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Full text of "Martin Family Scrapbook"

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The Spy should havb the ey* 
'Honorable if he do but look to the welfare of th\ 
;oinmon\ n «.alih. 

W08CE8TSR 

MONDAY, JAMARY 1. !■ 




A Hundred If car* A;'o, 
The Spy, as most of our readers know , 
its existence in Boston, and was published tber 
nearly five years before it came to Wo 
In those days the carriers were accustomed to 
greet their patrons, on New Year's day, w 
address for which they usually got n few 
"pence." We print below a fac simile 
address which the carriers of the Spy presented 
to the subscribers on New Yeai's d: 
one hundred years a<ro. The paper had then 
been published in Boston about a 
half, having begun existence there in July, 1770, 
as an advocate of the patriotic side ot the quar- 
rel with the mother country. It- was 
driven from Boston by the persecutions 
British soldiery and the approach of hostilities. 
The battle of Lexington was fought in the inter- 
val from the issue of the last number in Boston 
and the appearance of the first number issued in 
Worcester, which, by the way, was the first 
thing ever printed in this city. The spirit of the 
paper appears in the carrier's addres: 
was as follows: 

The CARRIER of 

The MASSACHUSET 

SPY, 

Wifhes all his kind Cull; 

A MERRY CHRISTMAS, 

AND 

A HAPPY NEW YEAR, 






H 



And prefents the following, viz, 

AIL happy day, important > ir ! 

Be more propitious than the 
thee let mighty truth appear, 
And every tool and tyrant blaft. 



From this unbought, unfetter'd PRESS, 
Which laws and conftitutions fhow 

That it the happy land may blefs, 
With leflbns which they ought to 

Nor fhall the frowns of low'ring fkie?, 
Nor party rage of felfifli men, 

Forbid the boy who brings your SPYS, 
To ferve and pleafure you again. 

But Sirs, since your indulgent hands 
Are yearly wont my heart to chear ; 

Some pence will rivet your commands,- 
And fix my wifhes for the year. 

Bofton, January t, 17; 






■ 



"Worcester. 



^ 



? 



The Cemetery. 

Editor Spy .—The following lines, written by 
the laic Mrs. John Bigelow, on the occasion of 
the consecration of our beautiful Rural Ceme- 
tery, just thirty years ago7 derive new interest y 
from ihe (act that the mortal remains of the 
writer have within the past week been brought 
for interment* amidst the thousands who now' 
are {fathered there: 

Worcester, August, 1868. 

Home of the coming dead! 
The spot whereon we tread , 

Fa hallowed ground; 
Hers earth in sacred trust 
£»hall hold their sleeping dust, 
Until her bonds they burst 

And rise unbound. I 

Hare shall the weary rest, 
And souls with woe oppressed 

No more shall weep ; 
And youth and age shall come, 
And beauty in her bloom 
And manhood to the tomb : 

Sweet be their sleep! 

Around their lowly beds 

^hall flowers their fragrance shed ; 

And birds shall sing; 
On every verdant mound 
Love's offering shall be found; 
And sighing trees around, 

Their shadows fling. 

The stars all night shall keep 
Their vigils while they sleep ; 

And the pale moon 
Shall lend her gentle ray, 
To light the mourner's way, 
AY ho seeks at eve to stray 

And weep alone. 

But there is a holier light; 
Hope, with her taper bright, 

On every tomb 
Points upward to the sky; 
There, every tear is dry ; 
There is no mourner's sigh, 

Nor death nor gloom. 

Father;' to Thee we bow 
In adoration now, 

An'Hilcss Thy love 
For the assurance given, 
Of life with Thee in Heaven; 
Though hi .-e by tempests driven, 

There s rest above. 





/fin 



''The Wonder" Dollar Store, 



QTJINSIGAMOND HOUSE, 
AT LAKE QUrtfSIOAlttOKU, 

WORCESTER, MASS., 



will I>e open for the season May 10th tor transient and res 
ular boarders. An omnibus will be run to and from the 
house. Address E. P. WITT, Quinsigamond House, I*. 
O- ilSm ap31 

T A K E Q~U"I~N"S I G A M O N f> 

OMXIItls TIME TABLE. 

Leave Bay State House at 10.15 a. m., 2.00 and 4.30 p. M. 
Leave the Lake at 8.30 a. m , 1.00 and 3.15 and 7.30 P. M. 
Je3 d3m 

~TI T TA A M »'• 

PHIL. SHERIDAN 

At ILalce Qninsigamoncl, 



1 .0 and 166 Main Ptreet, 



ML commence on June 1st running regular trillion 
iliNESDAVS and SATURDAYS, and on other days 
• »ruitcBi«. can |, e chartered by Plonk: and Pleasure Parties. 

For further particulars, apply to 

iel d2m J. C. COBUltX, Worcester. 

-If one happens to visit 



\ *>ecE8trr, .Mass. — 

barm'-- interior city on a pleasant after- Recording to the, Boston Wot, there arc now | 
ioon, wacn u westerly wind cools the air andi the city of Worcester 15,000 Koman 

- among the trees and shrubbery of tne )m Tnunicants. / £~6>i 

degantgi unds which form a part of nine-tenths 
>f thelho .cstcads of this rural city, the admis-. 
iion is e; sily made that you may travel far and 
vide bef re a city may be found which surpasses 
t. lou may find, in many localities, attractive 
•esidences and beautiful enclosures, you may see 
•ostly villas and picturesque cottages, but Wor- 
ias a larger* proportion of elegant resi- 
: han any municipality within our limits, 
while ith a tew exceptions there is not in the 
architecture or the surroundings of the most ex- 
pensive mansions any outward evidence ot os- 
tentation. The shoddy style of house has not 
eded the homelike aspect which makes a 
"•'" aiti active, whether its owner pos- 
i handsome competence or counts his 
iy millions. While there must be, neces- 
Mpy, omc similarity in the physiognomy of 
id brick when raised into symmetrical 
for domestic purposes, there is still a 
marked individuality in these estates, denot- 
etined |taste and a regard for that har- 
which should exist between what na- 
ture lias friven and art has accomplished. The 
Bound of a cottage are not those of a palace, * 
while a palatial home is surrounded by avenues 
tly broad, and by parterres ample for 
'he culture ol the most beautiful flowers, with- 
•ntinji any evidence that one or the 
hausted or very severely taxed the 
t the owner. It is this well-to-do-aspect, 
e-can-well-afford-to-do-it" air, that makes 
a contrast to many places 
ere is a glaring and vulgar pretension, 
cms to indicate a snapping of the purse 
i- the exhaustion of a bank account in 
produce 'effect. The total absence of 
approaching a desire to extort admi- 
■ \ a garish display is very marked. 
I I people appear to have built elegant 

Evidences without sacrificing their own com- 
oir. They appear to cultivate their gardens 
they love Sowers, and adorn their 
hecause they have an eye *o the beauti- 
}. Look at Worcester on a ciear bright af tor- 
ton or early in the morning and match it if 

;C '111. — Jinxn.-i .Tmirn/iJ 




OREAD INSTITUTE 




^ §aawtitt0 and Jlajj School fox fjMtug §pulw 
WOKCKITBI 



OTtTon, cor. Exchange Street, Worcester. 

WIULIAJjl T, 71i:UHII III l>. 





Tlie Spy should hare the eye of Argus i he is 
honorable if he do but look to the welfare of the 
commonwealth. 



WORCESTER. 
SATUHBAY, MAY S8, 1S6». 



Memorial i>rsy. 

It is now a little more than eight years since 
our country, with traitors clutching at her 
throat and threatening her life, and abandoned 
or even attacked hy those who were under the 
most sacred obligations to defend her, called for 
help to her sons in the northern states, and 
promptly did they respond. For four years a 
constant stream of the best and bravest of our 
young men replied to her summons, and took 
arms in her behalf. The story of their sacrifices, 
their sufferings and their heroism is fresh in all 
our memories, and for many generations the re- 
membrauce of the great struggle, and gratitude 
for the patriotism of the men of our day, will 
live in the hearts of their countrymen. 

We hare been called a prosaic and intensely 
practical people, devoted to money making, in- 
capable of self-sacrifice, among whom the al- 
mighty dollar rules, to the exclusion of eveiy 
noble principle and every disinterested motive 
of action. The record of the late war is a suffi- 
cient reply to all such charges, or if that were 
not enough, with its history of devotion to coun- 
try, its numerous sacrifices, of which every fam- 
ily knows by its own experience how great they 
were, and yet how freely made, that the nation 
might live, the touching and pathetic ceremo- 
nies, now become an established national cus- 
tom, which this day are performed throughout 
all the land, would prove that Americans can 
not only honor patriotism, but can appreciate 
the beauty of a graceful symbol of recognition 
of the lustre and fragrance whieb adorn the 
memory of those whose valor and devotion saved 
the nation in its extremity at the cost of their 
own lives. 

We need not urge our readers to give their 
presence and their aid that the services of this 
day may be as impressive and imposing as it is 
possible to make them. These honors to the 
dead are a duty to ourselves and our country. 
They area fitting tribute of sympathy to those 
Avhose dearest friends lie in the .flower strewn 
graves, a grateful acknowledgement by implica- 
tion of the services of those surviving comrades of 
the deceased, who, with equal courage, faced the 
same dangers in the same cause, and a whole- 
some lesson to our children who, as they see 
year by year the last resting places of the fallen 
patriots adorned with flowers, may learn to cm- 
ula te their virtues,and, in their day,should the oc. 
casion arise, to stand as firmly for their country 
find the right as did our fathers in their time,and 
on:- brothers whose memory we now celebrate 
in our own. 

Scatter the flowers we bear around 
The white tents of the dead; 

The night conws down, the day is done, 
The old Flag overhead 

Hangs silently and wearily ; 
The rain falls on the sod; 

Our loved ones sleep; how well they died 
For Freedom and for God ! 



SATDRBAY, MATT 3Q , 18C8. 

The Patriot JDead. 

"A sacred cause, 

They take their sleep together, while the year 

Comes with its early flowers to deck their grave*. 

Here let us meet, and while our motionless lips 

Give not a sound, and all around is mute 

In the deep Sabbath of a heart too full 

For words or tears— here let us strew the sod 

With the first flowers of spring." 

This day is set apart for a special commemora- 
tion of the patriotic dead. This day, throughout 
our country, the surviving soldiers of the armies 
of the Union will crown the graves of their 
companions in arms with chaplets of iloweis. 



Proclamation l>y the Mayor. 

Mayor's Office, City Hall, May '24, 1869. 
To the People of Worcester : 

The return of Memorial Bay, as set apart an:l desig- 
nated by the Grand A rniy of the Republic, summons us 
from the secular duties of busy life to the fulfilment of 
obligations as beautiful in sentiment as they are sacred 
in character. 

By order of the City Council, I would herein respect- 
fully a <k the people of Worcester to suspend the usual 
business of their vocations, and unite with the citizen 
soldiers In the commemorative service to their departed 
comrades ; to co-operate In every way to make this day 
impressive in the. calendar of passing time; to surrender 
the cares of active life for a few short hours, in memory 
of those who have given their lives a willing offering ; in 
memory oV valorous deeds and heroic achievements ; in 
memory of the great suffering and sacrifices which have 
culminated in the perpetuity of the Union and the na- 
tionality of freedom ; in memory of the principles of loy- 
alty developed, self-sacrifice manifested, and the stimu- 
lated spirit of benevolence; and with the memories of 
the past to evince a living, active sympathy with those 
who have been spared to witness and enjoy the fruits of 
their heroism, and have inaugurated this touching tribute 
to the dead. 

And as we strew flowers upon the graves of those who 
have been borne to their last resting place with funeral 
honors, let us not forget the patriots who, bavin* fallen 
asleep in other lands far away from home and kindred, 
are yet with us in spirit and remembrance. 

Let the whole people join in the ceremonies of ruemori 
al, and may our hearts be quickened to the full realiza- 
tion of I he sacrifices made, and our faith strengthened in 
the guiding power of the Supreme Ruler who watches 
the fall of the sparrow as he directs the destiny of the 
nation; and as we unite in paying tribute to the memory 
of our fallen heroes, and drop the spring flower as a token 
of grateful remembrance, may each heart consecrate 
itself anew to the great principles of humanity and of 
right, and to the highest demands of the eitizen of the 
republic. 

I would also direct that the public schools of the city 
bo suspended on Saturday, May '29th, and would herein 
request the teachers to bring the subject of Memorial 
Day bef are the pupils of their respective schools, and by 
question and explanation impress upon the minds of the 
Individual scholar the loyal cause, the great principles, 
and by the blessing of God the triumphal result which 
demand s that we shall forever perpetuate the memory of 
the two hundred and fifty men who left our city in de- 
fence of the Union never to return, that they may fully 
appreciate that this patriot band gave up their lives 
that the. children of to-day might in their generation en- 
joy the .Fruits of the sacrifice, the blessings of republican 
government, and by them to be transmitted to other 
generations in its developed unity. 

James B. Blake, Mayor. 



This thirtieth of May, the first fruits of the floral 
season are to be gathered, not for the boudoir or 
the ballroom, not to adorn lovely woman's brow 
or bosom, but to deck those grassy mounds be- 
neath which lie the true-hearted -whose mem- 
ories shall forever 

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. 

They died for our country. If they had not 
died our country would have died. And so they 
left the dear delights of home and went forth to 
the sacrifice. Mother and wife yearned over 
them, and poured an unceasing flood of tender- 
ness after them, but did not call them back nor 
weaken their resolve. From plow and anvil and 
workshop, from the tradesman's counter, from 
academic hall, from the pulpit and the bar, from 
every lowly and every lofty habitation they went 
forth to their heroic death. Self sank out of 
sight, and our country in mortal peril filled the 
whole field of their vision. The Star Spangled 
Banner waved them on, and around it they ral- 
lied under one common inspiration. Ah! how 
shall we ever forget the unutterable emotions 
that swelled all hearts when the first fruits 
of this new birth of heroism marched on to 
deatn at dead] of night in that fated 
month of May, just seven years ago. How 
profoundly then did we all feel that our 
country must indeed be worth dying for, since 
her sons were so willing for her to die. How 
did r soul3 bow down and reverenco those 
C3nsc«,rated ones! How glorious in our eyes ap- 
peared each boy in blue! 

They died that our country might live. And 
behold! our country lives a nobler life, 
go forth this day with Ilowers of red and white 
and blue, with crosses and chaplets and un- 
wrought wildings, and deck the graves of our 
patriot.' dead. 



pOST 10, 

Grand Army of the Republic 



It is particularly desirable that, upon the occasion 



MEMORIAL DAY! 



The grave of every soldier buried within our Cemeteries 

should be 



Strewn with Flowers. 



We therefore publish below the names of all the graves 
it has been possible, thus far, to obtain the locality of, 
and ask that any person knowing of others, will notify us 
at once. The HstB are to be found only with 

Comrade M. S. McCONYILLE, Trumbull 

Square, 

where all desired additions or alterations should he re- 
ported. 



Rural 

Win X Green, 
Wm B Bacon, 
Francis Bacon, 
Charles F Curtis, 
E Dexter Cheeney, 
Wm Hudson, 
Dwight Newbury, 
Frank W Wellington, 
Geo W Wellington, 
Chas Fitts, 
Lucius I) Chapln, 
J Willie Grout. 
Geo B Boomer, 
Byron Daniels, 
Moses Smith, 
Wm H H Smith, 
Walter Smith, 
John Lamb, 

Flagg, 

Sam'l L Bigelow, 
Edward L Barnard, 



Cemetery. 

Eugene W Stratton, 
II W Pratt, 
Merrick B Converse, 
Geo S Lombard, 
Geo H Ward, 
Silas McKoy, 
Charles McKoy, 
Dexter F Parker, 
Wm H Piper, 
Benj D Thayer, 
Frank Whitney, 
Herman Weixler, 
Albert F Benchley, 
Lewis M Brooks, 
Henry H Rice, 

Perkins, 

Chas L Wilson, 
Silas F Charles, 
Geo F Robinson, 
Chas W Upham. 



St. John's Cemetery. 



Thomas O'Xell, 
Henry McConvllle, 
Wm Daly, 
Martin Loughlin, 
Frank McCambridgc, 
Patrick Hayes, 
•lohnHines. 
Michael McDonald, 
I' .1 B HcConville, 
Charles O'Rourke, 
Wm J Farrell, 
.lames Holden, 
Daniel Sullivan, 
Jol>i Sullivan, 
Tlli JS Burke, 
J ohn Leary, 
Dm del Whaley, 
Patrick Conlan, 
ltichard Barry, 

tlohn Donahoe, 
frank Smith, 
John!' Grayson, 



• Owen Fallon, 
James Deleher, 
John O'Neil, 
John Power, 
J ames Rierdon, 
Daniel Hurley, 
Michael O' Loughlin, 
Jeremiah Brickley, 
Charles Welch, 
James McKenna, 
David Welch, 
Daglan T'obin, 
Peter Grahan, 
Turrance Henratty, 
John Cronin, 
- — Kaleher, 
Joseph Knittle, 
Michael Lonlilian, 
JohnMorrissey, 
Patrick Powers, 
Jas McBride, 
Barnard E Riley. 



Hope Cemetery. 



Thomas W Edwards, 
C A Rockwood, 
S J Collier, 
James Crockett, , 
Lucius A Reynolds, 
John L Goodwin, 
OeoM Kidder. 
Wm E Richards, 
F M Atherton, 
Alonzo Cummings, 
Edwin H Bliss, 
H W Daniels, 
M N Daniels, 
Edwin D Jordan, 
Chas W Haven, 
Edward A Waltou, 
A'bert C Walker, 

arren A Alger, 

lie Hospital— 4 graves 
John B Waner. 
Alfred W Midgley, 
'.' m Hager, 
Aionzo D Harper, 
Cutler Seaver, 
Wm Heywood, 



Henry G Longley, 
James Whitteiuore, 

Clark, 

Eugene Fay, 
Geo w Sampson, 
Wm D Oakley, 
Joseph Heaton, 
James Hammond, 
J W Davis, 
Augustus A Brigham, 
Tyler Peck, 
Solomon Parsons, Jr, 
Thomas Taylor, 

Darling, 

Frank Pollinger, 
Clark Brown, 
Eben S Curtis, 
ChasW Child. 
James Stewart, 
Thos D Freeman. 
Chas Palmer, 
Wm H Legg, 
Albert HGleason, 
Ira B Hastings. 



EAST WOKCESTER-^James Haverstock. 

TATNUCK— James McTiernan, Wm Darney. 

The following named soldiers are buried In some one 
of the cemeteries, but the exact locality Is unknown • 
James R. Estey-25th -Mass. V. I. 
Peter Hickey, " " '• 

By order of M. S. McCOK VILLI" 

^ Chairman of Com. on Cemeteries 

D. K. Fitch, Sec'y- ds.Tu&Th S 

Sjme died on the stricken field, and some in'.' 
the dreadful prison. Some fell at the cannorils 
mouth, some lingered long on the hospital cot 
To some death came in the swift sabre stroke, 
or the shrieking shell, or the covert rifle ball; to 
others it was the ripening of the seeds sown in 
maiarial camps. But however or wherever, 
in battle or in bed, each one gave his life for 
our country. And no less heroic was the dcatli 
by disease than was that by the weapon of war. 
And so, of this dav's commemoration, all, all 
must be accounted worthy. 



- -r-~-- 



1776. July 4th, 1869 



Independence l>a>. 

The "Glorious Fourth'' passed off in this vi- 
cinity with hut little excitement or public 
demonstration. The. day was clear and cool, and, 
although there was no celebration contemplated 
here, large crowds of people from the surround- 
ing towns came into the city, intent on the pur- 
suit of recreation. The streets were full during 
the day and evening, and the two bands, sta- 
tioned on the Common and Court Hill, had large 
and enthusiastic audiences at each of their 
three out-door concerts. The usual cannon- 
firing and ringing of bells at sunrise, noon and 
sunset, and a general display of flags through- 
out the city, and the music, were all the formal 
recognition the day received. 

The four Methodist churches of the city unit- 
ed in a picnic at the Camp Ground at Sterling 
Junction; about 1000 people went out on the 
special and regular trains, and bad an informal 
good time; swings, croquet, boating, etc., occu- 
pied the attention of the more active, while the 
sedate and the elders paid their attention to 
lunches and conversation under the trees. It 
was a happy party, and the return to the city 
was effected without any of the grumbling 
which usually emanates from an over-worked 
and over-tired excursion party. 

The Fairmounts of Marlboro and the Excel- 
siors of this city played a match game of base 
ball on Agricultural Park in the forenoon, which 
was witnessed by a large concourse of people. 
Up to the sixth inning the game was close, but 
at this point the Fairmounts made 22 runs in 
one inning, which completely disheartened their 
competitors, and the game ended in victory for 
the Fairmounts by a score of 52 to 25. The fol- 
lowing is the summary : — 

Fairmounts. Excelsiors. 

o. r. 



Fenton, p, 3 6 

Madden, s 8, 5 5 

Barnett, r f, 3 6 

Hudson, 2 b, 3 6 

Allen, c, 2 7 

Smith, c f, 2 6 

W. Brigham, lb, 2 5 

Russell, 3 b, 6 5 

H. Brigham, If, 2 7 



Hogan, p, 
Harilon, s s, 
Foley, rf, 
Manning, 2 b, 
Kockwell, c, 
Kelley, c f, 
Duffy, 1 b, 
Whalen, 3 b, 
Smith, 1 f, 



o. R. 
3 

5 



27 52 

Innings 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 

Fairmounts 2 5 2 22 

Excelsiors 1 1 10 9 



27 25 
9 

9-52 
2—25 



Scorers— C. H. Newhall, Fairmounts; J. It. Lav- 
erty, Excelsiors. Umpire— Joseph F. Sheehan, 
Worcester. Time 6f game— Three hours. 



Worcester Agricultural Society. 





SPLENDID SHOW OF NEAT CATTLE 



Annual Dinner; and Trials of Speed. 



The fifty-fourth annual cattle show aud exhibition of 
- and farm products, nnder the auspices of the 
Worcester Agricultural Society, opened yesterday 
morning under the most depressing circumstances; the 
rain falling In torrents and rendering the out-door 
ction anything but sgreeable to the most ardent 
admirer of live stock. This state of things continued 
until about three o'clock in the afternoon, when the 
sun hurst forth through {he hazy atmosphere and lent 
its cheering rays to the rain and mud-bound visitors. 



THE DINNER 

served in the upper hall by Augustus Marrs, and 
it two hundred persons sat down. There was a 
ible absence of ladies, which is chargeable to the 
ement weather. Charles B. Pratt, Es<(., President 
le Society, presided, supported by Hon. Stephen 
■Jury, Hon. Paul VThltinof Whitinvllle, Hon. John 
an Earle, tleorge C. Davis, Esq., of Northboro', 
i other prominent members of tlfg society. Rev. J. 
). Know:.;, pastor of Grace M. E. Church, invoked 
W Divine Messing. The company having doue ampie 
kstice to he excellent dinner, President Pratt ad- 
Rsed them, expressing his regret that the gentlemen 
fpo had fce >n invited to address them were not present. 
was the second rainy day which had occurred dur- 
the exhibitions of the; society in fifty- four years./ 
the first occasion 'the Hon. Stephen Salisbury was 
i orator. He concluded by introducing that gentle- 
Salisbury said that he had faithfully promised 
to say arything, but the allusion of the President 
" for a reply. On the day to which reference had 
made he had the honor to deliver the annual ad- 
in the Old South Church, when Governor Lincoln 
vas President of the society; and this was the second 
ime, as had been truly said, that the elements had been 
igainst them. 






/ 



Death of KxdJor, Lincoln. 
Hon. Levi Lincoln, our most venerable and 
A venerated townsman, died yesterday morning, 
'J in his eighty-fifth year, and the city flag placed 
! at half-mast by order of the Mayor, soon made 
j public the solemn news. Gov. Bullock, in recog- 
nition of the distinguished services of the vener- 
able ex-Governor, who was one of the foremost 
of those who have caused this state to be respect- 
ed, issued an order tendering to the family of the 
deceased an escort by the Independent Cadets on 
^the day of the funeral, and the members of the 
^Executive Council and others of the state offi- 
Icials will attend on that occasion, while the flags 
at the State House, and the arsenal at Cam- 
bridge, will be placed at half-mast. 

Ex-Gov. Lincoln was a native of Worcester, 
and a graduate of Harvard College. He studied 
law in his father's offic3, and began his profes- 
sional life in this city in 1805. His name is emi- 
nent in the political history of Massachusetts, he 
having held for nearly the whole period of his 
active life prominent and responsible positions. 
j He early interested himself in politics, and was a 
recognized leader of the Jeffersonian democratic 
party, which was successful on several occasions 
in Massachusetts in those days, the state voting 
for Mr. Jefferson's re-election, and later electing 
Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Gerry to the Governorship. 
In 1812 he he was a member of the Massachusetts 
Senate, and drew up the answer of that body to 
the speech of Gov. Strong. Party spirit then ran . 
very high, and Gov. Strong stood at the head of 
those who were opposed to the war wich Great 
a Britain. Mr. Lincoln was a firm supporter of 
tho war, and opposed the course of the majority 
here with indomitable courage, but always 
maintained the courtesies of political warfare. 
'He was elected a member of the Massachu- 
setts House of Representatives in 1814, the 
session of which year was the most remarkable 
one in our legislative history. The Hartford 
convention was then resolved upon by our Leg- 
islature. Mr. Lincoln vigorously opposed this 
project, but the federalists were overwhelmingly 
strong and carried their point. He then drew 
up the well known protest against that conven- 
tion, which was signed by seventy-six mem. 
bers. This paper was published and sent to 
every part of the country; and it had the effect 
of gaining for its author a national reputation. 
,He continued to serve in the House of Represen- 
tatives for several years, until the close of 1822. 
In his last year he was chosen Speaker, though 
the majority of the members were opposed to 
him in political opinions, a tribute of respect 
that is very seldom paid to a public man in 
America. He was a prominent member of the 
. constitutional convention of 1820, and was one 
, of the commissioners to divide and apportion 
l tfje public property under the act for the sepa- 
ration of Maine from Massachusetts. 

He was Lieutenant Governor of Massachusetts 
j in 1823; and in February, 1824, he was appoint- 
jj cd an Associato Justice of the Supreme Judicial 
' Court. This office he held but a short time, for 
1825 he was nominated for the office of Gov- 
I ^rnor of Massachusetts by both political parties, 
and chosen without opposition to speak of. 
That time was the close of "the era of good feel- 
ing," which was soon to be followed by new 
j party divisions. In the re-formation of parties 
I that took place after the election of John Quincy 
j Ada-is to the presidency, Gov. Lincoln became a 
leader of that organization which ultimately was 
so renowned under the Whig name. By this 
party he was repeatedly re-elected to the Execu- 
tive chair— or, it would be more proper to say, 
he was '"-elected by the people, as the opposition 
Tpnaue to' his re-election was often but nominal. 
He was Governor of Massachusetts nine years in 
succession, a circumstance without parallel in 
ourhistpry; and his retirement was voluntary. 
, The period of his governorship was one of the 
~, most prosperous that the state has ever known. 
Gov. Lincoln was the first Governor of the 
state to exercise the veto power. After leaving 
the office of Governor in 1834, he waselected to 
Congress from the Worcester district, where he 
remained by successive re elections until 1841, 
when ho was appointed Collector for the port of 
Boston. In 1844 he was chosen to the state 
Senate, and re-elected tho next year, when he 
was made president of that tody. la 1848 he 



was one of the presidential electors on the Whig 
ticket, and presided over the Electoral College 
when its vote was cast for Taylor and Fillmore. 
Later, when the southern rebellion broke out, he 
showed by his conversation his anxious sympathy 
with the defenders of the government, and was 
represented in the patriot army by a son and 
grandsons. Though classed as a conservative, he 
became a steadfast supporter of Abraham Lin- 
coln, and at the re-election of the latter to the 
Presidential office, was a member of the Elec- 
toral College for Massachusetts. From that time 
to his death he acted with the Republican party. 

Gov. Lincoln was the first mayor of Worcester, 
and to his energetic and systematic management 
the successful beginning of our municipal life is 
greatly indebted. He took a great interest in 
agriculture, and was for many years president of 
the Worcester Agricultural Society. *He was 
also a councillor of the American Antiquarian 
Society, and Fellow of the American Academy 
of Arts and Sciences. He served as one of the 
members of the board of overseers of Harvard 
College, and by that learned body he was made 
a Doctor of Laws. A similar honor was conferred 
on bim by Williams College. 

Gov. Lincoln was a man of rare executive 
ability and unbending integrity. He possessed 
that kindness of heart and urbanity of manner 
which characterize the true man. He was a 
splendid specimen of a gentleman of the old 
school. No man welcomed the coming or speed 
the parting guest more gracefully than he. His 
home was always fragrant with the flavor of 
hospitality, while true dignity and grace plways 
seemed a part of his nature. As he walked the 
streets up to the time of his last sickness, with 
form erect and with eye undimmed, no stranger 
ever met him without feeling that he was a re- 
markable man. 

Until the last year of his life he walked a mill 
to church in preference to riding in his car- 
riage, and always did his part apparently with 
the vigor of a man of fifty. Visitors at our agri- 
cultural fair last fall remember with pleasure the 
cordial greeting of this erect octogenarian as he 
walked about the grounds aud expressed his ad- 
miration at the unusually fine exhibition of 
stock. He possessed an eloquence of speech and 
a purity of diction rarely equalled and seldom 
surpassed, and whatever he undertook to per- 
form wo knew would be done gracefully and 
well. The truthfulness and honesty of his na- 
ture were peculiarly manifested during the last 
years of his life, when casting from him any 
feeling of jealousy towards men younger and 
less talented than himself, whose views had 
at times differed materially from his own, 
he stood up firm and fearless for 
the nghr, regardless alike of any anxiety as 
to whether he led or followed. No truer repub- 
lican lived among us, and his devotion to the 
principles of the party upon which the salvation 
of the coun'.ry seemed to depend, was alike hon- 
orable to his head and bis heart. 

A new generation has come upon the stage 
since his name was surrounded with a sort of 
halo of professional success; but this community, 
which loved and houorcd him, not only for his 
remarkable ability, but for the noble consistency 
of his daily life, will cherish his memory with 
respect and affection, and will long refer to him 
as the gentleman of ripe age and culture whose 
heart was always young, and who to the last 
day of his long and useful life, loved the home 
of his childhood and his friends and neighbors 
with a fidelity urn earnestness of affection which 
sickness could not change, and which death can- 
not have terminated. 







WORCESTER: 



./ 



WK!IXKS»ATf. AfttlL ID, 184UI. 

WBBB.;a.'fflQfc'^«carrn> m 



tAmmoiKreKlih of Massachusetts. 

Secretary's Department, 1 
Boston, April 17, 1865. J 

To the People of the Commonwealth- 

The following official announcement having been 
received from the Department of State at Wash 
( ington: 

State Department, 1 

Washington, April 17 J 
To the People of the United .States: 

The undersigned is directed to announce that the 
fnneral ceremonies of our late lamented chief magis 
trate will take place at the executive mansion, in 
this city, at 12 o'clock noon, on Wednesday, the 
19; h i nst . The vaiious religious denominations 
throughout the country are invited to meet in their 
respective places of worship at that hour, for the 
purpose of solemnizing the occasion with appropri- 
ate ceremonies. W. Hunter, 

Acting Secretary ol State. 
1 do hereby request all our people, in obedience 
to this invitation, to abstain from the ordinary pur- 
suits of business, to meet at the day and hour above 
indicated, in their respective places ot worship, and 
there to join in solemn devotion and in appropriate 
recognition of the sad bereavement which iu the 
providence of God has fallen upon our nation 
Uy direction of His Excellency the Governor. 
Oliver Warner, 
Secretary of the Commonwealth 



Funeral Solemnities In Worcester. 

Wednesday was celebrated in this city, in a 
most appropriate manner, the funeral of our 
late lamented President, by a general suspen- 
sion of business, and an almost universal dis- 
play of the emblems of mourning. The stores 
were all ^closed at an early hour, and were 
not opened again during the day. The build- 
ings on the business portion of Main stieet 
were all shrouded in black, and the artistic 
displays in many of the store windows were 
very tasteful and appropriate. The mourn-, 
ing colors were also quite general on the build- 
ings and private residences on other streets, 
part.cularly Front, Elm, Pearl, Harvard, 
Chestnut, High, Summer, Green, and Port- 
land streets. Main street presented a most 
strikingly impressive appearance from the 
Court Houses to New Worcester. 

The bells of the city were tolled by order of 
the mayor, from 11 J to 12 o'clock m., and 
from 2 to 3 o'clock p. m , and minute guns 
were fired on the Common, by a detachment 
of the State Guard, from 2 to 3 p. M., during 
the passage of the funeral cortege from tie 
White House through the streets of Washing- 
ton. 

The various churches of the city were most 
appropriately draped in mournin^ , and reli- 
gious services were held in all of them, com- 

--■"■- „, , 9 ..Vlnek, : ,' / 

At the church of the Unity and : llev. Dr. 
Sweetser's, the following humn was 

IV,. MEMOfclAAI. 

We come. oh! Our fcathe^/tsorrow/ng nation, 
To thine aflar this moring.in sadness and te_. 

vv irh one burst oTsom.w and sore Lmieutatio", 
We bring Thee hearts stricken w/th dcruots au 
witn tears. 



tears 
> 
md 



For he whom we loved, and with reverence eher- 
i bed, 
The gopd and the true, Heth U>woq his bier; 
Alas! lor yfas hppts that in darkness have ucr- 
tfhed, v 

As our sun at bright noon-day went down /rota 

itd Sphere. 

Sublime in his goodness— the simple adorning 
Of triAth and uprightness, his royafairail; '" 

He walked among u£ as breaketh the uiofhing 
Thrflu< h the vapots of night, hanging dark o'er 
the day. 

And jujt as his feet touched the beautiful moun- 
tain, 
Whence the sweet strains of peaoe floatud far 
on the a.if) 
As he tasted f ne draught from the life giving 
fountain, 
Of hope for his country— upspringing and fair; 

In t>ie fullness of fame, with his ripe 'honors 

r.und him, 

And Ireeduui's pure flame glowing waim in his 

breajst, 

Tbe red arm of hate and of violence found him.. 

And the patriot and martyr haa gone to his fe?tj 

He has gone to his rest, and with deep veneration, 
The tortrs of a people bedew his c#ld clay, 
s the cry of the orphan gnt/Tfom a nation, 
To him who atone Cs its staff and Ub stay. 



The President in Worcester. 



POPULAR OVATION TO GEN. GRANT. 

Reception by the City Government 
MILITARY AND CIVIC DISPLAY. 



PABADE OF TBE s< uool.s. 



A SUCCESSFUL IMPROMPTU DEMONSTRATION. 



Yesterday, the ninety-fourth anniversary of 
the battle of Bunker Hill, was a remarkable 
holiday in Worcester, on account of the visit of 
Ulysses S. Grant, President of the United States. 
Never since the days of George Washington 
have the people of Worcester had opportunity 
to extend a formal welcome to the Chief Magis- 
trate of the nation. An event so unusual 
would of itself call for a great popular demon- 
stration, and when, as yesterday, the reverence 
for official station was eclipsed by the personal 
greatness of the distinguished guest, and by 
the affection and respect with which he is re- 
garded by the people at large, the manifestation 
of popular interest and enthusiasm was lim- 
ited only by the opportunity of the occasion. 

THE PREPARATIONS. 

With the many demands for his presence in 
other cities, our people did not expect to be hon- 
ored by a visit from the President, and when, on 
Wednesday noon, dispatches were received from 
Mayor Blake, announcing his intention to visit 
the city the next day, the only regret was that 
so brief a time was allowed for preparation, and 
that the visit was so brief. With commendable 
energy, however, our citizens set about their 
preparations, and the result was, if not an elab- 
orate display, a generous welcome, and a hearty, 
enthusiastic, and successful reception, due in a 
great degree to Mayor Blake and his colleagues 
on the committee of the City Council, who had 
the affair in charge. 

The day was bright, cool, and beautiful, and 
at an early hour the streets through which the 
President was to pass were putting on a holiday 
appearance. Flags were thrown to the breeze 
in great profusion; and bunting was liberally 
displayed from public and private buildings. 
Many were fortunate in possessing facilities for 
elaborate decoration, while others, with such 
facilities as were at hand, decked their houses 
and grounds; everything available was brought 
into requisition, and when all was completed, 
Main street was brilliant with flags, festoons and 
streamers of the national colors, and the other 
streets through which the President was to pass 
were liberally decorated in a similar manner. 
It was under the circumstances a remarkably 
brilliant and effective display. Soon after noon 
the streets were alive with people, watching the 
movements of the military, the schools and fire 
department, as the different organizations took 
their designated positions. 

THE RECEPTION. 

At 10 o'clock a. m. a committee. of the City 
Council, composed of Aldermeft Barton and 
Cleveland, and qCouncilmen Hammond and 
Palmer, with Hon. Geo. F. Hoar, Hon. J. D. 
Baldwin, F. H. Kinnicutt, Esq., and C. S. Tur- 
ner, superintendent of the Worcester and Nashua 
railroad, took a special train for Groton, where 
the President had remained over night as the 
guest of Hon. G. S. BoutweU of his Cabinet. 
On their arrival there they proceeded to the 
residence of Mr. Boutwell and were introduced 
to the President, and at about one o'clock p. m. 
the party took their train for Worcester. The 
party, as it left Groton, included the President, 
Hon. Geo. S. Boutwell, Gov. Claflin, Gen. Un- 
derwood of his staff, Hon. Daniel Needham, 
several ladies and gentlemen of Groton and the 
Worcester committee. 

The train arrived at Lincoln square station 
promptly at two o'clock, and the City Govern- 
ment, the military escort, Post 10, Grand Army 
of the Republic, and the Worcester Fire Depart- 
ment, being in line, the President alighted from 
the train, and, escorted by the committee, was 






conducted to a carriage in waiting, where h< 
was received by Mayor Blake. In welcoming 
him to the city and its hospitalities, the Mayor 
having in mind the dislike of the guest for long 
speeches, spoke but briefly, as follows: 

Mr. President— Your life, your welfare, anc 
your happiness are closely allied to the hearts o 
the people of Worcester; in their behalf, ] 
would thank you for this personal presence in 
our midst, and in extending to you a cordia! 
greeting, would invite you to partake of th< 
hospitalities of the city. 

