparalleled in the jurisprudence of the country, insolently 
set aside the plain language of the statutes, and overthrew the 
ancient customs, and violated its own previous judgment, and all 
without so much as a word of justification or even a reference to 
the adverse statutes or decisions. Judge Campbell, who delivered 
the opinion, spoke as though, in establishing the new practice^ he 
was merely " relaxing " the rigidity of an old " rule," and without the 
slightest hint that he was violating the express language of a con- 
gressional enactment of unquestioned constitutionality. The conse- 
quence of his new rule was, that 420 out of the 440 finally confirm- 
ed claims, are thrown into the courts again ; their settlement is 
postponed for an indefinite time, the owners are burdened with new 
litigation, with indefinite deferment of their hopes, with increased 
costs, and the country is again cheated out of quiet titles, perma- 
nent settlers, permanent improvements, and all those blessings of 
inestimable value which come only with numerous fixed and happy 
homes, and the best regulated social order. 

While the government has thus, during twelve years, not simply 
refused to confirm the land titles granted by Mexico, but make bit- 
ter and unceasing war upon them, and compelled the claimants to 
bear the expense of the warfare, these claimants have had to sufl"er 
from the assaults of other and still more dangerous and vexatious 
enemies — the squatters ; who, while ostensibly left without counte- 
nance by the law, were really often engaged in an ofiensive and de- 
fensive alliance with the officers of the government. The squatters 
took the land, occupied it, drove away the owner's cattle, cut down 


his trees, fenced in his springs, paid him no rent, paid no taxes, by 
their influence forced him to pay the taxes on the land they were 
occupying, and assessed the taxes at most exorbitant rates. This 
system was not rare but frequent — it was practiced on not one but 
a hundred ranches. And then, with the money derived from the 
land thus obtained, they paid lawyers to appear in the name of the 
United States and contest the owner's title and delay a decision, 
and then after decision to get up a contest about the survey and 
delay a settlement of the boundaries. I do not mean to say that 
every Mexican claim is good or every squatter wrong ; my purpose 
in this article is only to complain of the vast injustice done to the 
owners of honest and legally valid claims which are the great ma- 
jority of all presented to the courts. 

It is twelve years since Americans became the rulers of Califor- 
nia, and land titles are no nearer a settlement than tbey should have 
been ten years ago, if a proper system had been adopted. The 
great question about the boundaries, which should have been the 
main subject of action, is now just where it was then. The claim- 
ants have sold two-fifths of their land to pay the expenses of litiga- 
tion — that is said to be a modest estimate by those familiar with the 
subject — and they are not yet done. They have been despoiled of 
two-fifths of their land, deprived of the possession of a large por- 
tion of the remainder, and prevented from selling it while they saw 
its value, in many cases, decreasing steadily with the decay of busi- 
ness consequent on the exhaustion of the richest placer mines. 
Judge Hoffman has been using his influence to have a bill passed by 
Congress to make an end of the litigation in regard to these claims, 
where there is abundant evidence of the genuineness of the title 
papers, and also ancient occupation. I have not seen this bill, 
but I doubt not that it is such a measure as is needed to prevent 
further injustice. 

The injury done to the country by the delay in the settlement of 
the land titles is, to a considerable extent, irreparable. That delay 
has caused us to lose, or has prevented our gaining, a population 
of a million citizens, of the most valuable class. Two hundred 
thousand men have left our State forever — half of them because they 
could not get permanent homes here — and they prevented as many 
more from coming, who would have come if they could have had 


certain land titles. Not less than fifty thousand men have left us 
because of the unsteadiness of business and the lack of employment, 
caused by want of unquestioned ownership of the soil. Thus I es- 
timate that the delay in settling our land titles has cost us 250,000 
men, representing a total population of 1,000,000 persons. The 
golden flood, the grand rush of business, the unexampled prosperity 
which passed over the State from 1849 to 1853, has passed away for 
ever ; it is too late to repair the damage ; fifty years of peace and 
justice can not place California where she now would have been had 
justice and sound policy been adopted twelve years ago. 



'Tis twilight's holy hour — 
The dlstaat evening rays but faintly streak 
The western sky. The discord of the day 
Is hushed in holy silence. Now is heard 
The lonely whippowil, in yonder grove, 
To chant its melancholy requiem 
To the departed day. The moon, pale queen 
Of mysteries, novf casts her beams athwart 
The gentle lake, and throws a charm of soft 
Enchantment o'er the scene around. She waves 
Her wand o'er nature's mantled charms, and quick 
Unfolds the mystic beauties veiled in night. 

There is a calm low ausic 'mid 

These moonlit scenes, that wins my very soul. 

Ah, yes! I consecrate this holy hour 

To memory and tears. My soul goes back 

To years enshrined within the misty past ; 

To childhood's fairy dreams — to loved ones, loved 

And lost — the sunshine of my better years. 

A dream comes o'er my wandering spirit, when 

I think of childhood's early season ; yes, 

I kneel beside my gentle mother's knee 

To say my evening prayer ; an3 then a soft. 

Sweet voice, in tones of love, is heard as she, 

In her maternal bliss, doth push aside 

The clustering locks about my brow, and breathes 

Into mine ear a sweet "good night." 


Sweet, delusive dream — 
But ah ! too quick iny spirit must awake 
To cold reality. Alas ! how dark and drear 
The gloom in which I wake. In a strange land, 
Far, far away from childhood's cottage home. 
Mysterious fate hath marked my dreary way. 
Along my path are strewn the withered flowers, 
The buds and verdant leaves of hope and joy. 
Once nourished and made sweet, by genial dews, 
Within the holy atmosphere of love. 

The friendly ray, that lights my pilgrim thoughts 

To sunnier days, reflects upon the dark 

And desolate ruins of my life 

In later years, only to cast a gloom 

More deep — " to render darkness visible." 

Oh ! where are those whose love 
So blessed my early years ? Oh ! where are all 
The joyous ones that shared my bliss, in hours 
Of merriment, at our old village school? 
Tell me, ye softly sighing zephyrs, have 
Ye seen, in distant climes, aught of the ones 
I love? Have ye not fanned the burning brow 
Of some lone stranger at the \'evj hour 
When he was dreaming too, perchance, of home 
And friends ? Tell me, ye madly rolling river — 
Just emblem of the swift, impetuous stream 
Of Time — have ye seen aught of those I love ? 
Tell me ye bright and glorious stars above, 
Within the far empyrean depths of heaven, 
Have ye, in thy majestic paths, looked down 
Upon our little sphere and traced the paths 
Of those I love? Tell me, ye fleeting years, 
Beneath whose giant reign empires are crushed 
And sceptres shaken from the tja'ant hand, 
Oh, tell me, if amid thy spoil is found 
Those who have made the sunlight of my life 
In childhood's happy years ? A voice, from out 
The hidden depths of old eternity, 
Thrills through my soul, and bids me look above 
This transient Tife to a brighter land, where all 
The blessed shall live and reign forever, 'mid 
The heavenly choristers that sing the songs 
Of praise forever to their God. 


BY S. C. H. 

"Dreaming this delicious night, 
'Neath the Ma3'-nioon's eyes of light, 
While the stars look tremblingly through 
Evening's cloister gates of blue." — M. S. Chit'wood. 

It was on a fair May morning, years ago, as tlie soft pale light of 
early dawn fell over earth, that two girlish forms emerged from the 
low, latticed door of an old farm-house, and passing through a little 
flower garden, among wet lilacs and balsams, lilies and moss roses, 
heavily laden with the gems of night, they stopped beside an old, 
rude summer-h(3use, which looked like a relic of some by-gone age, 
and fell busily to work planting a small rose tree at either side of 
the door ; this done, they passed slowly back to the shadow of the 
vine- wreathed porch. All was silent in the wide forest aisles ; no 
bird had broke the solemn stillness with his morning hymn ; the very 
world seemed steeped in peace and rest. What were they planting 
at that weird hour, when all else was wrapped in the drowsy wings 
of sleep ? Ah ! they had not left the fairy land of youth, arched 
with rainbows and illuminated with romance ; and so, in the gray 
dawn of the May-day, each had planted a fortune tree, henceforth 
to be looked to as a Prophet of Destiny, with all the unquestioning 
faith of life's bright May. A year stole by, with muffled footsteps, 
and both had gone out from the old home. One dwelt by the shore 
where Michigan's surge sings its loud anthem ; the other stood by 
the turbid waters of the dark Missouri. Another year lapsed into 
the tomb of time : one lived in a wild mart of trade, surrounded by 
the ceaseless hum of toiling labor ; the other one had wandered still 
farther, even to the green hills of the sunset land, and sat idly toss- 
ing bright showers of buds and blossoms into a singing stream, that 
dashed them onward, over tiny cataracts, through mimic whirlpools, 
down the rapids and out of sight. Even as we carelessly drop many 
a flower and treasure on the hurrying waves of life, we see them 
floating, eddying on, and on, but they are forever beyond our grasp; 
naught but their pale spectres will come back to us from the depths 
of that boundless gulf — the buried Past. Other May-days have 
come and gone, yet the barques that were launched together, and 
sailed away from Sweet Some, still drift on distant seas, widely sev- 



ered, and the tide sweeps them onward regardless of the fervent 
wish, so often breathed, that some returning wave might bear them 
back to that enchanted land that only their youthful feet have trod 
— the Eden we may enter never more. Even if we could repass the 
folded gates, how profitless would be the poor reward ; what infinite 
pain and sorrow would be ours. For the glorious temples of our 
hearts' morning worship lie in ruins, the altars «,re broken, dust and 
ashes cover th^e dearest shrines, blight and mildew have destroyed 
the fair buds of promise — only fragments of white tombs mark the 
places where we buried our treasures in the "long ago." 

As we travel back in thought on the dusty pathway, marked by 
these May-day mile stones, there rise pleasant pictures of the genial 
friends, the hospitable homes, the new joys and aspirations, that 
were found in the strange land. But all our love could not be trans- 
planted from the old home to the new ones ; nor the hurry of life's 
earnest labor dim the glory of the memories that cluster around it. 
And sometimes, as the seal' of a letter is broken, there glides out 
the pale phantom of a once bright rose. The petals are crisped and 
withered, the glossy leaves of green turned to a dingy brown, and 
only the faintest breath of its perfume lingers, but that tells us, with 
a voice more "eloquent than words," that the Fortune Trees still 
live and blossom, tended by fond hearts, that wait and watch for the 
return of those who still walk in spirit with them. Though the 
tears may dim our eyes, and a throb of pain stir the pulses of our 
hearts, we hear a sweet voice singing of other Mays, of reunited 
households, and lost hopes arisen unto fairer life — 

" A lovely rhyme of the far-off lands 

Where the mea,dows are ever in bloom, 
Where never can come the folded hands, 

The silence, nor the tomb."' 

ArFECTATiON labors with a diligence which fatigues every spectator, 
but with infallible success, to defeat its own purpose ; for instead of 
creating love or admiration, it provokes our aversion and contempt. 
The most amiable people are always the least affected. Let us make 
the best of what nature has done for us ; she may be improved, but 
all attempts to alter her from her original shape will only expose us 
to ridicule. — Dr. Armstrong. 




" Old Fellet," as he was called in the village, was as shrewd in the 
world's affairs as many a hetter educated man, and would congratu- 
late himself as he complacently clapped his pocket which contained 
his well filled wallet, that, despite the want of school advantages in 
youth, he had profited by the rougher lessons of the world — and 

made himself what he truly was, the richest man in B . None 

could get ahead of him in a bargain, oh! no ; a " trade " was his 
amusement, and as he would say — " morely his profit, too." He 
learned all the modus operandi, — [not that such a name ever en- 
tered his head, he called them "tricks "] when he used to swap jack 
knives with the boys at school, nor did they find, until they endeav- 
ored to use them, that the blades were of his own fashioning from 
sundry bits of hoop iron. As he grew up he naturally extended his 
operations, and I've often heard him say, " Men are greater fools 
than boys in a trade, for the boys never get bit the second time, no 
matter if the cheat is under a new name — while on the contrary, 
men would get pinched over and over again as often as the specula- 
tion took a new form." 

Of course he had married, and even in that speculation he had 
managed to get the best of the bargain — not that he was by any 
means a bad man — only a little hard — but when a man whose feel- 
ings and affections are measured, ruled and squared by the " al- 
mighty dollar " gets for a wife one in whose soul flows the mighty 
tide of pure affection, and whose heart is the well-spring of truth 
and charity — may well be said to get the best of the bargain. He 
by no means hoarded his gains, nor yet expended them with a lav- 
ish hand; but surrounded himself with the necessities of life; 
every thing, even in his substantial way, was of the best. He was 
shrewd even in that, and a bit of a philosopher as well. " Cheap 
things cost more than the better," he said. Though money was his 
idol he never plumed himself upon its possession, but was "hand in 
glove " with every one in the village. He had an idea — a sort of 
compound one — that money ruled the world — partly right in that 



as the world's history shows — and that " every man had his price." 
It was to him the Archimedean lever which could raise the world. 
"Gold," he would argue, " would buy the affections, bribe honesty, 
and outweigh even virtue itself in the scale." 

He had but one child, a daughter, on whom he bestowed all the 
affection he could feel for anything but dollars. He said he some- 
times felt the want of "school larning," and so gave her, not what 
we would call now-a-days a finished education, but one of the good 
solid kind, a matter-of-fact, plain, downright education of sense and 
reason. She could superintend the dairy or place upon the table a 
dinner, far better than she could execute Mozart or Bethoven upon 
the piano — though I would not infer that she was without ladylike 
accomplishments,. She was a smart girl, with more common sense — 
not that I would be ungallant to the sex, but truth is truth — than is 
possessed, or at at least shown, by the young ladies of the present 
day. She possessed a great deal of her father's opinion of the 
world without his idiosyncrasy ; for, like all girls whose minds first 
bend beneath the holy influence of a true mother's guidance, she 
felt there was goodness in life not actuated by hard gold, shine it 
never so brightly. Tall and finely formed, possessed of a free and 
open disposition, and a natural kindness of heart quite refreshing 
to Avitness ; honest, soul-speaking eyes, and in fact a face of fresh 
country beauty sufficiently attractive to affect any heart — not that 
I bowed to her shrine, I only admired, while my heart was given to 

quite a different person, and who but I am not telling you my 

own experience. I was not a native of the town, but was there 
studying. As is the case in most New England towns, girls were 
admitted to the seminary; nor is it a bad plan,, let prudes say what 
they will. A discreet association of youths of the opposite sexes 
must exercise a beneficial influence over the disposition. I am no 
believer in the doctrine of total depravity, but really think that in 
every heart, however bad, there is one bright spot, one sweet, re- 
vered memory, which, traced back, will be found to have had its 
origin in that innocent association with girls, in youth. Nothing 
could incite us boys to effort so quickly as the approval of those 
dear girls, and where we felt no interest in the prizes themselves, 
we would outdo ourselves to win them to gain their sweet approving 
smiles. I look back with so much pleasure to the innocent enjoy- 


ment of those days, so bright with sweetest memories. And who 
shall say that the remembrance of those hours has not given me 
strength to fight the hard battle of life ? Years have passed since 
then, and we have become widely separated over the earth. They 
are mostly married — the girls — while some sleep the sleep that 
knows no waking; and where our light, happy feet were wont to 
tread, as we wandered unthinkingly among the homes of the dead, 
they now rest ; and in time to come, if God spares my life, I shall 
weep my tears of fond regret over their graves. They are nothing 
to me now, save in the memories of the past, but their sweet associ- 
ation has left a mark of respect for their sex, and a love for their 
innocence. Mothers now, they extend to their offspring that love 
and protection their mothers felt for them ; while in the quiet church- 
yard some weep over the lost pledges of their earthly love — bright 
messengers gone before to herald their approach to Heaven, who 
stand with open arms to welcome to bliss those who, in their deso- 
late hearts, weep their loss. 

Of my schoolmates amongst the boys, was one Herold Thornbury, 
my particular chummy. Possessed of a gallant heart, fine person, 
and manly disposition ; endowed with a good mind and qualities of 
a true gentleman, he, to use our schoolboy phrase, walked right into 
the hearts of every one, and more particularly into that of Anne 
Fellet. He was always her escort home from singing-school or our 
little reunions. Her father never entertained the thought that love 
could spring up between a boy and girl, which should last and burn 
only the brighter as years added to its warmth. Her companions 
knew it though, and she was ever called by us, after the wont of 
schoolmates, Mrs. Thornbury, which by no means displeased her. 

By and by, the time came for us to leave school. Herold Avent to 
the neighboring city to study law, while I quietly settled myself 
down to study medicine with the old doctor in the town. My only 
ambition then was to marry the girl of my heart, and succeed to the 
old doctor's business. I used to help make up the mails once in a 
while. I was of an inquiring mind, and liked to have my hand in 
whatever was going forward, and I used to see, very often, letters 

directed to " Herold Thornbury, ," in a hand- writing I well 

knew, but as my bump of secretiveness was well developed, and the 
post-master was less a gossip than most of his tribe, it was not gen- 


erally known that they corresponded. Once in a while he would 
come to the town, but never seemed to show her much attention 
publicly, though my inquiring mind, before referred to, led me, 
from no spirit of mischief however, to meet them in unfrequented 
places at most unusual hours. While he was away she did not seem 
to fret, mope, and pine, but went singing around the house as if no 
such important secret held possession of her heart. I wondered he 
did not speak to her father about his love, for I thought he might 
ask a King for his daughter and not fear a refusal, and as for old 
Fellet, I felt sure he would jump at the chance. Herold knew bet- 
ter, however ; he was far better acquainted with the old man than I. 
He knew the father would laugh at him, as he had no money. But 
he did not let that make him despair, nor lose a pound of flesh ; in 
fact, I thought he looked better every time he came to town. In a 
shorter time than common he entered at the bar, and she wrote 
"Esq." after his name. He looked so flushed and happy when he 
told me he was going to open an office in the town ; and quite star- 
tled the squire, and the hum-drum bit of parchment over the 'way, 
when he put up his modest sign, bearing the words : 


Attorney at Law. 

The old lawyer was a thin, spare man, exceedingly tall, with a dis- 
agreeable stoop in his narrow shoulders. His hair was very thin, 
of a cold watery hue, and plastered down over his mildewy forehead, 
as I have since seen on the skulls of the dead. He was always say- 
ing in a sort of apology for his goggles, that " full, prominent eyes 
were typical of language." His thin, pressed lips, which looked as 
though he was always addressing crab-apple sentences to a dyspep- 
tic jury on an especially astringent subject, were overhung by his 
long, pinched nose, the end of which organ w^as plentifully adorned 
with long, white hairs, which earned him the appellation of " Feather 
Nose," and by which he was usually called by the boys and young 
men of the town, and, if I must add — by persons whose age at 
least should teach them bettter. Herold got his first case. A meek, 
humble man, just outside the village, had been imposed upon time out 
of mind by an opulent neighbor, whose cattle would break down his 
fences. Of course he could get no redress, and, when one day they 


broke into his field and destroyed his corn, he told the o-wner of the 
refractory cattle that he must pay or he'd sue. Opulence smiled; 
told him to pitch in, adding, as insult to injury, that he had a few 
dollars that he would like to spend for such amusement. The poor 
fellow called on Feather Nose ; but Feather Nose was lawyer to 
Opulence, and couldn't help him, but sarcastically referred him to 
the "up-start across the way, who had come into the town to steal 
bread out of honest persons' mouths, and would doubtless be glad to 
help such a scheme." 

As his only chance, he applied to Herold, and as a consequent 
a process was the next day served upon Opulence. A case to be 
tried — Poverty vs. Opulence — that toas good ; but before the 
day came round, old Feather Nose said so much about it that 
we all lost sight of the true merits of the case in the consideration 
that it was to be a trial of skill between the lawyers ; and Her- 
old's old schoolmates crowded the court-room to help him with 
their smiles. Opulence had such an array of witnesses that it 
quite crushed Poverty. Feather Nose was bitter, very bitter ; his 
lips looked more crab-apply than ever — while his goggle eyes 
became painfully prominent as he struggled to eject his ponder- 
ous words, looking once in a while at Herold as if he expected 
him to sink beneath their weight. Then, Herold, who had hitherto 
been easy with Feather Nose, opened his battery ; astonished the 
squire, took the jury by storm, and so completely crushed Feather 
Nose that he made never another effort; so won his case amid our 
congratulations. This was a starting point, and his business grew 
rapidly. One morning he saw old Fellet in the field, and he walked 
out to meet him. Fellet had noticed Herold's partiality for Anne, 
but was not quite prepared for such an interview as was about to 
take place. He liked Herold for " wiping out old Feather Nose " ; 
but — to mary his daughter — humph ! that was another thing. 

"Good morning, Mr. Fellet," said Herold; "good growing 
weather, this." "Yes, yes, fairish," returned the farmer, casting his 
eyes up to the sky (as I notice all farmers do ; I don't know why, 
when speaking of crops.) ****** 

I was standing in the laboratory making a mixture for Mrs. 
Jinkins, who was forever sending for the doctor in the dead hour of 
the night to come and save her life. At one time it was a snake 


she had swallowedj and at another she felt assured she was going 
mad from a bite she had received from a dog about half a century 
before — and I saw Herold and Fellet talking. It's coming now, 
sure enough, thought I. Fellet was evidently uneas}'' ; I could see 
that from the way he kicked up the turf; and Herold's self-posses- 
sion seemed "over the river." 

"Looks like rain? " observed Herold. " Can't say it does," an- 
swered Fellet, after a pause of a few minutes. Herold broke the 
silence by saying : " I don't think it will rain for a month." " Think 
it will rain as soon as the moon changes, day arter to-morrow," 
resumed Fellet. 

" Pshaw ! I'm a fool !" said Herold to himself; and then spring- 
ing oiBF the fence walked quite close up to the old man, saying aloud, 
but with evident embarrassment : " I've — I've — I've — in fact, Mr. 
Fellet, I want to speak with you on a very important affair." 

" Now my advice is," said he — seeing what was coming and wish- 
ing to " stave it off" — "don't enlarge your business faster than it 
wants to come. Keep on jist as yer are for the present; yer'll do 
better in the end — better in the end. Here, you, Jake ! drive 
out them cows "; and off he started down the field hallooing to one 
of his men. Herold was not to be "shaken off" in that way, and 
quietly followed, collecting himself as he went. When he came to 
where the farmer was standing — who, seeing he could not well 
avoid the conversation, determined to stand it like a man — he 
pitched right into the subject. "It is not about my office business," 
he said, "that I came to speak — that's as well as I can expect — 
but about something of more importance." 

"More important than money, young man!" ejaculated Fellet, 
forcibly emphasizing money. "Nothing can be more important 
than money." 

"Yes there is, sir," rejoined Herold. "There's no use beating 
round the bush — I love your daughter, sir ; have loved her long and 
truly, and am happy to say she returns that affection, and vre only 
await your sanction to our union to make us perfectly happy — nay, 
hear me, sir," he continued, observing Fellet about to interrupt 
him — "my business is ample to support us in an humble way. A 
bright future — " 

" Faugh ! on the future ; what have you now ?" broke in the farmer. 


"Not much, but — " 

*' That's jest it, Mr. Thornbury ; that's jest it ; the present is 
what Tve want ; huts don't count 'till they're turned to dollars.' " 

"Dollars," said Herold, impatiently; " are there no other con- 
siderations but dollars ! " 

" There may be," rejoined Fellet, imperturbably ; "but they all 
hinge on them." And he looked over his broad farm unconsciously, 
as it were, slapped his pockets and listened, with a pleasant look in 
his eyes, to the merry jingle of the coin within. 

"But you don't mean, sir, to sell your daughter for dollars, do 
you?" rather exclaimed than asked Herold. 

" Sell? " He returned as if he questioned tlie possibility of such 
an interrogatory, for she was perhaps the only thing possessed by 
him he would net have sold for a bargain, — "^Sell!" he repeated, 
" no ; I have something to give when she leaves me." 

" Keep your money and l§t me have her," added Herold. 

"Now there's no use talking this e're way," rejoined Fellet, by 
way of answer; "my time's money, and I'm wasting too much of 
it. Just take my advice and don't think anything more about it. 
' What can't be cured must be endured,' yer know," he added seil- 
tentiously, smiling in the most consoling manner, as if by a wise 
saw and a pitying grin he could brush away all wish, all hope. 

"Then you refuse," said Herold, quite calmly. 

" Sorry, young man, but I must." 

" Can't I hope you'll change your mind ? " he asked. 

The farmer kicked the dirt a moment or two, looked up at the 
sky and contemplated it as if it was divided off into respectable 
looking farms — as if the clouds which lay so calmly were the bound- 
aries of fields and pastures ; then over his broad acres ; and pulled 
out his pocket-book, put it back again, and finally said, with an air 
which told that he had made up his mind to say something quite un- 
comfortable, " I tell you what it is, I like you well enough, Thorn- 
bury, but — but — but — " and his resolution quite broke down. 

"I've no money !" ejaculated Herold, finishing the sentence. 

"That's jest it — that's jest it," jerked out the farmer, breathing 
more freely, after getting bravely over the sticking point. 

"And so, for a few paltry dollars, you would destroy the happi- 
ness of your daughter?" 


"Oil! faugh; she'll get over it, so there's no use talking; good 
morning," and turning on his heel he abruptly walked awav. But 
he was not easy about it ; it bothered him worse than though he had 
made a bad trade. In fact, he liked Herold, but his love for dollars 
was greater. He wanted to see Anne happy, but thought to him- 
self that she would be happier with a rich man than a poor one. 
He was far from a romantic man — there's no romance in hard coin — 
but he had indulged the hope of seeing her the wife of some rich 
merchant, or other man of wealth, riding in her carriage and sur- 
rounded by the comforts and luxuries of money. His estimation of 
happiness is entertained by the majority of the world. As he ap- 
proached the house, he pushed his hat off his forehead and dabbed 
that part of his "face divine" with his handkerchief. He was per- 
plexed. "So," he soliloquized, "I must lose my pleasant evenings 
talking with Thornbury, just because he must fall in love — pshaw, 
I hate that word — with Anne. I do wish — but there's no use wish- 
ing, he's got no money." Anne noticed that something was the 
matter, as he entered the door and threw himself discontentedly 
upon the settle. She felt kind of faint around the heart, as she 
thought of Herold, and asked: "What's the matter, father? any- 
thing wrong on the farm ? 

"Yes, all wrong," he returned gruffly ; "I've had a visitor this 
morning — I suppose you couldn't guess who it was, could you?" he 
asked, turning quickly towards her. 

She felt her blushes betraying her, but answered as calmly as 
possible: "Her Mr. Thornbury, perhaps." 

" No perhaps about it — it's a fact. Couldn't guess what he came 
for, could yer?" That was too much for her, and, womanlike, the 
tears started. " Bah !" he continued, " there's no use crying, Anne. 
He has no money and is no match for you, and so I sent him about 
his business. Now we're on the subject, I might as well say I don't 
want you to have anything to do with him — no letter writing or such 
nonsense; he is too poor." Off she went to her chamber, to havQ, 
her cry out. With a significant "humph," the farmer went to the 
field again. 

Herold was no Corydon to stand piping for his Phillis, but walked 
briskly up the field to the bar, over which he lightly vaulted, and 
came towards the office. "Rather light that," thought I, " for dis- 


appointed love," for I knew what the result was when I saw the old 
man walk away so hurriedly ; '' made up his mind to commit suicide 
and is coming here for the stuff." So I took down the bottle con- 
taining brandy, but labeled poison, with death's head and cross 
bones, and placed it on the counter just as he entered. 

" Pshaw !" said he, as he noticed the bottle, " no jokes, my boy ; 
I want you should help me." Being in love myself, of course I was 
perfectly willing. 

" So the old 'un has refused you?" I queried. 

"Yes," he returned, loosening his cravat and wiping his forehead. 
" It's my first case of the kind, but I'll be even with him ; we shall 
see which is the smartest, an old head or a young heart." So we 

When the old gentleman returned home to supper, he was sur- 
prised to see Anne composedly officiating, as easy as though nothing 
important had happened, " 'Taint nat'ral," he thought to himself, 
" I allers suspect a trade where they're so confounded cool about 
it." When the regular hour for retiring came, Anne, as usual, took 
up her candle to go to her chamber, but did not kiss her father as 
was her wont. " Humph !" he muttered, "Anne, girl, hav'nt you 
forgotten something?" She put the candle on the table and walked 
up quite close to him, as if to ask what she had forgotten. He 
raised his face towards hers, and as she bent down to kiss him, he 
felt a tear fall on his cheek. If ever he felt human affection, as it 
is implanted in other breasts, it was then ; but he crowded it back 
again, and, as it were, put his foot on it. His eyes followed her as 
she quietly left the room. " I must get this young spark out of the 
way," he thought; "he'll be tormenting the life out of Anne. 
Every man has his price," he continued, referring to his favorite 
theme. " I must keep a close eye on her, or he'll be persuading 
her to 'lope, because she'd know I'd have to forgive her when she 
asked it. I must buy him off, for Anne shall ride in her carriage 
yet." With such thoughts he betook himself to bed, revolving in 
his mind what means to adopt to rid himself of Herold. 

"Elopement," of course I suggested. 

" Can't do it, even if she would consent," said Herold. "I've no 
female relation who would go with us. She would not go alone even 
with me, nor would I have her ; I respect her too much." 


That was novel to me — respect tlie girl he loved, too much to be 
alone with her. But I was unsophisticated. He feared the talk of 
"Mrs. Grundy." "Besides," he continued, "I've not money 
enough to take us on to New York and defray all expenses." In 
those days couples had to be cried in church — Down East — and 
New York Avas the Gretna Green of M . 

" I must write to her, though, and want you to get Alice (my 
sweetheart,) to carry the letter for me." 

The next morning, early, Herold was somewhat surprised to see 
Fellet enter his office, but not so much so but that he politely offered 
his visitor a chair. The old gentleman was uncomfortable. He was 
very awkward, but he had come on rather embarrassing business, 
and did not know how to begin. 

" Any news ? " asked Herold, rather embarrassed by the silence. 

" Yes," returned the farmer — looking at Herold and evidently 
weighing his words — " I've a suit for you" — Herold looked sur- 
prised — " which, if you are wise," he continued, " will bring you in 
some dollars." Herold was at the bottom of the well in a moment, 
obscure as the opening was, and naked truth stood shivering before 
him. He however curbed his surprise, not to say indignation, for 
a thought struck him — not that he had a paucity of ideas, but this 
was a peculiarly happy one. 

"Ah! " said he, drawing up to his desk, nibbling his pen and as- 
suming a listening attitude; " What is the nature of the case ? " 
This rather disconcerted the old farmer. He wanted to see him 
indignant ; then he could act, for the ice would be broken. "But," 
he said, " I don't know as you can leave your business, for if you 

take charge of the case it Avill call you away some distance." 

Herold raised his eyes to the farmer's face — Fellet was used to re- 
turning the scrutinizing gaze of traders, and he looked upon this as 
only a bargain — to get as much as he could for the smallest possi- 
ble amount — and eyed Herold as sharply back again. 

" How f ar ? " Herold quietly asked. 

" The farther the better," returned the farmer, now sure of his 
position. Their eyes again met. Fellet saw that he was under- 
stood. Herold, with an effort, controlled his feelings so the farmer 
should not see the indignation he felt — he had his object. 

" How long will I need to be gone ? " This was a poser. After 


a moment, he answered carefully : " Sometime ; as the case Tvill en- 
gage you for quite a period. In fact," he continued, quite compos- 
edly, "you had better remove your business altogether, I think." 
Their eyes continued to say more than their words. Herold's breath 
came two or three times heavily — he turned his pen oyer slowly a 
few times. Fellet hurried on, endeavoring to stir up his cupidity — 
" I'll pay well for all loss you may sustain." * 

" How much ? " asked Ilerold, quite calmly. Fellet was perfectly 
electrified by this pi-actical illustration of his idea, and was so car- 
ried away by the confirmation of his peculiar views of man, that he 
failed to notice the discrepancy between Herold's general character 
and the ready acceptance of the bribe — not that anything had been 
said, but it was nevertheless understood. 

" Set the fee," he said, smilingly; " set the fee yourself." 

"No," rejoined Herold, recoiling at the idea of naming any sum, 
" I leave it to yourself." 

" What ! " asked Fellet, considering it quite a joke — " a lawyer, 
and not set your own fee for a case ? " 

" No, no," said Herold, quietly; " not a fee for a case, but I sell 
my business here for a certain amount." 

"Well, well," returned the farmer, "it's all the same," seeing 
Herold was not to be caught or intrapped with so open an expres- 
sion. " Say I buy your office for — for — for — say for five hundred 
dollars ; half when you leave, half when you settle elsewhere." 

" No," said Herold. Fellet thought he had not bid high enough ; 
"no," he continued ; " all down or no trade." After a little pause 
he consented; and when the prelimanaries of payment, etc. had been 
settled, wishing Herold a good morning, he went his way. Just at 
that moment I was coming up the road from old Mrs. Jinkins, (her 
snake had been unusually long the night before,) and I saw him as 
he left the office. When I entered, I found Herold with his coat ofi", 
most scientifically punching some imaginary party, and giving me a 
blow which nearly bent me double, he exclaimed : " If you'd been 
old Fellet, my boy, I'd have struck harder." 

" Quite hard enough, thank you," I answered, with difficulty get- 
ting my breath. " What did the old 'un want here ? " 

" Oh! we're been trading," answered Herold, looking wise. 

"Trading ! " I ejaculated. 



"Yes, trading; he's bought out my business. I'm going to leave." 

'■' Bought out your business ! Going to leave ! " 

"Yes," answered. Herold, with a nod for each exclamation. 

"Bought out, be hanged !" I exclaimed. " He's hired you to 
leave Anne ! " 

" Just so," cooly answered Her old. 

*I am a peaceable individual, I believe I always was ; but I am 
forced to the confession that I felt desperately like punching the 
man who could say such a heartless thing without even the least 
show of feeling. 

"And you accepted?" Herold nodded an asssent. "Good 
morning," and I turned on my heel — "you are a villian — I can't 
help it — but you are"; and I made a grand rush for the door. 
Herold grasped me. " Now don't be a fool ! " he exclaimed — his 
face scarlet. " Sit down." And he pushed me into a chair. In 
about half an hour I left the office fully satisfied. " Old Fellet," 
thought I, " will be feeling his ears by and by to see if they haven't 
grown longer by an inch or two." 

The town's people were astonished the next day to see Herold's 
sign go down, and himself go off in the stage. All were sorry ex- 
cept Feather Nose and Opulence ; the latter because Herold had 
been instrumental in bringing him to a sense of his duty in other 
cases than the one mentioned, and the former because his business 
had very materially decreased since he had failed to annihilate Her- 
old. Anne looked pale when she took her seat in church the next 
Sunday. The girls pitied her, and the boys, despite the jealousy of 
some of them, of Herold, felt like pitching into the old man. But 
it would not have been safe ; for old though he was, he could have 
dusted more than any one of them, so they wisely forbore. Fellet 
felt a little bad to see his daughter look so pale ; and he found her 
crying several times, but he consoled himself by saying, " She'll git 
over it in time." She always kissed him with more than wonted 
affection, which made him think she was glad she had found out that 
Herold had "his price" before she married him. He thought, she 
sewed so constantly, to occupy her mind, and could not find it in his 
heart to refuse her money to get what she wanted, though he did 
not see her wear any of the new things, and he laughed to himself 
as he said : " What trifles will occupy a woman's mind." 


By and by, Alice, my sweetheart, was going to visit an aunt, some 
twenty miles away, and asked Mr. Fellet if Anne might accompany 

"Oh! here was the secret of all this sewing ; wanted to make 
quite an appearance;" — and he chuckled at his shrewdness. " To 
be sure it would be lonesome without her 'round the house," — A 
tear glistened in Anne's eye, — and Alice was very nervous about some- 
thing, — " but he guessed Bessy, the maid, would do very well. Yes, 
she might go for a couple of weeks." The next morning I helped 
the girls into the stage. "Why, gal," said the farmer, "yer trunk's 
monstrous heavy." He embraced Anne. She was very affection- 
ate. Well, so she might be, for she had never been from home 
before. The stage wheeled off and she continued to wave her hand- 
kerchief as long as she could be seen. I stopped to take a glass of 
cider with the farmer. "It's mighty lonesome here," said he, 
" without her smiling face, light foot and ready hand ; but I must 
get used to it, for I s'pose she'll be getting married one of these 
days." I thought most likely, and hurried away — as Mrs. Jenkins' 
girl was waiting at the office for the " pholey mixter " of water, 
and a few samples, which, as the doctor said, served two purposes : 
"it kept off the hydrophobia and drowned the snake." 

A few days after, I received a letter from Alice. The intelligence 
was particularly agreeable. Fellet got one also, from Anne ; and 
that evening when I called upon him, he said he could not exactly 
understand her letter, asking him to forgive her if she had disobeyed 
him. " Tear stains," he said "all over the letter. It kind o' both- 
ers me, yer see, boy. I'm affeared she arn't well. Something 
worries her ; don't yer think, boy?" I told him I was sure I didn't 
know. Alice wrote very cheerfully, and said Anne was well. 

" If it arn't a love letter, would yer object to my seeing it ? " 

I had my reasons for not wishing him to see it, so I answered, 
blushingly : " It is a kind of a love letter." 

"Well, well," he said, "if her next arn't more cheerful, I shall 
go and fetch her home." 

Shortly afterwards I received a letter from New York, which I 
did not open until I got home. There was, something like a slip of 
pasteboard inside ; that something, after contemplating it, I put into 
my trunk. - * 


" Did yer get a letter from Alice, last night? " asked Fellet, when 
I met him in the road the next morning. He appeared just a lit- 
tle excited. 

" No, sir," I answered. 

"You got a letter ! " he said sharply. 

"Yes," I returned; "but not from Alice. I opened the mail 
myself; there were no letters from A." 

"No, I didn't get one. Strange she didn't write. Too much oc- 
cupied, I s'pose." 

" Rather the mails did not connect," said I. 

" Possibly," he returned ; and he went his way. 

A day or two passed, and still no letter came. The old man be- 
gan to look Avorried. The girls had been gone over a week — near 
two. I began to get nervous, and ran out every time the carriage 
passed, and if one stopped at the door, I was in a fever until I got 
out. The old doctor saw it, and asked me what was the matter. 
Things were going wrong, and I felt bothered, and answered: "I've 
been c^own to Mrs. Jinkins' until I believe I have swallowed her 
snake." The doctor smiled — it was one of his standing jokes — 
Mrs. Jinkins' snake. I went down to see Fellet that evening. 

" Got any letters ?" he asked, as I entered. 

"None," I answered. 

"It's mighty queer the gals don't write. I'm affeared Anne's 
sick. If I don't get a letter to-morrow night, I shall go for her 

He had hardly ceased speaking when a carriage drove rapidly up 
to the door. Fellet sprang to his feet quite as quickly as I did, 
and hurried to the door, when it opened, and Anne was in his arms. 

" Why, gal, I'm glad to see yer! " he exclaimed — a tear actually 
glistening in his eye — the first of affection, I believe, that ever 
dwelt there. " I've been mighty worried because yer didn't write." 
I saw two or three shadowy forms in the hall, and the next moment 
one was in my arms doing the very unmaidenly act of kissing me. 
My hand Avas pressed in a warm, manly grasp, Avhich I heartily re- 

" But, who's there ? " asked Fellet. '• All your friends are wel- 
come, noAV yer come." Herold Thornbury stepped into the room. 

" Say you forgive me, father ? " pleaded Anne. 


" Let me be her apologist," said a lady who bore a strong resemb- 
lence to Ilerold, and who had been their companion. 

Old Fellet looked first at the weeping, blushing Anne, in his arms, 
then at Herold's handsome, honest face, then back to Anne again. 
A moisture gathered in his eyes as he pressed his daughther to his 

"No need, marm, no need. I forgive yer, gal, on one condition; 
you must live with me. I can't stay alone in the old house, yer 
know." Of course a ready assent was given. Then turning to 
Herold, said : " I'll forgive yer, too, sir, if yer won't tell that yer 
got the best of me on a tVade." 

"What can't be cured, must be endured," quoted Herold, as 
they shook hands. He called me a rogue, slapped me on the back, 
and punished Alice by kissing her ; saying that his old theory still 
held true, but he was bound to say Herold's price was rather large. 
After we had discussed the various subjects around the fire, Herold 
asked, " What news ? " 

" Only one funeral," I returned. 

" Whose dead? " he asked. 

" Old Feather Nose. The old bit of parchment could not stand 
your leaving, he felt so nice about it that it dried him up." 

That night I got the promise which made me the happiest of mor- 
tals — that when I should write M. D. after my name, I should be 
" Benedict," the married man. I took out that something, like paste- 
board, which proved to be a handsomely engraved wedding card, 
and put it in my glass frame. 

The old man gave the young couple a glorious party, which was 

long spoken of as the event of B . He never had cause to 

deplore Anne's marriage ; for she now rides in her own carriage, the 

loved and honored wife of the distinguished Senator of . When 

he gets her children on his knee, he declares he is as happy as can 
be, though he affirms, with a sly wink, that every man has his 


To see the imperfections of others, especially our friends, w^ithout 
endeavoring to correct them, is a implicit sanction of them, and we 
are thereby rendered responsible for their consequences. 



I cannot save thee, — we must die, — but -when 
The stifling waves shall coldly close above 

Our sinking forms, my steadfast eyes even then, 
Shall turn to thine with love. 

Thus, — folded in the last, — the last embrace, 
The cruel flood shall drink our failing breath, 

Thus, — gazing fondly in the well-loved face, 
We shall be one in death. 

'Twill soon be over, sweet ! 'Tis not so hard 
As our fears paint it. Gladly would I bear 

All thou wilt suffer in that final pang 
We must together share. 

See these distracted ones, who weep and rave, 
In ghastly terror, whose despairing cries, 

Outshriek the storm, and wildly against Fate, 
In frantic protest rise. 

They trebly die ; theirs is an agony 
That souls upborne by love can never share, 

No such ignoble pangs for thee and me ! 
Calm, even in despair. 

And while the giant demon, pallid Fear, 
With icy spell each palsied heart controls, 

Lo ! we can smile in the fixed face of Death — 
The tyrant of weak souls. 

Though the lip quivers and the cheek grows pale, 
Still in thy steadfast and confiding eye 

Is promise of a heart that will not fail, 
Till breathes the latest sigh. 

For we can look beyond this hour of dread. 
With a faith born of love that cannot die, 

And feel in our own hearts, the perfect pledge 
Of Immortality. 

See, the bow settles for the downward plunge ! 

Close, closer to my heart ! — that fearful cry ! 
"We sink, we sink \" One kiss, on earth the last! 

Now farewell, earth and sky ! 




No. II. 

Among the breeds that may be eventually found well adapted to 
certain districts of California, may be enumerated the Cheviot. 
This breed, when some attention has been paid to its improvement, 
is composed of handsome, compact animals, is an active race, famous 
foragers, and withstands the vicissitudes of climate beyond any other 
breed, in proportion to their value, both as regards carcase and 
wool ; the latter being an useful combing variety, whilst the former 
is large and the mutton excellent. This variety is adapted to the 
foot-hills and northern grazing counties. 

It may perhaj)s not be amiss to here notice a breed very little 
known, which, if not adapted to the existing state of agriculture in 
California, may at some future period, and under certain circum- 
stances, be found worthy of attention. The very curious breed 
about to be noticed, the Purih Sheep of Thibet, was discovered by 
Moorcroft in the course of his adventurous explorations in Thibet 
about forty years ago, and more recently the attention of European 
agriculturists was drawn to them, owing to a few being sent as a 
present to Queen Victoria by the celebrated Runjeet Singh. Mr. 
Moorcroft observed in his letter to the Royal Asiatic Society, in 
which the attention of Europeans was first called to this kind of 
sheep, that " the varieties which have already met my view in nat- 
ural history are so great as might swell a letter to a volume, and 
divert me from its practical objects — a breed of sheep of Ledahh, 
(which ought perhaps to have precedence in mention,) when at full 
growth has scarcely acquired the size of a Southdown lamb of five 
or six months, yet in the fineness and weight of its fleece, and in 
the flavor of its mutton, added to its peculiarities of feeding and 
constitution, yields not in merit to any race hitherto discovered. 
Perhaps the dog of the British cottager is not so completely domes- 
ticated as is the Purik sheep of this country. In the night it finds 
shelter either in a walled yard or under the roof of its master ; and 
frequently in the day picks up its food on a surface of granite rock. 


where the eye of the cursory inquirer can scarcely discover a speck 
of vegetation, though a closer investigation shows stunted tufts of 
wormwood, hyssop, buglos, and here and there a few blades of a 
dwarfed grass. But the indefatigable industry of the animal detects 
and appropriates substances so minute and uninviting as would be 
unseen or be neglected by ordinary sheep, or those of larger breed 
even in this country. Almost all the land round this capital is 
under tillage for wheat and barley, and in lucerne; but the harvest 
will not have been two months off the ground, and a single blade of 
vegetable substance shall not be discovered — not a stem of stubble, 
nor a crown of lucerne. The stubble is bitten off by the common 
cow, the Tlio, (a hybred between the Yah male and the cow,) 
and the shawl goats ; whilst the ass not only devours the stock of 
the lucerne, but by pawing lays bare the tap-root of the upper part, 
of which he generally gets about three or four inches. 

"The Purik sheep, if permitted, thrusts its head into the cook- 
ing-pot, picks up crumbs, is eager to drink the remains of salted 
and buttered tea or broth, and examines the hands of its masters 
for lattro^ (barley flour,) or for a cleanly picked bone, which it dis- 
dains not to nibble. A leaf of lettuce, a peeling of turnip, the 
skin of an apricot, are its luxuries. The coarse black tea of China 
forms the basis of the nourishment of the inhabitants of this ill- 
governed country, and its use is conducted with the utmost frugality. 
Rubbed to a powder and tied in a cloth, it undergoes frequent boil- 
ings ; and when it has given out the whole of its coloring matter — 
a process rather tedious — the residue falls to tihe share of the sheep. 
The Purik sheep gives two lambs within twelve months, and is twice 
shorn within that period. The clip may afford three pounds in the 
annual aggregate, and the first yield is fine enough for tolerably 
good shawls." 

The sheep sent to Queen Victoria were turned upon the farm at 
Osborne, and by Mr. Toward, her majesty's bailiff, were described as 
being fat at thirty-two to forty pounds, and two or three could be 
kept for the cost of one common sheep ; that the texture of the 
wool was of good quality, and, according to their size, yielded a 
fair quantity ; as being remarkably thick and close, so that cold 
could scarcely penetrate to the skin. There was a she'd for them, 
. which, however, they seldom entered. On the Welsh mountains, 

SHEEP. 177 

however, they were found to deteriorate, chiefly on account of the 
excessive quantity of rain which falls on those uplands. This points 
out the district on the north Pacific coast where the Purik sheep 
would probably be best adapted, namely, the arid uplands on the 
eastern side of the Sierra Nevada, for the remarkable valley, which 
is the native habitat of the Purik sheep, is as elevated as the summit 
of Mont Blanc — where it rarely rains, though it occasionally snows. 
The discoveries at Washoe having drawn attention to the eastern 
slope of the Sierra Nevada, it is not improbable that the Purik sheep 
would be well adapted for the country lying between Washoe and 
the great desert. 

As many sheep owners are at present running much on the Me- 
rino breed, I perhaps cannot do better than introduce some remarks 
made by J. Stanley Carr, Esq., of Faschenbach, Duchy of Luxem- 
bourg, who, together with a knowledge of English agriculture, has 
had considerable experience in Australian sheep-farming also. He 
observes that the Saxon Merino sheep is the animal which best re- 
munerates the Mecklenburger, andTorms the especial object of his 
care and attention. They were brought to those countries from 
Saxony about the year 1811, and are now the sole breed of the dis- 
trict. The Merino, he remarks, is a long-legged, narrow-bodied, 
ugly animal, with a fleece varying in weight, in proportion to its 
coarseness, (although fine wool is specifically heavier than coarse,) 
from two to three pounds. The staple is very close and thick grow- 
ing, greasy or oily to the feel, elastic and soft, very tenacious, and 
formed differently from any other wool, with a number of regular, 
minute bends or curls in each hair. There are always different sorts 
of wool upon the same sheep, and the animal is most esteemed which 
produces the highest qualities in the greatest proportion. Breeding 
successfully with this view is a most difiicult science, requiring years 
of pains-taking intelligence to attain. At an exhibition at the 
Cattle Show of Giistrow, in Mecklenburg, in May, 1837, of twenty- 
two rams, the specimens, to an inexperienced eye, appeared much 
alike ; they were carefully washed and shorn, the fleeces numbered 
and sent to the most eminent wool-staplers at Leipsic, where they 
were submitted to accurate assortment and valuation. The highest 
fleece was valued at 3 dollars, 5 groschen, 7 pence ; weight of fleece 
67J half ounces ; whilst the lowest, weighing 98f ozs., was only 


valued at 1 dollar, 19 grosehen, 5f pence. The heaviest fleece 
weighed 162 ft>s, but was only valued at 2 dollars, 1 groschen, 1-| 

It will thus be seen that to obtain the highest money return for 
wool, great nicety and attention are required. Moreover, it should 
always be borne in mind that, as a general rule, heavy fleeced sheep 
eat more and require a wider range of more succulent food than 
fine wooled sheep, or, in other words, more fine wooled sheep can be 
maintained on an equal space of land than heavy fleeced varieties. 
More will be said on this subject when we treat on " Wool and its 



" Dead, on tho hem of Maj'." — Alex. Smdth. 

Gone ! in the moraing of ber day, 
Gone ! in life's opening Spring ; 

Snatched from alluring Hope away. 
Whilst mounting on her wing. 

Gone ! ere the clouds were black above,. 

Whilst calmly smiled the d«ep; 
Before I>elusion mocked her Love, 

Or Friendship fell asleep ! 

Gone ! ere the cheek had lost its flush,. 

Ere azure left the eye ; 
Before Temptation caused a blush, 

Or Penitence a sigh ! 

Oh ! tell me thou, whose tott'ring form 
Bends with the weight of years, 

On Avhom hath beat Time's battle-storm 
Of care, disease, and tears ; 

Whose lip, Life's foaming cup hath drained 

Of every boasted sweet ; — 
Oh ! tell me has she lost or gained. 

Thus early to I'etreat ! 

And should a lover's broken heart, 
Throb on in ceaseless pain, 

Till Death who tore their souls apart 
Unite the broken chain ? 


I've wandered far away, sister, 
Far from that happy home, — 
With all its scenes so gay, sister, 
A stranger doom'd to roam, 
A pilgrim on the earth, sister, 
A truant child of care, — 
I left my childhood hearth, sister, 
With all its pleasures there. 

I'm sitting all alone, sister, 
And musing o'er the past, 
The blissful days agone, sister, 
Too happy days to last ; 
Fond mem'ries cluster o'er, sister, 
Those laughing, sunny hours. 
But never as of yore, sister. 
We'll pluck the dewy flowers. 

The cherry grove, so green, sister, 

Is going to decay. 

Where you were crowned May Queen, sister, 

Once on a holiday ! 

The rustic grape-vine swing, sister, 

Is rotted down, and gone I 

Where bubbled up the spring, sister, 

From 'neath the granite stone. 

The vines that were bestrewn, sister, 
O'er the old cottage side — 
Some ruthless hand has torn, sister, 
The rose tree, too, has died ; 
And desolation reigns, sister, 
Where mem'ry loves to cling. 
My soul smarts with the pain, sister. 
These fondest mem'ries bring ! 

I never will enjoy, sister, 
Those happy days again, 
I am a truant boy, sister, 
Cast on the world's domain. 
I have wandered far away, sister, 
To lands accursed with gold ! 
And like a lost lamb stray, sister, 
That's wandered from its fold. 
Dog, Oal., April 25, 1860. 




"Ah! well," sighed Mrs. Roberts, as she reclined upon the sofa in 
the elegant parlor of her friend Mrs. Welford, "this housekeeping 
is stupid business, truly ! I am completely disgusted with it ! I 
have tried everything I can think of, to persuade Mr. Roberts to 
break up housekeeping, and board, but it is of no use ! He has 
such queer, old-fashioned notions apout a 'home of his own,' and is 
so dreadfully set in his way, that I may as well give up hoping to 
be anything but a ' domestic ' all the days of my life. Mr. Roberts 
has no sympathy for me in my cares and vexations, and I often wish 
that I had no ambition beyond preparing a pudding for dinner, no 
desire to step outside my kitchen world." 

"But why, my dear Mrs. Roberts," languidly replied Mrs. "Wel- 
ford, " need you be troubled with the cares of a household ? There 
is nothing easier than to evade it altogethar, even if your husband 
does insist upon seeing you at the head of an establishment. 

" When I married Mr. Welford, he, man like, expected me to take 
sole charge of his house and family, — you know he was a widower 
— but I very soon assured him that I had not the remotest idea of 
soiling my hands, or planting wrinkles in my forehead by becoming 
a household drudge. He talked awhile about how little I should 
have to do myself, with two good servants, but he was glad enough 
to get a housekeeper, and plenty of servants, for the sake of seeing 
the old cheerful look back on my face, for I had vowed never to 
smile again until I had carried my point. 

" With our large family we could not think of boarding, and I am 
better contented as we are. I never go down into the kitchen. Mr. 
Welford always gives orders to the cook for dinner, and if the house- 
keeper complains of the servants, Mr, Welford discharges them, and 
procures others. He often complains of 'useless expenses,' 'mis- 
management,' and so on, but with our large income, he cannot ex- 
pect his wife to trouble herself about economy. I have no cares, 
simply because I will not take them ! " And the lady gently settled 
herself in her luxurious arm-chair, folding her soft, white hands be- 
fore her, the very picture of indolent ease. 


" I cannot do as you recommend," said Mrs. Roberts; " my hus- 
band is not as easily managed as yours. Mr. Roberts is determined 
to cling to bis old-fashioned notions, and if I do not conform to them, 
he is so disagreeable ! 

" I have had no less than four new servants within the last month ! 
and the two I have now are almost good for nothing, and I am vexed 
from one month's end to another ! with so much care, it is not won- 
derful that my health should suffer — and, what do you think ? the 
other day Mr. Roberts actually proposed that J", his wife, should 
perform part of the labor in the house, for exercise ! I could 
scarcely believe my ears, but he persisted that I should have better 
health, and spirits ! I think the man must be insane, to wish to 
make a kitchen-maid of his wife ! " 

" Insane, indeed ! " exclaimed Mrs. Welford. " Of course, Mrs. 
Roberts, you will submit to no such barbarous proposition as that ! 
I really thought Mr. Roberts had better taste. 

" By the Avay, have you called on Mrs. Arnold, lately ? Such 
magnificent rooms as she has at her hotel ! Her husband seems to 
deny her nothing. I never saw more elegant dresses, than he has 
lately had imported from Paris for her. I called on her one even- 
ing last week — the evening of the great ball — and found her all 
dressed to go, though she had before told me that she could not 
attend, on account of her husband's absence from town, but her 
friend Mr. Elliot accompanied her. And another rare trait in Mr. 
Arnold's character, is that he is not a bit jealous. Indeed, he seems 
to like to have his wife admired by the gentlemen, and she is a wo- 
man to be admired, too ! You should have seen her in her ball dress 
of amber satin, covered with such elegant lace flounces ! And then 
her diamonds ! they can not be equaled in San Francisco ! I de- 
clare I never saw her look so beautiful ; and Mr. Elliot seemed to 
think so, too. Poor fellow ! I have heard he was a rejected suitor 
of Mrs. Arnold before her marriage." 

"Ah! my dear Mrs. Welford," sighed Mrs. Roberts, "you 
make me quite miserable by contrasting Mrs. Arnold's happiness 
with my own treadmill existence, but I suppose I must always be a 
martyr to housekeeping ! But, I declare ! here comes my brother. 
I promised him I would go with him to call on some of his misera- 
ble patients. He is constantly preaching ' charity,' ' sympathy with 


the poor,' and the like, and sometimes, as to-day, I accompany him, 
just to please him, though I do hate to come in contact with the 
wretched beings." 

"Good afternoon, Dr. Worthington," said Mrs. Welford, rising 
to meet that gentleman as he entered the apartment; "I really 
must scold you a little for taking my visitor so soon ; and then she 
tells me you are going to inflict some tiresome charity-calls upon 
her. You had better leave her here until you return, doctor, for 
it must be dreadful to visit such places as Mrs. Roberts has been 
telling me of." 

Dr. Worthington answered pleasantly, but gravely, that he 
"hoped his sister had enough of woman's benevolence in her dispo- 
sition, to make it a pleasure, rather than a disagreeable duty to 
relieve the suffering and distressed, but he would not ask her to ac- 
company him on any charitable mission, when it was against her 
inclination to go.'' 

"Of course, brother, I do want to go with you," eagerly said Mrs. 
Roberts, casting a reproving glance at Mrs. Welford, for she dearly 
loved her brother, and delighted to gratify him, despite the many 
faults which her character had received from evil influences. 

Mrs. Roberts rose to go, but was detained at the parlor door by 
Mrs. Welford asking her if she would not call soon on a new neigh- 
bor, who had recently come to reside in the same street. 

"Immensely wealthy," said the lady, "but the most singular 
people you ever saw. So very plain in appearance and manners, 
that did not we know to the contrary, they would be called really 
parsimonious. I know they give away thousands of dollars in the 
course of the year, yet they actually keep but one girl ! And Mr. 
Grant nearly always drives his own carriage, too. Such strange 
inconsistencies I cannot understand. 

" The daughter. Miss Grant, is one of the prettiest girls I ever 
saw; but with all her unusual accomplishments, she lacks 'style," 
sadly. I know her education is very superior, but she seems to 
know very little of society, and cares for it as little as she knows 
about it. I cannot persuade her to join our circle for the season. 
Just one winter in real ' society ' would give her that polish which 
she so much needs — but I am detaining you, doctor. Good bye 


Mrs, Roberts; do not fail to call on the Grants, soon." And the 
ladies separated. 

But little explanation is necessary in regard to the characters 
introduced to the reader. All the parties resided in the City of San 
Francisco ; Mrs. Welford, being the leader of what is styled the ex- 
clusive " upper circle" — and "what "upper circle" is there in this 
city of equalities, save that which gold creates ? — and Mrs. Rob- 
erts, a lady of less wealth and position, but an ardent admirer and 
follower of Mrs. Welford, whose influence over her rather weak 
mind can be imagined from the above conversation. Dr. Worthing- 
ton was a bachelor, thirty-five years of age, ranking among the first 
in his profession, and rapidly rising to rank and popularity. Pos- 
sessed of a noble nature, warm, sympathizing heart, generous almost 
to a fault, he was just the man for a true physician ; one to win the 
confidence and esteem of all classes. 

People "wondered " why Dr. Worthington did not marry. The 
reason was very simple, and very sensible. He had never loved, 
and he was not the man to marry for any other motive. Without 
being visionary or over fastidious, he had his ideal woman, and her, 
he had never met in the flesh, yet that "fair to be" he confidently 
expected some day to meet, and call by the sacred name of wife. 

Dr. Worthington longed to find one real, natural woman — earn- 
est, loving, truthful, — one whose refinemei)t and modesty was not 
affectation, — whose pure, loving heart had not been tainted with 
false pride, or love of admiration ; and who could really and truly 
love him for himself alone. 

Sometime after the conversation to which we have alluded. Dr. 
Worthington was called to the house of Mr. Grant, to attend a lady 
visiting there, in a sudden and serious illnesss. As the case de- 
manded his closest attention, he scarcely observed on his first visit, 
the attendant on the sick lady, but on the second visit, he was 
attracted by a low, sweet voice — " that excellent thing in woman " — 
replying to some question put by Mrs. Grant — " Oh ! no, mother, 
let me do it ! poor Ann has enough to attend to now," — and a pair 
of noiseless feet glided past him through the dim twilight of the sick 
room, and out the door, which was closed with the gentlest hand 

There was something very pleasant in the tone of that voice ; 


something very soothing in that soft step, and gentle hand, but it 
took many more professional visits to deepen and perfect the im- 
pression that Dr. Worthington received that morning. On one 
occasion, after the patient had become better, Dr. Worthington 
noticed the absence of the fair attendant of the sick room — he had 
begun to look for her presence now — and with a feeling of disap- 
pointment was preparing to take his leave, when Miss Grant entered 
the room. She gave a slight start of surprise on seeing the doctor, 
which deepened the flush somewhat upon her cheek, but she made 
no useless apologies, though she came in with a plain calico dress 
on, with the sleeves rolled above her elbows, revealing a pair of 
white, beautifully rounded arms, and a long, working apron of some 
coarse material reaching quite to the bottom of the dress, which was 
not long enough, however, to hide the neatly slippered foot and 
snowy stocking. 

Bidding Dr. Worthington good morning, she laughingly replied 
to the invalid's question, why she had left her so long, that she had 
been down in the kitchen washing dishes, to let Ann go and see her 
sister, who was about starting for the country. No squeamish pride 
prevented a frank acknowledgement of how she had been employed, 
even in the presence of one in whom she was almost unconsciously 
becoming deeply interested. Though the only, almost idolized child 
of wealthy parents, she did not think it degrading to assist with her 
own hands a lowly servant. Indeed, it was Miss Grant's daily prac- 
tice to perform a certain part of the labor about the house, and she 
was perfectly skilled in all the arts and mysteries of housekeeping; 
for Mrs. Grant — oh ! most rare mother ! — had given her daughter 
this accomplishment, as well as almost every other, which wealth or 
fondness could procure. Mrs. Grant, like a true mother, believed 
that her daughter's health actually dem.anded exercise — not merely 
the exercise of the walk or the drive — but steady, active employ- 
ment for body as well as mind ; and she also believed that no young 
lady's education is complete without a thorough knowledge of the art 
of housekeeping — and so thinks the writer of this. 

Long after the recovery of the patient-guest. Dr. Worthington 
found it necessary to continue his calls at Mr. Grant's. It is not 
wonderful that in Mary Grant he found his long-looked-for ideal. 
Pure, refined, lofty in intellect and principle, lovely and loving. 


what wonder that she became beloved, revered, almost worshiped 
by Dr. Worthington ! 

As his wife she now stands by his side, quietly adorning their 
home, shedding a pure, holy influence over all who come near their 
fireside ; though gifted with talents which might well win "fame, and 
a name," among earth's great ones, she is contented and happy in 
woman's true sphere — Jiome. As Mrs. Worthington, she is still 
ignorant of " society," the upper-ten-dom of San Francisco, but it 
is purely from choice. Go with me among the humble, the poor, 
sorrowing ones of this great city — those upon whom " aristocratic 
society " looks down in calm contempt, disdaining to pollute its silk- 
en robes by contact, and listen to the blessings daily pronounced 
upon her name ; to the prayers nightly ascending for her, from 
grateful hearts, and tell me, if the womayis reward is not far greater 
than all the hollow praises sounded before the " belle" by brazen- 
throated " society." 

Some months since the fashionable world of San Francisco was 
startled, one morning, by two very extraordinary paragraphs which 
appeared in the same paper. One was the announcement of the 
complete failure of Mr. James Welford, importer and merchant, 
and the other a " bit of scandal in high life," stating that "a lady 
heretofore highly respected, beautiful, accomplished, moving in the 
very highest circles, etc., etc., had eloped from her husband with a 
gentleman, an intimate friend of the family, said by some to have 
been a lover of the lady before marriage. The guilty pair are sup- 
posed to have left on the steamer of yesterday. For the sake of 
the deserted husband, who is nearly frantic at the loss of his wife, 
and the disgrace brought upon himself and two interesting children, 
we withhold the names of the parties." 

It need scarcely be told that the enviable Mrs. Arnold, and her 
friend Mr. Elliot, were the persons referred to in the above para- 

Mrs. Welford's star set with her husband's failure Unable 
to remain near her summer friends, or endure her altered fortunes, 
she left her husband to battle with his reverses as best he might, 
and returned to the east, where she is now living in obscurity, and 
constant repining, at the loss of that wealth which she took no care 
to preserve. 



It comes to us in every voice 
That faithful Memory brings — 

A brother's love, a sister's smile, 
The song our mother sings ; 

The laugh of playmates ringing out 

Among the meadows free ; 
The orchard where the robins sung, 

The buzzing of the bee ; 

The cows at sunset coming home ; 

Their lowing in the lane; 
The old church, where the swallows built 

Their nests beneath the fane ; 

The old house by the river's side, 

With its low jutting eaves; 
The woodbine creeping o'er the door; 

The whispering of its' leaves ; 

The stone seat where we lovers sat 

Beneath the willow tree ; 
Our children's voices filling all 

Our happy home with glee ; 

The chiming of the Sabbath bell ; 

The groups that might be seen, 
Gathered within the house of prayer ; 

The graveyard on the green. 

The voices of our gray-haired sires ; 

The tales so often told 
Of valiant men, who poured their blood 

On battle-fields of old. 

How they, with long enduring faith, 

For truth and freedom bled ; 
There was no spot on all the hills 

Not covered with the dead. 

Then through the valleys and the plains 

There swept a noble flood ; 
The very grass on which we tread 

Is nurtured Avith their blood. 

Oh ! from the living and the dead, 

A thousand voices come ; 
Forever to our hearts they speak 

Of country and of home. 





The Major returns with the best foot foremost — Emulates the speculator — Looks 
into the causes of things — Suspected of a soft spot inhis head, ivhich proves 
sound as a drum — Major in a melancholy mood. 

Finally, one bright morning our missing Major walked forth, with 
his tail behind him — and a part of it a great ways behind too — 
but the monkej looked as good as new in the face; only, perhaps, a 
a little mite more demure. It was evident enough he was on his 
propriety, putting the best foot foremost. 

We had really pitied the poor fellow in his distress, and many of 
us were now right glad to see him again. 

Not so, the regimental major, for he hated the very sight of him ; 
the reason was, because he had been so grossly scandalized by the 
sly jokes he had overheard, comparing his merits with those of Major 
Ringtail — which Avas very wrong. Now, secretly, in his heart, the 
military major wished the monkey dead ; but his high sense of honor 
would not allow him to lower his dignity so far as to say so — he 
only looked daggers at his evil genius, and went his way. 

Perhaps we ought to stop here a moment, and explain to you 
the monkey's natural habits. This ringtail sort of monkeys, when 
they want to go to sleep, hang themselves up by the tail; they 
climb up into a high tree and coil their tail tight around a limb and 


let their head hang down, and there they sleep all night, hanging 
by their tails. 

This day — strange to say ! — the sun had well nigh gone down 
over the Major's head without any mischief or mishap. Rather a 
dull day, thought he; so the Ringtailed Major resolved to retire 
early, and repose himself to sleep from his old accustomed bough. 
For this purpose he climbed away high up into the top of the tree, 
and walked far out on the limb where he used to hang down and go 
to sleep. After going through with the usual motions, he let go — 
when down he came, tumbling headlong to the ground. This was 
spreading -one's self rather too much for comfort, so as soon as he 
was able, he gathered himself up. Dumb with surprise and aston- 
ishment, he looked up into the tree to discover the cause of his dis- 
aster ! There the foolish monkey stood gazing, like a disappointed 
speculator after his failure ! never for once suspecting himself — 
no, it never entered his head to look hehind Mm. How else could 
he grow wiser in future ? But apes, and foolish people, seldom 
profit much by their experience; this was eminently true of our 
hero, for as soon as he got a little the better of his bruises, up he 
climbed again, and forgetting his former mishaps, whisked his tail, 
(it always felt just as though he had one,) and then letting go " all 
fours," with nothing to swing by, down he came again and again, 
bumping his head most terribly. We expected every day to see him 
knock his brains out — if indeed he had any ! But fortune seemed 
to favor the fellow in some sense, for manifold were the hair-breadth 
escapes of Major Ringtail. 