Tfie President bowed his acknowledgments 
and at the invitation of the Mayor entered the 
open barouche with him. The police arrange 
ments were complete, and almost the whoh 
square was kept free of people, so that no crowd 
ing or pressure upon the party occurred. An 
immense crowd thronged outside the lines, and 
as the President appeared he was greeted by th< 
multitude with prolonged and hearty cheering, 
while the section of light artillery, M. V. M., H 
W. Reed commanding, fired a presidential sa 
lute from the elevated ground at the corner ol 
Highland and Harvard streets. 

THE PROCESSION 

Was large and imposing, and, thanks to th« 

efficiency of the Chief Marshal and his aides 

moved promptly, in the following order: 

City Marshal, mounted. 

Platoon of Police, Capt. Comings. 

FIRST DIVISION. 

Worcester Cornet Band. 
Chief Marshal, Brig. Gen. A. B. R. Sprague. 

Brig. Gen. G. H. Wash- Brig. Gen. W. S. Lincoln 
burne, Brig. Gen. R. H. Chan* 

Brig. Gen. J. Pickett, berlin, 

Brig. Gen. A. A. Good- Maj. E. P. Halsted, 

ell, Maj. A. Wood, M. D. 

Maj. O. L. Hatch, 

Worcester City Guards, Capt. J. A. Titus. 

Worcester Light Infantry, Capf. Geo. JL Conklin 

State Guard Battalion, Maj. D. M. Woodward. 

Co. A, Lieut. 8. V. Stone. 

Co. B, Sergt. J. B. Willard. 

SECOND DIVISION. 

Grafton Cornet Band. 
Post 10, G. A. R., Maj. A. M. Parker, Post Com- 
mander, with delegations of Comrades from 
Grafton, Whitiusville, Oxford and 
other places. 
Carriage, with The President and Mayor Blake 
The Highland Cadets as body guard, Maj. L. G. 

White. 

Carriage, with Secretary Boutwell, Gov. Claflin 

Hon. G. F. Hoar and Hon. J. D. Baldwin ' 

Carriage with Gen. Underwood, Hon. D. Needham 

and Aldermen of the Receptiou Committee. 

Ex-Mayors in carriages. 

Aldermen in carriages. 

Members of the Common Council in carriages 

The Press. 6 

Third Division. 

Clinton Cornet Band. 

Engineers of the Fire Department, mounted 

Steamer A. B. Lovell, 8. Steamer Gov. Lincoln, 1. 

Steamer Hose, 8. City Hose, 1 

Yankee Hose, 5. Ocean Hose, 2. 

Hook and Ladder, 1. Hook and Ladder, 2 

Eagle Hose, 3. Niagara Hose, 4. 

Rapid Engine, 2. Steamer Col. Davis, 2. 

Citizens in carriages. 
The procession marched through the stv-eeM 

designated, which were crowded with people, 
and the President was everywhere received with' 
prolonged applause and showers of bouquets 
his carriage being literally filled with them dur- 
ing the entire march. A pleasant and Interest- 
ing feature of the march was the array of 6000 
children from the schools of the city, formed in 
lines in Main street, their hands filled with bou- 
quets and flags; they were stationed just iiwh'h? 
the curbstones, in front of the crowd of people 
on the sidewalks, with an unobstructed view of 
the procession, and marshaled and cared for by j 
Mr. A. P. Marble, Superintendent of Schools, | 
and their masters and teachers, assisted by } 
Messrs. J. D. Daniels, Geo. W. Gale, 
Rogers, Thomas Earle, E. S. Pike, J. L. Murphy ! 
and D. S. Goddard, The pupils of the Techni- ' 

cal School, the Oread Collegiate Institute, and 
the Dix St-'iet Training School joined the pub- 
lic schools in this demonstration. 

THE COLLATION. 

On arriving at the Bay State House, *hf, 
President, the city officials, invited guests and i 
marshals, alighted, and were conducted to the I 
parlors. The President retired for & few 
minutes to a private parlor, and when the com- 
pany were assembled was escorted to the head 
of the parlors by Mayor Blake, and those pres- 
ent had an opportunity to shake hands with 
him. Among those present was' the venerable 
Gen. Salem Townc of Charlton, 84 years of age, 
who highly enjoyed the opportunity of greeting 
the distinguished guest. This brief ceremony 



\ 



Ji stands iu a sunny meadow, 
The house so messy and bfown. 

With its cumbrous old stone chimneys. 
And the gray roof sloping down. 

TI>e trees fold their green arms round it, . 

The trees, a century old; 
and the winds go chanting through 

And the sunbeams drop their gold. 

The cewsJips spring in the marshes, 
does bloom on the hill ; 
■aide the breok in the pastures 
J .- herds go feeding at will. 

The children have gone and left them ; 

They sii in the sun alone! 
And the old wife's ears are failing, 

•he harks to the well known tone — 

That won her heart in her girlhood, 
That lias soothed her in many a care, 

And praises her now for the brightness 
Her old face used to wear. 

She thinks again of her bridal — 
How, dressed in her robe of white, 

tood by her gay young lover 
In the morning's rosy light. 

morning is rosy as ever, 
But 'he rose from hei cheek is flee! j 
And the sunshine still is golden, 
But it falls on a silvered head. 

And the girlhood dreams, once vanished, 
Come back in her winter time, 

Till li -y feeble puis'* tremble 
With the tlinll of spring-time's prime. 

And looking forth.from the window, 
She thinks how tnetrees have grown, 
, clad in her bridal whiteness, 
the old door stone. 

Though dimmed her eye's bright azure, 
And dimmed her hair's young gold: 

The love in her girlhood plighted 
Has never grown dim nor old. 

at in peace in the sunshine, 
le day was almost done ; 
■n, at its close, an ■ 
Stole over the threshold stone. 

He folded their hands together- 
He touched their eyelids with balm ; 
And their last breath floated upward, 
the close of a solemn psalm. 

Like a bridal pair they traversed 
The unseen mystic road, 

leads to the beautiful city, 
l; Whose builder and maker is God." 

Perhaps in that miracle country 
They will give her her lost youth back ; 

And Sowers of a vanished spring-time, 
Will bloom in the spirit's track. 

One draught from the living waters 
Shalt call back hit. manhood's prime; 

And eternal years shall measure 
The love that outlived time. 

But the shapes llie.t they loft behind them, 
n rinkles and silver hair, 
holy to us by the kisses 
The angel had printed there. 

Wo will hide away 'neath the willows, 

ii the day is low in the west; 
Where the sunbeams cannot find them, 
Nor the winds disturb their rest. 

And we'll Buffer no tell tale tombstone, 

With its age and date, to rise 
0% the two wile are old no longer, 

In tlie Father's House in the skies. 



[For the Traveller.] 
THE OLJD MAN'S MAY. 



Heigh-ho. sweet fh>wcj s ! 

Like morning hours, 
he months hate hastened round to brin 
Once more the laughing loTing May! 

end tree is blossoming, 

my windows o'er with grey 

i ct Spring, 
'.. flowers tabling! 

• atill is Strong, 
. ing some supports: 

;units »ong — v. 

ow what this imports. 

fWFthc May my own ; 
uini3gay, 
\ inos have ; 
i.'il act my part of May ! 

Once old— once yonng ! 
•nong 

heir shadows cast—< 
i hades of happy days ! 
i and pleasures come so fast, 
) not know they are the May*. 

: life's hour 
wer ! 
■ a with hope's bright eye, 

;, Hie? to the skies, 
iveniy joys. 



THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE. 



AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR. 

r 

; Mt sister Blanche, her child, and I sat on the lawn 
that morning. 

" Oh would a wife's strong love," she cried, " could 
I shield a soldier's fate !" 

Her voice a little trembled as if touched by some 



forewarning. 

Then rode a soldier up the lane, and halted at the 
gate. 

1 "Which house is Malcolm Blake's? I bring a 

letter to his sister." 
I took it. Blanche, half murmuring, said, " What ! 

none for me, his wife ?" 
The stranger dangled Madge's curls, and, bending 

over, kissed her : 
" Your father was my captain, child !— I loved him as 

my life." 

Then suddenly he galloped off, without a word mere 

spoken. 
' I read the letter. Blanche exclaimed, " What makes 
* you tremble so ?" 

— God ! how could I answer her ? How should the 

news be broken ? 
For first they wrote to me, not her, that I should 

break the blow. 

" Another battle fought !" I said. " Our troops were 

brave, but lost it." 
; Her quick eye -«aw the letter was not writ in Mal- 

icolm's hand. 
I glanced a moment at her face— a sudden shadow 
crossed it : 
«' Read quick, dear May — read all, I pray — and let me 
underbtand." 

I did not read but told the tale— and tempered so tha 
phrases 

That scarce at first she guessed the worst. I kept 
the fatal word 

Till I had told her of his march, his charge, his com- 
rades' praises, — 

And then, — the end! . . . While she — a statue !— ne.er 
spoke nor stirred ! \ 

Oh never yet a woman's heart was broken so com- 
pletely !— 

So unbaptized of helpful tears ! — so passionless and 
dumb ! 

She stood there in her agony, till little Madge asked 
sweetly, — 

" Dear mother, when the battle ends, then will my . 
father come ?" 

I touched my finger to her lip, and led her to her 

playing. 
Poor ^Blanche ! the winter on her cheek grew snowy 

as her name ! 
What could she do but kneel, and pray,— and linger 

at her praying ? 
— Christ I when other heroes die, moan other wives 

the same ? 

. Must other women's hearts yet break, to keep the 
Cause from failing ? 
— God pity our brave lovers when they face the battle's 

blaze ! 
And pity wives made widows !— Shall it all be una- 
/ vailing? — 

( Lord ! give Freedom first, then Peace ! — and to Thy 
Name the praise ! 



PARENTAL LOVE. 



j 



[A rich man. who had no children, proposed tn Kk, 
poor pelKhhor who had seven, to take one of t> em- ap* 
promised, if the parents would consent to the prop- 
that he would rive them property enough to hip'- ,«,.,,- 
selves and their other six children comfort- ™ „ e them! 

. . . -u'e for life.]" 

''Which shall it be ? Wh' 
I looked at John — T "Ch shall it be ?" 
(Dear patient - T ' ' - ohn looked at me, 
As well a* '' ohn, who loves me yet 
And *-" enough my locks were je*„ \ 
"»' „nen I found that I must apeak 
jay voice seemed strangely low and weak • 
" Tell me again, what Robert said ?>' ' 

And then I list'ning bent my bead 
"This is his letter: 

* *. , , , "'I will give 

A house and land while you shall live. 
If in return, from out your seven 
One child to me for aye is given.''" 
I looked at John's old garments' worn 
I thought of all that John had borne ' 
Of poverty, and work, and care 
Which I though willing, could not share; ^St 
I thougnt of seven mouths to feed *■■ 

Of seven little children's need, " ) j** 

And then of this. 
. t - -.- ., .. '^W'Coge. Join," said t, • 
: We'll choose among them as they If* 
Asleep." So, walking hand in hand, t 
Dear John and I surveyed our band. t 
First to the cradle lightly stepped, 
Y TV °re Lillian, the baby, 6lept, 
A „ iry 'gainst the pillow white. 
Softly the father stooped to lay 
His rough hand down in loving way, 
When dream or whisper made her stir, 
And huskily he said, " Not her— not her.* 



I / 



-^esi 



~m 



i 



,r*m 



We stooped beside the trundle-bed, 
And one long ray of lamplight shed 
Athwart the boyish faces there, 
In 6leep so beautiful and fair. 
I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek 
A tear u^dried, ^Ers Jobn could speak, 
" He's but a baby too, *•' §ftjd J, 
And kissed him, as we hurried byj '^"^ 

Pale, patient Robbie's angel ' MnA ' 
Still in his sleep bore suff .' « e . 
" No, for a thousand cro- king's trae^, 
He whispered, while '' tls ' not Um > . 

' « Our eyes were dim. 

Poor Dick! \r ' ^. . , 
Turbulent -*dDiek! our wayward son- 
Could b , reckless, idle one — 
Bi d ,, -e be 6pared ? Nay, He who gave 
(> *6 befriend him to the grave ; 

_aly a mother's heart could be 

Patient enough for such as he ; 
" And so," said John, " I would not dare 

To send him from her bedside prayer." 

Then stole we softly up above, 
And knelt by Mary, child of love. 
" Perhaps for her 'twould better be," 
I said to John. Quite silently 
He lifted up a curl that lay 
Across her cheek in willful way, 
And shook his head. "Nay, love, not 

thee." 
The while my heart beat audibly. 

Only one more, our eldest lad, 
Trusty and truthful, good and glad- 
So like his father. "No, John, no ; 
I can not, will not, let him go." 

And so wc wrote, in courteous way, 
We could not drive one child away. 
And afterward toil lighter seemed, 
Thinking of that of which we dreamed s 
Happy, in truth, that not one face 
We missed from its accustomed place: f 
Thankfu\ to work for all the seven, 
Trusting the rest *o One in heaven. 



Self-Sacrifices.— Tuere is not <>u-. of us wrmrj. 
has not a brother or a sister, a friend or a school- 1 
mate whom we can make better, as wall as hap- 
pier. Every day calls upon us for sacrifices of' 1 ' 
small selfishness, for forbearance under provoea-'i 
tion, and for the subjugation of evil propensities rj 
L)rop the stone you were about to throw in rctalia- j 
tion for insult; unclench that fist, with which you y ! 
are about to redress some supposed, perhaps som-» i 
Teal wrong; silence thai ton^, about to utter o 
words which would poison like tn<5 venom of asps- 
expel that wicked imagination that comes into 1 ! 
your thoughts as Satan came into the Gardea of 9 
Eden, for if you do not drive that out of your par- it 
adise, it will drive you out.- Horace Mann. 



Things Mequisite. 

Have a tear for the wretched— a smilo for the glad; 
For the worthy, applause— an excuse for tho bad; 
Some help for the needy— some pity for those 
Who stray from the path where true happiness flows, 



II<)ve a laugh for the child in her play at thy feet; 
Have respect for the aged; and pleasantly greet 
The stranger that seeketh for shelter irom thee— 
Have a covering to spare if he naked should be. 

Have kope in thy sorrow— a calm in thy joy; 
Have a work that is worthy thy life to employ; 
Ar.d, oh ! abo^e all things on this side the sod, 
Have peaco with thy conscience, and peace with thy 



1 



' 



6: 



Signs of SrisiKG.— Mr. Editor: If the following 
record of the "signs of Spring" is of interest to 
you, it is at your service. We are always several 
clays biliind Worcester , but it; seems to |me that this 
year there is less difference than usual. b. h. t. 
Leicester, May 1, 1865. 

1869. 
April 18th— Heard frogs. 
Jtay 1st — Early cherries in bloom. 
May 14th — Early pears in bloom. 
May 14th— Early potatoes up. 
May 16th — Saw toad.- 
Alay 21st- -Saw yeilow bird. 
May 27th — Peas in bloom, planted late in the fall. 
July 5th— Frost on low lands; mer. 49 at 5 a m. 
On the 4th of July we bad the grate packed with 
burning coals, and could only keep comfortable 
near the hie; mercury 50. 
July 30th— .New potatoes dug. 

1860 
April 7th — Heard frogs. 
April 10th— Saw lirst golden robin. 
May 8th— Cut asparagus. 
May 10th— Early cherries in bloom. 
May 12th— Saw bob-o'links 
May 13th— first yellow birds 
May 20th— Corn up 

1S61. 
April 13th— Heard first frogs. 
May 7th— First dandelion in bloom. 
May 12th— First toad and lirst yellow bird. 
May 15th — First golden robin and bob-o'link. 
May 18th — Cut asparagus. 
May 25th— .Potatoes up; early pears in bloom. 

1862. 
May 13th— Saw first bob-o'link. 
May 14th— Early cherries in bloom. 
May 17th— Saw first golden robin. 
May 17th— Cut asparagus. 
May 27th— Cucumber tree iu bloom. 

1803. 
May 8d— Pears up 

May llfh— Early cherries in bloom; 1st humming 
bird and bob-o'link. 
May 13th— Saw first golden robin. 
May 14th— Cut asparagus. 
May 28th— Cucumber tree in bloom. 

1864. 
April 14 — Saw first swallow. 
April 15— oaw first wren. 
May 8— Saw first humming bird. 
May 9— Saw first dandelion and cowslip iu bloom. 
May 11— Saw early cherries ia bloom. 
May 13— Cur asparagus. 
May 17 — First golden robiu. 

1865. 
March 14— First blue birds. 
March 15 — first swallows. 
March 16 — First robins 
March 17 — Wild j»eese went north. 
March 20— First meadow lark and wrens. 
April 14— First butteifly. 
Api^l 28 — First dandelion in bloom. 
April 29— Cut asparagus. 
April 29— Shad-blow in bloom. 
April 30— Early cherries in bloom. 



Old Fashioned Winters.— In the year 401 
the Black Sea was entirely frozen over. In 763 
not only the Black Sea, but the Straits of Darda- 
nelles, were frozen over, and the snow in some 
places rose fifty feet high In 822 the great riv- 
ers of Europe, the Danube, the Elba, &c, were 
frozen so hard as to bear heavy wagons for a 
month. In 860 the Adriatic was frozen. In 091 
everything was frozen, the crops entirely failed, 
and famiue and pestilence closed the year. In 
1067 most of the travelers in Germany were fro- 
zen to death on the roads. In 1134 the Po was 
frozen from Cremona to the sea; the wine sacks 
were burst, and trees split by the action of the 
frost, with immense noise. In 1237 the Danube 
was frozen to the bottom, and remained long in 
that state. In 1308 the crops failed in Scotland, 
and such a famine ensued that the poor were re- 
duced to feed on grass, and many perished miser- 
ably in the fields. In 1317 the crops wholly fail- 
ed in Germany, and wheat, which some years 
, before so!d in England at 6s the quarter, rose to 
/ -£2. In 13G8 the wine distributed to the soldiers 
was cut with hatchets. The successive winters of 
1422-3-4 were uncommonly severe. In 1668 it 
was excessively cold ; most of the hollies were 
killed, and coaches drove across the river Thames, 
the ice of which was eleven inches thick. In 1709 
occurred what was long called "the cold winter," 
when the frost penetrated three yards into the 
6 earth. In 1716 booths were erected on the Thames. 
Iu 1714 the strongest ale in England, exposed to 
the air, was covered in less than fifteen minutes 
with ice an eighth of an inch thick. In 1809, 
and again in 1812, the winters were remarkably 
cold. In 1814 there was a fair ou the frozen 
Thames. 



New York, July 18.— At the auction sale of 
coal to-day, lump brought S6.50 ; broken and egg, 
$6.75; stove, $7; chestnut, $5.50. 

Yesterday was the hottest day ever known in 
this citv. Thermometer stood at 106 in the shade. 
There were 43 cases ot sunstroke, 23 of which 
proved fatal. There were nine fatal cases out 01 
16 in Brooklyn. 



/ 



OUR FOREFATHERS. 
The religious sentiment which operated on the re- 
I volution would be, as has been well remarked, a 
theme of great interest. Without proposing to enter 
J upon it, let • s merely look at the journals of the old 
i congress to see how strong spoken a piety is there 
I recorded. The voice of prayer was the solemn pre- 
J pdraiive to the deliberations of that body of states- 
men. How frequent from that assembly went forth 
the warning to remind the people to consecrate to 
God the nation's anguish and the nation'sjoy, may 
tie seen from the quick recurrence of their recom- 
mendation of a general religious rite, either of prayer 
or praise, th oughout the land. We shall give some- 
thing more than our own statement to establish this. 
The journal of each day of the succeeding dates, re- 
ar, invocation of religion. 
June 12, 1775, foita day of public humiliation, fast- 
ing, and prayer. 
March 16, 1776, for a similar service. 
December 11. 1776, for the same. 
November 1, 1777, for a day cf thanksgiving. 
March 7, 1778, for a day of "fasting andfprayer. 
November 17, 1778, for a day of thanksgiving. 
March 20, 1779, for a day of lasting and prayer. 
October 20,- 1779, for a day of thansgiving. 



Battles op the Revolution— The follow- 
ing tabse of tne comparative losses of life sus- 
tained in the battles or the revolution is valuable 
also for the dates of the several battles : — 

British Amer'n 
Loss. Loss. 
Lexington, April 15, 1775, • 273 81 

Banker Hill, June 17, 1775, 1,054 450 

Ftatbush, Aug. 12, 1776. 400 200 

White Plains, Aug. 26, 1776, 400 400 

Trenton, D. c. 25 1776, 1.000 9 

Princeton, Jan. 5, 1777, 4('0 100 

Hubbardstowr, Autr. 17. 1777, 8!>0 800 

Bannington, Aug 16. 1777, 800 100 

Brandy wine, Sept. 11 1777, 500 1,100 

Stillwater, Sipt 17. 1777. 600 350 

Gertnantowo, Oer 5 1777, 600 1 250 

Saratoga, Ocr 17, 1777*. 5.752 — 

Rid Hook, Oct. 22 1777, 500 32 

Monmourh, Jun^ 25, 1778, 400 130 

Rhode Island, Aui> 27, 1778, 260 214 

Briar Creek, March 30. 1779, 13 400 

Stony Point, Jo'v 15. 1779, g 600 100 

Camden, Aug. 16, 1779, 375 610 

Kng's Mouiitaiv, Oat 1, 1780, 950 66 

Oowpens, Jan 17, 1781, 890 72 

Guilford, C H, March 15 1781, 532 400 

Hobkirk Hills, Aoril 25 1781, 4('0 460 

Eutaw Springs, Sep*, . 1781, 1.000 050 

Yorktown, Oct., 1781* 7 072 — 



te 



a 

H 

. c 
* 



Total, 



25,181 7,913 



^Surrendered. 



<« p en c; -. 

5? co bd S d 

? £5 §;§ 
1 1 g " p 

2. 3 & ■■■- 
-% Wo°X 
gw -r * \i 

«££§-:: 



S;L 






Ecixtli off the Maestro Rossini. 

Paris, Saturday, Nov. 14. , v_ 
Gioacchino Rossini, the great Italian musical 
composer, died in this ciSy to-day, in his 77 th- - 
year. 



r 



Polk for President, made at Baltimore,' .March 11, 1730, for a day of fasting and prayer, 
announced in Washington "two hours in I October 19, 1780, for a day of thanksgiving. 



Sixteen Years Old. It is just sixteen 
years since Prof. Morse put up the first Elec- 
tric Telegraph in America. The first piece of 
news sent over it was the nomination of James i 
K. " 

and announced in Washingt 

advance of the mail." No one at that, day,"] March 26, 1781, for a day "of fasting and prayer 
probably not even the professor himself, i ° ctober 24 > 173-> > a ^iiksgiving by the members 

h rea intti°v P n Cl0Se ! y h ^ El ff C ) V f ire r UW ' °" OcXrl, 1781, for a day of thanksgiving. 
be interwoven with our daily life. Now, March 19 1782 . for a d y oi fast| | nd f ayer . 

Railroad trams are run by electricity. Thieves October 1 1, 1782, fora day of ihansgivintr. 

are caught by electricity. Lost children are ! October IS, 1783, for the same. 

found by electricity. Eire bells are rung by i It is net only by the frequency of such acts during 

electricity. Watches are set and clocks strike 1 "!' a period of about 8 years, thatthc devotional feeling 

which ihen oredominated is proved, but by the fer- 



by electricity. Armies march and fleets sail 
at its bidding. Treaties are negotiated at its 
word. Two friends in remote towns, by its 
help, sit down and have a friendly game of 
chess. Two Emperors, a thousand miles 
apart, by its help, carry on the siege of a dis- 
tant city. 

By night it flies all over the world, gather- 
ing news to serve up to us at breakfast. By 
day it flies all over the world, here congratu- 
lating a bride, there ordering a funeral, here 
warning of disaster, there summoning help to 
a wreck, here buying pork by the hundred 
barrels, there selling grain by the thousand 
bushels, arranging for feasts and fights, for 



vor with which it is expressed. 



' Ji(U4 f>. 

Thirtieth Anniversary. It was thirty years 
ago yesterday that Mr. Alvin Adams first com- 
menced running his express between this city and 
New York. The corporation now known as the 
Adams Express Companv, which extends its busi- 
ness^arms throughout the country and is entrusted 
with the conveyance of treasure and merchandise 
valued at millions of dollars daily, had a modest 



birth. The first way biU contained items which 
sermons and stock bargains, fori monies of brought to the originator the insignificant sum of 
a concert and the discords of a convention, for three dollars and seventy-five cents. Mr. Adams 
law-making and for law-breaking, the fall of wasJhis own messenger, and left that night for 
Empires and the fall of thermometers, the.can- New York, returning the next day with valuables 

entrusted to his care. During the past thirty yeais 
thousands of men have been employed, while the 
stock of horses, wagons and other indispensable 
material may be set down at millions. l^Jl^J 



didates for the President and candidates for 
the Penitentiary. Truly the romance of the 
Arabian Nights is tame beside the reality of 
the Electric Wire. — Albany Journal. 

There have been only two total eclipses in any 
part of the Atlantic coast since the year 1800. 
The first occurred June 16th, 1806; the second, L 
Nov.mber 80th, 1834. That of to-day, Aug. 7th, 
1869, is the third; and the fourth and last will t 
occur May 28th, I960. 

The first railroad in the United States— the. 
Baltimore and Ohio road — was chartered in 1827, 
and sixty-two miles of it were opened, but worked 
by horse power, in 1831. New York opened in the 
''■me year the second railroad — the Albany and 
Schenectady. The third was the South Carolina 
railroad, which was opened in 1835, and was at 
that time the longest continuous line in the world. 



the New York Gazette. The first in New Jersey 
was "The New Jersey Gazette," started at Bur- 
lington, December 8, 1777. Delaware had a 
newspaper at Wilmington, called the Wilmington 
Courant, which was first printed about 1761; it 
lived only six months. In Maryland, the lirst 
newspaper was printed at Annapolis, in 1728; 
the lirst in Virginia appeared at Williamsburg, 
in 1736, and lived fourteen years; in North 
Carolina, the first was printed at Newborn, in 
1755; the first South Carolina newspaper was 
started at Charleston in 1732; and the first in 
Georgia appeared at Savannah, April 17, 1763. 



Early American Newspaper*. 

The oldest newspaper in the Uuited States is 
the New Hampshire Gazette, published at Ports- 
mouth. It began existence in August, 1756, and 
was established by Daniel Fowlc from Boston. 
It is a weekly. The next is the Newport Mer- 
cury, in Rhode Island, which was started in 
September, 1758, by James Franklin, son of 
James Franklin, and nephew of Benjamin 
FrankHn. The Mercury, also, is a weekly. The 
third in age is the Connecticut Courant, which 
first appeared in December, 1764. The Courant 
i3 now printed both as a weekly and a daily, 
and" was never better than at present. It was 
established by Thomas Green. The fourth is 
the Spy; and these four arc the only papers in 
the country, which existed previous to the reso- 
lution. 

Previous to 1775, seventy-six newspapers bad 
appeared in the thirteen colonies that after- 
wards became the United States, and thirty-seven 
of them were still printed. The first in time 
was the Boston News-Letter, started, April 24, 
1704, by John Camoell, a Scotchman, then a 
bookseller and postmaster, in Boston; the second 
was the Boston Gazette, started by William 
Brookcr who had become postmaster, and first 
printed, December 21, 1719: the third was the 
American Weekly Mercury, first printed in 
Philadelphia, December 22, 1719; it was estab- 
lished by Andrew Bradford. In 1810, only nine 
of the newspapers published in 1775, were still 
in existence. Three of these were in Connecti- 
cut, two in Rhode Island, two in Pennsylvania, 
one in New Hampshire, and one (the Spy) in 
Massachusetts. More of the older Massachu- 
setts papers would, doubtless, have remained in 
existence, if so many of them had not been 
brought to their death by the British occupa- 
tion of Boston. 

The first newspaper in Rhode Island, was 
started at Newport, September 27, 1732, by James 
Franklin) sen.; it existed only seven months, 
being discontinued in consequence of his death;, 
it was called "The Rhode Island Gazette." 
Twenty-five years passed before another news- 
paper appeared in that state, and then the New- 
port Mercury was started by James Franklin,' 
Jr. In Connecticut the first newspaper a.p$ eared 
in New Haven, January 1, 1755; it wn vailed 
the Connecticut Gazette, and was disco Sinned 
in 1767. In New York, the first newspaper made Q 
its appearance, October 16, 1725; it was called « 



' I ii Tl I 



SEPTEMBER. 

2. Great fire in London, 1000. 

3. Cromwell died, 165S ; new style in calendar, f 

1754. 
5. First Congress in Philadelphia, 1774 ; Amer- 
ican Board first met, 1810. 

dessed History of Steam.— About 280 
ytv B. C, Hem, of Alexander, tormed a toy 
which exliioited some of the powers of steam, 
and was moved by its power. 

A D. 540. Antheminiis, an architect, arrang- 
• ' iveral caldrons ol water, each covered with 
m, fjtkj bottom of a leathern tube, which rose 
to a .narrow top, with pipes extended to the raft- / 
era uf the adjoining building. A lire was kin- /' 
died beneath the caldron, and the house was 
shaken with the efforts ot the steam ascending 
the tub* s. This is the first notice of the power 
of steam recorded. ' ■ 

Iu 1543, June 17, Brasco de Garay tried a 
steamboat of 200 tons with tolerable success, at 
Barcelona, Spain. It consisted of a caliron of 
boiling water, and a movable wheel on each side 
of the ship. It was laid aside as impracticable. 
A present however was made to Garay. 

In 1650 the first railroad was constructed at 
Newcastle-on-ihe-Tviie. 

The first idea of a steam engine in England 
was in the Marquis of Worcester's ''History of 
Invention." A. 1). 1603. 

In 1691 Newcrmnn made the first steam engine 
in England. 

In 1718 patents were Granted to Savory for the 
first application for the steam engine. 

1764 James Watts made the first perfect steam 
engine in lingland. 

In 1763 Jonathan Hulls first set forth the idea 
of steam navigation. 

In 17 78 1'bomas Thomas first proposed the ap- 
plication in America. 

In 1781 Marquis Jouffray constructed a steam- 
boat on the Saone. 

In 1785 two Americans published a work on it. 

In 1789 William Symington made a voyage in 
one on thj Forth and Clyde canal. 

In 1302 this experiment was repeated. 

In 1782 Ramsey propelled a boat by steam at 
New York. , . : 

In 1789 John Fitch ot Connecticut navigate! 
a boat by a si earn engine on the Delaware. 

In 1784 Robert Fulton first began to apply his 
• attrition to steam. ,' ., ': . . . 

In 1783 Oliver Evans, a native of Philadelphia, 
constructed a steam engine to travel on a turn- 
pike road. 

The first steam vessel that ever crossed tne At- 
lantic was the Savannah, in the month of June, 
1810, lrotn Charleston to Liverpool.— Hunt s 
Merchants' Magazine. 



L 



i 



The Good Old Winters.— la 401 the Black 
Sea was entirely frozen oyer, in 763 not only the 
Black Sea, but the Straits of Dardanelles were fro- 
zen over: the snow in some places roae fifty feet 
lien In 822 th« great rivers of Enrope, the Dan- 
ube, the Elbe, &c, were so hard frozen as to bear 
heavy wagons for a month. In 869 tBe Adriatic 
was frozen. In 991 every thing was frozen, the 
crops totally failed, and famine and pestilence 
closed the year. In 1067 most of the travellers in 
Germany were frozen to death on the roads, in 
1134 the Po was frozen from Cremona to the sea; 
the wine sacks were burst, and the trees split by 
the action ot the frost, with immense noise. la 
1237 the Danube was irozen to the bottom, and re- 
mained long in that state. „■.... „ 

In 1317 the crops wholly failed in Germany; 
•wheat, which some years before sold in England 
It 6s the quarter, rose to £2. In 1308 the crops 
failed in Scotland, and such a famine ensued that 
the poor were reduced to feed on grass, and many 
perished miserably in the fields. The successive 
winters of 143^3-4 were uncommonly severe, in 
1368 the wine distributed to the soldiers was cut 
-with hatchets. In 1683 it was excessively cold; 
most of the hollies were killed; coachss drove ■ 
along the Thames, the ice of which was eVjvan | 
inches thick. In 1709 occurred the cold winter 
the frost penetrated the earth three yards into the 
ground. In 1716 booths were erected on the 
Thames. In 1744 and 1745 the strongest ale in 
England, exposed to the air, was covered in less 
than fifteen minutes with ice an eighth of an inch 
-hick. In 1809, and again in 1812, the winters were 
remarkably cold. In 1814 there was a lair on the . 
frozen Thames. 



august. : \ 

1. Battle of Nile, 1798 ; the younger President 

Edwards died, 1H01. 
3. Arkwight died, 1792. 
C. Ben Jonson died, 1637. 

Early Newspapers.— The Courant was tne 
title of the first daily newspaper printed iu the 
English language. This was the Daily Courant, 
which appearedin Loudon on the 11th of March, 
1702. It was a little half-sheet, printed on one 
side only, and thus consisting of but one page of 
two columns. Besides the salutatory address of 
its manager, which set forth that weeklies and 
semi-weeklies had got to be too slow for that 
fast age, and that the public demanded daily in- 
telligence, it contained five brief paragraphs 
translated from the Dutch of the Haarlem Cou- 
rant. Such was the petty beginning of that 
great engine of public opinion, the daily press of 
Great Britain. The Daily Courant lasted until 
1735, maintaining a foremost place among the 
many imitations which speedily sprang into ex- 
istence, and was styled, even in the days of the 
Tatter and the Spectator "the best critic" among 
the London dailies. Addison and Steele, and the 
other writers of Queen Anne's day, read it with 
their breakfasts, and probably not a few of them 
at different times contributed to its columns. In 
1718 was established the Edinburgh Evening 
Courant, which is yet issued, being not only the 
oldest paper in Scotland, but also, we believe, 
the oldest existing daily printed in the English 
tongue. Before quitting the Courants of the 
Old World it is perhaps proper to mention an- 
other London Courant, which was brought out 
in the exciting period of the war between Eng- 
land and her American colonies, by that bitter 
but liberal publicist, John Almon, and in which 
appeared the lucubrations of Hugh Boyd, to 
whom has been ascribed by some the authorship 
of the Junius Letters. 

In America this newspaper name was natural- 
ized at a very early date. The third newspaper 
on the continent was the New England Courant, 
commenced by James Franklin at Boston, on the 
17th of August, 1721, almost exactly one hun- 
dred years alter the original English paper of 
the same title was tounded in London— a coinci- 
{/ deuce as remarkable as any that we remember 
in the annals of journalism. It was the first 
really live newspaper of the country,— the first 
which exhibited any of those features which 
have since given a national character to our 
press. It was bold, aggressive, and spicy, and 
excited great attention in its day from a way it 
had of pitching into the old fogies of the New 
• England metropolis, and especially into those 
' venerable and respected specimens of New Eng- 
land old-fogyism— the Mathers. It was pub- 
lished for a time in the name of Benjamin 
Franklin— the first appearance of that celebrated 
name in print. In its office the tamer 
of lightning perfected himself in the typo- 
graphical profession, and in its columns are 
to be found bis earliest published'compositions. 
Ics title was undoubtedly suggested to the elder 
Franklin by the well-known daily, to which we 
have alluded, at that time issued in London, 
copies of which must have reached Boston with 
every vessel. It lasted until 1727. With anoth- 
er Courant, called The Constitutional Courant, 
of which only a single number was printed at 
Burlington, New Jersey, ostensibly in 1765, but 
really in 1768, originated that noted revolutiona- 
ry device— a serpent separated into as many 
parts as there were colonies and bearing the 
motto. Join or die. In 1764, as our readers 
know about two centuries after the name was 
first displayed at the head of a Dutch newspaper, 
a century and a half after it was first used in 
England, and half a century after it was em- 
ployed to distinguish the first of the English 
dailies, appeared the initial number of our own 
Connecticut Courant. Its founder was probably 
led by the remembrance of Franklin's famous 
Courant to adopi that expressive title.— Hart- 
ford Courant. 



<a6 l */r&ti 






KKBRUARY. ' 

1. First Presidential election in United btates 

1789. 

2. Lorenzo Dow died, 1834. . 
3 Slavery abolished in French colonies, 1 /94. 
4. John Rogers burnt, 1555 
6. Earthquake in New Eng and, 1730. 

8. Mary Queen of Scots died, loai . 

9. Harrison born, 1773 

11 De Witt Clinton died, 18f3- 

12 Peace with Great Britain, 18lo. 



march. Inventions.— The following will be found useful by way of reference : Glass 

4 JSft.tlil'lTOD windows were first used in 1180 ; chimneys in houses, 1236 ; lead pipes for com 

1 Madlon born; 1757. ' veyiug wate r, 1252 : tallow candles for lights, 1290 ; spectacles invented by an 

6. Bellamy died, 1790. X J V * 19QQ • nwr first made from linen, 1302 ; woollen cloth first made in 

7. Bible Society first comraen Italian, 1299 , paper nihl uiduu " ' > " 



Bible Society first comraen Italian, l^»» , pay" »n .->*""— - — f i ;„„„„+„,! ^AA^^. 

Benjamin West died, 1820 England 1331 : art of painting in oil colors, 1410 ; printing invented, 1440 , 
Jack,on born, 1767. _ ? i_- _ . a~ :„ n™.™on,r 14.77: variation of comnass first noticed, 1540 : pins 



16. Bowditch died, 1833 

17. St. Patrick's day. 

up Act repealed. 17GG 

APRIL. 
The Allies enter Paris, 1814. 
TetFerson born, 1743. 
Bonaparte dethroned, 1814 



watches made in Germany, 1477 ; variation of compass first noticed, 1540 ; pins 
first used in England, 1543 ; circulation of human blood first discovered by Har- 
vey, 1619 ; first newspaper published, 1630 ; first steam-engine invented, 1649 ; 
first fire-engine invented, 1663 ; first cotton planted in the United States, 17C9 ; 
f team- engine improved by Watt, 1767 ; steam cotton-mill erected, 1783 ; ste- 
S^dfi^aSLtt reotype printing invented in Scotland, 1785 ; animal magnetism discovered by 
*to died, 347 b. c Mesmer, 1788 ; Sabbath-school established in Yorkshire, England, 1-89 ; elec- 

■S5^im tti,,W tro-magnctic telegraph by Morse, invented 1832; daguerreotype process, in- 
Sacon died, 1626. vented 1839. 

JANUARY. 17. Franklin born, 1706. 

1 Union of Great Britain and Ireland, 1801. ].). Copernicus born, 1473. 

4 Battle of Princeton, 1777. 20. Independence of the United States acknow. 

7 Jupiter's moons discovered, 1610. ledged. 1783; Huwardd.ed, 1,90. 

8. Battle of New Orleans, 1815 ; Whitney died 

1825. 
1 . President Dwight died, 1817. 
:}. G. Fox died, 1691. 
1 Peace with Great Britain, 1 ,84 



The Cheat Gale. — Last Saturday was the 
fiftieth anniversary of the great storm, to which 1 
according to the records of that time "neither thej 
memory of man nor the annals of the country! 
could furnish any parallel." Many houses in' 
this tow n were unroofed or blown down, innum- 
erable windows were shattered "by the seed balls 
of the buttonwood tree driven through them by 
the wind," and fruit, shade, and forest trees were j 
uprooted in every direction. The Svy of the 
week following the tempest says "the ordinary 
consumption of ten years by the whole town will 
not exhaust the wood which is now prostrate." 

The water which fell in Uxbridge, Grafton, W 
cester, and Sterling, was strongly impregnated witk , 
salt. An incrustation on the windows was noticed 
by many ; and the grapes in a garden in Worcester 
had a perceptible taste of salt on their surface. After 
the storm a Hock of sea gulls was seen in a meadow 
near the street in Worcester; another flock was seen j 
about tlie same time in Grafton. Toward evening 
they took wing in the- direction of their own element. 
The Mondav preceding the tempest a very large 
flock of hen" hawks and white-headed eagles, consist- ' 
ing of not less than uOM, were seen by persons in 
Millburyand Shrewsbury, flying to the westward. 

The hurricane raged throughout the greater 
part of New England, causing an incalculable 
loss of property, and destroying many lives. 
Ships were wrecked in the harbors, roads were 
made impassable by fallen trees, spires fell from 
churches, and chimneys flew abroad in the air, 
as if the laws of nature were suspended, and an- 
archy ruled the hour. The storm occurred on 
the 23d of September, 1815. The oldest persons (. 
then living had witnessed no similar event either 
in the violence of the tornado, or the destruction 
that accompanied its progress; and it is remem- 
bered and referred to as " the great gale" to this 
day. 

Vice President Johnson takes the Oath of 
Office as President. 

I Washington, April 15, 12 >t — Andrew 
Johnson was sworn into office as President of 
the United States, by Chief Justice Chase, to- 
day, at 11 o'clock. He remarked, — "The du- 
— ties are mine, I ( will perform them trusting in 
God." /&£> 0* 

— u__ 

President Harrison was ioauguraicd March 4* 
1841, end died April.4th of the fame year, only : 
menth after bis inauguration. F/esident . Taylq 
was inaugurated eight years later, March 4th, 184 
and died July 9th of the samo year ab..a; foi 
months after entering office. Present Linco 
was inaugnrtitd for the tecond term Marc a 4 
1865, apu was killed April 14th. 

The first thing printed in New England was 
the Freeman's Oath, the second an Almanac, and 
the third a version of the Psalms. This was in 
the year 1636. The first wind-mill erected in 
New England was located near Watertown, but 
was, in the year 1632, (200 years ago) removed to 
Rnstnn. 

THTTRSTXAtTsEPT EMBEB 22, 18 70. 
ATienf from Ett»t«ry. 

To-day, September fed, is memorable as the 
day on which, 178 years ago (1692), eight victims 
of the "Witchcraft Delusion," or, in the language 
Df a divine of that day, "eight firebrands of hell, 
V ere together executed upon the gallows, in \ 
Essex county. Their names were, Samuel War* 
well of Andover, Wilmot Reed of Marbiehead. i 
Margaret Scott of Rowley, Mrs. Alice Parker of 
Salem, Mary Parker of Topsfield; Mrs. Ami , 
Pudeater of Salem (70 years old), Mrs. Mary | 
Easty, and Mrs. Martha Corey. 

The last named was the wife of Giles Corey, who | 
being also accused, and refusing to answer, luu 
fceen fix days previously (Sept. 16th) put to ( 
death by means of a heavy beam laid across bit 
chest and loaded with stones. The ballad hath it j 



died, 05 ; Summerfield born, 1770. 
Handel died, 1759. 
American Asylum for Deaf and Dumb open 

<•,]. 1817. 
Bhakespere born, 1664. 
franklin died. 1790. 
Battle of Lexington. 1775 
Nettleton born. 1783. 
rfhakespere died, 1010. 



First paper printed in -Massachusetts, 1704. 'l 5 



eth crowned. 



I HIHH 



21. Louis"XVJ. beheaded, 1793. 

•2-2. Byron born, 1788. 

25. Burns born, 1759. 

26. Robert Boyle bom, 1620. 
28. Telegraph in practice in England, 1 
31. Ben Jonson born, 1574. 



96. 



" Giles Corey— he sad.? not a worde, 
No single worde spake he; 
' Giles Corey,' sayth the magistrate," 
« We'll press it out ot thee.' 

" ltaey got them then a heavie Beam ; 
They laid it on his breast; 
They loaded it with heavie stones, 
And hard upon him prest. 

- ' More weight,' now said this wretched man ; 
' More weiehr,' again he cryed; 
Ynd'hc di'1 no confession make, 
But wickedly bed y ed. 

<• Dame Coiey lived but six dayes more, 
Kut six daves more lived she, 
For ebe was "hanged on Gallows ^ul 
Upon ttve LocustTree. 



To 



JHE CHILD WITH EADIANT EYES." I \ ™* "* E OP T " E ""»«»• 






To the Editors of The Independent : 

The accompanying exquisite poem is from the pen 

of Gerald Massey. I am snre that it will, with sad- 

' ness not unpleasing, touch the hearts of not a few o f 

t your readers who still mourn the translation of their 

| darlings " to the Land o' the Leal." 

Brooklyn. "William McKay. 

[This poem, like most of Gerald Massey's, has some l 
provoking blunders of rhythm ; but, as with all 
his writings, for every flaw there is a. beauty. — Eds. 
Independent.] 

"With seeking hearts we still grope on, 
Where dropt our jewel in the dust ; M 

The looking crowd have long since gone, 
And still we seek with lonely trust ; 

little child with radiant eyes ! 

Dark underneath the brightening sod 

The sweetest life of all our years 
Is crowded in ae gift to God. 

We stand outside the gate in tears ! 
little child with radiant eyes J 

In all our heartache we are drawn 

Unweeting to your little grave ; 
There, on your heavenly shore of dawn, 

Breaks gentlier sorrow's sobbing wave ; 
O little child with radiant eyes ! 

We think of you, our angel kith, 

Till life grows light with starry leaven i 

We never forget you, darling, with 
The gold hair waving fi^ fl m heaven \ 

Our little child with Radiant eyes ! 

Your white wings grown, you conquer death, 
You are coming through our dreams even now, 

With two blue peeps of heaven beneath 
The arching glory of your brow. 

Our little child with radiant eyes ! 

We cannot pierce the ilark, but oft 
You see us with looks of pitying balm ; 

A hint of heaven — a touch more soft 
Than kisses — all the trouble is calm. i 

little child with radiant eyes ! / 

Think of us Wearied in the strife ; j 

And when we sit by sorrow's streams 

Shake down upon our drooping life 
The dew that brings immortal dreams. \ 

little child with radiant eyes ! 



Region of lift ami light! 
Land of the good whose earthly tails are o'er! 

Nor Iro-i nor heat may blight 

Thy vernal hei.ni s , fertile s'lore, 
Yielding thy blessed fruita for evermore, 

There without crook or sling, 
W&lks the good shepherd ; blossoms white and red 

Round hit- meek temples chug; 

Ana to gweei pastan b led, 
His own loved flock, beneath his eye is fed. 

He guides, and near him they 
Follow delighted, for lie makes them go 

Where dwells eternal May, 

.And heavenly roses glow, 
Df-atble.-c, and gathered but again to blow. 

He leads th<'m to the height 
Named ol the infinite and long mugbt Good, 

And louutaius of delight, 

And v Ik re, bis feet have stood 
Springs up along the way, their tender food. 

And when, in the mid skies, 
The climbing sun has reached his highest bound, 

Exposing as be lies, 

vv iih an his flock around, 
He witches the still air witu numerous sound. 

From hi* sweet lute flaw forth 
Immortal harmonics, of power to still 

Alt pasi-ious born of earth, 

And draw the ardent will 
Its destiny of goodness to fulfil. 

Might but a little part, 
A wand 'ring breach of that high melody, 

Descend into my heart, 

And change ii till it be 
Transformed and swallowed up, O love, in thee. 

Ah ! then my soul should know, 
Beloved ! where thou liest at noon of day, 
And from this place of woe 
Releasee, should take its way 
To mingle with thy flock and never stray. 
'— — T> cmslated from the Spanish of Luis Ponce de Leon. 

MMVJfMJT OF VOMtBEAMeAJVCE. 



BY FITZ HUGH LUDLOW. 



A Hymn. 

BT BPFNEB BOND. 

The following lines are by a correspondent of The In- 

depend* nt : 

" Vi'ilt not Thou, Sod, go forth with our hosts ?"— Ps, 
cviii. 11. 
(Jed of nations ! Great Jehovah ! 

Strength and might arc thine alone ! 
Wonderful is thy deep counsel, 

Glorious Thy eternal throne. 
Nations ri3e and fall before Thee — 

They are nothing in Thy hand ; 
None without thy smile can flourish, 

None without thy aid can stand. 

Righteous are thy ways and judgments— 

Lofty pride Thou lajest low ; 
At thy frown the haughtiest kingdoms 

Totter to their overthrow. 
We adore thy wondrous working, 

And to Thee, heseaching, cry ! 
Dark and woeful times thou sendest, 

And thy judgments, Lord, are nigh ! 

With our hosts, God of battles ! 

We beseech that Thou wilt go ; 
Arming them for every danger, 

Strengthening them for every foe. 
In the hour of conflict guard them, 

Be their Hope, their Stay, their Shield ; 
Be their confidence when marching, 

Or when on the tented field. 

As with flame and clouiy pillar 

Israel's hosts Thou ledst of old, 
So, though now unseen, he preseat, 

In Thy care our hosts enfold. 
Let no Achan's secret sinning 

Cause that they like cowards fke, 
Let no flagrant violation 

Of thy laws their ruin he. 

Grant our leaders skill in planning ; 

Grant them wisdom's wondrous power ; 
Grant our serried hosts in battle 

Coolest nerve in deadliest hour. 
Guide and guard our hosts, O Father '. 

Lead their arms victorious forth ! 
Let Rebellion and Oppression 

Faint and fall before the North '. 



Oh! living were a bitter thing, 

A riddle without reasons, 
If each sat lonely, gathering 
Within bis own heart's narrow ring 
The hopes and fears encumbering 

The flight of earthly seasons. 

Thank God thai in Life's little day, 

Between our dawn and setting, 
"We have kind deeds to give away, 
Sad hearts for which our own may prav, 
And strength, when we are wronged, to st 
Forgiving and forgetting ! 

Thank God for other feet that be 

By ours in life's wayfaring; 
For blessed Christian Charity, 
Believing good she cannot see, 
Suffering her friend's infirmity — 

Enduring and forbearing ! 

We all are travellers, who throng 

A thorny road together ; 
And if some pilgrim not so strong 
As I, but sore-foot, does me wrong — 
I'll make excuse; the road is long, 

And stormy is the weather. 

"What comfort will it yield the day 
"Whose light shall find us dying, 

To know that once we had our way 

Agninst a child of weaker clay, 

And bought our triumph in the fray 
With purchase of his sighing? 

Most like our Lord are they who bear 

Like him long with the sinning: 
The music of long-suffering prayer 
Brings angels down God's golden stair, 
Like those through Olivet's darkened air, 
"Who saw our life beginning. 



[From the Atlantic Monthly.] 
THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 
Oh, that last day in Lucknow fort! 

We knew that it was the last, 
That the enemy's lines crept surely on, 

And the end was coming fast. 
To yield to that foe was worse than death, 

And the men and we all worked on ; 
It was one day more of smoke and roar, 
, And then it would all be done. 

There was one of us, a corporal's wife, 

A fair, young, gentle thing, 
Wasted with fever in the siege, 

And her mind was wandering. 

She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid, 

And I took her head on my knee : 
"When my father comes hame frae the pleugh,'' she 
said, 

"Oh! then please wauken me." 

She slept like a child on her father's floor 

In the flecking of woodbine-shade, 
"When the house-dog sprawls by the open door, 

And the mother's wheel is. staid. 

It was smoke and roar and powder-stench, 

And hopeless waiting for death; 
And the soldier's wife Tike a full-tired child, 

Seemed scarce to draw her breath. i 

I sank to sleep ; and I had my dream 

Of an English village-lane, 
And wall and garden ;— but one wild scream 

Brought me back to the roar again. 

There Jessie Brown stood listening 

Till a sudden gladness broke 
All over her face, and she caught my hand 

And drew me near, as she spoke : — 

"The Hielanders ! Oh! dinnayehear 

The slogan for awa? 
The McGregor's? Oh! Ikenitweel; 

It's the grandest o' them a' ! 

God bless thae bonny Hielanders! 

We're saved! we're saved!" she cried; 
And fell on her knees; and thanks to God 

Flowed forth like a full flood-tide. 

Along the battery-line her cry 

Had fallen among the men, 
And they started back; — they were there 

But was life so near them, then? 

They listened for life; the rattling fire 

Far off, and the far-off roar, 
Were all; and the colonel shook his head, 

And they turned to their guns once more. 

But Jessie said, "The slogan's done; 

But winna ye hear it noo, 
Tlte Campbells are comm' ? It's no a dream ; 

Our succors hae broken through!" 

"We heard the roar and the rattle afar, 

But the pipes we could not hear; 
So the men plied their work of hopeless war, 

And knew that the end was near. 

It was not long ere it made its way,— 

A shrilling, ceaseless sound : 
It was no noise from the strife afar, 

Or the sappers under ground. 

It was the pipes of the Highlanders! 

And now they played Auld Lang Syne ; 
It came to our men like the voice of God, 

And they shouted along the line. 

And they wept and shook one another's hands, 

And the women sobbed in a crowd ; 
And every one knelt down where he stood, 

And we all thanked God aloud. 

That happy time when we welcomed them. 

Our men put Jessie first; 
And the general gave her his hand, and cheers 

Like a storm from the soldiers burst. 

And the pipers' ribbons and tartans streamed, 

Marching round and round our line; 
And our joyful cheers were broken with tears 

As the pipes played Auld Lang Syne. 







WHO'S XMBLaVDYf 



\ — . 



BT EDNA DEAN PROOTOS. 






God help us I Who's ready ? There's danger before! 
Who's a^rned and who's mounted? the foe's at tho 

door ! 
The fmok« of his cannon hangs black om tho plain ; 
JBis shouts r?ng exultant while counting our slain ; 
And Northward and Northward he presses his line— 
Who's ready ? O forward .'—for yours and for miae! 

Eo halting-, no discord, the moments are Ffites; 
o fcbame or to glory they open the gates ! 
here's all we hold dearest to lose or to win; 
be web of the future te-day we must spin; 
And bid the hours follow with knell or witu chime— 
Who's ready ? O forward !— while yet there is time. 

Lead armies or councils— be soldier a-field— 
Alike, so jour vaior is liberty's shi«ld ! 
AJike, so you strike when the bugle-notes call 
For country, for fireside?, for Freedom to all! 
The blows of the boldest will carry the day— 
Who's ready? O forward!— there's de.. 

Earth's sob] est are praying at home and e'er sea, 
"Gcd keep the great nation united and 
Her tyrants watch, eager to >vp at our life 
If once we should falter or taint in the strips; 
Our trust is unsSaken, though legions assail— 
"Who's ready ? O forward!— and. Right ihall prevail! 

Who's ready? "All ready!" undaunted we cry; 
"For Cotmtr , ., we'll fight till we die ! 

ail— 
— N. Y. Independent. 



'THERE IS ALWAYS ROOM HIGHE] 
UP."* 

BY LOUISE S. UPHAM. 
I. 

Up ! and be doing, boys ! the wide world's bef or 
you; 
Choose your true place with the earnest to-day ! 
Ease is alluring, but Wisdom doth implore you, 
"Hide not your talent while Youth holds regi 
sway!" 
Brave men are hewing out bright paths to glory ; 
Join in their ranks with purpose firm and high. 
Lest in Life's battle your locks grow thin an< 
Ere Honor cometh, old-age to dignify. 
s There Is always room higher," boys, 
Room full of precious joys: 
Brave hearts are ever strong ! 
Strive with the jostling throng! 
Some will faint in the race ; 
Up ! then, and seize the place ! 
"Alxoays room higher," boys, higher, still higher! 

ii. 
Life's sacred duties, boys, all now await you— 

Genius is only the grasping of the Now ! 
Let not mere flashes of brilliant thought elate you 
Greatness is achieved by the sweat of the brow ! 
Work with a ready will, whate'er your station ; 
Though to the few alone comes lasting fame, 
Still, hope to live with 'the Great' of the nation, 
Meriting and honoring an undying name. 
Higher there is room, boys, 
Room full of precious joys: 
This is a golden age, 
Noble is your heritage : 
Seeds of Honor sow in youth. 
Sow broadcast the seeds of Truth, 
Thus climbing higher, boys, higher, still higher! 



* Daniel Webster was once asked by a young m; 
who was intending to practice law, "Is there rpom i 
me in the profession, Mr. Webster?" Webster is sa 
to have replied, " There is always room higher up." 



/ 



e-"»**Mi 



1»< 



being over, an elegant collation was served, un- 
der tlie personal supervision of Mr. Thrall; the 
President was seated at a small table and 
served generously, while the remainder of the 
party did full justice to the repast, standing. It 
was a nicely arranged and admirably conducted 
affair, and thk Ppesident was highly pleased 
with the manner of his entertainment. After 
the collation the President retired to his pri- 
vate parlor, and soon after the procession, hav- 
ing counter-marched, and being in readiness, 
the party re-entered their carriages and were 
conducted through Main, Thomas, and Summer 
streets, to the Washington square station. 
the departure. 
The streets were lined with people, eager to 
get the last glimpse of the departing guest. At 
the State Lunatic Asylum the gateway was 
decorated with the national colors, and the in- 
mates were on the green in front of the build- 
ings, apparently as enthusiastic and interested 
as the rest of the public. At the station the 
whole line was brought to the front, and were 
passed in review by the President as he moved 
to the train. He was saluted with hearty cheers 
by the various organizations as he passed, and 
the train being in waiting, he was conducted to 
the elegant drawing-room car prepared for his 
reception, and taking leave of Mayor Blake and 
the committee, was taken in charge by Mayor 
Winchester and a committee of the city council 
of Springfield, who joining the party at the 
Bay State House and conducted him to that city, 
when after the usual delay of twenty minutes, 
he proceeded to New York. . / 7KJ' 

Carl's Tour in Main Street. 

CHAPTER Xi. 

Mr Editor .—It was the remark of my father 
that the old 'United States Arms' was a favor- 
ite resort of travellers; though many found 
. accommodations at the other public houses. 
S Previous to the year 1783, people travelled in 
W their own private carriages ; those who trav- 
° elle'd at all ; and consequently good inns, at 
short intervals on the great roads, were more 
numerous and more necessary than they now 
are. In twelve hours the traveller may now 
journey from New York to Philadelphia. My 
grandfather went once to Philadelphia, as I 
have heard my father say, in company with 
the mail carrier, and returned with him. It 
must have been a century ago, at least. They 
were three weeks on the road when going, and 
the same length of time when returning 
that it then took six weeks to make the out 
and in journey, which, in these days of steam, 
3 can be made in but little more than twenty- 1 
""J tour hours. It was about twenty years after J 
i wards that a regular stage was established be-fl 
tween Boston and New York, by a Boston gen-^ 
tleman of the name of Brown. His rannu 
time from city to city was fixed at thirteen II 
days, and the stages left each city once in twor, 
weeks. But it met with so litt^ encourage 
ment that it was soon discontinued ; and the 
mails were carried, as belore, in saddle-bags 
on horseback. Two of the post-riders, my 
father said he well remembered. I think their 
names were Hyde and Adams ; their route 
was between Boston and Hartford ; and when 
coming into town it was their custom to blow 
their post-horns, to notify the people of their 
coming. They stopped at the 'United States 
Anns,' Md carried their aaddle-b »gs to Isaiah 
Thomas's office, for him to change the mails. 

Worcester Five Cents Savings Bank. 

NO. '246 MA5N STKEET. 

Incorporated April I, I854. 

' Deposits received from five cents to onn 
THOUSAND DOLLARS, and put upon Interest 
the first day of every month. 

DIVIDENDS OF INTKIIKST are paid 
January and July on monthly balance*. 

All dividends nre placed upon Interest at i>S< i 
if not withdrawn. 

All taxes paid by the Bank, 

Open from 9 A. M. to 1 P. M., 2 to 4 P. M. 

CHARLK8 L. PUTNAM, President. 
I QKORQK W. WHBELKR, Treasurer. 



ffi 

' s 






OST OFFICE 

■Worcester. Mass. 

CLOSING AND ARRIVAL OF MAILS. 

Present Arrangement. 

Northern Worcester County. Vermont and New Hamp- 
shire, closes at (i.00 a m ; due at 7 pm. 

Manchester Concord and Nashua, > u, Loweii, i..eoiii 
■nite? Lancaster, West Boylston, Oakdale and Clinton, 
' ' ,', V,t G v' n a tl 8,30 p m ; due at 0,15 a m and Tp m. 

Fitchbi.ri closes at 6, 10,48 a m and 3,30 p m. Due at 

1 fffieFand Vt. and Mass. R %*»»* ■* 10 ' 45 *? 

in inn 4 n m Due H, 5 n in and 2 audi) u m, 
IMncctoVi.'F.ast Princeton and West Sterling, close at 

Boston and Worcester Way Mail, close at 9 am and A 
n m Due at 9,15. 10,30 a m and 4,30 p m. 
P Maine EastemWw Hampshire and Eastern Massa- 
clmseTlV, close atV,30 and 9 a m, 1,15, 3 and 8 p m. Due 
*£b&?4fi^V» and 11 am, and 3,30pm. 
D ^»Sfc Worcester railroad, 

6l Mtll^y! 'wilS'tt Douglas, MM 
BtwtHrtdso Pouthbridge and Woonsocket close at 6,30 a 
m Hid s 30 n m Due at 9,45 a m and b,30 p m. 

C Wviiinv, Western New York and Western 
StatesVcloM at M» and 9,45 a m, 3,45 and 8 p m. Due at 

^orcesier "Si s\trin"ncld' Way Mail, close at 5,45 and 
9 45 ■ m ami 3 45 p m. Due at 9,20 a m and 3,30 p in. 
•'' w'iv j'lall between Springfield and Albany, close at 5,48 
•( in luil 3 45 n m. Due at 1.45 and 10 p m. 

Now York Citv and Southern States. Hartford and 
N«v \l! "en, Conn, close at 9,45 a in, 3,45 and 8 p m. Due 

^rwic*' aim New fflon, Conn, Webster and Oxford 
MaVs, close i* 9 a m and 4,30 p m. Due at 9 a m and , 

l '\v\v Man on the Norwich and Worcester rftfifoM 

C S close £&*J£m -n.« — 3 p m. Due 

r^5fiff«SS-"HopMrt« a,,,. Frainiiighiim, close at 
9 a in, 1,15, 8 and 8 p m. Due at 9,15, 10,30 a m, ana 4,3U 

P «!,'„tiihnrn' close at 3p m. Due at 10,30 a m. / 

^W/OonlavillerncwXte^ Ashland and Hoi- 
list!.... close at 9 a m, 3 and 8 p m. Due at 10,30 a m and Of 

4 ' Marlboro', close at 3 and 8 p m. Due at 10,30 a m and 

10 Northboro\ close at 1.15, 3 and 8 p.m. Due at 10,30 

a Bnrre and Smithville, close at 9,45 a m and I p m. Due 

Bt T^n?NSrtU 3 Dana m Nc W Salem. North New Salem. 

C Xnhid1t a o»?- cKt effltl&l a m and 4 p m. Due 

a V 9 rfnctten, 2 Sn, 7 K P uUand, North Rutland, close at 

'leices^cloSo^am and 4 p m. Dueat9am 

;r 'o.4ham and Shrewsbury, close at 9,45 a m and 3,30 p 

%a?Kr 9 rlew Y^rif ^Boston, and places beyond, 

plnso at l lus otli-c on Sunday at (> p m. 

vnKKIGN MAILS -Mails for the European Steamers 
Mo.e'laily, via New York, at 9,45 a m, 3,45 and 8 p m. 

Money Sent without Danger of Loss. 

MONEY ORDERS for any amount not execcdiug $ 
on (« order, will be- Issued on deposit at (Ms oftiec and j 
payment of the folowing fees : in cents I 

On orders not exceding $20. . . |» cents ; 

Over $20 and not exceeding S-,0 is 

Over$30 £ £ g*> 20 §| 

Bwuflnternatlonal Postal Money Orders issued at 

'"f^'^ntcd's^es 'rteasury Notes or National Bank 
Notes onlv received or mud. 

VALUABLE LETTERS 
should invariably be taken to inc. Post Office and llegis- 
tered TbeRegisliv lee to all parts of the Muted Males 
is 15 cents " Canada, 5 cents; Great Britain and the Gcr- 

ffi OFF t fcl , HO e URS-y«.m 6.45 a m to 8 p m, except 
Sundays. On Sundays, from 9,45 to 0,30 am. 

Worcester - County Institution for 
Savings. 

FOSTER STREET. 

Chartered February 8, 1828. 
Deposits put on interest on the first day of each 

month 

Dividends made every January and July. 

Deposits April 1, 1874, S 5,303,">7.ai 

Number of Depositors, 15,333 

Hon ALEXANDER H. BULLOCK, President 

C. A. HAMILTON, Treasurer 

Worcester, Apr il 15, 187 4. tf 

"people's Savings Bank, 

NO. 45* MAIN ST., OPPOSITE CITY HALL. 

Deposit* J*u. 31, 1874, S3,0»3,238.26. 

A dividend at the rate of Seven per ct. 
per annum is now payable, which will be added to 
the principal if not withdrawn. 

No previous notice has ever toccn required 
from those who wish to draw their money. 
Deposits put on interest on the first day of every 

month - 
Alt Taxes on the deposits nre paid by the Bunk. 
Ba nk open on Saturdoy evenings for 

the convenience of depositors only. 

Bank hours— 9 to 1,5* to 4. Saturdays 9 to 1, to 8- 
JOHN C. MASON, President. 

C. M. RENT, Treasurer, 
febll 






2 



f 



I 



Fire Alarm Telegraph. 

Alarm bells are located : Fire alarm tower bell, 
corner of Pleasant and Oxford streets; 1st Unita- 
rian church on Court Hill; 1st Baptist church, 
.Salem square ; 3d Baptist church, corner Main and 
Hermon streets, and are sounded as follows: 

For box 5, five strokes 1-1-1-1-1, with short inter- 
vals and repeating. For box 32, three strokes, 1-1-1 . 
a pause, then two strokes, 1-1, a pause, and repeat- 
ing. Alarms for other numbers are given in like 
manner. The number of the box is struck five 
times. 

The whistles are blown sufficient to call attention 
of firemen and citizens. 

Three strokes on the bells constitute a general 
alarm and all companies will report. 

Two strokes on the bells after an alarm has been 
given is a recall and companies are dismissed. 

LOCATION OF SIGNAL BOXES AND KEYS. 

4. City Hall, on City Hall— Key at police office. 

5. Tn'-mbull Square— Key at McConville's drug 
store and at 7 and 8 Gates' Block. 

6. Orange street opposite Plymouth— Key at S. 
V. Stone's, corner Orange and Plymouth. 

7. Lamfertine street at Cunningham's store— Key 
at Cunningham's store. 

12. Corner Main and Chandler streets— Keys at 
Alzirus Brown's, corner Main and Madison ; J. W. 
Hall, 15V 2 Chandler street. 

13. New Worcester— Key at Coe's counting room. 

14. Corner School and Union streets— Key at 
Lombard's counting room. 

15. Corner Lincoln aud Catherine streets— Key 
at Geo. G. Burbank's, comer Lincoln street and 
Harrington avenue. „ ± a 

16. Sargent's Card Clothing Shop— Key at Sar- 
gent's counting room. 

17. Corner Main and Foster streets— Key at W. 
H. Robinson's. 

21. Corner Main and Hammond streets— Key at 
C. Hill's, 7 Hammond street. 

23. Corner Union and Manchester streets— Key 
at Rice. Barton & Co.'s office, aud at Baker & Co's, 
Union street. _ 

24. Southbridge street, Chandler's store— Keys at 
Chandler's store, and Adriatic counting room. 

25. Grove street, R. Ball & Co.'s shop— Key at R. 
Ball & Co.'s counting room. 

26. Corner Portland and Madison streets— Keys 
at W. M. Reynold's market and Dr. Buxton s of- 

27. Corner Pleasant and West streets— Key at 

3L Corner Main and Richards streets— Key at E. 
T. Marble's, Beaver street. „ 

32. Corner Union and Exchange streets— Kej at 
L. W. Pond's counting room. 

34. Green street, Fox's Mills-Keys at the count- 
ing room and Crompton Loom Works. 

35. Corner Winthrop and Vernon streets-Key 
at Thomas Doon's, corner Winthrop and \ ernon 

8t 36? Owner Front and Spring f^f~^^ 
saloon corner Front and Spring stree.s, aud Geo. 
s^psisiom' office. Trumbull street. 

37 Corner North Ashland and Highland streets- 
Key at C? A. Keyes' house, No. 64 Wh Ashland 

9 TW« Thomas and #*g£j*?*gttji 

store corner Prospect and Summer street ana 

^Corner" cffl£ and Southbridge streets, 
r °45 m Corner Shrewsbury and Cross streets-Key at 

„ t H Vice's corner Belmont and Liberty streets. 
at 5?.' Lincoln Square, Salisbury ^^^^£ 

Co 6 mpan?&P-Key 'JSSS «- " d WmW 

^^S'l'r^^and Harrison streeds^ev 
at £ V. Hale's house, comer Providence and Ilam- 

'••M St Co e rncr Newbury and Austin streets-Key at 
iNCuidL'Tlore; corner Newbury and Austin 

"".I, 'omier William and Chestnut stoee t^jKg.jj 
BctrJ. Walker's, corner William aud CicaUmt 

St 5l?Corner Main and Central ^els-Ke^C. B. 
Fellinan's store, corner Mam and Centi. Utn ». 

01. (iarduer street, Tainter a toli<.i>— lve> at count. 
ing room and John Maiioney's, comer Cauteibury 
tSffl&d Edward streets-Key at L. 
W Bond's, comer Laurel and Edward «£«*»• 

ih WasliiK'ton Square, Wetherbee's Drug Stote 
Jl^y at WctUerbee's drug store and ba^aue 

^ajiRSrflSPSd Barclay streets-Key at 

68 Kim .-Street, opposite Linden a«ee& ivt> 
Jofepfi m,,s„ii-s (Elm street), aud P. 0. B«»n s 

'"i!;" nlnu'rl'leasant and M^on slreets-Key at 
„„;,.,;,.:„; the lire denartn.cnt. 

Worcester Mechanics Savings Bani. 

IN CENTRAL KXGJIANGE. 
The Bank is open daiTTfor the receipt of De- 
posits. Deposits put upon interest on the HJ- 
tnmth day of each month. 
Semi Annual Dividends in . January and „uly. 
HARRISON BLISS, President. 
H. Woodward, Treasurer, 
deel 



: 



-r 






r 



■ 



Our Knowledge Box. 



iv 



MAM'S DUTY TO WOMAJT. 

Abotb all, let no man practice on woman, per- 
a FEW paragraphs worth remf:meerin"( petually, the shameless falsehood of pretending 
. j i • -j j ... admiration and acting contempt. Let them not 

A great deal is said and written now- exhaBgt their kindness adorning her person, and ask 
adaysof the reasons why young men are in return the humiliation of her soul. Let them 
afraid to marry. The most frequent of , not assent to her every high opinion as if she was 
these is, that the girls of this generation not 8tron g enough to maintain it against opposition, 

are too extravagant. \ 1°* if^ZTl^lV ° pin T ion £ r her ' and forc6 [t oa 

tvt t • i j r her lips by dictation. Let them not cruc fy her 

Now I am a girl; and from my stand- motives, nor ridicule her frailty, nor crush her in- 
point see some things which older and dividuality, nor insult her independence, nor play 
perhaps wiser heads have failed to notice. *»ean jests upon honor in convivial companies, nor 
Dear brothers and friends, let me tell you / b «»dy uuclean doubts of her, as a wretched substi- 
how it seems to me. / tute for wit ; nor whisper vulgar suspicions of her 

That we are extravagant I admit But F^"- 7 ' , ' M C0 ! 7, P arcd wi ^ their own, is like, 

mat we are extravagant 1 admit. tfut the irnmacu ] ate whiteness of angels. Let them' 

who makes us so? Did it never occur to multiply her social advantages, enhanoe her dig- 

you that this outlay in dress is to please .nity, minister to her intelligence, and by manfy^i 

the gentlemen ? And does it not please gentleness, be the champions ©f her genius, the- 

you? Is not the girl who makes a 5« nd \ of ^ er f ® rt unes, and the equals, if they oan, 
at. * f t n « r\c •* » er neart. — J?«». F. D. HuntinrUn. 

fine show most sought after ? Of course, «»rH«igt»B. ^ 

there are exceptions— girla who do not 
care most of all for dress, and men who 
in their admiration of ladies look at some- 
thing beyond this. But, after all, is it not 
the most common remark — particularly 
with very young men — "Is she not 
stylish ■?" " What a fine appearance tl 
girl makes." And so it pleases their van- 
ity to be the escort of such attractive 
ones. 



- 



THE OLD WEDDING RING. 



• Anil if the hatband or the wife 
In home's strong lipht <li~c .vers 
Such slight defaults us faili-d to meet 
The hiiuded eyes of lovers, 

'Why need we cir^ tn iisk ? who dreams 

Without their thorns of rose*. 

Or wonders that the truest steel 

The readiest spark discloses ? 

'For st ill in mutu d sufferance lies 
The secret of true living ; 
Iiove scarce is love that never knows 
The sweetness of forgiving.' 



The Family Relations Accosding to the 
Talmud. — If your wife is of small stature bow 
down to her and hear her words in reference to 
domestic as well as worldly affairs. 

The husband should ever be anxious that the 
proper respect be paid to his wife, because the 
house is blessed only for her sake. 

Honor your wife, and you will be blessed with 
riches. 

Good and bad luck, pleasure and grief, joy and 
sorrow arc in the hands of the wife. 
Who takes an to himself a wife brings luck to 
; the house, or a yawning gulf. 

Who lives without a wife knows no pleasure, 
'.no bliss, no blessing. 

Who has to thank so much to his wife will not 
' only treat her with the utmost regarl and respect, 
' but make her position in the house fully equal to 
" his own. 

A man without a wife is, no man at all. 

Heaven's Best Gift. — Jeremy Taylor says, if 
you are for pleasure, marry ; if you prize rosy 
health, marry. A good wife is Heaven's last best 
'o-ift to a man: his angel of mercy; minister of 
: graces innumerable ; his gem of many virtues ; 
his casket of jewels ; her voice his sweetest music ; 
her smiles his brightest day ; her kiss the guard- 
ian of innocence ; her arms the pale of his safety, 
the balm of his health, the balsam of his life ; her 
industry his surest wealth ; her economy his saf- 
est steward ; her lips his faithful counselors ; her 
bosom the softest pillow of his cares ; and her 
prayers the ablest advocates of Heaven's blessings 

on his head. 

r 

Dptt of Women. — Every woman is boini fca 
make the best of herself. The. utron^-mi >d,".J wv 
mtn who hold themselves superior to the. obiira- 
. tions of dress and manner, and all the pie is va\ 
1 little artiikiai graces beiongiaj; to an artificial 
civilization, and who think any sacrifice m tdo t» 
appearance just so much waste of power, are aw- 
reatures, ignorant of the real meaning of 
their sex— social Grab© w.mting in every ch tr jh 
of womanhood, and ta be diligently shunned b/ 
the wary. This making the best of themselves L» 
a very different tiling from making dress and per- 
sonal vanity the first considerations of life. Wherd 
women in genera), fail is in the exa^g r itioniinte 
which they fail on this and almost ev-dry ottur 
question. They are apt to be either damerlps 
or devotees, frights or flirts, fashionable to an 
extent that lands them in illimitable folly anJ 
drags their husbands' names through the 
mire; or they are -o dowdy that they disgraco a 
well, ordered drawing room, and in an evenim? 

}iarry amon.>: nicely dressed women. stand out aj 
iving sermons o - ss. If they arc cl sy jt, 

J they are too commonly blue-stockings, and lot 
' the whole, household go hy the ■ bo.irdfor the sake 
' ot thrir fruitless studies) "anri if they are domestis 
and good managers thef- sink in'o mere seivtnta, 
never onou a book save their d illy ledger,, anl 
never have a thou jhfc beyond the cheeseinon ;er\i 
bffl and the ••• Thoy.wun fcia* 

fine balance, that acciu-i ( self meafturemant, aa I 
knowldge cf results, which goes by tUe-nuneof 
Commtn sense, and whicn is fcha hftM m i litest i- 
tiun of brains they cm give, and the. ooj which 
men moat pii7,e. it is the most valuable wjrki.i r 
form of intellectual poyr ;r, and his m >st efidur- 
an< e and vitality ; and it Lithe forai w'll di h Api 
a man t.n »n life, when he has found it In uis wne, 
quite aa much an money or a goo.I cono jctiju. — 



WMFB AJW I. 

We quarrel'd this morning, my wife and I, 
We were out of temper and scarce knew why, 

Though the cause was trivial and common ; 
But to look in our eyes you'd have sworn that we both 
Were a oouple of enemies spiteful and wroth— 

Not a wedded man and woman. 