Some people, and most monkeys, are said to have a soft spot in 
their heads ; but we can assure our young friends this was not liter- 
ally true, at least with the Major, for he must have had a pretty 
thick skull all around, judging from the rubs and breakers he en- 

Instead of those long leaps of yore. Major Ringtail could now 
barely limp about. The infirmities of age, from a youth of folly, 
began to lower in his sky, and the gloomy clouds gathered thick 
around his devoted head ! In fact, his head had always been rather 
the weakest spot about him. Age and experience, it is true, might 
have brought him some little wisdom ; but still it came so late in 
life that it was hardly of any use to him. Says the monkey, musing, 

youths' casket. 189 

as he sat one evening looking wistfully up in the tree, " Of what use 
now is a title without a tail to swing hj. Ah, me ! those edged tools 
have been mj sad undoing! Yea, ve^'ily T' said he, as he looked 
where his tail ought to be. " And now when the dreary and dismal 
night comes down, and no star twinkles in the sky, sad and lonely 
I lay me upon the cold, cold, ground ! Perchance, some famished 
wolf may yet seize what there is left of poor me ! Perhaps my 
doom e'en now drags its slow length along in the vile form of some 
cold-blooded serpent, ready to strike poison to my very heart." 

From the Major's melancholy mood it was evident he was de- 
scending down the shady hillside of life, with no staff of useful 
deeds to support his declining years, or buoy up the spirits while 
the body bows beneath the heavy hand of Time. A useless life of 
folly brings an old age of misery ; however, all such kind of people, 
and useless monkeys, seldom survive to any very great age. And 
even the little happiness they do enjoy is so exceedingly shallow 
that the merest " shiner " could scarce swim in it, without being 
grounded high and di-y some day or other. 


" Be ye angry — but sin not " 
Mother 1 hold ! drop not thy hand 

In violence on me ; 
Thy voice is loud, and angry — stand — 
And let me plead with thee. 

I knovf that I have disobey'd 
Thy just and kind behest, 

But listen to me, mother — 
And take me to thy breast. 

Bless thee mine own — my mother dear ; 

Xow, nestling near thy heart, 
Thy gentled voice has cast out fear, 

How terrible thou wert ! 

And in thine own soft tones of love, 
Tell what thy naughty boy has done. 

Murmur thine own sweet prayer above, 
For help and aid to thy penitent son. 
San Francisco, May, 1860. 

€' H 1 r ' s €i\hlt. 

A Califoknian in New Orleans. — We take the liberty of making the follow- 
ing extract from a letter recently received from Mrs. Day, believing that it will 
be interesting to many of her friends : — 

New Orleans is a large and populous citj', but the clouds hang dark and 
murky overhead, giving it an appearance of chilliness and gloom. It is not a 
Californian sky ; and as the state of the atmosphere affects the spirits, I have 
found myself affected with a disorder almost akin to home-sickness. 

Almost the first thing that strikes the attention of a stranger in this place 
is the dearth of newspapers at the tables of hotels, saloons, &o. I have been 
so long accustomed in California to having the morning papers, with full sum- 
mary of the news and most interesting topics of the day, together with gems, 
original and selected, furnished at the same time with my coffee, that one has 
become as much a necessity as the other. Judge, then, if you can, of my feel- 
ings, when shown into the breakfast-room of one of the principal hotels in this 
city, the steward handed me a bill of fare but no newspaper ; nor was there 
one in sight, although many gentlemen and ladies sat discussing their morning 
meal with much apparent satisfaction. After ordering my coffee, I said to the 
steward, " Bring me a morning paper." 

"What?" said he. 

I repeated, " Bring me a morning paper.'' 

" I havn't got any ; we don't keep them," he replied. 

" Could you not send and get one for me V I asked, eagerly. 

" I don't know if I can get one short of the printing of&ce, but if you don't 
mind paying for it, I'll try." 

Rejoiced at even this distant prospect of once more seeing a newspaper, I 
drew my purse from my pocket, and was upon the point of laying it in the fel- 
low's hands, when it occurred to me that by so doing I might lose not alone my 
purse, but my only chance of obtaining a newspaper. So handing him a quar- 
ter, I charged him to make all haste, and bring the paper. As the servant 
vanished from my side I looked up, and, to my utter dismay, found that I had 
unintentionally attracted the attention of the other guests at the table — so 
strangely are they looked upon who prefer mental to physical food. However, 
my independence soon came to my aid, and after a half-hour's patient waiting, 
the steward reappeared, bearing the precious journal with him. It proved to 
be the " True Delta," with which Californians have long been familiar, and 
which I grasped hastily, as I would the hand of an old and long absent friend. 

Shall I give you some of the thoughts that passed through my mind as I 
waited that long half hour for my paper ? Well, I was contrasting what I saw 
before me with our hotel tables in California ; and even the saloons and res- 
taurants, every one of which is well supplied with daily papers ; and. Oh ! how 
I long for a sight at even those street boot-blacking establishments, the poorest 
one of which can supply his customer with the latest news, that while his boots 

editor's table. 191 

are undergoing the cleansing and polishing process, from his mind also may 
be removed the dust jxnd mould of ignorance, and the lustre of light and intel- 
ligence be imparted to his soul. 

My paper warns me to a close, and I must say farewell. Should you discover 
in this a vein of sadness, excuse it. ■'Tis the yearning of my heart for my own 
loved State, and its free and glorious institutions. My heart echoes the words 
of the poet — " There is no place like home." 

Expect no elaborate treatises or polished compositions, for I am on the wing, 
and must write in my careless, off-hand manner, or not at all. 

AVoman's View of the International Fisticuff. — Has not the fisticuff be- 
tween Heenan and Sayers caused the greatest excitement of the current year ? 
They were looked upon as the representatives of the two greatest commercial 
and industrial nations of the world. Their fight was by common consent styled 
" inteimational." On their fists depended the credit of their respective coun- 
tries, in the minds of many vulgar men. The newspapers of all the Anglo 
Saxon cities in three continents, discussed the question in grave leaders. Illus- 
trated journals throughout the world published their portraits. Everybody 
that readti had to read their biographies, learn their modes of life, become famil- 
iar Avith their systems of training, and study their points as boxers. No woman 
could avoid knowing something of these modern gladiators. Lady-like delicacy 
of feeling, and refinement of nature, could not protect us from the topic which 
excited everybody about us, and was the common topic of conversation. 
The fate of freedom in Italy, and democracy in America, interesting topics as 
they might be at other times, were overwhelmed by the contagious enthusiasm 
of the " roughs" about two human bull-dogs who were to beat and bruise each 
other according to the rules of a certain code honored among boxers. No gla- 
diatorial show in ancient Kome, no bull-fight in Spain, no cock-fight in Mexico 
ever attained such a notoriety, or was made intelligible in all its details to so 
many people, or interested so many partizans. Indeed, we doubt whether all 
the fights of gladiators, bulls and cocks in the world, put together, could claim 
to have had so many spectators as this fisticuff ; the minutest details of which 
have been laid before more readers than there were people in ancient Italy, 
added to those of modern Spain, and it is to be remarked that the bull fights and 
gladiatorial shows were seen only by those who went expressly to see them ; 
but this boxing match is brought, by engraving and type, before every enlight- 
ened reader, from one end of the world to the other, with such particularity of 
description, that the reading probably conveys a better idea of the fight, than 
the seeing would to most persons. When we consider these facts, it must be 
confessed that our civilization and Christianity are only superficial, and that a 
large portion of our people are barbarous at heart. Their refinement is only 
skin deep. You show them blood and they become brutes. Women are neces- 
sary in this world. They are needed to prevent civilized men from going back 
to barbarism ; to protect them from the coarser parts of their own natures. The 
poet says, we are " half dust and half Deity," and it is the duty and sphere of 
woman to assist the divine influence to conquer the earthly in human nature 


and social life. It is not to be doubted that one great cause of the superiority 
of modern society, and the greater part of modern morals,- and the greater ele- 
vation of modern character as compared with ancient times, is owing to the 
greater influence of woman. As we have done mighty works in the past, so we 
may hope to do mighty works in the future, — works not the less beneficent or 
great because wrought in comparative silence, and almost as if unintentionally 
and even unconsciously. 

Singular Weather for Mat. — The old Californiaus have been astonished by 
the May weather this year. In ordinary years the month passes with a hot sun 
and almost cloudless skies ; but 1860 has brought two weeks of rainy skies, 
and three inches and more of perpendicular fall of water — more than twice as 
much as has been witnessed during the same season in any year since 1846. 
Never before did such heavy and long rains come so late in the season. They 
have done much good and much harm, but we presume that the good rather 
predominates, if a just estimate be made of all the circumstances. Water is 
always in demand in the mines ; for the majority of the miners there can never 
be too much ; they always know rich spots where the dirt can • be washed 
only during the rains, when water is supplied on the spot by some gully, which 
dries up as soon as the rain ceases. There never can be too much moisture for 
the grass of the open plains, nor for most of the gardens which commonly suffer 
under the hot sun of May and June. On the other hand, the grain fields have 
generally been injured, some of them very seriously, by the beating rains; many 
of the miners have been bothered by high water, and many hundred tons of hay 
cut during the first days of the month have been rendered worthless. The 
month will pass into a proverb, and in future years many a wish will be ex- 
pressed for such another wet May as that of 1860. 

A Hint to Contributors. — Contributions for the Hesperian, especially if 
long and important, should be sent in at least a month before the publication of 
the number in which it is expected they will appear. The work on a magazine 
goes slowly ; the matter should be arranged by the editor three or four weeks 
in advance, and should be early placed in the hands of the compositor. Some- 
times contributions sent in late find a place, but this is only when the compo- 
sition has been delayed or the work neglected. The same system prevails in all 
magazines : all the main articles of the Atlantic and Harpers are in hand a 
month before they are to appear. 

Our Illustrations. — We regret that we are compelled to put this number of 
the Hesperian to press Avith only one engraving. It was our purpose to give at 
least two engravings in every number, but the best laid plans of humanity often 
fail, and so it happened in this instance. We expect that Mrs. Day will soon 
return to her home from her business visit to the Eastern States, and hope that 
then all such irregularities will cease. 

To Correspondents. — " Prophecies by Caxton," came too late for this num- 
ber, but will appear in the next. The "Franklin Relics" and " Slander" are 
reserved for further consideration. " Aegra Somnia," " To the Chosen," 
" Whispers," and " Nameless Heroes," are accepted. 

"""•ir"'*'^ ~ " 




Vol. IV. ' JULY, 1860. No. 5. 


[Saccularia VeatchiL — Kellogg.) 


The remarkably beautiful sbrub, of which a colored engraving 
graces the present number of the Hesperian^ was introduced from 
Cerros Island by our enterprising and public-spirited citizen, Dr. 
J. A, Veatch — hence the specific name it bears.' The stout stump 
of a stem, as seen in the small right-hand plan of the plant, is won- 
derfully prolific in a sociable brotherhood of branches — thousands 
of straight, apparently leafless twigs, of almost uniform size, spring 
up from a common base to the height of four or five feet, usually 
banded together into exceedingly dense impenetrable groups from 
two to four feet in diameter. The trim green twigs are at all times 
ornamental and attractive by their singularity ; but when in full 
bloom, the innumerable long, outward curving branches laden with 
long scarlet blossoms, with thick, proudly pouting lips and little 
saccoid spurs, must render it an object of rare beauty. When fully 
known, and properly appreciated, we shall expect to see this shrub 
zealously sought after by the ornamental gardener and florist. The 
foliage is often so very minute that in general appearance it resem- 
bles owe Ephedra or Joint-fir, which is also known as Tea-Uoig§. 

The Saceularia belongs to the natural family of Eig- worts, and: 
appears ^to be closely allied to Cialvezia of Dombey. It, how- 
ever, diifers in the style not being thickened at the top, nor emar- 
ginate ; neither is the stigma two-lobed. Other points of difference 
readily suggest the reasons for distinguishing it from that Peruvian 

■ ~~~~ ' ' ~ e 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S59, by Mrs. F. 11. Day, in the Clerk's Office of t h 

District Court of the United States for the Northern District of California. 



Technical description. — Saccularia (Kellogg.) calyx five-parted, sepals ovate 
oblong, acute, estivation quincuncial, corrolla tubular, bilabiate ; tube, elongated 
sub-cylindrical, saccate below at the base ; upper lip erect ; lower lip spread- 
ing ; stamens, four fertile, didynamous, without any rudiment of a fifth ; throat, 
mostly naked ; style filiform ; stigma undivided or lobed ; capsule globose, 
slightly depressed and compressed, obliquely ventricose ; each cell opening by 
an irregular eight-toothed orifice near the apex. Seeds small, numerous, ob- 
long truncate, testa ribbed lengthwise, deeply chinked; surface of the elevations 
irregular or toothed, dark brown. 

Seeds attached to a roundish rugose-pitted placenta, which is involved, and 
fixed by the complete and permanent dissepiment. 

S. Veatcliii, (Kellogg.) Stem suifruticose, with myriads of slender twiggy 
rods of nearly uniform size, very straight, bright green or glaucous, glandularly 
villous, and somewhat canescent above ; branches ternate and opposite ; erect, 
terminal twigs, often constricted at the bifurcation. Leaves, verticillate by 
threes or opposite, lanceolate, mucronulate, acute ; a mucronate gland at the 
apex ; short petioled or sub-sessile, entire, hirsute above at the base, glandu- 
larly villous on the lamina above, denselyglandularly hirsute below, small, (one- 
sixteenth to half an inch long) very remote. Flowers in elongated, terminal 
dichotomous narrow panicles (six inches to one foot in length,) or whorled in 
threes, a bract (or leaf) at the base of each pedicel ; pedicels, filiform, erect, 
ascending recurved outwards, one flowered; lower pedicels longer than the 
flower; upper, about half as long. Tubular flowers, about one to one and a 
quarter inches in length, minutely glandular villous externally ; upper lip erect, 
notched, reflexed at the sides, glandular villous within ; lowerlip, recurve- 
spreading somewhat trifid, lateral lobes shorter or sub-equal ; middle lobe 
rounded obtuse, apex folded under, bearded above with glandular hairs ; a broad 
line of short stipitate or papillose glands extends back from the middle lobe to 
the base of the tube — throat otherwise naked. Style filiform, glabrous, per- 
sistent; stigma simple, acute, (minutely stigmatose at the point,) included or 
sub-exsert ; filaments, filiform, glabrous, slightly thickened above, flattened, 
glandularly villous along the base ; anthers, very small, glabrous, lobes divaricate. 

Rain in San Francisco. — Thomas Tennent, who has been keep- 
ing an account of all the rain that has fallen in this city since the 
middle of 1853, makes the following report of the depth of rain, in 
inches, for each year, counting from the 1st of June to the 31st of 
May as a year : — 

1859-60 22.18 1855-56 21.63 

1858-59.. ..s 22.22 1854-55 23.67 

1857-58 21.70 1853-54 23.48 

1856-57 19.77 


After the German. 


The full mooQ appearetli 

The headland above ; 
'Tis the hour of meeting, 

Whete lingers my love ? 

The summer night sheddeth 

Its magical spell, 
O'er forest and ocean. 

O'er mountain and dell: 

The waters lie hushed, 

In the smile of the night, 

And the earth rests entranced 
In a dream of delight ; 

The little leaves murmur 
Their loves in low trills. 

And the drooping boughs shiver 
With passionate thrills ; 

The wind faintly sighs 

In voluptuous strain, 
And my heart is dissolved 

In sweet longing and pain. 

In air, earth, and ocean, 

Around and above. 
Throb the pulses of passion. 

Breathes the music of love. 

But hark ! 'tis his footstep ; 

And soon in his eyes 
I shall read the sweet lesson 

Of the waves and the skies. 


Trillium Calif ornicum. — Kellogg. 


It is very remarkable tliat a conspicuous plant like tkis Trillium^ in 
a genus so well known, and found in the vicinity of San Francisco, 
should not be enumerated in any of the very numerous catalogues 
of botanical collections from the Pacific Coast. We are indebted to 
Mr. Gibbs, of Stockton, for the plant here figured. We were also 
shown a specimen from the Redwoods, recently, by Mrs. Hutchings. 

The Trilliums are exceedingly interesting plants, simple and uni- 
form in habit, and very similar in structure. The genus is easily 
determined, but we find many species and varieties which verge so 
closely together that it is difficult to distinguish them. This species, 
however, is readily recognized hy the long floiver stem; whereas, the 
most common one here, [T. sessile,) has no flower stem at all, but, 
as its specific name implies, the flower is set down close between the 

The "Wake-Robin," "Three-Leafed Nightshade," "Birth- 
Root," &c., &c., as these plants have been variously named, are all 
esteemed useful medicines by both Anglo-Americans and Indians. 
They belong to the far famed sarsaparilla family and kindred. 

Technical Description. — The stout straight stem is smooth, slightly decurrent 
angled, 6 to 8 inches in height. Peduncle erect, angular, 2h to 3 inches long, 
(bright crimson.) 

Flowers erect, spreading, petals greenish white, purple checked above, oval- 
lanceolate, acute, flat, distinctly 5-nerved, (or obscurely 9-nerved,) reticulate 
veined, about \ longer than the calyx, (IJ to 2 inches long, by 1 inch broad,) 
stamens nearly half as long, stigmas recurved. Sepals broad-lanceolate, (5 an 
inch wide,) acuminate, 3-nerved, (the two other outer nerves'obscure,) purplish 
spotted towards the apex. Fruit (not purple) 6-winged, (in the half grown state.) 

Leaves rhombic-obovate, broadly cuneate at the base, abruptly short acumi- 
nate, 5-nerved, margin waved, reticulate sessile, (?) purple checked towards the 
upper third. Leaves about three inches long, and nearly the same in breadth. 

This plant differs from T. erectum, in the flowers not " nodding," (?) nor at all 
"inclined" or reclining, (petals not "acuminate" nor "equalling the sepals," 
neither are the leaves " 3-nerved," &c. 

It is near T. grandijlorum, but the petals are not "connivent " nor " obovate," 
or " spatulate-lanceolate," nor is the flower "inclined" in the specimens exam- 
ined, neither is the leaf " acute " nor " rhombic-ovate." 

With such observations and means of reference as we can command, this 
species appears to be new. As the root is now in culture, it will be easy, here- 
after, to observe its growth and peculiarities. 






What is a novel? Webster sajs it is "a fictitious tale or narrative 
in prose, intended to exhibit the operation of the passions, par- 
ticularly of love." Worcester defines it as "a species of fictitious 
composition in prose," and he adds that it is "a term applied to a 
work longer and more elaborate than a fable or a tale. A novel 
treats of occurrences and manners of recent times, [?] and brings 
into notice a great variety of characters ; a romance treats of wild 
adventures of a more remote period, particularly of the age of chiv- 
alry." I would define a novel to be " a fictitious story of human life 
in prose, not less than seventy-five thousand ems in length by print- 
ers' measure.' ' A shorter story is called tale, novelette, or fable. The 
average length of novels is about four hundred thousand ems. I think 
the matter of length an indispensable part of the definition ; but if 
not, then it is sufficient to say that a novel is a fictitious story of 
human life in prose. Human life can not be depicted without a rep- 
resentation of the passions, which form its main element. Each of 
them is a proper subject for the novelist ; but he is not dependent 
upon any one especially. Love is usually the main passion of his 
story, because it ofiers the most interesting topic, and a wide scope 
of incident, but it is not necessary. I imagine that Robinson Cru- 
soe^ the Svjiss Family Robinson, Gfil Bias, Don Quijote, (a bur- 
lesque) Telemaque, Salathiel, and the Vicar of Wakefield, are all 
novels, though love plays a very subordinate part in them, and 
scarcely appears in one or two of them. In all the novels of the 
first class, however, love-making is the main subject of the story. 

The novel was unknown in ancient literature, and although it ap- 
peared in an incomplete form in Spain and Italy as early as the 
sixteenth century, it first took its present prevailing shape and pur- 
pose in Richardson's compositions, about one hundred and twenty 
years ago. Ancient society did not furnish the material for the love 
stoi-y ; women were not educated and free ; courtship, as we under- 
stand it in America, was not known; a wife was obtained by a 
bargain with the father or guardian; the would-be husband exercised 
his judgment in regard to her appearance, her family, and her dowry, 
but did not expect that she would have any education beyond cer- 


tain arts of housewifery, nor did he avspire to a knowledge of her 
peculiar mental constitution. When women were educated, honored, 
and set free from many of the trammels of ancient society, court- 
ship became a possibility ; a new field of hope, emotion and excite- 
ment was opened to the human soul; and Kichardson arose in the 
country where the most social freedom prevailed, to describe the new 
phase of life which appeared about him to more advantage than 
elsewhere. He was succeeded by a multitude of imitators (som.e of 
them very able writers) at home and abroad, but there was no new 
epoch in the world of fiction until the appearance of Wavei-ley. 

Scott was the first novelist who produced a great number of works, 
and whose books created great sensations immediately on their ap- 
pearance, and were in universal demand at once among all persons 
able to appreciate and procure them. Richardson made the first 
epoch in the English novel; Scott the second and the greater one. 
He wrote a story for the sake of a story, with some estimable moral 
qualities in the good characters, a "heavy villain" or two, some ro- 
mantic scenery, some historical incidents, glittering armor, magnifi- 
cent drapery, pageantry suitable to the plot, and some treason, 
blood and thunder. For a long time his works were undoubtedly 
the best of the kind. They are written in fine English ; the plots 
are natural and probable ; the story is composed of effective inci- 
•dents, interesting from the first and skilfully developed to the final 
climax ; the descriptions of scenery and pageantry are magnificent ; 
the characters, of which he produced an immense variety, are well 
conceived, and clearly distinguished from each other ; there is no 
lack of true feeling, no display of false sentiment ; and in no respect 
did he fail to produce the purposed effect. A multitude of novelists 
followed Scott, and the main resource for success was the introduc- 
tion of some time,- place or phase of life not previously shown in a 
novel. One went among the savages of North America ; another 
wrote military novels ; a third, marine novels ; a fourth, humorous 
novels ; a fifth, novels of low life, and so on. These authors con- 
sidered human nature as exhausted by previous writers ; it might be 
shown in new circumstances, but not more fully. Charlotte Bronte 
took a different view, and she made the third, last and greatest epoch 
of the English novel. It 1847 she published Jane Eyre, which shook 
the whole literary world, dethroned Scott, set up a new standard of 


excellence, and opened a new field of labor. The main feature of 
lier books is their intensity, particularly in the moral endowments of 
the leading characters. The heroine is a woman fit to rule a world, a 
true counterpart of the authoress wonderfully rich in energy, cour- 
age, perseverance, fortitude, taciturnity and grand conscientious- 
ness, — a woman to be worshiped. Miss Bronte died, and her place 
is worthily filk-d by Miss Muloch, whose best book is John Halifax. 
Mrs. Stowe, George Sand, and the author of Adam Bede, said to 
be Miss Marian Evans, (previously known in the literary world as 
the able translator of several anti-christian German books) may be 
placed with Charlotte Bronte and Miss Muloch, as belonging to the 
new and greatest school of novelists. Mrs. Stowe's ablest book, as 
a work of art, is the Minister s Wooing^ which is unsurpassed as a 
novel in many important respects. Her Uncle Tom's Cabin had 
greater success than ever fell to the fortune of any similar work. It 
created unparalleled excitement, and was republished in almost every 
country and language in Europe, George Sand has written a large 
number of novels, most of them in a hasty and careless manner, but 
there is only one among them that entitles her to rank among the 
first, — Oonsuelo, which, with all its faults, is perhaps the greatest 
novel ever written. In unity of interest, naturalness of plot, even 
adjustment of the parts, and regularity of polish, a number of other 
novels are superior to it ; but in the Avidth of scope, the powerful* 
handling of many effective scenes, and the fine delineation of a great 
sample of a woman, it has no equal. All these women — for be it 
noticed that all our best novelists are women — are great masters of 
language ; writing in styles pure, concise, perspicuous, mighty, clear 
in description, rich in philosophic suggestion, tender in the expres- 
sion of delicate sympathies. I think the superiority of women in 
novel writing is easily to be traced to the social shackles which limit 
the sphere of their activity, turn their thoughts back upon their 
own emotions, and compel them to observe closely those delicate 
points of affection and social intercourse, wherein great and refined 
sou^ show their superiority, especially when love is brought into 
play, and wherein the novelist finds the chief materials for his labors. 
It has 'often been asserted that the habit of reading novels is per- 
nicious, and does much harm in modern society : but the habit ap- 
pears to me to be highly beneficial. It is a powerful agent in culti- 


vating the intellectual, and developing the moral qualities of our 
nature. Our novelists are among the greatest of our authors. The 
novel belongs to high, pure art. Prose fiction is poetry without 
rhyme or rhythm. As written in our times, it contains the revela- 
tion of those powers, which in ancient times appeared only in verse. 
The novel is the modern epic. It is an adaptation of the epic to 
one age. Poetry, by the common consent of our greatest thinkers, 
has been declared entitled to the first place among the fine arts. 
Its study is among the most ennobling and refining of all studies. 
Whatever praise of this kind is justly given to poetry, must also go, 
in almost an equal degree, to the credit of prose fiction, which has 
a similar sphere with poetry, — to paint life in the realms of high 
art, unobstructed by the trammels of history and biography, — to 
show us the workings of our passions ; to hold the mirror up to our 
nature. Jane Eyre is a modern Iliad that may well be compared to 
the great Grecian epic. It sings a modern hero, and her toils and 
trials, in a language not less pure and forcible, in a form not less 
impressive than those which record the wrath of Achilles and its dire 
results. The grim governess is a nobler hero than the grim warrior. 
Whatever there may be of great or good in human Hfe, comes 'within 
the novelist's domain. He maybe poet, moralist, priest, philosopher 
and historian, all in one. He unites in himself all their function^ 
and powers, and is yet free from most of the shackles which bind 
each of them. The great novel is a picture, fictitious, but -faithful 
to the possibilities of our nature; showing the conduct of imaginary 
heroes in supposable circumstances. A hero is essential to the novel ; 
the great novel has a great hero ; a high moral character, whose 
conduct is the attainable ideal, placed before us for our imitation. 
The contemplation of that ideal ennobles and inspires us. Every 
man has a strong moral element in his mental constitution. It is 
strong even in the worst men ; for most of their wickedness is attrib- 
utable to unfortunate circumstances rather than to then- own natures. 
The present system of society is grossly unjust, and it drives many 
to desperation, wickedness, and habitual injustice and crime ; but 
their moral element, though dormant, is still alive, and whenever it 
hears a forcible appeal, it rises and gives a worthy response. So it 
is that in every band of thieves, murderers or pirates, there are men 
who do generous actions, and whose souls are easily touched by hu- 


mane and noble emotions. While nobody is too low to be benefited 
by the contemplation of noble deeds, neither is anybody too high. 
Even the purest and best, those who. dwell continually in the highest 
sphere of our present morality, need the sympathy and comfort to 
be derived from communion with other souls like their own. Miss 
Muloch is the stronger, better, and happier than ever, after having 
read Jane Eyre. Mrs. Stowe derives, or might derive a new com- 
fort and consolation in life, and new strength for severe moral tasks, 
from reading the trials of Porporina. There is in the good novel, a 
noble emotional inspiration which communicates itself to the mind 
of every man who reads it, and if he fully appreciates it, exalts him 
for the time to the moral level of the author ; who was himself in a 
state of exaltation when he wrote it. 

The novel is peculiarly adapted to refine the feelings, give delicacy 
of perception, and impress upon us the importance of treating all 
men with careful consideration and gentleness. Our society has 
much to learn ; the men, especially, are rough, coarse, grossly defi- 
cient in that delicacy of conduct which is observed by refined women 
in their intercourse with each other. This deficiency is owing chiefly 
to a bad education. There is no reason why men should not be as 
refined as women. Their superior strength of character does not 
preclude the possibility of equal delicacy ; on the contrary, I imag- 
ine that wherever the strongest judgment and the greatest courage 
and resolution are found, there, as a general rule, will also be found 
the feelings which can be educated to the greatest delicacy and re- 
finement. The development of those organs which give power does 
not prevent the development of fine moral perceptions ; but rather 
the growth of one faculty will ordinarily go to strengthen all the 
others. Indeed, according to the most authoritative views of the 
present age upon psychology, reason, courage and passion — the 
qualities wherein men are supposed to excel — are essential to en- 
thusiasm, generosity, and all heroic action, to which high tenderness 
and delicacy of thought and conduct surely must belong. Miss 
Muloch, a very careful and accurate observer, in John Halifax, says 
that the tenderest persons whom she has ever known, are men. But 
the men, as a class, are wofuUy lacking in the education best suited 
to develope the capabilities of their nature in this respect : they 



grow up, many of them, almost as rough and brutal as savages, and 
this is especially the case with the British and Americans. 

Now, novels are specially qualified to appeal to the better sympa- 
thies of our nature, to stimulate every noble emotion, to strengthen 
and refine every moral perception, and to repress every base im- 
pulse. They cultivate all the higher intellectual faculties, but 
address themselves more particularly to the passion of love, and, 
through that, they purifj^ and elevate all the other passions. Gross 
as it may have been in the aboriginal savages of mankind, love is 
now recognised as the comprehensive term to express the most gen- 
erous of all our emotions. It is the synonym of all that we worship. 
It expresses the ideal before which every full-grown, well-propor- 
tioned soul bows in adoration. It is the attraction which draws us 
to whatever is good. It teaches us the highest devotion to the high- 
est interests of humanity. It has taught us to transfer, to all our 
brethren, the consideration which it first suggested towards one of 
the opposite sex. And this passion of love, so mighty for good in- 
fluences in the past, will not be less powerful in the future ; and it 
is a great means in the hands of the novelist, whose first influence 
is to sublimate, cultivate, develope and strengthen it ; to widen its 
domain, to graft the philosophic magnanimity of Plato upon the base 
stock of narrow, sexual desire, and to bring us nearer to that unat- 
tainable ideal state, sighed for by Confucius, wherein we might love 
intellectual goodness as ardently as we do physical beauty. 

The novel excites the mind, awakes the sympathies, arouses the 
passions, improves the manners, enlarges the knowledge, cultivates 
the taste, beguiles many an hour that would otherwise be weary, if 
not miserable, and gives a refuge from tiresome and evil compan- 
ions. It familiarizes the reader with the habits and thoughts of 
strong and fine thinkers, accustoms him to reading, and gives him a 
fondness for books. He who likes Ivanhoe will try to read Mar- 
mioii, and from Marmio7i he will range to Byron and all the rich 
poetry and general literature of the language. The lowest class of 
novels are good for those who can take pleasure in nothing higher ; 
the intellectual activity excited by reading them, is better than utter 
want of thought, and gradually the perception becomes rnore acute, 
and the comprehension widens for better works. The distance is 
great from the " sensation " trash of Sylvanus Cobb, and his like. 


up to the queens of fiction ; but the ascent is gradual, natural and 
easy to the mind which once has the way open before it. The novel 
is attractive. It pleases, delights, fascinates. It charms those who 
take no interest in any other kind of books. It lays the foundation 
for a taste for reading, in many who Avould never acquire such a taste 
from other books. It is the beginning in such matters that presents 
the great obstacle, to overcome which, when all other means fail, 
novels have an especial power. 

It has been asserted that novel-reading does harm by inculcating 
anti-christian ideas ; filling the heads of inexperienced persons with 
false views of society ; unfitting them for the grave duties and prac- 
tical labors of life ; destroying the taste for solid studies, and with- 
drawing, the attention from more valuable books. These objections 
are so evidently unsound and superficial that they would not deserve 
notice if it was not for the influence that frequent repetition gives 
to even gross misstatements, and baseless assertions. It is not true 
that the influence of novels is unfavorable to Christianity, or at least 
not more than that of all our polite literature. The topics of the 
preacher, the Mosaic cosmogony, the plan of salvation, the incarna- 
tion, the mysteries of the atonement, the hope of heaven and the 
fear of hell, are not suited to the wants of the novelist, and he pas- 
ses them in silence as do the geologist and physiologist ; but it does 
not follow, therefore, that he disbelieves or desires to lead others to 
doubt. On the contrary, many of the best novels, especially by late 
authors, are full of a zealous though perhaps not a strictly orthodox 
Christianity, and I venture to assert that no twenty men in the pul- 
pit have done so much to give a favorable impression of Evangelical 
Protestantism to the unconverted masses, as have been done by Miss 
Bronte, Miss Muloch, Mrs. Stowe, the Misses Warner, and Charles 

The next objection, that novels fill the heads of inexperienced 
persons with false views of society, and unfit them for the grave du- 
ties and practical labors of life, is absurd. Undoubtedly there are 
novel-readers who lack sound judgment, and have very incorrect 
ideas about business and society, but it does not follow that their 
ideas were derived from novels. Rather, the novels, by exciting 
their thinking powers, would aid to correct the erroneous notions 
into which their want of sense and experience originally led them. 


Here and tliere, a Tiveak-rQinded reader may make one of Bulwer's 
dandies his model for imitation and adoration, but the cases will be 
rare, and the harm but slight. 

And lastly, it is objected that novel-reading destroys the taste for 
solid studies, and withdraws the attention from more valuable books. 
Undoubtedly, novel-reading occupies many hours that might be de- 
voted to other books on more serious subjects, but I deny that any 
balance of harm will be found to remain after a just estimate of both 
sides of the question. The novel is often compared with books of 
history and travels, and declared worthless in comparison, but with 
very little reason. _Our histories, as a class, are inferior to our nov- 
els ; less able, less suggestive, and less correct pictures of society. 
Most of our historical books tell us little or nothing of the true his- 
tory of humanity, but are filled with the records of military cam- 
paigns and political intrigues, — matters as foreign to what should be 
the main topic of the historian, as the long toils and final triumphs 
of imaginary lovers. And what are the general features of our 
books of travels ? Mostly trash ; made up of accounts of what the 
traveler ate at such a meal, how he slept on such a night, with an 
occasional pufi" of this innkeeper, a grumble at that servant, and so 
on. Novels are everyway as instructive and beneficial as such notes 
of travel. 

The influence of novel-reading is not only very good, but it is 
very great. There is no other similar agent at all equal in power. 
Its force resides in the abundance of novels and their attractiveness. 
Everybody reads them ; more time and study are spent, and more 
thought and emotion excited by them than by any other class, per-' 
haps by all other classes of books exclusive of school manuals. 
Look at the statistics of the Mercantile Library of San Francisco. 
During the year 1859, 21,903 books were taken from the library, 
and of these, 12,673 were novels — 57 per cent, of the whole num- 
ber. These novels were all, or nearly all, read through with attentive 
interest, while probably not half of the other books were read 
through, but were merely looked into. We may safely assume that 
those figures probably indicate fairly the general proportions of nov- 
els in the reading of the most civilized nations, and their influence 
may be measured by the extent to which they are read. In the last 
century a poet said, he would not care who should make the laws of 


a people if he might be permitted to write its songs. There was a 
time when the songs current among a people might have more influ- 
ence upon their national character than the decrees of the law-mak- 
ers, but to accommodate the saying to this age, we should insert 
"novels " in the place of " songs." The novel* has succeeded the 
song as the agent of power. It is part of the religion of our time. 
It indicates the aspirations, fore^shadows the philosophic tendencies, 
and depicts the heroes, of our enthusiasm. Such as we are, it has 
helped to make us. It has furnished a large part of the food upon 
which our generation has grown to spiritual majority. It has done 
so much for us, that to condemn it were to condemn ourselves. We 
protest, then, against any denunciation or abuse of it. 

In this article I have briefly considered the nature, the history, 
and the general influence of novels as a cla^s. In a subsequent 
article I shall make some remarks upon the nov^els which best de- 
serve reading. 



When Jones was sixteen, he was bent 
On one day being President. 

At tvTentj-five, Jones thought that he 
Content, as District Judge would be. 

At thirty, he was much elated. 
When Mayor of Frogtown nominated. 

But bootless all the nomination 5 

His rival Tompkins graced the station. 

At forty-five, his dreams had fled ; 
Hope and Ambition, both Avere dead. 

When from his toils he found release, 
He died-- a Justice of the Peace. 

youthful heart, so high and bold, 
Thus is iliy brief, sad story told ! 



'Tis sweet to let the wayward fancy wing 

Its flight untrammel'd o'er the realms of mind, 
Where flowers of poesy in beauty spring, 

To deck the wreath by Genius' hand entwined ; 
The realms that Art and Science claim, 
The realms presided o'er by Fame, 
The realms where Music, breathing soft and clear 
Like seraph's song falls on the list'ning ear. 

Oh ! I have listened, when the glorious night 

Was reigning o''er a still and slumb'ring world. 
When Orion's gleaming sword was flashing bright, 
Amid the stars which heaven's dome empearled, 
Enwrap'd by fancy's golden chain. 
To poesy's delightful strain. 
While forms of beauty charmed the spirit's eye, 
As to the tones they slowly flitted by. 

Upon the storm-tossed warring clouds I've gazed 

In rapture, from a " heaven kissing hill," 
While rending lightnings far beneath me blazed. 
And answering thunder seem'd the air to fill ; 
When swell'd the frowning Storm-King's song. 
In accents, terrible and strong, 
As o'er the pine he drove his rushing car, 
In haste to join the elemental war. 

I've stood entranced, as p,utumn's breeze swept o'er 

The acres broad, of waving golden grain. 
And, list'ning there, imagination bore 

Unto my ears the corn-field's sweet refrain, 
The voice of Plenty — Peace was there 
To bless the toiling farmer's care. 
And Beauty's crown was placed upon the sod. 
That glowed with riches 'neath the smiles of God. 

I've stood upon the beach when evening's gale 

Was bearing foam-crowned billows to the shore. 
And thought I heard the deep and mournful wail 
Of ocean spirits blending with the roar ; 
In music rose the wind-like dirge 
Upon the breeze, which swept the surge — 
A fitting requiem for the good and brave, 
Who calmly slept beneath the heaving wave. 



Upon the de-vT-bow'd flower I've looked, 

And found a beauty, greater than its cup outspread. 
For there, a poem, written on the ground 
By God's own hand, my soul delighted read ; 
A poem glowing with the light 
Of Love and Beauty, Power and Might, 
Transcribed on Nature's page throughout the land, 
With Spring's bright pencil dip'd in colors grand. 

'Mid scenes and sights like these, the soul e'er holds 

Communion with the mystic and sublime. 
And reaching thought, a rapturous bliss, unfolds 
To gazers on the fair ideal clime : 
If this is dreaming — let me dream 
Whilst floating down Life's troubled stream, 
For Beauty, Love and Hope shall cheer the hours^ 
With whispers of a laud of fadeless flowers. 



Coming events cast their shadows before. — Campbell. 

There is a faculty of the human mind which enables it to predict 
the future, sometimes with mathematical certainty, always with 
moral probability. 

This gift, denied only by the unreflecting, is what peculiarly dis- 
tinguishes the human from the brute creation. The last arrive at 
coming events, by the force of natural instinct; the former by the 
strength of the mental faculties. Hence it follows, as a general rule 
in human affairs, that the most gifted with cool reflective reasoning 
powers, are the most successful in the race of life ; whilst the half- 
idiotic and impulsive, thinking only of the present moment, neglect 
to provide for the future, because incapable of foreseeing it, and be- 
come, finally, a burthen to the State. 

There is some reason to suppose that every faculty of the mind 
is infinite — but owing to the circumstances in which it finds itself, 
it is unable fully to display its powers. Certain it is, that peculiar 
gifts in individuals, rise so high in the scale of the finite, as to baf- 


fle compreliension, and approacli most intimately tlie line separating 
finiteness from infinity. Tnere are certain states of the mind and 
body, which are denominated ecstasy, inspiration, &c., that when- 
ever attained, seem to transform the mortal to immortal, and the hu- 
man to the divine. In some men this faculty is the memory ; in some 
the imagination ; iu some the relation of numbers ; in others the 
relation of sounds. 

The memory of Mithridates, the Pontic king, who knew person- 
ally and by name every individual in his vast army, has always been 
regarded as one of the standing wonders of the world. Nor was the 
memory of the late Cardinal Mezzofanti — " that walking polyglot," 
as he was termed by Lord Byron — -who understood more than sixty 
different languages, any less wonderful. As incomprehensible as 
either, is the memory of Paul Morphy, who carries in his mind's 
eye the eventful battles of nine chess-boards with their almost infin- 
ite com.plications, at one and the same time. 

In the walks of the imagination, it is only necessary to refer to 
"The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle ; " to Milton, conversing 
freely with demons, gods and angels ; to Shakspeare, making every 
era of the world his own, and peopling the dead, old empires of the 
past, with real authentic characters. 

In mathematics, view old Euler, computing cycles so vast, that 
the ordinary mind shrinks back appalled from the fearful abysses it 
is forced to tread. See Kepler, undergoing his patient labor of 
eighteen years, but elfminating step by step, the three great laws of 
the universe. Behold Leverrier eclipsing the fame of the brightest, 
by unburying a world, by the force of his powers of computation ; 
and finally, cast your eyes upon that pale boy, Zerah Colburn, Avho 
at the age of nine years, astonished the savans of the world by 
readily and instantaneously solving, mentally, the most diflicult 
arithmetical problem that could be stated. 

Nor is that faculty which enables the mind to comprehend at a 
single glance, the most obstruse and varied laws of harmony, any 
less wonderful to the uninitiated. 

To the mind in its ordinary normal condition, the feats performed 
by such inspired men as Paganini, Mozart and Beethoven, appear 
almost miraculous. They are incomprehensible unless we admit the 
infinite power of the mind when divested of extraneous impediments. 


The same general law, therefore, which produces a prodigy, in 
one department of mind, may operate equally in all others. Thus, 
what in ordinary cases passes for common foresight, occasionally is 
sublimated into prophecy — and the same faculty which enables one 
man "to discern the face of the slcy," when elevated by ecstasy, 
may enable another to predict the fall of empires. The finite mind 
of an ordinary mortal, readily traces effects back to their immediate 
and sometimes to their remote causes, and as readily deduces future 
effects from causes already in operation. The sublimated mind 
possesses the same faculty in an infinite degree, and very often as- 
tounds us by giving utterance to predictions, which develops them- 
selves into realities, as the slow years revolve away. 

It must be distinctly borne in mind in reading this essay, that no 
reference or allusion is made to the gift of prophecy, spoken of in 
Holy Writ ; nor is there any, not even the slightest analogy be- 
tween a remote fact eliminated by reason, and a future event dis- 
closed by miracle. The first is a legitimate result of the laws of 
mind ; the last, a violation of them by God himself, in order to ac- 
complish more important purposes than could be produced by their 
regular operation. 

"Prophecy," says Bishop Hoadley, " was not given to enable 
curious men to pry into futurity, but to enable the serious and con- 
siderate to discern m past events the hand of Providence." Hence 
all inspired prophetic periods are so extremely remote as to defy the 
possibility of fathoming the abyss by the lead line of mere reason. 

The present purpose is to deal only with the legitimate results of 
the reasoning faculties, and these can only be exercised by contact 
with the hnown and the actual. But within this range the human 
mind has often put forth the most solemn prophecies, and vindicated 
its powers by the subsequent events of history. Some of the bold- 
est of these utterances it is now proposed to consider. 

One of the earliest, and best known, occurs in Seneca's Poem of 
Medea — 

" Venient annis 
Sacula seris, quinMcs oceaiius 
Vincula rerum laxat et engeris 
Pateat iellus, Tiphys que novos 
Detegat orbes : nee sit terris 
Ultima tJiule." 


Which has thus been rendered into English by Anthony Collins — 

" Distant years 
Shall bring the fated season when ocean, 
Nature's prime barrier, shall no more ol)struct 
The daring ses^rch of enterprising man. 
The earth so wide, shall all be open, 
The mariner explore new worlds 
Nor Shetland be the utmost shore." 

This prophecy Tvas written about the year 65, of our era ; and re- 
mained unfulfilled until the discovery of America by Columbus, in 
1492. It was a cold utterance, but one entirely within the scope of 
reason ; for nothing could be more probable than that worlds still 
undiscovered lay buried in that untraversed ocean, which stretched 
westward to an illimitable extent, beyond the Pillar of Hercules, 
The poet knew that ship-building was then a mere rudimental art, 
and must improve in the course of ages. He also knew of the ex- 
istence of England, and Ireland, and Shetland, and the Orkneys ; 
and had heard the vague traditions of the Greeks so beautifully em- 
bodied by Plato, in his Atlantis. Besides all this, there had been 
recently drifted on the coast of Norway, a canoe, strangely dug out 
from an entire tree, with three human bodies partly devoured by the 
elements, but still showing a strange color, and accompanied by 
novel and singular implements of war. Driftwood, too, of species 
unknovrn in Europe, had frequently been picked up on the shores of 
Albion and Iberia, and thus directly pointed to another world, or 
island beyond the sea. The prophecy then of Seneca, was nothing 
more than a deduction of pure reason. 

Prophecy among the Romans was of ordinary occurrence. It'has 
even been recorded by the wisest of Roman historians, that the 
Sybilline fable was an actual fact ; and that her mysterious " leaves" 
faithfully portrayed the course of events for near a thousand years. 

We are told by Cicero, in one of his familiar epistles, that there 
was an old prophecy current at his era, which predicted that at some 
distant day, and amongst a mighty people inhabiting lands far across 
that ocean which washed the western shores of Europe, there should 
arise a great-aadrgaod man, whose arm should free his country from 
oppression, and whose fame should eclipse that of Cato and Brutus. 
This prophecy was more than fulfilled in the person of George 
Washington. There is, however, a vagueness about these so called 



prophecies wliicli deprive them of all value or even interest, and 
commend them rather to our curiosity than to our serious attention. 
Not so with those I now propose to consider — and as being the 
most remarkable, and at the same time the best authenticated. I 
shall commence with Les Previsions d' Orval. 

Before introducing the prophecy, or at least that portion of it still 
extant in print, some account of its origin, and the proofs of its 
authenticity, may not be deemed inappropriate. As a preface, it 
must be remembered that only the concluding portions are given. 
The paragraphs relating to the fate of Louis XVI., and total over- 
throw of the French monarchy having been entirely fulfilled, have 
unfortunately been left out of all the printed copies recently pub- 
lished — though we are informed by a writer in Blackwood, who pub- 
lished an article on this subject in 1848, that he was personally 
acquainted v/ith an aged lady who had seen, and copied from MS., 
the entire prophecy in the year 1802. 

Below will be found an extract from a letter written upon this 
prophecy by a scholar of Lorraine, who seems to have devoted much 
time to its investigation : — 

" The abbey of Orval, of the order of Citeanx, is situated in the 
diocess of Treves, on the Luxembourg frontier, where the French 
army in the time of the revolution blockaded the City of Luxem- 
bourg, where Mar^chal Bender commanded, and where a great 
number of emigrants from Lorraine had taken refuge. The abbot 
of Orval and his monks arrived at the place with their archives and 
other precious effects after some days. The abbot, in arranging the 
papers which he had saved, found '■'■Les Previsions d'un Solitaire,'" 
printed in the year 1544, and attributed to a monk named Philip 
Olivarious. Having shown the document to Marechal Bender, this 
officer Avas amazed at it. But the distinguished Frenchmen who 
were present, took copies of the prophecy, whi<;h were circulated 
through the city, and beyond it. The death of Louis XVI., which 
is so clearly announced in these previsions, won for them an extra- 
ordinary attention. The Countess Adele de Ficquelmont, Canoness 
of Porchius, who had emigrated with her father, heard them read at 
the house of her uncle, Count de la Tour, afterwards Minister of 
War, at Vienna. On her return to France she married Count Mon- 
thereux Ficquelmont. Baron M , ex-colonel in the service of 



Austria, who was tlien in the garrison at Luxembourg, heard the 
prophecy spoken of at the same period, about the year 1792. The 
Countess Alexandrina de Raigecourt, Canoness of St. Louis, at 
Metz, affirms that she heard it read in chapter, at the time of the 

emigration. Mr. , Knight of St. Louis, has a copy of it, 

taken from the one which was in his mother's possession at Luxem- 
bourg at the same period. At Trouard, near Nancy, there is an 
aged nun, who also professes to have a copy of this prophecy. In 
fine, the Abbe Mansing, Vicar General of Verdun, in a letter to a 
gentleman of Nancy, dated Nov. 24th, 1831, says: 'The previsions 
of Orval were made known to me by a very respectable clergyman, 
who, while yet a layman, had seen it at Orval at the period of the 
revolution. All the above mentioned persons are worthy of credit.' " 

A work has been published concerning the authenticity of the 
prophecy, by James Burns, which appeared in 1848. From it many 
other facts in addition to the foregoing may be gleaned by the curi- 
ous reader. I will only add in conclusion, that the prophecy as it 
now stands was republished on the 20th of June, and again on the 
18th July, 1839, in the '■^Journal des Villes, et des Oampagnes," a 
Parisian newspaper. 

The small type gives the text of the prophecy ; and the interspersed 
paragraphs in larger type are my calculations, explanations and re- 
marks. I have also taken the liberty to divide the prophecy into 
verses and to number them. 

1. At that time, a young man come from beyond the sea, into the country of 
Celtic Gaul, shows himself strong in counsel. 

Napoleon I. is here most accurately described. 

2. But the mighty to whom he gives umbrage, will send him to combat in the 
land of captivity. Victory will bring him back. 

Alluding to the jealousy of the French Directors who planned the 
expedition to Egypt to get rid of him. 

3. The sous of Brutus will be confounded at his approach, for he will overpower 
them and take the name of emperor. 

His victory of the sections, is here predicted, where he put down 
the Republicans, characterized throughout the previsions as the sons 
of Brutus. 

4. Many great and powerful kings will be seized with fear, and his eagle will 
carry off many sceptres and crowns. 

5. Men on foot and horse, carrying blood-stained eagles, and as nu|nerous as 
gnats in the air, will run with him throughout Europe, which will be filled with 


consternation, and carnage. For he will be so powerful that God will be thought 
to combat on his side. 

6. The church of God, in great desolation, will be somewhat comforted, for she 
shall see her temples opened again to her lost sheep, and God praised. But all is 
over ; the moons are past. 

The first act of Bonaparte, after lie attained supreme power, was 
to reinstate divine worship in public. 

I. The old man of Zion cries to God from his afflicted heart, and behold the 
mighty one is blinded for his crimes. 

Pope Pius VII. 

8. He leaves the great city with an army so mighty that none ever was seen to 
be compared to it. 

Expedition to Russia, and its consequences. 

9. But never will the warrior bear up against the state of the weather, and be- 
hold the third part, and again the third part of his army has perished by the cold 
of the almighty. 

10. Two lustrums have passed since the age of desolation ; the widows and the 
orphans have cried aloud to the Lords, and behold God is no longer deaf. The 
mighty that have been humbled take courage, and combine to overthrow the man 
of power. 

Bonaparte was crowned on the 2d December, 1804. Two lus- 
trums, or ten years, was the length of his reign. The grand coali- 
tion was formed in 1814. 

II. Behold the ancient blood of centuries is with them, and resumes its place 
and its abode in the great city. The man of power returns humbled to the country 
beyond the sea from which he came. God alone is great! 

Louis XVIII. entered Paris with the allies on the 3d May, 1814. 
Napoleon started for Elba on the 20th April, 1814. 

12. The eleventh moon has not yet shone, and the bloody scourge of the Lord 
returns to the great city ; the ancient blood quits it. 

Bonaparte reached Fontainbleau March 19, and Paris March 20, 
1815 ; just eleven months from the time he left it. 

13. God alone is great I He loves his people and hatee blood ; the fifth moon 
has shone upon many warriors from the East. Gaul is covered with men, and with 
machines of war. All is finished with the man of the sea. 

In less than five months from the 26th February, 1815, when Na- 
poleon left Elba, no less than one million one hundred thousand men 
were on the borders of France. 

14. Behold again returned the ancient blood of the Cap ! God ordains peace, 
that his holy name be blessed. 

Louis XVIII. re-ascended the throne on the 8th July, 1815. 
Cap is contracted for Capet. Hugh Capet formed the French dy- 
nasty iij 987. 


15. Therefore shall great peace reign throughout Celtic Gaul. The white floA7er 
is greatly in honor, and the temples of the Lord resonnd with holy canticles. 

The Fleur de Lis, or Lily, is the coat of arms of the Bourbons. 

16. But the sons of Brutus, hating the white flower, succeed in obtaining great 
influence, which is displeasing to God, on account of the elect, and because the 
holy day is much profaned. 

The rise of the Republicans here alluded to — or the influence of 
the masses through the freedom of the press. 

17. Notwithstanding this, God will try the restoration during eighteen times ten 

18X10=180 moons ; allowing twelve moons to the year we have 
just fifteen years for the duration of the Bourbon dynasty. Charles 
X. was dethroned in July, 1830. 

18. God alone is great ! He purifies his people by many tribulations, biat the 
wiclied will always have an end. At this time a great conspiracy will be secretly 
carried on against the white flower by reprobate societies, and the poor ancient 
blood will leave the great city, and the sons of Brutus increase mightily. 

19. Hark ! How the servants of the Lord cry aloud to him. But God will be 
deaf in that day, because he will retemper his arrows, to plunge them soon into 
the breasts of the wicked. Woe to Celtic Gaul ! 

20. The cock will efface the white flower; and a powerful one will call himsel^ 
king of the people. A great commotion will ensue, because the crown will be con- 
ferred by the hands of workmen, who Avill have fought in the great city. 

Louis Philip is here most distinctly pointed out. His coat of 
arms was the cock, and instead of being crowned "King of France," 
he called himself "King of the French." 

21. God alone is great ! The reign of the wicked will wax more powerful, but 
let them hasten, for behold ! the opinions of men of Celtic Gaul are in collision, 
and confusion is in all minds. 

22. The King of the people will appear at first to have little power ; neverthe- 
less he will prevail against a host of wicked men. But he was not well seated on 
the throne, and God cast him down. 

The Revolution of 1848 is here distinctly announced. Louis 
Philip owed his overthrow to his insane attempt to break up a ban- 
quet of Republicans. 

23. Howl ye sons of Brutus 1 Call for the wild beasts that are to^ devour you. 
Great God 1 what din of arms ! There is not yet a full number of moons, and be- 
hold many warriors are coming. 

The Republican regime is also here denounced. The many war- 
riors here alluded to was probably the march of the National Guard 
upon Paris in June, 1 849, being less than one year, or a full num- 
ber of moons, from the Revolution in February, 1848. 

24. It is done ! The mountain of God, in its affliction, has cried unto him. 
The sons of Juda have cried unto him from a foreign land, and God no longer turns 
a deaf ear. 


The sons of Juda certainly refer to the rojai family of France, 
as the tribe of Juda was the royal tribe of Israel. 

25. What fire accompanies his arrows ! Ten times sis moons and less than ten 
times another six moons have nourished his anger. 

10X6=60 moons, and less than 10X6 may mean 59 moons; a 
period just short of ten years. The time from which to reckon is 
probably the date of the ascent of Louis Napoleon to the throne as 
Napoleon III. This would date his fall in November, 1862. 

26. "Woe to the great city ! Here are ten Kings armed by the Lord, but already 
has fire leveled three to the earth ; yet the faithful shall not perish. God hath 
heard their prayer. 

Ten Kings are to unite for this purpose. But before they reach 
Paris it is to be burnt to the ground. The Seine is to roll red with 
blood ; Fi-ance dismembered, and only to be reunited under a prince 
of the House of Bourbon. 

27. Fire hath purged the place of crime. The waters of the great river have 
rolled on towards the sea, all crimsoned with blood. Gaul, which was seen in a 
dismembered condition, is now to bind together again its disjointed parts. 

28. God loves peace. Come, young prince; quit the island of captivity ; join the 
lion to the whit<e flower, come ! 

The young prince here alluded to may be Henry V. It is dis- 
tinctly intimated that there may be an alliance between England, 
represented by the lion and a Bourbon. But the time seems to be 
left uncertain ; most probably in 1862, on the fall of Napoleon. 

29. God wills that which was foreseen. The ancient blood of ages will yet put 
an end to long dissensions. A sole pastor will be seen in Celtic Gaul. 

30. The man made powerful by God will be firmly seated. Peace will be es- 
tablished by many wise laws. So sage and prudent will be the offspring of the 
Cap that God will be thought to be with him. 

A daughter of Victoria may yet be Queen of France. The exile 
of the Bourbons to Engla,nd will have taught them the wisdom of 
popular laws. Cap seems to be used in contradistinction to the 
cock. Louis Philip's heirs are not to reign in France any more. 

31. Thanks to the Father of Mercies, the temples of Holy Zion resound with the 
praises of the only God, who is great ! 

32. Many stray sheep will return to drink from the living stream. Three princes 
and kings will throw aside the mantle of heresy, and open their eyes to the faith 
of the Lord. 

Probably referring to a return to Catholicity by England, Prus- 
sia, and Belgium; or possibly Sweden. 

33. At that time two third parts of a great people of the sea will return to the 
true faith. 


Here the return of England and Scotland to the bosom of the 
Church of Rome is predicted. 

34. God is still glorified during fourteen times six moons, and six times thirteen 

Or 162 moons ; this would give the period of revolution thirteen 
years and six months. Counting, therefore, from the fall of Napo- 
leon III., we should have the 2d May, 1875, as the era of another 
great event. 

35. But God is wearied of bestowing his mercies; and yet for the faithful's 
sake, he will prolong peace during ten times twelre moons. 

■ 36. God almic id great ! The good is past awav. The saints are now to suffer. 

If war should not break out at that time there will be a universal 
war ten years afterwards, or in 1885, This will result in the over- 
throw of every thing good, and the rise of the man of sin. This 
phrase is most obscure. 

37. The man of sin shall be born of two races. The white flower becomes ob- 
scured during ten times six moons, and six times twenty moons. Then it shall 
disappear, to be seen no more forever. 

The Bourbon dynasty will last from the 2d November, 1862, to 

the 2d May, 1900, when it will go down forever. 

38. Much evil and little good will there be in those days. Many cities shall 
perish by fire. Israel then returns entirely to Christ the Lord. 

This may mean either the restoration of the Jews to the holy 
land, or the return of all Protestants to the mother church. 

39. The accursed and the faithful shall be separated into two distinct classes, 
clearly distinguished. 

40. But all is over. God alone will be believed. The third part of Gaul, and 
again the third part and a half, will be without faith. 

Five sixths of France, and of the whole world, are to be iniidel 
in the year 1900. 

41. The same will be among other nations. 

42. And behold ! six times three moons, and four times five moons, and there is 
a general falling off, and the end of time has begun. 

43. After a number, not complete, of moons, God will combat in the persons of 
his two servants. The man of sin shall carry off the victory. 

44. But it is done! The Almigbty raises up a wall of fire that obscures my 
vision, and I can see nothing more. May he be blest forevermore. Amen ! 

Three years and two months from the 2d May, 1900, or on the 
2d July, 1903, the beginning of the end of all things shall be 
ushered in ; and in less than one year from that time, universal 
wickedness is to prevail. Faith is to die out, and nothing but the 
conflagration of the world shall be able to redeem and purify it. 


Thus ends this singular and most terrific prophecy. In copying 
it, I have not folloAved any one translation ; but have taken some 
verses entire from the Catholic version, and others from the version 
in Blackwood. This course was regarded proper because some of 
the predictions refer to Catholicism, and others to the Protestant 
world. The translations, however, are almost verhatim the same. I 
find but one important departure from the text of the original, and 
that consists in the total suppression of what I have designated as 
verse 35, from the Catholic version. It may have been omitted by 
accident, but its entire absence looks suspicious. 

I may also be mistaken in the method of computation. By allow- 
ing twelve moons to the year, the time for the fulfilment of the 
prophecies, has been somewhat postponed. If instead of twelve, 
we allow thirteen moons to the year, it would make a difference of 
nearly ten years, as to the period of the universal deluge of fire ; 
and fix the year 1990 as the era for that ominous event. Still, by 
counting the way adopted, it coincides better with the transpiring of 
events already past. 

This prophecy was published extensively in Paris, in 1848, after 
the expulsion of Louis Philip ; but as it equally predicted the down- 
fall of the Republic, it was prohibited from circulation by the lead- 
ers of that great movement. It was then chiefly regarded as a 
manoeuvre of the legitimists, and those who aided its circulation 
were regarded as public enemies. It created a great sensation, and 
was republished in most of the European journals in that eventful 
year. Another of its cycles having nearly revolved, it is quite 
probable that we shall hear more of it than ever during the next 
three years. 

Napoleon III. is too well acquainted with the springs of human 
action to permit it to be republished in France; for when prophe- 
cies are known, nothing tends more surely to their fulfilment, than 
the mere expectency of the events foretold. Nor can it be denied 
by the close observer of events now transpiring, that Europe is on 
the eve of another houleversement. The annexation of Savoy to 
France, in open violation of the settlement of 1815, of the bounds 
of that empire ; the dissatisfaction of the Pope at the disruption of 
his territories ; the rage of Austria at the dismemberment of her 
Italian possessions ; the growing ambition of Victor Immanuel, and 


the crumbling dynasty of the tyrants of Naples ; the secret coali- 
tion between Russia and Austria for the spoliation of Turkey, and 
the seizure of the Italian Duchies ; the uneasiness of England at 
the developing plans of the French Emperor, who still remembers 
Waterloo and St. Helena, and the utter impossibility of a renewal 
of the entente cordiale between those countries, all warn us of the 
speedy approach of another political tornado whose hoarse breath is 
destined to wreck dynasties and overturn thrones. Should the 
prophecy of Orval again prove true, Napoleon III. will soon be 
known as the last of the Bonapartes. 

Besides the above prophecy, there are several others handed round 
in France, relating chiefly to the condition of that empire. One of the 
best known is called the Poictiers Prediction. But on examination 
it seems to be a mere imitation of the Orval Previsions, containing 
"the writings of the Sybil, without her inspiration." In them all, 
however, one fact of great prominence and constant recurrence is 
the destruction of Paris by fire. Most of them date this event some- 
where between 1855 and 1865, and so complete is to be the annihil- 
ation of that proud Capital, that, " fathers shall walk with their 
children, and the children shall ask, why is that desolate spot? 
They will answer : my children, here once stood a great city which 
God destroyed for its crimes." So sayeth the Prophet of Poictiers. 

There is one very curious prediction connected with Lamartine, 
that attracted considerable attention in 1848, whilst he was at the 
head of the French Republic. During his travels in the " Orient," 
he fell in with an eccentric and half demerjted English lady who 
made a deal of noise her day, — the Lady Hester Stanhope, — a con- 
nection by marriage of the great Earl of Chesterfield. She believed 
herself inspired, and professed to have the divine afflatus in a vast 
degree. She was also a proficient in the cabalistic art, and knew, 
intimately, all the abstruse learning of the astrologers. At the re- 
quest of Lamartine, she cast his horoscope, and astonished the 
religious, poetical pilgrim, by gravely informing him that he was des- 
tined, at no distant day, to become an eminent statesman and orator, 
and to control the destinies of his country. As a lucky hit, this 
prediction has only been excelled in modern times by the fortune- 
teller of Martinique, who took Mademoiselle Rose Tascher de la 
Pagerie, by the hand, and after carefully scrutinizing the fine lines 


indenting the flesh, announced boldly to the astounded Creole, that 
heaven had predestined her for the throne of France. When Napo- 
leon placed the crown on the head of Josephine, beneath the dome 
of Notre Dame, the prophecy was fulfilled 

But these wonderful Sybilic utterances a. not all confined to 
France. England has come in for a full share ot chem, and we now 
propose to consider one or two relating to her history. v 

One of these mystic sayings still rings in our ears from boyhood. 
It was then published and made to apply to Queen Victoria. 'Tis 
said that it was long current in England before the happening of the 
event foretold. It ran thus : 

" A. D. eighteen hundred and thirty-seven, 
As ordained by the will of heaven, 
Shall the year pass away without any spring, 
And on England's throne shall not sit a king." 

During the year, it is notorious, that ■ 

" Winter lingering chilled the lap of May ;" 

and that Queen Victoria mounted the English throne. 

The next prophecy to which attention is directed, professes to have 
been indited by one of the noblest poets of our era, Avhilst in the 
ecstatic or cataleptic state. We are assured by a gentleman who 
took it from his lips as he recited it, that it was pronounced solemnly 
but without hesitation ; — that Thos. L. Harris, who is its author, 
was perfectly unconscious of every thing around him, and spoke in 
that fearfully distinct, yet hollow tone, which sometimes startles the 
sleeper in his dreams. 

In addition to its prophetic character, it possesses poetic merit of 
a high order ; and were its author disconnected from that unpopular 
reproach of the nineteenth century — as well as its glory — spirit- 
ualism, he might yet aspire to be the spokesman of the age his gen- 
ius seems destined to adorn. 

Here is the prophecy ; which I have ventured to denominate 
"England's Doom." 

' When English armies fly like beaten dogs, 
Or, held in death-gripe by the Russian bear 
Like faithful mastiff, do their best and die ; — 
When, as the anaconda ope's its jaws 
To swallow its doomed prey, whose sinews fail, 


"While every nerve is paralyzed with fear, 

The huge, fierce serpent, Bankruptcy, devours 

The nation's vrealth ; vs^hen commerce flies the Thames 

And the huge steamers crovrd the docks no more, 

And Parliament breaks up, vrhile anarchy 

Bursts like a conflagration from the deep 

Fire-damps of squalid want ; when harvests fail 

Aiid three cold smnmers rot the standing corn ; 

When Manchester and Birmingham consume 

First wealth, then credit, and then close their doors, 

While, like an inundation, pour the streams 

Of hungry operatives through the streets ; — 

Let ^7^056 fly to the mountains, where on high 

Throned Independence waves her flag of stars, 

Who prize home-quiet, peace and blessed love ; 

For surely as the living God endures, 

The day of England's ruin, draweth nigh. 

These signs, hs}" desolution go before ! " 

Comment upon a prophecy so specific, yet so terrible, is unneces- 
sary. It would be unjust to the seer, however, not to give another 
extract, preceding that first quoted, in which he seems to give the 
main cause of the disturbances ; and ruin he predicts. Like the 
first, it is overflowing with true poetic beauty, 

" Better far go poor 
And honest, than to wear the Austrian crown, 
And share one millionth of the Hapsburg's crimes. 
Better with Garibaldi toil for bread. 
Than wear Venetian honors, bought with price 
Of crime against thy soul, oh ! Liberty. 
Kossuth is nobler far than Palmerston ! 
The last rules England, and is Satan's thrall, 
The minion of oppression, whose rank heart 
Breeds infamy, as putrid flesh breeds worms. 
The first dwells in that purple modern Tyre, 
Britannia, as the prophet dwelt of old 
In Ninevah, and sees with prescient eyes 
The ruin that awaits it. He discerns 
The future through the haze of present things — 
He hears the tramp of armies in his sleep — 
He sees the great Republic, yet to be, 
Whose boundaries shall be the world, whose states 
All tribes, all peoples ; — I, too, see with him 
The battle of the race against its foes. 
The carnival of sin is almost o'er, 


The world's great Passion Week is near at hand : 

Freedom derided, crucified and slain, 

Shall roll the rock from its dark sepulchre, 

And throne itself in majesty thereon, 

With face like lightning, and with rohes like snow ! " 

The concluding portions of the above magnificent utterance, ap- 
ply to the whole anti-republican world. For America, there seem 
to be no predictions extant. As it would be unfair to dismiss this 
subject without some allusion to her future destiny, I boldly fling out 
to the criticism of her scholars, and the study of her statesmen, 
these monitory tones : 

Heaven lifts its veil from my prophetic eyes ; 

Thus Time shall mark his offspring as they rise. 

Year after year, our lustrum leaves behind. 

Eighteen sixty, as the year of xoind. 

And ere the goal of Christmas shall be won, 

The year of storms, called eighteen sixty-one ; 

The next is sixty-two, and rising higher, 

I read its name, it is the year of fire. 

Flood shall be christened eighteen sixty-three, 

And sixty-four shall bury all ice see. 


I am weary, weary ! 
Though there's nothing of sorrow in aught that I see, 
And everything seems to rejoice but me ; 
Though the barking squirrel, and singing bird, 
And the humming bee, and the lowing herd. 
Are filling the air with a voice of glee, 
The chorus of nature's harmony ; 
Though all around me is fresh and bright, 
With the joy of health, and life, and light — 
Yet, lying here under the summer's sky, 
I am weary and sad, though I know not why. 

I am weary, weary ! 
For evermore to my inner ear 
There comes a voice I needs must hear, 
Saying, " the things of earth but seem — 
For living is only dreaming a dream I" 
Though I hear it not in the<throng of men. 
Yet in solitude ever it comes again, — 
And ever, my inmost soul is stirred 
With a thrill of fear at the whispered word. 
I am tired of doubt, and I long to go 
Where the voice shall cease, and the soul may know. 