Wife, like a tragedy queen in a play, 
Tossed her sweet little head in as lofty a way 

As eo litUe a woman was able; 
She clenched her lips with a eneer and a frown, 
W»>ne I. being rougher, stamped up aad down, 

"'Xike a careless grot^ S a 8tabI «- 

ioH'd have thought us the bitterest (eeeing us then) 
Of little women and little men, 

You'd bave laughed at our spite and passion : 
And would never have dreamed that a storm like this 
Would be rainbow 'd to tears by that sunlight, a kiss, 

Till we talked in-the old fond fashion. 

Yet the atO'tm was over in less than an hour, 
4& a . was followed soon by a sunny shower, 

And that again by embraces ; 
Yet so little the meaning was understood 
That we almost felt ashamed to be good, 

And wore a blush on our faces. 

Then she, as a woman, much braver became, 
And tried to bear the whole weight of the blame, 

By her kindness, her self-reproving ; 
When, seeing her humble, and knowing her true, 
I all at once became humble, too, 

And very contrite and loving. 

But, eeeing I acted an humble nsr^ 

She laughed outright with a frolic heart— 

A laugh as careless *s Cupid ; 
And the laugher wrangled along my brain 
Till I almost fell in a passion again, 

And became quite stubborn and stupid. 

And this was the time for her arms to twine 
Around this stubbornest neck of mine, 

Like the arms of a maid round a lover; 
And, feeling them there, with a warmth, you know, 
I laughed quite a different laugh : and so 

The storm (as I called it) was over. 

So then we could talk with the power to please; 
And though the passing of storms like these 

Leaves a certain loud facility 
Of getting easily aBgry again, 
Yet they free the heart and rebuke the brain, 

And teach us a rough humility. 

You see that we love one another so well, 

That we can find more comfort than you can tell 

In jingling our bells and corals; 
In the fiercer fights of a world so drear, 
We keep our spirits so close and clear 

That we need such trivial quarrela. 

In the great, fierce fights of the world we try 
Te shield one another, my wife and I, 

Like a brave strong man and woman ; 
But the trivial quarrels o' days and nights 
Unshackle our souls for the great, fierce fights, 

And keep us lowly and human. 

Clouds would grow in the quietest mind, 
And make it unmeet to mix with its kind, 

Were nature less wise as a mother; 
And with storms like ours there must flutter ont 
Frem the bosom the hoarded-up darkness and doubt— 

The axcess of our love for each other ! 



" Of earthly goods, the best is a good wife; 
A bad, the bitterest curse of human life." 

Woman. 
Not sho with traitorous kiss the Savior stung ; 
Not 6he denied him with unholy tongue ; 
She, when apostles shrank, could danger brave; 
Last at the cross, and earliest at the grave I 



Alice, my youngest daughter 

Wedded with Ralph to-day ; 
The morning air was balmy 

With the breath of new-mown hay. 

The sky was flooded with sunshine, 
And blue— as blue as the deep — 

Their white wings folded together, 
The clouds were fallen asleep. 

The air harps of the forest 

Were tuned to the sound of a psabh, 
And their distant music touched me 

With a thrill of infinite calm. 

She stood in her bridal whiteness, 

A lily pure and pale, 
The goltl of her ringlets shining 

Through the mist of her floating veil; 

And her lover, strong and stately 
In the pride of" his gracious youth, 

With a voice both deep and tender 
flighted his manhood's truth. 

lie put the ring on her finger— 

A band of virgin gold, 
Broad and heavy : it bound her 

His to have and to hold. 

May it never change to a fetter, 

Breaking her heart to wear : 
May it be as dear as her mother's, 

Is her mother's earnest prayer. 

They have gone their way together, 

And I sit in the summer night 
Alone, with the thoughts of beauty 

That flit through the soft moonlight. 

1 am turning on my finger 

My own dear wedding ring, 
And the memories of a life-time 

To the narrow circlet cling. 

It is not so broad as my daughter's, 
And the year's have worn it thin, 

But it clasped two hearts together 
Its blessed bond within — 

Hearts that but knit the closer 

Through life, in woe or weal- 
That, present, were ever loving ; 

And, absent, were ever leal. 

The years fall back like a curtain, 
And my husband comes once more; 

I see his form in the moonlight — 
I hear his hand at the door. 

And it's — "Oh, my darling, I'm weary, 

You tarry so long above: 
When will you come to take me, 

Oh, my love, my love?" 

1 feel his touch on my forehead : 

It flails like a seal of rest; 
And my heart forgets it was tired 

As I lean my head on his breast. 

Yes, yes ! I know he is lying 

In the moon light on the hill ; 
Rut the thin, worn ring hath magic, 

And it binds my darling still. 

And oft, when I'm very lonely, 

I dream of the home above; 
And it's — "Oh, my love, I'm coming 

Coming, my love, my love!" 

Alice and Ralph lamented 
That the mother was called away, 

.Swiftly and suddenly, from them," 
On the eve of their wedding day. 

But they never knew hoW gladly, 

At the beck of an angel hand, 
She had left our waning moonbeams 

For the light of the Better Land. 

With the worn old ring on her finger. 
And her pale hands crossed on her breast, 

They bore her out to the hill-side, 
And by him they laid her to rest. 




King: Baby. 

Seated, I see the two again, 
But not alone ; they entertain 
A little angel unaware, 
With face as round as is the moon ; 
A royal guest with flaxen hair, 
Who, throned upon his lofty chair, 
Drums on the table with his spoon; 
Then drops it careless on the floor, 
To grasp at things unseen before. 
Are these celestial manners ? these 
The ways that win, the arts that please 1 
Ah, yes; consider well the guest, 
And whatsoe'er he does seems best; 
He rule tli by the right divine 
Of helplessness, so lately born 
In purple chambers of the morn, 
As sovereign over thee and thine. 
He speaketh not; and yet there lies 
A conversation in his eyes ; 
The golden silence of the Greek, 
The gravest wisdom of the wise, 
Not spoken In language, but In looks 
More legible than printed books, 
Aa if he could but would not speak. 
And now, oh monarch absolute, 
Thy power is put to proof, for, lo ! 
Resistless, fathomless, and slow, 
The nurse comes rustling like the sea, 
And pushes back thy chair and thee; 
And so, good-night to King Canute. 



—Longfelloic. 



™ n CU * OF * lOSV SOU*, 



BY JOHN O. WHITTIER... 



THE WATCHBKS. 

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. 

Beside a stricken field I stood ; 
©n the torn turf, on grass and wood, 
Hung heavily the dew of blood. 

BtUl in their fresh mounds lay the slain, 
But all the air was quick with pain 
And gusty sighs and tearTul rain. 

Two angels, each with drooping head 
And folded wings and noiseless tread, 
Watched by that valley of the dead. 

The one, with forehead saintly bland 
Ar.d lips of blessirjg net command, 
Leaned, weeping, on her olive wand. 

5 he other's brows were scarred and knit, 
His restless eyes were watch-fires lit, 
His hands for battle-gauntlets fit. 

"How long T"— I knew the voice of Peace, 

" Is there no respite ? — no release ? 

When shall the hopeless quarrel cease ? 

" Oh Lord, how long !— One human soul 
Is more than any parchment scroll 
©r any flag the winds unroll, 

" What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave? 
How weigh the gift that Lyon gave ? 
©r count the cost of Winthrop's grave? 

"Oh brother 1 if thine eye can see 
Tell how and when the end shall be. 
What hope remains for thee or me." 

Then Freedom sternly said : " I shun 
No strife nor pang beneath the sun 
When human rights are staked and won. 

"I knelt with Ziska's hunted flock, 
I watched in Toussaint's cell of rock, 
1 walked with Sidney to the block. 

" The moor of Marston felt my tread, 
Through Jersey snows the march I lsd, 
My voice Magenta's charges sped. 

"But now, through weary day and night, 
I watch a vague and aimless fight 
For leave to strike one blow aright. 

" Oneither side my foe they own : 

One guards through love his ghastly throne, 

And one through fear to reverence grown. 

" Why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed 

By open foes or those afraid 

To speed thy coming through my aid ? 

"Why watch to see who win or fall ?— 

I shake the dust against them all, 

I leave them to their senseless brawl." 

"Nay," Peace implored : " yet loDger wait; 
The doom is near, the stake is great; 
G«d knoweth if it be too late. 

"Still wait and watch ; the way prepare 
Where I with folded wings of prayer 
May follow, weaponless and bare," 

"Too late!" the stern, sad voice replied,. 
"Too late 1" its mournful echo sighed, 
In low lament the answer died. 

A rustling as of win?s in flight, 

An upward gleam of lessening white, 

S» passed the vision, sound and sight, 

But round me, like a silver bell 
Bung down the listening sky to tell 
Of holy help, a sweet voice fell. 

" Still hope and trust," it sang ; " the rod 
Must fall, the wine-press must be trod, 
But all is possible with God 1" 



. In that black forest, when day is done, 
With a snake's stillness glides the Amazon 
Darkly from sunset to the rising sun, 

A cry, as of the pained heart of the wood, 
ino long, despairing moan of solitude 
And darkness and the absenco of all good, 

' | ta r«es the traveller, wi I h a sound so drear, 
foo Ml of hoploss agony and fear, 
ilis heart stands still and listens like his ear. 

' The guide, as if ho heard a dead bell toll,! 

starts, drops his ear against the gunwale's thole. 
t Crosses himself and whispers: "a lost soul!"* 

, "No.senor, not a bird. I know it well- 
It is the pained soul of some infidel 
Or cursed heretic that cries from hell. 

■ "Poor fool ! with hopes still mocking his despair, 
He wanders, shrieking on the midnight air 
J) or human pity and for Christian prayer. 

"Saints strike him dumb ! Our holy mother hath 
No prayer for him who, sinning unto death 
Burns always in the furnace of God's wrath!" 

Thus to the baptised pagan's cruel lie, 
Lending new horror to that mournful cry, 
1 he voyager listens, making no reply. 

Dim burns the boat lamp ; shadows deepen round 
From giant trees with snake-Jike creepers wound, 
And the black water glides without a sound. 

But in the traveller's heart a secret sense 
Of nature plastic to benign intents, 
And an eternal good in Providence— 

Lifte to the i starry calm of heaven his eyes: 
And lo ! rebuking all earths ominous cries, 
ine Cross of pardon lights the tropic skies ! 

" Father of all !" he urges his strong plea, 
" Thou lovest all ; thy erring child may be 
Lost to himself, but never lost to TheeJ 

" All stmls are Thine ; the wings of morning bear 
JN one from that Presence which is everywhere 
Nor hell itself can hide, for Thou art there. 

"Through sins of sense, perversities of will, 

ami ill and pail! ' throu * h fe' uilt and sli ame 

Thy pitying eye is on Thy cr*ature still, 

t 4£ d ^ hou ca ' 1st roake - Eternal Source and Goal ! 
a tr Y J ong 7 ears life ' 8 broken circle whole, 
And change to praise the cry of a lost, soul!" 

* Lieut. Herndon's Report of the Exploration of 
the Amazon has a striking description of the peculiar 
and melancholy notes of a bird heard by night on the 
shores of the river. The Indian guides can it "The 
cry of a lost soul!" 






MMYJfMJV. 



BY JOHN G. WIIITTIKU. 



Great God ! we feel thv presence here! 

Thine awful arm in jiidgment bare ! 
Thine eye hath seen the bondman's tear; 

Thine eye hath heard the bondman's prayer. 
Piaise! — for the pride of man is low; 

The counsels ol the wise are nought; 
The fountains of repentance flow; 

What hath our God in mercy wrought? 

Speed on thy work, Lord God of Hosts ! 

And when the bondman's chain is riven, 
And swells from all our guilty coasts 

The anthem of the free to Heaven; — 
Oh, not to those whom Thou hast led, 

As with thy cloud and fire before, 
But unto Thee, in fear and dread, 

Be praise and glory evermore! 

Shall every flap of England's flag 

Proclaim that all around are free, 
From " farthest Ind " to each blue crag 

That beetles o'er the Western Sea? 
And shall we scoff at Europe's kings 

When Freedom's tire is dim with ma-, 
And round our country's altar clings 

The damning shade of Slavery's curse? 

Just God ! and shall we calmly rest, 

The Christian's scorn, the heathen's mirth,—' 
Content to live the lingering jest 

And by-word of a mocking Earth? 
Shall our own glorious land retain 

The curse which Europe scorns to bear? 
Shall our own brethren drag the chain. 

Which not e'en Russia's menials wear? 

Up, then! in Freedom's manly part, 

From gray-beard eld to fiery youth, 
And on the nation's naked heart 

Scatter the living con!" of Truth! 
Up! while ye slumber, deeper yet 

The shadow of our fame is growing ! 
Tp ! while ye pause, our msu may sot 

in blood, around our altars flowing! 

Down let the shrine of Moloch siuk, 
And leave no traces where it stood, 

No longer let its idol drink 
His daily cup of human blood: 

But rear another altar there, 



To Truth and Love and Mercy given. 
And Freedom's gift and Freedom's pra; 



yer 



Shall call an answer down from Heaven 



OUR RIVER. 

(For a Summer Festival at « The Laurels," on th« 

Merrimack.) 

BY JOHN a. WHITTIER. 

Once more on yonder laurelled height 

The summer flowers have budded ; 
Once more with summer's golden light 

The vales of home are flooded ; 
And once more, by the grace of Him 

Of every good the Giver, 
We sing upon its wooded rim 

The praises of our river : 
Its pines above, its waves below, 

The west wind down it blowing, 
As fair as when the young Brissot 

Beheld it seaward flowing, — 
And bore its memory o'er the deep 

To soothe a martyr's sadness, 
And fresco, in his troubled sleep, 

His prison walls with gladness. 

We know the world is rich with streams 

Renowned in song and story, 
Whose music murmurs through our dreams 

Of human love and glory : 
We know that Arno's banks are fair, 

And Rhine has castled shadows, 
And poet-tuned, the Doon and Ayr 

Go singing down their meadows. 

But while, unpictured and unsung 

By painter or by poet, 
Our river waits the tuneful tongue 

And cunning bond to show it,— 
We only know the fond skies lean 

Above it, warm with blessing, 
And the sweet soul of our Undine 

Awakes to our caressing. 

No fickle Sun-God holds the flocks 

That graze its shores in keeping; 
No icy kiss of Dian mooks 

The youth beside it sleeping : 
Our Christian river loveth most 

The beautiful and human ; 
The heathen streams of Naiads boast, 

But ours of man and woman. 
The miner in his cabin hears 

The ripple we are hearing ; 
It whispers soft to homesick ears 

Around the settler's clearing : 
In Sacramento's vales of corn, 

Or Santee's bloom of cotton, 
Our river by its valley-born 

Was never yet forgotten. 

The drum rolls loud,— the bugle fills 

The summer air with clangor; 
The war-storm shakes the solid hills 

Beneath its tread of anger : 
Young eyes that last year smiled in ours 

Now point the rifle's barrel, 
And hands then stained with fruits and flowers 

Bear redder stains of quarrel. 

But blue skies smile, and flowers bloom on, 

And rivers still keep flowing,— 
The dear God still his rain and sun 

On good and ill bestowing. 
His pine-trees whisper, "Trust and wait!", 

His flowers are prophesying 
That all we dread of change or fate 

His love is underlying. 

And thou, O Mountain-born !— no more 

We ask the Wise Allotter 
Than for the firmness of thy shore, 

The calmness ot thy water, 
The cheerful lights that overlay 

Thy rugged slopes with beauty, 
To match our spirits to our day 

And make a joy of duty. 

THE CRUCIFIXION. 

BY JOHN G. WHITTIEB. 

Sun-light upon Judea's hills! 

And on the waves of Galilee— 
On Jordan's stream, and on the rills 

That teed the dead and sleeping sea ! 
Most freshly from the green wood springs 
The light breeze on its scented wings; 
And gaily quiver in the sun 
The cedar tops of Lebanon! 

A few more hours— a change hath come' 

The sky is dark without a cloud! 
The shouts of wrath and joy are dumb, 

And proud knees unto earth are bow'd. 
A change is in the hill of Death, 
The helmed watchers pant for breath, 
And turn with wild and maniac eyes 
From the dark scene of sacrifice! 

That Sacrifice!— the death of Him— 

The High and ever Holy One! 
Well may the conscious Heaven grow dim, 

And blacken the beholding Sun! 
The wonted light hath fled away, 
Night fettles on the middle day, 
And Earthquake from his cavern'd bed 
Is waking with a thrill of dread ! 

The dead are waking underneath! 

Their prison door is rent away ! 
And, ghastly with the seal of death, 

They wander in the eye of day ! 
The temple of the Cherubim, 
The House of God, is cold and dim; 
A curse is on its trembling walls, 
Its mighty veil asunder falls! 

Well may the cavern-depths of Earth 
Be shaken, and her mountains nod; 

Well may the shetted dead come forth 
To gaze upon a suffering God! 

Well may the temple-shrine grow dim, 

And shadows veil the Cherubim, 

When He, the chosen one of Heaven, 

A sacrifice for guilt is given ! 

And shall the sinful heart, alone, 

Behold unmoved the atoning hour, 
When Nature trembles on her throne, 

And Death resigns his iron power? 
' Ob, shall the heart— whose sinfulness 
Gave keenness to His sore distress, 
And added to His tears of blood- 
Refuse its trembline srratitude ? 



f 



A, 



*T 



LONGFELLOWS NEW POEMS. 



Choice Scenes and PaMagen from 
"New England Tragedies." 



the 



BOSTON TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 
Tonight we strive to read, as we may best, 
This city, like an ancient palimpsest; 
And bring to light, upon the blotted page, 
The mournful record of an earlier age, 
That, pale and half effaced, lies hidden away 
Beneath the fresher writing of to-day. 
Rise, then, O buried city that has been; 
Rise up, rebuilded in the painted scene, 
And let our curious eyes behold once more 
The pointed gable and the pent-house door, 
The meeting-house with leaden-latticed panes, 
The narrow thoroughfares, the crooked lanes ! 



JOHN ENDICOTT, AFTER DEATH. 
How placid and how quiet is his face, 
Now that the struggle and the strife are ended .' 
Only the acrid spirit of the times 
Corroded this true steel. O, rest in peace, 
Courageous heart! Forever rest in peace! 



THE HORNET'S NEST. 

There's mischief brewing! Sure, there's mis- 
chief brewing! 

I feel like Master Josselyn when he found 

The hornet's nest, and thought it some strange 
fruit, 

Until the seeds came out, and then he dropped it. 



A BOSTON TAVERN, 1665. 

COLE, THE INNKEEPER. 

Pray, Master Kempthom, where were ycu last 
night? 

KEMPTHORN. 

On board the Swallow, Simon Kemp thorn, mas- 
ter, 
Up for Barbadoes, and the Windward Islands. 

COLE. 

The town was in a tumult. 

KEMPTHORN. 

And for what? 

COLE. 

Your Quakers were arrested. 

KEMPTHORN. 

How my Quakers ? 

COLE. 

Those you brought in ypur vessel from Barbadoes. 
Tbey made an uproar m the Meeting-house 
Yesterday, and they're now in prison for it. 
I owe you little thanks for bringing them 
Trt the. Three. Mariners. 

KEMPTHORN, 

T „ _ , They have not harmed vou. 

I tell you, Goodman Cole, that Quaker girl 
Is precious as a sea-bream's eye. I tell you 
It was a lucky day when first she set 
Her little foot upon" the Swallow's deck, 
Bringing good luck, fair winds, and pleasant 
weather. 

COLE. 

I am a law-abiding citizen; 

I have a seat in the new, Meeting-house, 

A cow-right on the Common ; and, besides 

Am corporal in the Great Artillery. 

I rid me of the vagabonds at once. 

KEMPTHORN. 
Why should you not have Quakers at your tavern 
If you have tiddlers? 

COLE. 

Never! never! never! 
If you want fiddling you must go elsewhere, 
To the Green Dragon and the Admiral Vernon 
And other such disreputable places. 
But the Three Mariners is an orderly house 
Most orderly, quiet and respectable. 
Lord Leigh said he could be as quiet here 
As at the Governor's. And have I not 
King Charles's Twelve Good Rules, all framed 

and glazed, 
Hanging in my best parlor ? 



THE QUAKERESS IN THE FOREST. 

How beautiful are these autumnal woods! 
The wilderness doth blossom like the rose, 
And change into a garden of the Lord ! 
How silent everywhere I Alone and lost 
Here in the forest, there comes over me 
An inward awfulncss. I recall the words 
Of the Apostle Paul : "In journey ings often, 
Often in perils in the wilderness, 
In weariness, in paintulness, in watchings, 
In hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness;" 
And I forget my weariness and pain, 
My watchings, and my hanger and my thirst. 
The Lord hath said that he will seek his flock 
In cloud v and dark days, and they shall dwell 
Securely in the wilderness, and sleep 
Safe in the woods ! Whichever way I turn, 
I come back with my face towards the town. 



Dimly I see it. and the sea beyond it! 
O cruel town ! I know what waits r 



me there, 



I 



the 

nts : 
And yet I must go back ; for eveVlouder 
I hear the inward calling of the Spirit, 
And must obey the voice. O woods, that wear 
Your golden crown of martyrdom, blood-stained, 
From you I learn a lesson of submission, 
And am obedient even unto death, 
If God so wills it. 

THE SALEM WITCH-'BRYERS. 
(The ancestors of Nathaniel Hawthorne and Cotton 
Mather meet in Salem, 1792. Hcene.— A room at 
Justice Hathome's. A clock in the corner. Enter 
Hathorne and Mather.) 

HATHORNB. (Speaks.) 

You are welcome, reverend sir,, thrice welcome 

here 
Beneath my humble roof. 

MATHER. 

I thank, your Worship. 

HATHORNE. j 

Pray you be seated. You must be fatigued 
With your long ride through unfrequented 
woods. 

(They ait down.) 

MATHER. 

You know the purport of my visit here. — 
To be advised by you, and counsel with you, 
And with the Reverend Clergy of the village, 
Touching these witchcrafts that so much afflict 

you; 
And see with mine own eyes the wonders told 
Of specters and the shadows of the dead, 
That come back from their graves to speak with 

men. 

HATHORNE.. 

Some men there are, I have known such, who 

think 
That the two worlds — the seen and the unseen, 
The world of matter and the world of spirit — 
Are like the hemispheres upon our maps, 
And touch each other only at a point. 
But these two worlds are not divided thus, 
Save for the purposes of common speech. 
They form one globe, in which the parted seas 
All flow together and are intermingled, 
While the great continents remain distinct. 

MATHER. 

I doubt it not. The spiritual world 

Lies all about us, and its avenues 

Are open to the unseen feet of phantoms 

That come and go, and we perceive them not 

Save by their influence, or when at times 

A most mysterious Providence permits them 

To manifest themselves to mortal eyes. 

HATHORNE. 

You, who are always welcome here among us, 
Are doubly welcome now. We need your wis- 
dom, 
Your learning in these things, to be our guide. 
The Devil hath come down in wrath upon us, 
And ravages the land with all his hosts. 



\ 



THE BOSTON MARTYRS. 

WHARTON THE QUAKER. 

William and Marmaduke, our martyred brothers, 
Sleep in untimely graves, if aught untimely 
Can find place in the providence of God, 
Where nothing comes too early or too late. 
I saw their noble death. They to the scaffold 
Walked hand in hand. Two hundred amed men 
And many horsemen guarded them, for fear 
Of rescue by the crowd, whose hearts were stirred. 

EDITH. 

holy martyrs ! 

WHARTON. 

When they tried to speak. 
Their voices by the roll of drums were drowned. 
When they were dead they still looked fresh and 

fair, 
The terror of death was not tipon their faces. 
Our sister Mary, likewise, the meek woman. 
Has passed through martyrdom to her reward; 
Exclaiming, as they led her to her death, 
"These many days I've been in Paradise." 
And, when she died, Priest Wilson threw the 

hangman 
His handkerchief, to cover the pale face 

ed not look upon. 



GILES COREY'S DESOLATED HOUSE. 
Here stands the house as I remember it, 
Tip four tall poplar-trees before the door; 
The house, the barn, the orchard, and the well, 
With its TOioss-covered bucket and its trough; 
The garden, with its hedge of currant-bushes; 
The wood?;, the harvest fields; and, far beyond, 
The pleasajit landscape stretching to the sea. 
But everything is silent and deserted! 
No bleat d' ^flocks, no bellowing herds, 
No sound W flails, that should be beating now; 
Nor man nor beast astir. What can this mean? 

What ho! Giles Corey! Hillo-ho! Giles Corey!— 
No answer but the echo from the barn, 
And the ill-omened cawing of the crow, 
That yonder wings his flight across the fields, 
As if lie scented carrion in the air. 



PATIENCE. 

Let ub be patient! these severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise, 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mi6ts and vapors; 

Amid these earthly damps 
What seems to us but sad funereal tapers, 

May be heaven's distant lamps. 

[Longfellow. 



[From Longfellow's "Now England Tragedies," ir 
Press by Ticknor & Fields.] 

A SUNDAY SCENE. 

A street. On one side, Nicholas UpsalVs house ; or 
the other, Walter Merry's, with a flock of pig com 
on the roof. Vpsall seated in the porch of hL 
house. 

UPSALL. 

day of rest ! How beautiful, how fair, 
How welcome to the weary and the old! 
Day of the Lord ! and truce to earthly cares ! 
Day of the Lord, as all our days should be ! 
Ah, why will man by his austerities 

Shut out the blessed sunshine and the light, 
And make of thee a dungeon of despair! 

WALTER merry (entering and looking round him.', 
All silent as a graveyard ! No one stirring ; 
No footfall in the street, no sound of voices ! 
By righteous punishment and perseverance, 
And perseverance in that punishment, 
At last I've brought this contumacious town 
To strict observance of the Sabbath day. 
Those wanton gospellers, the pigeons yonder, 
Are now the only Sabbath-breakers left. 

1 cannot put them down. As if to taunt me, 
They gather every Sabbath afternoon 

In ncisy congregation on my roof, 

Billing and cooing. Whir ! take that, ye Quakers, 

Throws a stone at the pigeons. Sees Upsall. 
Ah ! Master Nicholas ! 

UPSALL. 

Good afternoon, 
Dear neighbor Walter. 

MERRY. 

Master Nicholas, 
You have today withdrawn yourself from meeting 

UPSALL. 

Yea, I have chosen rather to worship God 
Sitting in silence here at my own door. 

MERRY. 

Worship the Devil ! You this day have broken 
Three of our strictest laws. First, by abstaining 
From public worship. Secondly, by walking 
Froianely on the Sabbath. 

UPSALL. 

Not one step. 
I have been sitting still here, seeing the pigeon 
Feed in the street and fly about the roots. 

MERRY. 

You have been in the street with other intent 
Thau going to and from the Meeting-house. 
And, thirdly, you are harboring Quakers here. 
I am amazed ! 

UPSALL. 






Men sometimes, it is said, 
Entertain angels unawares. 

MERRY. 

Nice angels! 
Angels in broad-brimmed hats and russet clc 
The color of the Devil's nutting-bag! They cam 
Into the Meeting-house this afternoon 
More in the shape of devils than of angels. 
The women screamed and fainted ; and the boys j 
Made such an uproar in the gallery 
I could not keep them quiet. 

UPSALL. 



i I 



Your persecution is of no avail 



Neighbor Walte; , 



MERRY. 

'Tis prosecution, as the Governor says, 
Not persecution. 

UPSALL. 

Well, your prosecution; 
Your hangings do no good. 

MERRY. 

The reason is, 
We do not hang enough. But, mark my words, 
We'll scour them ; yea, I warrant ye, we'll scoi 

them! 
And now go in and entertain yoi t angels, 
And don't be seen here in the street again 
Till after sundown ! There they are again I 

Exit Upsall. Merry throws another stone at t, 
pigeons, and then goes into his house. 






BY HENRY W. LONOFEIJ.OW. 



Labor with what zeal we will, 
Something still remains undone ; . 

Something, uncompleted still, 
Waits the rising of the sun. 

By the bedside, on the stair, 
At the threshold, near the gates, 

With its menace or its prayer, 
Like a mendicant it waits : * 

Waits, and will not go away,— 
Waits, and will not be gainsaid ; 

By the cares ot yesterday 
Each to-day is heavier made. 

Till at length it is, or seems, 

Greater than our strength can bear,- 
As the burden of our dreams, - 

Pressing on us everywhere ! 

And we stand from day to day 
Like the dwarfs of times gone by, 

Who, as Northern legends say, 
On their shoulders held the sky 



f 



- 



I* BACK 

Were half tbe power that fills 11m world with t«rror, 
v\ ere lull Hie wtal'h bestowed on camps aud courts, 

Given 10 redeem tbe tinman mind from rrror, 
lii le were to need ol arsenals Cor forte; 

Tbe warrioi 's name would b«» a name abhorrad! 

Ava every nation thm should hit ajraiu 
lie li»n<i against a brotber. on its tortli^a I 

Would wear lor evermore tbe curse of Cain! 

Down tbe dark future, through long generations, 
Tbf echoir.g Boomts grow iaioter an 1 then oea-e; 

Ano like a bell, wnii solemn, sweet vibrations, 
I b>-»r once mortj tbe voice of (Jurist say, *■ Peace!" 

Teaee ! and no longer from its brazen portaTs 
Tbe bint ol War's streat organ shakes the skies! 

But t eeutitnl as sons of tbe immorUils, 
Tiie boly melodies o love ai ise Lonofkllow. 



I 



Mr Loxgfki.low ix Florence. The 
Florence correspondent of the London News, 
describing the funeral service in that city in 
memory of Rossini, tells this story of a compli- 
ment to Henry VV. Longfellow :* 

"The service iinished at about one o'clock. 
As I left the church, and while standing on the 
flight of steps, before descending into tin Santa 
(Voce square, my attention was arrested by the 
singularly engaging and intellectual countenance 
of one who had likewise been present to hear the 
Requiem. A gentleman perhaps some sixty 
years of aire, with silvery locks and beard, 
accompanied by a lady, a youth, and two young 
girls, was ga/.ing from the topmost step on the 
crowd in the square as it flowed onwards pasi 
the statue of Dante. Whilst watching with 
curiosity the human stream before him, he was 
himself" an object of keen, undisguised, yet 
respectful interest to a party of young Anglo- 
Italian girls only a few steps oft". I could over- 
hear one saying to the rest, 'lam sure it must 
be he, he is so like the prints.' At length one of 
the young girls drew near to the lady accom- 
_panying the silver-haired stranger, and said, 
'Pray excuse the liberty, but is not that Mr 
Longfellow !' 'To be sure it is,' was the reply. 
'Oh, I am so happy I have seen him !' was the 
ins'-'t and spontaneous exclamation; 'that 
rea is a treat ; that is worth a great deal more 
thai the Requiem.' The young Anglo-Italian 
th reatod to rejoin her own party, but her 

ren .s had been communicated both to the 
Am an poet and to the two girls whom he 
was : ding by the hand, and with a charming 
frai :cs they all came forward and spoke a 
few words of natural and simple courtesy ; there 
was •' o a kind shake of the hand, facts which I 
hav uttle doubt will, throughout the whole 
live" of those to whom they were addressed, 
len<* sweeter perfume to the verse of Evange- 
line i d Hiawatha." 



JL«a«ly We ii th worth. 



BY LONGFKLL<rW. 






From the Atlantic for December. 
The Cumberland. 

BY HEMtY W. LOSGFELLOW. 

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, 

On board of the Cumberland sloop-of-war; 
And at times from the fortress across the bay 
The alarum of drums swept past, 
Or a bug:e-blast 
From tbe camp on shore. 

Then far away to the sonth uprose 
A little feather of snow white smoke, 

Aud we knew that the iron ship ol our foes 
Was steadily steering its course 
To try the force 

Of our ribs of oak. 

Down upon us heavily runs, 

Silent and sullen, the floating fort; 
Then comes a puff of smoke irom her guns, 
And leaps tbe terrible death, 
With fiery breath 
From each open port. 

We are not idle, but seud her straight 

Defiance back in a full hi oaddde ! 
As bail rebounds from a roof of slate, 
Rebounds our heavier hail 
From each iron scale 
Cf the monster's hide. 

"Strike your flag!"' the rebel cries, 

In his arrogant, old plantation strain. 
"Never!'' out gallant Morris replies; 
"It is better to sink than to yield!" 
And tbe whole air pealed 
With the cheers oi our men. 

Th< n like a kraken huge and black, 

She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp' 
Down went the Cumberland all a wrack, 
With a sudden shudder of death, 
And the cannon's breath 
For her dying gasp. 

Next morn, as tbe sun rose over the bay, 

Still floated our flag at the mainmast head 
Lord, how beautiful was thy day! 
Every waft of the air 
Was a whisper of prayer, 
Or a dirge for the dead. 

Ho! brave hearts that went down in the sea 

V o are at peace in the troubled stream. 
Ho! brave land! with hearts like these, 
Thy flag, that is rent in twain, 
Shall be one again. 
And without a seam! 



One hundred years ago, and something more, 
In Queen street, Portsmouth, at her tavern door, 
Neat as a pin and blooming as a rose, 
Stood .Mistress Stavers iu her furbelows. 
Just as her cuckoo-clock was striking nine. 
Above her head, resplendent on the sign, 
The portrait of the Earl of Halifax, 
In scarlet coat, and periwig of flax, 
Surveyed at leisure all her varied charms, 
Her cap, her bodice, her white folded arms, 
And half resolved, though he was past his prime, 
And rather damaged by the lapse of time, 
To fall down at her feet, and to declare 
The passion that had driven him to despair. 
For from his lofty station he had seen 
Stavers, her husband, dressed in bottle-green, 
Drive hi3 new Flying Stage-coach, four-in-hand, 
Down the long lane and out into the land, 
Aud knew that he was far upon the way 
To Ipswich and to Boston on the Bay! 

Just then the meditations of the Earl 

Were interrupted by a little girl, 

Barefooted, ragged, with neglected hair, 

Eye3 full ol laughter, neck aud shoulders bare— 

A thin slip of a girl, like a new moon, 

Sure to be rounded into beauty soon; 

A creature men would worship and adore. 

Though now in mean habiliments she bore 

A pail of water, dripping, through the street, 

And bathing, as she went, her naked feet. 

It was a pretty picture, full of grace, — 

The slender form, the delicate thin face ; 

The swaying motion, as she hurried by; 

The shining feet, the laughter in her eye. 

That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and glanced, 

As iu her pail the shifting sunbeam danced; 

And with uncommon feelings of delight 

The Earl of Halifax beheld the sight. 

Not so Dame Stavers, for he he$pf her say 

These words, or thought he did, as plain as day : 

"O Martha Hilton ! Fie ! how dare you go 

About the town half dressed and looking so !" 

At which the gypsy laughed and straight replied : 

"No matter how I look; I yet shall ride 

In my own chariot, ma'am." And on the child 

The Earl of Halifax benignly smiled, 

As with her heavy burden she passed on, 

Looked back, then turned the corner, and was gone. 

What next upon that memorable day, 
Drew his august attention was a gay 
And brilliant equipage, that flashed ami spun, 
The silver harness glittering in the sun, 
Outriders with red jackets, lith and lank, 
Pounding tbe saddles as they rose and sank. 
While all alone within the chariot sat 
A portly person with three-cornered hat, 
A crimson velvet coat, head high in air, 
Gold-headed cane, and nicely powdered hair, 
And diamond buckles sparkling at his knees, 
Dignified, stately, florid, much atease, 
Onward the pageant swept, and as it passed 
fair Mistress Stavers courtesied low and fast ; 
For this was Governor Wentworth, driving down 
To Little Harbor, just beyond the town, 
Where his Great House stood looking out to sea— 
A goodly place, where it was good to be. 

It was a pleasant mansion, an abode 
Near and yet hidden from the great highroad. 
Sequestered among trees, a noble pile, 
Baronial and colonial in its style ; 
Gables and dormer-windows everywhere, 
And stacks of chimneys rising high in air — 
Pandamn pipes on which all winds that blew 
Made mournful music the whole winter through. 
Within, unwonted splendors met the eye — 
Panels, and floors of oak, and tapestry ; 
Carvea chimney-pieces, where on brazen dog3 
Revelled and roared the Christmas fire of logs ; 
Doors opening into darkness unawares, 
Mysterious passages, and flights of stairs; 
And on the walls, in heavy gilded frames, 
The ancestral Wentworths with Old-Scripture 
names. 

Such was the mansion where the great man dwelt, 

A widower and childless; aud he felt 

The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom 

That like a presence haunted every room; 

Kor though not given to weakness, he could (eel 

The pain of wounds that ache because they heal. 

The years came and the year3 went — seven in all — 
And passed in cloud and sunshine o'er the Hall; 
The dawns their splendor through its chambers 

shed. 
Tne sunsets flushed its western windows red; 
The snow was on its roofs, the wind, the rain; 
lis woodlands were in leaf and bare again ; 
Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs bloomed and 

died, 
In the broad river ebbed aud flowed the tide, 
Ships went to sea, and ships came home from sea, 
And tbe slow years sailed by and ceased to be. 

And all these years had Martha Hilton served 
In the Great House, not wholly unobserved; 
By day, by night, the silver crescent grew, 
Though bidden by clouds, her light still shining 

through ; 
A maid of all work, whether coarse or fine, 
A servant who made service seem divine ! 
Through her each room was fair to look upon, 
The mirrors glistened and the brasses shone, 
Tbe very knocker on the outer door, 
If she but passed, was brighter than before. 

And now the ceaseless turning of the mill 
Of Time, that never for an hour stands still, 
Ground out the governor's sixtieth birthday, 
And powdered his brown hair with silver gray. 
The robin, the forerunner of the spring, 
The bluebird with his jocund carolling, 
The restless swallows building in the eaves, 
The '.'olden buttercups, the grass, the leaves, 
The lilacs tossing in the winds of May — 
All welcomed this majestic holiday! 
lie pave a splendid banquet served on plate, 
Such as became the governor of the state, 
Who represented England and the king. 
And was magnificent in everything. 
He had invited all hi-; friends and pe 
The Pepperebj; the Langdons and theLears, 
The Sparhawks, the Penhallowa and the rest, 
For why repeal the name of every guest? 



But I must mention one In bands and gown, 
The rector there, the Reverend Arthur Brown 
Of the established Church; with smiling face 
He sat beside the governor and said grace; 
And then the feast weut on, as others do, 
But ended as none other Ie'r knew. 

When they had drunk the king, with many a cheer, 

The governor whispered in a servant's ear, 

Who disappeared, and presently there stood 

Within the room, in perfect womanhood, 

A. maiden, modest and yet self-possessed. 

Youthful and beautiful, and simply dressed. 

Can this I e Martha Hilton? It must be! 

Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she! 

Dowered with the beauty other twenty years, 

How ladylike how queenlike she appears; 

The pale, thin crescent of the days gone by 

Is Diana now in all her majesty ! 

Yet scarce a guest perceived tnat sue was there, 

Until the Governor, rising from his chair, 

Played slightly with bis ruffles, then looked down, 

And said unto the Reverend Arthur Brown: 

"This is my birthday, it shall likewise bo 

My wedding-day : and you shall marry me !" 

The listening guests were greatly mystified, 

None more so than the rector, who replied: 

"Marry you? Yes, that were a pleasant task, 

Your Excellency; but to whom, I ask?" 

The Governor answered: "To this lady here;" 

And beckoned Martha Hilto;. to draw near. 

She came and stood, all blushes, at his side. 

The rector paused. The impatient Governor cried 

•'This is the lady; do you hesitate? 

Then 1 command vou as Chief .Magistrate." 

The rector read the service loud and clear: 

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here," 

And so ou to the end, At his command, 

I On the fourth linger of her fair left hand 
The Governor placed the ring ; and that was all 
Martha was Lady Wentworttt of the Hall ! 
— January Atlantic. 

THE MOCKING BIRD. 

Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking bird, wildest 
of singers, 

Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, 

Shook from its little throat such floods of delicious music, 

That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed 
silent to listen. 

Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to 
madness, 

Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bac- 
chantes. 

Single notes were then heard in sorrowful, low lamentation; 

Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in 
derision, 

As when after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops 

Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the 
branches. — Longfellow. 



TO THE CHILDREN. 

BT H. W. LONvUBUOW. 

Ooine to me, ye children ! 

For I hear you at your play, 
And tbe questions that perplexed a» 

Have vanished quite away. 

Ye open the Eastern windows, 
^ That look toward the sun, 
Where thought* are singing swallows, 
And the brooks of morning run. 

In your hearts are the bint- and tbe sunabin 
In your thoughts the brooklets flow ; 

But In mine is the wind of Autumn, 
And the first fall of the snow. 

Ah ! what would the world be to uh 

•If the children wero no moro ? 
We should dread the desert behind us, 

Worse than tne dark before. 

What the leaves are to the forest, 

With light abd sir for food, 
Ere their sweet and tender Juices 

Have been hardened into wood— 

That*to the world are ch'.ldren ; 

Through them it feels the glow 
Of a brighter and sunnier climate 

Than reaches the trunks below. 

Come to me, ye children, 

And whisper In my ear 
What tbe birds and the winds are singing 

In your sunny atmosphere, 

For what are all our contriving*. 

And tlie wisdom of our books. 
When compared to jour caresses, 

And tbe gladness of your looks T 

Ye are better than all the ballads 

That ever were suog or said ; 
For ye are livlnst poems, 

And all the rest are dead. 



I 



Q'fbr&u^ \ofc?/&&r 



-w^ 



What is the difference between a watchmaker and a jailer ? One sell9 
watches, and the other watches cells. 



CONUNDRUMS. 
1. 'What is that which will be to-morrow and was yt-sterday f 
'I. Why is a bad wife better than a good one ! 

3. What word in the English language, of one syllable, which, if two letters 
be taken from it, forms a word of two syllables ? 

4. Why is the letter T like the tales of Biobdignag ? 

5. What is the word of four syllables, each syllable of which is a word r 
ii. What part of a vessel is like a hen's nest? 
V. What four letters will name an old woman's employment, a tailor's 

squeezes, and an article in use among women since the days of Anne of * 
Bohemia t 

CHARADES. 

v 1. 

My first is a measure by no means uncommon, 
My second a weight that three letters express, 

My whole an attenduit on each man and woman, 
Forming a requisite part of your dress. 

2. 

A part of my dress; \ 

The wearer; its color., transposed, 

Will name, you'll confess, 
An entrance quite snug with doors closed. 

RIDDLE. 

What ia the longest and shortest thing in the world; the swiftest and the 
slowest, the most divisible and the most extended, the least valued and the 
most regretted; without which nothing can be done; which devours all that is 
small, yet gives life to all that is great ? 




For the Children.— A logograph is a kind 
cf charade, in which one word is made to under- 
■ era! transformations, and, to-be significant 
of .several things by addition, subtraction, or 
substitution of letters. The following oj the 
word God, by Lord Macnulay,is a good example 
of the logograpb : 
'•Cut off my head, how singular I act; 

Cut off my tail, a 
Cut off my head aDd tail— most eurtous fact, 

Although my middle's left, there's nothing there! 
1 What is iay bead cut offf a souudinj 
) Why is the above like Niagara FaBe 1 i ^' hat u m J tilil °°* ofn a flowing river! 
■ Amid their foaming depts I fearieu play, 
^ Parent of softest souuds, though niuto forcTer." 

What military order is lite a lady crossing the rtvcot on "**■ J>m ' ' 

a wet day ?— Dress up in front, md close up iu the rear. 



CONUNDRUMS. 

Why are fixed stars like wicked old men ? Be- 
cause they scintillate sin till late.) 

What musical instrument has had an honor- 
ary degree conferred upon it? Fiddle D. D 

Why cannot the Emperor Napoleon insure 
his life? Because no one can be found who can make 
>-iu his policy. 



L--Why is a baby like wheat? Ans— -Because $ 
'\\s first cradled, then thrashed, and fir tally he 
| Bomes the flower of the family. 

'.Joe, why were yon out so late last night?* 'It 
wasn't so very late. Only a quarter of twelve.' 
'How dare you sit there and tell me that? I was 
awake when you came in, and it was three o'clock/ 
'Well, isn't three a quarter of twelve?' 

Why is blind man's buff like sympathy ' 
Because it is a fellow feeling for a fellow crea- 
ture. 



VI 



What is it that if you put its eye out will have 
nothing left but a nose ? Noise. 



Why is a newspaper like an army? Be- 
cause it has columns, leaders and reviews. 



IM 



// 



Why is a joke like a cocoanut? Answer- 
good for nothing until it is cracked. 



-It is 



What relation does the soap-bubble bear to 
the boy who makes it ? Answer — It is his heir. 



When a boy falls into the water what is the 
first thing he does ? Answer — He gets wet. 



, Why was Pharaoh's daughter like the Cincinnati brokers ? ue- 
cause she got a little prophet lrom the rushes on the banks. 



BN1GUA. 

I am fountain riches, though not In wealth, 
In illness and sickness, but not in health. 
In a hint I lurk, but I'm never known 
In a sarcasm or sallv ; I hold my own 
In a skilful compliment; never give way 
To scandal or quarrel, although I must say 
In mischievous gossips and fights I am found. 
For In evil, not good, doth my influence aboinv! 
I am not pretty, but shine in pleasing, 
I'm given to loving, and hating and teasing. 
I dwell in a mansion, a ship, or an inn, 
Indeed in the latter 1 choose to begin. 
I am known in 3 r our life, but not in your death. 
Though I die in a s,igh, yet not in a. breath. 
I am given in marriage, though single I live, 
I am not generous, yet always give. 
When vou meet me double, von may rely 
I am talking Latin undoubtedly. 
When you discover me, I know 
You will jealously guard me from friend or fee. 
Though selfish I am, for I never shun 
To take every care of number one , 
As the Romans styled me ; when I appi w 
As a personal pronoun, you hold me dear i 



rgi-What is that which gives a cold, cu. 

cold, and pajs the doctor's bill? A draught 

'(draft.) 

: EP'Why is the endorser of a note called a 

surety? Because he is almost sure to have to 

pay it. 

Ep"K a Colt's pistol has six barrels, how many 

barrels ought a horse pistol to have? \ 

What did Lot do when his wile was turned into 
a pillar of salt? Took a fresh one, of course. 

A malefactor, under sentence of death, petitioned | 
Lord Chancellor Bacon for a reprieve, pretending 
that he was related to his lordship. 

To this petition the answer was " that he could 
not possibly be Bacon until he had first been 
hung." 

Why was Goliath astonished when David hit 
him with a stone ? Because, such a thing never 
entered his head before. 
I "What is rue cunoivnee 'twixt a watch and a 
I ledder bed, eh, Sara?' "Dunao— iu it up."— 
"Because de tickiu ; of the watch is on the in- 
si ic, and do tickin of de tedder oed is on dsoat- 
.- !L..~i. .- 



The Conundrum Contest. Prof. Anderson's en- 
tertainment of last evening did not terminate until 
midnight. Tremont Temple was crowded. The suc- 
cessful conundrums, for each of which a watch worth 
$100 was awarded, were as follows : 

Q.— Why is it impossible for the Government to 
grant the request of our Southern brethren f A.— Be- 
cause children in arms are never left alone. 

Q.— Why is a water lily like a whalo ? A,— Because 
it comes to the surfaco to blow. 

A Tortured Woro. — There is probably 
not another word in the English language 
that can be worse "twisted" than that which 
composes the burden of the following lines : j 

Write we know is written right, 
When we see it written write; 
But when we see it written Wright, 
We know 'tis not then written right; 
For write, to have it written right, , 
^ Must not be written right nor wright, 

Nor yet should it be written rite, 
But write— torso 'tis written right. 

Ouch.— The contradictions of pronuncia- 
tion in the termination of "ough"are amusing- 
ly displayed in the following lines : — 

"Wife, make some dumplings of dough, 
. They're better than meat for my cough; 
Fray let them be boiled till hot through, 

But not till they're' heavy and tough. 
Now, 1 must be offto the plough, 

And the boys, when they've had enough, 
Must keep the flies -off with a bough, 

While the old mare drinks at the trough." 



Conundrums.— Professor Anderson had a] 
"conundrum night" at Tremont Temple, last • 
Saturday. Fivn hundred conundrums were 
sent up to be read ; but of those that are pub- i 
lished this is the best: — "Why is a water lily i 
like a whale ? Hecause it comes to the surface 
to blow." 

Tho following jea d'esprit from anot'er 
source is very good : — My first is a butter; 
my second n liquor (licker); my whole is a 
charger.— Ramrod. And this : — Who is it 
suggests a double barreled gun f Tubal Cain. 



A charity scholar under examination in the 
Psalms, being asked, "What is the pestilence 
that walketh in darkness?" replied, "Please, sir, 
bed-bugs." 

What trade would you recommend to a short 
man ? Grow, sir. (grocer.) 



I came to a field and couldn't get through it. 
So 1 weut to a school and learnt how to do it. 
— Fence. 

My first denotes a company, 
My second shun.* a company, 
My third calls a comnany. , 

My whole amuses a company. 
— Co-nuiydrum. 

Why is a ki s like a sermon ?— It requires 
two heads and an application. 

Why are teeth like verbs?— They are regu- 
lar, irregular, and defective. 

Who is the Uziest man? The furniture 
dealer; he keeps ctuirs and lounges about all the time. 




UNION BLOCK FURNITURE 

WAREROOMS, 

SPRINGFIELD, MASS. 

Now is the time to secure Great Bargains in Parlor, 
Library, Dining-room and Chamber Furniture. Al?o, 
a large stock of Common Furniture, Springbeds, Win- 
dow Shaies, <fec., &c, constantly on hand and warranted 
to suit. 

A.C. FISHRR. C. BUCKHATJSE. H.KNaPPE. 



3 

rJ 



Items. •» 

What is better than presence of mind in a rail- 
road accident? Absenee of body. 
U 

jrjs- Why should physicians have a greater horror 
of the sea th»n anybody else ? Because they are 
liable to see sickness. j 

/ " 3: , » 

Among the numerous puns in Mathew's present en- 
tertainment, he is quite "at home " in the folia ving : 
A person speaking to a very deaf man, and getting 
angry ct not catching his meani" - *ays — " Why it is 
is plain as A. B. C." " Aye sir, bin T am D. E. F. !" 






What moral maxim is taught by aweatnercock on 
a steeple ? It is a vain thing to a-*p»'re. 



What kind of a' cat may be found 
' every library ? Catalogue. 



in 



Scraps.! 

"A little nonsense now and lhei> 
Is relished by the wisest men." 

What ecu makes a comfoi 
Bleeping room? Ans.-— Adriatic (a-1 
dry- attic.) 



*5**mmmm 



'it and 



WIT AND WISDOM. 



Muddy. — "Pat, who lives in the house yon- 
der, on the hill ? " " Mister Ferguson, sure; but 
he's dead." " Ah ! indeed. How long has he been 
dead ? " " If he'd only lived till to-morrow, he'd 
been dead three weeks, yer honor." "Ah ! and 
what did he die of ? " , " He died of a Tuesday, 
sir." 

A Reason. — "Mother," said little Ned, one - 
morning after having fallen out of bed ; " I think 
I know why I fell out of bed last night. It was 
because I slept too near where I got in." Musing 
a little while, as if in doubt whether he had given 
the right explanation, he added, — "No, tha 
wasn't ihe reason, it was because I slept too near 
where I fell out." 



The Gardener s Privileges.— The ques- 
tion was once asked by a very beautiful woman, 
"Why is a gardener the most extraordinary 
man in the world f" The reply was as follows : 
Because no man has more business on earth, 
and he always chooses good grounds for what 
he does. He commands his thyme ; he is mas- 
ter of the mint ; aiid he Sogers pennyroyal. He 
, raises his celery every year, and it is a bad year 
■ indeed that does not bring him a plum. He 
meets with more boughs than a minister of state. 
He makes more beds than the king of France, 
( and has more genuine rosea and lilies than are 
to be found at a country wake. He makes raking 
his business more than his diversion, but it is 
an advantage to his health and fortune which 
few others find; his wife, moreover, has enough 
of heartsease, and never wishes lor xeeeds. Dis- 
orders fatal to others never hurt him; he walks 
and bustles and thrives most in consumption. He 
cau boast of more bleeding hearts than you can, 
and has more laurels than the Duke of Welling- 
ton. But his greatest pride, and greatest envy 
of his companion is, that he cau have yew when 
he pleases. — English Paper. 



Bishop Horns had his dignity somewhat taken 
d©vvn when he took possession of the episcopal 
palace at Norwich, in 1791. He turned round 
upon the steps, and exclaimed, " Bless us, bless 
*s! what a multitude of people." "Oh! my 
fend," said a bystander, "this is nothing to the 
crowd last Friday to see a man hanged." 

Doctor debt) was once paid three guineas by a 
rich patient from whom he had a right to expect 
live. He dropped them on the ffoor, when a 
servant picked them up and restored them. The 
doctor, ins'^ad :f walking off, continued his 
search on vhe carpet. " Are ad; the guineas 
found?" asked the rich man. "There must be 
two still on the floor," said the doctor, "fori 
have only three." The hint waft taken, and the 
two immediately handed over. 

A wooden legged amateur happened to be with 
a skirmishing party lately, when a shell burst 
near him, smashing his artificial limb to hits, and 
sending a piece of iron threugh the^alf of a sol- 
dier near him. The soluier "grioned and bore it" 
like a man, while the amsi^ur was loud and em- 
phatic in his lamentations. Being rebuked by 
the wounded soldier, bellied, "Oh, yes; it's aft. 
I well enough for you to hear it. Your leg didn't 
cost anything, and wi$i heal up ; but I paid ?$3C^ 
, fer mine." 

4i T will bet you a bottle of wine that 
you will descend from that chair before I 
\<k you twice." " Done," said the gen- 
tleman. " Come down." " I will not."— 
: ' Then .stop till I tell j ou a second time." 
The gentleman, having no desire to retain 
his position until that period, came down 
from the chair, and his opponent won the 
wasrer. 



The following words, if spelt backwards 
tt forwards are the same. " Name no one 
nan," 

•' Dare are," said a sable orator, addres- 
is brethren, "two road to dis world. 

e one am a broad and narrow road, dat 
to perdition : and de oder a narrow 

id broad road dat leads to sure destruc- 

■li.'* " If dat am de case," said a sable 
. " dis cullered indiwidual takes to 

3 Woods." 



Pickpocket's Toast. — The And that can feei 
for another's pocket handkerchief, and the Art 
that can prig it without detection. — Punch. 

If the Doge of Venice were to lose his sight, 
what useful article would he be converted to. A 
Venitian Blind. 



ifT"! have passed through great hardships," 
s the schooner said, after sailing through a fleet 
f iron-clads. 

O I c 



A bankrupt was condoled with the other flay ior ma. 
embarrassment. " Oh, I'm not embarrassed at all,'\said 
he; "it's my creditors that are embarrassed." 



/ 



" My dear Ellen," said Mr. Eastman to a young 
lady whose smiles he was seeking, " I have long ■ 
wished for this sweet opportunity, but I hardly 
dare trust myself now to speak the deep emotions 
of my palpitating heart ; but I declare to you, my 
dear Ellen, that I love you most tenderly. Your 

smiles would shed — would shed " • "Never 

mind the wood-shed," said Ellen ; " go on with 
1 that pretty talk." 

" Madam, your boy cannot pass at half fare, 
he is too large," said the conductor of a rail- 
way train, which had been long detained on 
the road by the snow. " He maybe too large 
now," replied the lady, " but he was small 
enough when we started." The conductor gave 
in, and the boy passed for half fare. 






" How odd it is," said Pat, as he trudged along 
on foot, one hot, sultry day, " that a man never 
meets a cart going the same way he is." 

Very few persons have sense enough to despise 
the praise of a fool. 

In the midst of a stormy discussion, a gen 
tleman rose to settle the dispute. Waving his 
hand majestically over the disputants, he be- 
gan, "Gentlemen, all I want is common 
sense." " Exactly," Jerrold interrupted, " that 
is precisely what you do want." The discus- 
sion was lost in a burst of laughter. 



" I meant to have told you of that hole," said 
an Irishman to his friend who was walking with -. 
him in his garden, and tumbled into a pit full of 
water. " No matter," says Pat, blowing the mud ~ ' 
and water out of his mouth ; " I've found it." ~" 

A little girl, five years old, was recently ealled 
as a witness in a police-court in England ; and, in ==£ 
< answer to a question as to what became of child- 
ren who told lies, she innocently replied — " They 
are sent to bed." 



' Clearing Emigrants. — An Irish gentle- 
man, residing in Canada, was desirous to per- 

q suade his sons to work as backwoodsmen, 

/ instead of drinking champagne at something 
more than a dollar a bottle. Whenever this 
old gentleman saw his sons so engaged he 
used to exclaim, — "Ah ! my boys, there goes 

/ an acre of land, trees and all ! " 



A PROTEAN PUZZLE. 

I am to be met with in many more shapes than 
one, and will tax your ingenuity by giving yon 
a few to discover. 

1. You will meet with me in water in a park 
or large landscape garden. 

2. You will find me at sea, where I generally 
get very wet through, or am torn into strips. 

8. I am to be met with in an oven, with plenty 
of cases and biscuit on me. 

4. I am composed of several metals, and am 
sometimes stout, sometimes attenuated. 

5. I am a necessary part of your bed, and bear 
your signature verv often. 

6. I am to be met with in the water-butt dar- 
ing Jack Frost's reign. 

7. I am a manufactured article, sometimes 
tinged with an infinite number of hues, more 
generally of none at all. 

8. I am bound, and yet free, and have twenty- 
four pages in waiting. 

0. I am. transparent, colorless, and fragile. 
10. ; I am one ot the wax-flower maker's mate- 
rials. 

11. I am given to cotton, and addicted to quilts. 
Lastly. I am the criminal's uniform, the ghost's 
sole garment, and the likeness of yourself when 
hlanchod with terror. 



My first gave us early support ; 

My next a virtuous lass; 
To the fields, if at eve you resort, 

My whole you will probably pass.— Milk-maid. 



Teeth are generally like verbs ; regular, irreg- 
ular, or defective. 



A German usurer, who took i) per cent, inter- 
est' Instead of 6, the legal rate, was asked if he 
ever thought of what God would say to his extor- 
tion. "Oh yes," "but when God looks down 
from heaven, the 9 will look like a 6." 



A lady Who wished some stuffing from a roast 
duck, which a gentleman was carving at a public 
ble, requested, him to transfer from the deceased 
fowl to her plate some of its artificial intestines. 

In 1816, potatoes were purchased in Ireland for 
eight cents per bushel, and shipped to Baltimore, 
where they were sold for two dollars per bushel. 

Lady L. Duncan was an heiress, and Sir W. 
Duncan was her physician during a severe ill- 
ness. One day she told him she had. made up 
her mind to marry, and upon his asking the 
name of the fortunate chosen one, she bade him 
go home and open his Bible, giving him chapter 
and verse, and he would find it out. He did so, 
and read what Nathan said unto David, "Thou 

i art the man .'" 

^_""^_^^'~ * " / " 
A Cincinnatian at the Tremont House, Chi- 
cago, expatiating on the "vine-clad hills," etc., 
claimed that the Ohio was the Rhine of the New 
World.. "Yes," ejaculated old X , "the pork- 
Rhine." 

A credulous man said to a waar who had a 

wooden leg, "How r came you to have a wooden 

/ leg?" "Why," answered the wag, "my father 

had one, and so had my grandfather. It runs in 

the blood." 

A Chinese maxim says: "We require four 

things of woman— that virture dwell in her 

heart; that modesty play on her brow; that 

sweetness flow from her lips; that industry occu- 

_ L _ py her hands." 

An Irish emigrant, hearing the sunset gun 
asked, "What's that?" "Why, that's sunset/' 
, was the reply. "Sunset!" exclaimed Pat; "and 
does the sun go down in this country with such 
a bang as that?" 

< Even the snow-flake lets a shadow fall, 
As to the earth it softly sinks to rest; 
So nay the whi est, sweetest souls of all 
Seem sometimes wrong to those who know 
them best. 

The bishop of Exeter, when some younger and 
more excitable prelate wished that there were 
preachers in the church of England as eloquent 
a* Spurgeon, dryly remarked, "Thou shalt not 
covet thy neighbor's ass." 

"What sort of a sermon do you' like?" said Dr 
Rush to Robert Morris, one dav. "I like sir " 
replied Mr Morris, "that kind of preaching which 
drives a man into the corner of his ]>cw, and 
makes him think the devil is after him." 

The Saturday Review says that, considering 
how many idiotic men there are in the world 
with whom good women have to live, it is a 
blessing to the good women that they should not 
be able to know an idiot when they see one. 

There is no insignificance, says Henry Giles 
which has not a lower that is nearer than itself 
to nothingness; Dogberry has Verges; Silence 
has Simple, and so the gradations of meanness aw 
infinite, as well as the gradations of majesty. 

"Patrick," said a priest to an Irishman, "how 
much hay did you steal?" "Well," replied Pat 
*I may as well confess to your rivirence 
for the whole sack, for my wife and I are "-oing 
to take the rest of it on the first dark night." r 

A stupid fellow tried to annoy a popular preach- 
er by asking him whether the fatted calf of the 
parable was male or female. "Female, to be 
sure," was the reply; "for I see the niaTe," look- 
ing his questioner full in the face, "yet ali\e in 
the flesh before me." 

When Foote was at Salt Hill, he dined at the 
Castle Inn, and when Partridge, the host, pro- 
duced his bill, which was rather exorbitant, the 
eoii Milan asked him his name. "Partridge, sir," 
said he. "Partridge! It should have fceen Wood- 
cock, by the length of your bill!" 



% 



Tlie Ijlly of the Valley. 



/ 



Flowers, from the earliest ages, hare been as- 
sociated with the tender sentiments of the heart, 
and thus have often been the means of telling' the 
tale which words dare not speak. They too have 
been a source of poetic inspiration, and poesy of 
all ages has found images of joy and beauty 
"In the bright consummate flower." 

Hence we offer no apology for inserting 
throughout this little book a few gems of song, - 
which we have culled to please and instruct our 
readers. 

" Flowers are the brightest things which earth 
On her broad bosom loves to cherish; 
Gay they appear as children's mirth, 
Like fading dreams of hope they perish. 

By them the lover tells his tale; 

They can his hopes, his fears express; 
The maid, when looks or words would fail, 
Can thus a kind return confess. 

Then, lady, let the wreath we bring 

For thee a wreath of beauty twine, 
And as the blossoms deck the spring, 

So every tender wish be thine." 



T 



Always Cheerful. Coreopsis. 

I asked the flowers, in the soft spring time, 
"Wherefore they smiled in their youthful prime, 
"When the stormy days so soon would come 
That would blight forever their beauty and bloom; 
And the sweet flowers answered, " Each day renews 
On our leaves the sunshine that dries the dews; 
Why should we not smile? Till now we have thriven, 
And the sunshine and dew are both from heaven." 



Imhortalitv. Amaranth. 
The lily's hue, the rose's dye, 
The kindling lustre of an eye, 
"Who but owns their magic sway? 
Who bat knows they all decay? 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
The generous purpose nobly dear, 
The gentle look that rage disarms, — 
These are all immortal charms. BUBKS. 



"Wkeatu of "Wild Flowers. 
'Tis a quaint thought, and yet, perchance, 

Sweet Blossoms, ye are sprung 
From flowers that over Eden once 
Their pristine fragrance flung — 
That drank the dews of Paradise 

Beneath the starlight clear, 
Or caught from Eve's dejected eye 
Her first repentant tear. ^__ 

Wilt inou oo with me? Pea, Everlasting. 
Love. Myrtle. 

Come live with me, and be my Love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That hills and valleys, dale, and field, 
And all the craggy mountains yield. 

There will I make thee beds of roses, 

And a thousand fragrant posies; 

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 

Embroidcr'd all with leaves of myrtle. Marlowe. 



Violet, Blue. Modesty. 
Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Geat. 

Candor. White Violet. 
Sweet violets, love's paradise, that spread 
YourV.',ci"Us odors, which you couched bear 

Within your holy faces, 
ti™™ thsnrantle wing of some calm-breathing wind 
UP ° n That Plays amidst the atata-Sta WAI*«» Rale.oh. 



Remembrance. Rosemary. 

O, only those 
Whose souls have felt this one idolatry.^ 
Can tc'.l how precious is the slightest thing 
Affection gives and 1 allows! — a dead flower 
Will long be kept, remembrancer of looks 
That made each leaf a treasure. Lee. 

Music, when soft voices die, 

Vibrates in the memory — 

Odors, when sweet violets sicken, 

Live within the sense they quickeu. SnELLE 



Hatred. Basil. 

Eyes can with baleful ardor burn, 
Poison can breathe that erst perfumed; 

There's many a white hand holds an urn, 
With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. ANON. 



Confidence. Polyanthus. 
In love, if love be love, if love be ours, 
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers. 
Unfaith in aught, is want of faith in all. 
Then trust me not at all, or all in all. Tennyson 



^ » language which »„ 




By all the token flowers that tell 

What words can ne'er express so well. Byron. 

FLOWERS. 
Bright messengers from God above, 

To cheer our pathway drear, 
They seem to whisper of His love, 

And say "He placed us here 
To gladden, soothe the weary heart, 

To ehed our sweet perfume, 
When friends below are called to part, 

To meet beyond the tomb. 
We're soattered o'er God's lovely earth, 

In forms of beauty rare. 
Each day we sing a song of mirth, 

We never know a care. 
Our tiny voices praise our God, 

With every passing breeze 
That lifts us irom the dewy sod, -\ 

As it waves the lofty trees. 
We are the homes of beings bright, 

That flit mid fairy bowers, 
They come "with beams of soit moonlight, 

To sport with the gentle flowers. 
The queen has her thtone in the heart of the rose, 

Her sceptre, the lily fair. 
And ere tbe first tint of morning glows, 

They merely flit through the air, 
And hie them away to their fairy land, 

Where mortals can never gaze ; 
We hear the sweet strains of the fairy band 

In the gentle summer days. 
But not for homes of fairies bright, 

Has our Maker placed us here, 
But to whisper words of hope and light, 

To the heart that is sad and drear. 
We deck the dearly loved one's heads, 

When cold and still they lie ; 
We cheer the sufferers' dying beds, 

Ere they are called on high. 
We whisper of that beauteous land, 

Where flowers forever bloom, 
Guarded and cared for by His hand : 

There, is no fear, no gloom." a. 8. 

The Rhortora. 

BY R. W. EMERSON. 



I think my God, 1 feel that not alone 

On mountain peaks His blessed sunshine glows, 
And dews drop sweetness; even here, lar down 

In meads, a lily grows. 

1 am his work who made the evening star : 
Wherefore 1 lift to ilim my flowerets bright. 

They die tomorrow, hut today thev are 
Beautiful in His sight. 

I look upon the hills, and sometimes dream 
How they rejoice in morning's earliest light ; 

And how serene, and strong, and si ill tliev seem 
To guard the valleys all the gloomy night. 

"lis said the heights are cold— it. may 1 
That winds are kneeiier there, and winters drea 

I know not how it is; I only know 
My God has placed me here — 

Here in this little nook of earth— my own — 

And sent a sunbeam— mine — to cheer my hear J 
He bids me bloom— perhaps* lor Him alone ; 
Is there a better part? 

I bloom— stars shine — we bloom and shine fur Hid 

We give our best— grand world and huinb.j 
flower — 
A light through ages never growing dim — 
The fragrant of an hour. 

So (hen he smiles, and takes with equal love 
Our equal gifts, nor knows or great or small ; 

But in His iniiniteness reigns above, 
And comprehends us all. 



In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 
I found the ire»h rhodora in the woods, 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a dark nook, 
To please the deseit and the sluggish brook; 
The purple petals, fallen in the pool. 

Made, the black waters with their beauty gay; 
Here might the redbird come his plumes to cool, 

And court the flower that cheapens his array. 

Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why 
This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky, 
Dear, tell them (hat if eyes were made for seeing, 
Then beauty is its own excuse for being. 

Why thou wort there, oh rival of the rose! 
I never thought to ask, I never knew ; 

But in my simple ignorance suppose 
The self-same Bower that brought me there brough 
you." 



idpy 



OS Pi 



HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 



BY HORACE SMITH. 

Day-stars! that ope your eyes with morn to twinkle, 

From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation, 
And dewdrops on her lonely altars sprinkle 

As a libation ! 
Ye matin worshippers ! who, bending lowly 

Before the uprisen sun— God's lidless eye- 
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 

Incense on high ! , 

Ye blight mosaics ! that with storied beauty 

The floor of Nature's temple tessellate, 
What numerous emblems of instructive duty 

Your forms create ! 
'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth - 

And tolls its perfume on the passing air, 
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever rlngeth 

A call to prayer. 
Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column 

Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, 
But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, 

Which God hath planned. 
To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, 

Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply- 
Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, 
Its dome the sky. 

There— as in solitude and shade I wander 

Through the green aUles, or, stretched upon the sod, 
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder 

The ways of God— 
Your voiceless lips, flowers, are living preachers, 

Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book, 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 
From loneliest nook. 

Floral apostles ! that In dewy splendor 

"Weep without woe, and blush without a crime," 
may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender 
Your lore sublime ! 

"Thou wert not, Solomon ! in all thy glory 

Arrayed," the lilies cry, "in robes like ours ; 
How vain your grandeur ! Ah, how transitory 

Are human flowers !" 
In the sweet-scented pictures. Heavenly Artist ! 

With which thou paintest Nature's widespread hall. 
What a delightful lesson thou impartest 

Of love to all. 
Not useless are ye, Flowers ! though made for pleasure : 

Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and night, 
From every source your sanction bids me treasure 

Harmless delight. 
Ephemeral sages ! What instructors hoary 

For such a world of thought couid furnish scope ? 
Each fading calyx a memento mori. 

Yet fount of hope. 
Posthumous glories ! Angel-like collection ! 

Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth , 
Ye are to me a type of resurrection, 

And second birth. 
Were I, God, in churchless lands remaining, 

Far from all voice of teachers or divines, 
My soul would And, in flowers of thy ordaining, 
Priests, sermons, shrines ! 





IN EASTERN LAND THEY TALK IN 
FLOWERS. 




" 



FREAK8 OF CIGWfWINQ IN PLYMOUTH COUNTY. 

During the prevalence of the thunder show- 
er ou Saturday last, the lightning struck some 
twenty-five times at points between Boston and 
Plymouth, doing considerable damage. In Dor- 
chester, near the railroad station, a barn and 
two houses were struck and entirely consumed. 
In Quiney a barn was struck, but no material 
damage was done. lu South Quiney, a dwelling 
house, near the depot, was torn li terally to pi scesl 
There was no one in the house at the time. 
Lu East Weymouth, the lightning played funny 
freaks in the Iron Works, flying from one point 
to another, knocking the tools from workmen's 
hands, doingno injury, however, to workmen or 
building. In Braintree the fluid passed down 
the chimney of a house, occupied by Mr. Irish, 
near the Union store, instantly killing Mr. Irish, 
ind ripping the walls of plastering. No other 
person was injured. In Randolph, near the rail- 
road station, a coal shed was struck and the con- 
tents were scattered in all directions. In North 
Bridgewater, the shoe tool factory of Messrs. 
Sneli & Atherton was visited in a similar man- 
ner as the Iron Works at East Weymouth, but 
no injury was done to persons or property. In 
Plymouth the lightning struck in several places. 
The dwelling house of Major S. II. Doten was 
struck, but the conductors carried the Qw4 safe- 
ly away. In the afternoon a bolt struck the Uni- 
versalis! church, shattering the spire, and glanc- 
ing from the house passed through the kitchen of 
a house near by, occupied by judge Russell of 
Boston as a summer residence, but no damage 
was done. In Dedham at noon a house on High 
street was strueii, severely injuring two persons 
and slightly damaging the building. A very 
large quantity of rain fcli during the day in ail 
the above mentioned places. 

A SHOE FACTORY SET ON FIRE — NARROW ES- 
CAPE. 

The heavy showers of last Friday and Satur- 
day were severely felt in Reading, Dedham, and 
oNatick. The lightning struck a house on High 
Street, Dedham, severely injuring two persons, 
and slightly damaging the dwelling. The house 
of Mr. R. F. Gray on Woburn street, in Reading, 
was struck by lightning on Friday. The bolt 
took effect on the northwest corner of the house, 
stove in the window, tore out the casing, passed 
down the ceiling to the front side of the house, 
and tore off the clapboards over and under all 
the windows, and moved the corner stone and 
the steps. It then passed under the piazza and 
entered the house again through a corner of the 
kitchen, passed down stairs and by the shed 
door' shattering the casing. Mr. Gray's daugh- 
ter was considerably shocked, as she was sitting 
by the window where it struck. She was covered 
with plaster and smoke. In Stoneham the elec- 
tric fluid was active. The large shoe manufac- 
tory of Messrs. John and Luther Hill was struck 
by li htning and set on fire. Some two hundred 
workmen were in the building at the time, but 
none of them were seriously injured. The shoe 
factory of Charles C. Dike was also struck, and 
a part of the roof destroyed. A girl at work at 
a hence very narrowly escaped injury. The 
lightning struck the hoose of Mr. John Rowe 
and knocked Mrs. Rowe and her daughter off the 
sofa where they were sitting. Neither party 
were badly injured. Mr. James Green's barn 
was struck and badly damaged. Near the 
house of Mr. Rowe a tree was shattered, and the 
railroad track struck in several places. Several 
other trees were torn to pieces in a similar man- 
ner. The barn of Mr. S. Needham at Rockville, 
was set on fire by lightning and totally destroy- 
ed, with its contents. Loss about 81000. In the 
northerly part of the town the farm house of R. 
S. Rogers, Esq., was struck, but no great dam- 
age resulted. A valuable ox near the house was 
killed. At Naticktbe lightning killed a valuable 
horse belonging to Gwin Bailey of Bailey's Ex- 
press. It was one oi a matched pair. They were 
harnessed together and were just going into a 
building. The other one was not injured; the 
driver was knocked down. The house of Leon- 
ard A. Kingsbury was struck and the plastering 
and ceiling torn off in many places and the car- 
pets were torn up, but no one was injured. The 
lightning passed down the rod of the Unitarian 
meeting house twice, in Needham, a barn be- 
longing to Mr. Samuel B. Payson was struck 
and burned, with fifteen or twenty tons of hay 
and one calf. 

HAILSTO.VES THE BIZB OF HeVs EGOS — IM- 
MENSE DAMAGE! TO FARMERS NEAR SPRING- 
KIELD. 

Th <!;nnn::e by tiie thunder storms on the 27th 
and 28th of July was great in Agawam, Suffield 
and towns southwest of Springfield. The Re- 
publican says the nail followed in its course a 
strip fro, a a mile and a half to two miles wide, 
and commenced near die Agawam church, ex- 
tending south as larns Windsor Locks, Ct. The 
storm was also accompanied by a furious gale of 
wind and considerable thunder and lightning. 
The hailstones were of unusual amount and size, 
and the people in speaking of them speak of the 
largest as being fully equal to hens' eggs, 
and the bulk of them were as large as butternuts, 
lifter from ordinary hailstones in being an- 
gular and irregularis form, and with rough, 
jagged i Ir appearance was as though 

several stones had become congealed and firmly 
frozen together. The lurv of the hail storm 
spcntitscll in about a quarter of an hour, the/' 
alargc quantity of rain continued: to fall, whi»;' 
damaged the roads and bridges to some t \tci.v 



/ 
The crop which suffered most severely was the 
tobacco, and most of the fields in the track of 
the storm were totally ruined. The leaves of 
the plant were riddled and shattered, as though 
they had been struck on an anvil by a hammer 
and in many cases the stalks were stripped en- 
tirely bare. It is too late at this time to re-set 
the damaged fields, and on Saturday some of the 
farmers had commenced plowing them, and will 
attempt to raise a crop of turnips. Probablv not 
less than twenty -five acres of tobacco in Agawam 
will be an entirely loss, and fully as much more 
in Suffield. The heaviest loss is that of Harvey 
Porter, who estimates his at $4000 or $5000. He 
had eleven acres of good tobacco entirely de- 
stroyed, and fifteen acres of corn, from which 
only a small portion of a crop will be harvested. 
The devastation commenced on the farm of 
Asahel Lord, near thechurch at Agawam, where 
an acre of tobacco was ruined, and the difference 
of a few hundred rods in this case was all that 
saved the more fortunate from a like destruc- 
tion. The other Agawam farmers all share in 
the loss to the extent of from one to ten acres of 
tobacco each. A correct estimate of the amount 
of loss in this town is hardly posssible, but the 
probable damage to the tobacco crop alone, with 
prices at last year's rates, would be from $12,000 
to $15,000. The corn was prostrated in most 
cases level with the grown!, and lying in a south- 
erly direction. The stalks were bruised and 
crushed, and many of them entirely stripped of 
leaves. Many fields will recover considerably 
from the disaster, though the yield Will be very 
materially diminished. The recent very rapid 
and tender growth of the corn rendered it more 
susceptible to injury. The grain had been most- 
ly harvested except the oats before the unlucky 
1 visitant arrived. They were blown down by the 
wind, and in many of the fields where they were 
sufficiently ripe, were thrashed out in large quan- 
tities. The crop was an unusually large one, and 
was too far advanced to permit much recovery 
i from the effects of the hail and wind* The fruit 
• was blown and knocked from the trees in large 
quantifies, and the fallen apples are bruised and 
battered as though pounded by a hammer. The 
gardens suffered severely, and the melon and oth- 
er vines were cut and mangled past remedy. 
The hail fell with such force and in such shape 
as to puncture some of the young melons, and 
cucumbers were picked up completely cut in two 
by the force of their blow». Afield of buckwheat 
. on J. D. Gallup' s farm at Agawam, which was 
a few inches high, had every stock cut off close 
to the ground as thougfi It had been clone by a 
scythe. 