0, moon-crowned Night, pallid and sad ! 

Is there no healing halm, ' 

No soft, delicious calm 

To make the mourner glad ? 
0, sovereign Sleep ! 

Press thy mild kisses now 

Upon my fevered brow ; 

Close with thine hand these eyes. 

Drown in thy joy these sighs ; 
Must I thus watch and weep ? 


I list thy voice, bright spirit of my dream : — 
Within its garden bed the dew-drunk flower 
Has pined for thee thro' the long midnight hour. 

Come from thy covert by the dancing stream, — 
The fairies are abroad, and scorn thy power ; 

On every leaf their tiny lamps are seen : — 
The moon has flung her jeweled treasure free 
Into the white-tipped, ever-murmuring sea, 

And treads a path of light in silver sheen ; 
Waiting until the ocean-dweller. Morn, 
Has from his briny halls her jewels borne : — 

Must I still wait for thee ? 


Twin sisters, Night and Sleep, 

Enfold me in your arms ! 

There, safe from all that harms, 
My tired soul would Joy's full harvest reap : — 

Must I forever watch, forever weep ? 



" He who makes two blades of grass grow where onlj' one grew before, is a benefactor 
to his country." — Goldsmith. 

It is, perhaps, not asserting too much to saj that even amongst 
those who from their occupations as farmers ought to be the best 
acquainted with grasses and their nutritive quaHties, opinions the 
most crude and incorrect prevail on this subject. 

When bounteous nature spreads out her verdant carpet, grateful 
to the sight of man as it is to the appetites of his most valuable do- 
mestic animals, how very little does the occupier of the soil trouble 
himself about its improvement ! He is commonly content to go on 
from season to season, and from year to year, without ever inquiring 
whether it is not possible, by judgment and exertion, in selection 
and admixture, to make the fruitful earth yield a two-fold increase. 
A vulgar notion obtains that the aggregate produce of grain lands 
is more valuable, in a money point of vicAV, than that of the fields 
of pasture and hay. A more mistaken opinion certainly does not 
exist ; the money value of the cereal products obtained by the aid 
of the plough and spade in all nations, over the entire earth, falls 
far inferior to those produced from pastures and meadows. 

The gramina, or family of grasses, include plants of the greatest 
value to mankind, including wheat, oats, barley, millet, rice, maize, 
the sugar cane, &c. The bulk of these are termed cereal grasses, 
as contra-distinguished from those inferior in size and individual 
importance that, separately or combined, form pasture and meadow 
lands. In every temperate region grasses form the; general cover- 
ing of the soil ; they are the most luxuriant, and also found most 
abundant, in temperate latitudes. No country on the surface of the 
globe possesses such fine grazing lands as the British Isles, favored 
as they are naturally both as regards soil and climate. Notwith- 
standinpf the increased attention that has been paid to this matter, 
especially during the last fifty years, still a great amount of igno- 
rance exists on the subject. The time was, and that not long ago, 
when the providing a sufficient amount of forage for live stock in 
winter was a matter of the greatest difficulty, and severe losses were 
sustained, and many advantages given up on account of the want 

GRASS, 227 

of a sufficiency of winter fodder. At that time it was considered 
hj the most experienced that Old Turf, suitable either for grazing 
or for the scythe, required a growth of centuries ; and that a far- 
mer who wished to lay down a meadow in his youth, must see the 
end of his "three score years and ten" before he could possibly 
possess a piece of pasture capable of keeping a score of sheep or a 
couple of cows. So much then was the want of grass-land felt 
among farmers, that the occupancy of it was eagerly sought, and 
heavy fines were imposed for breaking it up. The banks of rivers 
were usually made "commonable," in order that the surrounding 
farmers might each have a share. 

These privations, so long and so severely felt by British farmers, 
did not escape the notice of scientific men, but more especially bot- 
anists. The latter considered whether there was not some nutri- 
tious summer-growing plant that could be hayed and ricked for 
winter consumption. Several were suggested and approved, after 
which the clover, lucerne, saintfoin, and vetches appeared in every 
agricultural district in the kingdom. A considerable addition of 
live stock soon followed the introduction of these excellent foraee 
plants on every farm ; and the stock of both sheep and horned cat- 
tle has been subsequently still more augmented by the introduction 
of turnips, beets, &c., into field cultivation. 

Investigations were made as to the different species of grasses 
found in varied pastures and meadows. It was discovered that some 
grass lands had superior fattening qualities to others. Thereupon 
the interesting question arose whether the superior quality of the 
herbage was derived from the land alone, or was due to the species 
of grass which was most prevalent in the turf. Botanists inclined 
to the latter opinion, as might be supposed ; on the other hand, 
farmers who were accustomed to class a hundred different varieties 
under the general term "grass," inclined to the former vioAv. Both 
were right ; yet both were wrong in attributing the qualities as due 
to one cause alone. There can be no doubt that any grass will 
yield a larger amount of food for stock if grown on a rich soil in 
place of a poor one. On the other hand, it must be conceded to 
the botanist that there are important differences in the amount of 
fodder and nutritive quality between different grasses ; and of course 
that which produces the greater quantity and the best quality should 


be preferred. It may, however, be received as an agricultural 
axiom, that the hest grasses will onlj flourish on the best soils, un- 
less made artificially rich by high manuring, so that to all practical 
purposes the opinion of farmers that good pasturage is due to the 
soil is economically correct, whilst the conclusion is also substantially 
correct, that if the best kinds of grasses were ascertained, collected, 
cultivated, and seed saved from them in sufficient quantities, that 
productive pastures or meadows may be created in a few years with- 
out risk or disappointment. Whilst the principles just stated were 
being slowly gleaned by the patient industry of attentive and skilled 
observers, a striking fact now and again was made apparent, and 
was taken advantage of by farmers, who became slowly sensible of 
the bad results arising from trusting to the sweepings of hay-lofts 
for their grass seeds. Rye grass was one of the first in the market, 
next came timothy (herds-grass), afterwards cocks-foot and others. 
These were progressive steps towards a better knowledge of the 
grasses, and a specific knowledge of a few of them. But of the 
comparative value of all those not in cultivation, and they were very 
numerous, ignorance the most perfect existed. 

At this period — the commencement of the present century — 
Francis Duke of Bedford, determined to try whether it was not 
practicable to ascertain by chemical analysis the nutritive proper- 
ties of the various grasses. With this object the Noble Duke — 
noble in the fullest and truest sense of the word* — engaged the ser- 
vices of the celebrated chemist, Sir Humphry Davy. It will be no 
disparagement to the memory of that illustrious man to state that, 
owing to the imperfect knowledge then existing of organic analysis, 
his labors are defective as compared with more recent chemical in- 
vestigations ; relatively, however, they are not far wrong, and may 
be taken as guides at the present time without fear of sustaining 
pecuniary loss. 

The most distinguished agriculturists agree, even in the second 
half of the nineteenth century, that the knowledge of the compar- 
ative merits and values of the different species and varieties of 
grasses, and the best mode of cultivating them, is very much behind 

* In proof of wMch we may state that tlie entire expenses of tlie grass garden at Wo- 
burn, the chemical researches, their publication, &c., cost the Duke more than $100,000— 
the most disinterested, munificent and princely gift ever made to agriculture. 

GRASS. 229 

that of other branches of practical agriculture. " Grass," says 
Professor Martyn, " vulgarly forms one idea; and a husbandman, 
when he is looking over his enclosure, is rarely aware that there are 
nearly four hundred varieties of grass, [increased since to nearly 
2,000 varieties], thirty or forty of which may at the moment be un- 
der his eye. When this opinion was expressed, it was at the same 
time stated that, out of nearly two hundred and fifty varieties of 
grass, that it was found could be cultivated in England, which dif- 
fered from each other greatly in value, only two up to that period 
had been cultivated separately to any extent." We shall not at 
present dwell upon the mode by Avhich these experiments were car- 
ried out ; on a future occasion we may possibly have space to do so. 
If the difficulties attendant on procuring winter pasture and for- 
age were so great in places so favorably situated, especially as re- 
gards climate, as the British Isles, it may be imagined how much 
more so they are in a dry district like California. There is no rea- 
son, however, to suppose that any obstacle exists so insuperable in 
either the soil or climate of California that may not, by patient in- 
dustry and skill, be overcome. We have dry soils and wet soils, 
rocky, gravelly, and clay or adobe soils. Now, of the two thousand 
varieties of grasses, four hundred of which the habits are well 
known, it is only requisite to select those suitable to the soil an4 
other accompaniments of any particular locality. That the climate 
of California, owing to the long period of dry weather which occurs 
every year, is inimical to the growth of grasses, is shown by the wide- 
spread occupancy of the wild oat, the almost total absence o'f per- 
ennial grasses, and the large breadths of land occupied with flower- 
ing annuals, which, however gorgeous a landscape they may present 
to the artist at this season, makes but a sorry scene for the farmer 
and the hungry stock. ■ The " flowery mead " sounds very pretty in 
poetry, and makes a delightful painting ; but the husbandman, like 
the homely farmer, having an eye to utility only, on crossing the 
fiat Lincolnshire salt marshes * teeming with fat oxen and immense 
sheep, delightedly exclaimed, "What a picturesque country ! " The 
bulk of the grasses and other plants growing on these celebrated 

* One very large fat ox and three heavy sheep, per acre, have frequently been fatted in 
three months ; the sheep averaging fifty to sixty pounds per quarter, dead weight ; the clip 
of wool of an entire flock have been known to equal eighteen lbs. per fleece. 


pastures, consist principallj of perennial, not annual plants, and 
those chiefly the grasses proper ; in fact, scarcely a plant is to he 
found in these pastures that is not eaten and relished by domestic 
cattle of all kinds. How different are the chief California pastures ! 
On the sandy or other light soils, we see comparatively large inter- 
vals either vacant between the roots of grasses or occupied by an- 
nual flowers of no utility to stock, the true grasses themselves being 
almost wholly annuals. Since commencing to write this paper, we 
have been at some pains to ascertain the number and character of 
meadow and pasture grasses, that are indigenous or acclimated in 
this State. In the present early state of the enquiry it would be 
premature to ofier any judgment of what may be the result, but from 
oral information, personal search and gleanings from works that 
have treated on the subject, we think it far from improbable that 
when a thorough search has been made, at least fifty or sixty 
native grasses will be discovered. When this accumulated evidence 
is obtained, better data will be had for forming an opinion as to the 
foreign congeners which ought to be procured as will most probably 
enable our pastures to assume something like perennial verdancy. 
Information respecting the native grasses of California is exceed- 
ingly meagre at present. We have examined Bartlett's Narrative, 
Fremont's Expedition, and the botanical part of the report of "Ex- 
plorations for a Railroad Route from the Mississippi River to the 
Pacific," Avith not very prolific results, for with botanists as with 
farmers, the most useful plants in nature, "the gramina," have 
ever been passed over in the most cursory manner. The two first 
named works give no information whatever on the subject, and the 
last contains only the following meagre list: 

Alopecurus Qenieulatus, variety Aristulatus ; Klamath marshes 
— August. 

BeeJemannia Crueiformis ; Hort. McCumber's. 

Festuca Serahella. This grass is abundant over all the Des 
Chutes and Klamath basins, and on the Cascade mountains; is the- 
famous "bunch grass" of emigrants. 

Polypcgon. {iSj>. Nov) McCumber and Pit River, and many oth- 
er parts of California. This is not a very rare grass in California ; 
it has the habit of P. 3fonsj)eUense, but difiers from that genus in 
the glumes being scarcely awned, and in the rudimentary uppe;* palea. 

GRASS. 231. 

Mym7ius Arenaria, (Linn.) Banks of Pitt River, and many 
other parts of California. Sometimes eight feet in height. It is 
described as reaching the tops of heads of persons on horseback, 
when riding through it, and as growing in all parts of California 
where there are deserted Indian lodges, and is therefore called 
"rancheria grass." The seed is threshed out and eaten by the 
Indians. — Hordeum J. 

Respecting the first named of the above grasses, it may be re- 
marked that, by itself, it is a most inferior grass, the productive and 
nutritive powers being very inconsiderable ; on very dry soil it might, 
however, probably prove a valuable adjunct, particularly as it is a 
perennial plant, and therefore not likely to be totally destroyed by 
depasturing. It is valuable as a fact tending to induce the belief 
that on more favorable soils some of the higher class of alopecuri 
might be safely and profitably introduced, such as the Ahpecurus 
Pratewszs, Meadow Foxtail, and its variety Tauntonensis, one of the 
most nutritive and productive grasses in the world. Of the second 
named grass we must confess our non-acquaintance with it, at least 
under that title. Regarding the third, although having no knowl- 
edge of it, under the name given, it may probably become highly 
valuable as a cultivated grass. The fescues generally are excellent 
grasses, and no good permanent pasture can be formed without them. 
The Polypogon is to be found in many parts of the State ; it is not 
a very desirable grass, but under the limited variety at present 
known in California, as indigenous, may assist in forming a thick 
turf. The l^lymnus Are7im%us is esteemed on the coast of England 
and Ireland for its valuable property of staying the encroachments 
of the sea. It is remarkable for the large quantity of saccharine 
matter which it contains, amounting to more than one-third of its 
weight, and if cut into chaff along with other hay, would be found 
nutritious and palatable to cattle. It would doubtless succeed well 
if sown on the barren flowing sands lying along the coast of Cali- 
fornia. The sand hills on the shores near Skegness, Lincolnshire, 
and surrounding the celebrated pastures already noticed, are occu- 
pied with the elymnus arenarius and arundo arenaria. The lat- 
ter, with its lofty habit of growth, forms the summits of the hills, 
whilst the broad-spreading roots and leaves of the elymus arenarius 
secure the base and sides. These two grasses, when combined, are 


admirably adapted by nature for forming a barrier to the encroach- 
ments of the sea. What sand the arundo arenaria arrests and col- 
lects about itself, the elymus arenarius secures and holds fast. 

Hordeum J., of the last named grass, in the list alluded to, in lim- 
ited quantities, might compose a part of all permanent pastures, as 
it is perennial, and much liked by sheep. It only forms an indiffer- 
ent hay grass, because the long, sharp awns, with which the spike- 
lets are armed, render it disagreeable, sometimes hurtful, to cattle. 
It is very hardy, strictly perennial and nutritious, and flourishes 
well on land under irrigation. 

To the above list we may add two more ; specimens of which are 
in the Museum of the Academy of Natural Sciences in San Fran- 
cisco. The first we shall notice is marked as having come from 
Placerville, and resembles Yellow Oat Grass, the characteristics of 
which are that it never thrives well when cultivated alone, requiring 
to be combined with other grasses, in order to continue it perma- 
nently in the pasture and obtain its produce in perfection. It flour- 
ishes best when combined with meadow barley, sweet scented vernal, 
and crested dog's tail grass — the two first are indigenous. The 
second specimen has no notification as to where it was obtained, but 
its appearance indicates a general alliance to the Grlyceria aquatica, 
Reedy Sweet Grass, or Poa aquatica, Water meadow Grass. If 
this opinion is correct, it will be found most valuable for cultivation 
on tules, lands occasionally overflowed, and deep marshes, that are 
always moist. 

We have examined the pastures around San Francisco and found 
the following grasses : — 

Anthoxanthum odoratum. Sweet scented vernal grass. 

A. Polypogon. Similar to that described in the Railway Survey. 

Poa Annua. This is found everywhere — in fact is the most uni- 
versal plant in nature — a very small grass. 

Poa Pratensis. Meadow grass. 

Bromus Arvensis. Common brown grass ; will yield mnch food, 
whether as a pasture or hay plant. 

Avena Pretensis. Meadow oat grass, not a very nutritious grass, 
but assists in making up a pasture and probably a stipala. 



Bat show me on th}" flower breast, 

Earth, where thy nameless martyrs rest ; 

The thousands, who uncheered bj' praise, 

Have made one offering of their days. — Mis. Hemans. 

They sleep 'neath many a grassy mound ; 
In every land their graves are found ; 
Nestling among the hills of snow, 
And -where the southern breezes blow ; 
In the deep forest's lonely shade, 
And by the sounding streams they are laid ; 
Far among ruins old and gray, 
And on the vine-clad hills they lay ; 
And far beneath the billow's crest — 
There do the nameless heroes rest. 

Earth knew them not ; she bears no name 

Like theirs, on all her rolls of fame ; 

Nor columned dome, nor marble bust, 

Rises above the sleeper's dust. 

All, all unseen, they spent their days, 

And suffering hearts record their praise. 

Oh ! there they live, all deeply set,° 

Like gems in some proud coronet. 

Ah ! who can tell their patient faith. 

Their courage even unto death. 

Their love, like God's great heart of love, 

Embracing all below, above ; 

Their alms, unseen by mortal eyes. 

And all their soul's deep sacrifice 1 

Ah ! who can tell, but He alone 

To whom their every thought was known ?J 

Earth knew them not ; but heaven hath rolled 

Their names on all its walls of gold ;] 

The jasper domes their records bear, 

And men and angels read it there. 






In which the disappointed politician, specidator and veteran soldier becomes pen- 
sioner on the Government Agency — Puts on airs, and apes the doctor — Fi- 
nally^ tviiJi a broken down constitution, takes to physic — The woful end of 
all such silly apes. 

The regimental Major and the monkey, as we have had occasion to 
remark before, could never agree very well together. And if we 
are to believe all the officer said, the monkey major was forever in 
mischief, and made him a deal of trouble — more worry than the 
worse half of his regiment. His indignation at last broke loose, 
and it arose to such a pitch that he could stand it no longer. " Jack," 
said he, "take that rascal unceremoniously over to the Government 
Agency's quarters." 

It was whispered about in the ranks, that the Major, like most 
officers in power, could not brook a rival, and that was the reason 
for this excuse to put the monkey out of the way. But Major 
Ringtail really didn't care a straw about it — he was, indeed, alvN-ays 
naturally careless of consequences. His ambition had been cur- 
tailed long ago, you know, and now, that the disappointed politician, 
soldier and speculator, had become maimed and infirm — in the cause 
of his country — "in the cause of what?" — well, any way, he be- 
gan to take the world pretty easy. And he resolved to make the 
most of it, if ever he had a chance. 

The Ringtailed Major, although he had changed his quarters, and 
gone over from the ranks into the Government department, was an 
ape still, true to his nature — as we shall see presently. 

The Government Agent was sick — dangerously sick, and Dr. B. 
had been sent for. The doctor was liberal in his views, and always 
took good care to leave a plenty of physic — physic enough for sev- 
eral sick people ; it is so apt to be wasted. 

The monkey saw the doctor writing down the directions how to 
tak the medicine. As soon as he was gone — and he thought no- 
body saw him — the Ringtailed Major mounted the stool and took a 


seat at the table. If you had seen him take the pencil in his fingers 
so like the doctor, you -would have said — "there, that monkey has 
taken to the medical profession! Look at him; he is putting on 
dignified, airs ! " 

We can assure you it is only such weak-headed chaps as Major 
Ringtail, that ever do put on consequential airs ; all such apeish 
dignity is simply ridiculous, and we have a perfect right to laugh at 
it wherever we find it. The reason is, because it is not true ; it is 
only a false, make-believe-sort. Real true dignity springs from wise 
and useful qualities, and then it is true to nature ; and what is true 
to such a nature always pleases and wins respect from the wise and 
good. Suppose a little boy were to put on grand and self-import- 
ant airs with a sober face, without any corresponding usefulness of 
character, wouldn't you make sport of him? I think T should. But 
suppose he had good inward solid sense, and it was natural to such 
a quality, wouldn't you respect him ? I certainly would. We must 
strive, then, to be really what we would wish to appear to be. 

We saw a very little girl, the other day, put on the appropiate 
airs of a queen when she felt impressed with the divine dignity of 
useful employment ! She was helping her dear mother, so charm- 
ingly ! May Heaven bless her, and make her a very " dood dirl." 

No one would shoAV any deference to snobish, monkey manners, 
any more than the beast did to the braying of the old jackass when 
he put on the lion's skin and tried to roar ! — but he couldn't — they 
knew the brute by his voice. 

But, to go on with the story. The Major of our regiment rode 
up to inquire after the health of the agent; just at the very time 
that Major Ringtail sat upon the stool. "Well, Col. how's your 
health, to-day ? " Major Ringtail was startled by such an abrupt 
^Hoiv d' do" — and catching the sinister eye of his regimental rival, 
whom he never liked — he dropped his pencil and himself also, upon 
all fours — turning tail-to, as politely as was consistent with monkey 
notions — he was just on the eve of taking French leave. " I hope ■ 
you don't employ tbat bob-tailed doctor ! " said he, pointing with 
his sword at his ringtail highness. 

The agent had no time to rub his dim eyes, and so couldn't help 
seeing things in rather a ridiculous light, just then — he burst into 
a violent fit of laughter which came near stranslins him. Both 


majors were alarmed. Major Ringtail, from sad experience, expect- 
ing an attack from his enemy in the rear — ran helter skelter among 
the bottles, turning over the tickler and mixing up physic at a dread- 
ful rate — suddenly vanished. Once more free ; and all Ifhe world 
before him — he chattered and challenged away in grand style ; 
that is, as soon as he got entirely out of danger, and quite out of 
sight withal. 

In the meantime the sympathetic Major had assisted the agent ; 
who by timely laughter had brought the quinsy to a crisis, and was 
greatly relieved thereby. Now the colonel was a true philosopher, 
and in the gratitude of his heart he blessed the monkey doctor. 

Meanwhile the Major went on with his usual tirade against mon- 
keys in general, and ringtail monkeys in particular. Finally, when 
the subject, or rather his wind was pretty well exhausted, and he 
had rather aAvkwardly set things back into some sort of order again, 
he thought he would like to see the imp once mo7'e before he died ! 
So he walked solemnly out ; fully impressed with the importance of 
the occasion ! At a respectable distance, on a stump, sat his ring- 
tail rival, very demurely indeed ; his back and head all covered over 
with flour ; his black eyes blinking at the major a little bit faster 
than usual — doubtless expressive of quizzical defiance — at least so 
the gallant major understood it. Says the Major, " 0, you ringtail 
rascal ! it's well you are so far away or I would chop your head off 
close up to your ears, you imp of destruction, you ! " The monkey 
turned his tail towards the Major, and looked back comically over 
his shoulder ; whether he thought from the major's threatening man- 
ner he was coming, or only intended to make fun of him, remains a 
little uncertain. The monkey, however, very well knew he could 
out-run, or out-climb the major, any day, for he had tried that often 
enough before. You don't suppose the regimental Major was such 
a dunce as to follow a monkey, do you ? — no, indeed — so he turned 
and went in again ; after his last solemn look at ringtail. 

"Col.," said he, "isn't this monkey troublesome?" "Well, at 
times, somewhat so ; but I contrive to put up with it on your ac- 
count." "On my account! Why, sir, I would have killed the 
rascal long ago. In fact, sir, I have more than a hundred times re- 
solved to murder him." 

As soon as Major Ringtail's mortal enemy was gone fairly out of 


siglit on his way back to camp, the monkey sallied forth, free from 
all fear, and further trouble. In the meantime, the surgeon had 
arrived, expecting to perform a serious operation ; but to his sur- 
prise, the Colonel was sitting up in bed, greatly relieved by the 
quach doctor ! as the Colonel facetiously styled the monkey Major. 

Ringtail was around, as usual, prying into other people's business. 
He peeped in at the tent door, behind the surgeon's back, and saw 
him giving the Colonel something to drink out of a wine-glass. 

The solemn gravity of the doctor — who looked as though he 
would be death on monkeys — rather awed Major Ringtail, for once 
in his life — ominous event ! But perhaps he had not fairly recov- 
ered from his former fright ; be that as it may, he dared not walk 
in ; but preferred to walk out where he was. Doctors never stay 
with their patients always, so after making a reasonable visit, he 
bade the Colonel good night. He hoped he would rest well and be 
refreshed; so saying, he departed. 

Major Ringtail hastened in, for really he had been kept a long 
time out of mischief, and began to feel uneasy. 

The Bobtailed quack, no sooner in, than he leaped upon the doc- 
tor's seat with the ease and grace of a French dancing-master ; qui- 
etly he sat himself down at the table ; seizing the wine-glass he 
drank as the colonel did, only more so — for he drank the whole of 
it up at once. Apes and foolish people are very apt to overdo 
whatever they undertake. 

Now this soothing medicine was so well sweetened, that the Ring- 
tailed Major wished there had been more of it ; so he turned up the 
glass the second time, but only a drop or two trickled to his liquor- 
ish lips. He then set it down and put his paw in, to see why it did 
n't run out. At first, it made him feel very fine and funny, like a 
little kitty-baby monkey ; and he remembered the many happy days 
and nights when he swung to and fro in the tops of the tallest trees ; 
he heard again the whispering lowlullaby of the leaves softly sooth- 
ing his senses to repose — anon, the gentle breeze rocked his dreamy 
spirit far away into the fairy land of sleep. * * * * Alas ! 
it was but the sleep of death. 

Poor monkey ! But, however, perhaps if he had gone to the Mex- 
ican war he migRt not have died so natural a death. (We must try 
to be resigned.) 

€ iri t a r ' s C it & U . 

The Hesperian- for July. — We trust that our readers will be satisfied with 
this number of the Hesperian. We take not a little pride in it. In its engrav- 
ings, as well as in its written articles, we claim that it is a credit to the State. 
Our enterprise in illustrating the botany of California has not found the appre- 
ciation which it deserves, but we shall not be discouraged. The general reader 
likes to see a fine picture, and is entirely indifferent to the nature, nativity, or 
habits of a plant. What does he care about botany ? What does he care about 
the toil of the artist, or tbe originality of the design? What does he care wheth- 
er the botany of the State advances or not? Such questions sometimes force 
themselves upon our mind when we hear remarks that it is a pity that such en- 
graving and coloring should be thrown away on insignificant little Avikl flowers, 
when, with equal labor, magnificent pictures might be made of roses, dahlias, 
tulips, and other large and brilliant flowers. We should like to please all tastes, 
but our first purpose in the engravings of flowers is to present original draw- 
ings of plants indigenous to this coast. However unimportant some unscien- 
tific persons may consider this purpose, we wish them to understand that there 
is another class of persons who are highly pleased with it, and who have de- 
clared themselves the warm friends of the Hesperian for its labors in this respect. 
These persons are the botanists generally in the United States, and even in 
Europe. They say that such a publication is a great assistance ' to them, and 
must do much good in furthering the interests of botany. The drawings made 
by Dr. A. Kellogg are minutely correct, and his descriptions are extensively 
quoted in botanical books all through the Eastern States and Europe. He has 
been working for a long time at the botany of the State, and done a great deal 
to accumulate the knowledge which we now possess of it. He and Mr. H. G. 
Bloomer are now the chief botanists of California. We regret that the public 
has not given them some testimonial of appreciation o^ their industrious and 
valuable labors. 

The fashion plate will gratify our lady readers. It is accompanied by a full 
sized pattern of the sleeve represented in the plate. A description of the 
method in which this pattern is to be used, will be found on page 240. It is 
our intention to furnish hereafter a pattern valuable to ladies, Avith every num- 
ber of the Hesperian, and in this respect we shall be in advance of all other 
ladies' magazines in the United States, and of all others in the world, save two ; 
there being only two other ladies' magazines — one in London and one in Paris, 
and both of high authority in the fashionable world— that undertake to furnish 
patterns regularly to their readers. 

We turn from the illustrations to the literary department. Caxton's article, 
entitled " Prophecies," is one creditable to his truth-seeking mind and his ele- 
gant pen. It must attract no little attention among that class of thinkers who 
search boldly for truth in the modern labyrinth of psychological marvels, where- 
in we confess that we get lost when we attempt to venture in. But we sympa- 
thise with the age which demands a clear statement of every important fact, let 

editok's table. 239 

its tendency be what it may. We have no reason to doubt that the statements 
in the article in question are true, and the remarks of Caxton are certainly in- 
teresting and impressive. The article of Mr. Hittell requires no praise from us. 
Mr. Rowlandson makes some interesting remarks about the history of pastur- 
age, and adds some instructive hints about the indigenous nutritious grasses of 
California. Mr. Bowman's little article from the German, Waiting, contains a 
fine expression of the tremulous feelings, the tender impressions, the sensitive 
sympathy with nature, of a young woman waiting on a warm summer evening 
in a garden for her lover, who was to meet her there by appointment. Tlieoph- 
ilus Potsherd contributes an amusing picture of the career of an ambitious 
young lawyer, who starts in life aspiring to the Presidency, and finding high 
position not so accessible as he imagined, gradually lowers the object of his am. 
bition, until at last he is glad to be justice of the peace, in which position he 
dies. " Theophilus " evidently addresses his remarks to a particular individu. 
al, but if our guess in regard to the person meant be right, we should say " tJiy 
story shall be neither sad nor short, and if thy ambition has run too far ahead 
of thy advancement, falter not, therefore, but go on with a stout heart and an 
unwavei'ing purpose ; for with such brilliant talents, strong business capacity, 
extensive attainments, honor and honesty as thou hast, there may yet be many 
honors in store for thee, far above the ' mayoralty of Frogtown.' " We welcome 
the Rev. Mr. W. F. B. Jackson to a place among our contributors ; and we re. 
gret that so soon after his arrival in our midst, he should leave us. But since 
his new home is to be in Oregon, he will still belong to our coast, and may be 
counted as one of its permanent literary ornaments. In reading a newspaper 
the other day we found a little poem, which was printed anonymously. 
It was so good that we stuck it in our scrap-book, and a few days afterwards we 
learned that it had been written by Mr. Jackson. It was first printed in the N 
Y. Express, shortly after the publication of an item in one of the papers of that 
city, to the effect that a certain woman who had been found in one of the streets 
frozen to death, was- " only a beggar." This piece has been printed in one of 
our city papers, and therefore we shall not give it entire, but quote only two 
verses, as follows : — 

In a dark, alley away from the cold, 

Homeless and friendless the woman crept ; 
No one to care for her, now she's old — 

On the bare stones was the bed Avhere she slept. 
No one to look with a pitying eye. 

No one to notice the fast-falling tears. 
For the careless traveler, hurrying by, 

Said "only a beggar" with laughter and jeers. 
* * * * ^ * * 

Yes, freezing to death in the midnight air, 

In a city whose church spires darken the sky ; 

Dying with no one to murmur a prayer, 
No one to close up the quivering eye. 


'Tis a curse on humanity, bitter and. deep ; 

A shame on us, Christians, -whose faith is divine, 
If we suffer our charities idly to sleep, 

And give beggars the lees vrhen we've drunk off the wine. 
Thispiece and the one which we give on page 225 show Mr. Jackson in two 
very different styles, each conveying satisfactory evidence that he is a true poet. 

Return of Mrs. Day. — Mrs F. H. Day returned to San Francisco in the middle 
of June, after an absence of six months, and with the next, number will resume 
the editorial management of the Hesperian. During her visit to the Eastern 
States, she made arrangements for supplying the magazine with such engrav- 
ings, fashion plates, and patterns, as could not have been obtained on this coast. 
She returns better satisfied than ever with California, and resolved, more than 
ever, to devote every energy, and to use every effort to promote the prosperity 
of the Hesperian. It was her desire and intention to have written something 
for this issue in regard to the shameful abuses practiced by the managers and 
officers of the Californian steamships upon the passengers between New York 
and San Francisco, but tl 3 fatigue resulting from' an uncomfortable voyage, 
and numerous demands upon her time since her arrival here, have not allowed 
her to write anything of this kind. She desires us to say, however, that she 
never conceived before that men would submit to such gross injustice and ill- 
treatment as was borne on the North Star and Golden Gate during her voyage 
to San Francisco from New York, which latter place she left on the 20th of 

The Mines of California as known in 1846. — An interesting letter on the min- 
erals of California, written on the fourth of May, 1846, by Thomas Larken, 
then U. S. Consul at Monterey, to James Buchanan, Secretary of State of the 
United States, has been offered in evidence in the New Almaden law-suit, and 
thus made public. According to the letter, it Avas at that time thought that 
California was rich in minerals. Mr. Larkin states that there were coal mines 
at San Pablo, and eighty miles south of Monterey ; beds of sulphur near Sono- 
ma, and at San Juan Bautista ; silver veins at the island of Catalina, fifty miles 
north of Monterey and twenty miles east of the same place ; quicksilver mines 
near Santa Clara, and near Sonoma ; Lead mines near Saucelito ; black lead 
at San Fernando, and placer gold mines at Los Angeles. In concluding his 
letter, Mr. Larkin says — " There is no doubt but that gold, silver, quicksilver, 
copper, lead, sulphur and coal mines are to be found all over California." 

Description of Full-sized Pattern. — We present our readers this month 
with a full-sized pattern of a sleeve which may be used in two ways, either one 
of which, makes a graceful and handsome sleeve. One is as the cut represents, 
with the point turned back on the upper half of the sleeve ; the other is the 
pattern reversed, which brings the point to the under part of the arm, where it 
should fall loosely without being turned back. The first style should be trim- 
med as represented in the cut ; the other by cord or plaited braid, which binds 
the edge to the point from which depend two small silk tassels. 






Vol. IV. AUGUST, 1860. No. 6. 


[Bahiopsis lanata. — Kellogg.) 


The California Sampson, so beautifully illustrated on the colored 
page, exhibits the plant of the natural size and color, except that 
the golden brilliancy of the flower is in some degree lost, or too 
deeply shaded by the dark ground. 

The most manifestly characteristic featiire of this plant, is its un- 
rivalled neatness. Meeting it abroad flourishing in the native sandy 
soil of our Pacific shores, one might be excused for suspecting it 
just out of a lady's band-box. At all events, we think it fair to 
presume that any lady of taste would consider her finest wrought 
wreaths complimented by judiciously introducing a few of these 
leaves. Their chaste bridal clothing reminds us of a native Golden 
Everlasting, found occasionally among the northern mountains of 
this State — a rare plant, of exquisite beauty, surpassing in bril- 
liancy anything we have ever known before. We have long hoped 
a fine specimen might fall in our way so that a good drawing could 
be obtained. The plant here figured, appears to be closely allied to 

Technical description. Bahiopsis — (Kellogg). — Heads many flowered, ray- 
flowers in a single series, imperfectly pistillate with rudiments of sterile fila- 
ments, those of the disk tubular and perfect. Involucral scales lanceolate, im- 
bricate rigid appressed in about four series. Receptacal conical, alveolate, the 
alveolar margins irregularly lobed ; chaif carinate lanceolate, mostly three- 
nerved, serrate, cuspidate, partially embracing the flowers ; points purplish, 
shorter than the flowers, corolla of the disk cylindrical, five-toothed teeth glan- 
dularly villous, short, slightly expanding, the proper tube very short villous 
within and without. Branches of the style barely exsert subulate stigmatose, 
terminated by a short cone. Achenia of the ray three-sided, abortive, of the 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by Mrs. F. H. Day, in the Clerk's Office of the 
District Court of the United States for the Northern District of California. 


disk compressed, slightly margined densely hirsute ; pappus of about six or more 
pectinate nerveless scales, two of which are awned, awns hirsute with ascend- 
ing hairs. Flowers yellow. 

B. lanata- — (Kellogg). — Stem striate lanuginous above, somewhat woody at 
the base, simple (or branching?) ascending attenuated and somewhat naked 
above, the peduncle thickening upwards to the solitary (?) terminal head ; six 
to eighteen inches, perhaps more, in height. Leaves mostly opposite, and de- 
cassate clustered below, and with the lower stem densely white lanate, lower 
leaves cordate, slightly serrate or entire, three-nerved on thickened petioles, about 
half the length of the lamina, stem clasping at the base, upper cauline leaves 
rather remote, opposite or alternate, ovate on very short petioles. Eays eighteen, 
punctate with a few pellacid dots, ligulate three-toothed, base tubular pubescent 
on the back and tube, imperfect style simple ; glabrous, five-nerved with five 
lesser intermediate nerves. Chafi" of the disk mostly three-nerved, apes pur- 
plish and glandular on the back. Disk-florets five-nerved, from the sinuses, 
the very short proper tube pubescent within and Avithout. Corolla, stamens and 
pistil yellow. 

The general form of the involucre is broadly bell-shaped ; scales obscurely 
three-nerved, loosely lanuginous on the back and the upper half within ; one or 
two metamorphosed leaf scales at the base. The involucral scales in this — the 
only specimen we have seen — -are successively transformed into chaff, with 
abortive achenial cavities. 



We are indebted to Mr. C. E. B. Howe for a very fine specimen of 
the Rock -leek, here figured — JEcheveria lanceolata, (Nutt.) 

These fleshy Pacific plants are found upon the tops of mountains, 
or on high barren rocks and gravelly clifis where often not a vestige 
of soil can be seen, or barely enough to fix them to the earth: — 
there the rosulate clustered leaves cling and shoot up yellowish or 
pinkish stems with yellow blossoms just as gaily as if not exposed 
to the bleakest winds, the hottest sun and longest drought, or the 
heaviest dews and densest fogs alternately. Like the House-leek or 
Live-forever, they subsist mostly upon the air. These plants are 
covered over with myriads of microscopic mouths, invisible to the 
naked eye, by which they drink in the passing atmospheric moisture, 
and deposit it in little juicy cells or beds which lie beneath the sur- 
face of their thickly swollen leaves. 




It is on this account that the weary wanderer and toilsome hunter 
always find in these refrigerent and succulent plants the means of 
slaking their thirst, and refreshing themselves, even where no water 
is, and all around seems barren and as hopeless as the arid desert. 

The young and tender flower-sprouts which spring out from be- 
neath, at the root, are also used as food. Boiled in milk they prove 
a useful remedy in diarrhseas occasioned by change of water. There 
are several other species in California, all of which we would be most 
happy to receive and illustrate. 



The public are indebted to Dr. J. 
A. Veatch, for the recent intro- 
duction of a new species of Ceano- 
tkus from Washoe. Many, and we 
learn nearly all, of these beautiful 
American shrubs were killed by the 
late severe winter upon the Island 
of Great Britain. We most heart- 
ily sympathise with the fatherland 
in this great loss. The subjoined 
figure very accurately represents 
the Little Heart-leafed Ceanothus 
alluded to. CeanotJncs Cordulatus. 

A low, handsome shrub, with 
main erect branches and numerous 
short lateral branchlets, densely 
clothed with clustered foliage which 
is persistent (evergreen) in our cli- 
mate. The leaves are very pretty 
and symmetrical, but seldom much 
removed from the base of the stout- 
ly spreading twigs which terminate 
in a strong thorn. This shrub would make a good hedge border ; its 
native height being about four or five feet ; the flowers are bright 
pea-green in bud, and white when in full bloom. The fruit we have 
not seen. 

Technical desa'iptio7i. — Stem erect, flexuose, terete, numerous branchlets very 
short, divaricate, leafy at the base, terminating in a stout thorn. Bark cineri- 
tious. Leaves small, (i. e. l to l- an inch long, rarely f broad,) three-ribbed, 
(two other outer obscure nerves) ovate-cordate, entire, often emarginate, 
reticulate with translucent veins, short hirsute above and below, especially con- 
spicuous along the nerves beneath ; petioles short, hirsute, in the mature state 
of the leaf stout, seldom 1-16 of an inch long, but in the young state two or 
three times that length and very slender, minutely pubescent, the lamina finally 



becoming thickened and coriaceous, persistent. Stipules subulate hirsute. 
Leaves alternate in fasiculate clusters, somewhat canescent beneath. 

Flowers in thyrsoid panicles one to two inches in length, springing from the 
summit or approximate lateral branchlets, peduncle and pedicels sub-glabrous, 
pedicels calyx and petals white at the time of blossoming, bright pea-green be- 
fore expansion. Panicles sometimes leafy at the base. The form of the flow- 
ers as usual in this genus — calyx divisions inflexed turbinate — petals saccate 
or hooded, unguiculate ; pistil 3-parted -} its length. 

Near C. Jiirsutiis {Nntt) hut leaves not, "nearly sessile," nor " glandularly 
serrulate," nor " panicles terminal." C. divaricatus (Nutt) has "blue flowers," 
and " glandularly serrulate " leaves which are also larger. 


[From the German of Goethe.] 


Hand in hand, thy lip mine pressing, 

Maiden, pledge thy troth to me ; 
Dwell thou safe while many a danger 

Bears thy lover far from thee ; 
Yet if once he greets the haven. 

When the storm has passed away, 
May the gods in wrath chastise him, 

If he rests from thee a day. 

Bravely dared is won already, 

Half my work 's thus wrought aright ; 
Gleaming stars, like suns, will light me, 

Cowards only think it night. 
If I wrought not in thy service 

Deeper pain my heart would own, 
But in all this widening distance 

I will toil for thee alone. 

Even now I see the valley 

Where we yet with joy shall go, 
And at twilight watch the river 

Gliding by with gentle flow, 
Sit and chat upon the green sward, 

Beechen branches in our hands, 
! and more than this, and better, 

There our little cottage stands ! 



Alone and feeble on my couch reclining, 
I heard a foot-fall near my chamber door — 

What friend approaches, thought I, half divining 
The tripping foot-note ere it touched my floor. 

" A bright Castillian bud, too small for blooming, 
But pretty for your sparkling crystal vase, 

And pleasant for its delicate perfuming, 
Wilt please accept," — a lady said with grace. 

Thanks, I returned, and clasped it in my fingers ; 

The bud is redolent of outer air. 
The freshness of the early spring-time lingers, 

Infolded by its leaves with tender care. 

With reverent thought I placed the floral glory 
Within the crystal vase to keep it bright, 

When, lo ! a miracle untold in story — 
It hurst into a rose upon my sight. 

Alike the sound of bird its wings unfolding 
With a new sense of life in sun and air. 

The petals of my rose-bud burst their moulding, 
And every fl[uttering leaf turned back with care. 

It flung aroma all around unclosing, 

And filled my being with a sweet amaze, 

Kevealed the sunlight in its heart reposing, 
The golden anthers that confined his rays. 

What hand, unseen, of angel friend attending, 
With gentle force unloosed its prisoned powers? 

What dear departed one above me bending, 

With loving care would strew my path with flowers ? 

Ah ! who can trace the chain electric binding 
With brighter links the severed loved ones still ! 

We feel the mystic circle round us winding, 

And every soul-chord gives an answering thrill ! 

Father, I thank Thee for each unseen blessing 

That comes from Thee, thro' those who love us there ! 

" I thank Thee that I live," beyond expressing. 
The beauties of Thy Earth and Heaven to share ! 



After having arrived at the conclusion that the habit of reading 
novels is highly beneficial, as we did in an article in the last num- 
ber of the Hesperian, the question naturally arises, "What novels 
best deserve reading? " I shall endeavor to reply to this question 
by giving a few general rules, and then giving a list of the novels 
reputed to be the best. 

The iirst rule is to read only the best novels. Much discretion is 
necessary. The multitude of novels is so vast that no man can read 
them all ; and they vary so much in merit that the benefits to be 
derived from their perusal depend, to a great extent, upon the choice 
made in them. 

The second rule, for the general reader, is never to read an un- 
known novel. It is better to leave a little that is good than to waste 
time by struggling through much that is bad. It is not a wise plan 
to go hunting after literary merit. In regard to old books, trust to 
the discernment and critical justice of the world of students ; in 
regard to new books, wait till the verdict has been pronounced by 
the specialists who are required by their professions to inspect every 
new publication. 

A third rule, is never to read for the plot alone. Unless a novel 
possesses some other interest, it must be a very lov/ book, and the 
reader who delights in it must be in a very low position intellectu- 
ally. Always seek for a book that will give information in regard 
to the condition of society beyond the range of your own experi- 
ence, and that contains critical remarks about manners and costumes, 
and that suggests ideas that may be of value for future guidance. 

A fourth rule, is never to read two novels by the same author, 
consecutively. Always put a long period between them* No. mat- 
ter how much a man may read, there are enough good novels to en- 
able him to read continuously for months without taking two from 
the same pen. There is always a certain kind of sameness in the 
works of every author; and although this sameness may frequently 
not be sufiiciently prominent to prove tedious, it must interfere a 
little with the pleasure and interest of an intelligent reader. 

The most important class of novels are not the ablest, but those 



best suited to amuse and interest children. If I were asked how 
the general education of our people could he most advanced at a 
slight cost and trouble, I should say, supply every child with cop- 
ies of Robinson Crusoe, the Swiss Family Robinson, the Fairy 
Tales, the Arabian Nights, Scott's Tales of my Crrandfather, and 
Jack Halyard. Wherever I have found a person — man or woman 
— who had access to these books at the age often or twelve, I have 
heard that they were all read through with intense delight, not only 
read but re-read, and read over and over again, when no other books 
possessed an equal attraction or gave equal pleasure. And in many of 
these cases, I have heard that this reading exercised a very import- 
ant influence upon the habits and tastes of the individual, and gave 
a fondness for study, after they had been looked upon as hopeless 
dullards, by schoolmates and parents. The wonderful romances 
gave the first impulse to their thinking faculties, enchanted their 
imaginations, taught them the meaning of many words seldom used 
in ordinary conversation, familiarized them with fine literary styles, 
gave them a high idea of the pleasure to be derived from reading, 
and in fine, laid the foundation for all their subsequent intellectual 
cultivation. Give a child these books, and if it have any capacity, 
it will not thereafter wait till books are brought, but will hunt them 
up, and thus educate itself. The juvenile works of Hans Christian 
Andersen and Berthold Auerbach, some of which have been trans- 
lated into English, are highly praised, and probably deserve a place 
with those which I have named. 

Among the novels for adults, Jane Eyre is generally considered 
to be the first, and certainly is the first among all English novels. 
It is exceedingly compact, containing in a small space the record of 
a vast amount of emotion and passion. The heroine is a poor gov- 
erness, who has serious trials, falls in love with Rochester, a noble- 
man, is beloved in return, is prevented for a time from marrying 
him, but finally, after he has lost his sight by an accident, does 
marry him. The plot allows the author, Charlotte Bronte, to intro- 
duce many of the observations on life which she has been compelled 
to make while earning her bread as a governess, and so the book 
is, to a certain extent, a record of her own experience. It is, how- 
ever, not lacking in any of the elements of the great novel, and it 
excites intense interest in the mind of every reader. It is one of 


the few novels that deserve to be read a second time. Shirley and 
Villette, by the same authoress, are also excellent, but inferior to 
Jmie Eyre. They are all boldly written, but very noble and pure : 
notwithstanding the fact that Rochester is represented as having 
had a child by a French actress before his marriage to Jane Eyre, 
to whom he relates the history of his liaison. 

Miss Muloch deserves the next place after Charlotte Bront^, to 
whom, as an authoress, she bears a strong resemblance in her moral 
and intellectual powers, in the degree of her cultivation, and in her 
tastes. Her best book is John Halifax, which has the singularity, 
for a novel, of being the history of the hero from the time when he 
starts in life as a poor, ignorant orphan boy at eight years of age, 
until he dies, full of wealth and honor, with a large family about 
him in advanced life. Olive^ the Ogilvies, and A Life for a Life, 
are other novels by Miss Muloch, all excellent. 

Adam Bede is inferior to the books of Miss Bronte and Miss Mul- 
och. It is less compact, does not preserve the unity of plot so well, 
inclines to be tedious in places, represents provincial life and is writ- 
ten, to some extent, in a provincial dialect. But with all this, it is a 
great book, is written with intense power, has a magnificent style, 
and is filled with fine descriptions and acute observations on society. 
The Mill on the Floss, by the same author, has the repute among 
those who have read it, of being superior to Adam Bede, though 
marked by the same general characteristics. 

Mrs. Stowe's best book is the Minister s Wooing, in every respect 
a delightful novel. The plot is laid in Rhode Island, in the middle 
of the last century. Most of the characters were puritans, espec- 
ially the heroine, Mary Scudder, a young lady of a clear head and 
stout heart. The celebrated Calvinistic preacher. Dr. Hopkins, 
boarded v/ith Mary's mother, and the old fellow — represented in 
the novel as an old bachelor, though it is a historical fact that at 
that time he was married and had six children — fell in love with 
Mary, who was in love with an unconverted young sailor. This fellow 
went to sea, and after he had been absent a long time, news came 
that his vessel had been wrecked and he lost. According to the 
Calvinistic theory, it was supposed that he had gone to perdition, 
at which idea, his mother, who knew him to be a good boy, though 
not a church memiber, goes into intense agony. She does not argue 


against eternal perdition, or the perdition of all outside of the 
church, but her misery makes a strong impression on every mind ; 
an impression not favorable to strict Calvinism, and therefore the book 
was bitterly denounced by some religious newspapers. Mrs. Scud- 
der, a zealous church member and great admirer of Dr. Hopkins, 
insists that Mary shall marry him ; and the poor girl, giving up her 
lover as lost, finally consents ; but at the last moment, her sailor 
boy comes back alive, and they get married. Dr. Hopkins was an 
enemy of slavery, which then existed in Rhode Island, and so the 
novel contains a little abolitionism, Aaron Burr is brought in, and 
he is represented as trying to seduce a beautiful French woman, and 
almost succeeding. This, however, as well as the whole book, is 
handled in the most delicate manner. No novel in any language 
contains so many beautiful passages of general observation suitable 
for quoting. Uncle Toms Oabin also deserves reading. Its merit 
is not equal to its success, but it is a great novel. If examined as to 
the soundness of the political views expressed in it, it may be de- 
clared very faulty and in some respects absurd; but all who read it 
as a novel are highly delighted with it. It has been objected to 
Uncle Tom that the authoress has misrepresented southern life, and 
has gone beyond the proper sphere of the novelist, and meddled 
'with other people's business, when she holds up the slaveholders to 
the scorn of the world. These objections are not good. It is not 
true that she has misrepresented southern life. She has painted 
good and bad slave-holders, such men as there are in every part of 
the world. She does not say or intimate that slaveholders are 
worse than other men, but simply that they have greater opportuni- 
ties to do injustice. She selects extreme cases and extraordinary 
characters, as all novelists do. Neither is she wrong when she se- 
lects the horrors of slavery as her subject. The fact that she resides 
in a free State should not preclude her from taking an interest in the 
slave States. It is the right of every man to exercise his opinion 
about the morality of all human actions, and it is his duty to sym- 
pathise with the oppressed, and those Avhom he considers the op- 
pressed, in every part of the world. Even if we admit that slavery 
should be maintained in the Southern States, we must also admit the 
right of those, who think differently, to express their opinion in the 
matter. Dred is very much like Uncle Tom, and should not be read 


until the recollection of the latter is becoming indistinct in the 

Consuelo is the only novel out of the English language that be- 
longs to the first class, but it belongs to the very first of the first. 
The scene opens in Venice and changes to Bohemia, Austria and 
Prussia. The heroine Consuelo, the fatherless daughter of a low 
Gipsy woman, was born in Venice about the beginning of the last 
century, and was bred in the streets of that city. At an early age 
she was instructed in music by Porpora, a historical character, a 
celebrated composer, and she became a singer in the church of which 
he was chapel-master. While still a girl she was betrothed to An- 
zoletto, a fisher boy, and he too was taught by Porpora. Both 
made much progress in music, and both went upon the operatic 
stage. Anzoletto was the first to try the opera ; he was highly 
successful, then was spoiled by his success, and became indifi"erent 
to Consuelo ; and she lost her love for him. After a time she made 
her debut and had a greater success. Anzoletto began to persecute 
her ; the manager of the opera made love to her. At length she 
deemed it prudent to leave Venice ; she went secretly to a castle in 
Bohemia, where she was to teach music to the affianced bride of 
Count Albert de Rudolstadt, the heir of the house. Albert was a 
natural somnambulist and clairvoyant, and vrith the strong elective 
affinities of such people, he soon became indifferent to his betrothed, 
and fell in love for Consuelo, or rather Porporina, for when she left 
Venice she adopted a name derived from that of her master. She 
obtained a peculiar influence over Albert, and in the course of time 
his engagement was broken, and another made with Porporina. 
Anzoletto, on his way to sing in one of the Bohemian cities, stopped 
at the Rudolstadt castle, and was not a little surprised to see Por- 
porina there. He had been leading a dissolute life, and with the 
impudence of his class, he imagined that he could carry off" Porpo- 
rina. She made the mistake of not telling Albert the whole truth 
in the beginning ; but he soon perceived that the two had been ac- 
quainted before, and that many unexpressed and exciting thoughts 
were flying through their brains. Porporina knowing Anzoletto's 
impudence and violence, saw that her only mode of avoiding a vio- 
lent scene was to escape from the castle, and supposing that marriage 
with Albert would be impossible if such a scene should occur, and in 


fact impossible in any case, she determined to flee, and so she did 
at night, at the very time when Anzoletto was trying to get into 
her room. She fled, — a young woman, in a strange country without 
money. She managed to get a suit of boys' clothes, and started to 
walk to Vienna, where she had heard that Porpora was. She soon 
fell in with a youth of seventeen, named Joseph Haydn, afterwards 
the great composer, who was starting out to make his fortune as a 
musician. She found him to be a modest, good, intelligent young 
fellow, of considerable knowledge and much promise, and the two 
traveled together afoot to Vienna, highly pleased with each other's 
company. Joseph had a violin, and when the two arrived at a 
village and wanted a meal or a lodging, they would give notice that 
there was to be some music, and mounted upon barrel-:., Porporina 
would sing while Joseph accompanied her on the violin, to the de- 
light of their auditors. The narrative of this journey, with the in- 
tercourse between the great singer and the incipient composer, is 
handled with the greatest delicacy, and is the most beautiful thing 
of its kind that I ever read. After they arrived at Vienna, Porpo- 
rina appeared with success upon the operatic stage, but she could 
not remain there because Maria Theresa had a rule that the opera 
singers in her theatre must be married, and Porporina would not 
marry at her request. So Porporina went to Berlin, where she 
sang. There she met Frederick the Great and Baron Trenck, and 
had strange adventures with persons high at court. She became 
involved in political troubles, and incurred the displeasure of Fred- 
erick. The news came that Albert had died, but this proved untrue, 
for he followed her, was more loving than ever before, and their 
trials ended, as those of lovers generally do in novels — with mat- 
rimony. The book is high-toned and pure, but bold throughout ; 
and the man who does not feel better after reading it must be either 
exceedingly bad or exceedingly good. 

The other novels of George Sand differ much in character ; some 
of them are very simple and pure ; others, though written in del- 
icate language — for she is never gross, — contain hints of her rev- 
olutionary ideas in regard to religion and society. La Petite Fadette 
and La Mare au Liable, though not very strongly written, are as 
full of sweet moral teaching as any novel in the English language. 
I have not read many of her novels, but the only one with which I 


have found any serious fault is Elle et Lui, in whicli, under the 
form of fiction, she continues her autobiography, and tells the history 
of her liaison Avith Alfred de Musset. The story is a very dis- 
agreeable one — a peevish, mean man on one side, a long-suffering, 
foolish, submissive woman on the other. The story has nothing 
agreeable in it, and I am astonished that such a book, notwithstand- 
ing the celebrity of its heroes, and the generally admitted truthful- 
ness of its representations, should have created such a sensation in 

Perhaps Aurora Leigh deserves a place among the novels, for it 
is in every respect a novel, save that it is written in verse. It is a 
great book, really one of the richest works of the imagination of 
modern times. Whether it be called a poetic novel or an epic, it 
belongs to the first class. But it is not suited to the taste of the 
general reader. He who can delight in it, and read it through at a 
sitting, and be fascinated with it so that on taking it up, he cannot 
lay it down until he has finished it, must have studied much, and 
have reached a high condition of intellectual culture. For those ca- 
pable of appreciating it and sympathising with it at first sight, its 
perusal is a great pleasure. 

Leaving these novels of the first class, we come down to those of 
a lower grade. Among the men I think Thackeray deserves the 
highest place. His plots are good and his style excellent, and 
every thing that he writes is full of suggestion. He makes his rea- 
ders think. He is a satirist ; his characters exhibit a great deal of 
meanness, but they are true to life. His books are very instructive. 
With most novelists one of their books is enough, but a person who 
has much time for reading may well read all of Thackeray's. 

Scott's novels, especially Ivanhoe, Old Mortality, and Roh Roy, 
Charles Reed's Peg Woffington, White Lies, and Love me Little, 
Love me Long, Dickens' Lomhey ^ Son, Oliver Twist, and David 
Copperfield, Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii, Rienzi, and Night 
and Morning, Cooper's Leather Stocking, Hawthorne's House 
of the Seven Gf-ables, and Scarlet Letter, Manzoni's L Promessi 
Sposi, (translated as " The Betrothed,") Freytag's Soil and Haben, 
(translated with the title Debit and Credit,) Hacklander's Lurop- 
aisches Sklavenleben, {European Slave Life, not translated,) Madame 
de Stael's Oorinne, and Zschokke's novels, are all of high merit as 


works of art. They are, however, lacking in power and moral in- 
tensity as compared with the Jane Eyre school. Several of my 
friends have told me that when they were about seventeen they 
preferred Bulwer to all other novelists ; when they were twenty 
they had grown tired of him and thought his sentimentalism over- 
done and false, and now it would be a severe task for them to read 
one of his books. My own experience agrees with theirs. Field- 
ing's Tom Jones is a fine work of art, and has been declared by 
some critics to deserve the first place among novels. A variety of 
scenes and characters are introduced, and all are used in such a way 
as to contribute to highten the interest of the main plot, of which 
the unity is maintained with unsurpassed success. But the book was 
written for a gross age, and its name is almost tabooed in polite so- 
ciety. The Monk, by Matthew G. Lewis,. a fantastic and very in- 
delicate book, created a great sensation some forty years ago, but 
it has fallen into neglect now, and deservedly, for it can claim no 
high place, as a work of art. The novels of Voltaire and Diderot 
are most offensively gross, and notwithstanding the wit of occasional 
passages, will not repay perusal. Rousseau was a man of delicate 
soul as compared with them, and his Julie is still worth reading, 
though it is in places a little tedious. The love letters that passed 
between the hero and the heroine are models of French style and 
amatory composition. There is such a similarity between this book 
and Werter, or " Werther,'' as Goethe spells the name, that since 
reading the latter I have always thought his hero's sorrows were 
suggested by those of the tutor in Julie, and that the passionate 
German poet, dissatisfied with the long-drawn, vexatious and un- 
tragic end of the French novel, and the weakness of the heroine, 
recast the plot and suited his own notions thereto by making Char- 
lotte more virtuous, and driving her lover, who was also her best 
beloved, to commit suicide. Werter is Goethe's best novel. Wil- 
Jiehii Meister is most beautiful in the beginning, but in the second 
volume, like Faust, runs off into a confused allegory, which will 
pay no man for the bother of studying its meaning. I never yet 
met the man that understood the meaning of the second part of 
either Faust or Meister ; but the beginning of the latter, Kke the 
first part of the former, is the most delightful composition of its 
kind. The Wahlverwandschaften (translated under the title Chem- 


ical Affinities) was written to set forth the doctrine which of late years 
has become famous as "Free Love." The chief characters are a 
nobleman and his wife, and each finds his " affinity " in a person 
outside of wedlock. It does not appear that the letter of the mar- 
riage vow was broken, although the spirit of it was. The book is 
as delicately Avritten as the subject would permit, but it is scarcely 
worth perusal. 

The ta'es of Washington Irving contain some of the most pleas- 
ant reading in the English language, and always leave the mind in 
a most placid and happy mood. In their humor and smoothly-flow- 
ing, harmonious style, they resemble Don Quixote very closely, and 
their author well deserves the title of the American Cervantes. 

Godwin's Caleb Williams has been much praised. I have not 
read it. Poe's stories have queer plots, and are full of strong ef- 
fects, but are scarcely worth reading. The Wandering Jew is the 
hero of SalatJiiel, by the Rev. George Croly, who made terror, 
remorse, despair, gloomy forebodings, and religious fanaticism the 
main passions of his story, which is handled in a very eifective man- 
ner. • D'Israeli's novels are written to favor political and social prog- 
ress ; Sylil is reputed to be the best. Charles Lover's novels, espe- 
cially Charley 0' Malley, Jack Hinton, and Tom Bu7'ke of Ours, 
were very popular some fifteen or twenty years ago. They are hu- 
morous, and paint life in the British army, in the wars of Napoleon, 
and in Ireland. The novels of Victor Hugo, Charles Brockden 
Brown, G. W. Curtis, and Frederica Bremer have been much praised, 
but I have not read any of them. The novels of Rev. Charles 
Kingsley are about third rate in artistic merit, but they are much 
liked by certain classes of readers, on account of their pure religious 
and free political tendencies. His Ilypatia is a singular book ; the 
scene is laid in Alexandria, in the third century ; the heroine is a 
young woman lecturer who taught Platonism and Christianity. The 
dogmas of rival christian sects are involved in the plot. The novels 
of the Misses Warner, the authoresses of Queecliy, the Wide, Wide 
World, etc., are religious in tone, and belong to about the same rank 
with Kingsley's books. Carlyle's Sartor Resartus is a collection of 
little miscellaneous essays patched together under the guise of a 
novel. For a man who has become familiar with Carlyle's language 
and his topics, it is worth reading. Gril Bias is one of the most en- 


tertaining of books. A story is told, I think by Boswell, that at a 
meeting of half a dozen celebrated writers of the last century, (in- 
cluding Dr. Johnson,) they agreed that each should write, on a bit 
of paper, the name of the book which had given him the most pleas- 
ure, and when they had done so, and afterwards examined the pa- 
pers, they found the name of Gil Bias on every one. When I wish 
to be amused, I know nothing more agreeable than Don Quijote in 
the original ; in translation much of its merit is lost. All of Wash- 
ington Irving's tales deserve a high rank among humorous compo- 
sitions. Telemaque is good for children. St. Pierre's Paul and 
Virgiviia, and Chateaubriand's Atala have been praised ; they never 
gave me much pleasure. Humboldt says their descriptions of scen- 
ery and vegetation in the tropics and in the valley of the lower 
Mississippi are unsurpassed. The Nemesis of Faith, by J. A. 
Froude, the eminent English historian, and A Few Days in Athens, 
by Frances Wright, subsequently Madame D'Arusmont, are notable 
novels, because of their anti-christian tendencies, but as novels they 
belong only to the third or fourth rank. Goldsmith's Vicer of 
Wakefield is one of the purest and most pleasing of our novels ; 
every child ought to read it after despatching Robinson Crusoe and 
that class. Then Rasselas should follow. One of the best modern 
novelists is Emile Souvestre, whose books, while interesting as nov- 
els, are full of a pure and cheerful philosophy which, at the same 
time, ennobles and delights. We have nothing like him in English ; 
perhaps the best way to describe him to a person familiar with 
English literature is to call him Channing-Dickens, with the moral 
elevation and zeal of the former, and the liveliness and humor of 
the latter. His best work, and the only one which has been trans- 
lated into English, is Le Philosophe sous le Toit, (The Philosopher 
under the roof, or in the garret,) which has been translated by the 
ambiguous title, "The Attic Philosopher," leaving the reader in 
doubt whether the hero dwelt in Attica or in an attic. The trans- 
lation was published by the Appletons, and should have been one of 
the most successful books, but proved to be unprofitable. The Con- 
fessions d'un Ouvrier is also excellent ; some other novels of Sou- 
vestre are very good, but not equal to these two. The Romance of 
the Poor Young Man has been praised as a good and pure book ; I 


have never looked into it. Sue. Alexander Dumas, James, Ains- 
worth, Marryatt, Southworth, etc., belong among the trash. 

The English language contains all the novels belonging to the 
first class, save one, and more than three fourths of those of the 
second class. Of these latter Spain has but one, Don Quijote, Italy 
but one, I Promessi Sposi, Germany but one, Soil itnd Sahen, and 
France but few. A comparison of the novels of French and English 
literature shows a remarkable difference in tone ; the former, as a 
class, being marked by gross scenes and phrases, more or less las- 
civious in tendency, such as are not to be found at all in works 
holding a corresponding position in Great Britain and America. 
Why is it ? I imagine that it must be owing chiefly to the different 
constitution of society, wherein the men are permitted in conversa- 
tion to use expressions not permissible among the English; and 
where the public take no offense at the printing of such expressions. 
In southern Europe, girls and unmarried women are not allowed to 
be alone with a man unless he be a very near relative, such as a 
father or brother ; and, as a rule, are kept under the eye of an 
elderly lady. The guardianship of their "virtue," as it is called, 
is entrusted not to their own prudence, but to the watchfulness of a 
companion. Under that system it is presumed that a girl cannot be 
trusted with herself at all. It is feared that her desires are not 
chaste, and it is supposed that it matters little, so far as her conduct 
is concerned, whether they are or not, for she is never allowed to go 
into temptation. As the father thinks the eye of a mother is the 
chief guard of his daughter's "virtue," he may care little what she 
reads, and he places books within her reach, such as no English 
or American fathers would be seen with, knowing, as they do, that if 
a lascivious tone were once given to a girl's mind, she would be lost 
in a country where she can do as she may please. I think I have ob- 
served that the greater the liberty allowed to daughters, the more 
particular the parents will be about the tone of the books which 
they read. Possibly I have not hit upon the right explanation of 
the difference between French and English novels as classes, in this 
respect, but few can deny that such a difference exists. In conclu- 
sion, it may be remarked, as a general rule, that the abler the writer, 
the more delicate and pure will be the tone of his books, and the 
nobler and more liberal his morality. 



Down 'neath the surges bright blossoms are waving, 
Jewels unnumbered the sea-floors are paving — 

Vale, glen and forest, by footsteps unhaunted, 

Lie hushed in their beauty like regions enchanted — 

Rainbows unheeded lone torrents are spanning, 
Zephyrs in secret rich spice-groves are fanning ; — 

Under the sea-foam the coral towers whiten, 
Diamonds in gloom and obscurity brighten — 

Star-worlds on stai'-worlds through hidden space cluster. 
Uncounted, unreached in their infinite luster — 

Through wide trackless prairies, like wasted evangels, 
Rare flowers ope divine as the thoughts of the angels — 

O'er ruins majestic, where rich ivies clamber. 
The sua weaves a fretwork of tremulous amber — 

In dim, secret caverns, the crystalline splendors 
Would awe into silence the worship man renders — 

And every Avhere beauty beyond our divining 

Is waving, and gleaming, and blooming, and shining ! 

Only One Vision interprets all sweetness 
Grandeur and glory of Nature's completeness. 

Thus with the Mind — in the infinite ranges. 

The Omniscieut alone makes its Teachings and changes. 

He blesses in secret each aim and endeavor. 

When a great thought takes root that shall blossom forever. 

Yet age after age an invisible glory 

Halos meek brows too obscure for Fame's story. 

Bard, artist, sculptor, the great world has needed, 
Press through its clamors unknown and unheeded — 

Song, picture, statue, grand pasan and minor 
Are lost in the tumult which Art makes diviner. 

So with the Spirit — no human eje measures 

Its frailties and triumphs, its losses and treasures. 

Only the Father unerringly knoweth 

Where the white blossom of true virtue bloweth. 

Evils resisted, which make the soul saintly, 

He weighs supremely where man discerns faintly — 

And outcast, or erring, rejected and lonely. 
Some beauty indwelleth revealed to Him only ! 



" This child I to mj'self will take ; 
She shall be mine, and I will make 
A lady of my own." 


In the ruby twilight of Mrs. Devine's drawing-room are gathered the 
infant representatives of aristocracy in Snowden Place. Fairy 
forms flit about in busy mimicry of belle-ship ; fairy fingers touch 
the piano ; while little slippered feet glide through intricate dances 
with exquisite grace and precision. Other fairy belles and beaux, 
following the fashion of their elders, on similar occasions, are seat- 
ed in window-nooks engaged in games, or even in sly flirtations. 

The lady of the mansion, moving like a vision of beauty among 
this elfin scene, smiles with maternal pride to discern the pre-emi- 
nence in loveliness of her own seven-year old darling, for whose 
gratification this youthful company is invited. Seated face to face, 
on two ottomans, the lady of one luster, and a young gentleman of 
two, are playing at back-gammon. 

" Reginald, you do not play fairly : you moved three places too 
far," said the seven-year old beauty. 

" You must watch me closer, Neeta, if you do not want to be 
beaten," replied the boy. 

" I do not put you to the trouble of watching me, Reginald ! " The 
playing went on, and in a few minutes Reginald declared himself the 
victor in the game. 