The amount of glass broken was considerable, 
and the houses that were protected with blinds 
were none too secure. In Suffield, James Mer- 
ritt's house lost 154 lights, and several others in 
that place and Agawam from 60 to 100 each. 
Through Suffield and the Southwick course of 
, the storm, the same appearances of ruin were 
I everywhere visible. * 

IN" NEW HAMPSHIRE — EIGHT HAILSTONES 
WEIGH A POUND. 

The Concord Monitor says a a very se- 
J vere hail storm passed over a portion of the 
towns of Winchester, N. H., and Warwick, 
Mass., on the 25th of July. It began in the 
norrn*ast corner of Wintkester, and passed in a 
southeasterly direction nearly across Warwick. 
The storm does not seem to have gathered its 
full force till after it crossed the Ashuelot river; 
from thence its track is marked by the almost to- 
tal destruction of crops. Oats and barley were 
cut down and beaten into the mire, utterly spoil- 
led. Fields of rye that were just ready for the 
,'siekle, are completely threshed, aadthe straw cut 
off and broken down as though flocks of sheeD 
' had been driven through. The corn and tobacco 
J are stripped of all their leaves. So much hail 
fell in some places in Warwick that the hills 
. looked white for some hours afterwards. Eight 
' hailstones were picked up that weighed a pound. 

ON A STRIKE. 

The Boston Journal states that early last Sat- 
urday morning, many of the residents of the 
South End were woke up by the rapid striking 
of the bell in the belfry of the Methodist Episco- 
pal (Jhurch, on Tremont street. The bell struck 
438 times and then stopped. Soon after it com- 
menced striking again, and after 175 strokes it 
stopped again. Subsequently the bell struck 50, 
i 25 and 18 times, with intervals between, occupy- 
ing in all about one hour's time. The electrical 
condition of the atmosphere explains the lively 
condition of beli-striking. It could not be coir- 
trolled at the Fire Alarm office. 

HOW A RAILROAD BRIDGE WAS DESTROYED. 

The correspondent of the, Philadelphia In- 
quirer, writing from Havre-de-Grace, Md.. thus 
describes the effects of the tornado on the 26th 
upon the magnificent railroad bridge building 
at that place: 

There were three men on the bridge at the 
time it was destroyed, but fortunately they all 
escaped with their lives. One of them states 
that he felt a peculiar undulating motion of the 
bridge, but did not dream it would be carried 
away, when suddenly a bolt was heard to snap, 
and the entire structure was quickly precipitated 
into the water. The wind seemed to suddenly 
twist the bridge to pieces, as though it might be 
a rope of straw being twisted asunder between 
the hands of un individual. While going down 
with the bridge the three individuals mentioned 
thought they "had "gone up," and had every rea- 
son to think so. The bridge consisted of seven 



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spans oj iwo auuuiou auu uuy iccc m i 
on the east side a draw span of one hundred"and 
ninety-two feet, and five spaas of two hundred 
and fifty feeton the west side. These spans were 
of the Howe truss pattern, and composed entire- 
ly of timber. 

The arches consisted of four ribs of timber laid 
together, 8 inches by 9 inches in thickness, mak- 
ing the arches 874 inches in depth. These arches 
were so arranged that they butted against each 
other on the tops of the piers, There is a depth 
of water from 5 feet to 40 feet around the piers. 
It is thought about one-half of the lumber car- 
ried away by the tornado will be used again in 
the reconstruction of the bridge. 7'he freaks of 
the tornado were singular. It is thought it first 
struck the bridge at the end of the drawbridge, 
and swept over towards the eastern cud, and that 
another section or current of it took the span 
west of the drawbridge, and carried everything" 
with it as far as the western buttress or main 
pier. One large stone, three feet in length, on 
pier seven, was lifted from its position by the 
carrying away of the spans, but although for a 
moment in mid-air, it was only turned' over on 
its side. 

A gentleman who left Harrisburg that dav late 
in the afternoon, by the Pennsylvania Railroad, 
states that about seven o'clock a heavy hailstorm 
began which continued with great furv, for 
about half an hour. The hail, he said came down 
so thick that at a distance it had the appearance 
of snow. Trees were blown down, the cornfields 
were considerably injured and other things were 
damaged in proportion. 

A REMARKABLE CASE. 

The Pittsburg Republican says at Rising Sun, 
Ind., on the Ohio river, on the 14th of July, 
while the sky was perfectly clear as far as the 
eye could reach, and the sun was shining bright- 
ly, a vivid flash of lightning appeared, followed 
by a long and sharp peal of thunder. The elec- 
tric fluid struck a church and three dwelling 
houses. At the same instant a little girl was 
killed outright, and a little boy had his clothing 
completely stripped off his body, not excepting 
his shoes, all of which had the appearance of 
having been cut with a sharp knife. The boy- 
was only stunned and slightly injured in one of 
his legs. Another boy in the same vicinity was 
also struck at the same time, but more seriously, 
although not fatally, injured than the boy wdio 
had his clothing toru off. 

MISCELLANEOUS INCIDENTS. 

The flag staff at Fort Independence, in Boston 
harbor, was struck and completely demolished by 
lightning during the shower of Saturday last. 

During a heavy thunder shower Monday after- 
noon, while the 2.30 train tor Dedham was run- 
ning near Mt. Hope Station, lightning struck a 
tree within about 15 feet of the locomotive, and 
twisted off the trunk which was about 18 inches 
in diameter, and throwing the tree violently 
against the traiu and fell upon the track. 

A terrific hail storm occurred at Alexandria, 
Va., last Wednesday. The storm raged for an 
hour, some of the hailstones measuring at least 
one inch in diameter, and being driveti before a 
fearful blast, created immense damage to houses, 
trees, gardens and growing crops. Hundreds of 
window panes were destroyed, and limbs of trees 
of considerable size, were clipped off as if with a 
knife. 

In Maiden on Monday afternoon the lightning 
struck the house of Mr. Whitcomb on the gable 
end at the ridge pole, and passed down into the 
front entry, burning off tne bell wire, and doing 
other slight damage to the house, a portion of 
the burning wire falling upon a child and slightly 
burning it. 

A severe hail storm passed oyer the towns of 
Northfield, Warwick and Orange on Wednes- 
day, doing great injury to the roads and crops, 
and on Friday, Gill had a similar visitation. The 
tobacco was totally ruined, and the fields of grain g fc \ 
nearly' ready to be cut were threshed, and the g S" c 
straw so cut upas to be of little value. The hail- g S % 
stones covered the hills like a snow storm, and »»m 
were picked up at noon of the next day, uumelt- i 2 ° 
ed. From Orange, the storm passed southeaster- "< re " 
lv through Atholand Petersham. §■ - 2 

In Durham, N. II., during the storm on Mon- 2. = g 
day, the electric fluid struck the telegraph wires, w M ■ 
passed down from nineteen different posts in a i 
direct line to the earth, taking out a piece of ( g "2 
wood from one to one and a half inches wide i» g ^ 
and one inch deep, as though a gouge or other 
cutting Instrument had been used. 

In Chicago, last week, a hack was shivered to 
fragments and one of the horses killed by light- 
ning. 

On Saturday lightning struck and shattered 
the house of ftenry Hammond at Danielsouvillc, 
Ct.; played the mischief with the Baptist, chapel 
and the house of E. L. Preston, in Brooklyn; 
killed four oxeu belonging to Charles Kenyon, 
in Plainlield; and burnt the barn of Isaac Backus 
in Canterbury. In Brooklyn a son of Mr. Pres- 
ton, whose house was struck, was playing on a 
(lute at the time. Ybunz Preston was knocked 
down insensible, and a Splinter some two inches 
in length and half an inch wide was taken outof 
the flute near its upper end, and the joint was 
split in two or three places. 

Daring the storm on Saturday the house of 
Gen. Alaxandei Hamilton, Jr., corner, of Alexan- 
der avenue and 140th street, North New York, 
was struck by lightning. Mrs. Hamilton and a 
daughter being in a chamber, and a servant in 
the kitchen, were prostrated, and Mrs. II. lay for 
s§me time insensible, but all are now recovered. 



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WILLIAM PENH'S FIRST TREATY WITH THE INDIANS. 



The engraving wliicli we publish to-day 
represents one of th<j most remarkable and 
interesting events hi the life of William Penn 
and in the history of the world. It is a copy 
from the late Benjamin West's picture of the 
meeting of Penn and the Indian chiefs, for the 
ratification of the sale of the territory of Penn- 
sylvania by the latter to the former, and the 
conclusion of a treaty of peace and amity be- 
tween the two parties. 

Penn had received the property of the vast 
tract of land constituting the present State of 
Pennsylvania by patent from Charles II., in 
March, 1681 ; but he did not deem the royal 
grant to be his sufficient authority for taking 
possession of the country until he had obtain- 
ed the consent of those by whom it was ac- 
tually inhabited. Accordingly, very soon af- 
ter his patent had been signed, he deputed 
commissioners to proceed to America, and to 
enter into a negotiation with the Indians for 



of the intercourse between them and Euro- 
pean colonists, were characterised by a spirit 
of liberality excee/lingly remarkable for that 
age. It was made part of the conditions on 
which grants of land were made to adventu- 
rers that all mercantile transactions with the 
Indians should take place in the public mar- 
ket ; that any wrong done to an Indian should 
be punished in the same manner as if a white 
man had been the person injured; and that 
all differences between planters and Indians 
should be settled by the verdict of twelve men, 
six of the one class and six of the other. And 
in a letter addressed to the Indians them- 
selves, after mentioning the existence of a 
Great God, or Power, the Creator of the 
World, who hath commanded us all to love, 
, to help, and to do good to one another, he 
continued; — "I would have you well observe 
that I am very sensible of the unkindness and 
injustice which have been too much exercised 




. towards you by the people of these parts of 
the fair purchase of so much of the territory j t .„ , ,„ , , , , . . , 

. ' . . , mi , . J 'the world, who have sought themselves to 

as they claimed a right to. The desired ar- m . „,.„„, , , , , , 

...... *. «. t make great advantages by you, rather than to 

rangement was made with little difficulty; and , ■ ,. , , 

be examples of goodness and patience unto 



the following year, Penn having himself come 
over to view his acquisition, it was resolved 
that the compact which had heen made should 
be solemnly confirmed. 

The principles and regulations which Penn 
had laid down from the first for the treatment 



you. This, I hear, hath been a matter of trou- 
ble unto you, and caused great grudging and 
animosities, sometimes to the shedding of 
blood, which hath made the Great God angry. 
Hut I am not such a man, as is well known 

, in my own country. I have great love and 

of the native inhabitants, and the nianaL'emein i j. i ■ i • . • 

— .,«..!, i Mi..ii.ij,MiH.ni |f regard towards you, and desire to win and 



gain your love and friendhip by a kind, just, 
and peaceable life; and the people I send are 
of the same mind, and shall in all things be- 
have themselves accordingly ; and if, in any- 
thing, any shall offend you or your people, 
you shall have a full and speedy satisfaction 
for the same, by an equal number of just men 
on both sides, that by no means you may have 
just occasion of being offended against them." 
By the Europeans who first landed on the new 
continent, and by almost all who had follow- 
ed them till then, the unhappy natives had 
been treated as if they had possessed no more 
rights of any kind than the lower animals that 
occupied the wilderness along with them. 
Penn was the first who really recognized 
them as belonging to the family of man. 

It had been agreed that the meeting for the 
ratification of the compact should take place 
at Coaquannoe, the name given by the Indians 
to the spot on which Philadelphia now stands. 
The parties, however, after assembling, pro- 
ceeded a little higher up the Delaware, to a 
place then called Shackamaxon, on which the 
adjoining village of Kensington has been since 
built, and where there grew an immense elm, 
under the spreading branches of which the 
leaders on both sides took their station. Mr. 
Clarkson, in his ' life of Penn,' (2 vols. 8vo., / 
Penn," he says, "appeared in his usual clothes 
He had no crown, sceptre, mace, sword, hal- 



I 



I ' 



SS3-S. 



, 



I herl, or any insignia of en>inence. He was J 
distinguished only by wearing a sky-blue sash 
round his waist, which was made of" silk net- 
work, and which was of no larger apparent 
dimensions tb»- officers military sash, and 
much like it except in color. On his right 
hand was Colonel Markham, his relation and 
secretary, and on his left his friend Pearson; 
after whom followed a train of Quakers. Be- - 
fore him were carried various articles of mer- 
chandise, which, when they came near the 
Sachems, (or kings,) were spread upon the 
ground. Me held a roll of parchment, con- 
taining the confirmation of the treaty of pur- i 
chase and amity in his hand. One of the 
Sachems, who was the chief of them, then put 
upon his own head a kind of ehaplet, in which 
appeared a small horn. This, as among the 
primitive eastern nations, and according to 
Scripture language, was an en^blem of kingly 
power; and whenever the chief, who had the 
right to wear it, put it on, it was understood 
that the place was made sacred, and the per- 
sons of all present inviolable. Upon putting 
on this horn, the Indians threw down their 
bows and arrows, and seated themselves 
round their chiefs, in the form of a half moon 
upon the ground. The chief Sachem then 
announced to William Perm, by means of an 
Miteipreter, that the nations were ready to 
hear him." 

Penu's speech appears to have embraced 
nearly the same topics as his letter already 
quoted. After its delivery he unrolled the 
parchment, and by meansvof the interpreter, 
explained it article by article. The compact 
Was based upon the principle that the land 
was to be common to the Indians and to the 
English ; and that the natives were to have 
the same liberty to do what was necessary for 
the improvement of their grounds, and the 
providing of sustenance for their families 
which the settlers had. "He then," continues £ 
Mr. Clarkson " paid them for the land, and 
made them many presents besides, from the 
merchandise which had been spread before 
them. Having done this, he laid the roll of 
parchment on the ground, observing again 
that the ground should be common to both 
people. He then added, that he would not 
do as the Marylanders did, that is, call them 
children or brothers only : for often parents 
were apt to whip their children too severely, 
and brothers sometimes wouid differ: neither 
would he compare the friendship between him 
and them to a chain, for the rain might some- 
times rust it, or a tree might fall and break it; 
but he should consider them as the same flesh 
and blood with the Christians, and the same 
as if one man's body were to be divided into 
two parts. He then took up the parchment, 
and presented it to the Sachem, who wore 
the horn in the chaplet, and desired him and 
the other Sachems to preserve it carefully for 
three generations, that their children might 
know what had passed between them, just as 
if he had remained himself with them to re- 
peat it." The solemn pledges of the Indians 
to perform faithfully their parfrin the contract 
followed this harangue. 



PIOUS SMILES 

be itt?bV e fS^ ad ^ ie sood fortune to 

Hon. 'l o onl/tfi n ~H f a,ul a very ^wae* cHaposl- 
extreme plSBfi^S^g 8 hM WfW lur 
regret that she was not beanfrfni hit U ' 
Plied that she ought to too thankYm h£ a 7? ,n < a . re - 
niade her so aoSJKtatiiiiiS^™* 11 " <; <>1 had 




mado me handsome. 



"When the purchase was agreed, great 
promises passed between us of kindness and 
good neighborhood, and that the Indians and 
English must' live in love, as long as the sun 
gave light. Which done, another made a 
speech to the Indians, in the name of all the 
sachamakers or kings, first, to tell them what 
was done; next, to charge and command 
them to love the Christians, and particularly 
live in peace with me, and the people under 
my government; that many governors had 
been in the river, but that no governor had 
come himself to live and stay here before ; and 
having now such an one that had treated them 
well, they should never do him or his any 
wrong. At every sentence of which they 
shouted, and said amen in their way." 

Everything connected with this treaty,— 
the only one, as Voltaire lias remarked, ever 
made between the native inhabitants of Am- 
erica and the Christians that was not ratified 
by an oath, and that was never broken, — was 
long held in reverential remembrance by both 
the English aud the Indians. The parchment 
roll was carefully preservad by the latter, and 
was exhibited by them in various conferences ' 
which they had with the English authorities, 
down nearly to the era of the independence 
of the colonies. The sash which Penn wore, 
Mr. Clarkson states, was, when he wrote, in 
the possession of Thomas Kett, Esq., Seeth- 
ing Hall, near Norwich. The elm, especially, 
which had shaded the assembled negoeiaton*, 
became celebrated from that day. With such 
general veneration and affection was it regard- 
ed^ that even the British General Simcoe, 
when he was quartered in the neighborhood 
during the revolutionary war, placed a senti- 
nel under it to protect it from being injured 
by his men when they went out to collect fire- 
wood. It was at last, however, blown down 
in 181], when its trunk and branches were 
cnt into various articles, to be preserved as 
memorials of the honored tree. 

MAKE CHILDHOOD SWEET. 

Wait not till the little hands are at rest 
Ere you fill them full of flowers; 

Wait not for the crowning tuberose 
To make sweet the last sad hours ; 

But while, in the busy household band, 

Your darlings still need your guiding hand, 
Oh, fill their lives with sweetness I 

Wait not till the little hearts are still 

For the loving look and phrase ; 
But, while you gently chide a fault, 

The good deed kindly praise. 
The word you would speak beside the bier 
Falls sweeter far on the living ear ; 

Oh, fill young lives with sweetness I 

Ah I what are kisses on clay-cold lips 

To the rosy mouth we press 
When our wee one flies to her mother's arms 

For love's tenderest caress ? 
Let never a worldly bauble keep 
Your heart from the joy each day should reap, 

Circling young lives with sweetness. 

Give thanks each morn for the sturdy boys, 

Give thanks for the fairy girls; 
With a dower of wealth like this at home, 

Would you rifle the earth for pearls ? 
Wait not for death to gem love's crown, 
But daily shower life's blessings down, 

And fill young hearts with sweetness. 

Remember the homes where the light has fled, 

Where the rose has faded away ; 
And the love that grows in youthful hearts, 

Oh, cherish it while you may ! 
And make your home a garden of flowers, 
Where joy shall bloom through childhood's houj 

And fill young lives with sweetness. 



Philadelphia uses 150,000 tons of ice annually , 
most of it obtained in New England. One Phila- 
delphia company cuts a large quantity of ice in 
Maine, owning the land, ice house.;, &c, require I 
for its use. 




CA1PESTERS' KALL— FOUKBED A.D. 1724. 



THE POET LAUREATE. 



TeBUj'Son and 



His Family- 
Work. 



-His M.oilc of 



[London Cor. of the San Francisco Chronicle.] 
If he had been fonder of and more familiar 
with drawing rooms, he would have looked 
trimmer, neater and younger than he does now. 
But I dare say that he is satisfied with Alfred 
Tennyson just as he is, for self-satisfaction is 
one of his conspicuous traits. He is a charming 
poet, but by no means a charming man unless 

to a very small circle of his intimates aad ad- 
mirers. " 

He belongs to a tuneful family. His, father 
was George Clayton Tennyson, a Lincolnshire 
clergyman, more remarkable for size and physi- 
cal energy than intellectual gifts; but several of 
his brothers— there were twelve children in all 
—were clever verse-makers at a very early age, 
and he seems, therefore, to have come honestly 
by his singing qualities. He is not, as many- 
bards have been, a child of the people. He is of 
renowned lineage, and prides himself, upon it, 
even if he does strike occasionally democratic 
strains, as in "Locksley Hall." He claims to 
be. and is, no doubt, descended from the ancient 
Norman family of D'Enycourt, his uncle, Chas. 
Tennyson, having gone so far as to ask permis- 
missiou to add D'Enycourt to bis name, which 
he obtained, and was made snobbishly happy 
thereby. 

The Tennyson children seem to have had very 
decided scribbling tendencies. It is asserted 
that the whole dozen wrote stories and rhymes 
in the parsonage at Somersly, where they were 
born, so that nothing better 'could be expected 
than that one of them should prove to be a cel- 
ebrated poet. The three eldest sons were gradu- 
ated at Cambridge. Frederic won the prize for 
a Greek poem. Alfred, in hi<< 20th year, re- 
ceived the Chancellor's medal for "Timbucto," 
— a poem of some 300 blank verse lines; aud 
about the same time the twain published for 
private circulation a small volume entitled 
"Poems by Two Brothers." Charles, the other 
brother, assumed orders, was made Vicar of 
Grasby,and on inheriting a handsome estate 
through bis paternal grandmother, took her 
family name, Turner. Ample means prevented 
him from inky continuance; but Frederic, when 
he, was past 40, published a collection of poems. 
"Days and Hours." 

Tennyson is, in his mode, of composition, the 
very reverse of rapid or inspired. He wreaks 
himself on expression, spending hours some- 
times on a single line. As an example, he is 
reported to have written "Come into the Gar- 
den, Maud," in bis poem of "Maud," entirely 
over fifty times, and to have occupied three 
whole days on six of the lines. No poet has 
ever worked harder or more faithfully, aud he 
never assumes to have done anything in a fine 
frenzy, which, indeed, he censures and ridicules 
as a pretense of mediocre minds. 

He holds that genius can accomplish nothing 
without work; that every thing famous in liter- 
ature is the result of great labor. His tastes are 
domestic. Ik is fond of home and family, though 
lie is likewise tond of nature, taking many long, 
solitary rambles on the Isle of Wight, where he 
has lived ever since his marriage, making studies 
of earth and sky to be used in his poems. 

He may be pronounced very professional. No- 
body admires his poetry more than himself, and 
he is very much addicted to talk about it. He 
docs not sink the shop when be has anybody to 
listen to him whom he imagines to beappre- 
ciatr J 






/ 



CHRI STMAS PO ETR T. 

No anniversary has ever called forth such a 
wealth of poetical expression, festive, lender, 
hopeful and religious, as the one recurring to-day. 
Tbc occasion is itself a poem, and one eminently 
adapted to our homes and hearts at this hoar, for 
it betokens not joy alone but joy arising from 
sorrow, not triumph merely, but triumph when 
defeat was imminent. At this season nature 
seems dead, but beneath her icy Blamber throbs 
an unquenchable life, which tho sun, long chilled 
and powerless, is returning to kindle into beauty. 
We do not yet see even the beginning of tke end, 
but we know that the silent process has com- 
menced. The grasp of winter is not now or 
speedily to be relaxed, but the fiery sword that 
shall sever its strained sinews is already drawn 
and gleaming. Beneath the past beat the pulses 
of the future, as from the cerements of a dead 
Judaism came the Jiving Babe whose kingdom is 
everlasting. This is eminently the festival of 
childhood, for the hope of the world is in its 
children at this moment as fully as in the hour 
when Herod sent out to destroy them because the 
hope of humanity involved his personal fear. 
And it is fit that we should commence our poeti- 
cal selections with three verses of a simple, child- 
ish hymn: — 

Tis Christmas clay! glad voices 
Reptat the pleasant sound; 

And nappy facf s in our home 
And loving looks abound. 

Why do we greet this Christmas morn? 

It is the day that Christ was born. 

With little gifts that tell our love, 

With garlands on the wall, 
With thankful hearts and helpful haras, 

We keep a festival 
Why do we thus keep Christmas mora ? 
It is the day that Cnrist was born. 

And on this Cnristmas morning, 
When the trost is at the door, 

Dear child, in your warm, pleasant home, 
Think of the sick and poor : 

So shall you well kfep Cnristmas morn, 

Th« Hftv ntir Saviour. Christ. wn.« born. 

PK1BAY, BEU. 35, 18 «S. 

The Christmas Observances. 

Our British forefathers called Christmas "the 
Merry Yule tide;" and this designation is still 
current in many rural districts of the "three 
kingdoms." Yeul, or Yule, was a festival, cele- 
brated on the day which we make the 25th of 
December, in Great Britain, and, in all the coun- 
tries from India to Norway, for a great many 
ages before Christianity appeared. It was the 
"Festival of the Unconquercd Sun." The 25ih of 
our December was the time when the sun, hav- 
ing reached its greatest distance from our herois- 
phere.began to return and lengthen thedays. The 
observance of this day originated in planet wor. 
ship, which made it one of the greatest and mcit 
joyous festivals of the year. The first preachers 
of Christianity, not being able to suppress this 
old institution of sun-worship, baptized it, and 
allowed it to be appropriated by their joyous 
reverence for Christmas day, nearly all the old 
ceremonies and methods of the celebration being 
re aincd. 

After the time of the apostles, it seems to have 
been the policy of those who introduced Chris- 
tianity into unchristian countries, to convert, 
not only the people, but, also, mauy of the cus- 
toms, festive days, holy places, and ceremonies 
of the old religion. In Great Britain, the Druid 
circles or temples became places of Christian 
worship, and Christian meanings and uses were 
found for customs and rites of the form of 
worship it displaced. When Pope Gregory, to- 
wards the end of the sixth century, sent St. 
mstin to convert the Anglo-Saxons ol 
Jritain, he directed him to "accommodate the 
ceremonies of the Christian worship, as much 
as possible, to those of the heathen, that the 
people might not be too much startled by the 
change; and, in particular, he advised him to al- 
low the converts, on certain occasions, to kill 
and eat as great a number of oxen to the plory 
of God as they had formerly done to the honor 
of the devil." Christianity bad already pursued 
this policy with the Keltic people of Brit- 
ain, who began to receive it live centuries earlier; 
ind it had already converted the great yeul 
feast of the Kelts into a Christian festival. 



ft 



6 



<: 



Nearly all the old rites, festivities, pageants, 
ani superstitious observances were appropriated 
Tae evergreen decorations, the soused boar's 
hoid, the Yale log, the wassail bowl, the die- 
guisings, the wassail songs or carols, the twelve 
holidays culled Y. Gwylian in the old British 
tongue, the Twelfth Night revels, the custom of 
Christmas gifts, and even the very name, Yule" 
tide, itself,— all belonged to the old festival to the 
returning sua. Sometimes, the Christmas cere- 
monies differed very little from the old festivi- 
ties, save in being more bacchanalian. This origin 
of the Caristmas revels is admitted by all anti- 
quaries. Of one custom, still very general, 
Polydore Vergil says:— "the custom of trim- 
ming temples and houses with hangings, flowers, 
boughs, and garlands, was taken from the heath- 
en." And an English antiquary tell us, that, 
"wherever Druidism prevailed, the houses were 
decked with evergreen, in December." 

In the course of time, additions were made to 
the old observances. At an early period, "plays 
and masques were introduced, with games at 
dice and dancing;" for these thiugs were con- 
demned in vain by councils in the 5tb, 6th, and 
7th centuries. The addition of "miracle plays," 
tovvarJs the end of the 11th century, was an im- 
provement, although these plays were very 
homely, and, sometimes, very droll. At a later- 
period came the "Moralities," consisting chiefly 
of allegorical personifications; and, in their train, 
came Punchinello or Punch, and Harlequin, im- 
ported from Italy. One eld writer suggested 
that it may have been their business to serve as 
'the Vices of the Moralities." At all times, eat 
iug and drinking constituted a principal part of 
the Christmas festivities. From time immemo- 
rial, it bad been settled by the old sun-worship- 
pars of Britain, that the first dish, to be eaten at 
the beginning of the celebration, must be a 
soused boar's head; and so it was after the festi- 
val was christianized. A large use of the was 
sail bowl was indispensable; and the other pro- 
visions for feasting were innumerable. Frere, 
describing the dainties of King Arthur's Christ- 
mas, says: — 

"They served up salmon, venison, and wild boars, 
By hundreds and by dozens and by scores. 
Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard, 
'Muttons, and fatted beeves, and bacon swine; 
Herons and bitterns, peacocks, swan, and bustard, 
Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and, in fine, 
Plum-puddings, pancakes, apple-pies and custard, 
And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine, 
With mead, and ale, and cider of our own, 
For porter, punch, and negus were not known." 

Pus of every variety, and in Urge quantities, 
were deemed essential. Tue old Yeul-feast 
seems to have created the mince-pie. At any 
rate, here is a recipe for making mince- 
pies for this festival, which, it is said, came 
down from drurdrcal ages before the Christian 
Era, and was preserved by the old Britons of 
Cornwall: — A pound of beef suet chopped fine; 
a pound of raisins stoned and chopped fine; a 
pound of currants clean and dry; a pound of 
apples choppei fine; two or three eggs; allspice 
beat fine; sugar to your taste; a little salt; as 
much brandy and wine as you like; and add a 
piece of citron. 

The Christmas pies, however, wero not all of 
the minced variety. The New Castle (England) 
Chronicle of January G, 1770, described as fol- 
lows another sort of Christmas pie:— "Monday 
last, there was brought from Howick to Berwick, 
to be shipped for London for Sir Henry Grey, 
Bart., a pie, the contents whereof were as fol- 
lows:— 2 bushels of flour; 20 pounds of butter; 
4 geese; 2 turkies; 2 rabbitts; 4 wild ducks; 2 
woodcocks; 6 snipes; 4 partridges; 2 neat's 
tongues; 2 curlews; 7 blackbirds; and 6 pigeons. 
It is supposed to be a great curiosity, and wes 
made by Mrs. Dorothy Patterson, housekeeper 
at Howick. It was nine feet iu circumference at 
bottom, weighed 12 stone (168 lbs), and will take 
two men to present at table. It is neatly fitted 
with a case, and has four small wheels to facili- 
tate its use by every guest at table." 

This may have been the most notable Christ- 
mas pie ever described in a newspaper. It prob- 
ably reached London in time for the Twelfth Night 
revels. We must , suppose, however, tbat more 
remarkable pies than this were made and eaten, 
without record, during the great ages of the 
"Merry Yule tide." The Anglo-Saxons did not 
allow the eating and drinking ceremonies of the 



and In some districts of Scotland, where they 
were always more decent. than they finally be- 
came under Anglo Saxon and Norman in- 
fluence; and where there seems to have been re- 
t.rincd a more implicit belief in all the popular 
superstitions of the old Yeul feast. 

The Christmas observances encountered the 
stern hostility of the Puritans, because they bad 
become almost as offensive to morality and de- 
cency, as the worst revels of the Roman Satur- 
nalia. . In a book on "Scotch Presbyterian Elo- 
quence," is lire following:— "One preaching 
against the Christmas observances, said:— 'Ye 
will say, sirs, Youl Day; I tell you, Fool Day. 
Ye will say, it is a brave holiday; I tell you, it is 
a brave belly day." There was an inflexible 
crusade against the Christmas revels, while 
Cromwell and the Puritans were in power. An 
order of Parliament, datad Dec. 24, 1652, directed 
tbat "no observation shall be had ot the five and 
twentieth day of December, commonly called 
Christmas day, nor any solemnity used in 
churches, upon that day, in respect thereol." 
And mourners for the suppressed jollity, said:— 
"Gone are the golden days of yore, 
When Christmas was a high day, 
Whose sports we now shall see no more • 
Tis turned into Good Friday." 
Certainly, Christmas had become a very "hii:h 
day." The Puritans may have been too em- 
phatic and sweeping in their hostility; bur, 
it cannot well be denied, that tbey have good 
reason for their condemnation of the wild revel 
ings of the Christmas holidays. Their feeling 
was just; but their methods of reform were not 
always those best calculated to secure perma- 
nent snecess; nevertheless, the riotous jollity 
gluttony, aud drunkenness, that had dishonored 
Yule-tide, nevdr recovered from the effects of the 
Puritan crusade. The subsequent attempts to 
revive the old "sports," were not very success- 
ful; and, since that age, they have steadily de- 
clined. It is noteworthy, that, their existence 
was maintained with most tenacity, among the 
Keltic ^peopje^ of Great Britain, as iu Cornwall, 

The Christinas Decoration of Church**. 
Ill all ages flowers aud evergreeas have been 
used as symbols of peace, joy and happiness, 
and the custom of decorating our churches with 
them at Christmas is so ancient and so universal 
as to need hardly any comment. The heathen 
nations were accustomed to 'use th'jm at their 
religious ceremonies, and should not Christians 
be glad to decorate their sanctuaries with the 
emblems of joy and love? We remember when 
our Saviour entered Jerusalem, how the people 
cut down palm branches and strewed the way 
before him as a token of honer and respect, and 
so now docs the church delight to decoraic his 
house at the celebration ot the anniversary of 
the birth of his only son. 

We believe that a few suggestions from one 
who has had a great deal to do with the decora- 
tion of .^lurches and other places may not come 
amiss at this time. One or' the greatest faults in 
trimming churches is a desire to do too much, 
with the impression that the more greens used 
the better. The decorations should add to the 
beauty of the church and not make it look like a 
ballroom. A few greens judiciously arranged 
look batter than a host of branches and festoons 
stuck up in every available spot. Extremes are 
to be avoided. Many congregations are opposed 
to any elaborate display on the ground that the 
church is defaced and injured. A church that 
is too good to be dccoralcd tor their festival had 
better not have been built. Better to teach the 
young to love and venerate the holy seasons than 
to stand in awe of painted and varnished walls. 
A custom is becoming general of having sen- 
trices of scripture and emblems of holy things 
upon the walls. These may be made of velvet 
paper, or of pasteboard covered with glue^and 
sprinkled with the leaves of hemlock. The lat- 
ter, however, require care and skill in execution. 
Some competent person should be selected to 
superintend the trimming, and all th« youn"- 
members ot the congregation should join in 
helping. It is astonishing how much can be 
done in one evening when ali take hold with a 
will. It is beat that some place other than the 
church should be used in the preparation of the 
wreaths, etc. 

Of tire emblems used tire I. II. S. is probably 
the most common. These letters are initials of 
the Latin Jesus Hominum Sal vator, which trans- 
lated mean "Jesus the Saviour of Men The Al 
pha and Omega signify "the firsthand the last:" 
the Inangle signifies the Trinity, "three per- 
sons and one God;" a circle conveys the idea of 
ctsrmty, without end. The two Greek letters 
resembling the English X and P are used to- 
gether, representing the two first letters of the 
.■eraaria'c 'Jirristos or Christ. An anchor typifies 
- noorw - . A pure white dove with outspread 'wings 
may be suspended by a line wire "over theYron% f 
representing the Holy Ghon. Crosses are » 



I 






— «•— 



ways used, but siioutu nave a i>ase. ine Koman 
cross is the must common, but is frequently 
made out of proportion. The cross and head- 
piece should be of the same length, terminating 
in the trefoil. The Maltese cross is formed of 
four triangles meeting at the centre. The use of 
the star at Christinas is being gradually dis- 
pensed with, but it is added to the decorations 
on the feast of Epiphany. 

A very pretty way of trimming the column is 
to wind them with a strong cord and then place 
branches of laurel hemlock between, almost con- 
cealing the piilar. When a little pains is taken 
this has the effect of vines covering the columns. 
Strips of lathing covered in the same way make 
a good substitute for wreaths for bending into 
arches. Great care should be taken in making 
wreaths to wind them on short cord or rope, 
tying the greens securely and turning it as it is 
made. 

The altar cloth should be made of white, and / 
may be trimmed with a delicate vine surround- . 
ing an inscription appropriate to the occasion. 
In the High church candles are placed upon the 
altar and lighted for evening service. Bouqusts 
of flowers are also used with good effect. *■ 

The use of large trees in and around the chaD- 
cel ought to be prohibited, as they intercferenot 
only with the officiating clergyman, but are in 
the way of communicants. Of all the greens we 
prefer laurel, as its dark, glossy leaves keep g«od 
during the whole season they "remain. Hemlock 
should not be used except in places where it is 
not disturbed, as after a' few days its leaves drop 
off, leaving only the bare twigs. The font 
should be trimmed with leaves of "crowsfoot"or ' 
"princess pines," or holly berries, or when 
convenient with white roses or camelias. A 
cross of white flowers with green back-ground / 
looks well upon the altar. The wreaths upon 
the pulpit and reading desk, and around the al- 
tar, should be made of pure evergreens, and care 
should be taken to guard against any branches : 
sticking out. Where festoons are use! in the 
body of the church the organist shonld be con- 
sulted, as they are often so placed as to interfere ! 
with the music. Monograms and inscriptions 
around the chancel look best in the old En°-|ish 
or German text letter; those in the body of the 
church in plain English. 

How Victor Hugo "Suffers Little i 
Children."— The particulars of the French an- I 
thor Victor Hugo's Christmas entertainment, to 
some 40 poor children of all countries and relig- 
ions, at his island home of Guernsey, are very 
charming. Food, clothing and toys having been 
distributed, the poet thus spoke : — 

"Ladies and Gentlemen,— You are aware of 
the object of this little meeting. It is what, for 
want of a better term, I call the festival of poor 
little children. I desire to speak of it in the hum- 
blest terms, and with this feeling I would bor- 
row the simplicity of one of these little ones who 
now hear me. To do good to poor children, as 
far as I am able, is the object that I have in view. 
Believe me, there is no merit in the act, and what 
I say I sincerely mean. There is no merit in do- 
ing for the poor what we can, for what we can 
do it is a duty to do. Do you know anything 
more sad than the sufferings of children? When 
we suffer — we who are men — we suffer justly, we 
enci ure nothing but what we deserve; but chil- 
dren are innocent, and suffering innocence is it 
not the saddest thing in nature? Here Provi- 
dence entrusts us with a portion of its own func- 
tions. God says to man— I confide to thee the 
child. And he does not confide to us our own 
children alone — for it is simply natural that we 
should have care for them— and the brute obeys 
this law of nature, better sometimes than man 
himself. God entrusts us with all the children 
that suffer. To be the father— the mother of 
poor children— this is our highest mission. To 
have towards them the parental feeling is to 
h ive a fraternal feeling towards humanity." 

M. Victor Hugo expressed a hope that the de- 
plorable term of "ragged" would soon disappear 
from tho beautiful and noble English laneuage, 
and also that there would be no longer a fagged 
class. He then dwelt on the fact that cholera 
had not attacked one ot the children thus fed in 
London. Nothing, he thought, could speak 
more forcibly in favor of the institution, and he 
left the result to the consideration of those who 
now heard him, concluding in the following 
terms :— "Here, ladies and gentlemen, here is my 
excuse for describing to you what takes place 
here. This is what justifies the publicity given 
to the dinner to the 40 children. It is that from 
this humble origin there arises a considerable 
amelioration in the condition of suffering inno- 
cence. To relieve children— to train them into 
men— such is our duty. I will add but one word 
more. There are two ways of building churches. 
Ihey may be built of stones— they may be built 
of flesh and bone. The poor wfiom you have 
succored are a church that you have built from 
whence prayer and gratitude asceud to God." 



Victor Hugo's Christmas.— Every fourteen 
days M. Hugo gives a dinner to 40 poor children 
and on Christmas he gathers them altogether 
and gives them a fete. On the last occasion M 
Hugo made a few remarks, from which we quote' 
Hi says; 

Several English and foreign journals bad hon- 
ored him by inserting in their columns an ac- 
count of this, his annual holiday, and described 
it as a most noble action and good conduct on 
his part. For himself he must most emphatical- 
ly declare such was not the case— it was not even 
a good action, it was but the performance of a 
duty, the duty of those who possessed toward 
those who did not possess, silence was a pri- 
mary law of good action. A good acrion should 
be done secretly. But it was different with duty. 
It was pubuc property. Its publication was oc- 
casionally calculated to be of the most infinite 
service to humanity. 

To publish simply as the performance of a 
good action the fact of M. Hugo's bestowing 
every fourteen days a good healthy meal to forty 
poor children of the island, was erroneous and 
unnecessary, but as being the means of causing 
an infinite amount of benefit to accrue to thou- 
sands of other poor children whose claims to the 
sympathy and charity to the well-to-do and afflu- 
ent were equally urgent as those of his own pro- 
teges. He desired the fact to be made known as 
much as possible, and that his conduct and ex- 
ample in this respectshould evury where be adapt- 
ed oy those who had the means of carrying it 
out. M. Hugo referred to the fact of his plan 
having been most successfully adopted in differ- 
ent parts of England and America, and alluded 
to two institutions in Loudou where his plan had 
met with great success. 
He continued: 

"The original idea of this work is not mine 
but a great-and noble example of Jesus Christ 
bmite parvulos venire ad me. (Suffer little 
children to come unto me.) Let the children 
of the poor cuter the houses ot the rich. But 
according to my ideas there are no rich for 
God gives man nothing, but only lends us the 
blessings we possess. God causes mc to open 
my doors to the poor, and by His mercy am I 
enabled to be the humble instrument of His gra- 
cious and generous intentions." 

He observed that he only adopted in his con- 
duct the example of Jesus Christ, whose religion 
embraced the principles of equality, fraternity 
and benevolence. He further observed: "There 
are two kinds of wealth, external and internal 
External wealth is money; internal wealth, 
health for the body, morality for the -soul. Ex- 
ternal wealth fadetii and passeth away. Inter- 
nal weaith never dies. 
M. Hugo closes as lollows • 
"There is a faith common to all religions- 
God. There is a sympathy known to all men- 
Childhood. It is in this faith and with this sym- 
pathy we are here met today. Accident only 
has made these children poor. Hitherto the fes- 
tivities of Christmas seem only to exist for the 
children of the rich— not for the poor. This 
shouldnotbe; if there be not joy and pleasure 
amid a child's life, that life becomes a blank. 
After the repast I have given these children, I 
present them with what i,s most useful to them, 
and then I cause them to receive toys which will 
make them happy, and bring joy, and mirth, 
and gladness to their dull and poor homes. 1 
think now I have done my duty toward these 
poor innocents." 

After this the doors were thrown open, and a 
Christmas tree loaded with useful presents was 
disclosed to the eager gaze of the children, who 
s jou departed, well fed, well clothed and happy. 

v V / . 

C'hristinaa Bells. 

I heard the bells on Christmas day 
Their old, familiar car its play, 

.And wild and sweet 

The words repeat 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

And thought how, as the day had come, 
The belfries of all Christendom 

Had rolled along 

The uubrokeu son? 
Of peace ou earth, good-will to men! 

Til), ringing, singing on its way, 

The world revolved from night to day, 

A voice, a chime, 

A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men! 

Then from each black, accursed mouth 
The cauuon thundered in the South, 

And with the sound 

The carols drowned 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

It was as if an earthquake rent 
The hearthstones of the continent, 

And made forlorn 

The households born 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! 

And in despair I bowed my head, 
"There is no peace on earth," I said; 

"I 1 or hate is strong 

And meek the song 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men 1" 



Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. — Shukspeare 



Defile not your mouth with impi 



Then pealed the bells more loud and deep; 
"bod is not dead; nor doth he sleep! 

I ii • Wrong shsil fail, 

The lugbt prevail, 
With peace ou earth, good-will to men !" 

[H. W. Longfellow. 



Every flower enjoys the nir it brenthes. — 1. ontgotnery^ 



At midnight on Christmas eve it is the cus- 
tom throughout England and the continent to 
ring all the bells. The churches in France and 
Italy are magnificently adorned, and a collation 
provided for the assembled multitude. In the 
Protestant districts of Germany and Northern 
Europe, Christmas is called the "children's festi- 
val." The Christmas tree, which has become an 
institution among us, is of German origin, and 
Christinas eve is devoted to giving presents, es- 
pecially between parents and children — bro hers 
and sisters — by means of the so-cahed Christmas 
tree. A large yew bough is erected in one of 
the parlors, lighted with tapers and hung with 
manifold gifts, each marked with the name of 
the person for whom it is intended, but not with 
the name of* the donor. The family party being 
assembled, the caduex are distributed amid joy- 
ful congratulations and happy romping. But a 
more sober scene ensues: lor the mother takes 
this occasion to point out to the daughters and 
the. fathers to the sons their errors aud short- 
coming*. 



CnniSTMAS Gifts.— In the early ages the 

gifts were offered upon the altar, to the church, 
as representing Christ himself, and were distri- 
buted by the almoners of the church to its needy 
members Afterwards the exchanging of gifts 
between relatives and friends came to be the gen- 
eral custom, while at the same time all united 
in contributions for those who were too poor to 
give gifts. So from the first ages of Christianity 
has come dov\ u to us this pleasant custom, and 
wherever Christ is known, as the Saviour of the 
world, the day of his birth is celebiated by the 
giving of presents. 

In tiiis country we are likely to bring the cus- 
tom into disrepute by the extravagaut use of it. 
The idea is getting quite too prevalent that only 
costly and elegant gifts are appropriate to the 
day, and the expectation of such gifts creates a 
sort of necessity for their purchase and distribu- 
tion, which becomes in many inftanees a real 
tax and burden. They manage those things bet- 
ter in the old countries. Among our German 
and English cousins there "is more of a mutual 
interchange of presents. The children give to 
the parents and to each other, as well as the 
parents to the children; nephews and nieces to 
nncles and aunts, as well as the reverse; and la- 
dies to lovers as well as the |boys to their sweet- 
hearts. And the gifts are generally simple aud 
inexpensive. Their value is not estimated by 
their cost in money, but by their appropriate- ~ 
ncSs and the affection that prompts them. Eve- 
rybody gives gifts to everybody within their 
circle, and the youngest enjoy the satisfaction 
of giving as well as of receiving. If the gift is 
but a bon-bon or a sweetmeat it is none the less 
acceptable and pleasant. 

Those who find it inconvenient to spend much 
money in mere toys and perishable articles of 
fancy, will find it good policy to eke out the 
day's gifts with articles of substantial value that 
will come into use in the economies of the sea- 
son.. They will be just as acceptable as mere 
toys. Good books are always valuable and mon 
ey invested in them gives the best returns. Of 
course the younger members of the family must 
have their toys and con.'ectiouery, and a flew 
coppers to buy their little presents to give to oth- 
ers. There is one sort of giving that is not suf- 
ficiently attended to, and yet 'is most like the 
custom of the primitive christians— not gifts of 
charity, but of christian good will to the poor. 
There are very many families where there are 
children's books that have been read and cast 
aside, and toys that the little ones have grown 
weary of, that are just as good as new, aud 
would give unbounded delight to the children of 
poorer families. Let the children who have all 
the toys anl books they want, be allowed to dis- 
tribute them on Christmas day among the poor 
children in their neighborhoods. It is a 
good time, too, tor those comfortable 
bachelors, who having no children ot their 
own to provide for, to distribute their gifts 
among the needy, to surprise some poor widow 
in the neighborhood with a miraculous barrel of 
flour or ton of coal, and so get out of the family 
holiday some of the satisfaction, from the full 
enjoyment of which celibacy hat excluded him. 
It is a good time for everybody to give gifts to 
the poor— surprise gifts to those whose honest 
pride will take offence at what seems au act of 
charity— and necessary and useful things to the 
poor and unfortunate. So shall the true signifi- 
cance of the Christmas holidays be experienced, . 
and their benefits be perpetuated. The festivi- ' 
ties of Yule are pleasant and profitable in them- 
selves, eveu if we forget their significance. If 
we wisely combine their gieat spiri ual ideas 
with the joyful observance of all their pleasant 
customs, we realize, the whole of the Christian 
scheme, which provides for the happiness of the 
present as well as the futurc,and neither despises 
noraeglects anything that coutributes to human 
welfare and enjoyment. 



New Year akd Christmas. — Why " merry 
Christmas" and "happy New Year;" and why 
not the c< nditions transposed? When little folks 
ask \ou this question, tell them that merriment 
is only proper as a temporary condition, and 
hen< e is only desirable for a day— Christm is day. 
But happiness is tor a longer period, and there- 
fore is appropriate as applied to a pariod — a New 
Year. 



Christmas Carols. 

Tlie children sung a song this Christmas mo- 
Mellow and clear, outside my chamber r 1 

Waking me softly from my pleasant dreaming 
Of unforgotten Christmas days of yore. 

Sweetly they simg, my neighbor's happy children, 
Two merry girls and one glad-hearted boy, 

Repeating oft (heir song's rejoicing burden,— 
"On Christmas morn the aHigels sing for joy!" 

Sweetly they sung; but ah ! their cheerful voices 
Broke up my soul's deep founts of hidden woe, 

And pressing down my face against the pillow, 
I iet the bitter torrent overflow. 

Missing the little child that warbled softly 
Two years ago to-day a song like this, 

And when the joyful melody was ended, 
Held «p her sweet mouth for a Christmas kiss. 

Only one Christmas ere my fair-eyed darling 
Lisped of dear Santa Clans her dreams among, 

Only »n(j Christmas morn, white-r»bed, and joyiul— 
L.fte«i her clear voice in a Christmas song. 

I see her little figure standing tiptoe, 
I'o hang her dainty stockingon the wall;— 

O. sinless heart! O, perfect faith of childhood, 
Believing everything, and trusting all. 

Peace, aching heart! O, iet me trust entirely, 

With faith and strength that nothing can destroy, 

That my sweet baby is among the angels 

Wilt, on this Christmas morning, sing for joy ! 
[Mrs. Akers. 



SATURDAY. DECEMBER 26, 1868. 



[For the Traveller.! 
AFTER CHRISTMAS. 



Tin 1 sm'd worn out with the noise and confusion, 
We retired to sleep ; oil, what a de'.usion ! [house," 
" 'Iwas the night after Christmas, and all thro' the 
There were noises that didn't sound much like a mouse. 
The creatures were stirring, and the children up stairs 
Made such singular 'sound after saying their prayers, 
We felt that they certainly must be distressed; 
So wo jumj ed out of bed,— and I'll tell you the rest: 
We called to the servants for hot cloths and water, 
For fage tea, for hop tea, and pepper that's hotter; 
We stumbled o'er toy?, and we tumbled o'er clair. , 
We flew through the halls and ran down the stair.-, 
Cursing St. Nick., who brought candies and toys, 
With sorrow and sickness for our girls and boys. 
Cff for a doctor I ran in a fright, 
In the smallest and darkest hours of the night. 
He came, and we watched o'er the children till morn : 
There was never a night since the day I was born 
That I suffered so much, both in body and mini. 
As the night which left thelast Christmas behind. 
Our children recovered after mgny a day, 
But the Doctor died, I am quite sorry tp say ; 
His surname WW Bac.ui, his life was insured, 
They tried hard to save him, but he couldn't bp cured. 
Xtijjfon Corner. Neax. 

SEVERAL DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS. 



The feasting of Christmas is over and past, 

The turkey, and pudding, and cake, 
And pits, ard confections, are eaten at last, 
By the children who shovelled them iu so fast; 
And many a child has stayed awake 
At night with a cer'ain familiar ache, 
Which follows on eating more than enough 
Of pudding and turkey, and all suoh stuff. 

That funny old humbug Kriss Kringell, 
"VV bom the boys and girls love so well, 
lias had the sense to go and clear out, 
And he's up the chimney or up the spout; 
And the boys and girls are beginning to count; 
And trying to reckon the whole amount 

Of the jolly old lot 

Of the presents thoy got, 
And we'll help to reckon them on the spot 

Betsie and Susie ard Maria declare 

That their elegant dolls have lose their hair, 

And maiked their faces, and bruised their eyes, 

Aid suiiered mishaps on this wise. 

Jimmy's horse has lost Its tail, 

And his woolly dog, so curly and frail, 

Hn shed about a ttacup full 

Ci his principal ornament, namely, his wool; 

An! Johnny's drum 

TO grief has co< e, 

Ami is mute and dumb, 
And no better than dead— 
Is or Johnny's punched in the back of its head, 

In ord< r that lie 

The better might seo 
The irside of the drum, 
And so find out where flip sound came from. 



A Holiday Gift. — The Christmas bells --111 
soon be chiming. Already the streets ant 
liant with the holiday throngs: The windows 
sparkle in the happy sunshine, and admiring 
eyes look in with answering joy. Beautiful gilts! 
Everything so handsome and gay — so bright and 
cheery. But how many heart* there are in all 
the multitude that would rather hare one hour of 
n husband's love and sympathy than all the glit- 
ter of the palatial shops. How many that would 
rather have one hour of husband's love— one 
sweet kiss of affection— one gentle word of trust 
and admiration — than everything that money 
could buy. Alas I for the homes forsaken 1 Alas! 
for the hearts that are breaking! Shall we not 
all make love and kindness our holiday gifts ? 



A CHRISTMAS STORY. 

BY OLIVE RAYMOND. 

" Mother, do you believe Santa Claus 
will come down our chimney to-night? 
Billy Ware says he's coming down theirs, 
and that he comes down all the chimneys, 
and brings presents to all the children on 
Christmas night. I don't see how he can 
get through that fire-board, though. 
Mother, won't you please take it out, just 
to-night, so that he can get through easy ? 
I'm afraid he'll go up chimney again, and 
take all our presents back, if you don't 
take it away. Do, please._ Say, will you, 
Mother f" 

Mrs. Hall did not reply immediately, ! 
but looked very sad. 

" Mother, why don't you speak? Won't . 
Santa Claus come to-night ? 
" I'm afraid not, my clear Johnny." 
" Why not ? He is going to other j 
houses; why won't he come to ours? He 
used to come when father was here." 

"Yes, my son, we all had Christmas 
gifts then ; but things are not as they were 
then. We were not poor then, as we are 
now." 

" But doesn't Santa Claus give presents 
to poor children ?" 

" Not always. I fear you will be dis- 
appointed, Johnny. I think you will have 
no presents to-morrow ; but I hope you 
will bear the disappointment like a little 
man." 

"What! no presents? — nor Lizzie, nor 
Tommy neither? Oh dear, oh dear, what 
shall we do !" 

Something very like tears appeared on 
Johnny's cheeks ; but he wished to be a 
little nian/so he brushed them away, and 
did not let any more come, though his 
* voice sounded a little bit like a sob as he 
said, " If only Lizzie, and Annie, and 
Tommy could have some pretty presents, 
I shouldn't care. Oh, mother, how nice 
it would be if Santa Claus would bring 
Lizzie a beautiful great wax doll, with red 
cheeks and blue eyes, and real curly hair. I 
saw one to-day in a window. It was almost 
as big as Lizzie. I wish he'd bring Annie 
a bird in a cage, and oh, lots of things ! 
And I wish he'd bring Tommy a sled, and 
skates, and a ball, and a top, and a knife, 
and oh, dear! ever and ever so many 
things ! I wonder if Annie will have any 
presents. She lives with rich people. 
Perhaps, when Santa Claus comes to 
their house, he'll give her something too." 
" She lived with rich people last Christ- 
mas ; but she had no presents. We may 
have no pretty gifts to-morrow, Johnny ; 
but we will try to have a pleasant Christ- 
mas without them," said Mrs. Hall, in a 
cheerful tone. " We will try to remember 
the good things we receive every day and 
every night." 

"Why, mother, 1 don't get presents 
every day and every night. I haven't had 
a presentfor ever so long." 

" Let us think, Johnny, and see if you 
have not. Every day you have food; 
have you not ?" 

Mrs. Hall was careful not to say break- 
fast, dinner, and supper; for some days 
they had but one meal, and not an abund- 
ance even for that. 
" Yes," said Johnny. 
"And clothing?" 

" Yes, mother ; but my coat is all 
darned and patched, and so are my pants. 
And my boots are ugly old things." 
" But vou are warm ?" 






k 



" Yes." 

" You are not often sick ?" 
" No, mother." 

"Then you have health; you have 
mother, sisters, and little brother, and a 
home." 

" Our room is cold, though, when you 
have only a little coal, and are afraid you 
can't get any more." 

"But many poor children in this great 
city have not even a house to cover them, 
and have to sleep out of doors, even the 
coldest winter nights; while you have a W@&£$fl 
warm bed to sleep in. Don't you think, " 
after all, that you have a great many good-! 
things ?" 
" But I'd like some pretty things." 
" I dare say you would, my son ; and I '% 
would like to be able to give you some. 
But, because we cannot have all that we 
wish, we must not forget how many good 
things we have, and that our good Heav- 
enly Father gives them all to us." 

Johnny was silent awhile. Then he 
said, "Our Sabbath-school teacher says 
that, if we want anything, we must ask 
God to give it to us; and that he will. I 
mean to ask him to make Santa Claus 
bring us some presents to-morrow. Oh, 
I'm so glad I thought of it ! I mean to 
ask him now. Then I'll get right into bed, 
and go to sleep, so that Santa Claus can 
come. He will come, mother; now you 
see if he don't I" 

Johnny kissed his mother good-night, 
and went into their sleeping-room. Before 
undressing, he knelt by the side o* »*** w * 
tie bed, and his mother heard him com' 
mence his evening prayer in this way : 

"Dear God, won't you please send Sant»||||J|*^ 
Claus to bring us some presents? " J|l| 

After he was in bed, he called to his g)M 
mother, "Mother, I've asked God for " 
some presents ; and I know we'll hav* IU 
some." 

The other children had been asleep fofc|pf ffi|j || 
some time. Mrs. Hall seated herself in 
her neat but poor little room, to finish ft 
garment she was making for " the shop."^ 
She wished to take it home in the morn-*®? 
ing, and get the money due for it to buy 
food for the next day ; but she could noi 
sew. Sorrow was in her heart, and blind 
ing tears in her eyes. She thought of thi 
comfortable and happy home she and he* 
children had had until her husband ha 
left his business to go to the war. Shtjppppp| 
thought of his untimely and cruel death on. 
the battle-field ; of the necessity that com- 
pelled her to put her oldest child, Annie, 
a bright and good girl, out to service ; ofp 
her desire to educate her children ; of her jT 
own feeble health, and her fears that she ^ 
should not live to rear her little ones until ^ 
they could take care of themselves. These ^_ j-^/ 
thoughts made her weep. She was a ten- ^'- \^jf 
der mother, and loved to make her children > ■i> '_'." ■■ 
happy. She thought of what she would jtJf'l^H 
like to do ; how she would love to surprisf fv*! ^*~ 
them on the morrow with a Christmaf ^ 
Tree, hung with all kinds of beautiful^' 
things. Johnny should have his wish for |A? 
his brothers and sisters, and for himself ^P 
everything that she knew he would like. 
She pictured to herself their surprise, and 
her own joy at seeing their happiness, and 
for a moment was tempted to murmur at 
whats?emed their hard lot; but bettei 
[ thoughts soon came to her mind. She re-s' 
membered that all the beautiful things in 
the world are at the disposal of a good 
: God, who distributes them according to 
his wisdom and love ; and she was com- 1||§ 
/orted by the thought that, if her children IA-'; 





I 



II 



were denied these things, it was for their 
good. She resolved to make the day aa 
happy as she could by telling them storieg 
of the beautiful Christ Child whose birth 
j the day commemorates, and thu» increast 
I their lore for him, and cause the day to 
; ; bring them higher and more lasting happi. 
• j ness than it would bring to those chrldren 
! who had only their splendid presents, and 
I j who were not taught anything of the 
i meaning and associations of the day. 

Just as she was preparing to go to her 

1 1 bedroom, she heard a gentle tap on the 

j door; and, on opening it, to her surprise, 

saw Annie and another girl, with large 

kets on their arms. 

" Why, girls, what brought you here at 

' this late hour?" 

"Speak low, mother," said Anna, in t> 
whisper, "so as not to wake the children. 
Oh, mother, I'm so happy ! Just look in 
these baskets," as she set them on the 
table, " and see what Mrs. Sprague and 
her children have sent you." As she 
spoke, she took off the cover ; and there on 
the top was a doll— not wax, like the one 
Johnny wished for, but a lovely one, with 
red cheeks, and blue eyes, and real flaxen 
carls, dressed in white and blue. She wa* 
as pretty a doll as could be. Then came 
, ball, and a top, and a knife, and books 
with beautiful pictures in them, and nice 
warm mittens, and comforters, and stock- 
tags for each of the children. Mrs. Hall 
was not forgotten. For her there .were « 
dress, gloves, collars, etc. Indeed, I can'* 
enumerate, all the pretty and useful thing* 
those two baskets contained. There were 
paper cornucopias, too, filled with can- 
dies, and nuts, and raisins, and cakes. 

Mrs. Hall could hardly speak, so great 
were her gratitude and joy at being able, 
after all her regret, to see her children 
made happy, as she knew they would-be. 
" How kind, how very good I" was all 
she could say. 

"But wait, mother; something else ii 
coming. This is not all. There he is," 
said Anna, as she opened the door wide to 
admit Patrick, with a large market-basket 
in one band and in the other a Christina* 
Tree, fa.stenedinto a board which was cov- 
ered with green moss. " Is it not beauti- 
ful ? Oh, how happy you will all be when 
the children wake in the morning," said 
Annie. 

Patrick placed the tree on the table, and 
uncovered the basket, which contained a 
fine turkey, vegetables, pies, apples— every- 
thing, indeed, necessary for a nice dinner. 
It seemed as if that basket, too, held more 
than any basket Mrs. Hall had ever seen, 
so nicely was everything packed into it! 
Then Patrick took from his pocket an en- 
velope, and handed it to Mrs. Hall. She 
opened it, and there was a "greenback," 
and these words, "For Mrs. Hall, with • 
Merry Christmas from Santa Claus." 

Now a month's rent, that had caused so 
much anxiety, could be paid. Johnny 
could have new boots ; and many little 
comforts for them ali could be obtained. 
"Now let us fix up the tree, and hf.ng 
the small things on it," said Annie. 

They cleared the table, covered it with 
a nice white cloth, and stood the tree in 
the middle. Then they hung strings of 
popped corn in festoons from branch to 
branch : and put on little colored 
tapers, and balls— red, white, blue,^ 



| gilded— all of wnich Mrs. Sprague in her 
| thoughtfulness had put in the baskets | 
. and in front, in the most conspicuous 
1 place, they hung the doll ; and from other 
branches the cornucopias, etc. The largei 
articles were placed around the tree on th« 
table; also dishes filled with the orangoe, 
apples, nuts, and raisins. Such a beautf. 
ful sight as it was I Certainly more beau, 
tiful than had ever been seen in that hum- 
ble room before. 

After all was arranged, Annie, Susan 
and Patrick left Mrs. Hall alone to admire 
the tree, and to think of the kindness of the 
friends who had given so much pleasure 
and of the goodness of God in prompting 
them to do it. She remembered Johnny's 
prayer, and the certainty with which he 
had expected an answer; and she re- 
, solved in future to try to exercise the same 
simple and earnest faith herself. 

The next morning, when the little ones 
saw the tree— but I need not tell you 
dear children, what they said and did; 
how Johnny danced and capered for joy* 
and said he knew " for certain sure," when 
he asked God to send Santa Claus with 
presents, that he would come; nor how 
little Lizzie toddled about all day, nursing 
and singing to her " doll baby," as she 
called it; nor how she said it was the 
" very prettiest doll baby that ever was" • 
nor how many questions they asked about 
everything; nor what they said about the 
good Christmas dinner ; nor how Tommy 
made his top spin, and blew his horn, and 
whittled with his knife, and looked at the 
picture-books. You can imagine what 
you would have done and said ; and how 
you would have felt if you had been poor 
like them, and if kind friends had sent you 
such nice presents. You would all have 
been overjoyed, I know. You would 
have danced, and capered, and sung too; 
and when dinner-time came, and you sat 
down to a table spread with such good 
things, with enough and more than enough 
of them— why, your faces would have 
looked, if possible, more bright and beam- 
ing than they will on Christmas mornings 
when you open your eyes, and see the 
beautiful things prepared for you by lor» 
ing friends. It was truly a joyful ci&y in 
Mrs. Hall's house. 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 
Backward we turn our eager eyea 
Upon this glorious Christmas morn, 
And in the distant, purplo dawn, 
We see the form of Christ arise : 
Tho Christ with tender human heart, 
And subtle vision to discern 
The wants and griefs which thrill and burn 
In all who tread life's busy mart : 

The Christ who dared assail with might 
The social wrongs that then were rife, 
And in the work gave up Ids life 
On Calvary's lonely mountain height. 

And through the lengthening centuries rings 

His voice, as calm, as firm, as clear, 

As when it rose in far Judca; 

And strength and comfort still it bringg. 

"Brothers," he cries, "the way is hard, 

Yet fear not if your hearts are true ; 

But bravely strive your work to do, 

And God will ayo his faithful guard. 

Faint not when darkly falls tho night, 

But clasp me ilrmly by the hand; 

And thus we'll form a magic band 

To crush the wrong, and guard the right: 

To herald in glad Freedom's birth, 

To strike tho chains from Truth's swift feet, 

To cheer tho hearts that sadly beat, 

And bring God's Heaven upon tho earth." 



r 



«lf ■ i. A Cbri »t«nas Sketch. 

^•toS&JT to"***** might ddt," 

tl-S o^oS^^^es arc not hones « - 

Year!" the wMl Thou] 1 S Vi • A h ? P F y * JW 
the breath of HfcSki' ris ? and breitba 
move: make ll™!!^*™^ make then 



very excellent horsS iffbejSS mi SS'"! 
least once a year- mi-'hr ho iwSS n? mi 4 ht ri & at 

the humanity of man and the S of c,\. 
might be given a little restful joura'f inL tfd 

i;t!i \ C For V™ esof » Newsboy," we rsad that 

K newsbov d S" y l0 f ° U l' 0a &8Ef Day 
ioi a newsooj — from whom thev may <r°t a n»nw 

for papa-and have the foUowin ™c?af witbS = 

'Ain't you glad it's Christmas^ JosieaS' 
as questions seemed the fashion. ' 

I kinder am," replied the newsboy. 
Mary J ° U many P Kse ^^'' questioned 

'•™rln't E i™i yOU ' Wh °' d giTO ' em t0 ™> ** ?" 
Fred asked n4rUPy ° Ur stockia « lasI night?* 

tio^T^ 07 S( ? mcd ^ uch amused « «* ques- 
tion, for it was plam that he could hardly keen 
from laughing right out. > P 

...% no > I didn't," he answered. "Don't 
think things would stick in one long, if T di.il" 

"Do you put your money in a savings' bank ? 
By and by you'd have enough to build a house, 
may be, if you were careful, said Josie. 

"Jim and me likes takhv it out in eatin' best," 
answered Dick. 

"Why don't you bring me that paper?" cried 
their father's voice. And the two boys ran hasti- 
ly into the house. 

"You may have my candy," said Mary, in a 
stately way. "I can have plenty more." And 
she put her store of dainty French candy into the 
boy's hand, and, while he was still looking at her 
in amazement, followed her brothers into the 
house and shut the door. 

"Just you pinch me, Jim," Dick said, joining 
his companion. " Drive in hearty now. An't I 
asleep ?" 

"Well, I dunno; what yer got there?" 

"She give it to me." 

"Who's that?" 

"Her on the steps; didn't you see her?" 

"You tell that to the marines! Guess you took 
it?" 

"No, I didn't," Dick said, indignantly, "I never 
took nothin' as warn't mine, yet." 

"Let's have a look," said Jem, reaching out 
his hand for the package ; but Dick would not let 
him touch it. "I'm going to keep it always to 
remember her," he said. 

"Guess you want ter eat it yerself," Jim said. 
"I wouldn't be so mean." 

"I an't gen'rally called mean," Dick answered, 
with great dignity. 

"Don't you wonder, Jim," said Dick, as they 
made friends iir.d passed on — "don't it seem cu- 
rious how some folks is rich and purty like them 
there, and othtr^ is poor and ugly like me and 
you, Jim ?" 

"George! speak for yourself, if ye like. Guess 
I'd pass in a cr wci, if I'd the fine fixitis!" 



- 



VICTOR HUOO'S CHRISTMAS FETE. 

French liberalists are greatly pleased with the 
accounts just received of Victor Hugo's party to"" 
the poor children of his exile home at Guernsey, 
England, on the afternoon before Christmas. 
The gleesome objects of the poet's bounty were 
assembled in his dining-room, in which was 
spread a handsome and bountiful collation of 
cakes, sandwiches, fruit, wine, &c, with which 
the children were plentifully regaled, as were„also 
the erowd of visitors who were present. The re- 
past having been disposed of, the whole party 1 
proceeded to an adjoining room, in which was a 
long table covered with useful clothing and shoes_ 
for boys and girls, which were distributed among ~ 
the children. The generous host then made an 
address, in which he alluded to the \yidespread 
imitation of his example of caring for the dpi-" 
drenat Christmas time, claiming that over 120, OCX) 
were thus provided for in 1867 in England alone, 
and that Switzerland and America were not be- 
hindhand in thoughtfulness and benefactions. 
He said among other good things: — 

I shall never be weary of saying, Care for 
children. Human society is always more or less 
culpable. In that great offense in which we are , 
all implicated — an offense which is at one time — 
called law, at another custom — we know but one 
kind oi innocence, the innocence of children. 
Well, then, let us love that innocence, let us 
nourish it, let us venerate it, let us clothe it, let 
us give it bread and shoes, let us eare for it, let 
us enlighten it. H 



WAS IT ADEEAM? 

I had been listening intently to a discussion 
upon Metaphysics by a number of the learned 
men of "our time and generation." After the'y 
got through I retired to the balcony and .seat- 
ed myself in a large easy-chair that stood there. 
It was a beautiful moonlight evening ; the 
''honeysuckle and sweet-brier shed a delicious 
fragrance upon the air as they twined them- 
selves so lovingly around the pillars of the bal- 
cony. As the moonbeams shimmered through 
the green leaves, they cast fantastic shadows 
around. It was just the wierd-like kind of 
night to imagine the brownies and gnomes 
abroad. 

I sat there, revolving in my mind what each 
sect had said in favor of their own doctrine. 
That they had all been egotistical in their the- 
ory was too true.' The Orthodox had said, 
"My way is the true way ; the worship of God 
the Father, the Son and the Spirit, three in 
One." 

"Ah!" said the Universalist, "an ancestor 
in your faith has said that 'hell was paved with 
infants' skulls.' Now that is too horrible an 
item in your creed to have me adopt it." 

The Orthodox answered that that idea was 
becoming softened down, dying out, obsolete ; 
that he must not judge them by old-time tra- 
ditions. 

The Episcopalian averred that his way waB 
the way to approach the All-wise, — on. bended 
knee and head reverently bowed. The re- 
sponses made in the dim cathedrals would 
surely arise as sweet incense to "Our Father." 
The Unitarian said that he must be allowed 
to differ from his Orthodox friend as regarded 
the Deity; that he considered the Father and 
Son two distinct persons ; the Son subservient 
to the Father; for had he not said, "O, my 
Father, thy will, not mine, be done ?" and that 
one clause was enough to settle the question. 
The Universalist said he didn't see the use 
of disputing the question ; he thought all men 
would be saved ; they would "all be changed 
in the twinkling of an eye." 

I was deeply thoughtful. How could I tell 
which theory to adopt? each advocate had 
thought his own the true one ; how could I de- 
cide ? 

As I was thus debating in my mind what to 
_do, an old man, with silvery hair and a long, 
snow-white beard, approached, and addressed 
me thus : — 

"Why sittest thou there, vexing thy brain, 
when by going to the court of Prince Allah 
you can decide for yourself the way you ought 
to go ?" 

"But who is Prince Allah, and where does 
he hold his court ?" I asked. 

He answered, "I am on my way there, even 
now. If you will go with me I will tell you 
all about it before we arrive there." 

I arose to accompany the white-haired old 
man. As I walked by his side he told me this, 
— that Prince Allah was a very good and wise 
prince, who lived in a beautiful country where 
all was peace and harmony. That years ago 
he had sent many of his subjects — men, women 
and children, — into a far country to sojourn 
for awhile. As they went, he had given each 
of them a book, with certain commands writ- 
ten therein, which they must obey, or he should 
punish them when he recalled them from the 
land of their sojourn. 

"Now," said my guide, "though these com- 
mands were written as simply and distinctly as 
possible, that 'those who ran might read,' yet, 



strange as it may appear to you, those foolish "W e n x ivv ,, , 

people turned, twisted and wrangled over sa y?» '' ^ ^ >' ou t0 



them, till they each made it a criterion to suit 
themselves. 

"As Prince Allah recalls them, he judges 
them, not by the criterion they have assumed, 
but by the simple commands he gave them. 
We are now going to the Court of Judgment. 
-Listen and judge for yourself. One thing 
more I would say ere we enter. However 
much they have been enabled to deceive them- 
selves, or others, they cannot deceive the 
Prince. To him they are compelled to speak 
the plain, unvarnished truth." 

As the old man ceased speaking we entered 
what seemed to me a vast and beautiful coun- 
try. Nearly opposite where we entered stood 
the Prince, listening to confessions and passing 
judgment. At his right hand— the heart of 
'man cannot conceive of the beauties that were 
there portrayed ; at his left was impenetrable 
mist. 

The Prince was just listening to the confes- 
sion of a woman dressed in magnificent style, 
a Mrs. Miser. The first words I caught were :— 
"O, Allah, I was a good Christian; I at- 
tended church regularly ; I paid my tithes 
willingly, and I lived in the belief that you 
and your father were one. O, Allah, what 
more could I have done ?" 

"You could have given bread to your starv- 
ing sister when she begged it at your door; 
but you never gave a penny to a beggar in all 
your life. Go to my left ; through much trib- 
ulation and poverty shall you learn the sorrows 
of the miser's doom." 

Then there stepped forward an arrogant, 
haughty-looking man, dressed in clerical robes. 
He said : 



Mrs. Merciful answered :— "O, Allah' lam 
not worthy to stand in your presence. I have 
done nothing to recommend me to mercy • I 
have always been poor, therefore T could not 
give much ; and I " 

"But," said Allah, "when the beggar came, 
to your door for bread, did you turn him away ' 
empty-handed ?" 

"O, no, no! if I had but a crust I alwavs 
divided it with those that needed, and I al- 
jwa t nedtodo what I could; but it was so 
/ "ttJe, so little." 

"But to what church did you belong?" ques- 
tioned Allah. 

"To my sorrow be it spoken, I joined no 
church ; I feared that I might bring reproach 
upon Allah's great name. I know I have done 
wrong, but O, forgive, forgive !" 

Then said Allah :— "This woman says truly, 
'she hath done what she could ;'" and turning 1 
to Mrs. Merciful, he said, "Take a seat on my 
right, near by me, under the shade of tiie 
Balm of Gilead tree. There rest from your 
labors; thou wilt be surrounded by plenty of 
Heart's-Ease, Heliotrope, Mignonette, &c. 
They will yield a delicious perfume, and they 
all sprang from seeds of your own planting." 

Then Allah said, "O, my subjects, when will 
you learn wisdom? I do not judge you by 
your theory, but by your practice. Not every 
one that says unto me 'Allah! Allah." shall 
enter my kingdom, but he that knoweth my 
will and doeth it. Once more I will reiterate 
the great commands : Thou shalt love the Lord 
thy God with all thy heart and all thy strength 
, and all thy might ; and thou shalt love thy 



"Prince Allah, I was bishop of a diocese, nei S hb or as thyself. Do this and you are safe." 

Then my guide, turning to me, said : — 
"Ponder well what thou hast heard ; let not 
thee. Now we will go." 
you not tell me your 



a wealthy one. I was ever pointing the way j 
to the 'land of promise,' and by the 'laying- : 
on of hands' I consecrated many to the good tlie lesson be lost upon 
rk." I said, "O, sir, will 



woru. 

Said Allah, — "Did you visit the widow and 
the fatherless, and minister to the poor and 



^ sick ?" 

"Well, no, I didn't have time to do every- 
thing, and left that for the laymen to do." 

Then said Allah, "The height of your am- 
bition was, that 'your works might be seen of ti ° n fro ™ the 1Ivin S and l ™ e God > the Father 
men.' Now go back to the land of probation, ( 
and by gentle, kindly deeds, try to win a citlei 
Xo the 'land of the blest.' " 



name ere we leave ?" 