"If I had beaten you by cheating," said his opponent, "I would 
not have boasted of it." 

"Berenice !" chided Mrs. Devine, in a voice of mild reproach, 
"you must not accuse your opponent of clieatiny.'" 

The tears sprang to Neeta's eyes at the reproof, and she mur- 
mured to herself, " I should not know what else to say, if it was 
true." Reginald, seeing her depression, said gaily, " Come Neeta, 
let us waltz ; I will not be so wicked next time. I did it for sport, 
to see if you would find it out." 

Neeta yielded, for her mother's eye was upon her with a command 
in its expression ; and the two children joined the circle of waltzers, 


wliere the circumstance was soon forgotten. When the elegant din- 
ner which closed the visit, was over, and the liveried coachmen had 
taken up, and set down at home the youthful visitors, and Mrs. De- 
vine had taken her own dinner in company with her husband and 
Berenice, she called the latter to account for rudeness to one of her 

" I was very much surprised, Berenice, to hear you speak in the 
manner you did to Reginald Thorne. When will you ever learn 
that etiquette forbids your taking notice of the faults of others, in 
a way to be offensive? How could you be so rude as to accuse any 
one of cheating ? 

"But mamma, he did cheat, when he moved too far on the board, 
did he not? " 

" It was not nenessary for you to be so unpleasantly plain-spoken 
about it, if you thought so, my dear." 

" Well, mamma, I am sorry if I was wrong ; but I cannot help 
speaking out the truth about things. And I do not think it was 
more rude in me saying so, than in Reginald doing it, do you?" 

"I do not think that Reginald ought to deceive you, of course; 
but you should have let it pass without any comment, since he was 
your geust, invited to give you pleasure." 

"But it does not give me pleasure to have any one deceive me, 
and then triumph over me," said Berenice, quite grieved at such un- 
reasonable requisitions. 

"Yet, my dear, you should seem pleased, rather than give offence 
by showing your dissatisfaction. Beside, Reginald did nOt think it 
of any consequence, else he would not have done so, I presume. It 
is a fault of yours that you are too much injured, when no injury is 
meant. You must be less sensitive, my daughter, to little errors in 
your associates." 

Silenced, but not convinced, Berenice gave her mother a good- 
night kiss, and went reluctantly to her room with her maid, Alice ; 
who, seeing the little beauty troubled, began to soothe her after her 
own fashion. "What ails my pretty darlint noo? Somebody has 
bruised the little heart of it, and Allie will not let them ? " And ca- 
ressing the little girl tenderly, she drew her on to tell what lay upon 
her heart. 

" Why, Alice, you see Reginald Thorne is always teasing me, and 



mother will not let me say a word ; and he does not tell the truth 
either, and I do not like story-tellers : but mamma says I must not 
take any notice of it. Now, if Reginald tells me a lie, or cheats 
me at play, I do not think it is wrong for me to show him that I 
know it is not true, or fair. I think it is not true in me to pretend 
not to know it." 

" No, the darlint. Reginald is a bad, desperate boy ; and yer 
mother does wrong to let him taze ye. She ought not to let yer 
play with such childer as vexes ye." 

When Nature asserted that she would make a "lady of her own," 
of baby Berenice, she could hardly have foreseen the amount of op- 
position to be encountered from the circumstances of the child's 
relationships to the world. Born of parents whose lives were con- 
secreted to society and ambition ; nursed by a hired foster mother ; 
cradled in rosewood, satin and lace ; baptised in the high church of 
fashion in honiton lace robes ; taught to take her first unsteady 
steps on the woven moss of costly carpets ; dressed in textures fit 
for fairy land ; and breathing exotic odors hourly, she was as far 
from being in intercourse with the the universal mother as any off- 
spring of fashion that ever was born. Etiquette she was taught, so re- 
fined, that it was almost as pure from sin as undefiled religion itself. 

Her daily conduct was carefully criticised, that no taint of anger, 
envy or malice should give indications of low blood ; nor too much 
impulsiveness betray low breeding. Excellent masters had charge of 
her education ; servants in plenty anticipated all her wants. There 
seemed no avenue left through which the child might catch a glimpse 
of the real heavens, or touch the soil of the real earth, so girded 
about by artificialities was she ; so guided, governed and restrained 
was she by unavoidable rules. But the Great Mother had not forgot- 
ten her. Daily the child felt new thoughts arise in her soul of the 
wonderful nature of things material and spiritual, which neither her 
mother nor her maid could answer satisfactorily, and which she pon- 
dered in quiet shaded nooks of the great parlors, in the window-seat 
of her father's study, or in the presence of the roses and camelias 
of her mother's conservatory. No one had ever said to her, "for- 
give your playmates their errors, because Christ commands you ; or 
because you often need their forgiveness." The beautiful golden rule 
of doing unto others as we would that they should do unto us, had 


never been taught to the impressible child; but only, "do not be 
guilty of such a breach of refinement, my dear." The lesson was 
received in good faith, for the naturally obedient and believing heart 
received instruction readily : but the kind of teaching had, did not 
satisfy its earnest questioning after the reason of these things. 

The morning revealed to Berenice a terrible scene ; — her mother 
lying dead, disfigured and svt^ollen by poison, accidentally taken for a ■ 
different medicine. Every effort had been made to save her ■when 
the mistake was discovered, without avail. The drug was too quick 
and deadly in its effects ; and the beautiful woman was speedily be- 
yond all help. This was the first time the child had ever been con- 
fronted with death ; and the ordeal was terrible. The distorted 
countenance of the dead, shocked her inexpressibly. Her loss, at 
first not well comprehended, seemed to grow more grievous every 
hour ; and convulsive crying was followed by spells of wordless, 
tearless, immoveable grief. Death is awful in any place. The splen- 
dors of Mr. Devine's mansion ; the solemn and proper countenances 
of his well-trained servants ; the mournful elegance of all the ar- 
rangements for the funeral, could not deprive the stern conqueror 
of his awful mein. The poor little child who shuddered in the midst 
of this gloom, motherless, and almost fatherless — for Mr. Devine 
was absorbed in his own grief — had no one to go to for comfort or 
counsel, but her maid Alice. This affectionate creature soothed her 
darling's sorrow as well as in her ignorance she could. IShe gave 
Berenice, in answer to her questions about death and heaven, a com- 
posed mixture of Catholicism and superstition, most lamentably 
incomprehensible; and enjoined upon her youthful pupil the benefit 
of prayer, to rest her mother's soul. 

The funeral solemnities made a great impression on Berenice's 
mind. The solemn prayers, the dirge-like hymns, the touching ex- 
hortation of the minister, and the final ceremony of consigning the 
dead to its everlasting rest. So strange and powerful were these 
new emotions, that for the time, the magnitude of her loss seemed 
swallowed up in the contemplation of its mysteries. 

On the day after the funeral Mr. Devine sent for his little daugh- 
ter to come to see him in his study. His countenance was pale and 
his manner nervous and wandering: for although thoroughly ab- 
sorbed in schemes of wealth and ambition, Mr. Devine had loved 



his beautiful wife intensely as quietly. He was not a demonstra- 
tive man ; and was satisfied to see her evidently happy in the enjoy- 
ment of society, and her luxurious home. When it was too late, the 
longing came over him to have her more to himself — to devote 
himself more to her — and this longing would not let him rest in the 
house where she was not. 

" My dear child," said he, "I fear I have neglected you and your 
dear mother. I am sorry to see you looking so sad, for you are too 
young to share my grief. In a few days I am going away, to be 
gone a long time — all summer at least — and I cannot take you 
with me. I sent for you to tell you what plans I have made for your 
health and pleasure. Do you think you would like the country, my 

" Oh, papa, I should like the country if you could go there with 
me ; but how can I go alone, or with only Alice ? " 

" I have arranged to have you have a companion, by advertising 
for a governess. I hope to find a young lady capable of instructing 
and amusing you ; and you are to go with her to your Uncle Neal's 
on Salmon Creek; — a spot your mother has often talked of visiting 
in some summer jaunt." 

" Is it like the seashore, papa? Is it like those places mother 
loved to go to ? " asked Berenice, tearfully. 

" No, my child, not much like the places you mention, but a beau- 
tiful spot, I believe. We have often seen drawings taken from its 
neighborhood ; and there is one on the parlor table now, of an old 
saw-mill your Uncle Neal owns; and of his place, too, among the 

Berenice gave a little sigh. She knew she should like the woods 
and the old mill, for they looked so charming in pictures : but a 
stranger for a governess, and Uncle Neal's family too, whom she 
had never seen, aroused her childish timidity. 

"Y/'ill Alice go too, papa ? " 

" No, Alice will be dismissed for the present. The young lady 
who will accompany you, will take good care of you, and superin- 
tend your studies beside ; though I do not think you need study 
much before next winter. Do not look so sad about it ; — if you do 
not like any of the ladies who may apply, I will make some other 



Just as Berenice wiped away her fresh-fallen tears, a servant ush- 
ers in a young lady — a stranger — Avho gracefully bowing, announced 
her errand as being in answer to the morning's advertisement for a 
governess. She was small, almost to childishness, though faultlessly 
formed ; and having a fresh and beautiful complexion. Her sunny- 
brown hair curled to her waist in large, soft ringlets. Her eyes of 
brown, reflected the golden gleam on the long silken lashes. Her 
air suited her figure and face, and was rather beseeching than self- 
confident ; and her voice harmonized with the whole person. 

Berenice was suddenly all attention. Mr. Devine, after asking a 
few questions concerning her qualifications, which were modestly 
and satisfactorily answered, remarked : " You see. Miss Moore, your 
little charge and pupil. She is an orphan of only a few days, and 
her heart is very tender. I know not if you can win her confidence." 
Yet as he said this his eyes denied the doubt ; for the winning ex- 
pression of that gentle face was the best recommendation of the 
applicant. " Speak to Miss Moore, Berenice." 

The child, whose beauty, whose sadness, and whose mourning gar- 
ments might have appealed to any heart, had already made herself 
a nest in the warm one of Flora Moore ; and with the quick instincts 
of har age, Berenice had soon discovered it. 

"You are almost as pretty as my mamma," she murmured, look- 
ing up fondly from leaning on Flora's lap. 

"Thank you, sweet," was the reply, accompanied by a blush and 
a moisture of the brown eyes. 

"When shall you want me ?" she asked, turning to Mr. Devine. 

" On Monday next, four days from now, I shall wish to send my 
little girl to the country. I hope you will not find the charge too 
irksome. Miss Moore. You look young and delicate to assume such 
a duty entirely to yourself ; but at the place where you are going, 
you will have great liberty ; and my chief desire about Berenice is, 
that her health shall be carefully watched, and her mind amused and 
instructed as much as seems beneficial. Recollect, amusement is my 
chief aim — and I trust to you to make it of a suitable nature." 

" I will do my best to make my pupil happy, sir ;" and the look 
which the youthful governess bestowed upon the little girl was secu- 
rity enough. 

" How do you like your future companion, my child ? " asked the 
father, when Miss Moore had taken her leave. 


" Oh, papa, she looks like the lady I dreamed of after reading my 
book of fairy stories. I hope she is a good fairy, don't you?" 
Berenice was much cheered by this visit, and time passed more 
lightly than might have been expected, till the promised Monday. 
[Concluded in our next number.] 



Gaze on, poor famished boy, gaze on, 

Thy soul hath food, though thou hast none ; 

Forget thy starving ones at home 

And let thy soul 'mid beauty roam ; 

Conquer thy hunger's dreadful pangs 

And rise 'bove want's keen vulture fangs. 

In contemplation of that glorious view, 

Oh ! may thy soul be born anew. 

And thy great spirit within be stirred 

To glorious deeds of thought and word. 

Gaze on, the feast before thee 's half divine ! 

He marked each curve, ordained each line, 

Graved the image on the author's mind, 

Inspired him to give it to mankind. 

Gaze on — and may the flame which in thy soul doth burn, 

Be to the artist, for his toil, grateful return — 

For he, like thee, hath need of daily bread, 

And oft like thee seeks his poor couch unfed. 

But He who hears the ravens when they cry. 

And lit the fire of genius — ne'er to die — 

Feeds him with manna, which is angels' food. 

And fills him with the blessedness of doing good. 

Toil on, poor child of genius, unclothed, unfed, 

Expect not that the world will give thee bread — 

Be this thy glory, and thy joy to know, 

Thou 'st eased thy brother's heart of half its woe ; 

Hast lured him up to paths by angels trod 

And showed him of the bread which comes from God. 

Gaze on, poor boy, and may the rapturous thrill 

Which now thy soul with richest glories fill, 

Be to thee foretaste of the bread that's given 

To toiling mortals here — from God in Heaven I 



The " Clipper family " lived next in order of proximity to my 
grandmother's residence. They occupied the large white cottage 
on the upland road, partially concealed from view by a grove of 
grand old birches on the north, and an extensive orchard of apple 
and plum trees on the south and west. The Neighbors said that 
they were "well to do in the world; " which means, in modern par- 
lance, that they were prosperous and wealthy ; — an agreeable cir- 
cumstance for a large family, even in those days of simple tastes 
and inexpensive habits. And the Clippers were numerous. There 
was Becky, the eldest, and David, and Jonathan, and John, and 
Dorcas the youngest born, and many others of intermediate sizes 
and ages, all of whom inherited good, substantial Scripture names, 
according with the religious sentiment of the day. 

" Madam Clipper " was a tall, angular, emphatic-looking person, 
with a well-defined Roman nose, which imparted a dictatorial and 
authoritative expression to her countenance. She was, indeed, "the 
nmn of the family," the husband being of diminutive size and ap- 
pearance. His features were of the peculiar order which seem to 
lessen while you look upon them. He appeared, habitually, to shrink 
from observation ; and he communicated to strangers the impression 
that he was watching for a favorable moment to retire from their 
presence. His character was imperfectly understood by the Neigh- 
bors, for he rarely spoke, saving when addressed or interrupted by 
others ; when he would reply as concisely as possible, and always to 
the point in question. He appeared to feel but little interest in bus- 
iness affairs or, in fact, in any other, either political or religious ; 
calm, silent and patient he journeyed on to the end of his pilgrimage^ 
living in an interior world of his own creating. But^ whether his 
world was in the past, or in the great, unbounded future, no one 
knew. The under-current of his life was never seen. It might have 
been deep and strong, bearing silently and darkly along its course, 
hurried loves, ruined ho]5es and wrecked ambitions, as it buried 
onward to the eternal river. 

The income of his large estate, which was inherited from his 


ancestors, he duly handed over to his thrifty, economical wife, in the 
full conviction that he had made the best possible disposition of the 
funds. "Madam Clipper" uniformly deposited the treasure in her 
private drawer, the key of which was attached to a large bundle of 
others she always carried in her capacious pocket. And never a 
penny left her money-drawer that she did not know the direction it 
took, and calculated the return it would bring. The Neighbors, 
generally, thought the madam a little parsimonious ; but the more 
charitable apologized for her by calling attention to her large family, 
and her husband's disinclination to business, vhich rendered econo- 
my of means a kind of necessity in his wife. 

There were tioo leading ideas in Madam Clipper's life — her fam- 
ily and her church. She considered it a solemn and imperative duty 
to support the "stated preaching of the gospel " by " quarterly 
installments;" and, once a year, to give something for the conver- 
sion of the "poor, degraded heathen." And she groaned in spirit, 
the wdiile, to think of their terrible condition, " Out of Christ, and 
without the means of grace," and the consequent direful necessity 
she was under, as a Christian woman, to contribute a portion of her 
money for their salvation. "It would be a blessed thing," she 
would sometimes remark to a neighbor, " if they were good Christian 
people, and did not require so much trouble and money every year 
to turn them away from the worship of their horrid, dumb idols." 

Perhaps I ought to have concealed this weakness of her char- 
acter, this inward pain which she felt in giving to such cherished 
objects, for she herself was hardly aware of the fact, not taking the 
trouble to analyze her own feelings, and believed, undoubtedly, that 
the annoyance which she experienced was wholly attributable to her 
sympathy for "a sinful, suifering world." And yet, the fault is so 
human, it may be well for our self-righteousness to "hold the mir- 
ror up to nature," that we may examine more closely our own 
motives of action and learn, from a better knowledge of ourselves, 
to be more charitable toward the failings of others. How often do 
we find self-love, or self-interest blending with our highest endeav- 
ors and influencing our most generous actions. When our benevo- 
lence is taxed for the advancement of an important truth in society? 
or our sympathies are awakened for a helpless child of poverty; an 
inordinate love of approbation, or a fear of the censure of our fel- 


lows, often proves a more potent stimulus to charity than the desire 
to elevate humanity, or alleviate the hard conditions of the unfortu- 
nate. And yet, while paying so doubtful a tribute to the demands 
of conscience, we accredit ourselves with noble actions ; as if there 
were moral worth in the mere giving of gold, independently of the 
motive "which sanctifyeth the gold." 

Becky Clipper, the eldest of the children, and to whom we pro- 
pose devoting the larger part of this chapter on the Clippers, inher- 
ited from a distant relative, when quite young, an independent 
fortune of her own, which gave her an important position in her 
family, and also in the community in which she lived. Madam Clip- 
per entertained a real respect for property, which she conveyed with 
interest to the possessors, and extended a degree of leniency toward 
their faults of character, which she felt herself unable to do toward 
those less favored of fortune. And so it happened that Becky was 
less subject to "the bit of due restraint " in her youth, than her 
younger brothers and sisters, and enjoyed larger personal liberty. 
And while madam, as she advanced in years, and her family cares 
diminished, became an energetic member of the church, Becky grew 
to be an equally active member of society. 

A genuine gossip was Becky, a retailer of all the news of the 
time and of the place ; and the degree of rapidity with which she 
approached a neighbor's dwelling was always indicative of the 
amount of interest she hoped to awaken in her auditors. If the 
news was of an exciting character, she waived all ceremony in her 
eagerness to communicate it, omitting even the usual compliments 
of the day, and would break in upon the quiet of the Neighbors 
with the startling inquiry : '•''Have you heard the news?" If the 
reply was in the negative, she would, without once pausing for 
breath, deliver herself in the following manner : — 

"Dear-re me! Haven t heard the news'? I thought everybody 
had heard the news ! They do say that Dr. Rightway (one of the 
NEiaHBORS whose outre acts furnished material for a large portion 
of the gossip at E ) went last Sunday morning, while every- 
body was in meeting, and baptized that horrid horse of his in the 
bay, because Parson Kindly had a baptism at the meeting-house. 
You know he hates the parson like poison, and he broke his lame 
leg short off in the same place he broke it last year, doing the vei-y 


same wicked thing, and ihej had to send over to W after Dr. 

B to come and set it again, while his poor little wife almost 

cried her eyes out. 0, he'll be the death of that woman, he will ! — 
mark my words ! Dear-re me ! Dear-re me ! " 

" Whi/, you don't say ! — Doo tell ! What an evil-minded person 
he must be. The de'il will be sure to catch him some day if he 
don't mend his ways " — the amazed neighbor would reply. 

" But I haven't told you the worst of it. They say that he 
treats his wife shamefully. They do say that he drugs her, and 
that she sleeps whole days and nights without waking : and they 
say that he deals in the ' black art ' — is n't it awful ! — and they say 
that he and old aunt Hitty (another notoriety of the place, who in- 
terpreted dreams and omens for the Neighbors) have an under- 
standing together. You know that she never goes to meeting on 
Sundays, nor he either ; — well, there is no end to what they do say. 
0, it's shocking ! But I wouldn't have you say that I told you, for 
the world ! Don't whisper it for your life to a living soul ! " 

" No, no ! I wouldn't dare. It's too dreadful to tell: it might 
get me into trouble ; but can it be true ? " 

" I shan't say it is, and shan't say it isn't. 'Ask me no ques- 
tions, and I'll tell you no lies.' But one thing I can say : there 
are those living, not many miles from here either, who could tell all 
about it if they would, and you know them as well as I do, too ; 
but I shan't call names. I've seen mischief come of calling names 
— I have. There was " 

" Polly Spoonall is the one, I'll venture to say ! " the neighbor 
exclaims, interrupting her. 

" Dear-re me ! Shan't say she is, and shan't say she isn't. 'Ask 
me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies.' " 

And so Becky traveled with her budget of news from neighbor to 
neighbor, until all of her visiting acquaintances were thoroughly 
posted in the affair. And any additional items that she gathered 
as she went, she added to her stock on hand, and retailed elaborate- 
ly with the rest, begging of all to keep the whole matter a profound 

But we must say, in justice to Becky, that when she had good 
news to communicate she imparted it with the same keen relish, and 
entered so entirely into the spirit of what she had to relate, that 


she always succeeded in interesting her listeners. Becky was, in 
truth, the type of a good newspaper gotten up without types, and 

quite an indispensable person in the little village of E , where 

it was an unusual thing to meet with a newspaper of any sort, or a 
later publication than " Pilgrim's Progress" or "Paradise Lost." 
There was no "malice aforethought " in all of her tales and details ; 
she merely related what she heard and saw, to gratify her own love 
of the marvelous, and excite the surprise and wonder of others. 

Becky's visit was one of the events of the week, a pleasant epi- 
sode in the humdrum, treadmill life of the Neighbors, affording ne- 
cessary relief to minds wearied with pursuing the same dull routine 
T>f occupation. Bad news was more agreeable than none at all ; it 
served the purpose of quickening the sluggish faculties and giving 
a new direction to thought. The needles, shuttles, and spinning- 
wheels of the NEiaHBORS, went with a livelier motion, as they 
thought of wicked Dr. Rightway's doings, or old aunt Hitty's 
" league with the evil one," and thanked Heaven that they were not 
as sinful as others. And if the news chanced to be of the good for- 
tune of a neighbor, why, there was a Providence in it which might 
some time brighten their own prospects ; and it was cheering to 
think that they, too, might be blessed by the same unseen, bounti- 
ful hand. 

And as their shuttles flew faster and faster, and they wove the 
kersey for their winter garments, how many delicate wreaths of 
hope were inwrought in the homespun fabric ! Beautiful soul-de- 
signs upon the coarse material ! that none saw, saving the weavers 
and their guardian angels. Ah ! were our spiritual vision clearer, 
could we see the aspirations of the worker upon the marble, or the 
metal, or the canvas, he has wrought with skill, we should approach 
works of art with a reverential spirit ; labor would assume a digni- 
ty unknown before, and we should entertain far more charity, for- 
bearance, and love for our fellow-beings. Let us pause, occasional- 
ly, in our telegraphic-dispatch lives, to exercise this inner sight : it 
will grow, like every other faculty of mind, by cultivation, and we 
shall be richly rewarded. Common objects which never awakened 
interest before, will possess manifold attractions, and new and won- 
derful forms of beauty will meet us in all our paths. Many persons 
who once appeared menial in the servile occupations in which they 


were engaged, will seem elevated in the scale of being, and chal- 
lenge our admiration for the noble heroism of their lives. 

We have styled Becky a "genuine gossip " — not in a deprecato- 
ry spirit — we have a good deal of kindly feeling for her, and for 
gossips generally ; but they are not to be ranked with scandalizers. 
The gossip and the scandalizer belong to distinct orders, and each 
has its peculiar and characteristic features, and may be easily dis- 
tinguished by the careful observer. The ancient Greeks taught 
that the forms of all things are derived from the spiritual, or essen- 
tial properties pertaining to them. And we find it to be a univer- 
sal law, obtaining through animate and inanimate Nature, that, in 
proportion as objects bear a close resemblance in form and feature, 
they approach in quality, or character. And there is in every in- 
telligent community a general acceptance of the law, and a tenden- 
cy to render it practical by humorous or satirical illustrations. The 
striking resemblances between certain classes of human beings, and 
the lower orders of the animal kingdom, have furnished material for 
some of the most appropriate and cutting burlesques that have con- 
vulsed society with merriment. 

Almost every country village, of any importance, will afford a 
fair example of each. A few strokes of the pen will correctly pre- 
sent them to the " mind's eye " of the reader. The gossip may be 
known by a look of wonder, an expression of pleased surprise ha- 
bitual to the countenance. If you observe the face closely, you 
will perceive a slight elevation of its features. The upturned nose 
and eyes question you eagerly before the impatient mouth has time 
to interrogate. 

The features of the scandalizer, on the contr^a-y, droop ; the 
pendant nose wears a look of suspicion, and there is a scornful and 
bitter expression in the downward curve of the mouth. The forms 
of the gossip and scandalizer are, also, strikingly different. The 
former is marked by a pleasing rotundity, a sucession of agreeable 
curves ; the latter, by a sharp angular outline of bone and sinew. 
And the two are as dissimilar in character as in external appearance. 
The gossip is usually good-natured, and distinguishable for vanity 
rather than pride ; the scandalizer is ill-natured, and more remark- 
able for pride than vanity. The former is impulsive, enthusiastic 

and forgiving ; the latter, cool, calculating and revengeful. One is 



curious and fond of the marvelous ; tlie other is inquisitive and med- 
dlesome. One seeks simply to amuse ; the other, to defame. 

The foregoing sketch of the gossip is a correct portraiture of 
Becky ; that of the scandalizer an equally good likeness of her 
friend, Polly Spoonall, of a preceding chapter. Becky's per- 
sonal appearance was far more attractive than Polly '5, and she had 
many more admirers in her youth ; but they all passed away, one 
after another, until she " passed into the sere and yellow leaf." 
Had her autumn been abundant, like Nature's, had her mind been 
stored with the rich fruits of a well-spent life, it would more than 
have atoned for fading beauty, and she might still have won admi- 
ration and love to make cheerful and happy the winter of her exist- 

Becky's capacities were superior to most of her associates, and 
her mind was capable of a high degree of cultivation. She was 
intensely active, and possessed j&ne powers of observation and imi- 
tation, which would have found ample scope in the pursuit of the 
fine arts, or in exploring the attractive fields of natural science. 
The same talents which rendered her an agreeable gossip, and which 
she invested so liberally in the unprofitable occupation, which 
brought no return to her intellectual powers, and no enlargement to 
her heart, had they been directed to these occupations, would have 
rendered her an artist, or a naturalist, of a high order ; and she 
would not only have become an ornament to, but a useful member of 
society, and left at her departure the records of a life that would 
have stimulated others of her own sex to individualize themselves, 
and enter the path of useful and attractive industry, that renders 
life a joy and a blessing. 

But, unfortunately for Becky, woman had no career in her day, 
for the reason that she was held in ignorance by the powerful, re- 
strictive force of public opinion. Our Puritan ancestors believed, 
as we have before remarked, that " the intellectual development of 
woman would prove deleterious to the interests of society," and 
care was used to prevent her acquiring any education beyond read- 
ing and writing. And being ignorant, she was, consequently, un- 
conscious of her own powers. It is true that she felt indefinable 
yearnings to do, and to be, far beyond the pursuits in which she was 
engaged. Each undeveloped faculty was a " still small voice " in 


her inner nature, pleading for fuller expression, for higher develop- 
ment. But it troubled and pained, causing her to feel dissatisfied, 
restless and melancholy in the present, without the hope of improv- 
ing her condition in the future. And so she walked on in darkness, 
struggling toward the light slowly and painfully ; catching an occa- 
sional glimpse of the radiant sun of knowledge, which only dazzled 
and bewildered, without guding, and created deeper yearnings of 
the spirit to know. Education alone defines us to ourselves — it 
draws forth and gives direction to our latent faculties, and enables 
us to employ them to the best advantage. It brings order out of 
confusion, systematizes the chaotic wilderness of thought, and, in 
proportion as it is thorough and comprehensive, elevates and har- 
monizes our whole being, bringing us into broader and higher rela- 
tions to humanity, and to the Universal Father. 

It is scarcely fifty years ago since girls were first permitted to at- 
tend the Public Schools of Boston, Mass., which were originally es- 
tablished for boys only. And they were not then endowed with the 
privilege because of the advance of public sentiment, and because 
it was thought better to educate them that they might become wiser 
and more useful members of society ; but they were sent as a kind 
of economy of school-taxes which their parents were obliged to pay 
to sustain these institutions. Very much, indeed, after the idea of 
the woman who, after any illness had occurred in the family, admin- 
istered the remainder of the medicine to the children that it might 
not be wasted! The time of hoys ivas valuable in industrial pur- 
suits in those days. They were needed at home in the summer 
months to aid in the cultivation of their gardens and fields, and in 
the early autumn, to assist in harvesting. The girls supplied their 
places at the Public Schools while they Avere occupied, in order that 
the parents might have the satisfaction of knowing that they had 
received the full amount of interest to which they were entitled from 
the investment ! 

But it may be said, in extenuation of the narrow view they took 
of the subject, that their soil was sterile, the times hard, and the 
severe trade spirit penetrated, of necessity, into all that was noblest 
in their civilization. A good anecdote is told of those days, which 
admirably illustrates the stern economy which was practiced, and 
the careful " look-out " for the pennies. 


Mucli of tlie trade of the variety stores, at that time, was carried 
on by barter. Butter, cheese, and eggs were exchanged with the 
tradesmen for all sorts of West India and dry goods. One day a 
"strapper youth '' was sent by his mother with 0710 egg, which was 
to be invested in a worsted darning-needle. After the exchange had 
been duly made, the fellow still remained in the store looking very 
wishfully toward a decanter of New England rum which stood with 
some glasses on the counter near him. He desired most ardently to 
partake of the beverage ; but he had no money. An expedient for 
gratifying his wish at last suggested itself, and he called out : 
" Look here, mister, don't you never give a treat after a trade? " 
" Certainly," responded the good-natured tradesman, amused at the 
idea; " help yourself." The fellow did so, very generously, add- 
ing a plenty of sugar to render it palatable. Still he did not ap- 
pear altogether pleased with the draught, and stood for a moment 
holding it in his hand, as if he were trying to solve some difficult 
question in his mind. Turning, at last, to the tradesman, he said : 
" I say, mister, an egg would go real wal with this, now, — wal, it 
would." The tradesman smiled, and handed him the egg that he 
had given in exchange for the needle. He broke it carefully into 
the mixture, when he discovered to his great surprise that it con- 
tained two yolks. Holding the glass before the astounded trades- 
man, he exclaimed in an excited manner : " Look here, mister, this 
is a double egg, it is, and I ought to have had two darning-needles 
for it, I had." 

In our own day much of the old prejudice against female educa- 
tion still lingers. But it is confined, chiefly, to remote country 
places, and old fogyism, which totters through the crowded thor- 
oughfares of our more enlightened districts, in its weak and help- 
less second childhood — 

" Sans eyes, sans teeth, sans taste, sans everything." 

A few years ago the father of a late Democratic President of the 
United States was petitioned by his daughter for the privilege of 
entering a class in chemistry that was formed at the academy where 
they attended school. He became quite enraged at the preposter- 
ous idea of establishing a class in chemistry for girls, and replied 
very decidedly that no " darters " of his should " larn " such use- 


less trash. " It is enough, of chemistry for gals to know that wa- 
ter and ashes make Ije, and lye and grease make soap." 

We are glad that old fogyism is crippled, tottering, and passing 
away. We are thankful that the unnatural prejudice against female 
education, against cultivating the faculties of mind which God be- 
stowed in His wisdom and love for woman's highest good and hap- 
piness, and which should, consequently, have the best care and de- 
velopment, in harmony with His eternal laws of use and progress, 
is passing away. Moral deformity, as well as physical, shuns the 
light, and it is well. This meagre and disjointed prejudice shows 
greatly to the disadvantage of its possessor relieved against the en- 
lightened background of the nineteenth century. 

Had Becky Clipper lived in our day, she might, at least, have 
had the opportunity of becoming a useful and noble woman through 
a higher development of her faculties. How few, comparatively, 
are wise enough to improve their opportunities. Alas ! how wide a 
gulf exists between what is, and what might have been. 


Where the writer made a short but most happy sojourn. 

Yes, thou art "lovely as a fairy dream," 

Lovely alike in sunshine and in storm ; 
Lovely, empearled with dew at morning's beam, 

But loveliest far at evening's witching hour. 
How like a vision of my Texan home, 

Thou risest on my fond and wayward heart, 
Bringing sweet mem'ries of the loved and gone, 

Forcing the tear-drops of my soul to start. 

Too much art thou like to my own dear home. 
My childhood's haunts, far in the sunny south, 

Where bright rills sparkle, and where flowrets bloom, 
Where the rich myrtle breathes her perfume forth. 


I love thee, Rosemount ; 'neath thy sylvan shades 

I half forget that I am exile roved, — 
Forget that brightest vision quickest fades, 

And that life's joys are lost as soon as loved. 

I have beheld thee when stern winter's kiss 

Flung o'er thy turf a robe of virgin white, 
Making thee like a bride in loveliness, 

And when the spring-time came with rosy light. 
Waking to life each leaf and budding flower, 

Clothing thy turf with brighter shade of green, 
Glancing in sun-flecked shadows through thy bowers, 

Till dancing elves seemed flitting o'er the scene. 

I'll not be here when summer's sunny eye 

Gilds tree and flowret with more gorgeous hue. 
Tinging thy roses with warm passion's dye. 

Staining the sky above thee with a deeper blue. 
I shall not see thee then, but oft I'll dream 

That I again with thy loved inmates rove. 
Catching upon my heart, bright, sunny gleams 

From the kind eyes of friends I dearly love. 

Again I'll list the music of thy leaves, 

Falling in rosy garlands at my feet. 
Such as the Fairy King at midnight weaves 

For loved Titania. — Then gently sweet 
Will come the voice of friends now far away ; 

I'll hold sweet converse with them all once more, 
And when the morning comes with kindling ray, 

I'll sleep to have my bright dreams o'er and o'er. 

Farewell ! I ne'er again shall gaze 

Upon thy beauty ; ne'er again behold 
The azure breast of fair Lake Erie blaze 

Beneath the setting sun like molten gold. 
Farewell, dear friends and true ; I do not seek 

T' unveil the future that in mercy's hid ; 
I know life's ways are rough, life's joys are fleet, 

And that thorns lie her golden flowers amid. 

But be our after life of sun or storm. 

Though thorns or flowrets o'er our pathway grow, 
The cherished memory of our northern home 

For aye, will kindle, in our hearts, love's warmest glow. 



By far the most serious obstacle in the way of elevating our litera- 
ture to the standard of an unblemished reputation, is the present 
prevalent custom of using anonymous, and most generally unmean- 
ing and ridiculous signatures. I never felt the same interest in, nor 
respect for, an article to which was attached an anonymous signa- 
ture, that I did for one to which was stamped the writer's true name. 
This custom, which has attained to almost universal popularity, cer- 
tainly has repulsive features, and calls loudly for reformation. Shall 
the call be responded to? In the name of common sense let us hope 
it shall ! Why not claim your just credit for whatever you are hon- 
estly the author of? And how are we to award you your just dues, 
if we know not who you are, or where to find you ? For this ob- 
noxious course, one will offer one excuse, and another will oiFer 
another excuse ; but ladies and gentleman, I defy you to exhibit the 
first shadow of justification for disguisedly subscribing to your pro- 
ductions. Are you ashamed of them ? Then take my advice and 
never sufi'er them to appear in any shape. Is the object to perse- 
cute your fellow-man ? In that case no one but a coward would 
shield himself behind a fictitious signature. But the main reason of 
my waging war against the fashion is that it encourages plagiarism. 
I can see no reason why the honorable laborer in the cause of liter- 
ture should not append his right name. But there is every reason 
why the literary thief should sail under false colors. When a writer 
signs his proper name to his articles, he emphatically stamps them 
with originality; because no man has the effrontery to steal another 
man's literature, and put it forth as original with himself, over his 
name. No sir, the volley of merited rebuke that would be poured 
down on his defenceless pate, would be more than he would be at 
all willing to endure. But just so long as the objectionable habit of 
using false signatures prevails, just so long will editors be treated 
to homilies that were composed long before their " esteemed corres- 
pondents " knew their alphabet. All will agree that there should 
be means of distinguishing the legitimate from the bogus. There is 
but one way of accomplishing it. Custom makes law. Let authors 
make the custom of signing their proper names to everything they 
write unanimous. Then it would be discreditable to do otherwise ; 


and tlie verj act of sailing under false colors would be prima facie 
evidence that something was rotten in Denmark. 

Tliis may look like a bold figure to those yrho have not given the 
subject attention; but permit me to confidentlj predict that twenty- 
years hence it will be considered a disgrace to WTite anything over 
a fictitious signature. My reason for believing that such will be 
the case is the following, to wit : The aspiration of the present gen- 
eration knows no limits. In fact, the hankering after notoriety of 
the present age amounts to a morbid desire of a most disgusting 
type. Men who are unable to pen a readable epistle to their mo- 
ther, have such an uncontrolable desire to see themselves in print, 
that they will send their articles to an editor with the modest (?) re- 
quest to " Correct grammar, spelling, punctuation, &c., and publish 
and oblige a friend." Modest indeed ! But that is not the worst 
method adopted by these would-be literary gents to obtain promi- 
nence and position in society. When they find themselves unable 
to compose anything at all, they draw off something that is already 
composed, and send it to a publication office with the request to 
"please publish." Scarcely a day passes over my head that I do 
not detect some literary theft. Think you not that redress will be 
sought ? Certainly it will ; and it will be obtained, too. It would 
be simply nonsense to contend that anonymous authors were not at 
the present day generally original ; nor have I a desire to assume 
any such position : my only object being to show th:it the custom 
opens a channel for those who are dishonestly disposed, to palm ofi" 
stolen property upon the community, and in case of detection es- 
cape merited chastisement, because of their obscurity. Adopt the 
rule that I now urge upon you, and the day is not far distant when 
the plagiarist will be driven to a position in which he can be identi- 
fied and punished. It is true, the name of a correspondent is, or 
ought to be, entrusted to the editor ; and in case that he is caught 
pilfering, he is blessed with the advantage of enjoying the supreme 
contempt of that functionary. But that is not sufficient ; nothing 
short of public exposure will reach his malady. Some people think 
that editors should be sharp enough to always detect what is, and 
what is not original ; but that is simply ridiculous. A literary thief 
would not hesitate to abstract the copper from a defunct African's 
eyes ; and I think it well to set a trap for the would-be literary 
booby. Au revoir. 


The Fourth of July, 1860, was celebrated in San Francisco bv va- 
rious forms of rejoicing common throughout the United States on 
the recurrence of the anniversary of the day on which our country 
declared itself free and independent ; and among the features of the 
celebration were an oration and a poem. The poem of the day was 
written and delivered by J. F. Bowman, and it is one of the best 
ever produced for a similar occasion. It is, however, very unequal 
in merit, good throughout, but undignified in the middle, and not 
pertinent in the closing lines. An abundant excuse for the inequal- 
ity is to be found in the very brief notice that was given to the 
author, and the moral compulsion which was imposed upon him by 
the urgent solicitation of his friends, when he refused on account of 
alleged inability to vfrite anything worthy of the occasion in such 
a short time. But the shortcoming of the middle is abundantly 
compensated for by the sublimity of another portion, which we 
quote below, and which we think leaves a stronger and more favor- 
able impression if read alone, than if read in connection with the 
other lines of minor merit. He speaks of the future of our country 
and the expectations in regard to it : — 

Others there are, whose graver doubts distrust, 
That man is free born, or that Heaven is Just: 
The infidels of freedom, whose weak tears. 
Interpret by the past the coming years — 
Prophets of evil who, the hour foresee. 
When o'er the corpse of prostrate Liberty, 
Some despot throne, by force sustained, shall rise, 
Or wild-eyed anarchy the State surprise. 
The great historian of our mother laud, 
With eye perturbed, the stormy future scanned, 
In accents sad, the gloomy hour foretold. 
Which the new birth of choas should behold, 
When starving millions should rebellious rise, 
To rend from wealth its law-defended prize. 
When the long-garnered promise of the years, 
Should vanish in a mist of blood and tears. 
And all the better hopes the world possessed, 
Fall with the great Republic of the West ! 

Such are the spectral doubts that darkling roll, 
Their awful shadows on the trembling soul. 
Haunt with vain terrors even the patriot's mind, 
And made Macaulay's solid judgment blind; 
Wise in the lore of all the aaies fled — 



Less wise to read the living than the dead, 
He deemed the evils that had been must be, 
In the bright reign of Peace and Liberty; 
Unmindful of the bulwarks strong that rise, 
To guard the sacred polity we prize, 
And make the generations yet to be, 
Faithful to Freedom — worthy to be free ! 

0, need we tremble for our country's cause, 
While simple manners reign, and equal laws ? 
Lo, the white schoolhouse on the village green. 
The modest church that crowns each rural scene, 
The sure reward of industry and worth, 
No bars of caste, no privilege of birth ! 
While the strong purpose and the active mind. 
Leave lazy pride and bloated wealth behind. 
And you whose beaming eyes and smiles to-day, 
Light this glad scene with beauty's starry ray, 
Not less to you than us, the trust is given. 
To guard the sacred gifts bestowed by Heaven; 
'Tis yours to shape and train the minds whose force, 
Shall guide the nation in its onward course, 
They from your lips, in childhood's plastic hour. 
Shall drink the germs of wisdom and of power, 
Shall learn how Freedom's battle was begun 
By fearless Hancock and wise Washington ; 
Repeat with lisping lips each glorious name, 
" Delivered o'er by Time to deathless fame." 

'Tis yours with generous ardor to inspire, 

The opening mind imbued with youthful fire. 

To point the ambitious boy, with eager eyes. 

And bright, frank brow, to deeds of high emprise — 

Teach him to scorn each low and selfish aim, 

And seek the laateTof a spotless fame. 

In the same crkdle where in peaceful rest. 

Its low sweet breathing stirs the infant breast. 

May sleep the spirit that in years to be, 

Shall guard the ark of periled Liberty ; 

That tiny hand the warrior's sword may wield, 

And wave to victory on the well-fought field ; 

That feeble voice, the nation's heart may wake. 

And listening Senates with its thunders shake ! 

Such the strong safeguards that so well secure 
The present weal, and makes the future sure — 
That wondrons future, whose bright prophecy 
Not dimly dawns upon the trustful eye; 
For in the glories which to-doy we see 
Is the firm pledge of what is yet to be. 

It it a secret known but to a few, yet of no small use in the con- 
duct of life, that when you fall into a man's conversation, the first 
thing you should consider is whether he has a greater inclination to 
hear you, or that you should hear him. — Steele. 


editor's ffalih. 

After a long absence we once again resume our place at the editorial table, 
and our heart overflows with joy and thankfulness that we are again permitted 
to renew our intercourse with the friends and readers of the Hesperian ; with 
those whose kindly words and deeds of encouragement have so often dispelled 
the dark clouds of doubt, and caused the bright bow of Promise to gleam forth, 
looking only the brighter for the darkness of the sky which hung o'er us. Even 
as we write, the moist dew of gratitude and thankfulness welling up from our 
full heart at memory of past kindnesses, kindly words, and tender, soothing to- 
kens of appreciation and encouragement, have suffused our eyes and dimmed 
our sight. 

During our absence the Hesperian has been so ably presided over by Dr. 
John A. Veatch, — whose talent and ability as a writer, whose vast resources 
of mind, and whose great fund of information upon all subjects of interest 
connected with our State, has won for it new friends and greater honors, — that 
it is with no little degree of tremulousness and fear that we again resume the 
arduous responsibilities and high duties of editorial life. Ours is but a wo- 
man's hand, trembling and vibrating to the pulsations of a woman's heart ; and 
yet we dare not shrink from the self-imposed duty, — and with heartfelt thanks 
ffP our kind friend for his past efforts, and also for his promise of continued 
contributions to the Hesperian, we resume our duties, trusting that our efforts 
may not be altogether unacceptable to the friends and readers of our magazine.' 
We are also indebted to Mr. John S. Hittell, for kind and valuable assist- 
ance rendered the Hesperian during our absence. 

Somebody has said : " Once a Californian, always a Callfornian " ; and we 
endorse the sentiment ; for in all our wanderings we saw no place for which we 
would be willing to exchange the clear sky and genial atmosphere of our be- 
loved California, to say nothing of her hardy, energetic, and progressive In- 
habitants. We were startled and amazed at the profound ignorance which we 
found every where existing In regard to California, her institutions, the state 
of her society, and her future prospects. One can hardly realize that such 
false and crude impressions can exist amid a society supposed to be composed 
of Intelligent people. We found many believing that California's resources 
were entirely exhausted, and that all her inhabitants would soon be wending 
their way back to their old homes deploring their stupldit}^ In ever having set 
foot upon her shores. 

Were we to give you a description of the various places through which we 
passed, we should weary you, and perhaps tell you no more than you knew be- 
fore. AVe will, however, give you a graphic description of Texas, which was 
given us by an old man, a resident of that State, who happened to be a fellow 
passenger in the stage as, one raw, dismal day, we dragged on slowly through 
the pine swamps of that region. " The country," he said, " was picterous, the 
slle want nothing much to speak about, and 'the hills rose line upon line, 
and precept upon precept, until they reached a degredatlon of six hundred 



feat." We thought he might have added : The priacipal productions were yel- 
low fever and black vomit. 

Leaving Texas, vre sought dearer and more familiar scenes, where, amid old 
haunts and familiar friends of former years, the time allotted for our stay 
passed swiftly away, and we once more set sail for California. 

When we went on to the East we thought matters on ship-board about as bad 
as they could well be ; but returning, we found them even worse. Human be- 
ings were crowded in like so many head of live stock ; but what shocked us 
most, was the evident disregard of human life. There were not firemen enough 
on hand, consequently the few had to be on duty too many hours. During the 
passage of eight days from New York to Aspinwall, no less than two fine, 
hearty men, were burned alive by this mode of treatment, (rumor said three ;) 
but loe know of two. The last one, finding himself sinking, sought the deck, 
v^rhere he was met by the engineer, who inquired '' how he dare to leave his 
post before his six hours were up ? " "I am dying by inches," was the reply ; 
when the engineer, seizing a belaying-piu, hit him with it and sent him reeling 
senseless to the hold below, from whence he was afterwards dragged up through 
the coal-scuttle, or pipe through which they b,ring up the cinders, and carried 
up on deck and laid in the burning hot sun of that tropical clime, (for we were 
near Aspinwall,) until he died. Even after death, his body bore the marks of 
violence. Are we a Christian people? Ah! let the poor, desolate wife and 
her fatherless babes reply, when, instead of meeting the warm embrace and the 
aiiectionate kiss of the husband and father, thej'- learn the sad truth that he 
was burned alive on board of the United States Mail Steamship North Star ; 
and that, too, in the service of a man who has been called " the poor man's 
friend." A voice mightier than ours has spoken upon this subject of steamship 
abuses ; and from a letter which a short time ago appeared in the Boston Tran- 
script, from the pen of the Rev. Starr King, we make the following extract: — 
" The boat is frightfully overloaded. There is no promenade deck on the 
steamer. The upper state-rooms occupy the centre of the upper deck, only half 
cf which is given up to the passengers, state-rooms and all. 

''There are at least a thousand persons on the steamer. This is far more 
than she is entitled to carry by law, and twice as many as can be accommoda- 
ted. Every state-room has three persons, and in the second cabin, which is be- 
low the main, or dining-saloon cabin, scarcely less than the horrors of the mid- 
dle passage are experienced. The prices which the second cabin ticket-holders 
pay are extortionate, at any rate in comparison with the charge and accommo- 
dation for the chief cabin passengers. But on this trip many of the first class 
ticket-holders are put into the second cabin state-rooms, and there are more 
than a hundred of the regular passengers below — many of them women with 
infants — who have no place to sleep — not even a mattress on the floor. 

" I have said nothing of the steerage passengers, and the cheating practiced 
on many of them, nor of the different rates of charge for many of the passen- 
gers at the regular office in New York. Their black-mailing and pickpocket 
arithmetic could be borne with comparative equanimity, if any provision was 
made for the safety of their victims. But there is not. Six boats, weak and 

editor's table. 285 

sun-cracked, into which at most no more than two hundred people could ba 
crammed, are all the means available for saving a thousand lives in case of ac- 
cident. Not twenty life-preservers can he seen on the vessel. There are no 
means of saving the children on board in case of disaster. This is the most 
profitable steamship passenger-line in the world. Is it always to be managed 
as it now is on the Atlantic side ? Are we to wait for a catastrophe in which a 
thousand lives are lost before any interest is taken in the open defiance by the 
owners, of the laws of Congress and the laws of decency ? When I look at 
my wife and child, and think what the cry of fire would mean, what passions 
it would let loose, what horror.e, ten-fold worse than on the Austria, it would 
start, I am tempted to wish that I may live to see the man or the men who are 
responsible for this piratical trifling with life on the sea hanged over the City 
Hall in New York — less as an act of justice than of public mercy. If Mr. Yan- 
derbilt were on board now, I believe he would find a Vigilance Committee ex- 
temporized to deal with him." 

Ant lady who has ever tried, knows how dfiicult it is to cut a reliable and neat- 
fitting pattern from any model which a mere Fashion Plate affords. In those 
olden cities where Fashion Emporiums abound, and a lady can step in and for 
a trifling sum obtain any pattern desired, a fashion plate is of use, as showing 
the prevailing style and helping the individual to make a judicious choice of 
patterns. In common with others, we have often felt the want of the accom- 
modation which such an emporium would afi"ord us of the Pacific. This, 
together with a desire to serve our patrons, has induced us to become a Branch 
of Madame Demorest's well-known Emporium of Fashion. By this connection 
we are constantly placed in receipt of the most artistic and reliable Patterns 
for Ladies' and Children's Dress. Each number of the Hesperian will hereafter 
contain a Full-sized Pattern of some article of Ladies' or Children's Dress. 
At the same time, we would inform our patrons and the public generally, that 
we are about establishing an Emporium of Fashion, where can be obtained Pat- 
terns of all articles of Ladies' and Children's Dress — from the tiny garments of 
an infant to the most elaborate article of a lady's wardrobe — all or any of which 
will be furnished at prices so low that all can avail themselves of the opportu- 
nity hereby afforded of procuring Patterns which will secure for themselves and 
their children fashionable, neat and becoming garments. 

Few people who move hourly through the great artery of New York — Broad- 
way — during the day, are aware of the extent and magnitude upon which 
business operations are daily conducted within the many buildings which con- 
stitute that great thoroughfare. We were led to these reflections by a recent 
visit to the celebrated, and, we may in truth say, unequaled establishment of 
Mme. Demorest, Broadway. This lady has not only taken the lead in furnish- 
ing the prevailing styles of ladies' dresses in that city, but her efforts at artistic 
accuracy and elegance have been rewarded by the approbation of the most dis. 
tinguished authorities in this country, among which may be m.entioned, the first 
premiums awarded by the American Institute and the New York State Fair ; 
also, an award of two medals, with special approbation, by the jurors of the 



AYorld's Fair, Crystal Palace, for her perfect system for cutting ladies' dresses ; 
a well deserved tribute to Mme. Demorest's taste, skill, and persevering energy, 
in designing and perfecting an easy and accurate system of Dress-Cutting, so 
essential to the growing vrants of the fairer portion of creation. 

No one can visit her show-rooms, and witness the elegant display of various- 
ly trimmed patterns for ladies and children, arranged with a degree of minute- 
ness and attention to details that is almost amusing, and which the merest tyro 
could not mistake, both suited to the gratification of a refined taste, or the dis- 
play of fashionable elegance, without confirming these testimonials to her in- 
ventive genius. 

We trust that our'efForts to serve the ladies of the Pacific coast, by establish- 
ing an Emporium of Fashion, where elegance, utility, and economy will be 
combined, will meet with that general appreciation and that hearty response 
which we feel our efi"orts entitle us to. In our connection with the Hesperian 
we have ever tried to serve the public honestly, and in the Fashion Emporium, 
which we consider (large and comprehensive as it is, in all its details) but an 
auxiliary to our great work, the Hesperian, we shall be governed by the same 
honesty of purpose. We would call attention to our advertisement, which ap- 
pears on another page. 

There are few places where there is as much pains taken for the rational 
amusement and gratification of children as in San Francisco, and our Fourth 
of July, 1860, was an occasion which will long be remembered by many with 
more than ordinary pleasure, and particularly so by the children of the Epis- 
copal Mission Sunday School. The procession, which proved to be one of the 
most attractive displays ever known here, formed at half past 8 o'clock, at the 
Pavilion, It was announced, according to programme, by a special salute of 
the First California Guard. The Grand Marshal, William G. Badger, and his 
aids, Frank B. Austin and other teachers, headed the line. Then came a band 
of music, then seventy men of Capt. Cook's Light Guard, an escort of honor ; 
then another band, then a troop of lasses in white, wearing on their heads only 
wreaths of roses, two and two, with branches of fragrant bay held together as 
an arch over the heads of each couple. Then eight white horses decorated 
with flags and wreaths drew the floral car. Nine rose-wreathed, bay-bearing 
misses on foot, and then four white horses drew the Excelsior car, representing 
a huge rock which a boy is scaling, with a flag marked Excelsior in his hand. 
Still more couples of misses on foot, and then the Seasons, a car in which three 
girls ride dressed in costume for budding Spring, glowing Summer, and ripe 
Autumn, and in front white Winter. The next car was named Liberty. On 
the pinnacle of a hemisphere rode charming Liberty ; at her feet a wild 
young Indian (so her costume interpreted her) reclined, and, as a guard, four 
sailor boys and two girls in costume stood behind her. On the fifth car, which 
was drawn by six white horses, rode thirty-four girls, bearing each the shield 
and motto of a State, in which with great liberality Utah was included ; on 
foot, following it, came thirty-four boys, each bearing a banner inscribed with 
a State's coat-of arms ; then came a truck, on which a boat manned by boy- 

editob's table. 287 

sailors -was borne ; then a wheeled platform on which a small printing-press 
was striking off programmes of the clay's proceedings, and here a couple of 
young ladies were seen busily employed with a sewing-machine ; and then a 
car on which, in their favorite attitudes and with their several implements for 
charming a world into civilization, the nine muses rode, (young ladies from Mr, 
PlaneFs Musical Institute,) and a boy impersonating Apollo. These all were 
dressed in rich characteristic costume, and excited perpetual applause. Too 
much can not be said in praise of this car and its fair occupants. It was fault- 
less, both in design and execution. 

The streets through which the procession passed were thronged with people, 
and the children were constantly showered with flowers. 

Upon reaching the Pavilion, the procession broke up, and the children 
passed in, carrying their green boughs and roses with them. 

At 11 o'clock Mr. Badger, the Superintendent of the School — and he to 
whom much of the completeness and splendor of this exhibition must be attrib- 
uted — called the meeting to order. He, with the speakers and the band, had 
taken their places on the stand in the middle of the Pavilion. A prayer was 
then offered up by the Rev. Mr. Williams ; after which, Mr. John V. Wattson 
read in a fine, clear voice, the Declaration of Independence. Next on the pro- 
gramme was the Oration, by the Rev. T. Starr King, which proved to be one 
of the most eloquent efforts every made in this city. We can not make room 
for it entire, and must be satisfied with the following extract, which we consider 
one of the most beautiful figures ever presented to an audience : — 

" You know, children, that a clock ticks and ticks, second by second, in a 
dull, patient, humdrum sort of way, till the hand reaches to the sixtieth min- 
ute, and then it strikes. A new hour is born. What if each day should be 
marked at sunrise by the louder striking of a clock ? What if the commence- 
ment of a new year should always he told to us by the vibrations of some 
mighty bell far up in space, that sounded only on the first of January, touched 
by the hand of God ? And now suppose that, when anything very important 
was about to happen in the world, when a new year of hope and joy for a na- 
tion or mankind was to come, a mighty time-keeper, away up among the stars, 
should ring out, so that men could hear it, and say : ' Hark ! A new hour, one 
of God's hours, has struck in the great belfry of the heavens ! ' This would be 
grand. But God does mark the great seasons of the world's history by a 
mighty clock. In fact, every nation has a huge dial-plate, and behind it are 
the works, and below it is the pendulum, and every now and then its hands 
mark a new hour. Our revolution was such a period. That is the glory of it. 
The English government had oppressed our fathers. It tried to break their 
spirit. It was for several years a dark time, like the season before sunrise. 
But the old time-piece kept ticking, ticking ; the wheels kept playing calmly, 
till about 1775, there was a strange stir and busy clatter inside the case ; the 
people couldn't bear any more ; a sixtieth minute came, and, all of a sudden, 
the clock struck. The world heard the battle of Bunker Hill — one; the Dec- 
laration of Independence — two; — the surrender of Burgoyne — three; the siege 


of Yorktown— ;/bm' ; the treaty of Paris — -five; the inauguration of Washing- 
ton — six ; and then it was sunrise, and we live in'the forenoon of the glorious day. 

" Let us be glad and grateful on this Anniversary, that such a glorious 
hour was marked for our country and the world on our coasts. Let us 
hope and pray that the good old clock shall remain for centuries uninjured, and 
that it will strike many times again— but not through battles — to mark new 
hours for humanity." 

After Mr. King's address, the band again played, and then the children com- 
menced with the tableaux ; sis of Avhich were given in the day, and the re- 
maining sixteen in the evening. The expenses of the celebration amounted to 
about three thousand dollars. Enough money was received, however, to de- 
fray all expenses, and leave a handsome surplus on hand. 

We are indebted to Mr. C. E. B. Howe for a beautiful specimen of the Rock 
Leek, an illustration and description of which will be found on page 244. We 
highly appreciate the thoughtful kindness of Mr. Howe, and wish that many of 
our friends would follow his example and send us such specimens of plants and 
flowers as they may find in their travels over the rich and prolific soil of Cali- 

iEEGRA SoMNiA.— We should like very much to know the name and address of 
the author of an admirable little poem, entitled "jEegra Somnia," published in 
the last number of the Se.spOTaji. We always reject articles, however good, 
when unaccompanied by the author's name. The parties having the Hesperian 
in charge during our absence were not aware of the rule by which we are gov- 
erned in this respect. Names of contributors will be held in the strictest con- 
dence, if desired. 

"Woman's Sphere and Mothers' Responsihilitij," with our review of new books, 
are unavoidably crowded out. 

We have received from the publishers a new work, entitled "Adventures of 
James O. Adams, Mountaineer and Grizzly Bear Hunter, of California," writ- 
ten by Theo. H. Hittell, which we judge to be of thrilling interest. 

Description op Full-Sized Patterns. — No. 1 is a Bertha pattern, the material 
of which may be of either silk or lace. The most elegant are made of illusion 
lace, around the edge of which is basted a ribbon of any color to suit the fan- 
cy, and over this is placed a puffing of the lace. Ribbons may also be placed 
so as to reach part way down the back, on the shoulder and across the front, 
and covered with the puffed lace to correspond with the edge. This is a very 
dressy and pretty article of apparel. No. 2 is a child's dress, both simple and 
elegant. The skirt is gathered, and with the little lappet, which should be left 
plain, sewed into the waist. Down the centre of the back to the bottom of the 
waist lay a box plait, and trim with buttons. The back will be known by be- 
ing a little wider in the skirt than the front. There should also be a plait laid 
in the front to the bottom of the waist. This dress may be made of merino, 
trimmed with velvet ribbon, or of any light material and trimmed with braid of 
any color to form a pretty contrast. 




[Concluded from page 267.] 


" Tke stars of midnight shall be dear 
To her ; and she shall lean her ear 

In many a secret place, 
Where rivnlets dance their wayward ronnd ; 
And beauty born of murmuring sound 

Shall pass into her face." 

After the trial of parting with her father and the servants was 
over, Berenice's spirits arose with the buoyancy of childhood. The 
railroad, the stage, and lastly the lumbering farm wagon, all had an 
interest for the little city child, who was seldom in her life outside 
of the limits of her native place ; and then, only so surrounded ' by 
care and guardianship as scarcely to notice the change. But now, 
with only one man-servant to look after their luggage, and attend to 
their safety in other ways ; Berenice, made more observant by the 
sadness which had visited her, found a world of envious and inter- 
esting things at every mile of their progress : while her governess, 
pleased that she seemed so happy, conversed with her pleasantly of 
all the wonders she saw. 

At the little town where the stage left them, they were met by 
Uncle Neal himself. 

" Ah, I am glad to see you, young lady," said he to Flora ; " my 
brother-in-law wrote me about your coming. And this is my little 
canary, is it? Why, you are as like your mother as can be ; and 
she was the prettiest young woman in the world, my Sara excepted, 
of course. You are welcome to your old uncle's arms, pretty thing !" 
And the old man took'her up in his strong arms kindly, and kissed 
the little face that shrunk away through timidity alone. 

"Will you ride now, Miss Moore; or would you like to rest 
awhile ? Now, eh ? Well, my Sara will have a bit of supper for 
you, and you will be rested the sooner. You never was in so wild a 
place before, were you? " 

"I was born in the country, sir; and recollect many pleasant 
things about it," answered Flora, her eyes shining with pleasure at 
the beautiful scenery of the place. 

"Yes, it is pleasant," continued Uncle Neal. "I would not live 
in the city for all the wealth there is in it ;" and he cracked his 
whip at the idea. 



" Oh ! "' cried Berenice, with a look of distress. 
" What is it, lady -bird ? 0, you do not like my wagon ! To be 
sure, I ought to have thought of it and have driven slower. Little 
city folks cannot bear much jolting ; but when we have had you out 
here a month or two, you can stand it better. My little people used 
to like a ride in the farm wagon, as much as you in your coach." 

" Have you any little children now, Uncle Neal ? " asked Beren- 
ice, shyly. 

sighed the old man : "my children are grown up 

some of them have babies of their own. Ralph 

and he is old enough to marry:" and here he 

I, as if calculating the chances. 

rought them to the gate of the great grassy en- 

d Dutch house, all gable ends, and corners. 

a were there to welcome them; and to judge by 

:hese latter, they thought themselves fortunate 

'. they must entertain, if outward looks were 

cordial welcome, the excellent supper, and a 

between sheets of home-made linen, that smelt 

, was a promising beginning to the summer's hol- 

" Ah, no 
and married 
is the only c 
stole a look ; 

Fifteen mi 
closure about 
Ralph and At 
the countenan 
in the kind of 
any guarantee, 
most refreshi^ 
of dried y<^ 

^ ..liere Uncle Neal's house stood, was the sloping bank 

lake, to which Salmon Creek was the outlet ; and fronted 
^ath, from whose summer warmth tall poplars and massive 
.gar-maples most effectually screened it. In one corner of the 
lawn a stately pine tree kept up its solemn murmur through all sea- 
sons, as if deploring the loss of its mates of the forest, whose bod- 
ies the picturesque old mill at the foot of the lake had long ago 
devoured. The mill was long since disused ; and a well-cultivated 
farm, with a noble orchard, now ornamented the border of the lake, 
between the shining beach of which, and the gate of the lawn there 
was only room for a carriage road. Back from the farm-house half 
a mile, lay the remains of a once sturdy forest, now thmned out to 
a sugar-grove : and still farther away, quite a heavy body of pine 
trees. Salmon Creek was a noisy, babbling, leaping, laughing stream, 
dancing over rocks, and hiding among thickets ; sometimes running 
out over low margins of white sand, till it touched the feet of the 
meadow daisies, again sinking its waters until they were quite hid- 


den by leaning birches and alders. The old mill -^as standing under 
shelter of a mighty elm, the silent ghost of former busy scenes ; re- 
spected for its age, and cherished as the play-ground of all Uncle 
Neal's little folks. The little room where her grown-uj) cousins had 
played, denominated the "office," still bore signs of childish house- 
keeping, in tiny cupboards, chairs, broken dishes, and other childish 

On the first day of her visit. Uncle Neal took Berenice to see this 
room, and gave her the proprietorship for the summer. She listened 
to the murmur of the brook underneath ; and gazed wonderingly at 
the long arms of the giant elm which overshadowed the roof; then 
thanked her kind friend with a smile full of sweetness, as if he had 
guessed what she would like, exactly. Ralph, too, took her and 
Flora to see the pine woods, and the falls of the creek ; and it was 
difficult to tell which was most delighted with the novelty — Flora or 
her charge. Aunt Sara showed them the orchard and grapery, and 
garden : she took them into the dairy and poultry-yard, and pointed 
out her pet lambs and calves. With all these things Berenice was 
delighted ; and charmed to think they were real, and not pictures 
like those she had always seen. 

After a day of excitement, both visitors were glad to find them- 
selves finally left to rest in their pleasant apartment, with Avindows 
reaching almost to the floor. The afternoon sun was slanting down 
towards the tree-tops on the other side of the house, and the cool 
east shadows made unnecessary curtains on closed shutters. A tall 
lilac tree grew up above the window-seat and filled the room with 
fragrance. Flora made a little heap of cushions on the carpet by 
this window, and drawing Berenice down beside her, pillowed her 
head on her lap. 

"My mamma would not allow me to sit on the floor. Miss Moore," 
said the child. 

"Of course not, my dear, in the parlor; but in your bed-room, 
would she not? " 

" I do not know. I hope it is not rude to do so." 

" I will never request you to do anything that is rude, Berenice," 
said Flora, a little hurt in spite of her self-control. 

"Excuse me, Miss Moore; but mamma reproved me for my bad 
manners the very night she died ; and I cannot forget it," said Ber- 
enice, penitently. 


" That is quite right, my dear. Will you tell me for what you 
were reproved? " 

" Why, I had a party that afternoon, and Reginald Thorne, who 
always does tease me whenever I see him, vexed me with whispering 
about Anne Lee, that she was a little know-nothing, and that I was 
silly to like her ; and after that he asked me to play back-gammon 
with him, and played wrong all the time, and won every game. Then 
he laughed at me for being beaten ; and I said, 'I should be ashamed 
to boast of cheating,'— or something like that, — for which mamma 
corrected me." 

" Did you think your mamma was not right in doing so, Beren- 
ice? " asked Flora, gently. 

" No, Miss Moore, not wrong, quite ; but I do not understand 
ivliy it is polite to pretend not to see the faults of others when they 
ought not to commit them ; and to never let them know we feel an- 
gry or hurt, when they deserve that we should." 

" I will tell you all about that, my dear. The reason ivliy, which 
puzzles you so much, is this. Because it is almost sure to offend 
them, and offending any one who has done wrong, seldom makes 
them anymore desirous to do right. Again, it takes from your own 
self-respect to think you have done a foolish action in resenting it. 
But the greatest reason of all, is because our Saviour has instructed 
us to forgive our enemies ; and always to do as we would wish others 
to do unto us, in similar circumstances. If you had offended Regi- 
nald, you would wish to be forgiven, would you not ? " 

" Oh, I always wish to be forgiven, but I do not think Reginald 
does," said Berenice, quite earnestly. 

"Very well," said her youthful teacher, with reverent gravity; 
" you are not to judge the wishes or feelings of others ; and are to 
keep the rule of our Saviour in all cases." 

"Where did you learn about our Saviour?'' asked Berenice. 

" In the Bible, and at church. Did you never go to church ? " 

" Oh, yes, often ; and I listened to what was said there ; but I 
did not understand much ; and I thought it was another place to 
practice politeness and refinement in." 

"And so, my dear, it was," said Flora, nearly tempted to laugh; 
" for all true politeness is founded in the golden rule which I have 
told you of: for instance, your mamma bade you not to retaliate an 



offence because it was not polite. I tell you the same thing because 
it is not right.'' 

" Why did not mamma explain it in that way, then ? I can un- 
derstand right and wrong ; but I cannot understand all the rules of 

" Your mother thought you were too young to understand, per- 
haps," replied the wise young governess — who began to have an 
insight into the moral training of the child she must guide and 

" When mamma said she was very happy to see people she did not 
like, was that obeying the golden rule ?" 

" If she did so because she wished them to feel comfortable and 
pleased, it was," answered Flora, evasively. 

" But I do not like to hear any one tell an untruth, and I cannot 
see how it is necessary to be done; for I should not wish any one to 
tell me they were happy to see me, if they were not," argued Ber- 

" It is not meant for an untruth, generally," explained Flora ; 
"but as I said, to save the feelings of our visitors. If any more 
truthful method can be found out — as I think there may be — let 
my little pupil adopt it. I am glad she loves the truth ; and she 
and I will never tell each other anything but truth." Gently kiss- 
ing the child, she reminded her it was time to prepare for tea. 

"Let me get one good sniff at these lilacs, first," laughed Beren- 
ice, and leaning out of the window, she gathered the topmost 
branches up in her embrace, snuffing at them as hard as she could. 
"Oh, they are delicious. Miss Moore: do come and smell them." 
To please her. Flora repeated the embrace, in quite as childish a 
way; and just as she did so, caught sight of Kalpli beneath the 
window. He smiled and said he was sent to bid her to tea, upon 
which Flora bowed, and hastened to brush her own and Berenice's 

" Do you not think cousin Ralph a handsome young man ?" asked 

"Yes, quite handsome," replied Flora, smiling to herself. 

" I love handsome people," said Berenice, sententiously. 

" You should love not only beauty of person, but beauty of heart, 
my dear." 



"I can see beautj of person, but I cannot see a beautiful heart, 
can I, Miss Moore?" 

*' Sometimes we cannot, but oftener we can, in the looks and ac- 
tions of the individual. All goodness is beauty of heart," said 
Flora, regulating the flow of her dress, which was somewhat rumpled 
from sitting on the cushions. 

"Was it because I could see your heart in your looks, that I 
loved you at first, Miss Moore? " asked Berenice, artlessly. 

"I believe so, my dear," replied Flora, taking her hand to go 
down stairs. 

"I think Ralph's heart is handsome, too," said the child, just as 
they reached the dining-room door. 

" What is that, gold-finch ? " asked Uncle Neal. 

" Oh, Uncle Neal, we were just talking about cousin Ralph being 
handsome," was the perfectly na'ive reply. \ 

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Uncle Neal; "and not a word about 
your old uncle's beauty — nor your Aunt Sara's? " 

" Why, we had not got to you yet, you see. Uncle Neal ; but Miss 
Moore was telling me that people's hearts are beautiful if they are 
good, and of course then, you and Aunt Sara are as handsome as 
can be in your hearts." 

"What a philosopher!" exclaimed Uncle Neal. "So we are 
handsome in our hearts, and Ralph in his face, birdie?" 

Berenice smiled innocently, and wondered why Miss Moore looked 
so confused, and Ralph forgot to eat his supper. 

The days never grew weary either to Berenice or her governess, 
through that delightful summer. Books were consulted but seldom. 
Flora taught her pupil botany, natural history and geology from na- 
ture. The secrets of astronomy, too, she confided to her, as they 
sat evening after evening on the verandah of the old Dutch house. 
By day they wandered through the maple grove, or among the whis- 
pering pines, whose music Berenice loved. They went with Ralph 
fishing, or gathered wild strawberries in the meadows, or read fairy 
lore in the room of the old mill. Berenice grew and strengthened ; 
and as she strengthened became blithe and bird-like, — full of song 
and pretty playfulness. Yet not only more gay and gladsome, but 
also singularly quick of thought and apprehension. The lessons of 
her governess in the puzzling questions of moral philosophy, soothed 


the only irritable nerves in her spiritual nature ; and these vexed 
questions put to rest, her soul's harmony went on undisturbed. She 
was no longer the pensive dreamer in the shadowy gloom of sump- 
tuous curtains of damask silk ; but the active, happy thinker ; the 
cordial, loving songstress, in company with birds, and brook and 
breeze ; the child-poet, to whom all the voices of nature were audi- 
ble, and who recognized their meaning to be love and gladness ; yet 
all and wholly like a child, not in the least anticipating her years in 

" Uncle Neal," one day she cried to the old man on the verandah; 
" I call this pine tree the monarch, because it is so grand and kingly- 
looking ; and when I come out here in the morning I kneel down to 
it, and say — ' by your leave gracious sovereign' — before I commence 
my play. Did you ever do such things ? " 

" Not I, little puss ; I am too democratic for sovereigns and such 
nonsense : but I had wild fancies too, sometimes, about spirits in 

"Why do you say 'too democratic,' Uncle Neal? What does it 
mean to be democratic?" asked Berenice, coming in and sitting 
down beside her uncle in the attitude of attention. 

" So you are not a politician, little one ? Democracy is the op- 
posite to aristocracy. Do you know what that is ? " 

"Not very well. Uncle Neal ; but Reginald Thorne used to say 
that Anne Lee was not aristocratic, and blame me for liking her ; 
so I thought it was proper to be aristocratic, though I never could 
see anything improper in Anne Lee, who must have been demo- 
cratic," said Berenice, with a perplexed look. 

"What logic!" exclaimed Uncle Neal, laughing: "no, child, 
there was nothing wrong in Anne's democracy, I presume ; but I 
think Miss Moore can explain that to you better than an old bun- 
gler like me." 

"I'll ask her when she comes down," said the little girl, bound- 
ing away. Presently she came back again, saying : " Last night 
Miss Moore and I were watching the lake from our windows, and 
when the moon got up just over the trees, there was a long path of 
light across it, just between the two maples by the gate. I asked 
her what it was like ; and she said it was as if there had been a bag 
of gold-dust drawn across it, open, and the dust left on the trail. 


And I said I thought it was like a ladder of gold threads for our 
guardian angels to come down on at night. Which do you think it 
was like, Uncle Neal? " 

" It was most like the ladder," answered Uncle Neal, softly. 

" Then I went to bed, and dreamed the pine tree had a soul, and 
could move about like persons ; and that I was tired and sad, and it 
came and lifted me up among its tbpmost branches, and carried me 
away to the summit of a high mountain, where the wind waved its 
branches, oh, so gently, and I had my face close to the stars. I 
thought the pine tree loved me. Uncle Neal, as you do when you 
take me on your knee. Was not that a strange dream ? " 

" You are a fairy, little humming-bird, and I have no doubt the 
trees do love you, but don't let them carry you off really, some day." 

Berenice laughed, and ran to see if her special rose-tree had blos- 
somed this morning, or her nestlings learned to fly. 

Thus passed the short, happy summer ; and almost before they 
knew it had passed, came the summons back to town. There were 
serious faces around the table the afternoon the letter came. Those 
old people had found their house so warmed and lighted by these 
sunny hearts and faces, that it was a real sorrow to part with them. 
Berenice shed some tears about going back to dull parlors again, and 
Ralph and Flora stole each away to the orchard, where they acci- 
dentally met ! Whatever they said there, about the separation, 
made shining eyes and throbbing hearts ; and made it certain that 
Berenice would have to find another governess, if she remained in 
town. " But she will spend her summers with us," said Ralph, and 
that little word us betrayed it all. 

So it was arranged that RUlphwas to accompany them to the rail- 
road station, where their final adieux were to be made until they 
" met to part no more " — that is, Ralph and Flora. 

Many a summer after that, did Berenice pass at Salmon Creek ; 
and more and more deeply the voices of nature entered into the 
harmony of her being. Uncle Neal and Aunt Sara had passed 
away, and a new mistress presided in Snowdon Place ; still Berenice 
forsook not the old mill, nor her lilac-scented room in the old Dutch 



" fs it the shrewd October wind 
Brings the tears into her eyes ? 
Does it blow so strong that she must fetch 
Her breath in sudden sighs? 

The sound of his horse's feet grows faint — 

The rider has passed from sight ; 
The daj- dies out of the crimson west, 

And coldly falls the night. 

She presses her tremulous fingers tight 

Against her closed eyes, 
And on the lonesome threshold there 

She cowers down and cries." 

It is twelve years since Berenice first came to Salmon Creek. Her 
cousins Ralph and Flora, with their children, occupy the verandah, 
as did Uncle Neal and Aunt Sara with Ralph's brothers and sisters 
many years before, when the now rotten sills of the perished saw- 
mill were green and new. Under the grapery , on the lawn, were 
seated the grown up Berenice, and a young man who might have 
been recognized, in open day, as the most popular and talented 
young orator of his native city ; and his name was Reginald Thorne. 
He had swayed thousands by his eloquence ; had bidden their tears 
flow, or their laugh ring out, as it pleased him : but here was a girl 
of nineteen, whom no eloquence of his had power to stir from her 

"It is useless for you, Reginald," said her clear, low, musical 
voice, " to appeal to any memories. I have recollected our love and 
our vows often when I have wished to forget them : neither are they 
in any danger of being forgotten by me now. But I have contem- 
plated the necessity of this recantation long and steadily ; I have 
set inclination to battle with duty daily, until duty has prevailed." 

" Berenice, then if your decision is irrevocable, be not surprised 
at any thing you may hear of me. All incentive to virtue has per- 
ished with your love ; — and may yOu feel a pang of remorse when 
my reckless career is reported to you, that yoii^ who might have 
saved me, have refused to do so." 

" If I were disposed to sarcasm, Reginald, I might say I should 
not have been surprised to hear anything of you, for some time past. 
If the entire confidence, the purity and devotion of my love, hasnot 
been sufl&cient hitherto to keep you from vice, I could have no hope 
that it would in the future. But this idea of being 'ke'ptfrom vice by 
any collateral circumstances is a fallacious one at best ; and has its 



foundation neither in reason nor experience. You might take more 
pains to conceal it from me, if it was made a condition of our union ; 
but the impure heart would still be there : and falsehood and treach- 
ery toward me, would become habitual with you from necessity. You 
misunderstand me, Reginald, if you think I wish to compel your ac- 
tions. I will never unite my life to any man's whose virtues are not 
his own, but only a reflex of mine. Fashionable life has too many 
instances already of the magnitude of this social mistake. There 
are too many temptations in the way of poor humanity at its best : — 
what folly then for a woman, credulous, and needing love, as most 
women do, to commit herself to the care of a man who may be ex- 
pected to deceive and torture her ! His example destroys her faith in 
all things ; or if it does not that, it becomes a scourge driving her 
into the very jaws of temptation, which lurks in every path of life, in 
thejiope of finding what her craving heart demands. No, Reginald, 
I will never put myself to that test ! for I must have love : and I 
must not be deceived, as I feel that you would sooner or later de- 
ceive me." 

" Berenice ! why are you so perfect that you compel the love you 
have no pity for ? I will be true to you, — I ivill be a wiser and bet- 
ter man. I will forsake the society of those who tempt me down to 
degradation, and put my talents to some less dangerous use. I will 
not listen to flattery ; but will labor with you for home happiness, 
as I know you desire. Have you not one particle of faith in me ? " 

"I have given you my answer, Reginald," answered Berenice, with 
averted eyes ; for the despair of the young man's face was terrible 
to look upon. 

" Then you will see me no more," he groaned, and strode rapidly 
to where his horse stood champing his bit under the maples. 

Berenice looked after him as he fled away down the graveled road, 
with tearful eyes: — then turned and sank sobbing on the bench he 
had deserted. She felt this was the last of her love-dream ; and 
she mourned its pitiless death ; but her resolution never faltered ; 
for she had said the truth, when she said she 'hnust have love, and it 
must not deceive her." Reginald had deceived her: but it was 
easier to bear now, than when the wife should have been betrayed. 

When she arose, and enterned the house, Mrs. Ralph Neal kissed 
her tenderly, and said "You have done quite right, my love; and 


must not wear that pale face long. Never regret what you have 
done aright." 

"I do not regret it, my heart is quite at rest," answered Bere- 
nice truthfully,. 

"I look for Anne Lee, yet to-night" she said, in answer to some 
remark of Ralph's about the expected visitors : "she is always very 
punctual to her engagements. They were coming by carriage, and 
will not be here quite so early as usual." 

"We will wait our tea a little for them," said Flora: but just then 
a carriage appeared in the distance, bringing, it was easily guessed, 
the expected young people ; Avho were only Anne Lee and her brother 
Allan, just returned from a tour to the upper Lakes. 

When Berenice attended Anne to her chamber, the latter said, 
" We met Reginald Thorne a few miles from here, riding in hot haste ; 
and he looked at us without recognizing us. He looked very strange, 
I thought, — angry and fierce. He had been here, had he not ? " — 
but the expression of Berenice's face answered her before her lips 
framed "Yes." 

" Oh, I am so glad ! " she exclaimed, throwing her arms about her 
friend. "I feared you would not have the courage; — and he is so 
handsome and brilliant ! " 

Berenice made no reply. The struggles she had gone through she 
revealed to no one : and only Flora guessed them. From Anne's 
knowledge of her character she had thought it might be possible that 
she would give him up ; but, as she said, "feared she had not the 
courage." The strength, however, which had enabled her to resign 
her first passionate love-dream had not been altogether of her own, 
b.ut given her in answer to earnest entreaty in the name of One who 
took Humanity upon him in order to understand its sorrows. 

Two weeks of Indian Summer weather afforded the young people 
much enjoyment in country recreations. Berenice's feet, grown 
familiar with every "way of pleasantness " in all that charming neigh- 
borhood, were sure guides to all the wonderful or beautiful scenes, 
and were often busy in piloting her friends through woods and mead- 
ows, or among the rocks that bordered Salmon Creek. In these ex- 
cursions Allan Lee had ample time and opportunity to admire his 
beautiful guide : and to observe that truth, purity and holiness were 
imbedded in her nature, firm as coral-reefs in the ocean, where they 


had grown as imperceptibly. Beauty, cultivation and every virtue, 
are not so often found conjoined, as to be thought lightly of by poet- 
hearts like Allan's, and he was often on the verge of a rash avowal of 
his sentiments ; but Anne, perceiving the peril he was in of wrecking 
future hopes, wisely cautioned him to preserve silence on the subject. 
By this delicacy, time was given for old wounds to become healed : and 
for the love-want in her friend' s heart to again make its demand, Allan 
Lee was one of nature's noblemen : a true gentleman and christian : 
a worker and a poet : qualities which became perceptible to Bere- 
nice during every day of their intercourse at Salmon Creek. The 
following winter in town gave her occasions to behold his principles 
well tested ; and as she saw him come unharmed from every moral 
contest, she most cordially gave him her love. She had never regretted 
dismissing Reginald, great as were his talents and brilliant his career : 
nor would she, had it been her lot to have lived unmated through her 
]ife : — but now, how she rejoiced at the exchange which gave her 
such confidence and content — such exquisite repose of spirit to take 
with her to the altar. 

And so Berenice was married ; very much to Reginald's chagrin. 
The white-lily beauty of the bride, and the princely deportment of 
the groom, were the theme of universal comment: but some of her 
stepmother's fashionable set thought it a shame to show so little regard 
to poor Thome's feelings. Reginald, hoAvever, cut short their con- 
dolence by leading to the altar shortly after a beautiful child of fashion 
no more than sixteen years of age, unable to foresee, and incapable of 
encountering the perils in her pathway. Every thinking mind can 
foretell the different futures of those two brides : — suf&ce it, that 
our own Berenice was not disappointed in her choice at last ; and 
that on Salmon Creek, just where the brook emerges from the maple - 
grove, stands a pretty Summer Villa, where artists, poets and thinkers 
love to come, from April to November, and where the lovers of the 
Beautiful and True are always welcome. If there is one less "belle 
and beauty," at the Springs, there is one more elegant and hapj)y 
home ; and many truly refined and happy people gathered in it. 



When God conceived the wondrous plan 
And wrought the great creation, 

To woman-kind, as ^A'ell as man, 
There was assigned a station. 

Yet rumor, with her thousand tongues. 

Has told us many a story 
Of woman's rights and woman's wrongs, 

More to man's shame than glory. 

To Frisco I resolved to go 

And learn her true position ; 
To find if all they said was so, 

About her sad condition. 

First at a candy store I paused : 

Here a bewhiskered dandy 
Attended to the customers, 

And sold molasses candy. 

I wandered on, and entered next 

A Jirst-class bonnet-store : 
Here too a pair of striped pants 

Was stationed at the door. 

And pale-faced girls, with care-worn brows. 

Grown prematurely old, 
Were for a pittance making up 

The goods their brothers sold. 

Next came a " Ladies' Clothing Store " : 
Here hoops — the grand extension — 

And other little nameless things 
I would n't like to mention, 

Were held to view by clerks well skilled 

To please a lady's eye ; 
One twirled his mustache while he praised 

The goods I came to buy. 

He asked : " What else, this morning, ma'am ? 

" Have you a woman here ? " 
" Yes, ma'am ; just step in t'other room 

If you would like to see her. 


" We keep from five to twenty, ma'am, 

To do our puffing, frilling, 
And all such little fancy jobs ; 

But, ma'am, ive do all the selling." 

I took a peep into the room, 
And there, their needles plying, 

Sat twenty girls, with bowed forms. 
And taper fingers flying. 

At seven they came ; till seven they worked, 

Regardless of the weather ; 
But eighty shillings earned a day 

The twenty all together. 

Outside, a meagi-e-looking wretch 

Sat sobbing by the door. 
"What ails thee, woman ? " I inquired ; 

"Alas ! ma'am, I am poor. 

" Once work was plenty, with good pay ; 

But now they put us down — 
These laundry-men, who gather all 

The washing of the town. 

" I work for them the livelong day. 

For children must be fed ; 
But 0, they give such scanty pay, 

It will not buy out bread. 

" Yet none will listen to our wrongs, 

Our cries they will not hear ; 
But prate about our ' noisy tongues,' 

And bid us keep our ' sphere.' 

" If men will deal in ladies' gear, 

AVhy, let them not complain. 
Though women dofi" the petticoat 

And don coat, pants, and cane. 

" Nor let them wonder when they hear 

'T is held in contemplation 
To give them — each and every one — 

A pressing invitation — 

"Assistance, if they like, to don 

The garments of the ladies ; 
Show to the world their chosen sphere. 

And show, too, what their trarle is." 



In Christ's conversation with Nicodemus, He says : " Except a man 
be born again," "except a man be born of the spirit," &c. How 
lucidly these passages are continued by Peter, Acts ii : 38 : " Re- 
pent, or reform your manner of life, and ye shall receive the gift of 
the Holy Ghost." What gift ? Conception — a new life, and when 
planted, which takes place on repentance, the embryo spirit or 
the form Ave shall wear when it comes to its " new birth " on the death 
of the body and the spirit's release. What will the new-born child 
be like ? Just what the colorings, surroundings, and feedings , we 
have nurtured it with here — and faithfully typified by a child in its 
mundane formation state. , If a mother is a low, debauched sensu- 
alist, filled with physical and moral disease, how can we hope for a 
healthy and intelligent child ? As well expect to propagate the 
pure, fragrant water-lily in a stagnant, malarious pool. As our 
food so we become. What are the strongly-marked- traits of na- 
tionality which distinguish one people from another, but their pecu- 
liar and distinctive habits, aliments, climates, and teachings ? Peo- 
ple are awakening, but with a grievous slowness, to the necessity of 
mothers watching themselves more closely while they are day by da,y 
and hour by hour adding atom to atom of that which shall eventu- 
ate in the fulness of time in a breathing human infant. As the 
warp of the babe can not advance without the filling weft of the 
mind — so on the mother does it all rest (after the conception) what 
the colorings and pattern be of that web which for months, 
day and night, and with every pulsation of the heart — as the shut- 
tle is driven in its regularity of action from heart to brain, weaving 
a pattern for time and eternity. How can it be that women are so 
blind to the terrible responsibilities they assume when ^so thought- 
lessly in dawning wifehood they consent to become the weavers for 
the immortal furnishing ? The same throes which attend in its de- 
livery a state of gestation of evils in this life, are but the shadowings 
of what will be the terrible sufferings of an evil conceived and demo- 
niacally surrounded gestation of the new, or second birth. Women 
must be made to realize that the pains and " groanings which can 


not be uttered," are but the result of tbeir own false lives. It is a 
universally-conceded fact, that no creatures suffer more from a pam- 
pered, exotic life, than mothers, who, failing to seek the health and 
strength for their own constant expenditures, have no reserved sur- 
plus to aid in the formation of a new, healthy existence ; and the 
result of a prematurely weakened organism is a generator of a dis- 
eased nervous system, and the thousand springs of evil which, form- 
ing a nucleus in the embryo, perpetuate always in a worse form, the 
curses of selfishness and bad temper, — or, in its true form of language, 
floods the world with counterfeits of God's children. But let the 
incense of thankfulness arise that " Thy light and Thy truth doth 
lead " some to the green pastures of healthfulness and by the liv- 
ing streams of cleanliness ; and for those women who will not 
"arouse from their slumbers '' of procreating evils, let all thinking 
and aspiring men avoid them as they would any propagator of a 
prolific and never-dying disease, who knowingly — may be unthink- 
ingly — will palm upon their affections and credulity a diseased, dis- 
torted progeny, in lieu of a healthy, nobly-developed child of God. 
mothers ! prepare your daughters for the high mission that He 
especially reserved them for. Then the pains and penalties daily 
prostrating fair, feeble blossoms and exotically matured, buds, will 
be as one of the tales that is told. 



Farewell is a bitter word to say, 
When fraught with no regret, 

But sadder when thy lips convey 
The thought that I'll forget — 

All that thy trusting tongue has told, 
All that thine eyes reveal — 

All that my bursting heart has *felt. 
Or that thine own can feel. 




The Neighbors declared that the Doctor, notwithstanding his 
suggestive name, " was always in the wrong wa^," saving w^hen he 
erected his tenement near the good meeting-house ; and after all, 
said they, " he isn't much the better for that, as he is seldom seen 
within its consecrated walls." 

Dr. Wrightway, it is true, rarely attended church ; it was not an 
important part of his faith, and yet, there was much of the religious 
element inherent in his nature. The Doctor, indeed, like many per- 
sons of the present day, was spasmodically religious, reserving his 
devotional duties for rare and grievous occasions. In the clear sun- 
light of prosperity, happy and self-reliant, he could depend upon his 
own strength, and direct his own course, but when impending clouds 
of fate gathered darkly about his path, and his heart grew weary in 
bearing its Aveight of sorrow alone, feeling the utter impotence of 
human might, he woald seek support and direction of "a Greater 
than he." 

The Doctor was one of that unfortunate class of individuals who 
appear, through life, to be destitute of a governing motive of action ; 
who are neither narrow-minded nor deficient in ability, but, on the 
contrary, have large endowments for either good or evil, which- 
ever rules the hour. Their aims in life seem always at variance, 
always discordant, even when guided by the highest motives of Avhich 
they are capable; consequently, the good which is in them often 
takes the semblance of evil, and their purest and best actions are liable 
to be misunderstood and censured by their fellows. They appear, at 
times, to be the merest sport of circumstances, and are often made 
to play the most "fantastic tricks" in society, exciting the mirth 
of some, the indignation of others, and violating the taste of all. 
Enthusiastic and impulsive, they are always in readiness for whatever 
may offer in the way of amusement, or excitement, their peculiar humor 
being born of the occasion. You will find them philosophical, or 
sentimental ; mirthful, or morose ; indifferent, or astute, as the case 
may be ; — at one time a skeptic with Voltaire; at another, a de- 


votee with Fenelon. Sucli persons have, generally, large belief and 
small practice ; for the opinions of yesterday, being crowded from 
the mind by those of to-day, do not remain in the thought long enough 
to take form in action. 

And it is no marvel that such individuals are accredited by society 
with a preponderance of evil intentions, however upright and honest 
their purposes may be, when most of the religions of the age teach the 
'■^natural depravity" of man, and the stronger tendency to wrong, 
than to right doing ; and when, also, it is so much easier for the un- 
thinking multitude to judge from outward appearance, than to ana- 
lyze character, discover the hidden springs of action, and base an 
opinion upon the only just standard of judgment — a knowledge of 
the motive poiver. And but few persons possess the analytic and 
synthetic intellect which enables them to judge of the influence of 
the different faculties of the mind upon each other in their combined 
action, and, like skillful artists, to delineate the various shades of 
character which result from the different degrees of development of 
the faculties in different individuals, which are as manifold and won- 
derful as the infinitely varying features of the human face wdth all its 
changing expressions. But, fortunately, for poor, erring humanity, 
that the dear, pitying Father of all is the final Judge, and we can 
appeal to Him when we fail to receive justice from our fellow beings. 

Our Doctor was regarded by the Neighbors as incorrigibly irrelig- 
ious, and there are chapters in his book of acts that appear to justify 
the belief. Tradition says that on three successive years, after par- 
son Kindly had notified his congregation that several worthy persons 
would be baptised and received into church fellowship on the follow- 
ing Sunday, Dr. Wrightway, regarding these persons as umvorthy 
of the sacrament of baptism, informed the villagers during the week 
that on the same day and hour, he also would perform the ceremony 
of baptism, would immerse in the waters of the bay one more deserv- 
ing than they. The deserving one was a favorite blood steed of great 
sagacity, which he accordingly led into the water at the appointed 
time, in presence of a small number of Sunday idlei'S, causing him 
to kneel while he repeated the form of words used by parson Kind- 
ly in that ceremony. It is farther related that, at the close of each 
of these extraordinary performances, the left limb of the doctor was 
broken by the spirited animfel as he sprang impatiently from the wa- 
ter, shaking the spray from his dripping mane. 


O^Ying to these accidents, for which he was, of course, duly re- 
proached by the Neighbors, generally, and severely denounced by 
Polly Spoonall, particularly (who considered it an imperative duty 
on all unfortunate occasions to "back up Providence,") the doctor 
was obliged to lean upon a staff in walking. The best surgeons of 
his day did not profess to equal or excel nature in their operations, 
and the thrice-broken limb would not knit together and lengthen to 
the full dimensions of the other, — as it might have done in our time, 
— at least in print ! All agreed that it was a just punishment for 
his sacrilegious act. If it be sacrilegious to baptise horses, then did 
the doctor suffer severely for the sin ; for the deformity was, to his 
peculiarly sensitive nature, a source of continual regret and morti- 
fication. But His Holiness the Pope does not appear to view it in 
that light. Our intelligent country-woman, Grace Greenwood, tells 
us, in an interesting epistle from Rome, that she saw the priests of 
his church haptise some of the worst specimens of that species of 
animal she had ever seen — and with " holy water," too, over which 
His Holiness had said some pious Latin ! 

Dr. Wrightway was as peculiar in his personal appearance as he 
was eccentric in character. One who saw him might have easily 
imagined that the genii of good and of evil, of beauty and of de- 
formity, presided at his birth, and that each, striving for the ascen- 
dancy, had followed him, step by step, in his advancement from in- 
fancy to manhood. Let us view his person in Fancy's magic mir- 
ror. It appears above the medium height, finely-proportioned and 
commanding ; complexion dark ; eyes large, black, and melancholy ; 
nose of Grecian cast, with thin, dilating nostrils ; a good-sized chin, 
and mouth restless and expressive. The presence would be noble 
were it not that one corner of the mouth is drawn a little upward, 
followed by a corresponding elevation of the eye and eyebrow on 
the same side of the face. The whole countenance is indicative of 
strong emotions — of great nervous irritability — of unsatisfied desire. 

In mirthful moods the doctor's face wore an expression of doubt, 
as though the soul were "vacillating between a smile and a tear." 
But it was impossible to mistake the approach of passion — the ele- 
vated eye, suddenly dilating, looked out like a spirit of evil from 
the dusky visage and the dark impending brow, sending fierce, elec- 
tric darts through the quivering features, until the whole face was 


wrought into a miniature tempest. But still more strongly marked 
and wonderful, was the transformation of his countenance when the 
sentiment of beauty was awakened. It glowed from the kindling 
eye with a deep and reverential fervor. The nervous tension of the 
features became relaxed, and their sharp outlines softened, while 
the deformity, gradually disappearing, left the outward in pleasing 
correspondence with the inward harmony. 

Ay, with all his faults of character, the doctor was a worshiper 
at the shrine of the beautiful : his nature bowed in its might before 
it, as the devout Christian prostrates himself before his Maker. 
Was there idolatry in this ? Are not all forms of beauty truths ? 
— are they not all creations of the Perfect Mind ? — and does not one 
form of beauty and of truth belong to every other, even as a single 
sunbeam to the great central sun? — and does not the soul, attracted 
by the beautiful, approach nearer and nearer to its source, and 
" with God himself hold converse " ? 

All of the doctor's surroundings were indicative of this refining 
element of his nature, and stamped him the man of cultivated taste. 
His cottage, with its commanding situation and highly-cultivated 
grounds, was the most attractive in the village ; his dogs and horses 
the sleekest and of the finest breeds ; and his wives the most lovely 
of women. Don't be startled — the doctor was no polygamist, alias 
Mormon — no, no ! Mormonism would not have been tolerated in 
his day, had he been disposed to practice the abominable sin. " Un- 
cle Sam" was not then the free-and-easy, gay Lothario that he has 
since become. Ah ! no ; he was in his youth and innocence, and 
had a suitable respect for the Westminster Catechism and Ten Com- 
mandments. Marriages were made in Heaven, he solemnly believ- 
ed, and would look upon no divorce with favor, saving that of Church 
and State ! "Uncle Sam" was a patriot, too, in those days, as 
well as religionist. Religion and patriotism were synonymous words, 
indeed, in his estimation, and fighting for his country was only work- 
ing for his God — working for the advancement of liberty, truth, 
and justice in the world. The " Constitution " and the " Higher 
Law " were the same to him — the " Constitution " embodied the 
" Higher Law," and the " Higher Law " embraced the " Constitu- 
tion ; " it also was a marriage made in Heaven, and could not be di- 
vorced on any plea. But he has sadly changed. Once, had any 



" strict constructionist " of that document declared zi to be inde- 
pendent of the " Higher Law," "Uncle Sam" would have been 
filled with holy indignation, and annihilated him with withering re- 
buke ; now, the heresy is boldly uttered in the very halls of Con- 
gress, and echoed all over the land, and he eats his beefsteak, and 
smokes "the fragrant weed," as unconcernedly as though no sacred 
principle had been violated, and governments had no need of the 
protecting care of Heaven. 

The doctor was not a polygamist — his wives came in the " regu- 
lar line of succession." The first in order was passing lovely, with 

her sunny hair Avaving about her face but how shall I describe 

what seemed only a beautiful thought that comes, like a heavenly 
visitor, in the calm of the soul, and fades away before the din of 
life ? Elizabeth B. B. Browning has a " Portrait " among her charm- 
ing collection of thought paintings, that will convey some idea of 
its spiritual beauty. Listen : — 

Her sweet face is lily-clear — 
Lily-sliaped, and drooped in duty 
To the law of its own beauty. 

Oval cheeks, encolored faintly, 
Which a trail of golden hair 
Keeps from fading off to air : 

And a forehead fair and saintly, 
Which two blue eyes undershine, 
Like meek prayers before a shrine. 

Face and figure of a child — 
Though too calm, you think, and tender 
For the childhood you would lend her. 

And her smile it seems half holy 
As if drawn from thoughts more far 
Than our common jestings are. 

She was not one formed to bear the burden and heat of the day, 
and she faded before the noon. Slowly, almost imperceptibly she 
passed away to the "better land." One could weep scarcely less 
for a lovely infant, gone in its purity to Heaven, than for her. 

It Avas whispered among the Neighbors that she died suddenly, 
very suddeiily ! with an expression of countenance that conveyed a 
deeper, darker meaning. 

She wore the same SAveet winning smile down to the graA^e, and 
they saw not that she had been fading for years. A tempestuous 
nature like the doctor's, could not be tempered to so delicate a 
flower — the gardener saw, and transplanted it in a more genial 

But they who suspected the doctor of so black a crime did not 
comprehend his nature. Because he would occasionally violate their 


tastes, or their prejudices, by some outre act, the Neighboes be- 
lieved him to be capable of any wrong doing. He loved and ad- 
mired his wife, in his own peculiar way, and deeply mourned her 
loss. But, had he felt aversion instead of love, he could not have 
destroyed her. To oaar, intentionally, the beautiful, was as impos- 
sible to him as to live without the presence and soothing influence 
of lovely woman. 

But, like many others, he was unscrupulous about the manner of 
obtaining the object of. his affection. He could tear her from 
another's heart, remorselessly, leaving it all quivering with its ago- 
ny, to fold her to his own — aye, and he did ! His second wife, a 
charming brunette of eighteen summers, was the affianced bride of 

Poor Charles Earnest ! It was reported that he died of a hrohen 
heart soon after her marriage with Dr. Wrightway. A strange tale 
for modern ears, truly ; but — 

" She was his life, 
The ocean to the voice of his thoughts 
Where centered all." 

The simple-minded people of those times believed in broken hearts. 
Byron believed in " broken hearts." Every impassioned nature 
believes in "broken hearts !" 

My Grandmoiher's Neighbobs were taken by surprise, were 
electrified by this sudden, second marriage; rumor had not pre- 
pared them for it. The lady was a stranger in E , and the 

ceremony had been performed in another place. And how to ac- 
count for so charming a person forsaking her youthful lover for a 
man of forty — and such a man ! — was perplexing indeed. 

It was an important event to Polly Spoonall, and she rejoiced in 
the full occupation of her time and talents, for she was expected to 
make the whole affair clear to the villagers, and felt the responsibil- 
ity of her position. Becky Clipper, too, had as much walking and 
talking to do, as she could well accomplish between sunrise and sun- 
set, for many a day. As Polly's genius was more of an inventive 
and speculative character than her coadjutors, she elaborated, and 
Becky retailed the births of her intellect in the most accurate man- 
ner, and always in a low tone of voice, and with an injunction of 
the strictest secrecy. 



It finally became the settled opinion of the Neighbors, after 
viewing the subject in all its possible and impossible relations, that 
the match must have been made by the young lady's mother, who 
was ambitious for her daughter to marry a man of wealth and posi- 
tion ; and, as an alliance with the doctor was more favorable to her 
wishes, she had enforced parental authority, and immolated her 
daughter on the altar of Mammon. "And they pitied her from the 
bottom of their hearts ! The poor young thing that didn't know 
what was before her I It was an awful sin and shame, and the mo- 
ther would see the day that she would rue it ! " 

But as for the doctor, who was supposed, by the Neighbors, to 
delight in evil, and only evil, continually, "Ag could have no other 
motive for marrying a person so wholly unsuited to his years, than 
to break her plighted faith with another, and render both parties 

" How absurd for a man of his years to marry a mere child !" 
both of those ancient maidens would remark to the Neighbors, with 
much feeling, attended with an upheaval of the bosom and a deep 
sigh. Polly could not forget that she had been forsaken in her 
bloom for a fairer bride, by this same man of forty ; and Becky 
remembered a time when she was more attractive than now, and 
listened to the endearing tones of affection. "If the doctor had 
only married a suitable jjerson, one nearer his own age, (alias their 
own) why — why — it would not have been so great a folly " — of 
course not. 

The Neighbors were unable to see any points of attraction be- 
tween the doctor and his lovely brides. They did not think it pos- 
sible that he could really win the love of pure and beautiful women. 
Believing him to be corrupt at heart, they thought him incapable of 
acting from other than the lowest order of motives. Had they been 
able to penetrate their prejudices they would have found that he 
possessed a nature as teachable and gentle, at times, as a child's, 
with the same deep yearning for affection. They would have seen 
the innate love of beauty in him that attaches itself to all outward 
forms of loveliness — for he was one to whom beautiful objects are 
a necessity of existence. Beautiful hunan faces attracted him more 
powerfully than any other presentation of harmonious forms ; for 
they represented to him the highest order of beauty, vitalized by 


the breath of the Infinitely Perfect. But the Neighbors could not 
see this eleA'ated and elevating portion of his character. The cost- 
liest gems lie not upon the surface. Our highest qualities are hidden 
from world-seeing deep in the soul. Through them we are most 
vulnerable to pain — from them we derive our highest enjoyment. 
We guard them with care, for they are at once the strength and the 
weakness of our nature. Like qualities in another will call them 
forth in their beauty, as the light awakens the diamond. For " as 
in a glass face answereth to face, even so the heart of man to man." 

After his second marriage the doctor's stylish imported carriage, 
which was pronounced by some of the Neighbors to be an " out- 
landish looking affair," was rarely seen in the thoroughfares of the 
village. The doctor appeared to be unwilling for other eyes to look 
upon and admire the beauty of his lovely bride. 

This exclusiveness offence to some bachelor, or maiden, who 
was either envious of his happiness, or jealous of his entire devotion 
to another ; and he or she resolved on a little private and public re- 
venge. And he or she (the sex was never known) announced, in 
one of the most important Journals of the day, the " sudden decease 
of the wealthy and distinguished Dr. Wrightway." His "long and 
useful life "was eulogized in most extravagant phraseology, and he 
was accredited with more private and public virtues than mortal man 
ever possessed. 

The doctor was sensitive and passionate. You should have seen 
him after reading that ohituary^ if you would know how fearfully 
the passions of man can become excited. The simple annonnce- 
ment of his death would have affected him but little, comparatively 
— those hyperbolic encomiums stung him to the soul. He was the 
very personification of wrath — every nerve quivered with passion. 
Bursting away from the silken fetters of home, he went forth like 
an avenging spirit to "annihilate the wretch" who could thus 
grossly insult and humble his proud nature. 

But, while the doctor was abroad, Polly Spoonall was at home, 
confined closely to her chamber and her couch, with a " terrible 
nervous headache! " No one suspected, at the time, that she was 
the author of the doctor's obituary ; least of all the doctor himself. 
She had assured him that, as a Christian woman, she could forgive, 
although she never could forget his past unfaithfulness, and he was 


not one to doubt the truth of woman ; she represented to him all 
that is good as well as beautiful. But there was little of the spirit 
of forgiveness in Polly's nature. She knew that it was right to for- 
give, and wrong .to revenge an injury — the Scriptures plainly 
taught it. But there was "war in her members" — like many of 
our own time — " when she would do good, evil was present with her." 

After a fruitless attempt to find his enemy, the doctor informed 
the public, through the same journal, that, " though he had been 
entombed, of late, by some spirit of darkness, he had risen again, 
and was more alive than ever, and held himself in readiness to jus- 
tify the assertion to any unbelieving mind." No one disputed his 
claim to be numbered among the living, and he remained a denizen 
of earth ! 

But, while he was still writhing under the mortification of the 
insult, his charming bride was attacked with typhus fever that in a 
few weeks terminated her existence. With all the skill of his pro- 
fession he could not retain the treasure of which he had despoiled 

The energies of his mind were paralyzed by this unexpected ca- 
lamity. Mechanically, almost unconsciously, he followed the beauti- 
ful marble statue, so still and saintly beneath its dark pall, to the 
old, gray "meeting-house"; — again, as on a former occasion. Par- 
son Kindly preached a tearful funeral sermon above the remains of 
a lovely wife, " cut off in the morning of her days "; — again the 
funeral bell tolled slowly, solemnly as before, and a coffin was low- 
ered into a deep, narrow grave. The poor man felt as though he 
was passing through a former painful scene in some fearful dream, 
and strained, wonderingly, his grief-dimmed eyes. The past and the 
present seemed blended in these kindred sorrows, and he marveled 
that there were tivo graves beneath his willow. Had he buried more 
than one ? Each day the sad truth became clearer as his mind re- 
covered gradually from its shock — as it awakened slowly to its des- 

After this second afiliction. Dr. Wrightway attended church 
regularly every Sabbath. He would sit in one corner of the pew, 
leaning his head upon his hand, and gaze fixedly at the the pulpit 
— not the preacher — through Parson Kindly's long, summer se 
mons, as though he were vainly striving to comprehend the meaning 


of the symbolical blue, red and yellow that ornamented its panelings. 
So well pleased were the neighbors with his Sabbath devotions, 
and the evident marks of great mental suffering in his countenance (!) 
that they became hopeful, at last, of a genuine conversion ; and be- 
gan to speak feelingly of his afflictions, and of their willingness to 
overlook past offences and receive him into full social and religious 
fellowship whenever he should claim it by right of church-member- 
ship. But, unfortunately for their reviving charity, a scene occurred 
at this juncture between Parson Kindly and himself that caused 
them to "harden their hearts," and pronounce him graceless and 
past redemption. 

It is true that the doctor was no religionist, in the common accep- 
tation of the term ; he did not like to fetter his mind with a creed, 
— attend church meetings at stated periods, — and listen, Sabbath 
after Sabbath, to mistifying sermons on the trinity, atonement, fore- 
ordination, baptism by sprinkling or immersion, and kindred doc- 
trines ; yet, he was a believer in Christianity. Had a genial, loving 
disciple of Christ said to him at almost any period of his life — 
" Unite yourself with our church ; the ' Sermon on the Mount ' is 
the platform of our faith ; the ' Law of Love,' of love to God and 
love to man, is our rule of life ' ' — the doctor would have shaken 
him warmly by the hand and replied: " Brother, enroll my name in 
the catalogue. I will try and square my life to the 'Law.' " 

After listening attentively to Parson Kindly's preaching for nearly 
a year, and finding but little consolation in his great sorrow, the 
doctor thought he would try the experiment of connecting himself 
with the church ; hoping through that means to find a balm for his 
wounded spirits. He had been told from the pulpit that a change 
of heart was first necessary ; and that repentance and faith were 
evidences of this change. "The process is very simple," Parson 
Kindly would say ; " repentance, my dear hearers, comes through 
confession ; and faith follows repentance, as may be seen from the 
very light of the subject." But it all appeared darh to the doctor, 
notwithstanding the good man's repeated assurance. Yet, the doc- 
tor resolved to try confession, trusting that the desired result would 

The morning after he had taken this resolution he rose an hour 
earlier than usual, ordered his breakfast and sleigh to be ready as 


soon as possible, for it was now mid-winter, drank a cup of coffee, 
and set off at full speed for the parsonage. 

The good-natured parson was taking his morning nap when the 
doctor arrived — and so was puss, on the foot of the bed — and so 
was Dick, at the side. But his energetic knock at the hall door 
aroused the sleepers. Dick, starting up, shook his head and growled 
— puss stood on all-fours and elevated her back in a remarkable man- 
ner — while the parson rubbed his eyes and looked inquiringly from 
one to the other. Here the chamber door opened to the relief of all 
parties, and it was announced that Dr. Wrightway wished to speak 
with him. The parson made a hasty toilette and received the doc- 
tor in his cheerful sitting-room, where nearly a cord of wood was 
blazing on the the giant hearth. 

" I hope, doctor, that I am not indebted to any new misfortune 
for this early visit," the good man said, placing a chair for him near 
the fire, and shaking him warmly by the hand. 

"No new misfortune, thank Heaven ! Fate has done its worst. 
I came to ' confess ' to you, Parson Kindly, that I am most misera- 
ble, most wretched, and feel my need of the consolations of relig- 
ion. I have come early, too early, I fear, for your convenience. 
Sir ; but when I have made up my mind to pursue a certain course, 
I am impatient of delay, and must accomplish my purpose at once, 
I believe that you have at last convinced me that I am a sinner, 
Parson Kindly, and need the mercy of Heaven." 

"I am truly thankful," the good man replied, in his peculiarly 
deliberate manner, " that the Lord has at length opened your eyes 
to see the deep depravity of your nature, for you are, indeed, doc- 
tor, a wretched, miserable sinner." 

The doctor was entirely unprepared for this manner of receiving 
his confession of wretched despondency : he had not arrived at the 
"penitent state," and could not appreciate the charge of depravity. 
He felt himself to be cruelly insulted, outraged in the highest de- 
gree ; and springing from his chair in a towering passion, he flung 
it against the opposite wall, exclaiming, with an oath : " How dare 
you call me a depraved, miserable sinner ! " Rushing from the 
apartment, he sprang into his sleigh and dashed furiously away. 
The easy, good-natured Parson lighted his clay pipe and seated. 


himself upon the * settle in the chimney corner ; and as the blue 
volumes rolled upward, and puss purred cosily upon his knee, he 
looked as serene as an Autumn twilight, as though entirely uncon- 
scious of the storm of passion that had swept fiercely by his com- 
fortable dwelling. 

Dr Wrightway had scarcely reached home before he had repented 
of the ebullition of passion. He reflected that, as he had bared his 
bosom to the knife, he ought to have been prepared for the wound. 

There were many points in Dr. Wrightway's character similiar to 
Byron's. Like the poet, he was affectionate, sensitive and pas- 
sionate ; and the worst faults of his character were those born of his 
best qualities undisciplined in childhood by the care of a judicious, 
loving Mother. Like Byron, too, he was deformed, and suffered 
keenly through this imperfection of the physical — it was the attri- 
tion that marred the symmetry of his character. His vanity was galled 
because the world looked upon the deformity ; his pride, because he 
was not such as he himself most admired. Thus did he sufi'er most 
through the source of his highest enjoyment — the love of the beauti- 
ful and perfect. 

Truly, "we are fearfully and wonderfully made." Pleasure and 
pain are so closely and strangely allied in our natures, that one is 
ever pregnant with the other. Upon the cloud that darkens our 
present we see, through our tears, the raidiant bow of hope, the 
promise of a fairer day ; and the joy of our morning, exhaled in 
smiles, is but the mist that will fall back upon our souls, at even- 
ing, in tears. 

The enthusiastic love of the beautiful through which Byron and 
the Doctor were so vulnerable to pain, was the redeeming point in 
the nature of both — it was the saving grace, the religion of their 

When the Doctor's impulsive passion would lead him astray, the 
voice of the beautiful, appealing to this elevated sentiment within, 
from earth, sea and sky, in all its varied forms of loveliness, would 
plead with him as a tender wooer to keep his heart pure and worthy ; — 
and he would pause in the silence of the Autumn forests, or beneath 

* Settle, a wooden bench with a high back adapted to the large, old-fashioned fireplaces. 


the eye of the tranquil moon, or over a bud expanding in its perfec- 
tion of beauty — would pause and weep over the errors of his life, 
and promise never more to offend the gentle Spirit of the beautiful. 



Is there a man or woman living who believes in the immutability 
of governments ? He who dares to prophecy that the fairest land 
on earth's expansive surface — 'even the matchless freedom of lib- 
erty-pervading California — will enjoy uninterrupted prosperity, 
assumes an antagonistic attitude, and rebellious disregard of the sad 
lessons taught in the history of the rise, progress and downfall of 
Nations and Republics. The model government of earth this day 
stands trembling and tottering, in an actual state of decrepitude, on 
a crumbling pinnacle of debris, ready to make the crashing descent, 
with the first convulsion of national dissaster into a yawning abyss 
of oblivion. Oh ! that such might not be its fate; but alas ! it is in- 
evitable. 'Tis hard for us to feel that the ever sacred spot upon 
which we reveled in the halcyon sports of childhood shall at some 
distant day — when all mankind which at present exist shall be no 
more — furnish food for the antiquarian traveler to ponder, and mar- 
vel over the dark, lost, and inextricable history of the once proud 
glorious and magnificent, but then, fallen, crushed, and forgotten 
pillars, domes, and spires of modern civilization. It is mournful in 
not a less degree, to reflect upon the fact that generation after gen- 
eration will not each in its turn transmit to its successor unimpaired, 
in their primitive purity and supreme grandeur the vigorous, health- 
ful and giant-like institutions of OUR beloved Pacific Coast. Dear 
Reader, do you think the above far-fetched ? Then reflect upon the 
fact that the very Nationg that gave birth to, and cradled the arts 
and sciences, are blotted, almost, from human recollection. Had the 


citizens of Carthage been told a few thousands of years ago that 
their then proud, prosperous, and enlightened city would one day 
cease to exist, or ever lose its power, they would positively have 
placed the author of such prediction in the lunatic asylum. But 
where is Carthage to-day ? Ah ! she lies enveloped in the bosom of 
oblivion ; totally obliterated from living history. Where is the mighty 
power and position which Rome once held ? Echo answers where. 
Assyria, Egypt, Tyre, Babylon, Sidon, Nineveh, Thebes, Palmyra, 
and all the rest of those once great strongholds of the East, where 
are they ? Developments that are continually being made by exca- 
vations amid their buried ruins afford the only answer. Decay and 
change mark the face of all things ; and although I do not believe 
that matter is absolutely lost ; transition is such an invariable and 
inevitable law of nature, that what was a few thousand years since 
the crowning apex of civilization, is now the mouldering ruins of by- 
gone ages ; and that which is considered at the present as the bright- 
est acquisition of enlightened advancement, will in its turn be lost to 
history; while the adepts in antiquarian research will be striving to 
to solve the problem of our lost record, without anything even as 
tangible as tradition to guide them in their labors. Then again, 
perhaps, will Nineveh, Rome, Babylon and Palmyra, be rejoicing in 
the effulgent light of scientific prosperity ; while that quarter of the 
earth which is at the present time in the greatest state of advance- 
ment will then occupy the position which Carthage holds to-day. 

If it be true that the spirits of the departed revisit earth, then 
do the spirits of departed sages and heroes who had a mortal exist- 
ence in Carthage during the days of her prosperity revisit their 
earthly home ; and while pondering over the sorrowful fate of her 
departed greatness, their tears of lamentation surcharge the very 
vapors of heaven, until the density of moisture conceals the gloomy 
picture from their anguished view. Dearest readers, one and all ; 
notwithstanding that the great future will bring all the above proph- 
ecies to pass, welcome is the fact that the present generation will 
scarcely make a perceptible step towards their accomplishment ; and 
although the present political wrangling may possibly result in a di- 
vision of the Union between North and South — in which case the 
little Republic on the Pacific would set up business in her own name 
— let us by all means do our utmost to perpetuate the golden insti- 


tutions which we are so fortunate as to possess in our adopted home, 
and which we certainly will do if we duly appreciate their unparal- 
leled advantages. As the great evil lies in corruption, let us be 
virtuous. A strictly virtuous administration of governments, relig- 
iously founded upon the golden principle of " Do unto others as you 
would that others should do unto you," would guide us clear of the 
shoals and quicksands of destruction, and protect us in the posses- 
sion of happy institutions. The only way to accomplish this is to 
strike at the root of the evil. Private virtue is the foundation upon 
which the f)olar star of our future destiny must repose if it endures 
the test of time. Teach virtue in all the private walks of life ; and 
when success has crowned your efforts, public virtue must follow as 
a necessity. Why not commence the reformation now ? But a 
brief time will elapse before we shall all pass away like a dissolving 
view, and be numbered with the mighty past. Friends, adieu. 


A correspondent, using the signature of "Phosphor," writes thus 
to us : — 

Late news from the French Court, give us a description of some 
of the most remarkable toilets to be worn at a fancy dress ball, 
given by the Empress Eugenie, at the residence of her mother, the 
Countess de Montije, in the Champs Elyses. Her majesty intended 
to personate Diana, dressed and armed for the* chase. Her dress 
was a short skirt of tulle, embroidered with silver stars and cres- 
cents ; the body of flesh colored silk. Suspended at her back was 
to be worn a golden quiver filled with arrows, the feather parts to 
sparkle with diamonds. A gold band was designed for the head, 
with a large diamond crescent and two small stars in front : the feet 
were to be ornamented with pink silk boots, and golden anklets set 
with diamonds. 

To get the diamonds requisite for this dress, it was found to be 
necessary to use several of the largest pieces belonging to the crown 


jewels,, besides using her majesty's private diamonds — but as the 
Emperor (who, it seems, is barbarous enough to keep the extrava- 
gant little lady under his thumb,) vetoed the whole proceeding, she 
finally contented herself with assuming the dress of the Spanish In- 
fanta on her first presentation to foreign embassadors — a dress, 
which, according to old historians, combines every element of the 
regal splendor in which the fair young aspirant to the hand of some 
royal lover was most likely to win the preference. 

Bonnets have taken a comfortable size ; coming to a point quite 
over the forehead, and extending back an inch further in the crown 
than those worn during the last season. 

Double capes are quite the rage — the lower of straw ; the upper 
a narrow frill of ribbon. For straw bonnets, and that is the mate- 
rial most in favor at the present season. 

For cloaks — long barnous of black velvet, thrown back from the 
shoulder, the lining handsomely embroidered with jet and braid, is 
quite rich, and much worn. 

Flounces to the waist, whether broad or narrow, are said to be 
wholly exploded ; they now reach only just below the knee, and are 
finished with a ruche. Silks of the most varied pattern are worn. 
One of the Empress' ladies of honor lately appeared in a white 
gros des Indes, with enormous bunches of roses embroidered in 
black floss silk, thrown all over the upper part of the skirt, while 
the border was elaborately embroidered in a running pattern to the 
height of nearly half a yard. The flounce thus worked was looped 
up with an enormous bow of black velvet on each side. This dress, 
however eccentric it may appear in the description, is said to be 
quiet and respectable amongst the number of gaudy criard costumes 
present on that occasion. 

The Empress Eugenie lately appeared in public attired wholly in 
black — not in mourning though ; for the sacrifice to the style of 
the day, was evident in the little golden stars which encircled the 
front of her bonnet, and peeped out from among the folds of net 
which encircled the brim. 

^^Footfalls on the Boundary of Another World. By Robert Dale Ovten." — 
Perhaps the best commentary that could be given on this most admirable book, 
is the fact that no less than eight thousand copies were disposed of in the short 
space of four months. It is a work well calculated to engage the attention of 
the philosophic inquirer, — full of interest and instruction. That the author is 
a finished gentleman and an accomplished scholar, none can doubt who are ca- 
pable of appreciating the pure diction and classic elegance of this most admi- 
rable work. The sensation which this book has created in literary circles is 
not to be wondered at when we consider that calm, deliberate, and unprejudiced 
inquiry into one of the most absorbing questions of the nineteenth century 
caused its publication, and that it is a recital of most wonderful adventures and 
surprising legends, reaching from the olden time down to the present day. We 
heartily commend it to all. Those who have not yet read its interesting and 
fascinating pages have a rare treat in store. Copies can be found at A. Ro- 
man's Book-Store, No. 127 Montgomery Street. 

"Athanasia, or Fore- Gleams of Immortality. By Edmund H. Sears." — We 
are indebted to the "American New Church Association," No. 20 Cooper Insti- 
tute, for a copy of this work, — a book appropriate to the time and age we live 
in, which imparts comfort to the heart and strength to the soul, and bears wit- 
ness to the spirit 

" That far beyond this vale of tears 
We have a home ou high." 

We are also indebted to the "American New Church Association " for seve- 
ral other works of rare interest, among which are " Social and Domestic Rehg- 
ion," " Letters on the Divine Trinity/' by B. F. Barrett, and "Avoidable Causes 
of Disease," by John Ellis, M. D. The author has in this work presented the 
cause of disease in a new light, namely : as an eiFect of the evils of the heart, 
by perversion of God-given faculties and appetites ; and by physical conse- 
quences resulting from the evils of parents. We feel that there is rationality 
and common sense in the argument, and the work ought to find a place in the 
library of every family in the land, and be carefully studied by every father 
and mother who have the physical as well as mental and moral interests of 
their children at heart. 

Our thanks are also due to the publishers, Oliver Ditson & Co., 117 Washington 
St., Boston, for some fine Musical Works ; among which are "Hayden's Sacred 
Oratorio," " The Creation " — new method for the melodeon, containing a col- 
lection of the most popular songs of the day, with a variety of psalm and 
hymn tunes. " The Home Circle" — a collection of piano-forte music consisting 
of the most favorite marches, waltzes, polkas, redowas, schottisches, gallops, 
mazourkas, etc., being a complete repository of music for parlor and drawing- 
room recreations. Each volume is handsomely bound, and copies may be ob- 
tained in this city of A. Kohler, Sansome Street. 


'■'■Reicheiibaeli on Somnamhulism." — Two books translated from the German of 
Baron Reichenbach. By Mr. John S. Hittell. The first is entitled : Odic Mag- 
netic Letters ; " the second : ^^Somnambulism and Cramp.''' They contain an 
exposition of the phenomena of " od," a new force of nature discovered by 
Reichenbach. This force, akin to electricity, magnetism, heat and light, and 
correlated with them as they are with each other, pervades all nature, and ex- 
ercises much influence on humanity — especially upon sensitives, persons of del- 
icate nervous organizations peculiarly susceptible to odic influences. The most 
important phenomena of od are somnambulism, trance, catalepsy, double con- 
sciousness, clairvoyance, supernormal acuteness of perception and memoi-y, 
communication between minds without recourse to the methods necessary in the 
normal condition, and cramps. Both books are highly singular, and are des- 
tined to occupy an important place in the history of our mental philosophy. 
For sale by Epes EUery, at the Antiquarian Book-Store, 162 Washington St. 

€'Htffr's Cabh. 

We are entering upon the Fifth Volume of the Hesperian, and yet it seems but a 
short time since it was started as a little semi-monthly newspaper. We look back 
with a feeling of gratification and thankfulness for the support and encourage- 
ment which has come to us from every portion of our young State. Nor are 
we unmindful of the kind and generous words so often bestowed upon us by 
our good brothers of the Press, although we have sometimes felt that their 
words savored niore of gallantry than jxistice, as they considered the hand from 
whence the Hesperian came. 

Up to the present time we have conducted, not only the Editorial, but also 
the Business Department of the Magazine entirely alone-:— this has been our 
cross. We do not love business, and have no sympathy with the cold, dollar 
and cent calculations of the world. We have never felt that the care and anx- 
iety, to say nothing of the physical labor incident to business life, were calcu- 
lated to elevate the thought, or strengthen the soul. But we started in our 
business with the determination of doing for it ourself until such time as the 
capacity of the enterprise warranted and, indeed, required assistance. The 
gradual but steady increase of our business, has of late demanded more time, 
labor and strength than we can possibly bestow upon it. Consequently we have 
secured the services of Mr. C. L. Goodrich, who will, from this time forward, 
act as Business Manager for us. We are not of those who look upon all change 
as unfortunate. There is (even in worldly matters) a change from one state 
of progression to another : — there is first the blade, and then the bud, and 
then the blossom ; and we trust that our friends will rejoice at the change 
which has come to us — a change which will relieve us of much care, anxiety, 
and physical labor ; and which is the result of their generous patronage. More- 

editor's table. 331 

over we intend that our patrons shall be gainers by the change ; for, relieved 
of other and more irksome duties, we shall have more time to devote to the 
editorial. Besides, we shall be fresher and stronger when that duty is no 
longer performed by the glimmer of a midnight lamp. 

Our State and County Fairs. — The time of the ingathering is again at hand, 
and all around us are heard the busy notes of preparation for the State and 
County Fairs which annually take place at this season of the year. It is a sea- 
son of rejoicing 1 The earth has yielded up her fulness, and the harvestman 
rejoices ; he has received the fruits of the earth as the reward of his labor; — 
and what a few months ago lay as mere clods of the valley, has been changed 
into bread. M st wondrous change ! — and yet so often effected that it fails to 
affect our minds as wonderful or strange, or call forth from us a thought of that 
infiaite and all-pervading power which, in and through all things, animate and 
inanimate, is working out the great principle of Progression. 

Husbandman looking on thy fields white and ripe for the harvest, by what 
power didst thou work this change? True, thou hast plowed, harrowed, and 
planted ; but by what power didst thou vivify the latent germ within the ker- 
nel which thy hand cast into the furrow? Didst thou hold communion with it 
in the silent watches of the night, and bid it cast off the husk in which it was 
enveloped, and arise to the use of a new life, and the putting on of a more glo- 
rious covering ? Ah, no ! From the depths of your own heart we hear the 
answer: " I have planted and I have watered; but God gives the increase. 
His is the laboratory where the earth's chemicals are prepared. He gives the 
early and the latter rains, and from His hand descends the noonday heat and the 
evening dews. From Him proceed those electrical currents and forces, with- 
out which, all things must die." Let us rejoice, then, for the earth rejoices ; 
and bring in from every section of our young and promising State, the fruits 
Avhich our God has given us. The pavilion of a fair always seemed to us like 
a Temple of Thanksgiving. We look upon the collection of the works of na- 
ture and of art, with a feeling of awe and admiration not unmixed with thank- 
fulness. We know such Temples are being erected in various parts of our 
State. We have heard their notes of preparation and their shouts of gladness, 
and from Stockton and Marysville, Sacramento and Petaluma, they have called 
unto us — " Sister, come and rejoice with us." And from the Mechanics' Institute 
and the Agricultural Society of our own city, we have the same kind bidding. 
Friends, we would gladly be present Avith you in the body as we often are in 
spirit ; but as the time set fpr the different fairs comes so close together — in 
some instances at the same time — we find it impossible, with all our duties, to 
visit each locality ; although in all we feel an equal interest, and an equal de- 
gree of pleasure in the knowledge of their prosperity. There is one thing more 
that calls forth our approval and admiration, and that is, that in these Temples 
(at least) wb'man's work takes rank side by side with man's. Hers is the bread, 
the butter, the cheese and the sweetmeats. Hers are the representatives of the 
more refined and delicate arts ; and here she is permitted to enter into fair com- 
petition with her brother man. God speed such institutions, say we, and inspire 



every woman to bring forth the product of her hands and of her intellect, and 
lay it beside that of her brother, since she has the assurance that if it is of equal 
worth it will receive equal compensation with his own. The day of small things 
is not to be despised ; — they shed the first glimmering of the light which is 
surely destined to illumine our future. 

Florence Nightingale was the only hero which England's last war developed. 
The authors of the best stories of Harpers and the Atlantic, are women. Har- 
riet Hosmer has won a name among the fraternity of artists. Louisa Bonheuer 
painted the "Horse Fair." Miss Stebbins has attracted considerable attention 
abroad by her works in marble. Miss Ransom, of Ashtabula Co., Ohio, had 
recently in the Academy Exhibition, a portrait of the Hon, Joshua R. Giddings, 
which good judges declared one of the best pieces of portraiture on the walls. 
Mrs. Lily M. Spencer, of Newark, is now overrun with commissions, though 
only a short time ago she could not obtain them simply because she ivas a wo- 
man ; and the time and space fails us to mention all the names of those who 
have proved themselves Pioneers in the great work of Woman's Emancipation. 
Let us have representatives from every department of female labor, even as we 
have from every department of the stronger sex ; for not less worthy is she who 
knead the loaf than he who broke the furrow. His duty required the most 
strength ; hers the most delicacy and nicety of perception. Verily, the head 
cannot say to the hand, " I have no need of thee " — nor the hand to the head, 
" I have no need of thee." 

Public Spirited Men. — There are some men who, while they benefit them- 
selves, are not unmindful of the interests of others ; enterprising and energetic, 
they pursue their several callings in a spirit that of itself ensures success. 
Their aims are not limited down to the narrow point of self, but enlarge and 
expand with a kindly feeling towards all humanity. Such were some of the 
thoughts that passed rapidly through our mind as the other evening (accepting 
an invitation from our better half) we paid a visit to the What Cheer House, 
Mr. R. B. Woodward, the proprietor, kindly conducting us from one depart- 
ment to another all through that vast building. We were struck with the sys- 
tem, order and neatness which everywhere prevailed, and the air of content 
and home comfort everywhere apparent, and which is so seldom to be met with 
in large and capacious hotels. The mystery, however, was explained when, upon 
further investigation, we discovered that instead of furnishing a bar of spirituous 
liquors for his guests, Mr. Woodward had fitted up and furnished a large 
library of interesting and useful books, from which his guests might quaff at 
will something far more satisfying than burning liquid. The room is large and 
well ventilated, and seldom have we seen a more interesting sight than pre- 
sented itself as we entered, it was brilliantly lighted with gas, well supplied 
with chairs, not one of which seemed to be empty. Gentlemen sat around 
looking conteiited and happy, as if they felt that their evening's entertainment 
was before them, and too much absorbed in the books they were reading to be 
disturbed by our entrance. Passing on we entered another large room where, 
to our surprise and delight, we found a Museum, containing no less than six huu- 

editor's table. 333 

dred birds from all parts of the world — from the great eagle doAvn to the small- 
est humming bird, they are arranged in glass cases, with a life-like truthfulness 
that is really surprising. We were not long in recognizing in them the artistic 
and beautiful workmanship of Mr. F. Gruber, who has often entertained us with 
similar sights at 148 Clay Street. The collection of eggs comprises twelve hun- 
dred specimens — from the African and Australian ostrich to that of the smallest 
humming bird. There are also a number of reptiles preserved in alcohol — 
a large variety of shells, minerals, coins, birds' nests, insects, etc., and a num- 
ber of Indian and Japanese curiosities. This room, like the other, was bril- 
liantly lighted, and well furnished with tables and chairs, and the scene 
presented, if anything, more pleasing than the other. Around the tables sat 
stalwart, manly forms, and before them lay pen, ink and paper. It was the eve 
preceding the departure of our steamer, and from the rapid manner in which 
the several pens glided over the paper, we knew that many a mother's heart 
would be made glad, and many a wife and daughter be made to rejoice by let- 
ters from absent loved ones ; and, thought we, could they but take a peep at 
those loved ones now, and their sourroundings, so well calculated to develope 
pure and elevated tastes, and so strikingly in contrast with most of the hotels in 
the Eastern States, perhaps they might think California was not quite so bad a 
place after all. 

In the May number of the Hesperiaii we published a poem on " Friendship," 
written many years ago by our father, Sheldon Ball. "VVe were not aware 
that the poem had ever before been published ; certain it is that ive have never 
seen a copy save the original MS. in our father's own hand writing ; yet the 
Butte Democrat says : " Mrs. Day, in introducing a poem entitled ' Friendship,' 
states that ' it is from an old volume of unpublished poems, written by our (her) 
father, and never before published.' The lines commence thus : — 

" ' 0, 'tis not when the fairy breeze fans the green ocean, 

That the safety and strength of the barque can be shown ; 
And 'tis not in prosperity's hour, — the devotion — 
The fervor and truth of a friend can be Iinown.' 

" With all due deference to Mrs. Day, we must be permitted to observe that 
we read and reread that very stanza at least thirty-five years ago, and have since 
hearcT and seen it quoted repeatedly. Mrs. Day undoubtedly supposed that her 
father was the author." 

With all due deference to the Butte Deviocrat, we would say, that we not 
only supposed that our father was the author of the articlg in question, but we 
KNOW that he was. We may have made a mistake in supposing that it had 
never before been published. It may have been published thirty -five years ago, 
as many of his articles were ; but we do not know that even that fact (if fact 
it be) could deprive him of the authorship. We have several other articles 
from the same beloved pen, which we shall publish from time to time. Litera- 
ry theft is a common thing, and for our own part we do not resent it. We 
have become accustomed, as it were, to seeing the children of our brain adopt- 


ed by and accredited to others. During our'absence Dr. W. W. Carpenter, of 
Gibsonville, stepped forward manfully and kindly to rescue one of our editori- 
als from Moses A. Dow, of the Waverley Magazine, who, although it was the 
product of a woman's brain, did not hesitate to adopt and place it among his 
own lordly children. These things are of frequent occurrence, as every writer 
of the present day knows ; and it may be that our father suffered the same in- 
justice. He long since entered into the joy and blessedness of spirit-life — but 
we (so far as is in our power) shall protect and defend to the last the articles 
which we Icnoio to have been indited by his own heart, and which bear the un- 
mistakable evidence of his own genius. We would not be understood by the 
Butte Democrat as resenting the remarks which we have no doubt were made 
in a spirit of truthfulness and candor — but simply to have it understood that 
we were not mistaken. Nor do we ever intend to credit to one, an article which 
was written by another. 

Below we publish another article by the same author, written in 1822, but 
we believe never before published : — 


Shipmates ! why floats that star-striped sheet ! 

Midway its wonted height ? 
Why soars it not the heavens to greet? 

To wave in worlds of light ? 
Why courts it the attainted breath 

Which earth's foul breast exhales? 
Why droops it like the pall of death, 

^Mid summer's fav'ring gales ? 

That flag droops lightly o'er the wreck 

Of the frail barque of life ; 
O'er one who fearless trod its deck, 

In sunshine, storm, and strife : 
A Tar Avhose heart was valor's throne, 

Whose heart was mercy's seat, 
Who steered by honor's chart alone. 

Through all life's various fleet ! 

On error's shoals, perchance not oft. 

Unconsciously would he steer ; 
Then Mercy whispered from aloft: 

" I keep no reckoning here \" * 

And Charity, the cherub kind. 

First, fairest child of Heaven, 
For Ocean's son a birth does find, 

His faults proclaim " forgiven." 

Pilgrim of Ocean, fare thee well ! 

The harbor thou hast found 
Heeds not the angry surge's swell 

That break life's shores around : 
And in that quiet haven moored 

Safe lie the mortal wreck, 
Till He who all thy hopes insured; 

Thy spirit calls on deck. 



"Be te Kindly Affectioxed one to A^iother." — Kind reader, has it ever oc- 
curred to you that you have a mission to perform on earth, as you tread upon 
the smooth path of affluence ; with the bright sun of prosperity over your head, 
does a thought ever cross your mind of those who dwell in the shaded alleys, 
and byways of poverty and misfortune ? Ah ! methinks I hear you say they 
are idle, lazy ; let them work — and so you harden your heart and pass on to the 
other and brighter side of life. 

Do you realize that the Infinite Father has stamped His image upon all His 
children — that all bear the impress of the Divine — and that when these poor 
afflicted ones appeal to you for help, amid their earthly trials, they a,re but ful- 
filing their mission towards you — hearken to their appeal — listen to the voice 
of their complaint — let your voice go forth in sympathy for their sufferings, 
and they will deliver your soul from some of the gross selfishness which is 
stealing over it, petrifying all the noble impulses which God has given you, and 
for which you must account to Him. 

If you have a mission to the poor, they have one of no less importance to 
you. If you minister to them of your earthly treasures, who is benefited, you or 
they ? That tear of sympathy falls not to the ground, but is caught in an 
angel's palm and borne upward to the source of the Infinite — glittering in 
brightness, and brilliant with the rainbow tints of promise, it is woven as one 
more jewel into the crown of thy good deeds which awaits thy coming to the 
life eternal. But if you turn coldly away, unwilling to sacrifice the price of an 
earthly bauble for the relief of a suffering fellow-creature, know then that the 
injury is to thyself; thy own heart is hardened, and with each appeal becomes 
less and less sympathetic. 

To Agents axd Dealers. — There are some of the Agents of the Hesperian 
who have always remitted the amount of their bills promptly ; to such we re- 
turn our sincere thanks. But there are others who seem to think that anytime 
will do, forgetting that even small amounts lying about in several places will 
in the aggregate amount to two or three hundred dollars, the use of which we 
may have immediate need of. Such we would urge to be more prompt in 
their remittances, or the rule which at first we were governed by (but which 
has been in some degree departed from since our absence from the State) will 
be most rigidly enforced, namely, the agent whose bill for the previous month 
yet remains unpaid will not be furnished with copies of the following issue. 
But we have yet another and worse class to deal with, and that is, a few who 
conclude to pay all indebtedness by failing or making their business over to 
others — in other words, " sell out." To such specimens as can make up their 
minds to defraud a woman we have but a few words to say, and they can be ex- 
pressed in this — that, so far as the law can serve us, all indebtedness to the 
Hesperian shall be collected by legal process ; and moreover, we shall consider 
it our duty to aid in the protection of others by publishing a list of the names 
of those who have failed to cancel their indebtedness to us. Take notice, we 
give you fair warning, and shall wait a reasonable time to give you opportunity 
to save your names from being most ignobly placed before the world. "We 


should be glad to have the necessity for publishing any such list immediately 
removed. But if it is not, every individual name will be published if we live. 

Sevting-Machixe Atvards by the American Institute, N". T. — Sewing-Ma- 
chines, considered in»their social, industrial, and physiological bej.rings upon 
society, are second in importance to no material agent of the day. Economiz- 
ing nine-tenths of the time required for sewing by hand ; eliminating most of the 
evils of needlework; enlarging the sphere of woman's employment, by creating new 
and profitable branches of industry ; relieving the hous ekeeper of her most griev- 
ous burden, the Sewing-Machines rank with the fabled deities as benefactors of 

The Committee of the American Institute, N. Y., appointed at the late exhibi- 
tion at Palace Garden, to examine Sewing-Machines, have made a long, elaborate 
and able report, of much interest to the public. Although the utility of this in- 
vention is established beyond all question, yet, for the various purposes of its 
application, ignorance exists as to the particular patent best for a specific pur- 
pose. Committees heretofore have not discriminated and classified sufficiently. 
This report is free from these faults. The Machines are arranged according to 
the stitch made, and the purpose to which the Machine is to be applied, in 
four classes, 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th ; a classification indicating the general order 
of merit and importance : 

Class 1st, includes the Shuttle or Lock Stitch Machines for family use, and 
for manufacturers in the same range of purpose and material. The Committee 
has assigned this class the highest rank, on account of the "elasticity, perma- 
nence, beauty, and general desirableness of the stitching when done," and the 
wide range of iis application. At the head of this class they placed the Wheeler 
& Wilson Machine, and award it the highest premium. This has been the uni- 
form award for this Machine throughout the country for several years, and we 
think no disinterested person will dispute its justice and propriety. 

Description of full sized Pattern. — We this month present our readers 
with the tight Sleeve Pattern which is rapidly growing into favor. The notches 
at the elbow designate the back part of the Sleeve, and a gathering thread should 
extend from one notch to the other, so that the'back part be gathered into equal 
length with the front. 

Mr. C. L. Goodrich, from this date, will act as Business Manager for the 
erian, and is authorized to transact all business relative thereto. 

Several fine articles are again crowded out. Send in yours Subscriptions, 
friends, and we will soon add another sixteen pages to the Hesperian. 

Hesperian Job Printing. — Our friends in the city and interior are informed 
that we are now prepared to do Job, Book, and Fancy Printing, of every de- 
scription, in the most elegant and desirable manner. Orders will be attended 
to promptly. Address, Mrs. F. H. Day, No. 6 Montgomery St., San Francisco. 

'.Men I y. r'7i ;i corrJu hi KiJIo o- -• ) 


Jh-ii ^"ftfrorfc \'fit//,rc lCi,-pn'.ss' vJ_'i-!Jl1^ '' 



Vol. V. 

OCTOBER, 1860 

No. 2. 



Whose first love is ever remembered with indiiference ? Yet I am 
not going to follow in the footsteps of the sentimentalist; and vow 
to you that the first dawn of passion in boyhood, and of sentiment 
in girlhood, is the holiest era in our mortal lives ; because I choose, 
or am compelled to believe otherwise. It is true, however, ihdbt first 
love is a crisis of the affections which proves more or less certainly 
their consistency, quality and fervor. The passional nature matures 
more rapidly than the intellectual, greatly modifying thereby both 
the strength and peculiar characteristics of the latter. With the 
immature intellect, the unformed judgment, the ungoverned impul- 
ses, and uneducated tastes of sixteen, eighteen or even twenty years, 
it is not probable that the attachments then formed can lay claim to 
any great degree of either wisdom or spirituality. The affections, 
at the ages wlien most young persons awaken to a consciousness of 
their endowments in this respect, are in a state of purity ; but pu- 
rity of negative character chiefly, — for the reason that as yet they 
have a very imperfect knowledge of , their own capacities for good or 
evil, and very limited ideas of the height and depth of a really per- 
fect passion. 

One of the largest ingredients in first love of the ordinary stamp, 
is vanity. The young man has arrived at that age when, having 
" put away childish things," he fancies himself in some sort a hero ; 
imagining in the newness of his emotions, and ignorant that he is 
governed as much b}'' mere physical causes as mental exaltation, — 
that he is the first and only person affected by these fervent aspira- 
tions and impulses toward the beautiful, the ideal or the chivalric. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the j'ear 1859, by Mrs. F. H. Day, in the Clerk's Office of the 
District Court of the United States for the Northern District of California. 



Filled with this self-consciousness, and longing to have an object to 
which he may devote his overflowing ardor, he speedily finds out 
some fair or amiable girl, who on her part has begun to have a long- 
ing for those inalienable rights of her sex — admiration and devotion 
— and who, delighted at the ready answer to her instinctive desire, 
believes in him as the true and heaven-appointed partner of her 
soul, without whom creation itself were dark and void. During the 
reign of this first passion, there is a perpetual tumult of pleasing 
emotions, quite often mistaken for the exalted happiness of true 
love. But to the demolition of a great deal of romance, it must be 
said that a strict analysis of these ecstatic sensations would go to 
prove a far greater amount of self-love than of sincere devotion in 
their compounding. I mean by this, that the person who stands as 
the object of our passion, is loved more as furiiisJiing us ivitli the 
disired occasion for the indulgence of our craving, neccessitous sym- 
pathies, than really, on account of any intrinsic grace or merit. 
Thus, while we fondly imagine we are lavishing the pure passions of 
our souls upon some object of exceeding attractiveness and worthi- 
ness, Ave are but wasting upon it instead, a too fulsome gratitude 
for the service of having stood as lay figure, to be dressed up in our 
own overflowing abundance of fancy and feeling, I remember hear- 
ing a lady, and a belle, say, that the sweetest and most profound 
delight she had ever experienced, was that she had felt the first time 
her first boy-lover kissed her hand ! She said she had held that 
hand as sacred until their next meeting ; not using it more than 
necessary, and not bathing it all, but often looking upon it in rapt 
and exquisite enjoyment, as if it had been gifted with some heavenly 
charm, which she and she alone, might know. Yet she confessed 
that no word of love had ever been spoken between them ; and that 
she did not even believe herself very much in love. It was only 
the revelation, unexpected and overpowering, of the possibilities 
of love ; and the pledge thus given of what could be enjoyed. For 
my own part, my first love was experienced when I was at the ten- 
der age of nine years ; and even then gave me such distress — the 
unconscious object of it having married without consulting me, — 
that I have not yet forgotten the keen pangs of precocious jealousy 
then suffered. 

The bliss of new and agreeable emotions, the personal flattery, the 


unconscious gratitude, the exuberance of an unpruned imagination, 
and nature's material mystery not yet understood, all go to make 
up the delicious sum of happiness we remember in our first love. 
About this happiness a great deal has been said and sung ; and I 
make no objection to the poetry of the romancers as poetry. But 
I like not that they should so often put fiction for fact in their ac- 
count of the stability of first love. It is true that it is longer re- 
membered, very often, than subsequent attachments ; but not for any 
superior constancy abiding in it ; and only because it was the first, 
and attended with more marked phases of feeling than any after- 
passion. I do not say that one may not have had for his first love 
the most charming and suitable of mortals ; but ^Aa^ would have 
have been chiefly by accident, and the love would have come for 
some other if not for this one. Neither am I so doubting as to 
maintain that another would have been equally capable of inspiring 
happiness. Our fortunes in love are like our fortunes in business, 
very much influenced by our circumstances ; and even in those rare 
cases, of love at first sight which proves true and lasting, it is as 
much a freak of fortune as when a man draws an immense prize, or 
finds concealed treasure. 

I have great respect for all the affectional phenomena ; and would 
no sooner throw ridicule on the school-boy's desperate love and jeal- 
ousy, than upon the more deep-rooted passion of the world-ac- 
quainted man. Indeed, there is a beauty about the uncalculating 
affection of early youth that sanctifies it for its unselfishness' sake. 
No loss and gain estimate here ; but everything considered gain if 
the love is returned. Yet, as I before said, it is a negative sort of 
purity and generosity ; sinde, had there been any experience in the 
case, it might have turned out that the value of worldly advantages 
would not have been set aside. Therefore it is unwise to set great 
value upon a sentiment that has never undergone a test ; and to call 
that purity and devotion, which is simply ignorance and thoughtless- 

First love may prove to be last love, though it seldom does. There 
may be such merit in one or both the parties, or such natural con- 
stancy of the affections as to assure its permanency. When it does 
so, it cannot be doubted that the very highest degree of satisfaction 
is felt ; for thereby have they escaped what happens to almost all — 


a disappointment more or less bitter and wounding. For we are 
grieved over the bad faith of our early loves, even though only our 
vanity and self-love have been injured ; and in proportion as we are 
previously exalted, are we now miserably humbled and suffering. 

Notwithstanding I refuse to recognize the dignity of a true pas- 
sion in most instances of first love, I am compelled to notice the 
importance, which I perceive attaches to it, upon other considera- 
tions. As our parents, our teachers, — as any models of excellence 
impress us with the worth of things, so our first love, by the power 
it has of awakening our faculties, and giving us an example of the 
most excellent part of us, is all powerful in forming our opinions, 
and giving tone to our sentiments. The intellectual and moral are 
usually behind the passional in development. Being so, they are 
necessarily affected by the moods which the latter may take on. If 
we are so fortunate as to have placed our first admiring and loving 
trust in the keeping of one truly worthy, an immense impetus is 
thereby given to the advancement of the good and true in ourselves. 
All good associations elevate the character, and all evil ones depress 
it ; but the weight which love gives to either is almost incalculable. 
It is true that we may be deceived, and really be in love with only one 
portion of a person's character, and thereby for a long time escape 
contamination; or so far at least as not to have any suspicions of 
the truth ; but even then, the evil result is only deferred to the time 
when we shall make the discovery of our infatuation, and learn to 
reproach and contemn the deceiver, at the cost of our confidence in 
virtuous professions. 

For a young man to awake to the apprehension that the woman 
he had accepted as a type of all that was* pure, dear and loveable in 
her sex, has kept him enslaved by false pretenses, is a great moral 
disaster indeed ; worse by far, than when a maiden makes a similar 
discovery ; for men are less reverent than women, and more apt to 
abandon Divine truth on account of a human lie. 

But not alone is the moral nature weakened or strengthened by 
this love, which for the time is accepted as the destiny of the young 
heart in which it abides. The intellect is quickened to more vigor- 
ous action, and new power infused into hitherto undetermined men- 
tal gifts, bringing out their dormant energies, awakening ambition, 
arousing pride and stimulating to effort ; all under the influences of 


the hopefulness and desire of approbation which a worthy affection 
inspires. Nothing is so improving intellectually to a young woman 
as the love of a superior man, or even one she imagines to be 
superior; for in both cases she will make the same effort to 
approach a higher standard of mental excellence. And on the con- 
trary, if her first fancy is given to a vain and foppish or worthless 
man, it must take years to recover, if indeed she ever does recover 
from the frivolousness into which she has lowered herself by mating 
her isoul with such a shallow soul as this. How many men and wo- 
men have I known who have lost years of their lives in aimless 
regrets, before succeeding in ridding themselves of the blighting 
influences of an unworthy early engagement, the breaking up of 
which, broke up also all their young imaginations of the future, and 
left them adrift upon a "sea of troubles," desperate or despairing. 
First love is like the flowering of the young tree before it is strong 
enough to bear fruit ; beautiful, and a promise of fruit in a subse- 
quent season. The owner would be foolish to cut down the tree 
because its fruit blossoms were false. Rather should he admire it 
for its beauty alone this one season, satisfied that its usefulness will 
follow in due time. Consider, then, young man and young maiden, 
the necessity fhat everywhere in nature exists, for a season of pre- 
paration, before one of usefulness ; and cease to regret that first 
experience, by which you were taught, better than ever before, the 
stuff of which your souls are fashioned. 


Two scraps of foundation, some fragments of lace, 
A shower of French rose-buds to droop o'er the face ; 
Fine ribbons and feathers, with berage and illusion, 
Then mix and cZerange them in graceful confusion ; 
Inveigle some fairy, out roaming for pleasure, 
And beg the slight favor of taking her measure, 
The length and the breadth of her dear little pate, 
And hasten a miniature frame to create ; 
Then pour, as above, the bright mixture upon it. 
And lo ! you possess " such a love of a bonnet !" 


{Mentzelia Cordata. — Kellogg.) 


The colored plate here given, beautifully illustrates the natural size 
and appearance of a new species of Mentzelia brought from Cerros 
Island by Dr. J. A. Veatch. 

Of these peculiarly American plants we have several species in 
California ; one at least, besides the present, we take to be new. 
The flowers of most of these plants are diurnal, blooming only in 
the direct sunshine of midday. The flowers are often golden yel- 
low, with a remarkable radiance — hence, in common parlance, they 
are named " Blazing Stars." The plant here figured, judging from 
the paler color of the flowers, is probably a vespertine species. 
The peculiar properties of these plants are as yet little known ; one 
has a purgative root, and others stinging hairs — most, if not all, 
have more or less barbed hairs, or hairs parting at the tip and hook- 
ing back by curved points, like a grappling-iron — seen under a mi- 
croscope they glisten like diamonds. Some of them have two to 
three hundred or more stamens. 

Technical descrij}tion — Mentzelia Cordata — (Kellogg). Stem, l^- to 2 feet in 
height, with alternate branches, densely hirsute throughout with short, white, 
rigid glochidiate hairs ; a few simple and barbed hairs intermixed. Leaves 
alternate, cordate lobed, or rounded cordate, serrate, hoary hairy, 5 to 7-nerved 
on stout petioles about the length of the lamina ; bracteoles lanceolate, about 
half the length of the pedicels. Flowers in a somewhat condensed terminal 
panicle, on pedicels half an inch or more in length ; flowers numerous, 3^ellow- 
ish white, petals oblanceolate cuneate, pubescent on the back, erect-spreading, 
united at the base (?) about one inch in length. Style simple, sixty or more 
stamens all filiform, exsert, inserted into the base of the corolla ; calycine seg- 
ments linear lanceolate, half the length of the petals. Capsules terbinate, five 
valved and five-parietul placentas, each attached by the back, projecting a three- 
winged placental phlange densely beset with innumerable minute horizontal 

The stem and leaves change to a dark brown in drying. 



{Sisynnchiiim flavium. — Kellogg.) 


This beautiful golden Irid, 
although so familiar to us 
for the last eight years, we 
believe, has hitherto been 
undescribed. It is a very 
abundant plant in the vicin- 
ity of San Francisco ; al- 
ways found in damp, boggy 
localities. The frail delicate 
flower is so ephemeral — un- 
folding like a fading morn- 
ing-glory so quickly — that 
we have been often foiled in 
our attempts to figure it. 
This is, perhaps, not the 
only plant we have thus 
passed by from time to time, 
hoping for a better opportu- 
nity. A plant so familiar to 
our walks, it always seemed 
fair to presume, must be 
known, but we have exam- 
ined all the accessible au- 
thorities and find no descrip- 
tion answering to it. The 
seeds of this plant have been 
sold in San Francisco for 
more than five years past 
under various names, as e.g. 
" Yellow-eyed-grass," "Yel- 
low Pigmy Lily," and "Star- 
grass Lily," &c. 

The powdered roots of 
these plants are powerfully 
purgative, and have been re- 
commended in domestic prac. 
tice for dropsy, &c. 



Technical Descriptioii. — Scape simple, erect, broadly winged or ancipital, 
edges slightly scabrous. Leaves radical, broad, compressed- equitant, linear- 
ensiform, many nerved, (6 to 8) spathe about 5 to 6 flovrered, pedicels unequal, 
exterior bract about equal to the flowers (variable), two or three extrajmembra- 
naceous valves (bracts ?) included. Perianth, bright translucent yellow, seg- 
ments broad-lanceolate acute, nerve tortosus exterior divisions 7-nerved, inte- 
rior 5-nerved, widely spreading from the base ; filaments free above, monodel- 
phous at the base, (or barely united at the point of insertion into the ring or 
obsolete tube of the corolla) equal to the style, glabrous apex, atenuated anthers 
(orange yellow), long linear, somewhat spirally curved, forked or saggitate at 
the base, versatile, fixed by the middle ; style deeply 
3-parted, filiform lobes spreading, stigmatic- apex re- 
curved. Capsule oblong, triquetrous, the three sides 
slightly hollowed and the angles more acute than us- 
ual in this genus ; base and apex of equal diameters. 
A plant from 6 to 17 inches in height. This species 
appears to be near to Dr. Torrey's S. lineatum, in Lt. 
Whipple's Report, p. 143; not "3 flowered" but 
5 or 6, nor are the " divisions obtuse,-' nor is the cap- 
sule ever seen " ovately pear-shaped ;" the leaves 
also are less grassy In ours the leaves are quite 
Iris-like, with a sharp or somewhat acuminate sword- 
pointed appearance. The seed vessel turns very black 
as it matures or ',\n drying. Habitat always marshy. 
We have never found it elsewhere. 

We subjoin a partial sketch of the common 
species of Blue-eyed Cf-rass, [sisyrinchium 
aceps var. mucronatum,) for comparison. The 
specimen from which this is taken is from 
Santa Clara, kindlj furnished us by Mrs. Pur- 
kitt. This plant abounds in most parts of 
California. The flowers are beautiful warm 
blue, but like its kindred, so fugitive that we 
usually pass it by in collecting a bouquet. 

A teaspoonful of the powdered root of 
this plant is a very active hydragogue ca- 
thartic. It affects the stomach, skin, and 
kidneys ; said to be useful also in dyeing. It 
ought perhaps to be better known. 



Write, mother, write ! 
A new, unspotted book of life before thee ; 
Thine is the hand to trace upon its pages 
The first few characters, to live in glory, 

Or live in shame, through long, unending ages ! 
Write, mother, write ! 
Thy hand, though woman's, must not faint nor falter ! 

The lot is on thee ; nerve thee then with care ; 
A mother's tracery time may never alter : 

Be its first impress, then, the breath of prayer. 
A7rite, mother, write ! 

Write, father, Avrite ! 
Take thee a pea plucked from an eagle's pinion, 

And write immortal actions for thy son ; 
Teach him that man forgets man's high dominion. 
Creeping on earth, leaving great deeds undone ; 
Write, father, write ! 
Leave on his life a fond father's blessing. 

To shield him 'mid temptation, toil, and sin, 
And he shall go to glory's field, possessing 
Strength to contend and confidence to iviii. 
Write, father, write ! 

Write, sister, write ! 
Nay, shrink not, for a sister's love is holy ; 

Write words the angels whisper in thine ears — 
No bud of sweet aifection, howe'er lowly. 
But, planted here, will bloom in after years. 
Write, sister, Avrite ! 
Something to cheer him, his rough way pursuing, 

For manhood's lot is sterner far than ours. 
He may not pause — he must be up and doing, 
Whilst thou sit idly dreaming among flowers. 
Write, sister, write ! 

Write, brother, write ! 
Strike a bold blow upon these kindred pages — 

Write ; shoulder to shoulder, brother, we will go : 
Heart linked to heart, though wild the conflict rages. 
We will defy the battle and the foe. . 
Write, brother, write ! 


We who have trodden boyhood's path together, 
Beneath the summer sun and winter's sky, 

What matter if life brings us some foul weather ? 
We may be stronger than adversity I 
Write, brother, write ! 

Fellow-immortal, write ! 
One God reigns in the heavens — there is no other 

And all mankind are hretliren — thus 't is spoken - 
And whoso aids a sorrowing, struggling brother, 

By kindly word or deed, or friendly token. 
Shall win the favor of our Heavenly Father, 

Who judges evil, and rewards the good, 
And who hath linked the race of man together 

In one vast, universal brotherhood. 
Fellow-immortal, write I 



We constantly hear that this is an utilitarian age, and that we are 
an utilitarian people. Let it be so. With this charge we have no fault 
to find. We have a strong and abidino; faith in true utilitarianism : — 
and the rapid strides which the world is making in the arts and sci- 
ences prove the charge true. It is a predominant characteristic of 
this age. " The days of theory have past and the days of practice 
have come, the days of problems have past and the days of solution 
have come, the days of planning have past and the days of execution 
have come." 

Yet we cannot subscribe to that kind of utilitarianism which rejects 
every thing else, — which vrould extract from every substance in na- 
ture, and every principle in the mind, that only which is strictly use- 
ful in a worldly sense, and rejects all else as dross. Neither have 
we any sympathy with such sordid utilitarians. We believe that it is 
man's duty to develop all the qualities belonging to every thing in 
nature, and to himself, and let him develope their utility; only let 
him be careful that in so doing he mars not their beauty. 


But there are things almost entirely valueless in the sense of being 
sources of positive worldly gain. Of what use to your incorrigible, 
sordid utilitarian, is the beautiful form of the snowflake, or the won- 
derful spectrum of the raindrop, or the various hues of the summer 
clouds ? What cares he for the sweet odors of the flowers, or the 
green vestures of the trees, the gurgling of the brook, the thundering 
water-fall, or the beauteous colors of the rainbow? They add not a 
cent to the means of procuring clothing for his miserable body, nor 
sweeten a bit the morsel which he hastily swallows to support his 
wretched existence. Nay, their utility must consist of something else, 
and, although such an one with his narrow vision may not see it, 
they are of great utility. The inner, as well as the outer man has 
worldly wants, and their gratification is as essential to the healthy 
growth of the one as of the other. Else why was our own world made 
as it is ? made a world of charming curves and colors, of fine pro- 
portions and forms, of fair verdures and blossoms ? In a word, why 
was every thing in nature made so beautiful and attractive ? Was it 
not that by the contemplation and admiration of them they might 
prove food and raiment for the inner man ? The beauty of nature 
is its grand utility, and communion with nature is the way of develop- 
ing this grand utility. 

What an excellent teacher is this old world upon which we move ; 
but alas ! how many there are who pay no attention to her instruc- 
tions. She has lessons and illustrations suited to every style of 
character, and every business of life. To the lover of landscapes 
are spread out the beauties of plains, hills, and mountains ; it is his 
to take delight in fields and forests, in wild streams and majestic 
rivers, in roaring cataracts and in black thunder-clouds, in craggy 
rocks and in drifting sand banks. To the philosopher belongs the plea- 
sure of decomposing the waterdrop and analyzing its different gases, 
of penetrating through the rough bark of the tree and tracing the 
course of the sap — its mysterious life-current. It is his to behold in 
every bird that flies above him more than a mere feathered songster. 
It is his to take his stand in the forest and compare the difi'erent forms 
and motions of the various species of these joyous inhabitants of the 
air ; to watch them, as warned by the changing seasons they gather 
in flocks to make their accustomed migrations ; — wondering by whom 
they were instructed in geography. It also belongs to the medita- 


tive man's delightful intercourse with nature, to see more than a mere 
existence in every insect that buzzes, in every worm that crawls, and 
in every little animal that burrows. But by the aid of the micro- 
scope the dull fly reveals to him its myriad eyes. Through the same 
instrument he beholds in the sparkling drop of water innumerable 
animals moving with surprising celerity. He goes with the ant down 
into its subterranean settlement and learns the laws and customs of 
its busy community. He retires with the spider into the the inner 
courts of its magnificent palace, and watches the making of its won- 
derful loom. He dives beneath the ocean waters to the coral resi- 
dence and explores the mighty workings of that insignificant insect, 
which is rearing islands and constructing continents, the homes of 
future millions of the human family. Turning from the contempla- 
tion of single objects, he is impressed with the infinite variety of 
nature. He examines with mute astonishment the thousand different 
species of the vegetable kingdom, from the modest violet and " lily of 
the valley," to the sturdy "oaks of Bashan" and giant "cedars of 
Lebanon.'' He beholds a like variety in the animal kingdom, and 
in all nature; an infinity of colors, of sounds, of odors, of tastes 
and of forms. Yes, these are some of the lessons which nature 
teaches ; such lessons as a Bufibn and an Audubon received. 

But there are other lessons given by the same teacher, whose util- 
ity is not so apparent, but which are none the less useful ; which are 
more hidden and mysterious, and consist of impressions which can 
be felt better than expressed : — impressions vague and undefined it 
may be, but still poetic and ennobling : impressions which, working 
on the imagination, excite the powers with unwonted energy to the 
accomplishment of every task. This to some minds, especially poetic 
minds, is the grand utility of the beauty of nature. In this re- 
spect poets always have been, and doubtless always will be, a race 
by themselves. It is not, indeed, probable that this communion with 
nature, and the treasuring up and oft-conning over these mysterious 
impressions, first gave the poetic bent to the mind. Poetry is in 
reality a scene painting, often ideal to be sure, but dependent upon 
a creative imagination, which was created or assisted by communion 
with nature. It was in such communion with nature, perhaps, on 
some of those shining island shores of the deep resounding ^gean, 


to wliich he so often makes eloquent allusion — that old Homer first re- 
ceived that inspiration which has handed his name, in connection with 
the immortal Iliad, down to posterity. And the blind Milton wrote 
under the inspiration of the same communion ; for with what delight 
he listened to the whistling winds, the foaming streams, and the roar 
of the ocean-wave, let his admirers tell. Yea, poets of all ages have 
reveled in the beauties of nature, and they have all given proofs of 
their keen appreciation of its delights in their immortal productions. 
Who has not trembled Avith Byron, as he beheld his night-storm on the 
Alps ? Who has not felt every nerve within him thrill with delight 
as he has read his soul-stirring descriptions, and has not been ready 
to exclaim with Pollock : — 

" With nature's self, * 

lie seemed an old acquaintance free to jest 
At will with all her glorious majesty. 
He laid his hand upon the ocean's mane, 
And played familiar with his hoary locks. 
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Appennines, 
And with the thunder talked as friend to friend, 
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing." 

Who that has studied his character in his productions, has not felt 
truth, to a spirit like his, of his own declaration, — 

" There is a pleasure in the pathless woods. 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore. 
There is society where none intrudes, 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar." 

Who that has experienced with Cowley the poetic terrors of his 
" Hymn, to Light," or has participated in the sublimity of the scene 
with Coleridge in his " Hymn, Before Sunrise in the Vale of Cha- 
mouni," or who that has with our own Bryant retired into the groves, 
" God's first Temples," and has not felt that they drew their inspira- 
tion from the glorious paintings which that grand old teacher, nature, 
had unrolled to their view ? They drew lessons of instruction from 
every rising and setting sun; from the beams that played around 
the snowy mountain tops, and lent their golden hues to the meadows ; 
from the rustling winds, the mighty music of the grand old forest, 
and the psalm of the ocean wave: If the adage be true that " That 
which moveth the heart most is the best poetry," surely natures poet- 
ry stands unrivalled. 



But as the poetic instinct of man seems thus to commune with the 
beauties of nature, night seems to be the season more particularly 
adapted for the fullest appreciation of these beauties. For although 
the impressions of the hour of evening, and the spirit of poetry which 
it kindles in the breast, is declared "sentimental weakness " by your 
"strong minds," still its very sentimentality is healthful as Avell as 
beautiful — it is inherent in the time as well as in the heart. True it is 
that "Day unto day altereth speech;" yea, its language, from its 
bright birth to its calm decline, is the eloquent praise of Him who 
rules its cheering beams. But none the less true is it that "night 
unto night showeth knowledge," and may my ears ever be open to its 
solemn voice. Night is the time for reflection and self-examination. 
The powers of the intellect are all awake. Memory, with renewed 
energy, sways the soul. Uninterrupted by multitudes of objects which 
bright day discloses, the thoughts turn within, and the past is called 
up before us to be improved upon by the future. Yea, many are the 
lessons which nature best instills in the season of the night ; and 
she seems to have prepared it by the sublime splendors in which it is 
arrayed to render their impressions more solemn. It is then the in- 
visible worlds are disclosed. The landscape is dimly veiled as with 
mystic shadows ; or the moonlight gilds the clouds, the streams and 
the mountain crags. Why is it that our own sphere is so beautiful 
here below, and the "glories of the skies revealed in blazing pomp 
above," if the night was not designed as the high and solenm time 
of man's best thoughts ? The very obscurity of night adds to the im- 
pressiveness of the grander features of nature. Daylight is necessary 
to appreciate the minuter beauties of single objects, but the subdued 
light__of night adds a new grandeur to the extended scenes of nature. 
The moon-lit lake, the river gliding now in shadow, now in bright- 
ness, the half-illumined landscape, the black gloom of the forest, the 
stars, "beautiful as the eyes of Cherubim," the Queen of night her- 
self, with her placid radiance — these have a beauty and a poetry 
which no day-scenes can rival. But the beauties of night are also 
rich in variety. First comes the twilight, with its poetic associations 
and tranquilizing effect, when the mountain shadows are lengthening 
and deepening, and the declining light still rests in tints upon the 
clouds of the horizon. The evening star first emerges from the gloom 
of the heavens, and then planet after planet, sun after sun, and 


constellation after constellation, comes forth to brighten the general 
magnificence. What a panorama of splendor does the celestial vault 
now present either to the scientific or poetic eye! With what a 
mysterious awe does the starlit immensity, spread out above us, in- 
spire the soul! Our vision, limited during the day to the compass 
of a few miles, now stretches itself over hundreds of miles of limitless 
space ; views spheres sublime in their distance and magnitude, and 
drinks in radiations that darted from them before the "morning stars 
sang together" over our own creation — spheres whose motions, 
though moving with an appalling velocity, are lost to our view, and 
whose apparent positions change not from night to night. Who, that 
amid the deep stillness of night looks forth upon this grand display, 
is not struck with awe, and does not admit that the glory of the night 
has no parallel in the reality of the day, and is not constrained to 
acknowledge the grand utility of the sublime beauty of night. Keenly 
was it felt and appreciated by the old poets. Homer abounds in al- 
lusions to it. Virgil, in lines which seem instinct with the repose he 
would describe, speaks of the profound tranquility of night. Milton's 
loftiest flights are taken under the influence of the same sublime 
scenes and impressions. Who would ask a stronger proof of the 
grand utility of the beauty of nature's scenery? Would any ask? 
Let him go forth and view the flowers that variegate a thousand vales, 
the bushes that cluster on a thousand hills, and the clouds of various 
hues that float in ether. Would any ask ? Let him stand on the 
banks of the gurgling brook that speaks God's love, of the wide- 
rolling river that mirrors his grandeur, or the thundering cataract 
that proclaims his might. Let him snuif the breeze laden with the 
odors of the orient plains, or let him listen and tremble at the de- 
structive whirlwind on which God rides, and Avhich is restrained only 
by His omnipotent hand — view the flashing lightning leaping from 
the black clouds, or hear the answering thunder that shakes the 
foundations of the hills. Would any ask ? Let him go forth at mid- 
night's starry hour, and looking up into the blue vault, view the count- 
less hosts of worlds moving in beauteous sublimity above him. Let 
him stand on the verge of some grand old forest and listen to the 
nightly thanksgiving that rolls out from its deep heart, when each 
tree gives its peculiar note as it bends to the sweeping breeze, yet 
when from all ascends a single solemn swell of unceasing harmony to 


the skies. Let him stand or the rock-bound shore, and listen to the 
psalm of the ocean as each single breaker beats and bursts upon the 
strand, yet when the sound of its breaking is swallowed up and borne 
aloft in the eternal voiced murmurs of multitudinous waves. 

Wouldst thou, man, tranquilize with benign thoughts thy care- 
worn spirit ? Wouldst thou rise above the selfishness of thy toiling 
day-life ? Wouldst thou expand thy knowledge from thy narrow 
workshop to the relations thou sustainest to the Infinite ? Go forth 
amid the sublimities and beauties of nature, — walk in the shadows 
of the forest or the mountain, or look up at the starry firmament and 
feel that thou art not a mere drudge — that this earth is not only an 
arena of toil and strife, but that it is the fitting birth-place of immortal 
minds — that it is the place of training for those brighter spheres, 
which shed down their glories upon thy night-watches to remind thee 
that thy destiny is above, not below. 

OroviUe, Butte County, Cat, 



A fleet set sail upon a summer sea — 

^Tis now so long ago, 
I look no more to see mj ships come home, 
But in that fleet sailed all 't was dear to me. 

Ships never bore such precious freight as these, 

Please God, to any woe ! 
His world is wide, and they may ride the foam, 
Secure from danger, in some unknqwn seas. 

But they have left me bankrupt on life's 'change 

And daily I bestow, 
Eegretful tears upon the blank account. 
And with myself my losses re-arrange. 

Oh, mystic wind of fate, dost hold my dower 

Where I may never know? 
Of all my treasure ventured, what amount 
Will the sea gather at my parting hour? 



'TwAS niglit ; I slumbered. Wrapt in the quiet of repose, I dreamed 
of youth, when earth seemed an Eden of rich blooming flowers, 
gentle streams, and breathing forests, musical with the caroling of 
tiny warblers. In the beautiful freshness of youth, rude frost nips 
not the bud of hope ! 'Tis the chill atmosphere of autumn that 
brings the hoar-king to blight our joys. While sleeping thus, I had 
a vision of two lovely infants ; — such helpless, guileless cherubs, 
that I marveled earth had fitting place for aught so pure. Time 
floated onward, coloring their first and earliest years with many 
golden rays. Day after day, in sportive glee, twin sisters in com- 
panionship, these fairies wandered, giving long chase to bird and 
bee, or wreathing odorous flowers to deck their sinless brows. Thus 
passed youthful days in careless buoyancy. No rayless cloud of 
sorrow darkened their sunlit path; the refulgent light of happiness 
bathed every object with its golden hue. My fiitful vision changed, 
and I saw them in the dawn of eighteen summers. Ah ! how al- 
tered ! I gazed alternately on those buds of promise, and sighed 
over one whose brilliant beauty and sparkling wit, portrayed too 
clearly, the signs of a simple every-day future — following the foot- 
steps of hosts at fashion's gilded shrine — floating down the placid 
stream of life, forgetful of all higher callings. I turned me sadly, 
and in the other read a word of unwritten thought. Sequestered 
from the rude and vulgar gaze she shed no beam, save on kindred 
spirits. Cherished by a loving few she grew, framing the lasting 
structure of an undying prize ; training it high above the reach of 
ruthless hands, ever ready to crumble into very atoms the strong 
pillars of faith and truth, guarding that Divine gift of immortality 
— the living soul. Once did temptation throw its luring bait, clothed 
in the garb of seeming goodness. Trembling with anxious doubts, I 
watched till time should raise the mask, vailing the hideousness of a 
treacherous friend. Peace reigned — harmless amid the marked 
shafts, moved the angel of my dream — onward was her step, less 
buoyant, but more firm and trusting in the unerring path of wis- 
dom's ways. I woke, haunted by the vividness of my dream, so 
like the realities of common life, that I would fain dare dream on, till 
the closing scene had come, learning if the radiance of those guileless 
infants, shed its impress round the fading moments of life's setting sun. 



What is antiquity ? We may call it the buried relics *of ancient 
greatness ; or we may designate it the multifarious reminiscences of 
either the dark or enlightened ages. It may have its foundation in 
the written records of by-gone days ; or its only claims to the title 
may repose in tradition's tale. To speak of Grecian and Roman an- 
ti<]^uity is emphatically correct ; but of the propriety of owr apply- 
ing the term " antiquity " to the present generation, I think there 
are some grave doubts. But it was not a critical definition of the 
term that I contemplated discussing in this brief article. I merely 
purpose throwing out some hints on the probability of a vigorous 
race of men and woman having once inhabited this continent who 
are now extinct, and whose identity is lost to both history and tra- 

The whole history of the aborigines of the American continent 
is sadly pregnant with a retrogressive spirit. That they do not to- 
day possess a tithe of the intelligence that was wont to adorn their 
ancestors is evident to all who have taken the least trouble to study 
their simple character. But it is antiquity anterior to even what 
are termed the aborigines of this country, that I wish to very briefly 
speculate upon. Evidence upon evidence has been gradually accu- 
mulating in substantiation of the position^that a race of people far 
advanced in the arts and sciences, particularly in the arts, sojourned 
upon the North American continent long prior to the present fast 
receding Indian tribes. That they lived in oblivious indolence, died 
in blissful ignorance, and became extinct, without any positive know- 
ledge of the existence of a land or people beyond the confines of 
their own home, I think is a reasonable belief ; and that other na- 
tions — if any there were at that time — lived in a like state of 
darkness, is also to be credited. And when the Indians discovered 
this continent, they were just as sanguine in the belief that they 
were the first mortals that ever sat foot upon the soil, as Columbus 
was that he and his companions were the first adventurers from a 
foreign clime that ever invaded our oiow prosperous shores. And, 
dearest reader, does it appear plausible that this mighty nation will 
one day become extinct ? I assure you it is not improbable ; and I 


believe it to be one of the impending events of the great future. 
You then ask, what are the agents which are to accomplish this lament- 
able state of aifairs? I will tell you. War. War is the instrument 
that has caused the downfall of nations and empires in times past; and 
war is the agent that will work a like ruin In future. For instance 
we will suppose that all the nations of earth should become involved 
in war to-day ; and the result should be a total suspension of inter- 
course between them ; what would be the inevitable result ? Why, 
a few centuries of marrying and intermarrying amongst themselves, 
would deteriorate them, both mentally and physically, to a state of 
idiotic barbarity; when internal war — an inseparable concomitant 
— would close the sad scene. Such I believe to have been the cause 
of estrangement, and consequent annihilation of proud nations an- 
terior to history's record ; and such, I believe, will be the means of 
doing the same thing again. But I have been straying. Now for 
the evidence of the lost race. Since the first landing of the Pil- 
grims at Plymouth Rock, down to the present moment, relics of a 
lost race have been exhumed from beneath the surface of terra firma 
on various parts of the continent. While every section of the 
United States has produced more or less of these ancient remnants, 
California has, perhaps, yielded more in proportion to the extent of 
territory, than any other part of the Union. 

From developments made on the prairies of the Western Atlan- 
tic States, in the shape of human bones dug from a great depth 
below the surface of the earth, it would appear that the defunct na- 
tion were a race of giants. A few years since there was found 
imbedded in the Lake Superior copper mines, a copper hatchet. It 
was not only a beautifully polished hatchet, but it retained as 
superior an edge as can be put on the best steel axe in existence. 
Who would not give half of his worldly possessions if he could un- 
ravel the history of that people who manvifactured copper cutlery ? 
In that one copper hatchet was embodied evidence beyond refuta- 
tion, in support of the position that a race once existed wdio com- 
prehended the art of hardening copper. But the process is now 
lost ; and, as a consequence, ive know that a race has preceded us, 
who in that particular department of art, at least, were in advance 
of any one now living. 

The probability is, that that hatchet was deposited in its metalic 


tomb many, many thousand years prior to the date of its resurrec- 
tion ; and who can tell how many centuries may yet be swollowed 
up in oblivion before the modus operandi of hardening copper shall 
be re-discovered ? Alas ! who knows that any of the great trum- 
peted discoveries of the hineteenth century are anything more than a 
resuscitation of well known principles, which have been for a time 
slumbering in the shadow of the past ? 

In the summer of 1851, there was found in the town of Coloma, 
California, a dish, of nearly a black color, shaped like a shallow 
skillet, with three legs and a spout. It was neatly, beautifully 
made, and nothing like the rude work of the red man. A gentle- 
man of much erudition, who gave the public not only a sketch of the 
skillet, but the particulars connected with its discovery, in a com- 
munication to the Sacramento Union, in a conversation with the 
writer of this article, gave it as his opinion that its components were 
carbonate of iron, with silex and alumina. He was evidently cor- 
rect, as it was slightly vitrified by the heat. It was found at a 
depth of fifteen feet under the ground, on the top of which stood 
a primitive oak, of not less, perhaps, than a thousand years of age. 
I would unite with the aforesaid correspondent in urging the signifi- 
cant interrogatory of who made that skillet, and deposited it there 
at so remote a period ? Ah ! yes, who ? Ask the evening zephyr 
as it softly wafts itself through the boundless elements, who ? You 
may ask the low, dreary, doleful voice of Fall; the sad and mournful 
wail of Winter ; or the cheerful vivacity and happy, verdant bloom of 
Spring ; and from every quarter echo will answer where ? It must 
have been there long before any incursion of the Russ ; Or visitation 
of the Castillian. It might possibly have been made by the original 
Aztec tribe, the founders of those splendid ruins of Yucatan. From 
the fact that they originated from the Caucassian stock, and gradu- 
ally worked their way from towards Bherings' Straits down the 
continent, it is plausible that they might have temporarily occupied 
different portions of the now Alta California in the course of their 
sleepy migration ; but it was evidently anterior to even their day. 
The last I heard of the cUpella or dish, it was on exhibition in Bar- 
num's Museum, New York. The miners of California are daily 
discovering relics of a lost race, in almost every shape. One dis- 
covers an ancient coin of miraculous magnitude and eccentric shape. 


upon which are inscribed hieroglyphics, the meaning of which he is 
forced to remain as ignorant of, as a child one week old is of the 
Greek language. Works of ancient art are continually revealing 
themselves to the wondering gaze of the multitudes — hieroglyphics 
as dead as the dark ages, are perpetually puzzling the brains of eru- 
dite savans, who covet the honor of being known as the expounders of 
antiquity. But, I am warned that to adduce further evidence in 
pr'oof of the correctness of my views, would be at the expense of 
making this too long for a magazine article, which would be a 
greater misfortune than to fail in convincing the public of the valid- 
ity of my position. 



They tell me I must not love her, 
She is not of my creed ; 
They know not what I suffer, 
Nor how my heart does bleed. 

I climbed the mountains lonely, 
The solitude above 
With silent tongue asked only, 
What creed forbids to love ? 

I walked the seashore musing. 
The surf-waves 'neath my feet 
Asked evermore accusing 
What love cares for a ci'eed? 

Where'er I went I met her, 
It's vain — I can't forsake. 
Ay ! ere I can forget her 
My bleeding heart must break. 

'Tis vain ! Religion ever 
All sacred ties may part, 
But a heart it cannot sever 
From a beloved heart. 



Who can forget the field, the grove, the glade, 

Where verual youth in days of frolic strayed ? 

The pebbly stream, whose deep, pellucid pool 

Beguiled the stripling past the hour of school? 

The hazel copse, ■where tempting clusters swayed, 

While glistening brambles sparkled in the shade? * 

The thorny hedge, the woodbine's ordorous breast, 

That hid from truant eyes the feathery nest? 

The beetling crag, on whose cavernous face 

Built the fierce tyrants of the warbling race, 

And oft provoked the adventurous foot to scale 

Till dim and dimmer grew the lessening vale ; 

While scared plunderers round our dizzy path 

Woke the old echoes with their screaming wrath. 

These lines, taken from the "Pleasures of Home," are illustrative 
of the truism that there is no sentiment more permanent in the human 
heart than the love of Nature. It is the foundation and centre of 
the most elevated and ennobling tendencies, and if cherished and cul- 
tivated in the spring and summer of life, will go with us to the grave. 
The first manifestations of the opening soul in the fulgid season of 
youth are seen in the love of flowers, and natural scenery, — 

"The pomp of groves, the garniture of fields, 
All that the genial ray of morning gilds, 
And all that echoes to the song of even." 

The man who has formed a taste for the beauties of natural scenery, 
and for the study of natural objects, need not pine for Crystal Pala- 
ces or picture galleries. He sees the majestic woods and the green 
hills making the earth glad ; and humble though he be, he is yet a co- 
proprietor with God. The gratifications of wealth are hollow and 
evanescent, when compared with the rich simplicity of nature, the 
soft blue sky, arching over the green earth with its warn light, like 
a susj)ended ocean of etherial beauty ; and flinging its gorgeous hues 
upon the softened verge of blushing morning when the dawn comes 
dancing with delight. The waving grasses and flowers which carpet 
the earth with loveliness ; the forests and streams and hills, which 
cleave the skies, afi"ord to the heart which is open to the percep- 
tion of beauty, painting and poetry, music and religion. Very 


different, however, is the manifestation of the love of nature, in the 
man who has acquired his taste from the poetry and teaching of 
books, and he who has made her details the practical study of his 
life. The former may have fine perceptions and exquisite sensibili- 
ties, amiable manners, and the power of appreciating beauty ; but, 
like Charles Lamb, he will never care for the society of lakes and 
forests, and mountains. For the passion to have a stern, manly ex- 
pression, a man must be the companion of nature in her own quiet 
solitudes, where he can watch the gradual unfolding of the buds, and 
the silent work of development in the world of infinity around him. 
Then he will not only know, but feel, that — 

" There is a pleasure in the pathless woods; 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore ; 
There is society where none intrudes, 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar." 

He may converse with nature in her moments of repose, and mingle 
his fancy in the ceaseless stir of the elements — he may drink from 
the fountains of the hills, and imbibe the spirit of the solitary glens — 
he may put a tongue into the mysterious winds as they pass, and 
gather the leaves of the forest, as leaves of the great sibyl of nature. 

The early litepature of the world teems with the most fervent ex- 
pressions of the love of ISTature, and through the history of every 
people, we find that they have ever exhibited the sternest virtue, the 
highest morality and vigor of thought, when Nature has been nearest 
to their hearts. Whenever they have wandered into luxury and vice, 
and have sought, in their own artificial customs and observances, for 
the solace which Nature only could afford them, they have sacrificed 
the highest institutions of their being, and have become slaves in their 
imbecility, and companions of sorrow and suffering. Throughout the 
whole range of classic lore, from the days of Homer down to those of 
Petrarch, the finest thoughts and most ennobling sentiments are inva- 
riably associated with the pure simplicities of natural objects, and 
why? Because the study of Nature is the only one which can educe 
all the powers of the mind, and all the innate sentiments of the heart, 
in their just and legitimate proportions to each other. Nature is our 
schoolmistress, and only under her watchful care can the dream be 
truly developed. Nature's highest mission is to imbue the soul with 
the desire for the beautiful, and to kindle a sympathy for all purity 



and worth. By the association of the thoughts and sentiments with 
the beauties of the outer world, we become aware of our highest cap- 
abilities, and of the beauty which lies folded up within us, waiting 
for its manifestation and development. The real service of the poet or 
naturalist is to be regarded as being more truthfully evinced in their 
educative influence on the faculties and perceptions, than in anything 
they may really contribute to the stock of ideas or facts. After all, 
it is not in being conversant with the ideas and images of the poet, 
and in traversing with him the boundless realms of beauty which lie 
on all hands basking in the sunshine of the Creator's smiles, or in 
tracing out and connecting together the detailed experiences of an 
observer, and in weighing his analogies and arguments, that consti- 
tute the individual force and energy which each one should possess : 
but in having the power to make this or that fact our own, and to 
regard the results attained by all previous observers, as starting 
posts for fresh discoveries, and inlets to worlds of beauty and poetry, 
hitherto hidden from us, that lead to the really vigorous life. 

The lover of Nature — the naturalist is the true poet, for he digs 
deeper down into the occult philosophy of these Proteus-like realities 
and sees the simplest evidences of the grea tlaws of the universe in the 
economy of the pebble, the flower, or fhe bird. Epr this reason it is 
that an inexpressible charm dwells in the least pretending efforts to 
explain the modes of nature's operations. The young student hangs 
with delight over the pages of White, Knapp, Darwin, Jessie or For- 
rester. Here is a poetry about the every-day facts of Nature, which 
rendered "Tompson's Seasons" dear to every heart. The works of 
Chaucer, Spenser, Shenstone,' Halleck, or Bryant, are read with the 
greatest relish when the intellect is aAvakened to the perceptions of 
natural beauty. For their fresh and living pictures of Nature, are 
the pages of William Howitt, Izaak Walton, and Christopher North, 
cherished equally in America and England. 

Gentle Reader ! we might proceed in this manner to point out the 
pleasures and advantages resulting from a love of Nature, but the 
limits forbid it ; still we would recommend to every Californian, not 
to fritter away the best part of his life in a ceaseless round of money- 
hunting or mental dissipation. Becollect the heavens, the earth and 
the ocean are replete with wonders, a knowledge of which will afford 
you a never-failing spring of consolation and delight. Nor is it neces- 


A mourner's story. 363 

sary that you should be possessed of a large share of the '' Almighty 
Dollar " in order that you may devote a portion of your time to the 
cultivation of a love of Nature. She spreads before you a table loaded 
with the most delicious viands, and even though your station be 
humble and your resoui-ces contracted, it is your own fault if you do 
not banquet on her bounty. Let each say, — 

" To me be Nature's volume broad display'd; 
And to peruse its all-instructing page 
My sole delight." 



A SLIGHT spasm, a long-drawn breath, then death's stilnests over- 
spreading the lovely face, and she was lost to me ! She whom I had 
loved so long, so well — she was my all in all ! 

The wonderful brightness of the sun might have gone out from the 
vaulted sky, and, for me, not left such utter blankness as the out- 
gone light from those soft eyes. The melodious pean of nature's 
harmonious moving might have stood in dumb quiet, and not left 
such awful stillness as the hushing of those tender tones. Death 
might have gone up and down the earth, and stretched in wakeless 
slumber its myriad millions, and still if, 'midst the unburied dead, 
she had remained standing by my side, the world would not have 
been so solitary. And yet she was gone ! 

Crone — and the sun glared down upon me like the blazing eye of 
relentless death — every sound was strained to discord, while never 
before had men and women hui-ried about so replete with noisy life. 
They even invaded the sanctuary so purely, so sacredly hers, and 
laid their sacrilegious hands upon her. They clad her in snow-soft 
robes, twined pearl-white buds amid the silken darkness of her hair, 
laid scented blossoms over her feet and in her calm clasped hands ; 
decked her thus to mock me with her beauty ; then bore her from 
me and buried her under the willows. 



She was lost to me; day after day but engraved this knowledge 
deeper on my burdened heart and brain. The sun wrote it with 
fiery finger on the floor where the slender grace of her shadowed 
form never more fell — sol shut out the sunshine. Her birds rang 
it shrill and sharp through every quivering note, and I sent them all 
away. Iler flowers poured it forth from every perfumed urn, shook 
it from every tinted bell, and morning and evening wailed, "lost! 
lost .'*' and so I let them die. Her book bore it stamped upon every 
gilded leaf, and I banished them from my sight. Every familiar 
face held this maddening truth, Avritten on lip and brow. I would 
hear intruding footsteps, and peering out from some small crevice, 
see this thought writing itself slowly over the features, when they 
came int« my room and stood between them and me — so I closed 
my doors against them all. 

Lpst — the darkness was haunted with whispers of it ; free birds 
trilled it outside the house among the tree boughs that sighed in 
mournful reply, and shadowy forms with phantom faces, .floated 
through my rooms, and with long, lank fingers wrote it on every 

Autumn moaned for her, and strewed its fading honors over her 
grave. Wintry winds shrieked around my desolated home, and tor- 
tured me with wailing cries. Then came the snow, with fingers of 
pearl, and heaped its white wreaths high over her mound, and piled 
its mimic semblance in every window pane. Once when the willow 
boughs Avere crusted with a glittering rim of ice, and the wind was 
rattling wild amongst them, I went and stood there while the arrowy 
ice points beat around my head and face, forcing out great blood 
drops. But no physical pain overpowered the mental ; my heart bled 
faster than my face. One day a kind hand drew aside the blue cur- 
tain of the sky and pointing upward, inward a soft voice told me 
that the faces of the "lost" looked down. Said that bright forms 
were straying out upon the azure heights, and floated above us like 
white doves in the sunlight. 

A yearning desire to behold the face of my lately lost, took pos- 
session of me. I searched for her in the spring-drest woods, where 
early violets dotted the green fringe of gurgling brooks, or where 
the starry dandelions laughed over the wide meadows. It was not 
long before I found in these dew-dim violet urns, the balm of 

A mourner's story. 365 

consolation. And in those sweet flower-eyes, lifted ever smilingly 
to the bending heavens — be they wrapt in storms or bathed in 
calms — I read a holy knowledge. I saw the flower die, seemingly, 
then gracefully put on its 'new attire, and hang trembling on the 
olden stalk, its hold growing frailer every hour, until some wonder- 
ing wind's wing touched it gently, and the airy thing would rise and 
flit away ; but not to sink downward to decay, not to be lost — new 
flowers strewed greener meadows every year. I met the snowy- 
downs flying like fairies on every wondering breeze, and they taught 
me immortality. Told me to look for my darling and I should find 

The beautiful and harmonious elements of the departed spirit 
seemed to pervade all lovely forms and pleasant sounds in nature. 
I saw evinences of my dear one's tenderness in white blooms drift- 
ing at my feet — in green leaf tips bending to kiss my forehead, and 
in the light play of zephyr-fingers through my hair. 

Her red lips smiled upon me from the curved leaves of every crim- 
son flower, and her sweet breath came to me in gentle waftings from 
many a scented urn. The rippling murmur of soft flowing waves 
caught dreamily her low, love tones, and whispered them among the 
swaying grasses. The pebbles slumbering in their sun-kissed beds, 
reflected the graceful outline of her form, and drooping shadow- 
branches breaking in wavy lines on the water's edge, was like the 
mirroring of her long tresses. Every star-gem, set however high 
in the heavens, looked down upon me with the serene lustre of her 
dark eyes. I saw her radiant robes in every rose-flushed cloud at 
sunset. And each golden penciling of light uptrembling in the 
eastern horizon, seemed like glittering harp-chords for her white 
hand to sweep. But, alas ! within the vail of all this beauty and 
glory, she was walking apart from me ; I could not lift the mystic 
silver curtaining from those iftner halls, and see her spirit's home. 
She was shrouded from me, a prisoned presence, fretting me to 
fever. I could not see her visible form, or hear the reality of the 
sweet voice that had made the music of my life. 

One day, one golden day, after I had learned what was meant by 
watching and waiting, after I had learned patience through long 
denial, I found my lost angel walking by my side. 



Lady ! though poets sing of love 

In richest strains of song, 
How few may touch the deeper chords 

That to the heart belong ! 
How few may gaze through glancing eyes 

Into the life below ! 
How few perceive that Beauty's cheek 

Is but the marble show ! 

Fair face, fine eyes, a faultless form — 

What are they ? — Moulded clay : 
A moment kindling in the sun — 

Then, like a blush, — away. 
The melody of Music's voice — 

The lustre of an hour — 
What are they but the Echo's sound, — 

The glitter of a flower ? 

Not through the grosser veil of sense 

Doth Beauty's spirit gleam; 
Not in the rude disguise of speech 

Doth Love's sweet music stream. 
In the recesses of the heart 

The soul of Beauty lies ; 
In the stern casket of the will 

Love breathes his ardent sighs. 
Unconsciously they throb, apart — 

Till drawn by Fate together — 
Then, without voice or thought, they blend 

(In poetry) forever. 

So let the superficial dreams, 

Born of material things, 
Pass with the shadows — while V)e drink 

From spiritual springs. 
And, as we know Fate has decreed 

That heart and will sliall meet. 
If I am Love, and Beauty thou — 

Our poem is complete. 



There — I've blistered the soles of my feet, besides wearing a hole 
right through these new gaiters. Somebody has stolen my parasol, 
too, or else I've laid it down somewhere and forgotten it. If Mr. 
Hazel appreciated all the trouble I take to save a cent or two for him, 
it would be some comfort. What's the use of being economical in this 
world? Is that you in the hall. Hazel? Do come in here, and see 
what a bargian I've got to-day. Twenty yards of merino for fifty 
cents a yard, and only this little hole in the middle of every fold. I 
got it cheap, you see, because it's damaged. What do I want of me- 
rino this hot summer weather? Well, I suppose winter's coming 
some day, isn't it? and it will be the very thing then. You wish I 
wouldn't spend my tine running about after things that are cheap, 
when there is so much for me to do at home? Now, if I didn't know 
how unreasonable you are. Hazel, I should take offence at that very 
unkind speech of yours. However, I've got something here that will 
please even you. Didn't you say something about wanting a new 
straw hat last night? Here's the very thing — and only a dollar. 
What's the matter with the brim, did you ask? Now, Hazel, don't 
give it such a twitch — it's only raveled out a little, or I never should 
have got it at that price. You won't wear such a scarecrow? Of 
course not. That's right — break your poor wife's heart when she 
tries so hard to economize for you. You'd a great deal rather I would 
mend your coat for you? Sa-zel! you don't mean to tell me that 
you've worn through that coat already? That beautiful cloth that 
I got so cheap ? You guess it was one of my cheap bargains ? Hazel, 
I've almost a mind to declare that I never will try to save money for 
you again. Well, Bridget, what's the news in the kitchen? The 
baby has crawled against the bars of the range and burnt himself? 
Mercy upon us, Bridget, how can you be so careless? The cat has 
knocked the tray down, with all the best china upon it, and some 
beggar has contrived to get in, and steal two of the silver spoons ? 
Mr. Hazel's new Marseilles vest scorched to a cinder in the ironing — 
the preserves moulded, so that you had to throw them away — the 
pies and cakes forgotten in the oven — the refrigerator out of order — 
there, Bridget, don't tell me anything more, unless you want to have 


me go crazy at once. What are you smiling for, Hazel? J don't see 
anything to laugh at. You would have liked to know how much I 
have saved in my bargains to-day ? Well, let me see — twenty yards 
of merino — wet muslins — hat. Seven dollars at leas — and I hope 
you appreciate all the trouble I have taken. It's what I call a pretty 
good day's work — don't you? Oh, certainly you do — only, since 
the damage in the kitchen can't be less than forty dollars, and forty 
is the greater than seven by just thirty-three, you think I would find 
it rather more economical, in the long run, to stay at home and mind 
my own business ? Oh, Hazel, Hazel ! That's just the view a man 
takes of things — as though / was to blame for all these accidents. 
Well, I suppose it is the duty of us poor women to suffer and be silent. 
But I must say, it is sharper than any serpent's tooth Z ever saw, to 
have a thankless husband ! — Life Illustrated. 

Jul ' 


The power of money is on the whole over-estimated. The great- 
est things which have been done for the world, have not been 
accomplished by the rich, or by subscription lists, but by men gen- 
erally of small pecuniary means. Christianity was propagated over 
half the world by men of the poorest class ; and the greatest think- 
ers, discovers, inventors and artists, have been men of moderate 
wealth, many of them little raised above the condition of manual 
laborers in point of worldly circumstances. And it will always be 
so. Riches are oftener an impediment than a stimulation to action ; 
and in many cases they are quite as much a misfortune as a blessing. 
The youth who inherits wealth is apt to have life made too easy for 
him, and he soon grows sated with it, because he has nothing left 
to desire. Having no special object to struggle for, he finds time 
hangs heavy on his hands; he remains morally and spiritually 
asleep ; and his position in society is often no higher than a poly- 
pus over which the tide floats. 

" His only labor is to kill time, 
And labor dire it is, and wearv wo." 




BY MRS. r. H. DAT. 

" I DECLARE I shall never be able to get the lace basted on tbis 
dress if the children do not quit their teasing ; how like Cain they 
do act to-day, just because I'm in a hurry ; and nurse, she's always 
sick when she's most needed; just the way with these hirelings ; no 
dependence to be placed upon them." And with this tirade falling 
from her beautiful lips, Mrs. Stanley let fall upon the carpet the rich 
dress of rose-colored silk, which a moment before she had been en- 
gaged in trimming with pearls and point lace ; and with a sigh, arose 
to look after her children. 

" Mamma ! Charlie put mustard all over kitty's meat !" 

"I didn't; I only made believe, but Annie opened that new bot- 
tle of stuff and spilt it all over her new dress. Just see there !" 

" Hush !" exclaimed the mother ; " you craze me with your noise ; 
why can't you be still ?" 

"Still! oh, I can't; I want to go somewhere, or do something. 
I wish I could ride on my kite way up into the sky, and see all the 
world at once," exclaimed Charlie. 

" Pshaw ! Charlie, I don't ; suppose the fairies should catch you, 
and never let you come down," replied Annie. 

" Oh! I ain't afraid of that, and besides, I should be so high up 
that I could hurrah as loud as I'd a mind to ; and mamma couldn't 
hear me, and say, ' stop Charlie, you make my head ache,' " said the 
young representative of America, mimicing his mother's voice and 
tone, and then tossing his cap high in the air, unmindful of his 
mother's sharp reproof. 

" I don't wish I could go up high in the air and see all the world 
at once," said Annie. "I Avant to see all the beautiful things on the 
earth first. I'd like to go walking every day as Clara and Henry 
Simpson do with their mother, and gather flowers, and have her tell 
us how they grow, and all about the little fairies that used to live 
Avay down in the bottoms of the butter-cups ; but I suppose they 
don't live there now — that was a long time ago — but I know where 
there are some flowers a gi'eat deal prettier — that what's on mam- 
ma's new dress." 


"Oh! jes ; and so do I," said Charlie; "and I know where 
there are some little fishes whose scales shine a great deal handsomer 
than the spangles on mamma's new scarf." 

"Hush, Charlie!" angrily exclaimed mamma — " and Annie, go 
to your music." 

"I don't want to play piano," responded Annie, petulantly. " I 
hate Monsieur Pioche ; he don't give me any pretty songs. I want 
to go into the woods with Henry and Clara, and sing the songs they 
do. Oh ! they learned such a nice one last' Saturday. This is the 
way it goes," the said enthusiastic child, humming a few notes, and 
then forgetting herself she burst forth in a clear bird-like voice — 

" God might have made the earth bring forth 
Enough for great and small ; 
The oak tree and the cedar tree 
Without a flower at all. 
We might have had enough — enough 
For every want of oura, 
For luxury, medicine and toil, 
And yet have had no flowers. 

Our outward life requires them not ; 

Then wherefore had they birth ? — 

To minister delight to man! 

To beautify the earth ! 

To comfort man, to whisper hope, 

When e'r his faith is dim ; 

For whoso careth for the flowers 

Will much more care for Ilim." 

"There 1 that's the kind of a song I like; but I like to sing in the 
woods better, where the great trees seem like kings and q^ueens, 
bending down their heads to listen to my song." 

"So-hol now I have caught yon, little miss Puss: you like to 
play prima donna in the woods, do you, with the trees for an audi- 
ence — eh ! " « 

" ! now, papa ; I don't know what you mean by prima donna, 
but I do love to play in the woods, and I don't love to play on the 
piano ; and I love to sing, too, but not those hard things that Mon- 
sieur Pioche always makes me sing. Do, papa, tell him he need n't 
come any more ; won't you, dear papa? " 

" But what would mamma say to that, my daughter ? " 


" Say, indeed," said Mrs. Stanley: " it seems to make very lit- 
tle difference what I say. I have tried to give the children some 
idea of what belonged to their station, but I am discouraged. I can 
not instruct them in the rules of propriety or genteel society. They 
will be coarse and vulgar in their tastes, let me do what I will ; and 
since that family of Simpsons came to live near us, it is a great deal 
worse. They just want to run wild all the while. It is too bad.'" 

" You may go, children, and take a walk in the garden until din- 
ner," said the father, anxious to be alone, that he might calm the 
agitated feelings of his wife. 

"Be careful, and don't soil or tear your clothes," screamed the 
mother, as the children bounded out of sight. 

" ! never mind the clothes, wife ; there are more where they 
came from. But tell me, what is the matter ? You look anxious 
and troubled." 

" No wonder I have been so tried to-day ; the children are so 
wild, nurse is sick, and I have not even been able to get the trim- 
ming on my new dress, and we must go to the party to-night : ev- 
ery body will be there." 

" But, wife, have you no other dress you could wear on this oc- 


? " 

"Why, no. How absurd for you to think of my appearing to- 
night in anything that is not quite new. Why, this is by far the 
most fashionable party of the season ; and next to not being seen 
there at all, would be the mortification of being seen in a dress that 
I had worn before." 

" Pray, whom do you expect to meet there whose opinion you 
value so highly ? " 

" Why, everybody will be there ; the Stebbinses, the Marshalls, 
the Livingstons, and all of our set." 

" I do not know about that," quietly remarked the husband; " I 
know a good many of our set who have not been invited, and some, 
too, who would not accept of an invitation to Col. Foster's man- 
sion. Even though he is considered rich, they have not forgotten 
how he got his wealth, nor do they care to toady to him or any of 
his party." 

" How plebeian you are in your notions. Here I have been try- 
ing all my life to get into the fiy'st society, and now that my aims 


are accomplislied, this is the way you talk of my friends, and find 
fault with my efforts just because I happen to be a little more aspir- 
ing than yourself. No wonder I can't make anything of the children 
when they take so much after their father." To this unkind taunt 
Mr. Stanley made^no reply. He had long since been convinced of 
the error of his early choice, and he sought by every means in his 
power to remedy the evil by showing to his wife, whom he tenderly 
loved, that it was possible to cherish higher aims in life than merely 
securing a position in fashionable, and what is'too often erroneously 
styled ^^ first society." 

" Have you not time now to finish the dress ?" he inquired, kindly. 
" I will look after the children in the garden." 

" I presume it is nearly finished by this time," replied the wife; 
"I had to have it, and so I sent for neighbor Needy to come over 
and help me." 

A few hours after this conversation saw Mrs. Stanley robed in a 
style of magnificance seldom equalled even by her more wealthy 
neighbors. A hum of admiration greeted her entrance into the 
fashionable parlor of Col. Foster, who with his wife stepped forward 
to welcome them. 

" I was afeared you would n't come : so many people who never 
give parties themselves, do not think how much trouble and expense 
it is to get up a reception for one's friends," said the fair hostess, 
whose dress evinced nothing of the quiet gracefulness of the true 
woman at home. Although past the meridian of life, she wore a 
white moire antique, dress cut low in the neck, and short sleeves, 
her fat, red neck and brawny arms contrasting strangely with the 
whiteness of the fabric which partially covered her form. On her 
head she wore a cap composed of tulle, and trimmed with bright red 
roses, and from either side depended strings of Maria Louise blue ; 
about her neck hung a necklace of diamonds, and on either arm 
glittered jewels of corresponding value; while her fingers were lit- 
erally covered with rings of every description. 

" How vulgar," whispered Mrs. Stanley to her husband, as to- 
gether they made their way through the crowded parlors to make 
room for new guests, who were received by the hostess in much the 
same style as the Stanleys had been. 

" They are rich, and the fashion," was the husband's laconic 


The exquisite music, tlie brilliant lights, and the sumptuous apart- 
ments, drew forth the warmest admiration from' Mrs. Stanley. And 
as they met friend after friend, who congratulated her upon her 
appearance and her dress, so becoming and so lovely, she gradually 
attained to some degree of good humor, and readily complied with 
her husband's request to join a small party who seemed to be hav- 
ing a quiet time by themselves in one of the side rooms. As they 
entered, Stanley was greeted by several of his friends, whom he 
presented to his wife ; among the rest was Mr. Simpson, their new 
neighbor, who immediately recognized in Mrs. Stanley, the mother 
of the two children who had already, by their artless enthusiasm, 
won so much upon the affection of both himself and his wife. 

"I am glad to make your acquaintance," said he, warmly grasp- 
ing her hand. Mrs. Stanley shrank back with dignity, and coldly 
pronounced, "thank you." 

" Let me bring my wife ; she will be delighted to meet you," con- 
tinued Mr. Simpson. 

" Do not give yourself the trouble to find her in this crowd," said 
Mrs. Stanley : "I will seek another opportunity of making her ac- 
quaintance ;" and with a stately bow of her beautiTul head she passed 
on ; her hand still resting on 'her husband's arm ; but she did not 
venture to lift her eyes to his face ; she knew intuitively that it was 
flushed to crimson ; and she had felt the tremor which ran through 
his frame, as he witnessed her cold and almost disdainful treatment 
of a neighbor, and one, too, who although a stranger to herself, had 
years before been a class-mate and college chum of her husband's. 

They passed on through the croAvd, abstractedly, almost mechani- 
cally. Mrs. Stanley was uneasy ; she knew she had offended her 
husband ; and he was absorbed in thoughts of the past. When 
young men together, Harry Simpson and himself, full of the en- 
thusiasm of youth, had walked arm in arm together' through the 
old by-path in the woods, talking of what they then looked forward to 
as the bright, happy future, and each confiding to the other the 
kind of wife he should choose in the days to come. How vividly 
arose to his mind their last conversation, in which he had rallied his 
friend for asserting that " the girl for him must be well educated, 
and of good mind, capable of writing a sonnet or frying a flap-jack." 
He yet remembered how ironically he had replied : "You forget that 



the two accomplishments presupposes a versatility of talent seldom 
met with in one individual." "For my part, I'm afraid of your 
strong-minded women, and most emphatically object to a 'blue.' " 

(To be continued.) 


" Why do you look so grave ?" we asked, a day or two ago, of a 
young friend who was just beginning the world. 

" Do I look grave ?" he responded. "Well, perhaps it is the 
natural consequence of a great many cares, and nobody to help bear 

" Where is your wife ?" 

He looked surprised a moment, then replied quietly, 

"My wife knows nothing about business. I never look for any 
help from her." 

Never look for any help from a man's wife ! Why who on earth 
should be the readiest, and nearest, and most willing to help ? 
Whose ear should be the first to hear whatever joys or grieves the 
life-partner ? whose hand should be softest to smooth away the lines 
that the long, toilsome day leaves on the forehead of the worker ? 
whose brain should ever be at work to lighten the burden that can- 
not be laid aside ? What kind of a wife must that be, whose hus- 
band " never looks for any help " from her ? A mere flower which 
expands in life's sunshine, but shrinks, appalled, from the first mur- 
mur of the coming storm — a rose-leaf bit of humanity, who expects 
to play the part of a petted child or spangled doll, and feels injured 
if people do not turn out to give her the sunniest side of the world's 
highway ? 

Does she know how much she loses ? Does she know what it is 
to see her husband's weary face light up at the reflection of her own 
smiles ? — to know that her hand, light and fragile though it may be, 
is strong enough to lift a weight of care from his heart ? We 
doubt it. 

There are many people in this world for whom we feel a sympa- 
thetic thrill of heart-ache, but no one needs it more than the man 
who has learned by sad experience never to look for any help from 
his wife ! 


My Dear John Quill — Glorious news ! Wn\g the Blue Bells ! 
Sound the Trimijyet Mowers! Sweet William and Polly Anthus 
were Married yesterday afternoon Sit Four o'clock! And, oh ! such 
a host as came to the wedding ! Old Leander and Mother Worth bor- 
rowed Venus'' Car, and set out together, but as they were passing 
through JDog Wood they upset, and, the Colt's-Foot being lamed, they 
tried to borrow the Sorrel of the Wood family. Not succeeding in 
this, they Came a mile on foot, and looked very much wilted when they 
arrived. Ban-de-Lion made his appearance with Lady Mary, and 
soon after came Creeping Jenny clinging to a Ragged Sailor. Old 
Mistletoe, complaining as usual of his corns, was kindly assisted by 
Bouncing Betty, who makes herself at home anywhere. And little 
Jessie Mine, with Running Rose, those inseparable companions, came 
hand in hand, followed by Robin Runatvay, who was too bashful to 
speak to them. Then there was a whole troop of Old Maid pinks 
and Bachelor s Buttons, who, to say the least, looked very blooming, 
considering their age. And, last of all, with very modest looks, 
came Johnny Jumpup, with his little blue-eyed sister Violet. Old 
Monk's Sood performed the ceremony ; and afterwards, we had a 
great supper. There were Stveetpeas, and Sugar Loaves, and honey- 
due in King's Cups, set all around the table, and great dishes of 
Pollen, where every one could eat to his heart's content. Ban-de- 
Lion, who is very fond of Pollen, eat so fast that he got more on his 



face than lie did in his mouth, and when he was judged to kiss Lady 
Mary as a forfeit, he got it all on her new green dress. She very 
indignantly turned to Johnny Jumpup who, it is well known, is the 
Ladies'' Lelight, and said, "Jump and kiss me," — which he did with 
the greatest pleasure, although he is in no wise unfaithful to Violck 
Tricolor, whom he considers the same as himself. 

Finally, we had a grand dance to the music of the Canterbury Bell 
ringers, who are said to equal the Swiss. Old Leander and Mother 
Wort, who got very much excited drinking the juice of the Madeira 
Vine, went down the middle all in a breeze, when they both fell upon 
Mistletoe, who cried out with pain. At this the company seized upon 
some Crolden Mods and drove them out at once, together with a 
Thistle, who had been very pointed in her remarks. Harmony be- 
ing restored, they danced till the Ladies' Slippers were wojn out, 
when they took leaf. 

Heigh ho ! how we flowers did enjoy ourselves ! How I wish you 
could have been there, dear John ! Do you love me as much as ever ? 
I hope you do, for then you will come bfick soon, and I shall not 
" waste my sweetness on the desert air.'' Meanwhile, Forget-me-not. 
Ever thine, Mary Gold. 

" AuLD Nick " and the Servant. A verdant Irish girl just ar- 
rived was sent to an intelligence office by the Commissioner of Emi- 
gration to find a place at service. She was sent to a restaurant, 
where a stout help was wanted, and while in conversation with the 
proprietor, he took occasion to light his cigar by igniting a Yesu-vian 
match upon his boot. As soon as she saw this, she ran away half 
frightened to death, and when she reached the ofl&ce was almost out 
of breath. 

" Why, what is the matter with you ? " said the proprietor, seeing 
her rush in with such confusion. — "Och, sure, sir, but ye's sint me 
to the auld Nik himself in human form." — "What does he mean ? has 
he dared to insult a help from my office ? " inquired the man. — " Yes, 
sur," returned the girl, "he's" the auld Nick ! " — " What did he do? 
Tell me, and I'll fix him for it," said he, quite exasperated. — "Why, 
sur, whilst I was talking to him about the wages, he turned up the 
bottom of his fut, and with a splinter in his finger, sur, he just gave 
one stroke, and the fire flew out of his fut, and burned the stick, and 
he lit his cigar wid it, right afore my own face ! He's the auld 
Nick, shure, sur ! " 

ITiterarj ^\Aiftas aiti ^otim. 

We are indebted to Mr. A. Roman for a copy of " The White Hills, their 
Legend, Landscape and Poetry." By Thomas Starr King. This book is ele- 
gantly gotten up on delicate tinted paper, and illustrated with no less than sixty 
fine engravings. The author seems to be a true lover of nature, and carries 
you along Trith him through the valleys, by the lakes, and up the rugged moun- 
tain sides, beguiling you, sometimes, with quotations from such poets as Bryant, 
Emerson, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell and Percival ; sometimes culling frag- 
ments from Wordsworth, Scott, Tennyson, Goethe, Shelley and Byron ; pointing 
out their adaptation to the varied and beautiful scenery before you with a pow- 
er at once so forcible and fascinating that you cannot choose but follow, from 
page to page: on to the end of the volume. Mr. King's descriptions are 
clear and forcible ; his contrasts vivid and striking. We had intended to make 
several extracts from different portions of this work, but our limited space for- 
bids, and we must content ourselves with a fragment culled from the last portion 
of the book, in which the author says : — 

" The hills and the sea are not only materially incommensurable as to sublim- 
ity, but they represent difi'erent sentiments, and appeal to different sympathies. 
The sick heart, or a weak nature, that needs morally more iron in its blood, 
must find the mountains the more medicinal companions. They are so patient ! 
They speak to us from the repose of self-centred character, the ocean from the 
heavings of unappeasable passion. All the hard conditions of our human lot 
are typified by the great hills. What a tremendous experience they undergo ! 
Yet they do not babble, or sob, or moan, or roar like the discontented, melan- 
choly sea. The powei's of the air bring all their batteries against them, light- 
nings blast and rive them, torrents plough them to the bone, sunshine scorches 
them, frosts gnaw away th^ir substance and tumble it down into the valleys, — 
and they utter no cry. After thunder and hail and whirlwind, their peaks look 
out from above the baffled clouds, and take the sunshine with no bravado, as 
though it is their mission ' to suffer and be strong.' Dumb patience in trouble, 
persistent fortitude against obstacles, the triumphant power of a character 
rooted in truth over the hardships of life and the wrath of the world, — 
such a lesson and the tone of spirit that can exhibit it, they try to infuse into 
the soul that lives in their society. By this effluence, even though the recipient 
is unconscious of the cause, they stimulate and soothe a flagging will or faint- 
• ing heart, as the airs they purify search and reanimate an unstrung frame. 

" Swedenborg tells us that, in the verbal Scripture, mountains correspond to 
the truths of the highest plane. Certainly in the physical economy they are 
the eloquent tj^pes of cliaritij. How impressive and cordial is the open fact that 
nothing in nature lives for itself, — finds its ends in itself! Nothing at least 
that is normal and healthful does. A slimy pond and a fen are typical of sel- 
fishness, not the river and the glebe. The sun is a mighty institution, of which 
heat, light, and gravitation are their ever-streaming discount. The sea gives the 
rain, as the interest of its vast fund, for the world's good. The beauty which 



gratifies and soothes humanity is the perpetual dividend of the joint-stock of 
the universe. And charity, which is the general lesson of na.ure, is preached 
by the sovereigh hills vrith the emphasis of heroic and vicarious suifering. 

" Near one of the most inspiring vievrs of the White Mountain range we 
have often seen a cottage, in which a family live with scarcely any furniture, 
and barely supplied even with summer necessities. The walls were not tight 
enough to keep out the rain and the winter snows. The inmates, when we first 
visited them, were too poor to own a cow. The father had been continually 
unfortunate, though industrious and strictly temperate. The mother was in 
feeble health, and was plainly suffering from too low and spare a diet. The 
tones of her voice was saturated with misfortune. In winter, the man wasaffiicted 
with rheumatism, so that he could not steadily earn his fifty cents a day by 
lumbering, when the snows were propitious ; in the summer, he tried to wring 
enough to keep off starvation out of some cold, thin land. Although this is, no 
doubt, an exceptional case in that district, should it be a possible case in any 
district of this continent ? Can we believe that there was an honest dollar of 
all the money hoarded in that country, so long as there was a man in it willing 
to work and unable to get a substantial living for his family by his work, — 
living on the borders of stately forests, and suffering from cold in winter, — 
poorly clothed, while every bear on the neighbering heights was wrapped warm 
by the laws of nature, — impoverished in blood, when every weed that could fas- 
ten itself into a cranny of the rocks, where an inch of soil had lodged, had its 
portion of food supplied forthwith by an assessment on ocean, sun, and air? 

"Is it the written precept of the written Testament alone that intrudes this 
question ? Mount Washington soared over that hut and what did he say ? 
What does he do with the wealth lavished upon him ? He is an almoner of 
divine gifts. He condenses moisture interfused in winds that blow from polar 
seas, and stores it up for fountains, or pours it in rills. He invigorates the 
breezes that sweep pestilence from our cities. He breasts the winter tempests, 
and holds the snows with which they would smother him, and give them slowly 
in the spring, letting the torrents tear his own substance also, to enrich the in- 
tervales of the Saco and Connecticut, and to keep the mills busy that help to 
clothe the world. A Greek sculptor had a wild dream of carving Mount Athos 
into a statue of Alexander, — its left arm to enclose a city of ten thousand, 
its right hand grasping an urn from which a river should pour perpetually into 
the sea. It is a bounty no less imperial that every great mountain represents. 
Nay, giving its own substance, too, in its disbursement of what is poured upon » 
it, not witholding service though the condition be pain, it is tinged and glorified 
with light from the cross. In respect of the symbolic meaning of the hills, far 
more than in relation to the depths they open to scientific and artistic scrutiny, 
Ave may quote the weighty words : 'The truth of Nature is a part of the truth 
of God : to him who does not search it out, darkness ; to him who does, infinity.' " 

For Sale by A. Roman, at $5, the Boston Retail price. 

"The Bookseller" — A Monthly Journal of Literature and Education. — 
We have received the August and September numbers of this new California 



monthly, edited by Mr. John Sweet, 'vrho has for many years past been con- 
nected -with the educational interests of our State. We welcome this new 
journal to our sanctum with more than ordinary pleasure, and wish it, all the 
success and prosperity to which the well known talent of its editor and its own 
intrinsic merit entitle it. The September number is particularly good, filled as 
it is with articles of high literary merit, abounding in interest, and useful sug- 
gestions. It is furnished at the low price of one dollar and fifty cents per 


Bonnets — are still of the same shape as they were at the commencement of 
the summer ; but they are now beginning to be worn rather larger. Bonnets 
of Paris chip are trimmed, as they have usually been in all previous seasons, with 
flowers or feathers. Crape bonnets are fashionable. Some are trimmed with 
blond and bouillonnes of tulle. Bonnets of white crape are frequently trimmed 
with colored feathers, or ruches of black lace in combination with roses, or 
'Other flowers. The mingling of black with white, or colors, is a favorite mode 
of trimming bonnets. 

Dinner Dress. — Kobe of figured organdi. The ground a brilliant tint of bleu 
de Sevres. The skirt is trimmed to about the height of the knees with bouillon- 
nes running perpendicularly, and divided by rows of narrow quilled blue ribbon. 
The bouillonnes are finished at the bottom with three rows of quilled ribbon, 
and at the top with one row. The corsage is low and drawn. The sleeves are 
demi-long, and consist of large pus's formed of bouillonnes seperated by rows of 
blue quilled riblion. The back hair is in plaits, and confined by an ornamental 
comb beaded with coral beads. Italian pins with coral beads are dispossd here 
and there among the plaits. The necklace consists of t^o rows of large coral 
beads. Coral ear-rings. A dark blue parasol, with Chinese top, and broad 
Avhite fringe. 

Children's Dress.— The prevailling fashions for children are exceedingly 
pretty. The Zouave jacket is worn by little boys as well as by girls. Hats with 
the brims turned up are almost universally worn by little girls, and white em- 
broidered dresses with sashes of broad ribbon tied behind, or on one side, are 
much in favor. The dresses worn by young children are very short and full, 
and generally consist of embroidered cambric muslin, or white pique trimmed 
with passementerie, or ornamented with colored embroidery in a light pattern. 

Walking DRESS.^Robe of striped silk in two shades of green, figured with 
small pampadour sprigs. The skirt is trimmed with rows of quilled green rib- 
bon. The corsage fits closely to the figure, and is fastened in front by a row of 
daisy buttons. The sleeves are tight to the arms, and cut the bias way of the 
silk. They have epaulettes in the Spanish style, formed of small puffs, com- 
posed of drawings of silk, separated by rows of quilled ribbofl. Bonnet of 
Paris chip, trimmed with white ribbon edged with pink, and ornamented with 
bouquets of roses. 

€'H tar's Cable. 

How grateful to the heart of the laborer is the knowledge that his work is ap- 
preciated — how stimulating to his energies, how encouraging to his soul. It 
may be that he receives appreciation from but one source, when he feels that he 
is entitled to it from many. But the knowledge of that one is sufiicient to gird 
him anew with strength, to nerve his arm and strengthen his soul to renewed 
efforts, and greater deeds. And we, kind friends, are stronger to-day than 
when we last talked with you, for we have evidence before us that the Flora of 
California, which we have for several months past been engaged in illustrating, 
is finding that appreciation abroad which we had fondly hoped it would receive 
at home, which, perhaps, it has received to a limited extent in California. 

In a letter recently received by a contributor, from Dr. Torrey, of New York, 
— the world renowned botanist — we find him expressing pleasure and delight 
at the Columnar Idria, published in the May number of our Magazine. "HoW 
desirable,"— says that learned gentleman — "to get it into cultivation! Could 
not a special expedition be made to the Island of Cerros, and the neighboring 
parts of Lower California, expressly for gathering plants and seeds? I am sure 
it would be renumerative in every sense." Surely we may feel encouraged by 
the thought that some of the greatest and most scientific minds of the present 
age, appreciate and acknowledge the importance of our work, and kindly bid 
us God speed. The same gentleman says : " If you can spare only two or tliree 
flowers of your new Ledum, I would be thankful — as I will make an inspection 
of its placentations and ovules." See what appreciation — and how they plead 
for two or three of our California Floioers. And yet, in this instance, we are 
grieved and mortified to know that the brother editor of a certain California 
Magazine, who possesses the specimen, has ungenerously refused to part with 
it, for the advancement of science. Dr. Torrey also says : "A single leaf and 
flower of your Rhus Veatchianna, would be highly acceptable." We have never 
puffed or boasted of our Floral Illustrations, although they have been gotten up 
with great expense and labor. We felt that there was a merit in them which 
should find appreciation without puffing — and we were not mistaken. 

Refutation. — We understand that Capt. Jones, of the North Star, has pub- 
lished a card refuting some assertions made by us in a recent number of the 
Hesperian, in regard to the abuses practised by the U. S. Mail Steamship Com- 
pany. If any such card was published, we did not see it, and should feel 
obliged to any one who would furnish us with a copy. So far as Capt. 
Jones is concerned, we have nothing to say against him; his deportment 
seemed to be that of a gentleman, and as such we regard him. But that there 
are terrible abuses practised by the aforesaid Company, no one can pretend to 
deny. If any such card was published, it will go far to show that even the little 
II ESPERiAN has the power to wake the conscience that uneasy slumbers ; and 
we have furthermore to add, that no card can intimidate — no power terrify us. 



What we have asserted finds an aiEvmativc answer in too many hearts in Cal- 
ifornia to be easily disproved ; and what we have yet to say, when occasion 
offers or necessity requires, will prove that the half has never yet been told, 
and, may be, wake the thunders of vengeance from an outraged people ; for 
these abuses are nut confined alone to the ship's poor toiling crew — but also 
extend to passengers from first cabin to steerage. 5 

Cultivate Your Manners. — We have recently seen several works on " Deport- 
ment," " Complete guides to gentility," &c., &c., in which certain rules are laid 
down as guides of action. The young are instructed how to speak politely, 
how to walk and move with grace and elegance. Now this is all very well so 
far as it goes, but it seems very much to us like beginning to educate a child 
lorong side outwards. Is not heart or spirit culture the thing to be desired ? If 
the little heart is innocent and pure, will not the language of the child be so 
also ? But if the heart is corrupt so that it overflows with profanity, and all 
uncleanness, shall we restrain the tongue from swearing, simply because "it is 
not polite?" If the heart has received the germs of refinement and cultivation, 
the manners will be the spontaneous outgrowth and manifestation of such re- 
ception. You will have no reason to remind him that this is vulgar, or that 
rude, for he will instinctively turn from that which is coarse, and find no sym- 
pathy with the vulgar and debased. 

To teach a child whose heart is corrupt, the art of outward potiteness alone, is 
to teach him to seem to be what he is not, and will only make him hypocriti- 
cal and deceitful, causing him to assume a show of politeness and refinement 
which does not belong to him, which he cannot maintain, and which will drop 
from him and expose all his moral deformity the first unguarded moment that 
offers. Cultivate the heart and the understanding, and by so doing you will 
produce that true refinement and cultivation of manner which are ever the ac- 
companiments of interior worth. You will have no need to give lessons in set 
phrases and polite sentences, for the kitvdly heart overflows ever with the lan- 
guage of true politeness, and the outward manners are but the legitimate pro- 
duct of the interior life. 

Cultivate the manners, look well to the deportment of your children, but let 
your first efforts be directed to the heart, for " out of it proceed the issues of life 
and death." Purify the inner life and it will find expression in all manner of 
graceful forms and beautiful attitudes. 

Mrs. Farnham's Lectures. — We have recently been much interested and in- 
structed by listening to some conversational lectures on the subject of woman, 
by Mrs. E. W. Farnham. We are well aware that this subject is one which is 
sadly misapprehended — the very mention of the word woman is immediately 
tortured into a claim for what is called " woman's rights." Men fear that women 
wish to encroach upon their prerogatives, or what they consider so, and conse- 
quently deprive themselves and their families of a vast fund of information on 
the. organic traits and rank of woman, her functions and their relations to hu- 
man development, and many other important and interesting subjects upon 
which they should be enlightened, and upon which Mrs. Farnham is now en- 


gaged in giving instruction ; and so far from advocating what is known by the 
popular term of "woman's rights," she is in direct opposition to any thing of 
the kind. The view she takes of womanhood and her capabilities is infinitely 
higher and more sublime. The ideas advanced by this gifted woman are to us 
entirely new, and we venture to say were the principles she advocates generally 
adopted, the progression and advancement of the human race would be more 
marked in the coming time than in all the ages that have preceded us. Every 
wife and mother who has the welfare of her children at heart should improve 
the present opportunity of listening to these instructive and entertaining con- 
versations. We feel so much the importance of the subject to you, wives and 
mothers, that we would urge you not to let prejudice and misapprehension 
blind you to the best interests of yourself and offspring. Go, hear, and judge 
for yourselves. We understand that Mrs. Farnham has been invited and en- 
couraged to open another class. We sincerely hope that this is so, and that all 
who did not have an opportunity of joining the first class will improve the oppor- 
tunity offered by the second. 

More Signs of Progress. — Among the passing events of our times we are 
happy to record the inauguration of a new era by the Mercantile Library Asso- 
ciation, in the recent purchase of Bentham's Pinus, Hooker's Icones, and Hook- 
er's Flora Boreali- Americana, Smith's OrcMds, &c. These, we learn, were pur- 
chased by the energetic and enterprising Librarian, Mr. Moore, who, by thus 
acting upon his own mature judgment and just appreciation of the wants of the 
community, incurred the displeasure of the purchasing committee. Some mem- 
bers of that committee, however, to their praise be it spoken, earnestly sus- 
tained him in his course. Such acts belong to the history of our times, and a 
citizen who steps boldly forward to meet any great material or intellectual want 
of our progressive State, is a public benefactor, and as such entitled to the com- 
mendation and support of all thinking and right-minded people. The election 
of a man possessing, as does Mr. Moore, progressive ideas and enlightened sen- 
timents, to represent the importance and dignity of his office, is highly credit- 
able to that body, and complimentary to their foresight and judgment. Califor- 
nia has already lost enough by the neglect of her public institutions. It is 
theirs to lead — they are expected to pilot the intellectual voyager to the haven 
of his desire. This is by no means the first instance thet has come to our 
knowledge where very important standard works of reference on engineering 
and the innumerable arts and sciences of civilized life have been needed, in- 
volving even the most direct material wants of every man, woman and child 
in our State, and yet the works were not to be had. We shall have more to say 
on this subject at another time. 

"Copy." — The printers want "more copy." How terribly the announcement 
fell upon our ear ; for well we knew we were behind the time appointe(J to have 
all our copy in the hands of the printers ; and more than that, we did not feel 
at all like writing ; how could we ? — the Eastern mail had just arrived, and be- 
fore us in rich profusion were scattered papers, books and magazines, and a 




score or two of letters ; some in the dear, familiar writing of loved and loving 
friends ; others in strange hand-writing, which only excited our curiosity the 
more. "We were just seated in our easy chair in our cosy sanctum, prepared to 
enjoy a feast of fat things in looking over all that the eastern mail had brought 
us, whMi the announcement that heads this article was made to us. The day 
was hot, too, fearfully so — although in San Francisco we seldom have hot 
weather. It was just a day to luxuriate in reading letters from home; or 
splendid articles in other people's magazines; to lean your head back in your 
chair and fall asleep, and dream of the old home, and the pond where we used 
to skate in winter ; and whole pyramids of ice cream, and all kinds of nice 
cool drinks ; — then to be wakened by that discordant cry for " copy " — oh, it is 
awful ! And now we begin to sympathize with our brothers of the mountains 
who have hot weather all through the summer months, and who are editing 
dailies and weeklies instead of monthlies, and good papers they make of them, 
too ; often sending them forth bearing some precious literary gem worthy of a 
more abiding form than a newspaper generally affords. This hot day has made 
us realize how much we enjoy in the cool refreshing breeze of San Francisco ; 
and yet we have sometimes quarreled with the mischevious wind that tossed 
our curls, and lifted our dress so high that any body might know the number of 
the shoe we wore ; but we will do so no more, friendly wind ; we know you 
use us roughly for our own good ; and help to keep us healthy by dispersing 
the poisonous miasma which would breed epidemics, and 'all unwholesome 
diseases among us. Come back, friendly, boisterous wind — invigorate and 
strengthen us as of old, and we will never again get so far behind as to allow 
the printers to call on us for "copy." And ye, toiling brothers — on the tops or 
in the gorges of the mountains — ye shall have our sympathy : we will think of 
you as of those tried by fire, whose courage is equal to any emergency. 

California Pioneers. — ^We are frequently interrogated as to when we shall 
resume the history of our California Pioneers, and we would inform our friends 
that we intend to do so very soon — so soon in fact as we can see a probability 
of continuing them to a final close. Scattered as these veterans are — loca.tedin 
various parts of the State — it is a work of some toil and labor to procure all 
the needful information in regard to the lives of the different individuals, and 
we should feel thankful to any of the old Pioneers, or any others, who may be 
able to furnish us with items of interest connected, with the early settlement of 
the State. To Mr, Barrows of Los Angeles, we are alread}^ indebted for kind 
and valuable service rendered us in this respect. 


We furnish this month a pattern of the Epaulet Waist, composed of three 
pieces. The point or epaulet on the shoulder forms a pretty trimming to the 
top of the sleeve, and is really quite a novelty. The pattern is so simple, as well 
as artistic, that any one can readily put it together. Buttons should extend up 
the front, and also up the second dart to the shoulder ; the large buttons with 
lace upon the edge are the most stylish. 





Though but once I saw thy face, ^ 
In these mystic lines I trace ^ 

A photograph so clear and true -of 
What I know belongs to you, 
That I do not hesitate 
To reveal all of my fate, 
That within the " chambers " given 
Of my hopes in earth or heaven ; 
And the whjspers always "Peace," 
" For the struggle soon shall cease. 
And thy woman heart shall know 
Nevermore distress or woe, 
For to thee, behold, 'tis given, 
By faith to soar from earth to heaven ; 
And though sorrows round thee roll, 
'Tis to discipline thy soul. 
Fit it for the world above. 
Where ever dwells thy spirit's love — 
Fit to meet, no more to part 
With the guardians of thy heart ! " 
So, my friend, I've given freely 
Answer to thy mystic query, 
And no other mode have I 
Unto thee to make reply. 
For thy name I never heard. 
So softly uttered was the Avord 
By one who now is far away. 
Where the silver sands hold sway, 
' Yet I hope to hear a tapping 

At my door, 
Not a stranger mysterious rapping 

Something more. 
Like friendl}^ calling unto friend, 

" Ope the door." 

Annie K. H. Fader — Thank you kindly. We are glad to hear from you once 

Pakties writing to ns on anj' suliject of business upon which they desire an answer, 
should be particular to inclose a postage stamp, to pay return postage. Our postage 
alone is now costing us from three to five dollars per day, and when it is considered that 
we are willing to give our time to the execution of any commission and to the answering 
of any inquiries which may be required of us, we feel sure that none will think us unrea' 
sonable if we ask parties addressing us on their own business to inclose stamps to pay re 
turn postage. 



( I .ill>}innl.l fill hill "S:i Kfllni^y , 

\',,/,,f. I: .f,r,. 


I.,ih ''■' ^ 




Vol. V. NOVEMBER, 1860. No. 3. 



I HAVE observed no spectacle that will compare with Mount Shasta 
in awe-inspiring grandeur. Incomparable in stature, it stands alone, 
disdaining the companionship of lesser mountains, which are seen 
from its hoary alt'tudes only in "strong contrasted littleness." It 
is haughtily apart from all its kind, lifting its gleaming helmet to 
unapproachable hciglits, wrapped gloomily in its eternal mantle of 
snow, cleaving the clouds as they come from eastward, or emerging 
from concealing vapor, is bright with the dazzling sheen that flashes 
from its frost}' armor. According to recent measurement this wond- 
rous pyramid is nearly nineteen thousand feet in height ; though 
Fremont computed its altitude at seventeen thousand. The latest 
measurement was made by a topographical engineer in the employ of 
Government at Fort Crook, and who has the reputation of professional 
capacity. At all events, the mountain is amazing to the beholder, 
and its heights range far above the ordinary changes of wint- r and 
summer. The first view I had of Mount Shasta, was from the sum- 
mit of the Sierra Nevada, at the Lassen Pass ; it was near evening, 
and the base of the mountain being out of view behind intervening 
hills, the snowy pyramid glistening in many-hued light, was the most 
unspeakably grand spectacle that mind could imagine, as it rose 
through cold solitudes, a heaven-invading outguard of the world. 
Since then I have lived a considerable time on uplands, near its 
base; but, although the altitude seemed much less than when ob- 
served a hundred miles off, the haughty monarch of mountains lost 
but little of his imperial dignity. It is true, there are many living 

Ententl acturdiDg to Act of Congress, in the ywir 1859, by Mrp. K. H. Day. in the Clerk's Office of th 
Dixtrict Conrt of the United Slates fur the Northern IHstrict of California. 



ever in sight of this prodigious promontary, who are not much im- 
pressed with its sublimity ; nay, even dare to profane its majesty by 
calling it " Shasta Butte," or still more indifferently, "The Butte;" 
but they, doubtless, mean no indignity, and would quarry paving 
stones from Mount Sinai with quite as little emotion as is called 
forth by the sublimities of Shasta. In a magnificent poem written 
on this subject by Ridge, the poet, — measuring others' conceptions 
of grandeur by the capacity of his own splendid mind, — thought that 
thereafter the plowman "oft would pause when in the furrowed 
track " to gaze in wonder on Shasta's pallid heights, and that rustic 
children would reverently ask their mothers, who made the mountain ? 
But, alas ! the furrower drives his share among the stubble, and looks 
thither but seldom, in worship of the sublime ; and in the evening 
marks his "quitting time" as the shadows ascend "Shasta Butte," 
while the unpoetical urchin whoops after the cattle, and stones the 
unruly swine, unmindful that the beauty of expiring joy is lingering 
in manifold splendors above him. 

The ascent properly commences some thirty miles from Yreka, at 
Strawberry Ranch, south of the mountain. Thence the explorer 
may travel on horseback through chapparal, and, in early summer, 
over snow, about fifteen miles to the "camp-ground." From that 
place the ascent must be made on foot, or in places on all-fours. 
At the camp-ground the travelers stop all night, for it will require 
the whole day to ascend and get back ; and no prudent adventurer 
would care to encounter the night-frosts on the upper heights. Even 
at the camping-ground below, the nights are rigorously cold, and 
whoever lodges there without abundant bedding, will for several 
hours lose all thoughts of the sublime. Having been advised of these 
facts, we had provided sufficient blanketing, including a pair for each 
horse ; so, we passed the night comfortably, disturbed only by the 
occasional snorting of the animals which, we supposed, had scented 
a bear or some other wild creature, or perhaps were intimidated by 
the dreariness of the place. At daylight we commenced the steep 
ascent, and for several hours traveled over broken volcanic rock, 
until we reached a bold-faced ledge, which has been named "Red 
Bluffs." Thence by clambering for an hour or more up a rocky ra- 
vine, we reached an immense area of lava, snow and ice, and were 
frequently interrupted by deep and dangerous chasms into which 



the snow had slid or been drifted to unknown depths. The utmost 
circumspection was required in climbing along the narrow, clippery 
ridges, for a misguided step would have launched the adventurer 
down, hundreds of feet, to certain death on the rocks and masses of 
ice. Another hour of perilous climbing— we had no watch, but had 
to guess at the time — brought us to a bench where the snow appeared 
to be several hundred feet in depth, as a?j supposed, in looking down 
the immense fissures. From this great mass of ice and snow, innu- 
merable little streams trickle down among the rocks, forming, I have 
been told, the upper source of the Sacramento River. Above this 
snow-field another acclivity of lava and ashes was encountered, and 
was ascended with difficulty and great weariness, as the traveler sank 
ten or tM-elve inches into the loose conglomerate at every step. 
Here, for the first time, I began to feel great oppressiveness in breath- 
ing, though my companion complained of none. From this ash-hill the 
summit is observed, beyond another snow-field. Immediately above 
the snow, we come to what has undoubtedly been the great crater, 
whence flowed the immense fields of lava and scoria which we had 
been hours in traversing. This depression, hemmed in by a vein of 
rocks, is clear of snow, and contains a multitude of little boiling 
springs, which were steaming away as though some important natural 
manufactory depended on their unceasing bubbling. They doubtless 
indicate the still existing but subdued volcanic power which once 
made Mount Shasta unspeakably grand and terrible to whatever eye 
may have seen the outbounding of its fiery wrath. Two or three 
hundred feet above, we climbed slowly and perilously to a ragged 
ledge which, having surmounted, we stood on the Summit. 

This was the grand spectacle, in contemplation of which, we 
thought of none of the minor incidents or scenery experienced or 
observed in the ascent, and which I have purposely refrained from 
speaking of in much detail, because the rare pages of the Hesperian 
should not be wasted in elaboration of unimportant particulars. 
But the grand, abounding scenery from the summit might be appro- 
priately written on broad, golden folios, by a pen more capable of 
describing infiinte beauty, grandeur, illimitable space, than is mine. 
Fortunately the day was uncommonly clear, enabling us to see far to 
the East, over the desert, where numerous lakes flashed midway, like 
minute pieces of burnished silver. There seemed to be no boundary 





to vision ; but the eye absolutely ached and closed with very weari- 
ness. Along the crest of the Sierra Nevada, and far l)ol(iw the 
spectator, Mount Lassen, Pilot Peak, Spanish Poak, and otlicr noted 
landmarks were distinctly visible, but they had lost all of that sub- 
limity with which they impress the wondering worshiper who looks 
from the lowlands. They seemed no more than watch-towers on a 
castle wall which is overlooked from an adjacent hill. Westward, 
and beyond the coast range, there was a mirage-like somethiinT, 
which we imagined to be the ocean ; and to the South, the Sacra- 
mento River drew its long, silver thread out of sight on the jdain, 
while various Southerly peaks stood in uncertain shapes alonrr the 
horizon. But, to the North, looking from the sun, over the vast 
territory of Oregon, the most distinct view of landmarks was ob- 
tained. Mount Hood stood forth in majestic distinction, and other 
peaks which we were unable to recognize by name were clesirly dis- 
cerned, in addition to numerous lakes, streams, valleys and moun- 
tain chains which we had not sufficient geogra})liical knowledge to 
identify. Until then, we had not adequate conception of the 
vast region stretching Northward, and which has recently become 
a State of vast resources, and rapidly developing wealth. Linger- 
ing above the prodigious landscape, we hx^ked and worshiped ; not 
with that adoration inspired in the little temples which men build, 
but with the speechless reverence which silence commanded on the 
awful heights. The man who could stand there, an atom in anbound- 
ing space, bewildered by the innumerable splendors of the georgeous 
picture, Avithout acknowledging the absolute empire of a Great 
God Al.miuhty, is an atheist too blind, too stolid, too idiotic to be 
damned for his unbelief. For myself, standing on heights nearly 
three times the altitude of Olympus, I felt chilled and speechless in 
the awful presence of Omnipotent Deity, whose tremendous power 
was silently declared by that gigantic landmark of the clouds. Here 
we found two flagstaffs planted in crevices of the rocks, but the Hags 
had been threshed to pieces and apportioned to the winds that iloat 
in swift currents Northward; there were a few remnants clinging to 
the sticks, the remainder having been swept down to Shasta A'alley 
or carried on towards Oregon. Under a shelving rock we discovered 
several newspapers, and scraps of manuscript, one of the latter 
making known that one Hag had been placed there by Capt. Prince, 



in 1852 ; the other, ii temperance banner, had been phinted in 1855, 
hy Rev. Israel S. I>eihl, who, it was also reeonled, had ascended alone. 
Another scrap contained these apposite words, in pencil: **If I 
ascend unto Heaven, Thou are there. If I take the wings of the 
morning and fly to the uttermost parts of the earth, behold, Thou 
art there!" Desiring to add something to this aerial store of let- 
ters, I discovered that paper and pencil were missing. Like Bun- 
yan's Pilgrim to rest on the Hill of Difficulty and falling into sinful 
sleep lost his roll, my stock of writing materials had been dropped 
at some resting-place below. 

The sun had gone West, and we found it necessary to descend; 
and not without regret at being compelled so soon to leave where we 
could have pleasurably lingered for hours longer; but, admonished 
by the increasing sharpness of the winds, we knew that life depend- 
ed on descent before nightfall. Directly below was the crater, which 
sometime has been a nudton lake, boiling, surging and launching 
forth its liquid wrath, and illuminating leagues on leagues with its 
lurid glare. Solid pieces of pure sulphur, cinder and ashes were 
indisputable evidences of former volcanic existence. From the 
quantity of sulphur, it seemed as though the enterprise of man, with 
a little kindling wood, might almost renew the conflagration. 
The reader will not be wearied with the recital of our downward 
progress. We reached camp a little before dark, and were we'comed 
by the neighing of our horses, which seemed afraid of the bears. 
Having refreshed ourselves and animals, we were speedily wrapped 
in blankets and sleep, too tired to dream of, even, the wondrous 
scenes of the day. I have learned that my fellow explorer, Wil- 
liam McKNKillT, has since died in Philadelphia, where he was hav- 
ing engraved some sketches which he made that day, and which were 
to illustrate a descriptive article which I had prepared. Poor fel- 
low ; I suppose his manuscripts and sketches are all lost, for he told 
me that he had no relatives in the United States. Mac. could not 
write or talk much, but Mount Shasta, with its grand, worshipful 
scenery, grew to wonderful exactness under his magic pencil. My 
friend has stood upon a still more awful promontory overlooking the 
grim shadowy Valley of Death ; and until I, too, shall have looked 
thence, the hours of reverence and wonder, passed on the cold solitude 
of Shasta, will have vivid remembrance. 


{Simmondsia pabulosa — Kellogg. 


Thb colored plate exhibits the natural size and appearance of a 
portion of the male and female shrub. The eatable Goat Nut was 
found upon Cerros Island by Dr. J. A. Veatch. It appears to be 
different from the one found on the main land ; but of this we could 
speak more confidently had we a suitable specimen with which to 
compare it ; or at least Nuttall's description to refer to. We sug- 
gest the provisional name of pabulosa, and give the following de- 
scription in aid of the inquirer. 

De%criptive Note by Dr. Veatch. 

The Goat Nut is an evergreen bush, or shrubby tree, from three 
to six feet in height ; growing in the ravines as well as in the crev- 
ices and fissures of nearly perpendicular cliffs. Trunk remarkably 
crooked, with short, zig-zag, joint-like bendings. Bark smooth and 
whitish. Branches spreading horizontally from the summit, much 
entangled, and partaking of the character of the stem. Foliage 
dense and green ; leaves and young twigs somewhat succulent. The 
top presents something of the appearance of a huge bunch of mis- 

The fruit is generally abundant, ripening in July and August, 
and has the taste of a chestnut, with a slight bitterness. 

The goats and doer of the island are exceedingly fond of both 
the fruit and leaves, and seem to live mostly upon them. 

The shrub is ornamental, and deserves to be cultivated for its 
beauty, as well as fruit. The barren spots in which it thrives would 
suggest its usefulness upon some of the barren and bleak hills of 
Upper California, which are worthless from their stony and arid 
character, but which might be valuable when planted with the Sim- 

Technical Descripfton. — Branches opposite, nodoso, grayish; branclilcts 
somewhat ani^letl, greenish, hoary-liir^ute. 

Leaves opposite, oMong-ovnte, and ovate-lanceolate, pnb-mucronate, obtuse or 
a few leaves obovate, emarginate, somewhat ^uncatc at the liase, pale glaucus 
green above, fleshy, coriucCDUs, inconspicuously 3-nerved in the growing stat«; 
rigid and wrinkled, often ochroous beneath when dry, pubescent above and below, 



maryriiis ontiro sliari)one(i. 8li;ilitlv Hcnbrulose, on very sliort plntulloss hiwuto 
|ieti..le8; lamina viiryinj,' from i to U inches in longtii. Sterile floweru numorcus 
in clustered dichotomous axillury imniclos slxirter than the leuven, seldom nc^- 
sile an.l si.litary or in Nmall glouiorules, c nuuon and particular iiedicels bracted, 
each separate flower with a minute ovate hirnute brnct Hcnlo at the bace. Petals 
imbricate, greenish, five in number, unguicuhite, carinate, apex obtuse inflexed 
cilliato or Homewhat erose-dentate, spreading, slightly villous within, hoary vil- 
lous without, (glandless,) stamens mostly ten, shorter than the petals. Filaments 
shorter than the anthers, subulate from a broad base, somewhat clustered in 
parcels of throe or more, or imperfectly monadclphus, anthers erect, 2-celled, 
opening longitudinally. 

(.■aly.\ divisions five, increasing in size as the fruit attains to maturity, thr 
apex of the lobes often elongating from J to J of an inch ; usually from 2 to 4 
small scales in a lower series quincuncially imbricated. 

Capsule a diy chartaceous nut in a leafy cup, similar to a hazel-nut, obtusely 
3-sidcd, in appearance beaked like an acorn, with 3 persistent sub-capitate 
styles ; 3-celled, ."J-valved, opening in ?> divisions at the ventral suture; by abor- 
tion onc-secdcil, 3 filiform placentas arising from the axis of the calyx and re- 
curved ut the apex, to which tunlde the ovule is attached or suspended — per- 
fected ovule obtusely triangular conic, apex pitted and gioovcd down the angle 
adjacent to the placenta to the truncate base ; color hazel brown, sparsely hir- 

LET ME REST.— By Annk K. H. Fader. 

I am weary, let mo rest 
On thy broad and tender breast ; 
Suffer me awhile to lie 
Without kisses, silently. 
I am sick of sin and earth, 
In my spirit is a dearth, 
That no human love can fill, — 
Throbs, no human voice can still. 

I am weary, let me rest ; 

Oh ! the aching in my breast, 

Oh ! the thoughts that sweep along. 

That I can not cltithe in song, 

Thoughts of childhood's hopes and fears, 

Thoughts of childhood's l)itter tears. 

Thoughts of days forever past, 

Thoughts of luve that could not last. 

I am weary, let mo rest ; 
Oh, that litllc word, how blest! 
Pure as aught to mortals given. 
Seeming less of earth than heaven I 
"When the snul is bowoil with care, 
0, how mild it breathes the prayer, 
Itest, the longing spirit cries; 
Rest on earth, and in the skies. 

Though I would not scorti the rest, 
Found upon a human breast, 
Yet that stay will sometime break, 
And the frightened drrnnier wake, 
Wake, to live through loveless years. 
Wake, to bitter, bitter tears. 
Dearest, let tby head and mine 
On our Saviour's I)reft8t recline! 


{Hemizonia luzulcefolia — var. fragaroides. — Kellogg.) 


The Rosin Weeds in general form quite a characteristic feature of 
our autumnal fields ; but none of them are so pretty and pleasing 
to the eye as the White Rosin- Weed here figured. The common 
name indicates the color, which is very remarkable for its pure 
whiteness, {. e., above, for the ray flowers are pinkish on the back, 
with three bright red or pink lines along the nerves. 

It is worthy of note that the fruit heads in this species of Hemi- 
zonia are early deciduous, i. c, all the parts of the flower and fruit 
seed, together with the receptacle, soon shed off, leaving only the 
terminal tack-head-like torus or base on which each head of flower- 
ets rested, entirely naked ; thus showing the conic elevated center 
on which formerly stood the convex receptacle, as may be seen rep- 
resented in the figure. 

The involucral green cupscales are clearly in two series, instead 
of one. as described. Our specimens are also densely glandular. 
The spider-weblike cottony character varies ; in some, being a 
strongly marked feature, while in others, it is loosely shed off, and 

This plant exhales a soothing, balmy odor somewhat remotely 
similar to strawberries. Like most of these odoriferous autumnal 
plants, it induces a tranquil reverie, so entrancing to the impressi- 
ble, that one seems wont to linger in a blissful languor of silent, 
celestial contemplation. In this state of tacit communion, — if in 
congenial company, — spheres mingle, and mutual silence is respect- 
ed. In a word, the all-pervading outward sentiment superinduced, 
is a great dread of speaking, or being spoken to. 

" This is all very fine," we often hear it said, " but of what use 
are these pretty things ? Now there is profit in potatoes, and some- 
tliing useful and necessary in dress," (as a friend remarked the oth- 
er day, while we were engaged upon some beautiful paintings for the 
future numbers of the Hesperian.) Stay, gentle objector ! we have 
listened to you, and admit the truth of what you speak — but by no 
means, the inference implied. Please consider a few leading truths, 
c. fj., It is an axiom, that " purest principles are first in importance. 






and to which all below are related." "All the most potent and purest 
inmost essences of nature are the refined, invisible and volatile " — 
thus the grossest, relatively effete substances in nature are more 
fixed and visible — palpable to our grossest external senses, and 
therefore respectively they are as ignoble as are also the pseudo- 
utilitarian conclusions which would strive to exalt the baser above 
the higher. As in man the purer blood and essences only circulate 
in the finer vessels, so in external nature the purer elements and 
auras only circulate in the invisible ethers around us. Hence every 
enlightened physiologist knows, " that through the pores of the skin 
and the linings of the lungs the purer elemental food from the air and 
ether is absorbed and conveyed directly to the brain, or internal 
fibrous terminations to be expended upon the higher uses of life ; 
hence, also, the animations of the brains, and its motions must always 
be synchronous with the respirations of the lungs. The reason why 
these sweet odors awaken such an agreeable state of interior per- 
ception and love, is because they furnish the respiratory mateiials 
for an etherial chyle just suited to stimulate the mind and heart. 
Doubtless there may be some higher reason in the world of causes ; 
but we prefer to take the natural history view of it. Some writers, 
(Thackeray) justly assert that we actually subsist more upon the air 
we breathe than the food (" potatoes ") we eat. How else are we to 
account for the result of a few hours, — yea, even a few moments' rec- 
reation among flowers, or in the fields ? The natural world in every 
sense is precisely adapted to invigorate the intellectual and moral — 
and no gymnastic partial or artificial substitute will answer so well. 
All natural phenomena are linked in a usefully dependent series, so 
that whether we strike by our fallacies at the tenth or tenthousandth 
link, we break the chain alike. Mark well — we do not discard low- 
er, but claim for higher things, at least, an equal importance in tli^ 
estimation of the wise. To say we could do just as well with- 
out this or that in nature, involves such a choas of absurdities as we 
presume none will defend. 

Nothing so closes the mind to progress as the pride and presump- 
tion that no world of knowledge exists beyond our short-sighted 
horizon. We would fain hope that the feeble toregleams which ever 
and anon reach us, may yet reveal some vast practical field of use- 
ful science beyond our ken ; — a charmed Eden of the soul I touched 



by Nature's wand, from whose pure fountains we may quaff the 
sweetnesses and joys of life in the sanctified passions and intellec- 
tual realms of our existence, nourished and cherished by those " nec- 
tard sweets where no crude surfeit reigns." Instead, therefore, of 
undervaluing God's gifts in nature, let us search out her hidden 
secrets, and reverence the profound wisdom everywhere manifest in 
these divine works. 

As we have so far digressed from our usual course, into a philo- 
sopliico-scrious homily, we hope to be excused if, in conclusion, we 
should treat the subject a little humorously. The amiable reader 
must not suppose for a moment that we propose to do without "po- 
tatoes," as the celebrated scourge of the French Restaurant did, 
who daily snuffed his host's viands to his satisfaction without ever 
paying a penny ; nor, on the other hand, must your almighty-dollar- 
man toss his purse-proud head in scorn, as though we favored the 
decision of the judge, on that occasion, who doomed the plaintiff to 
the tortures of hearing, in return, the jingling of dollars between 
two tin plates until he should be satisfied — this we hold was down- 
right cruelty. No, Sir ; we go for dollars too, some — i. e. discreetly. 
We do not feel called upon at this particular time to defend the uni- 
versal sentiment of poets (the truly great philosophers of every age,) 
who never fail to represent the Goddess of Liberty breathing the 
purer elements of her mountain home. 

" Here, Freedom 'wakes her mountain song," — we are not at 
all surprised, however, at their representing her as a u'oman ; for 
women, we think, have a more lively and delicate perception of these 
excitements. We consider ourselves only second best in the direc- 
tion of the beautiful and tenderly impressible. Let no one insinu- 
ate that it is because we are a bachelor. "We abhor that state — 
always did, as much as you do. 

The following sentiment, of course, is feminine * : — 

" The mountains liolier visions bring, than e'er in vales arise, 
As 111 ii^litest sunshine batlies tlio winj: that's nearest tu the skies."' 

It is precisely upon this ground, that a physiological friend of 
ours accounts for some of the Hollanders being as deep down in the 
nmd mentally and spiritually, as they are corporally. Besides 
other examples too numerous to mention. Lo^ we are told, chose the 

» Mrs. Hall. 


plain^ and pitched his tent towards Sodom, near the slime pits and pits 
of pitch. His children, no doubt, dabbled and besmeared themselves 
literally with the aforesaid nasty article. This however, is only a mere 
conjecture of ours. Ten to one they lived on swine's flesh, too, by 
some hook or crook. Wonder if they had " potatoes," or the like in 
those days ? They must have been diggers if they did. We are 
not surprised such a set of gross fellows were forbidden to whip off 
the sweet, sunny fruit that grew on the '^ topmost boughs," and on the 
"outmost branches." These latter opinions may need the " benefit of 
clergy ;" we can't help it ; we agree with old Father Brighthopes. 
The time was, when we apothecaries were scarcely less revered than 
the parson ; then the anxious and forlorn lover sought our sanctum 
— beneath the kind protecting rays of the silvery goddess, he came ; 
and much solid silver did he bring to our — {alcu ! now deserted cof- 
ferSy) for those infallible " Love Powders." 

As we are addressing a new generation, it behooveth us to explain. 
The famous powders aforesaid, were composed of wondrously rare 
aromatics ! — fragrant as the breeze from the happy isles, &.c. — (it 
will never do to divulge all the secrets of our craft, — suffice it to say 
— armed with these odors of Eden (and certain other animal ingre- 
dients) — the devoted lover sought the fair object of his passion, and 
prudently sprinkled the infallible aroma — whereupon the tender 
passion returned ; the lowering clouds dispersed, and smiles sweeter 
than the sweetest May morn, awoke and tuned again the song-birds 
that echoed from out the sunny hill-sides of his heart ! 0, those 
glorious days ! Will they return no more ? We make our last 
feeling appeal to this hardened age! 

A Sneer and a Truth. — It was a coarse, cruel sneer — un- 
worthy of one of England's greatest artists — when he said, that " a 
woman had better be courted and jilted, than never to be courted at 
all." Another, whom the alchemy of sorrow had tested and purified, 
has brought out from this rough stone the lustre of a truth, as uni- 
versal as it is beautiful: — 

"Better to have loved and lost, 
Than never to have loved at all." 



'Tis a bright autumnal sunset, and the clouds are piled on high, 
The scarlet and the purple, and some of crimson dye, 
Some edged with gold and silver, and flecked with tints more rare 
Than artist ever painted, save Him who placed them there. 

So lovely this sky picture, that we all have turned away 
From the busy cares and pleasures that have held us all the day, 
And with rapturous emotion, too deep for feeble words, 
Drink in the wondrous beauty of those ever-changing clouds. 

From out the casement leaning, with flushed cheek and upraised eye, 
With golden curls tossed lightly fnnn a forehead full and high. 
Stands a noble little boy, in attitude of childish grace. 
While a holy, rapt expression is stealing o'er his face. 

" What is that which thou seest, thou fair and lovely boy. 

That makes thine eye so radiant, as with excess of joy ? 

Cast thou, with thine eye undimm'd by aught of guilt and folly. 

See that which for our grosser sight would prove too high and holy ? " 

A smile breaks o'er his features now, and on his infant cheek 

The color slightly deepens : he is about to speak. 

" W^at do those clouds disclose to thee, that such deep raptures give ?" 

" 0, only look and see their wings I there is where the angels live." 

Ah ! yes, dear child, thy vision pure hath traced the bright abode, 

Where spirits glorified have flown, the city of our God ; 

And what to us are autumn clouds that the departed god of day 

Ilath colored with such lovely tints, so soon to pass away, 

To thee, is where the angels live, that holy, happy place, 
The vail all rent away, and they behold him face to face. 
Our Father ! whom thy lips have learned to utter in thy prayer, 
And 'tis his halo which thou seest, while gazing upward there. 

Sweet boy, thy noble brow and mien betoken gems of thought. 

That one by one, in after years, to being will be wrought ; 

And as expands the tiny bud that forms the perfect rose. 

So mayest thou bloom to manhood's prime, and like it at life's close. 

In fragrance and in beauty scatter round thee in decay, 

Bright gems of mind, as petals float, borne on the wind away. 

And, darling, mayest thou ever thy purity retain. 
And on thy youth and manhood never, never rest a stain. 
Thus thy angels will not leave thee, but guard over thee in love, 
And finally, rejoicing, bear thee to thy home above. 
Home Cottage, Oct., 1860. 


" Hall's Journal of Health,'' contains an article animadverting in 
somewhat strong terms upon the establishing gymnasiums, &c. We 
can not agree in toto with this writer, for we hold that this system 
of physical training is, under proper regulations, decidedly benefi- 
cial, and conducive of vast good to all whose pursuits are of a sed • 
entary nature ; yet, while we advocate the rational use and culture 
of calesthenics and gymnastic exercises generally, we would ear- 
nestly commend to the attention of parents and guardians an equal- 
ly zealous attention to the development of the intellectual and spir- 
itual components of the human organization. 

We hold that the three elements are indissolubly united in man, 
viz. : physique, intellect, and spirit ; or, in other words, body, mind, 
and soul, each one and all requiring due culture. 

In proof of this necessity, we need only turn over the pages of 
history, or look more immediately upon our fellow-men. Until very 
lately, the laboring classes of England have been debarred all op- 
portunities of mental culture ; — consequently we find men whose 
whole system was a marvelous development of muscular power. 
These men composed that valuable body of men known as the "Nav- 
vies — coal-miners and lead- workers " of England; yet it is an un- 
deniable fact that they were equally as well known for their pugil- 
istic abilities — their amusements attained no higher grade than that 
of "single sticks'' and gladiatorial exhibitions, which not unfre- 
quently ended in bloodshed. This class supplied the celebrated 
boxers and prize-fighters whose names have been so prominently 
brought before the public in connection with the late brutal and re- 
volting exhibition which has disgraced the British flag, and whose 
exploits were, up to within a very few years since, prominent fea- 
tures in England's history. To counteract these evils arising (in the 
main) from the culture of the physique only, schools, houses of wor- 
ship, libraries — that great engine of mental improvement, the press, 
with its newspapers, have been carried to the very habitations of 
these men ; so that as the intellect is elevated, the physique be- 
comes subject to its superior power and refining efibct, and the prize 
ring is rapidly becoming a reminiscence of the past. But it has 
been found that as the intellectual is developed, the still higher and 
nobler endowment in man's constitution, the spiritual, demands cul- 


ture in order that the other two may be in subjection to a stronger 
power than the mere moral law of the workl. 

Hence, vigorous efforts are now being made to ensure due regard 
to the spiritual education of all, and of the rising generation in 
particular ; the combined energies of all the philanthrophic societies 
of England are concentrated upon this object ; — y/e need not here 
adduce proof of this, as every English paper, and the legion of 
magazines and monthly reviews are filled with reports of what is-j* 
being done in this matter. 

It has been found that in those schools, where the secular educa- 
tion only has been heeded, a polished pick-pocket or refined thief 
is too often the result. The scholar's aim seems to be to attain only 
to the notoriety of that accomplished pick-pocket "Barrington," — 
of whom it was said, "it was a pleasure to have your watch stolen 
by so intelligent and gentlemanly an expert;" — or they seek no 
higher character than that of the celebrated detective "Vidocq." 
While in the absence of all education, save that of the physique, 
a Slasher, Massey, or Sayers was the result. 

The late campaigns throughout the Indian empire, afford ample 
proof of the sad results of this one-sided system of education ; — 
the most ferocious enemies that the British forces had to contend 
with, were those men and native chiefs who had been educated in 
secular schools — all the powers of mind and body had been devel- 
oped — but the spiritual nature untouched — the consequence was 
that the greatest atrocities attended the march of these men. Na- 
na Sahib was a remarkable instance of this. He was educated at a 
secular school, where the Bible was ignored — he was skilled in liter- 
ature and sciences — but he was the instigator of all those cruel 
and barbarous murders that appalled the whole heart of the Atian 
world. And it is a remarkable fact that throughout those parts of 
India where Christianity had no foothold, that the atrocities com- 
mitted were of a most revolting character. 

How urgent, then, is the duty upon parents, and all those who 
have the culture of the young, that a due care of their spiritual 
education should hold a prominent place. 

It is the proper development of these three elements of man's 
constitution that can alone redeem our glorious country from the 
hands and misrule of rabid demagogues, and unstable nationalists. 


We earnestly call upon all our countrj-women — for in them lies a 
mighty power — to redeem the time — to arouse themselves to sterner 
duties and intenser sacrifices, and by their earnest endeavors rescue 
our youth from that fearful skepticism and rationalism that must, at 
no distant period, result in the disintegration of our commonwealth, 
the destruction of all happiness, and the annihilation of peace, 
both here and hereafter. 



I love the autumn's sombre eves, 
Its quiet days so still and bright, 
The whisper of its dreamy winds — 
The shifting, shadowy light. 

When day-light from the western sky 
Fades with its softly burnished rays ; 
And silence foldeth in the earth, 
Wrapped in a robe of misty haze. 

I love to sit in drowsy thought 
As slowly falls the evening dew, 
And watch the star-fires of the night 
Float dimly on through realms of blue. 

And when the pure morn's silvery eye, 
Looks through a veil like shining snow, 
I fondly think it smiles in love 
On all the aching hearts below. 

And holy thoughts of Heaven will float 
Across the deep waves of the soul — 
When from the wind-harp's tender voice 
Such mystic anthems roll. 

Each earth-born wish is banished far. 
My soul dwells in a purer sphere 
When Autumn's glorious beauty comes ; 
"Sweet Sabbath of the year." 



At home once more ! And the dear old house, around which so 
many associations are entwined, both sad and cheerful, is just the 
same. Wait, I must go first, all through the house, every nook and 
corner — Oh! all here; — but, the dear loved ones; — they only are 
missing, every piece of furniture seems to bid me welcome; but no 
welcome voice greets me, no fond kiss, or warm embrace, to gladden 
my heart. And yet even in this loneliness, I feel the care of her, 
who nestled my infant head upon her breast, and called heaven's 
blessings upon her impetuous, wayward child in riper years. 

Yes ! even here, and now, I feel the influence of her presence. 
Oh ! Mother ! dearly cherished Mother, if I could but see thee once 
more, could but hear thy mild, loved voice pronounce forgiveness for 
every hasty word, disobedient act, or grief, I may have caused thy 
maternal heart I Mother, speak once only, to thy erring, wayward 
child, and say that you forgive her. Alas ! no sound answers my 
petition, but a small voice within whispers, and it is the echoing of 
her teaching, — "My child, there is one mightier than earthly parents ; 
go to Him ; He is the friend of the fatherless, he has promised to pro- 
tect the orphan." A rustling of wings I hear, and the warning spirit 
has departed, and I sit here in this darkened room, with beloved faces 
looking down from their time-worn frames. — He, my father, is there, 
in his pride of manhood and beauty. In the other recess, and looking 
towards him, with eyes overflowing with sad tenderness, is my mother. 
There is no pride on that mild countenance, there must be great 
sadness in the heart, reflected so strangely in that subdued, mourn- 
ful smile that plays so gracefully around the small, full mouth. No 
anger would ever flash from those mild blue eyes. 0, mother ! why 
did I not prize thy love and care, why did I not feel then, as now, 
the value of a mother's love, a mother's care ! Thou art there, in 
thy first flush of wedded love ; not thus is thy image engraven on 
my heart. It is there, as I saw thee last. There, — but silence my 
heart, until I am in the very room — her room, where I last parted 
with her ; her room, where she would sit for hours alone, thinking 
she would say of the past — the past ! Am I prepared to approach 
that sacred spot ? Here, all seems to say, she is with me still, that 


I have only to mount one flight of steps, turn to the right-hand 
door, and in a moment I am in her presence. I am there — mj hand 

clasps the knob ; — with eager haste I open, and the dream is 


There is the easy-chair, the stool for her feet — but it is empty. 
There is the white covered toilet, with the fringed edge ; the bed 
with its spread of snowy whiteness, the rocking-chair, even the 
small basket work-stand occupies its accustomed corner. And al- 
though the blinds are closed, the curtains drawn, the room has its 
old appearance of cheerfulness and comfort ; but I have not yet ven- 
tured within its acred precints. I will cross the threshold and enter ; 
softly — softly — not with the wild bounding step and merry laugh of 
former days, as, to close some playful dispute, my sisters would 
threaten me with a scramble, and such romps would generally end 
with hair in beautiful disorder, curl-combs broken, dress torn, — and 
as a last refuge, up the steps, laughing, panting, followed closely by 
one or both sisters, I would rush to mother for protection. Poor, 
dear mother ! How I love to speak that name. Her very feeble- 
ness was a protection; and as I would cringe behind her chair, hold- 
ing tightly on to her the while, they were obliged to give up the 
contest, because mother must not be made to cough — contenting 
themselves by bestowing upon me the epithet of " baby," we were 
left in peace. Then the disordered curls were smoothed and dressed 
by a gentle hand, amid many a low, soft laugh, at our mad frolic. 
But ah ! those days are past, and it is with different feelings I stand 
now here. 

But gently ; her last requests are to be fulfilled : it is for that I 
am here ; for that I have crossed the ocean. ! that I had come 


Alone I chose to come here, that none might read the emotion in 
my face, which would not be stilled in the solitude of my heart. 
Her blessinsc she sent me, wafted on the breezes westward-bound. 
A streak of sunlight gleamed across the room, and lay trembling 
and sparkling at my feet in its golden brightness. It warned me 
that night would soon spread his mantle o'er the world, and that 
tiny thread of gold was just peeping there for a moment to say, "good 
night." It opened my heart to other thoughts. I rose hastily, fear- 
ing to lose the last look at his golden majesty, threw open the shut- 


ters, and gazed upon a scene glorious in its resplendent beauty. 
There was the lake, its waters smooth and silvery with the tints of 
the setting sun, sparkling in the spray as it dashed against the bank. 
The large golden orb was just touching the western boundary of the 
lake, lighting up myriads of floating clouds, edging them with gold 
and purple, crumpled and blazing in bright and radiant hues. 

One other sunset I remembered like this, the eve before my de- 
parture from my home. I exclaimed then in rapture, " Oh ! mother ! 
come quickly, and look ! Look, oh look ! at the glorious sun shin- 
ing in the far-off West. How beautiful ! And mark how proud the 
clouds appear of their golden crest. 

Alas ! He lias vanislied from my view, 

He has faded from mj' sight — 
The clouds have lost their golden hue. 

And we are left with night. 

I have no mother now to call to admire the beautifes of the sunset ; 
she was the light that guided my infant mind, and like all that is 
bright and beautiful, she too has passed away, and now I am left 
with night, and my own sad heart, without the light of a mother's 
countenance, without her voice of cheering encouragement. 

But I have duties, yet unfinished, to call my attention. Slowly 
and sadly I rose, and closed out the few last streaks of daylight. 
Lighting a candle, I proceeded to my task. Drawer after drawer 
Avas unlocked, and each contained some dear relic — a dress, a hand- 
kerchief, gloves and fan — each had its little treasure, that spoke of 
the dear departed. Here is a neat cap, sent from Philadelphia : 
dear mother, how she prized it; not for its value, but it suited her 
taste precisely, with its plain rolled border, and its lute-string rib- 
bon of pure white. It was, she said, " her pet cap." She'll never 
wear it again. This small green box was given her many years ago 
by brother Archie ; a little plain, homely thing it is, but she valued 
it because it was given her by the son she loved dearly, long since 
at rest, with the quiet dead. It contains deeds, receipts, and pa- 
pers — letters from old friends, and business letters of more recent 
date. Here is one, in her own handwriting, " To my dearly beloved 
daughter Hadassah." My hand trembles as I grasp the letter : 
breaking the seal, I read : — 

" Hadassah, I have often desired to tell you what I write here. 


You remember having questioned me regarding a locket which you 
once saw in my hand, though I strove to conceal it, yet could not 
before you saw enough to induce you to wonder, I presume, at my 
strange agitation. I carefully avoided questions on the subject. 
You will find the locket with this letter. It is your father, Hada." 
I pause a moment in sheer astonishment. The picture in the parlor, 
then, was not my father. It was all a strange mystery to me. I open- 
ed the little locket with a spring, and saw the face of a man to whom 
I bore a remarkable likeness. "Love him, Hada, for I have, ever. 
We were married very young. A son and you, Hada, are all the chil- 
dren I bore this dearly-beloved husband. Your brother died while you 
were still young. After his death, your father was much from home, 
and my friends began to interest themselves about the matter — pre- 
tended friends, I should say — for after many months of supposed neg- 
lect on your father's part, they induced me to apply for and obtain 
a divorce. After it was gained, I learned he had been detained 
from me and his home by illness, that brought him to the very bor- 
der of the grave. But I was too proud to retract what I had caused 
to be done, and he, I suppose, felt himself too much wronged to 
seek for, or wish, a reconciliation. Thus hastily was the happiness 
of two beings wrecked by the unfortunate interference of would-be 
friends. He started abroad immediately, and this act convinced me 
that I had lost his love. After a while, I married again, a man of 
fortune and talent. He bestowed upon me his heart's first affec- 
tion, and no one suspected but what I loved him equally in return. 
I fulfilled every duty faithfully and truly to him, and after a while, 
if I did not love him with the warm ardor of my early days, I re- 
spected and esteemed him above all others. But, alas ! the heart's 
first warm afiections were gone. I told him all : that if he could 
accept the faded love a.nd blighted heart of one who would strive to 
be all he could desire a wife to be, I would be his. He consented, 
and we were married. Many considered me fortunate in doing so 
well, for my parents were poor, and marriage was my only hope. 
But ! how I shrank from this. I was helpless, with my little 
ones to raise and educate. You were at school, and had been for 
many months, — others quite as helpless depending upon me for sub- 

' What could I do but wed? 
Hast seen a father on the cold, cold earth ; 


Hast read Ms eye of silent agony 

That asked relief, yet would not look 

Reproach upon his child unkind ? 

I would have wed disease, deformity, 

Yea, would have grasped death's 

Grizzly form, to escape from it ; 

And yet some witchery was wrought upon me, 

For earlier things do seem as yesterday. 

But I 've no recollection of the hour. 

They gave my hand to Aldobrand.' 

I cannot explain to you my feelings better, my child, than in using 
this quotation. In this state of desperation I married. But I 
never swerved in my duty as a wife and mother. And if rebellious 
thoughts arose at times, I strove to overcome them ; and notwith- 
standing every effort to the contrary, my love for your absent fa- 
ther returned with renewed ardor. I knew this was wrong, and I 
strove long and earnestly to still the cravings at my poor heart. 
Your brother and sisters loved you, and knew not but you were 
their own sister. At length I stood by a husband's grave, and 
tears of real heart-sorrow did I shed on the sod that covered the 
noble form and great, good heart of my children's father. 

"Now comes peace, quiet peace at last, to my storm-tossed souL 
It was no longer a war with myself and my duty. 

"I had been a widow for years, when your father returned from 
abroad with a young and lovely wife. This, Hada, was the great- 
est struggle of my life. We met at a party, each ignorant of the 
invitation extended to the other ; for this was far, far south, where 
I had removed directly after my second marriage. And the friends 
were entirely ignorant of my antecedents. My widow's weeds gave 
me a strange, sad appearance. I had not left them off, for I mourn- 
ed for the living as much as for the dead. I felt unusually de- 
pressed, and sat turning over mechanically the paintings in a, folio 
on the table. I was thinking — shall I say it, my child ? — not of the 
dead husband, but of the living husband of another wife. An in- 
troduction was taking place. I raised my head, and there they 
stood, he and his bride. What a revolution of thoughts crowded 
upon my brain ! I rose to depart, and fell fainting on the floor. 
She did not know the cause. When I recovered he was bending 
over me, with eyes speaking volumes of the old love rekindled, and 
I felt in my heart that he would rather call me wife, with my faded 
beauty and care-worn heart, than the fresh, young, lovely creature 


by his side. On my reviving, he released my hand, and bowing 
coldly but politely, withdrew. I remained but a short time, having 
a just and reasonable excuse for retiring. Oh, how I writhed in 
agony when I reached home. You may think strange of this, my 
child, but my heart was never, never divorced ; although, by the 
persuasion of false friends, the law granted a legal separation ; — on 
what complaint I do not know. I only know that it was done. A 
few weeks after, a line came to me in the old familiar hand-writyig. 
' Can you see me for a few moments V Could I see him ? Wife, 
husband, children, friends, all were forgotten in the anticipation of 
that joy ! — to see, to speak with him alone, to hear him ask after his 
child, — I answered 'yes.' He came. We were both agitated. I 
knew he loved me still. I knew it the evening he chafed my hands 
and bathed my brow. He met me frankly, cordially; told me he 
wished to see his child. You were at school and could not see him. 
He was going, he said, with his wife to a distant land. He told me 
how he loved his child, and would return before he died, to see her. 
He begged me to strive to live on for our child's sake. He went — 
I have never seen him since. Hada, I sometimes think we shall 
meet again ; but if we do not, I feel assured my child will live to 
know and love her father. When I commenced this to you, I 
thought to send it, but now my health is failing so rapidly, I will 
wait in hope you may return. You must know all. I could not 
talk with you on the subject, — and you may read this after I am 
gone. I feel life ebbing away, slowly and surely. I long more 
earnestly to see my child. 

" May, 1856 :— A few words, Hada, will close this. I know I 
shall not see you again here ; but be ready to meet me hereafter. 
Oh, my child ! you inherit your mother's impetuous, impulsive na- 
ture : strive to overcome it. Conquer yourself, my child, and you 
may be spared much misery. Never judge hastily another's errors. 
May the suffering and heart-trials of your mother be sufficient to 
allay Divine wrath ; and may God's choicest blessing rest upon you. 
Oh ! that I could but see your father and you beside me in my dy- 
ing hour, and feel assured I left my best beloved under a father's 
care, a father's love. But ' His will, not mine, be done.' Nature is 
almost exhausted. I may not live to see another sunrise. I leave 
a mother's love, a mother's blessing to you, my daughter. 


"This is the home of my early love: you were born here. On 
my return from the South, I found it for sale, and purchased it, — 
glad to regain it, — I have lived here since. It is yours, Hada : I 
would prefer you to live here. Your* brother and sisters inherit 
their father's estate. My share in his fortune I leave to you. All 
this I know you do not crave ; and that my blessing and love is more 
than all beside, — you have both ; and now, good-bye, — a long, last 
good-bye, ray child. E. S." 

Thus closed her letter. And I am standing here ; the great tears 
rolling down my cheeks like beads. Slowly and sadly I kneel be- 
side her chair and pray, — pray for strength to bear all patiently, — 
pray for a strong arm to guide and guard me. I close the little 
box, with the letter in the corner, hang the locket round my neck, 
and leave the room, better, I hope, but sadder than when I entered. 
I now know how, by one rash act, that noble woman had suffered 
through long years. No footsteps but mine can enter within the 
sacred precincts of my mother's chamber : none but his if he should 
ever seek and find me. 

•But to me it is my haven of rest. An hour, morning and even- 
ning, is spent here in reading, meditation, and prayer. And often 
when clouds are gathering dark around me, and my heart is strug- 
gling with itself, I fly to this room, till the light breaks upon me, 
and I find peace. 

Ifc has been nearly three years since I read 7zer letter. A stranger 
desires to speak with me in the parlor. I hasten there, with a 
strange foreboding, and see, on entering, a noble form gazing at my 
mother's portrait. He turned as I entered ; the tears were stand- 
ing in his large blue eyes, and rolling down his care-worn cheek. 
Did I dream? "My daughter!" burst from his lips, and I was 
folded to my father's breast. Closer, closer, he pressed me there, while 
each shed silent tears of heartfelt joy. He took from his breast a 
locket, touched a spring, and discovered to my view a miniature of 
my mother, taken at a later date than the portrait. It was the 
mate of the one I wore on my neck containing his likeness, and 
which I doubt not had been worn secretly by her until the hour of 
her death. 

Who can control the heart's afieetions, or bid it cease to love ? 
" I have always worn it," said he ; "I have never ceased to love her." 


I took his atm and led Mm to her room, put in his hand a letter di- 
rected in a neat, tremhling hand, " To my Hada's Father." I 
closed the door and left him there alone. 

He did not leave me. He had huried his young bride in a distant 
land, and he came home to seek his early love, and found her dead. 

As his strength failed, which it did rapidly, after his return, I 
waited on him, smoothed his pillow, and bathed his burning brow. 
I loved to see him smile upon me, and call me his darling child, his 
comfort, and consolation ; and when the angel Death hovered round 
his bed, waiting to bear his spirit hence, he whispered his blessing, 
and gave me the locket he prized so highly, and a golden ringlet of 
my mother's hair. He whispered a good-bye to the world and me 
with a smile, and peace rested upon his face, and with his spirit. 

The past is with me still. The room is nearer, dearer, to my 
heart than ever, for it was there he was carried to breathe his last. 
No foot ever crosses its threshold but my own ; and when I sleep 
the sleep of death, I hope it will be there my eyes will close upon 
the world. There, with its surroundings, I hope to depart in peace. 
There, where I have sought and found peace, will be a hallowed 
place in which I can with joy leave all behind, to join the beloved 
ones gone before. 

There are many shining qualities in the mind of man ; but none so 
useful as discretion. It is this, indeed, which gives a value to all 
the rest, and sets them to work in their proper places, and turns 
them to the advantages of their possessor. "Without it, learning is 
pedantry ; wit, impertinence ; and virtue itself looks like weakness ; 
and the best parts only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errors 
and active in his own prejudices. 

Peace. — Peace is better than joy. Joy is an uneasy guest, and 
always on tip-toe to depart. It tires and wears us out, and yet 
keeps us ever fearing that the next moment it will be gone. Peace is 
not so — it comes more quietly, it stays more contentedly, and it 
never exhausts our strength, nor gives us one forecasting thought. 
Therefore, let us pray for peace. 



Living in a lovely dell, 

Where the evening shadows fell 
On a landscape where the Fairies 

Might delight to dwell, 
Once I knew an elf-like creature, 
Fairy she, in form and feature ; 

And they called her, — shall I tell? 

— Charming Cherry Chatterwell ! 

Golden tresses, flashing bright 
In the sunbeam's golden light, 
Fell upon her bosom, — fairer 

Never met the sight : 
With an undulating motion, 
Like mock waves on mimic ocean, 
That white bosom rose and fell : — 
Charming Cherry Chatterwell ! 

Sure from out the the starry skies 
Came the light of those dear eyes, 
For the pure, electric brilliance 

None could e'er surmise 
Born of anything material ; — 
'Twas so clear, and so etherial, 
That each heart on which it fell, 
Worshipped Cherry Chatterwell ! 

Nature, in a fairy freak, 
Set such dimples in each cheek, 
As would charm a cold ascetic ; 

And, whene'er she'd speak, 
The air seemed filled with music soft, 
Like that enchanted spirits uft 
Hear in Zephyr's magic swell : — 
Such was Cherry Chatterwell. 

Round about her was a spell ; 

Whence its power none could tell, 
And queen was she of all the hearts 

In the lovely dell ; 
But came one day an Angel grim, 
Alas ! no spell can conquer Him, — 

And the bells a mournful knell 

Tolled for Cherry Chatterwell! 
Downieville, Sept. 2ith, 18*50. 

[Continued from page 374.] 




How bitterly he now realized that dress and fashionable display may 
occupy a woman's mind and absorb her energies quite as much as 
the most intensely interesting book that was ever written. He be- 
gan to realize that woman's mind, as well as man's, is active and 
needs something upon which its energies may expend themselves ; 
in fact, some purpose in life capable of developing her higher and 
spiritual nature. He did not blame the beautiful but thoughtless 
creature at his side, for well he knew that he had done nothing to 
counteract the evils of her early education. She had been to him a 
petted plaything, and that was all he had desired. But now it was 
different. He saw a beloved son and daughter growing up, and 
while he looked for the influence of the mother to mould their char- 
acters, he shrank instinctively from the thought of having her weak- 
nesses duplicated in them. 

The evening wore away as all such evenings do ; amid giddy, be- 
wildering excitement ; and it was not without an inward feeling of 
satisfaction that Mr. Stanley saw some of the guests making their 
adieux preparatory to departure. Just at this moment, and while 
he turned to look for his wife, he saAv her approaching, leaning upon 
the arm of a young man whose face was evidently flushed with 
something more than the excitement of the dance. 

" I am glad you have returned to me," he said, advancing to meet 

" Thank you," said the wife, whose good nature had again re- 
turned. "I have had a delightful time : the music is excellent; and 
some of the gentlemen waltz exquisitely" — glancing at her young 
companion, who bowed his head in appreciation of her flattery. 

"Shall we not prepare to go home, now ?" asked Mr. Stanley. 

" Certainly ; if you wish it. We will make our adieux at once." 

This ceremony over, Mr. Stanley handed his wife to the carriage, 
and they were soon flying over the pavement at a brisk rate towards 
their home. Soon his attention was attracted by the unsteady 


movement of the carriage : it swayed this way and that, first on 
one side of the road and then on the other. On, on they bounded, 
with lightning speed, and it soon became evident to the frightened 
inmates that the driver had by some means lost all control of his 
horses, and they were dashing on in their own reckless speed, with- 
out the influence of a guiding hand. As the fearful truth flashed 
across the mind of Mrs. Stanley, she uttered one fearful, piercing 
cry,, and sank back in a swoon. Mr. Stanley, however, retained his 
presence of mind, and prepared for any emergency. At length, 
descending a sharp declivity in the road, the carriage was upset. 
Extricating himself as quickly as possible, he rushed to the horses' 
heads, whose speed had been somewhat impeded by the overturned 
carriage ; catching a bit in each hand, he stayed their progress just 
in time to save them from plunging over the side of the hill. A 
moment more, and he was hailed by some gentlemen who were re- 
turning from the same party. Their ofiers of assistance were glad- 
ly accepted, and the still insensible Mrs- Stanley was borne from the 
carriage to her home, which fortunately was not far distant. It was 
evident that she was sufiering, not alone from fright, but from per- 
sonal injury. A physician was sent for immediately, who lost no 
time in making his appearance, and after examining her wounds, de- 
clared that she was suffering from a broken arm, and also from in- 
ternal injuries, the precise nature of which he could not then decide 

Aroused from her torpor by external pain, she submitted to the 
"setting" of her arm with more fortitude and patience than her 
friends had ever witnessed in her before ; but when told that it 
would be necessary for her to confine herself to her room for seve- 
ral days, perhaps weeks, the old impatience seemed to return, and 
she murmured, petulantly : " I can't, indeed I can't stay housed up 
here, with nothing to amuse me for days and weeks together." 

"The children and I will amuse you," said her husband, sooth- 

" The children, indeed ! " replied the suffering wife : " they tor- 
ment me to death when 1 am well ; how can I put up with them 
when I am sick ? " 

Seeing that his attempts at consolation were useless, and had 
only the contrary effect of what he desired, Mr. Stanley said no 


more, but turned aside witli a heavy heart. He was deeply pained 
at the suffering of his wife, and he well knew that the recesses of 
her mind afforded no treasure-house of thought from whence she 
might draw amusement and strength during the long hours which 
were likely to separate her from the world, — her world of fashiona- 
ble society. He sighed as he thought of that society for which his 
poor wife had sacrificed so much ; whose favor ever stops short of 
the threshold of penury or pain ; whose smiles are only for the 
prosperous and favored of fortune ; whose gratifications extend on- 
ly to the outward senses, and not to the soul. He realized with her 
that the world she had lived in was receding from her view, and 
trembled as he looked into the dark void before her. 

Had she but made books her companions in the days past, instead 
of the gay and giddy throng of heartless fashionables, she would 
not now have had to suffer the pain of separation, and her solitude 
would have been chebred by the memory of sweet thoughts stirred 
in her heart long since by Chaucer, Spenser, Milton, Moore, He- 
mans, and Norton, and hosts of others who never forget their admir- 
ers, but follow them to the sandy desert and over the scorching 
plain. Through summer's heat and winter's snow they cling to 
them. Poverty can not part them, nor misfortune change them : 
they sing the same sweet strains to the lonely, poverty-stricken ex- 
ile, that they do to fortune's more favored child — to the aged, as 
to the young. Their influence purifies and renders tranquil the 
mind, imbues it with lofty sentiments, and raises it to an apprecia- 
tion of its higher and God-given powers. 

Day after day wore wearily away in that room of suffering ; but 
He who orders all things aright, and has a purpose in even the 
smallest blade of grass that grows, was working out his divine pur- 
pose in the heart of Mrs. Stanley. At the first news of the acci- 
dent, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson had promptly offered any service they 
could render, and as they were near neighbors, Mrs. Simpson fre- 
quently took her work and sat for an hour or two in the sick cham- 
ber. Mrs. Stanley at first accepted of her society, rather than be 
alone ; but gradually she came to look for her visits for other rea- 
sons. Mrs. Simpson was not only a highly intellectual and well ed- 
ucated woman, but she also possessed practical talent invaluable in 
a wife and mother. It was she ordered the dinner of the house- 


hold, cut and made her children's garments, and was at once their 
companion and their teacher. Never wearying of their society, she 
led them on to explore the deep labyrinths of nature's mysteries, 
and with the love of a tender mother lifted their young minds from 
"nature up to nature's God." As might have been expected, the 
children were refined in manner and kind in heart, rendering to 
their parents reverent obedience. 

Mrs. Stanley was not slow to mark the difference between her 
own boisterous and wayward children and the mild obedience of 
Mrs. Simpson's. 

"I wish my children were mild and gentle as yours are," she re- 
marked to Mrs. Simpson one day as her own went tearing from the 
room; "but they are so full of spirits I can't control them, nor 
make them mind at all." 

"They are indeed full of spirits,'' replied her friend, "and of 
that I should be glad. You do not need to break their spirits ; on- 
ly guide them, and direct their youthful energies into proper chan- 

" It is easy to do so with your good children, but mine are so 
wild and unmanageable, I have no heart." 

"Ever since my children were given me," replied Mrs. Simpson, 
" I think I have realized my responsibility towards them. I know 
that this life, at best, is but a rudimentary state of being, designed 
by the all Father to develope and educate the faculties of the mind 
for a higher and more perfect state of existence. With this thought 
in view, I have made it the purpose of my life to develope their spir- 
itual as well as mental and physical natures, and fit them for the 
perfection and enjoyment of the life which was bestowed upon them 
through me, but which will continue through all the endless ages of 

"Do you think," asked Mrs, Stanley, "that the more perfect we 
become here, the happier we will be hereafter ?" 

" Most certainly I do," replied Mrs. Simpson ; "and with this in 
view, I have felt the chief purpose of my life to be : to educate 
my children in harmony with the universal laws of GoD ; that as all 
things tend towards perfection, so they may at last be perfected 
through Him who is able to perfect the world unto himself." 

For some moments Mrs. Stanley seemed absorbed in deep thought, 


and when at last she ventured to speak, it was with that earnestness 
of tone which betrays the workings of the heart. 

"I see now how it is," she said ; " I have been all the years since 
my children were given me, laboring for their worldly interests, their 
temporal advancement. I have tried to prepare them for Society, 
and knew not that I could fit them for Eternity. You have shown 
me that I have higher duties to perform towards them than simply 
to clothe their bodies and introduce them to the world. I thank 
you for so kindly instructing me, and henceforth I too will live to a 
higher and Nobler Purpose." 

LOUISE.— By E. Amanda Suionton. 

She fell asleep at eve, 
After days and nights of pain, 

For the delicate frame, and yearning hearts 
Had striven vrith death in vain. 

We gathered around her bed 

In speechless, sad array, 
When the first full flush of the morning's gold 

O'erspread the orient gray. 

We flung the casement wide, 

And beneath the holy light, 
What a miracle of loveliness 

Burst on our tear-dimmed sight ! 

The beautiful young face 

Strangely celestial grevr — 
The casket seemed a vase of pearl, 

That a silvery light shone through. 
A glory, like h crown. 

Encircled the soft, brown hair ; 
And a radiant perfectness of rest 

Lay on the features fair. 
The calm, illumined lips 

Seemed tenderly to say : — 
Behold the robe of Light I wear ! 

In the realms of perfect day ! 
Through all the changing years. 

In sunshine, gloom, or strife. 
We can catch the gleam of her shining robe, 

In the land of Eternal Life ! 
San Fraxcisco, Oct. 3, 1860. 



" Married for a home, did I ? Well, a pretty home I have had of 
it, Mr. Jenkins ! A home to be sure ! — the privilege of keeping 
your house clean, mending your old breeches, and sitting up nights 
with your sick or cross children, while you enjoyed yourself at the 
club, or the opera, or snored, snugly tucked away in your bed. 
Married for a home, indeed ! Why, teaching school is nothing to it ; 
the teachers have only care of the children through the day ; they 
can sleep at night ; and if they get tired of boarding in one place 
they can go to another. I don't say anything about a pair of new 
shoes now and then, Mr. Jenkins, but I do say that I have cut and 
made over my clothes, from the shirt to the shoes, to clothe your 
children and keep them decent, until I have nothing more to make 
over. And now you must either clothe them yourself, or get some- 
thing to do it with. Married for a home, did I, Mr. Jenkins ? Then 
I made a mistake in marrying you ; for what with your stinginess 
and ill nature, the poverty and the children and the hard work, it 
has been more like Bedlam, than home to me. Talk about woman 
marrying for a home ! I should think you Avould never open your 
mouth upon that subject again. Who set them the example, I 
should like to know ? Not you men ; oh no ! There is Deacon 
Brightlight ; he didn't go and set himself right down on widow 
Simpson's property, did he ? — and he did n't do it, either, until 
after that mortgage was lifted and all the trouble got along with ; 
and hasn't he sat in the chimney corner and smoked his old pipe 
ever since. Who married for a home there, I should like to know, 
Mr. Jenkins ? It could n't have been Deacon Brightlight, oh no ! 
— one of the pompous ' lords of creation ' would scorn to do such a 
thing, — only women, — weak, feeble, helpless women, marry for 
homes. Nobody ever knew a Man marry for a home ; oh no ! they 
never do such things ; they only marry for the sake of providing a 
home for some poor helpless female ; — the noble, disinterested crea- 
tures ! — nobody will ever do them the injustice of saying they mar- 
ried for a home — oh no ! 

The beautiful heiress of Clifton Knoll, I suppose she, too, with 
her fifty thousand dollars, married that scapegrace Frank Barton, 


for tlie sake of a home ; and if he did abuse her, and sq^uander all 
her property in less than three years after she married him, why 
nobody pitied her ; it is all her own fault ; she ought to have made 
home more attractive, when Frank was bo good as to marry her and 
give her one. What's that you say, Mr. Jenkins ?" " Take breath- 
ing time." " Oh, yes, you always want me to take 'breathing time ' 
when the truth cuts too close home, Mr. Jenkins. ' Married for a 
home !' — well, I never ! never !' " 

Young Love. — Oh, woe ! woe ! to the mother, who, serene in a hap- 
piness, strengthened, while it is tempered by Time, fails to sympa- 
thize with a crimsoned cheek, the fluttering heart, the silent tear, 
that betray a daughter's initiation into the lore, which was once the 
food of her thoughts through anxious nights and days of deep, yet 
troubled joy. Why not teach our children that the friendships and 
loves, seen rich and warm, with the early summer glow npon them 
are but the foretastes of the divine, all-pervading sentiment which 
God would have His immortal creature know. Have you ever thought 
— you, who hold that a fit preparation for " Life's realities " (a term 
hateful as trite !) is a mastery of the judgment over the heart ; a 
thorough subjugation of impetuosity to common sense; an unroof- 
ing, and undermining, and explosion, and pulverization, to the last 
atom, of the castles which children and youths will erect, with only 
air for foundation and superstructure ; you, who would drug into 
insensibility the generous impulse and ardent devotion of hearts 
whose veins run red, fast, young blood, as the Creator wills they 
shall ; have you ever thought, we ask, of the meaning of that text : 
" If a man love not his brother, whom he hath seen, how can he love 
God, whom he hath not seen?" How shall we, in the heaven of 
love, practice what we are making it the study of our lives to un- 
learn ? 

VINCIT VERITAS .— Bv U. T. Holmes. 
True it is that earthly sin Man who is by wrong oppressed, 

Ofteatimes the good assails ; Often his hard fate bewails ; 

But the right will surely win — But all 's working for the best — 

For at last the truth preyails. Time will show that truth prevails. 


" Poor flowers, you are all withered ! " said little Ida. " Yester- 
day evening you were so pretty, and now all your leaves are droop- 
ing ! "What is the reason of it ? " asked she of a youth sitting on 
a sofa, and whom she liked very much, because he told her fairy- 
tales, and cut out pasteboard houses for her. " Why do these flow- 
ers look so faded ? " asked she again, showing him a withered nose- 

" Don't you know ? " answered he ; " your flowers have been all 
night at a ball, and that's the reason they all hang their heads." 

" Elowers cannot dance ! " continued little Ida. 

" Certainly they can ! When it is dark, and we are gone to rest, 
then they dance about right merrily. They have a ball almost ev- 
ery night ! " 

" May children go to the flowers' ball too ? " asked little Ida. 

" Yes, answered the youth. " Little daisies and convolvuluses." 

" Where do the prettiest flowers dance ? " 

" Have you never been in the large garden just outside the gates, 
where the king's country-house is, and where there are so many 
flowers ? You have surely seen the swans that come swimming to- 
wards you when you fling them bread ? The flowers have balls 
there, I can tell you." 

"I was there yesterday with mamma," said Ida; "but there 
were no leaves on the trees, and I did not see a single flower. Where 
were they then ? There were so many there in summer ! " 



" They are in the palace now," said the youth. "As soon as the 
king quits his summer-palace, and goes to town with his court, all 
the flowers run directly out of the garden into the palace, and make 
a merry there. If you could but see it once ! The two most beau- 
tiful roses seat themselves on the throne, and play at king and 
queen. Then the red cockscombs range themselves in rows on both 
sides, and make a low bow ; these are the gentlemen of the bed- 
chamber. Then the nicest flowers enter, and the ball begins. The 
blue violets are midshipmen, and they dance with hyacinths and 
crocuses, which they call young ladies. The tulips and yellow lilies 
are old dowagers, who are to see that all is conducted with propri- 

" But," said little Ida, quite astonished, " may the flowers give a 
ball in the king's palace in that way ? " 

"No one knows anything about it," answered the youth. "It's 
true, sometimes an old inspector of the palace comes up stairs in 
the night with his great bunch of keys, to see if all is safe ; but as 
soon as the flowers hear the rattling of his keys, they keep quite 
still, and hide behind the long silken window-curtains. ' I smell 
flowers here,' says the old inspector ; but he cannot find out where 
they are." 

"That's very droll," said little Ida, clapping her hands. "But 
could I not see the flowers ? " 

"Of course you can see them," answered the youth. "Only 
peep in at the window when you go again to the palace. I looked 
in to-day, and I saw a long pale white lily reclining on the sofa. 
That was a maid of honor." 

" Can the flowers in the Botanical Garden go there too ? " asked 
she. "Are they able to go all that way? " 

" Certainly, for if the flowers choose, they can fly. The pretty 
red and yellow butterflies, that almost look like flowers, are in real- 
ity nothing else. They have jumped from their stems, they move 
their leaves as if they were wings, and so fly about ; and as they 
always behave well, they are allowed to flutter hither and thither by 
day, instead of sitting quietly on their stems, till at last real wings 
grow out of their leaves. Why, you have seen it often enough 
yourself. However, it may be that the flowers in the Botanical 
Garden did not know that there was such a merry-making in the 



king's palace of a night. But I'll tell you something ; when you 
go there again, you have only to whisper it to one flower, that there 
is a ball at the palace ; one will tell it to the other, and all the flow- 
ers are sure to fly there. Then when the professor of botany comes 
into the garden, and does not find any of his flowers, he will not be 
able to comprehend what has become of them." 

" Oh ! " said little Ida, somewhat angry at the strange story, 
" how should the flowers be able to tell each other what I say ? 
Flowers cannot speak! " 

"No, they cannot; there you are quite right," continued the 
youth; "but they make themselves understood by gestures. Have 
you not often seen how they bend to and fro when there is the gen- 
tlest breeze ? To them this is as intelligible as words are to us." 

" Does the professor understand their gestures, then ? " said little 

" To be sure he does. One morning he came into the garden and 
remarked that a great stinging-nettle was on very intimate terms 
with the leaves of a pretty young pink. ' You are so beautiful,' 
said the nettle to the pink, ' and I love you so devotedly ! ' But 
the professor would not suffer anything of the sort, and tapped the 
nettle on his leaves — for those are his fingers ; but he stung him- 
self, and from that day forward he has never ventured to touch a 

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! that was good fun," said little Ida. 

" What's the meaning of that ? " said a professor of mathemat- 
ics, who had just come to pay a visit, " to tell a child such non- 
sense ? " He could not bear the young man, and always scolded 
when he saw him cutting out pasteboard figures — as, for example, a 
man on the gallows with a heart in his hand, which was meant for a 
stealer of hearts ; or an old witch riding on a broomstick, carrying 
her husband on the tip of her nose. Then he used to say as he did 
now, " What's the meaning of that — to teach the child such non- 
sense ? That's your stupid imagination, I suppose." 

But little Ida thought it was very amusing, and could not forget 
what the youth had told her. No doubt her flowers did hang their 
heads because they had really been to the ball yesterday. She 
therefore carried them to the table, where all sorts of toys were 
nicely arranged, and in the drawer were many pretty things be- 


sides. Her doll lay in a little bed, to go to sleep ; but Ida said to 
her, " Really, Sophy, you must get up, and be satisfied with the 
drawer to-night; for the poor flowers are ill, and must sleep in your 
bed. Then perhaps they may be well by to-morrow." So she took 
the doll out of bed ; but the good lady made a wry face at being 
obliged to leave her bed for the sake of old flowers. 

Ida laid the withered flowers in her doll's bed, covered them up 
with the counterpane, and told them to lay quite still, and in the 
mean time she would make some tea for them to drink, that they 
might be quite well by to-morrow. And she drew the curtains close 
all round the bed, so that the sun might not shine in the flowers' 

The whole evening she kept on thinking of what she had heard, 
and just before going to bed she ran to the window where her mo- 
ther's tulips and hyacinths were standing, to whisper to them, " I 
know very well that you are going to the ball to-night." But the 
flowers seemed as if they heard nothing, and moved not a leaf. 

When she was in bed she thought how nice it would be to see the 
flowers dancing at the king's palace. " Have my flowers really 
been there ? " But before she could think about the answer, she 
had fallen asleep. She awoke again in the night ; she had dreamed 
of the youth and the flowers, and of the professor of mathematics, 
who always said she believed everything. It was quite still in the 
sleeping-room ; the night-lamp burnt on the table, and her father 
and mother were fast asleep. 

" I wonder if my flowers are still in Sophy's bed ? " said she. 
"I should like so much to know ! " She sat up in her bed, looked 
towards the door, which was half open, and there lay the flowers 
and her playthings all as she had left them. She listened, and it 
seemed to her as if some one was playing on the piano in the room, 
but quite softly, and yet so beautifully that she thought she had 
never heard the like. 

"Now, then, my flowers are all dancing for certain ! " said she. 
" Oh, how I should like to see them ! " But she dared not get up, 
for fear of awaking her father and mother. " If they would but 
come in here ! " But the flowers did not come, and the piano 
sounded so sweetly ! At last she could bear it no longer — see the 
dance she must ; so she crept noiselessly out of bed, and glided to- 


wards the door of the drawing-room. And what wonders did she 
behold ! 

The night-lamp burned no longer ; and yet it was quite light in 
the room, because the moon shone through the window and illumined 
the whole floor. All the hyacinths and tulips stood in two rows in 
the drawing-room, and before the windows was nothing but the empty 
flower-pots. The flowers danced figures, and held each other by 
the long leaves. At the piano sat a large yellow lily, that Ida 
thought she had seen before ; for she remembered that the youth 
had once told her that this lily was like Miss Mary Smith, and that 
everybody had laughed at him for saying so. Now, it seemed to 
her that the lily really was like the young lady, and that she had 
quite the same manners when she played ; for now she bent her 
long sallow face first on one side, and then on the other, and nod- 
ded with her head to keep time. Now a large blue crocus rose, 
leapt upon the table where Ida's toys were laying, went straight to 
the bed, and drew the curtains. There lay the sick flowers ; but 
they got up directly and saluted the other flowers, who begged them 
to join the dance. The sick flowers really did get up, looked no 
longer ill, and danced merrily with the rest. 

Suddenly a dull sound was heard, as if something had fallen from 
the table. Ida cast her eyes in that direction, and saw that it was 
the rod she had found lying on her bed one Shrovetide morning, and 
which now wanted to be looked upon as a flower. It was indeed a 
charming rod ; for at the top a little wax figure was hidden, with a 
broad-brimmed haf on like the professor, and it was tied with red 
and blue ribands. So it hopped about among the flowers, and 
stamped away right merrily with its feet; for it was the mazourka 
that it was dancing, and this the flowers could not dance, for they 
were much too light-footed. 

All at once the wax figure in the rod became a tall and stout gi- 
ant, and cried out with aloud voice, " What's the meaning of this 
— to teach the child such nonsense ? But this is your stupid imag- 
ination, I suppose! " And now the doll grew just like the profess- 
or, and looked as yellow and cross as he did ; they were as like as 
two peas. But the paper flowers with which the rod was ornament- 
ed pinched his thin lanky legs, and then he shrunk together and 
was a doll again. Little Ida thought this scene so funny that she 


burst out a laughing, which, however, the company did not remark ; 
for the rod kept on stamping, till at last the professor of mathemat- 
ics was obliged to dance too, whether he would or not ; and wheth- 
er he made himself stout or thin, big or little, he was forced to keep 
on, till at last the flowers begged for him, and then the rod left him 
in peace. 

A loud knocking was heard in the drawer where the doll lay. It 
was Sophy, who, putting out her head, asked, quite astonished, " Is 
there a ball ? why was I not told of it ? " 

" Will you dance with me ? " said the nut-crackers. 

"A fine sort of person indeed to dance with ! " said Sophy, turn- 
ing her back on him. She seated herself on the drawer, and thought 
that one of the flowers would certainly come and fetch her to dance. 
But no one came. She coughed: "Ahem! ahem!" Still none 
came. Then the nut-crackers began dancing alone, and did his 
steps by no means badly. 

When Sophy saw that not one of the flowers came to offer him- 
self as partner, she suddenly slipped down on the floor, so that 
there was a terrible fuss, and all the flowers came to inquire if she 
had hurt or bruised herself. She was not hurt at all ; but all the 
flowers were very complaisant, particularly those belonging to Ida, 
who took this opportunity to thank her for the nice bed in which 
they had slept so quietly ; and then they took her by the hand and 
led her to the dance, while all the other flowers stood round in a 
circle. Sophy was now quite happy, and begged Ida's flowers to 
make use of her bed after the ball, as she, for her part, did not at 
all mind sleeping one night in the drawer. 

But the flowers said : "We are very much obliged to you indeed; 
but we shall not live so long, for to-morrow we shall be quite with- 
ered. Beg little Ida to bestow upon us a grave in her garden near 
her canary-bird ; there we shall appear again next summer and 
grow more beautiful than we were this year." 

"No, you shall not die ! " continued Sophy, vehemently, kissing 
the flowers. Suddenly the door of the drawing-room opened, and 
a whole row of flowers came dancing in. Ida could not comprehend 
where these flowers came from, unless they were the flowers from 
the king's pleasure-grounds. In front danced two beautiful roses 
with golden crowns, and then followed stocks and pinks bowing on 


every side. They too had a b^nd of music with them ; large pop- 
pies and peonies blew upon pea-shells till they were red in the face, 
and lilies of the valley and blue-bells joined their tinkling sounds. 
Then came a crowd of the most various flowers, all dancing, — vio- 
lets, daisies, convolvuluses, hyacinths ; and they all moved and 
turned about so prettily, that it was quite a charming sight. 

At last the happy flowers bid each other good night; and now 
little Ida slipped into bed again, and dreamed of all the splendid 
things she had just beheld. The following morning, as soon as she 
was up and dressed, she went to the table where her playthings 
were, to see if her flowers were still there. She drew the bed-cur- 
tains aside, and — yes ! the flowers were there, but they were much 
more withered than yesterday. Sophy too was in the drawer, but 
she looked dreadfully sleepy. 

" Can't you remember what you had to say to me ? " asked little 
Ida. Sophy, however, only looked very stupid, and did not answer 
a word. 

"You are not at all good," said Ida, "and yet all the flowers 
asked you to dance with them." Then she chose a little box of 
pasteboard from among her playthings; it was painted with birds, 
and in it she laid the withered flowers. " That shall be your cof- 
fin," she said ; " and when my cousins from Norway come to see 
me, they shall go to your funeral in the garden ; so that next sum- 
mer you may bloom again, and grow more beautiful than you were 
this year." 

Rights of the Body. — The body, too, has its rights ; and it will 
have them. They can not be trampled upon or slighted without 
peril. The body ought to be the soul's best friend, and cordial, du- 
tiful helpmate. Many of the studious, however, have neglected 
to make it so ; whence a large part of the miseries of authorship. 
Some good men have treated it as an enemy ; and then it has be- 
come a fiend, and has plagued them, as it did Antony. 

We have been favored by Mr. Herman M. Bien, the author, with a copy of 
" Samson and Delilah," or Dagon Stoops to Sabaoth ; a Biblio Romantic Trag- 
edy in five acts, with a prelude. The scene is laid in India in the time of Sam- 
son, when the people of Israel were subject to the Philistines, and the Giant 
Judge is the hero. This is the first tragedy of the kind ever published in Cal- 
ifornia, and Mr. Bien deserves much credit for his attempt to elevate the char- 
acter of our theatrical performances. The book abounds in fine passages, a 
few of which we extract from act fourth. 

[Prison. Samson chained to a block. Namilah by Ms side.^ 


Why brood upon thy sore afiliction thus ? 
Ah, Samson ! mute despair in man is like 
An eating evil — consuming slow but certain I 


They murdered basely my external eyes. 
But inwardly is kindled bright a sight. 
No brooding is it — nay, my soul reflects 
On past transgressions and my present state. 
Lo! I behold myself : Samson crushed 
By strange calamities and dire misfortunes, 
A thrall of slaves — he turns the mill by day, 
Is caged by night like some poor captive brute. 
And then, again I see reversed the picture : 
That Samson, who, according to his mission, 
Delivereth Palestine from disgraceful bondage, 
A nation's hope, his parents' pride and solace, 
Distinguished, honored, revered and beloved. 
Could I but be a monitor to the young. 
When they in life take their decisive parting, 
When lies before them the onward path to Heaven, 
I would aloud to them cry out : On ! on ! 
Though it be hardship, though it may be rough. 
For ye, like Samson, miserable and despairing. 
May be beguiled into yon laughing pathway. 
Where flowers cover the abyss of destruction. 


Doth Providence not guide all steps of mortals ? 


Most so. But Heaven hinders not all actions 
Of men endowed with reason and free will. 
That makes my punishment the more severe. 
I know, I had a light and noble mission ; 
But have debased myself and lost the prize. 

We are also indebted to Mr. David M. Gasley, editor and proprietor, for a 
copy of the California Mercantile Journal for 1860. It is well illustrated and 
handsomely gotten up. 

\mt ^tpximtnt 

Hot-cross Buns. — Rub four ounces of butter into two pounds of flour, four 
ounces of sugar, one ounce and a half of ground allspice, cinnamon, and mace, 
mix together. Put a spoonful of cream into a cup of yeast, and as much good 
milk as will make the above into a light paste. The buns atIU bake quickly in 
tins; set them near the fire to rise, previously to putting them into the oven. 
When half proved, press the form of a cross in the centre, with a tin mould. 

Corn Muffins. — One quart of Indian meal sifted ; one heaping spoonfull of 
butter ; one quart of milk and some salt ; two tablespoons of distillery yeast ; 
one of molasses. Let it rise four or five hours. Bake in muffin rings. The 
same will answer to bake in shallow pans. Bake one hour. 

Raised Muffins. — Take three eggs, half a cup of yeast, a little salt, a quart 
of new milk, a tablespoonful of melted butter ; flour enough to make a thick 
batter. When risen, bake in rings. 

Quinces Preserved Whole. — Pare and put them into a saucepan, with the 
parings at the top; then fill it with hard water; cover it close; set it over a 
gentle fire till they tui-n reddish ; let them stand till cold ; put them into a clear, 
thick syrup ; boil them a few minutes ; set them on one side till quite cold ; boil 
them again in the same manner ; the next day boil them till they look clear ; if 
the syrup is not thick enough, boil it more ; when cold put brandied paper over 
them. The quinces may be halved or quartered. 

Ground Rice Pudding — Take a tablespoonful of ground rice and a little suet 
chopped fine, and add half a pint of milk, sweeten to taste, and having poured 
it into a saucepan let it remain over a clear fire until thickened. Beat up an 
egg, with four drops of essence of lemon, and two tablespoonfuls of white wine; 
add this mixture to the ingredients in the saucepan, give it a shake or two from 
right to left, then pour it into a greased dish, and bake in a moderately heated 

How TO MAKE Yeast. — Boil one pound of good flour, a quarter of a pound of 
brown sugar, and a little salt, in two gallons of water for one hour. When milk- 
warm, bottle it and cork it close. It will be ready for use in twenty-four hours. 
One pint of this yeast will make eighteen pounds of bread. 

Preserved Grapes in Bunches. — Take out the stones from the grapes with 
a pin, breaking them as little as possible ; boil some clarified sugar nearly to 
candy height, then put in sufficient grapes to cover the bottom of the preserving- 
pan, without laying them on each other, and boil for five minutes, merely to ex- 
tract all the juice ; lay them in an earthen pan, and pour the syrup over them ; 
cover with paper, and next day boil the syrup, skimming it well, for five minutes ; 
put in the grapes, let them boil a minute or two ; put them in pots, and pour 
the syrup over them, after which tie down. 

€H tor's Cabh. 

Plow silent, yet how rapidly are time's changes wrought. The seasons come 
and go ; seed-time and harvest succeed each other ; and ere we realize it, the 
summer's heat is succeeded by the chills of Autumn, and the keen November 
blast is hurrying past us. Again, the sombre hues of Autumn — the evening of 
the year — are cast around, inviting us to meditation and repose. How tranquil- 
izing, how soothing to the mind, the influence of this season of the year. It is 
as if her great work done, Nature was calling unto all things to come and par- 
take of her rest. Silently, without noise or ostentation, the grain has been 
perfected in the earth, the fruit upon the bough ; and now a silent but all-per- 
vading influence is calling us to render unto the Infinite Author of all good, 
the praise due to His name. 

Amusements in California. — Some progressive or far-seeing minds, peering 
into the dim future, and perhaps aided by the evidences around them, have de- 
clared that on the slopes of the Pacific the race of mankind would find higher 
development, and be brought to greater perfection, both physical and spiritual, 
than upon any other portion of the globe. Whoever witnessed the dehut of the 
young California artists. Miss Emilie Buseii and Master H. Guide Grob, at the 
musical concert recently given under the direction of their teachers, Mr. and Mrs. 
Planel, assisted by all their pupils, and also Senor Ferrer, must have realized 
that we have more than ordinary cause to expect the fulfilment of such a proph- 
ecy. The young artists (for young they are ; Miss Buseri being about four- 
teen, and Master Grob not yet having completed his twelfth year) acquitted 
themselves in a manner that would have done credit to older and more experi- 
enced individuals, performing the most difficult pieces from the best masters in 
the most expressive and efi'ective manner, while the artlessness and child-like 
simplicity of their manners charmed every beholder. Master Grob seemed to 
be equally at home whether performing on the piano or violin, or lending his 
soft, musical voice to the song. 

The great feature of the evening was the Lilliputian Trumpet Polka (for cor- 
net, piano and violin.) The cornet was played by the little boy, Theophile 
Planel, (just five years old,) with Miss and Master Grob, — the perform- 
ance of the little fellow was worthy of all commendation ; and while his little 
fingers ran over the keys with wonderful precision, his tiny foot beat time with 
astonishing exactness : he retired amid tumults of applause, and showers of 

The celebrated Misereri from II Trovatore, with a grand chorus by all the 
pupils, was well rendered and elicited continued applause. There were several 
young Misses whose names were withheld, who performed difficult pieces upon 
the piano with skill and taste, and also sung in a manner which did much credit 
to their teachers, and must have been highly satisfactory to their friends. Of- 
ferings of flowers were laid at their feet in great profusion. Seldom has Cali- 
fornia witnessed a more triumphant success than the dehut of the young 
California artists, Miss Emilie Buseri, and Master Guido Grob. 

editor's table. 429 

For long years have Mr. and Mrs. Planel devoted themselves to the cultivation 
of the young mind in California, with what success the varied entertainment 
of that triumphant evening tells. 

Human Life. — What is it ? And for what purpose was it given ? If we 
look about and see how eagerly all seem to be engaged in the pursuit of riches, 
we may perhaps be led to think that life was given for the purpose of amassing 
wealth. But even while we look upon the rich man who is engaged pulling 
down barns and building greater — he starts, turns pale, and trembles with fear 
as the words : " Thou fool ; this night thy soul shall be required of thee," smite 
upon his ear ; and dismayed and affrighted he relinquishes his hold on life ; — 
and as we behold his riches, the product of his unceasing toil and self-denial, 
scattered like chaff before the wind, we realize that it is "In vain that we rise 
up early and eat the bread of carefulness," for not for this was the boon of life 

The Great Creator when he planted within us the vital spark of intelligence, 
and endowed us with minds capable of expanding to the comprehension of, not 
only great natural, but spiritual truths, also planted within us a yearning for 
something more satisfactory and lasting than this life can give — thereby giving 
us ample, evidence that " It is not all of life to life." But there are certain re- 
quirements to be complied with if we would do justice to the spirit-nature 
within us. For the development and cultivation of that spirit-nature has human 
life been bestowed upon us. It is the soul, the " vital spark " of intelligence 
that is to live on through all time to come that needs our fostering care, our 
earnest and most zealous efforts — not the body, which is as a garment that must 
soon be laid aside — nor yet the appetites and passions which are of the " earth 
earthy," and which ever war with the principles of our higher nature. 

Could we but look upon human life as an elementary stage of being, where 
the first rudiments of knowledge are to be acquired, and where the attributes 
of the soul are to be called forth into active life, and nourished, strengthened 
and developed from day to day, where the thirsting spirit may quaff the first 
draught from the river of knowledge, and where the whole interior nature may 
receive such education and discipline as shall serve to develop and fit it for an 
entrance into that higher life, or sphere of existence, for which it was original- 
ly designed, how carefully would we live — how earnest and zealous would we 
be in the discharge of every duty — how circumspect would be our demeanor — 
how guarded our conduct — how would our eyes be withdrawn from beholding 
our neighbor's weaknesses, to scan our own shortcomings — how would we 
leave the clothing of the poor perishable body, " the plaiting of hair and the 
putting on of apparel," for the adorning of the Spirit which is to live through 
all the Eternal Ages of God, forever progressing and forever drawing nearer to 
the Infinite. 

What, then, is human life, with all its hopes and aspirations? It is the ru- 
dimentary school of our being, where we must make ourselves acquainted with 
the first principles of the life which now is and of that which is to come — where 
we must educate to the full every faculty of the human mind, ever keeping in 


view their Divine origin and ultimate destiny, and remembering that for every 
talent we mut^t give strict account. 

Oh ! ye who are seeking worldly wealth, and heaping up earthly treasure, 
behold life is fleeting ; gather while ye may the imperishable treasures of the 
soul; let knowledge guide thee, and wisdom be thine handmaid. And ye 
trifling immortals, anxious about the apparelling of the body which is perishing 
even beneath your fond caress, whose particles are day by day becoming dis- 
solved and passing away to fulfil the immutable destiny of creation. Have ye 
prepared beautiful garments for the spirit ? Have ye clothed it with all the 
virtues and graces of the Christian character fully developed by the needs, tri- 
als, anxieties, and sufferings of human life ? If so, then has your life not been 
in vain, but has fulfilled the purpose for which it was given. And be not thou 
dismayed when called to take that higher form of life, for which this was but 
needful preparation. 

Our Contributors. — We must confess to feeling a slight degree of pride in 
the contents of the Hesperian this month. Although we have not all the con- 
tributors represented which we could have wished, we yet have some we have 
not heard from in a long time, whose contributions would do credit to many a 
far more pretentious magazine than ours. 

" The Ascent of Mount Shasta," by Calvin B. McDonald, will be read (as all 
his productions are) with interest. He is now, we are happy to state, a resi- 
dent of San Francisco, bestowing his labor and talents upon the Daily Evening 
Mirror, the popularity of which journal shows the appreciation in which the 
talent bestowed upon it is held. We have the promise of a series of articles 
from the same gifted pen for the future numbers of the Hesperian. 

The Botanical articles, by Dr. Kellogg, are interesting to scientific minds 
abroad as well as at home. 

" Let Me Best," by Annie K. H. Fader, the Poet of Trinity County, is good, 
and we hope to hear from her more regularly hereafter. 

" Little Willie's Angels," is a pleasing fancy, prettily expressed, and we trust 
the author will excuse the delay in its publication, and favor us with other 
articles from her pen. 

" How to Educate the Young," by a new contributor, is suggestive, and may 
develope new thoughts in the minds of parents. 

" Charming Cherry Chatterwell " is musical, and in its author, Judge Taylor, 
we recognize another new contributor to the Hesperian. But if we are not 
mistaken he is also numbered among the contributors of that excellent mag- 
azine, The Knickerbocker. 

"Home Again," by Hadassah, wakens old memories and stirs the feelings of 
the heart. 

" Autumn," " Marrying for a home," and other articles will be found worthy 
of perusal. 

OuRSELF. — The Eastern journals are speaking in high terms of the Hesperian, 
and give us much credit for originating a new feature in magazine attractions, 

editor's table. 431 

namely, publishing a Full Sized Paper Pattern, -whicli no other American 
Magazine has ever done. In this we are ahead of our cotemporaries of the 
Eastern States. 

Our contributors are increasing, and we are enabled to give a greater variety 
of matter than ever before. 

In January we intend to enlarge the Hesperian, and add several new fea- 
tures in the way of embellishments. 

We shall soon begin the publication of an intensely interesting Novelette 
from the gifted pen of Prances Fuller Barritt, to extend through several num- 
bers of the Hesperian. 

Our nest number will be embellished with a fine Steel Plate engraving ; 
a correct summary of Winter Fashions will also accompany the number. 

While we labor to produce a magazine worthy of a California public, will not 
our friends every where aid us in extending its circulation ? Every one can do 
something, and our club terms are unsurpassed by any journal in the United 

The Holidays are approaching, and we should be glad to hear from all our 
contributors in time for the December and January numbers. Friends, we 
need your aid — let us not plead in vain — come forward and help us, and let us 
send forth such a magazine as California never had the honor of before. We 
cannot call you all by name, because we have not space allowed us here. But 
we wish you would all consider yourselves as especially and mdividiMlly called 
upon to help us prepare for the Holidays. Let us send the readers of the Hes- 
perian a feast of fat things. 


The pattern which accompanies the Hesperian this month is one which we 
feel more than usual pride and satisfaction in. It is a Zouave Jacket — quite a 
new article of dress, and suitable for either boys' or girls' wear ; the only differ- 
ence being made in the trimming, which for girls should be of ribbon, and for 
boys of velvet or braid. The pattern is composed of four pieces — front, back, 
side piece, and sleeves — each piece of which will be found to fit the other with 
great accuracy. The seams of the body should extend only to the notches in 
the lower part of the jacket, as the space below the notches is designed to be 
left open and trimmed around, the same as the front or bottom part of the 
jacket. This gives the garment a very dressy appearance, as well as an easy, 
graceful form over the hips. The sleeve is also open to within half a finger 
length of the top of the arm. This beautiful garment should be worn with full 
linen bosom and sleeves, with small cuff turned back ; a small, plain linen col- 
lar about the neck. The simplicity and neatness of the dress must command 
general admiration. The jacket may be made of merino, poplin, cloth, or, when 
designed for full dress, of silk velvet, of any color you choose. 

Answers to Contributors and Correspondents. — "Agatha," " Dion," and a 
host of other anonymous writers, are respectfully informed that we never even 



read articles coming from tliose who can not repose sufficient confidence in us 
to entrust us with their names. At our right hand sits a large scrap-basket, 
to which all such MSS. are unhesitatingly consigned ; therefore it is impossible 
for us to return to the owners articles which come to us without the name of 
the author. Indeed, we never make a practice of returning MSS. at all, — not 
even when the author is a well-known contributor. Our duties are already 
quite too heavy to admit of our assuming any such task. • 

Several good articles, crowded out this month, will appear soon. 

Mr. C. L. Goodrich is no longer acting as business manager for the Hesperian. 






Vol. Y. DECEMBER, 1860. No. 4. 


The Hesperian lias never aiforded its readers a more admirable 
engraving than that adorning the first page of this number. It re- 
quires no explanation, for the whole storj is revealed at first sight. 
The old man has been to the wars, and returning, maimed and way- 
worn, meets his children at the door, the younger of whom do not 
know him. One little girl hides away by the door-post, while the 
youngest brother holds up his cap as a defence against the gaze of 
the stranger. But the eldest son has recognized the soldier, and 
springing to his father has taken away the crutch, the office of which 
is supplied by his own stout little form, while he looks earnestly and 
reproachfully at the others who shrink away. The eldest girl, at 
the door, has begun to remember the changed and wasted face, and 
is about to run to him ; but the poor dog, his old familiar friend, 
knows him not, but smells dubiously and timourously at his tattered 
garments. The poor man is sad at the very moment he expected 
his greatest joy — they are not all there ! There is one gone. The 
little heads do not reach up to where the parting kiss was given ; and 
after a while they tell him that " Mother has been dead, ! ever so 
long!" The vines which she planted are still growing about the 
door, but they hang at random, and things have been going to wreck, 
notwithstanding the care of the womanly little housekeeper whose 
gown and sleeves are tucked up, as their mother used to do. 

And this is the last act of war's tragedy ! This is glory ! — the 
reward of ambition, the finale of all the glorious visions the young 
soldier saw in his first sleep in camp ! Bereaved, maimed, poor and 
helpless, he limps away to obscurity, while others flaunt under the 
laurels which his own valor won. They make great monuments to 
the General, and loudly lament when he dies ; but age and infirmity, 
and neglect and sorrow, are too often the sole reward of those who 
stand in front of the battle. • 


{Hemizonia Salsamifera — Kellogg.) 


The pknt here figured and "described, was raised from seed bj Mr. 
H. G. Bloomer, botanical curator to the Cal. Academy of Natural 
Sciences. They were accidently distributed, probably from the soil 
adbereing to bulbs brought .from the interior. 

So far as the means at our command will enable us to judge, there 
is no description fully answering to the plant either generically or 
specifically. We think, however, it probably belongs to Hemizonia. 
We therefore ofier it as 

Hemizonia Balsamifera. — Kellogg. 

The Bloomer Balsam Weed, is a very branching California herb, 
with small, bright yellow flowers, belonging to the class of plants 
commonly known as Rosin Weeds, Grum Weeds. Tar Weeds, ^-c, on 
account of their densely viscid-glandular character, so notorious 
during our autumnal season. 

This species differs from the generic ^e?,c,x'Ygt\on oi Hemizonia, [T. 
and Cr.) in not having a "flat" receptacle, but convex, as seen at R. 
in the figure. This is also conspicuously the case with H. pungens, 
which has even a conico-convex receptacle. The receptacle is also 
fimbrillate hirsute. The involucral capsules in our plant, are in two 
series — not in a "single series," — consequently also the rays. 
This biserial arrangement gives the rays a false appearance in the 
flower, as if each alternate ray were longer. 

The widely branching stem is one to two feet high, loosely open 
at top, with numerous heads of flowers ; white hairy below, and 
with glandular and glandless hairs intermixed above. The lower 
leaves pinnatified with three to seven pairs of lobes as in sec. 1, of 
the figure — the base, three-nerved and stem clasping, three to five 
inches long. Number 2, a middle section, &c. 

This plant exhales a fragrant balsamic perfume ; hence the spe- 
cific name Balsamifera. It has a similar power of etherealizing and 
enrapturing the senses into a state of sweet tranquility — as we had 
occasion to remark while treating of another species of Hemizonia 
in the October No. 



\ r^ !/>i EV?r *•.- %■-. -K 

bloomer's hemizonia. 


We cannot forbear prefacing some concluding remarks upon these 
autumnal odors with those charming and appropriate lines of 
Thompson : — 

" By Nature's swift and secret working hand 
The garden glows, and fills the liberal air 
With lavish odors. 

There let me draw, 
I Ethereal soul, there drink reviving gales, 

Profusely breathing from the spicy groves 
And vales of fragrance." 

The vast serial ocean in which we live and move and have our be- 
ing, bears in its boundless bosom ethereal aliments already refined 
and distilled from myriads of natural alembics, wrought by a divine 
hand, and ever ready to pass directly to the sources of life. As in 
nutrition the tongue and mouth take up the purer principles of the 
food directly into the brain and circulation ; * so, likewise, is the 
purer serial nutrition taken up at the very threshold of the intro- 
ductory air passages. As we ascend to higher and more perfect 
media, this law of instantaneous assimilation is of pre-eminent im- 

It is Avorthy of remark, in this connection, that the human breath 
traverses the highway of the nostrils, (so needful where great endu- 
rance is requisite,) and seldom by the mouth, unless where man's 
powers are directed chiefly downwards into the sphere of his ani- 
mal nature. Common observation assigns the windy-mouthed, 
brawling and vociferous, a low estimation. The gaping mouth, in 
general, passes current as a significent feature in physiognomy of 
the vacant, stupid, demented, idiotic, or the low, gross and sensual; 
either as indicating the hereditary animal mind, with its strong 
downward proclivities, or what is infinitely worse, some such ac- 
quired qualities. On the contrary, in profound meditation, intent 
and skilful application that aspires towards the perfect, the mouth 
is closed, and the breathing tacit and slow through the nostrils. 
The grosser blood and fluids are thus kept at bey, and not allowed 
to rush a rude rabble into the high priest's sanctuary, or the king's , 
court — but only the more refined which may aid the afi'ection or 
thought, without disturbing its tranquility. 

* Malpighi quotes Angelus Fortius' observation — " That whon food and drink are taken by those 
who follow the plough, and the animal powers are not quickly recruited thereby, such persons appear 
not to live many years." 



To us these peaceful contemplations and sweet perceptions are 
attended with the inmost of all earthly joy and felicity ; like the 
mellow haze of our Indian summer days, when all nature seems em- 
bosomed in the soft celestial blue, with " sunset vistas far and dim ;" 
or like ^olian airs whose boundless cadence bears the entranced 
soul on silken wings to the very verge of the infinite ; so is our soul 
wont to be lost in this want of determination — inspiring us with — 
not a.n idea only — but a, feeling of the immortal a.iid infinite ( in our 
finite degree.) 

Doubtless, the reason why these aromatic vegetable products 
were burnt as incense in the ancient temples, was because of their 
known relation to the mental or emotional nature of mankind : they 
were, therefore, befitting stimulants, as well as appropriate emblems 
of ceremonial worship. 

In the higher states, concurrently superinduced, the human soul 
flows down — so to speak — with exquisite delight into these subtle 
media as into well adapted forms, and it is really this inviting out- 
flow of life which gives us such a pleasurable sensation. This is 
also the reason why they outwardly correspond to, and harmo- 
nize with, such a quality in mankind; for without this sensation, 
these odors have no realizing existence ; if any, therefore, fail to 
perceive these effects, as exemplified in our experience, we can only 
say, that in such a case, the corresponding nasal faculty has not 
been fully developed. 

Wilkinson, of London says — and no proofs are wanting to illus- 
trate the same truth — " The brain respires the ethers of the world, 
and nourishes its life with an ethereal chyle, and circulates the ani- 
mal spirit elaborated therefrom through the corporeal system" just 
as the lungs, the air, &c. "In all cases," he remarks, "the motions 
of the brain and other organs of the body, are synchronous in times 
and moments with the respirations of the lungs" — (not heart.) 
Therefore it is that the brain supplies the body and the blood with 
life, and its functions in this respect combine nutrition, circulation, 
and respiration. Hence the animations of the brains must be syn- 
chronous with the respirations of the lungs. The brain supplies the 
body with internal motive force at the same instant as do the lungs 
(not heart,) with externa*. The heart, it will be seen, in this en- 



lightened view of the subject, only plays a subordinate part, merely 
maintaining, meanwhile, the organs in potency. 

The subject is elaborate, and one of vast and varied importance. 
We can only reaffirm the general truth, set forth, that the pulsa- 
tions of the respective viscera, take place in the times of the respi- 
rations, and not in the pulses of the heart. These facts open our 
eyes to a law which limits the heart and arteries, and enhances the 
importance of the subject before us. 

Whenever we feel inclined to smile at the ancient worthies, who 
spake of ventilating the brain from certain crude vapors, &;c., we 
think it would be as well for us to blush at our own ignorance of the 

If we were allowed, in the conclusion, to treat the subject with 
our usual license, we could expound some rare and curious myster- 
ies to our entire satisfaction ; however ludicrous they might appear 
to others. 

Teclinical description. — The upper stem and branch leaves, pinnate-lobed, 
toothed or entire, linear-lanceolate, sessile. Involucral scales as the rays ; car. 
inate-infolded nearly inclosing the raj^ achenia, subtended by short linear 
foliaceous erect bracts, outer series more strongly carinated, hairy and densely 
stipitate glandular. Rays 25 or more (all fertile) in two series, obovate, sub- 
cuneate, 3-cleft-toothed, the middle tooth or lobe much narrower, (rarely 2 or 4 
toothed,) tube long, slender, inserted laterally at the obtuse summit of the 
achenia by a short, somewhat beaked areola, stipitate glandular. (See A in the 
fig.) Branches of the style long filiform, glandular. Ray achenia as seen at 
A, strongly incurved, stipe somewhat inflexed ; back slightly rugose, glandu- 
lar, laterally ridged or obscurely triangular (otherwise as generically described.) 
ChaiF in a single series of about twenty united scales between the disk and ray 
flowers; tips herbaceous green and glandular, (evenin the fully matured heads) 
like the persistent involucre. Corolla of the disk (yellow) 5-toothed, teeth glan- 
dular-bearded above, funnel-form with a slender stipitate glandular tube. Disk 
achenia perfect but infertile, cylindrical attenuate below, stipitate glandular ; 
pappus obsolete, or only a few very minute transparent laciniate squamellse ; 
anthers dark brown or nearly black, branches of the style exsert (yellow) very 
hispid, the filiform appendages also hirsute. No. 3 represents one of the slen- 
der branches. 

An eccentric wealthy gentleman stuck up a board in a field upon 
his estate, upon which was painted the following: — " I will give this 
field to any man that is contented." He soon had an applicant. 
"Well, sir, are you a contented man? " "Yes, sir ; very." "Then 
what do you want with my field !" The applicant did not stop to reply. 



Out of my sleep I start with senses quickened, 
By dream-pains, following the ceaseless ache 

That through the long, drear day my soul hath sickened, 
Pining with thirst no fountain depths can slake : 

And lo, the midnight round me makes no shadow ; 

The walls are ruddy with fire's lurid glare ; 
A sea of flame rolls down the river meadow, 

Tossing its wild waves on the starless air. 

I kneel beside my casement — " This is fitting," 
I say unto mj'self with trembling breath ; 

The strange, drear fate, its meshes round me knitting, 
So like this scene — as perilous with death. 

Between the dark Missouri and that river 
Whose fiery billows light the gloomy sky — 

At the sad parallel I smile and shiver — 
Encompassed thus by fire and fllood am I. 

No light of stars, nor moon's pale golden splendor, 
Pierces with holier light the crimson gloom ; 

The dark, low-hanging, red-edged clouds but render 
A background for this picture of fierce doom. 

It comes — the hissing and the frightful roaring, 

I see the fire-waves leaping swiftly on, 
Yet gaze unmoved, my helpless terror soaring 

Into defiance, when my hope is gone. % 

The river shines, the cold, dark, ruthless river. 

With a strange fascination on my sight ; 
But to the tempter, " Let the Lord deliver," 

Thunders a trumpet tongue upon the night. 

I close my eyes — the hideous roar grows nearer — 
'Tis here — 'tis past ! — I gasp in the hot air, 

But rise and smile — this time my smile is clearer — 
Forgive my fainting faith, is now my prayer. 

Down, down the meadow, fleet as untamed horses, 

Rush the red flames, a terror now no more ; 
On, on, as ever, the Missouri courses. 

With husky murmurs to the darkened shore. 
But I, who saw a symbol in the terror, 

See, too, a symbol in the grateful calm ; 
And feel who keeps bewildered feet from error. 

And drops on fire-scathed hearts the saving balm. 


" Her eyes were shadowy, full of thought and prayer, 
And with long lashes, o'er her white rose cheek, 
Drooping in gloom, and oh ! the brow above ! 
So pale, so pure, so formed for holy love 
To gaze upon in silence — but she felt 
That love was not for her, though hearts would melt ; 
Where'er she moved, and reverence, mutely given, 
Went with her, and low prayers, that called on heaven." 

Nellie's voice warbled forth very sweetly the last line of the song, 
and down went the cover of the piano. 

I was knitting a piece of edging, and my thoughts were wander- 
ing hack over times past and gone — thoughts called forth from the 
grave of buried hopes, by the music my little niece had been prac- 
ticing. I might have been sure that she was either planning or do- 
ing mischief, she was so quiet — something unusual for her. But 
my mind was not with her, or with the present, until an exclamation 
from her brought my truant spirits home. 

" Oh, dear aunt ! " I started as if a gun had been discharged 
by mjf side. 

" Do tell me the history of these pictures, that you keep hid 
away in your little treasure-box." 

I looked up, and was surprised to see Nellie at her work-stand, 
with my " treasure-box," as she pleased to call it, open before her. 
(So called, I presunj^, because I had never allowed her curious eyes 
to penetrate its mysteries.) I neglected to lock it with my usual 
care, after taking from its cover a pair of fine needles I was using. 
Nellie's quick eye caught sight of the open box ; the temptation 
was too great ; she must take a peep. She called on me to assist 
her in unraveling a mystery. 

No human eye but mine had ever seen within that box for a quar- 
ter of a century. But there she sat ; the entire contents of the 
box spread indiscriminately upon the table. Among other trifles, 
were four pictures. One she still held open in her hand, and was 
feasting her eyes upon it with admiration, not unmixed with curios- 

"Nellie !" I was unheeded. 

" Dear aunt, this is such a sad, sweet face, and must have been 
painted long since ; and oh, so beautiful ! Who is she ? Where is 



she ? It must have been taken ere I was grown, for I do not re- 
member the style of dress ; or is it a fancy sketch, aunty ? — which 
seems the most likely, for I cannot imagine real flesh and blood to 
be half so beautiful as this. How have you kept it so clean and 

" By not having it intruded upon by busy hands and curious 
eyes, or exposed to the glare of light," I answered, somewhat tartly, 
not heeding her first questions. I held the contents of my box sa- 
cred, and felt angry at my carelessness in leaving it open. For I 
never looked at those pictures but a shadow fell on my heart for 
days after. 

Nellie saw the cloud. "Pardon my curiosity. Aunt Mary. I 
will not expose them to the light, but will lock them all up again, 
even this beautiful face that I so love to gaze upon, if you will only 
smile and look pleasant." I must have smiled or looked forgiveness, 
for Nellie's courage returned. 

"Is the sweet, mournful expression here, caused by sorrow, and 
is she as beautiful as this picture represents her?" 

" Yes, Nellie ; more gloriously beautiful now, than when that pic- 
ture was taken ; she is now surrounded with a halo of beauty and 
glory that earth cannot give, or take away." 

Nellie looked wistfully in my face, and, with a great sigh, subdued 
her still rising curiosity. She began to replace the articles slowly 
in the box. 

I love Nellie with all a mother's fondness. Ah ! can I prevent 
the shadows that hang with gloomy forebodings over all, from dark- 
ening her present young, bright life ? Yes, I will endure the pang 
it costs me, and go back to my own spring-time — with all its hopes 
and fears — its light clouds and bright sunshine — my fanciful, 
youthful speculations. I thought of my own eventful life, and trem- 
bled for the beautiful girl before me. Ah ! the bright visions of my 
girlhood's day ! where have they flown ? Alas ! for the day-dreams 
of youth! Time has waved his wand and the sweet, bright fairy- 
land of my fifteenth birthday's imagery has gradually vanished, and 
each day of summer life has brought with it the assurance and con- 
viction that this world is no fairy-land, although so lovely to look 
upon ; but that we are mortals, and must battle with life, and meet 
its stern realities. Had a magician, at that period of my life, bade 


me look into a magic mirror, as did the fair and youthful Queen of 
France, and there read her future : first, her brilliant entrde into 
France, (then a mere girl ;) her triumphant reign of many years ; 
then the revolution that shook the throne of France until it tottered 
and crushed her and her royal husband in its fall — she, the mother 
and queen, perished while still in the meridian of life and beauty by 
the guillotine. But the young, joyous bride doubted, as the seer 
foretold her destiny and doom ; she smiled scornfully, after a mo- 
mentary shudder, as she turned from the glass and mounted the 
snow-white steed that was bearing her to her future home, a proud 
and happy bride. Ah ! little did Marie Antoinette dream then, 
when surrounded by that glorious pageantry of pomp and power, 
what a future would slowly unveil itself before her. And when she 
began to feel the power of her subjects — she, still hopeful for her 
son — laughingly asked the astrologer or planet-reader so famous in 
her day — "what the future had in store for her son?" He replied: 
" I have read the horoscope of several of your majesty's ladies, — 
with your majesty's permision I will read yours." She, shuddering 
answered: "No! no! — not for my crown — let me forget what I 
see and know already." She did not recognize in him, the man who 
had first importuned and told her what passed unheeded then, but 
what of late years had caused her many an anxious thought ; many a 
sleepless hour. Alas ! how many like the beautiful and persecuted 
queen, see only the sunny side of life, until sorrow and misfortune 
crowd upon them, and they are compelled to acknowledge that 
peace is only to be found in looking beyond this life. 

How obstinately we close our hearts to that little monitor within, 
that bids us prepare for coming sorrow ; to place our hopes on One 
who is all powerful to give rest and peace to the weary soul. So 
prone are we to hope and dream, that all life is youth and happi- 
ness. W