He answered, "My name is Wisdom," and 
he was gone. 

I still sat in my chair, looking abroad upon 
the moonlight scene. Was it a dream ? what 
did it mean ? To me it seemed like a revela- 



of our Savior, and "Our Father." 

Annie Phillips. 



Next, there stepped forward an old man. 
The frosts of many winters had silvered his 
hair, and he said : — 

"O, Allah ! I was a millionaire. I gave freely ; 
I endowed colleges ; I built hospitals, and lav- 
ished money upon public institutions." 

"Yes, Mr. Moneybags ; but did you give of 
your immense wealth to those placed in cir- 
cumstances of want and destitution ? did you 
enter the humble abodes of poverty and cause 
the hearts of its inmates to sing for joy ?" 

"No, Allah, I did not. I was willing they 
should have the money, but I could not do all." 

Then said Allah, "It would have been bet- 
ter for you had you ameliorated the wants of 
individuals, at least, in part, rather than 
give all to institutions ; but pass on to my right 
as far as you can see ; under the shade of those 
tall trees, the seeds of which you planted 
yourself, you can rest; but there will be no 
sweet flowers springing up to bless you with 
their fragrance, for you have scattered none." 

Next came a woman, clad in the habiliments 
of poverty. She approached with trembling 
steps and down-cast eyes, and Allah said : — 



The Light of a Cheerful Face.— There is 
no greater every day virtue than cheerfulness. 
This quality i a maa among men, is like sunshine 
to tbe daj , or gentie, renewing moisture to parch- 
ed herbs. The light of a cheerful face diffuses 
itself, and communicates tbe happy spirit that in- 
spires it. The sourest temper must sweeten in the 
atmosphere of continuous j;ood humor. As well 
might foe-, and cloud, and vapor, hope to cling to 
the sun-illuminated landscape, as the blues and 
moroseness to combat jovial speeches and exhil- 
arating laughter. Be jovial always. There is no 
path but will be easier travelled, no load but will 
be lighter, no shadow on heart or brain but will 
lift sooner in presence of a determined cheerful- 
ness. It may at times seem difficult for the hap- 
piest tempered ro keep the countenance of peace 
and content; but the difficulty will vanish when 
we truly consider that sullen gloom and passionate 
despair do nothing but multiply thorns and thicken 
sorrows. Ill comes to us as providentially as 
eood— and is a good, if we rightly apply its lessons ; 
why not, then, cheerfully accept the ill, and thus 
blunt its apparent sting ? Cheerfulness ou^ht to 
be the fruit of philosophy and of Christianity. 
What is gained by peevishness and frotfulness— by 
perverse sadness and sullenness ? If we arc ill, let 
us be cheered by the trust that wo shall soon be 
in health— if misfortune befall us, let us bo cheer- 
ed by the hopeful visions of better fortune— if , 
death robs us of the dear ones, let us be cheered 
by the thought they are only gone before, to the 
blissful bowers where we shall all meet to part no 
more forever. Cultivate cheerfulness, if otily for 
personal profit. You will do and bear every duty 
and burden better by being eheerful. It will be 
your consoler in solitude, your passport aud com- 
mendator in society. |You will be more sought afrer, 
more trusted and esteemed for your cheerfulness. 
The bad, the vicious, may be boisterouslv gay and 
vulgarly humorous, but seldom or never truly 
cheerful. Genuine cheerfulness is an almost cer- 
tain index of a happy mind and a pure, good heart. 






THE SATCHEL, AND THE WEDDING- 
I>ltl£SS; 

OR, 

A LITTLE TALK WITH MINORS AND THEIR MOTHERS. 
Having recently met with an admirable and 
discriminating extract from an article entitled 
"A Model Woman," we copy a portion of it 
for the benefit of those who have not been so 
fortunate as to see it. It is prefaced by the 
remarks of another, as follows: — 

"Women do not excel in any trade, because 
their ambition is not in their work. Work, to 
them, is only an expedient to bridge over an 
interval that lies between them and marriage. 
Whereas, man looks forward to work as the 
main incident of his life, and prepares himself 
for work as a career, not as a temporary ex- 
pedient. 

"This lack of ambition goes farther than to 
merely unfit .vomen as general Avorkers. It 
also makes them incompetent housewives, — 
unequal partners for the men of their choice." 
The following extract, in this regard, is 
sharp, but just in its strictures : — 

"But why does not her employer direct her? 
you ask; why does sh not correct the faults 
of her erring hand-maiden and show her how 
to manage a house ? Because, my dear sir, 
[ she does not know how herself. Her brothers 
prepared themselves, one for a profession, the 
other for business. For this preparation they 
counted no time, no labor too great. Even 
when not compelled to depend upon their own 
labor for subsistence, they feel a pride in do- 
ing something themselves, standing high in a 
profession or on 'change. Their sister expects 
to be married, to be the mother of a family, to 
preside over a household. What effort does 
she make to master the future situation? 
What years, what days, what hours does she 
devote to learning how to preside over a 
house, to rule her servants, to be independent 
of them, and, in case of need, to do without 
them? How does she prepare herself to ex- 
ercise judgment, economy, thrift, to dispense 
hospitality elegantly, yet unwastefully ? WLat 
lesson does she take in the art of making a 
small income do the work of a large one, or in 
that frugality which is the condition of the 
means of benevolence." 

1 know of one lady (I use the singular num- 
ber, not unadvisedly), and she not compelled 
by her circumstances, who makes house-keep- 
|»g an art, who studies chemistry and physi- 
ology, that she may adapt her table to the 
health and comfort of her family; who is the 
mistress of her servants, not their unpaid de- 
pendent; who knows when the work for the 
; house is done ; is able to show the servants the 
j reason of their failure. And with all this she 
j is not a drudge, with a soul confined to pots 
1 and pans, but a sensible, pleasing and truly 
religious woman who, while enhancing the 
happiness of her family and doubling the in- 
; come of her husband, alike by reducing his 
expenses and freeing his mind from vexing 
cares, yet is also reading the best books, is 
serving God and dispensing charity to man. 
One such woman I know ; say, how many do j 
you know ? 

This, indeed, is the beginning of a move- 
ment in the right direction ; it touched a chord 
|bat responded in our hearts ; and, as if by 
magic, the lid of our casket flew open, and re- 
vealed many a thought and feeling that lie 
hidden there, awaiting "the troubling of the/, 
waters for the healing of our people." / 

For O ! what a sin lies at our doors when 
we think of the desecration of marriage from 
countless causes, and the men and women of 



/ 



C\ 



our country crowding the court-rooms and 
pleading for divorce, or daily resorting to sep- 
aration. "Why is it ?" is the earnest question, 
and many times answered. One great cause 
is immature marriage, entered into lightly and 
unadvisedly. The mother is eager or consents 
to bring to market, the crude and unripe fruit, 
and sometimes the daughter hangs up the 
satchel with one hand and takes down the 
wedding-dress with the other, forgetting or 
ignoring that the blackboard does not solve 
the problem of life, nor fit her to be the com- 
panion of man. 

Do not defraud her, O ! mother, of the pe- 
riods of life that come slowly, gently, surely, 
in the unerring intentions and ministrations "of 
Nature am' Providence. 

Freed fa < the necessarily gregarious life of 
the public school, she is now to share the la- 
bors of her mother, who has sacrificed herself 
for her child's improvement, and to train her- 
self for the duties of domestic life, and to be- 
gin an individual existence, or, in one word, 
to begin to find herself; and by a patient 
/|. uiseof reading and study, learn to think 
/ andVo feel aright, and to gather nourishment 
for ihe mental, moral and spiritual nature ; to 
pnpare herself, in some small measure, for 
the next stage, the entrance into society at the 
age of eighteen ; then comes the dawning of 
womanhood ; and in a ihw years more, if she 
has drank freely and earnestly at the fountain 
of life, she can be the companion, the helper 
of one whom it is her glad office to sustain, to 
influence and to refine, for the only true home 
jusin the heart of those we love, "for whpre 
I the treasure is, there will the heart be also." 

Can we wonder that the wedding-garment is 
so rudely torn off? for if it fitted the girl it 
v-ill not fit the woman. And the wedding-ring 
sho-dd be a constantly-enlarging circle, ehclos* 
mg the responsibilities and the charms of life ; 
but the golden circle may become so small as 
to lose all hs true significance. How few 
women can receive, how few men can pay, the 
following beautiful tribute :— 

Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed; 

So sixteen years ago I said. 

Behold another ring— for what! 

To wed thee o'er again ? Why not* 

With the first ring 1 married youth, 

Grace, beauty, innocence and truth, 

Taste long admired, sense long revered 
And all, my Mary, then appeared. ' 

If she, by merit since disclosed, 
Prove twice the woman I supposed 
I plead the double merit now, 
To justify a double row. 
Here, then, to-day, (with faith as sure, 
With ardor as intense and pure 
As when, amid the rites divine, 
I took thy hand and plighted mine ) 
To thee, my love, my second rhv ' 
A token and a pledge, I bring. °' 
With this 1 wed, till death us part 
I liy riper virtues to my heart; ' 
Those virtues which before untried 
The wife iias added to the hride- ' 
Those virtues whose progressive claim, 
Endearing wedlock's very name 



husband and all that come withm nor presence 
feel. The human character, so sacred a trust, 
>s the slowest in its growth, and we might take 
a lesson from the natural kingdom so beauti- 
ful in its operations. 

The lights and shadows of life must fall upon 
woman before she knows, before she ran know, 
o the riches of love and marriage. Love is t! e 
iufant's instinct, the child's shelter, the maid-? 
en's protection ; but the highest, holiest love 
is born of tears as well as smiles, and is conse- 
crated, by both. "What God has joined to- 
gether let no man put asunder," should apply 
as sacredly to the true union of hearts as in 
the presence of the sacred rites. 

But we have not looked yet at the saddest 
side of the picture. What is to become of the 
next generation? The "child-wife" may be- 
come the child-mofher (uneducated, except 
primarily, herself,) before she is even capable 
of performing the physical duties, and before 
she has suspected, even, the depths of her own 
being and its responsibilities in this life and 
the life to come. This young immortal is to 
be trained carefully and thoughtfully and joy- 
ously, for time and eternity. Almost with the 
infant's first tear and smile come the first im- 
pressions, so carefully to be watched, that are 
the germ of its future life. Guard it against false- 
hood as you would from a pestilential vapor; 
but let it ever see truth in all her fair propor- 
tions. How the little lip will curl, the eye 
flash, and the tear start, at the smallest decep- 
tions. How discriminate])-, courageously and 
delicately should first impressions be watched ; 
for upon them, with God's blessing, depends 
the f ture of the child and the man. 

A mother who has thought earnestly and 
deeply, often feels that the full fountain of a 
mother's love cannot avail, but she must plead 
for angel ministry to guard the fair young 
creature. 






My soul enjoys, my song approves 
For conscience sake as Well as love's- 
1 or why r they show me, hour-by-hour, 
Ileaven s lug!, thought, afTection's power 
Piscret.onsdced,soun,lj, 1 dg„ 1 e I1 t's.sentence, 
And teach me ail things-but repentance. 

In the perversion of the laws of Nature and 
Providence, the girl-bride loses three periods 
of life, never to be regained. There are mines 
never to be worked, depths of her being never 
fo be sounded ; ignorant of herself old before 
her prime, oppressed by the inevitable and un- 
prepared for cares of life, she can evade noth- 
ing and can never regain the lost period of 
preparation. 

The highest gift, of God is love in marriage. 

It is born of sorrow as well as joy. The true 

I wife has an atmosphere about her which her 



SUNDAY SCHOOL TEACHERS' LESSON. 
We read in our Scripture lesson for the day, 
my dear pupils, that Jesus spake many things 
to his disciples in parables and metaphors. 
— Fearing that you may not quite understand 
what this speaking in parables means, I will 
endeavor to make it clear to your minds, for I 
can recollect that when very young, I attached 
no meaning at all to it, and of course, could 
not understand many of our Saviour's most 
beautiful teachings. The exact meaning of the 
word parable is a tale, or relation under which 
something is figured ; and is too, a comparison 
of things that differ, and yet in which we can 
trace some resemblance, as, for instance, a fair 
girl is often called a lily, a person who allows 
his bad passions to predominate is like a gar- 
den whose weeds choke the flowers. This was 
the Hebrew style of composition, and 1 could 
recall to you, in the Old Testament, hundreds 
of instances in which a great moral was con- 
veyed by some touching tale. Our Saviour 
adapted himself to the customs and under- 
standings of those about him, and presented 
his great truths to their minds in the way he 
thought they would best comprehend them. 
Had he lived in our day and spoken to us, 
whose language is so simple, he would proba- 
bly have delivered his teachings as our clergy- 
men do theirs— the plain, unadorned truth. 
Instead of the tale of the sower who went 
forth to sow, he would have told us of the dif- 
ficulties which we have to encounter in the 
formation of religious feeling, and the necessity | 



- 



/ 



r 



for keeping strict watch over ourselves ; of 
I resisting temptation ; and we should perhaps 
have understood him better than we do now, in 
the language of the parables ; and yet they can 
be perfectly clear to us if we but strive to un- 
derstand them. As .a parting lesson, I have 
tried to sketch a parable for you to remember, 
to make you realize yet more what parables 
are, and how the moral can be conveyed. I 
will endeavor to carry out one for you. 

It was a beautiful summer morn. Nature 
never looked more lovely ; the birds were sing- 
ing gaily, and the air was filled with the fra- 
grance of flowers ; every thing seemed to smile 
upon two little boats which had just been 
launched on a river which, beginning its course 
quietly and in narrow bounds, soon gained 
strength and grew larger and more rapid, dash- 
ing over rocks and rushing on in an impetuous 
c "rent. All along its length might be traced 
a . ' narrow channel, which was quiet and 
cal and wound around the rocks, and seemed 
not tio be disturbed by the boiling of the waters 
around it. At times it was almost invisible, 
and seemed lost. This little space was the 
only one by which boats could safely navigate 
the river. If they once left it, it was almost 
impossible to regain it ; and they were in hour- 
ly danger of being dashed to pieces on the rocks, 
or engulphed in the quicksands which were all 
about it. On the morning of which I speak, 
two little boats had left the quiet harbor at the 
entrance of the river, and were to descend the 
stream. No oars were required, for the rapid- 
ity of the waters carried the little boats on ; 
at the helm of each was seated a happy-look- 
ing youth, whose task it was to guide the ves- 
sel down the river ; a venerable man, their min- 
ister, it seemed, stood on the shore, giving 
them good advice, and gazing anxiously after f 
them ; he held in his hand a venerable looking 
book, from which he occasionally read, while 
they were in hearing. He had placed in their 
hands, also, a small volume, which he had L 
told them was their chart. If they followed 
its directions implicitly they would reach in 
safety the port of happiness which was at the 
mouth of the river. If they neglected to obey ] 
it they would be wrecked. On they went, gai- 
ly turning round every now and then to kiss 
their hands to the kind friend whom they were 
fast leaving behind. All went on so smoothly 
that they began to think that what they had 
' been told about the difficulties of the voyage 
was untrue. One had opened his chart and 
placed it where his eye could be ever upon it, 
but the other waited till he could see the need 
of it before he prepared to use it; he laid it 
down near him, to be sure, where he thought j 
be could reach it, and, looking down into the 
pure water he saw the bright gold and silver 
fish sporting in its clear depths. lie had in- 
tended to enjoy the day, and had thrown into 
his tiny boat his fishing apparatus. He left 
the helm for one moment, to arrange the hook ; 
this took him longer than he anticipated ; when 
he again took the helm in his hand it was just 
in time to turn it from a quicksand which lay 
just outside their little channel— the first one 
•they had encountered, but which might have 
, been their ruin ; for the little boat, unguided, 
was at the mercy of the waves, and the rapid 
suction about the quicksands and rocks would 
have immediately drawn it in. The poor youth 
was at first alarmed, and resolved that he 
would give up all thought for his amusement, 
and keep strict watch over his vessel ; but 
there was so many things to attract him ; now 
a water lily which looked so fair he must get it 
to give his kind friend on his return ; then a 



few of those, they were so tempting. Many a 
time would he have been lost had not his cam- 



verdant isle with bright flowers rose up now „_„„„_,.„ „ f „ D . ,, P , 

rL , 6 , . , /,, precepts of our Saviour ; the port of happiness 

the edge or the channel, and he must pick a :„ ft,. l„„„ , , ... , „ . t 

c r ° u iU ,| _ 1S *ne heavenly home which we shall be wel- 

comed to if we do our duty faithfully in this 

world ; the harbor which the two young men 

panion in the other boat seen his danger and Hn ;i„j frnm ■ „ , , , . „ , 

,. . ~ .v_ -.i . . . , . „ 8a "ea from, is our early home, our birthplace, 

called to him just m time to save hyn. He rrn , . , . . r 

J 3 , \T - , lne kin d instructor, will represent our pa- 
had gone on, and was now far ahead. Ihc rot , fo .„_ *„„„■ A , ,, , - 
6 .*,.,, j rent8 ' our teachers, who give us the words of 
gay fwh had not tempted him, for he was stead- eternal ,. fp and Bt ihm u8 for Qur 

,ly perusing his chart, and marking down from down the Btream of life ^ J ^ 

^.t the necessary directions to guide his course. Bible . the two youths ^ ^ 

Only once had he forgotten his helm, and that tw0 great cla88es of ^ fte q J tQ 

was when a tuft of beautiful lilies were float- every temptation, blown about by the winds 
ing just before his boat. They were so pure of pa88ion> md finally wrecked, becau* they 
and lovely that there could be no danger in yield to ungoverned impulge and tbrow afjide 
plucking them, but they were almost fatal to every pr i nC iple of right and truth. The other 
him, for their roots were deep, and long sedgy taking tbe teaching8 of Christ for his guide- 
grass was about them which entangled his finding in them 8upport in temptation, strength 
little boat. Seeing his danger, he caught up in hour8 of weakne8S . consolation in sorrow- 
his chart, and the first words that met his eye may waver somctime8) may be t ted often 
were, « Lead us not into temptation, but de- but with a heart bent upon doing present duty 
liver us from evil." Raising his eyes heaven- will not wander far from the chaQnels of tfae 
ward, he repeated the words, " Father, deliver j iver of Life t 

us from evil," and, strengthened by the act of — 

imploring his Heavenly Father's assistance, he 
soon extricated hie boat, and passed on, though 
more slowly than at first, for the pathway in 
the waters was so narrow that it was only by 
constant watchfulness he could keep the little 

veBeel in it. He thought often ana anxiously ■ _ . " - 

of his companion ; he had lost sight of him, 
for the twistings of the channel had placed 
rocks and isles between them. It was now 
noon, and the sun was warm ; he felt wearied, 
and longed for rest. Again the words on the 
chart, " Come to me all ye that are weary and 
I will give you rest," comforted him. He 
drank of the waters of the pure stream and 
they refreshed and gave him strength. On he 
passed, and, as the sun began to decline, the 
channel of the river widened, the waters be- 
came placid and calm as when he first left the 
harbor of his early home. He saw before him 
his destined port, and guided by the rays of 
the setting sun, he longed to reach it ; but 
the current was more sluggish, and he moved 
but slowly on. Yet content and peace were 
about him. He was happy. The chart, the 
blessed chart, had been his safeguard, and he 
hugged it to his bosom with a prayer of thank- 
fulness. Ever and anon he cast a backward 
look in hopes to see his young companion ; but 
he came not. Where was he ? In attempting 
/to catch a glittering starfish, he tipped his 
boat, and the chart, which he had laid care- 
lessly down, fell into the water. He tried to 
get it, but it was too late, it had gone. And 
now, the little boat dashed on over the break- 
ers, almost covered by the water ; then it 
struggled through, and its unhappy occupant 
breathed once again and took hope ; but in 
vain. How changed was his appearance; 
youth seemed to have gone ; he looked pallid 
and wearied. He had not yet come to the 
worst. He could not keep his little boat any 
'longer in the narrow channel. It was soon 
dashed to pieces on the rocks, and he went 
down, in his early youth, to that resting place 
from which no one ever returns. 

This, my dear pupils, is a parable ; and now 
for its explanation — which, however, I hope 
you So not need ; for even the youngest of you 
I think can understand it. 

The river represents life; the narrow chan- 
nel is Christian faith and truth, which can 
alone carry us happily and safely through life ; 
the goldfish, the lilies and flowers, are the 
temptations which beset us — the inducements 
to being untrue, or negligent of our duties ; 
the rocks and quicksands are the troubles 
which will surely await those who disobey the 



The Sensible Parts of Two Pbofebsors.— | 
At the Dartmouth alumni meeting the other day, 
the Rev. Thomas Adams, of the class of 1814, told 
a funny little anecdote, and, being himself rather 
a funny man, told it very neatly. 

It related to two of the old professors, Adams 
and Shurtleff, very dissimilar but both most ad- 
mirable men. Professor Adams was a very pre- 
cise man, as became a professor of mathematics 
to be. Shurtleff was more free and easy, a nerv- 
ous, excitable man, as full of wit as of sense, and 
remarkably quick at repartee. 

It had become a sort of standing joke among 
the students, that Prof. Adams took more care of 
his feet than of his head; while Prof. Shurtleff, of 
course, was quite the opposite, and cared more 
for his head than his feet. And it wa9 said, that 
if you called these men suddenly out doors, one 
Would be sure, first, to pull on his boots and go 
out bareheaded ; while the other would be quite 
as sure to clap on his hat and go out 
barefooted. Professor Adams heard of this 
collage jest, and one day said to Shurtleff: "So it 
seems brother Shurtleff, that in the judgment of 
the stulents, your head and my legs are respect- 
ively our weakest parts." "No," retorted Shurt- 
leff, "but our most sensible parts you mean!" 

This reminded an old alumnus of a couple of lit- 
tle incidents in which both the venerable and ex- 
cellent professors came off rather second best. 

Prof. Shurtleff at one time had the care of a 
monomaniac, by the name of Increase Kimball, a 
very shrewd, troublesome, but entirely harmless 
old man, who took snuff pretty freely, which 
Shurtleff occasionally took sparingly. On a cer- 
tain Sunday, Increase called on the Professor to 
lay before him his great want of clothing, or 
something of the kind. The Professor was just 
going to church, and could not be bothered with 
the poor man just then; and so he told him he 
could not attend to his worldly affairs on Sunday. 
This did not satisfy Increase; but neverthe- 
less he rose to go, and as he did so, took 
Out his snuff-box for a pinch of comfort. 
Noticing the act the Prof, reached his thumb and 

finger towaras tne dox, saying: ••ra wwe » ymcu, 
Increase." "No," rejoined Increase, "'you don't do 
worldly business on Sunday;" clappcl his box 

*jj»^ ^^ ^w-v.. «*"U was uu. 

On a certain public examination which Pro- 
*M.onr Aflo-™* "'""j conf^C^R, a coston boy was 
a little bothered for ail answer; when one of his 
friends behind reached forward to prompt him. 
The quick eye and ear of the Professor detected 
the action ; and he immediately called out in his 
quick, incisive way -"No Telling!" and the 
bothered boy as quickly retorted— "I know, sir, 
but I can't tell," which immediately brought 
down the house.and the good old Professor with it. 






d 



1 



t 



\ 



THE JOURNEY OP TRCJTH. 

[TRUTH TS A PBT !] 

Accursed be the hour I ventured to roam 
From the cool recess of my moss-clad home: 
I will back to my mouldering well, and hide 
These tears of despair and wounded pride. 

I sought the enchantress Fashion's hall— 
The many were bound in her iron thrall; 
They turned from my simple prayer away 
As I told them how vain and capricious her sway. 

A Bard I met, with glorious eye, 

And song, whose thrilling melody 

Wen its unchecked way to the human breast; 

A flattering throng around him pressed. 

I told him how fickle and fleeting the loud 

Unmeaning praise of the worthless crowd. 

Of the aching brow, the hollow eye, 

The wearing fears, the despondency. 

The sleepless night, ihe vigil late, 

The uncertain fame, and the certain hate; 

But the poet frowned, and, turning to me 

"Begone from my sight, stem Truth," said he; 

"Can you hush the proud and lofty tone 

Of my earnest hope? Begone ! begone ! 

Expect from woman unchanging smiles, 

Or win the bird from the serpent's wiles, 

Or lure yon moth from that glittering flame, 

Sooner than banish my dream of fame!" 

Wherever I went I spread dismay ; 
Friendship and Feeling I frightened away; 
And Love shook his saucy finger at me, 
And declared me his mortal enemy! 

I entered the cell of the plodding Sage, 

And threw a gleam o'er his mystic page; 

But he closed his pained eye-balls, and said that I 

Could never have seen his new Theory! 

But it grieved me more than all, to see 

The very children afraid of me. 

The innocent creatures were at their play, 

And if I came near them they'd scamper away. 

Good Heavens! to see those urchins run 

You'd have thought I'd been the Unholy One ! 

I knocked at the dying man's desolate gate, 

Death looked from the window and begged me to >z 

wait, 
For a doctor had entered a moment before 
And seeing me coming, had bolted the door. 
I entered his study to wait for him there, 
And sat down to read in his easy chair ; 
But his books fell topieces, and during my stay, 
Nine-tenths of his physic had melted away! 

I dared not visit the Statesman's den 

For I knew I should never return again, 

The rarest sport 'twould be for him 

To murder, and tear me limb from limb! 

But I gave nine cheers to the True and Tried, 

A faithful few— who stood outside, 

And bared their breasts to the Hydra fight 

For Freedom, and me, and Eternal Bight! 

I entered the church— poor wearied one, 

Hoping my journey was well nigh done,— 

But the Priests turned paler than marble— and I 

Could not win to my shrine one votary! 

And the hypocrites withered beneath my gaze 

Like wisps ot tow in the fiery blaze; 

But over the "Pure in Heart" I threw 

A mantle of light, and away I flew— 

And I'll back to my moss-clad home and hide 

These tears of despair and wounded pride. 

If I were a Voice. 

If I were a voice, a persuasive voice, 
That could travel the wide world through, 

I would fly on the beams of the morning light, 

And speak to men with a gentle might, 
And tell them to be true . 

I would fly, I would fly over land and sea, 

Wherever a human heart might be, 

Telling a tale, or singing a song 

In praise of the right — in blame of the wrong. 

If I were a voice, a consoling voice, 

I'd fly on the wings of air ; 
The homes of sorrow and guilt I'd seek, 
And calm and truthful words I'd speak, i 

To save them from despair. 
I would fly, I would fly o'er the crowded town, 
And drop, like the happy sunlight, down 
Into the hearts of suffering men, 
And teach them to look up again. 

If I were a voice, a convincing voice, 

I'd travel with the wind; 
And wherever I saw the nations torn 
By warfare, jealousy, spite or scorn, 

Or hatred of their kind, 
I would fly, I would fly on the thunder-crash, 
And into their blinded bosoms flash ; 
Then, with their evil thoughts subdued, 
I'd teach them Christian brotherhood. 



j 






/, 



REMEMBER THE POOR. 

Remember the poor for bleak winds are blow- 
ing, 
And brightly the frost-pearls are glist'ning 
around, 
The streamlets have ceased all their musical 
flowing, ' 
And snow drifts lie scattered all over the 
ground. . 

Remember the poor in their comfortless dwell- 
ings, 
111 clad and Ill-fed and o'er burdened with 
care, 
Oh, turn not away with a look so repelling— 
Thy kindness may save them perhaps from 
despair. 

Remember the poor when the hearth-stone is 
cheerful, 
And happy hearts gather around its bright 
blaze ; 
There are hearts that are sad and eyes that are 
tearful, 
As bright aa thine own in their sunnier days. 
Misfortunes may scatter thy present posses- 
sions, 
And plenty, to poverty, leave theo a prey ; 
How bitterly then wilt thou think of the bless- 
ings 
That Charity asks from thy riches to-day. 

Remember the poor as they thankfully gather 
Each round his rich table with luxury 
spread ; 
Thou too art a pensioner on a rich Father, 
For health and for friendship, for raiment and 
bread. 
If He hath been bountiful, with a like spirit, 

Dispense of that bounty what Charity claims ; 
Far greater the treasure thy soul shall inherit 
When thy bread on the waters retumeth 
again. 



Wtttiotts* 



THE OLD-FASHIONED CHOIE. 

I hate fancied, sometimes, the Bethel-bent j 

beam 
That trembled to earth in the patriarch'BM 

dream ' 

Was a ladder of Song in the wilderness rest, \ 
From the pillow of stone to the blue of the ) 

Blest, 



Bemember the poor — this thou art com- 
manded — 
Thy Saviour thus kindly remembered the' 
poor; 
" The destitute thou shall not send empty-! 
handed, 
Unclad and unwarmed, and unfed from thy 
door." 
Thy peace in this life shall be like tho deep 
river, 
And dying, thy welcome to heaven shall be — 
"Ye faithful and blest of my Father— como 
hither ; 
Ye did it to others — ye did it to me.' 



AT THE WINDOW. 

BY MRS MULOCK-CK.WO. 

Only to listen — listen and wait 

For his slow, firm step down the gravel walk ; 
To hear the click-click of his hand at the gate, 

And feel every heart beating through careless talk 
Ah, love is sweet when life is young, 
And life and love are both so long. 

Only to watch him about the room, 

Lighting it up with his quiet smile, 
That seems to lift the world out of gloom 

And bring heaven nearer me— for awhile, 
A little while — since love is young, 
And life is beautiful as long. 

Only to love him— nothing more ; 

Never a thought oi his loving me ; 
Proud of him, glad in him, though he bore 

My heart to shipwreck on tho smooth sea. 
Love's faith sees only grief, not wrong, 
And life is daring when 'tis young. 

All, me! what mutter? The world goes round, 
And bliss and bale are but outside things ; 

1 never can lose what in him I found, 
Though love be sorrow with hall-grown wings; 

And if love flies when we are young, 

Why life is still not long— not long. 

And heaven is kind to the faithful heart; fc 

And if we are patient and brave and calm, 

Our fruits will last, though our flowers depart; 
fSome day, when I sleep with folded palm. 

No longer fair, no longer young, 

Life may not seem so^itter long. 



And the angels descending to dwell with ut; 

'• Old Hundred," and "Corinth," and "China" 
and , 'Mear.' , 

All the hearts are not dead, not under the 
sod, 

That those breaths can blow open to Heaven 
and God ! 

Ah, " Silver Street" leads by a bright, gold- 
en rood — 

O, it is not the hymns that in harmony 
flowed — 

But those sweet-humored psalms in the old- 
fashioned choir, 

To the girls that sang alto— the girls that sang 
air! 

"Let us sing in his praise," the minister said. 
All the psalm-books at once fluttered open at 

"York"; 
Sunned their dotted wings in the words that 

he read, 
While the leader leaped into the tune justS 

ahead, 
And politely picked out the key-note, with a 

fork, 
And the vicious old viol went growling along 
At the heels of the girls in the rear of the 

song. 

I need not a wing — bid no genii come, 
With a wonderful web from Arabian loom, 
When the world was in rhythm and life was 

its rhyme ; 
Where the Btreams of the years flowed up 

noiseless and narrow, 
That across it there floated the song of a 

sparrow ; 
For a sprig of green carroway carries me 

there, 
To the old village church and the old village 

choir. 

Whep clear of the floor my feet slowly swung, 

ilhd timed tu? sweet praise of the song i ■) 
they sung, 

Till the glory aslani, from Vbe sftercoon ?vs 

Seemed the rafters of gold in God's temple^ 
begun ! 

You may smile at the nasals of old Deacon 
Brown, 

Who followed by scent till he ran the tune 
down; 

And the dear sister Green, with more good- 
ness than grace, 

Rose and fell on the tunes as she stood in her 
place, 

And where "Coronation" exultingly flows, 

Tried to reach the high notes on the tips of 
her toes! 

To the land of the leal they went with their 
song, 

Where the choir and the chorus together be- 
long:. 

O, be lifted, yo Gates ! Let me hear them 
again — 

Blessed song, blessed Sabbath, forever, amen ! / 



Our Dead at Andersonvillc. 



"See a pin and pick it up, 

And all the day you'll have good luck. 

See a pin and let it lay, 

III luck vou'll have the livelnnn- >lo n t> 



Not in the fierce and frenzied shock of war, 
Amid the raging battle's heated breath, 

And clash of arms, and deafening roar of guns, 
Met they the Angel, Death. 

But in foul prison-pens, with stealthy tread, 
He came, and took them slowly, one by one; 

And they that lingered saw their comrades' eyes 
Close sadly on the sun— 

Saw their pale eyelids close, and felt the hour 
Draw nearer to themselves, till Death became 

As one of them, and with each suffering day 
Familiar grew his name. 

Sometimes the sentry's gun, with sharp report 
Would send some poor soul on its heaven w'd Uigln, 

Who, weary of his prison's gloom, stepp'd forth 
Boldly into theJight. 

Great God, within that book Thy Angel keeps 

Are such things writteu— such unhallowed decuV'i 
O blot them from our memories, and heal 
Each sorrowing heart that Weeds ! 

Our land is one vast sepulchre— sec riso 

The swelling mounds; the dust which in them lies 
Is the rich price which cherished Freedom claims, 

Our Nation's sacrilice. 

These shall not now be nameless ; he shall read 

Who views them hence, traced by a woman 'shand' 
Each hero's name; in future years untold 

Mute records they shall stand- 
Mute records, they, of valor, courage, love. 
Of stern endurance amid sufferings ended; 
And with each name up - those patriot graves / 



The Death of Slavery. 



The Gray Swan. 



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BY WILLIAM CULLEX BHYA^T. 



O Thou great Wrong, that, through the slow-paced 
years, 
Didst hold thy mil'ions fettered, and didst wield 
The scourge that drove the laborer to the field, 
And look with stony eye ou human tears, 
Thy cruel reign is o'er; 
Thy bondmen crouch no more 
In terror at the menace of thine eye ; 

For He who marks the bounds of guilty power, 
Long-suffering, hath heard the captive's cry, 

And touched his shackles at the appointed hour, 
And lo! they fall, and he whose limbs they galled 
Stands iu his native manhood, disenthralled. 

A shout of joy from the redeemed is sent; 

Ten thousand hamlets swell the hymn of thanks; 

Our rivers roll exulting, and their banks 
Send up hosannas to the tirmanient. 
Fields, where the bondman's toil 
No more shall trench the soil, 
Seem now to bask in a serener day ; 

The meadow-birds sing sweeter, and the airs 
Of Heaven with more caressing softness play, 

Welcoming man to liberty like theirs. 
A glory clothes tire land from sea to sea, 
For the great land and all its coasts are free. 

Within that land wert thou enthroned of late, 
And they by whom the nation's laws were made, 
And they who filled its judgment-seats, obeyed 

Thy mandate, rigid as the will of fate. 
Tierce men at thy right hand, 
\V ith gesture of command, 

Gave forth the word that none might dare gainsay; 
And grave and reverend ones, who lo^ ed thee not, 

Shrank from thy presence, and in blank dismay, 
Choked down, unuttered, the rebellious thought; 

While meaner cowards, mingled with thy train, 

Proved, from the book of God, thy right to reign. 

Great as thou wert, and feared from shore to shore, 
The wrath of God o'ertook thee in thy pride; 
Thou sitt'st a ghastly shadow; by thy side 
The|once strong arms hang nerveless evermore, 
And they who quailed but now 
Before thy lowering brow 
Devote thy memory to scorn and shame, 

And seofF at the pale, powerless thing thou art 
And they who ruled in thine imperial name, 

Subdued and standing sullenly apart, 
Scowl at the hands that overthrew thy reign, 
And shattered at a blow the prisoner's chain. 



> 



rV 



Well was thy doom deserved; thou didst not spare , 
Life's tenderest ties, but cruelly didst part 
Husband and wife, and from the mother's heart & 
Didst wrest her children, deaf to shriek and prayer: 
Thy inner lair became 
The haunt of guilty shame; 
Thy lash dropped blood ; the murderer, at thy side, St 
Showed his red hands, nor feared the vengeance 
due. 
Thou didst sow earth with crimes, and, far and wide, 

A harvest of uncounted miseries grew, "L 

Until the measure of thy sins at last 
Was full, and then the avenging bolt was cast. 

Go then, accursed of God, and take thy place ^ 

With baleful memories of the elder time, 
With many a wasting pest, and nameless crime, 

And bloody war that thinned the human race ; 
With the Black Death, whose way 
Through wailing cities lay, 

Worship of Moloch, tyrannies that built 
The Pyramids, and cruel creed* that taught 

To avenge a fancied guilt by deeper guilt- 
Death at the stake to those that held them not. 

Lo, the foul phantoms, silent in the gloom 

Of the flown ages, part to yield thee room. 

I see the better years that hasten by, 
Carry thee back into that shadowy past, 
Where, in the dusty spaces, void and vast, 

The graves of those whom thou hast murdered lie 
The slave-i>en, through whose door 
Thy victims pass no more, 

Is there, "and there shall the grim block remain 
At which the slave was sold; while at thy feet 

Scourges and engines of restraint and pain 
Molder and rust by thine eternalpseat. 

There 'mid the symbols that proclaim thy crimes, 

Dwell thou, a warning to the coming times. 

— Atlantic for July. 

The miner. 

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. * 

Down mid the tangled roots of things 

That coil ab nit the central fire, 

I seek for that which giveth wings, t ^ 

To stoop, not soar, to my desire. 

Sometimes I hear, as 'twere a sigh. 
The sea's deep yearning far above. 
"Tflou hast the secret not," I cry, 
In deeper deeps is hid my Love." 

They think I burrow from the sun, 
In darkness, all alone and weak; 
Such loss were gain if He were won, 
For 'tis the nun's own Sun 1 seek. 

The earth, they murmur, is the tomb 
That vainly sought his life to prison; 
Why grovel longer in its doom ? 
He is not here; He hath arisen. 

More life for me where He hath lain 
Hidden, while ye believed him dead, 
Than in cathedrals cold and vain, 
Built on loose sands of "It is said." 

My seirch is for the living^ gold, 
Him i dedre who dwells recluse, 
Aiid not his image, worn and old, 
Day-iervant of our sordid use. 

If Him I find not, yet I lind 
The ancient joy of cell and church, 
Ihe glimpse, the surety uudeiiued, 
The unqueuched ardor of the search. 

Happier to chase a firing goal, 
Than to sit counting laurelled gains, 
lo guess the S.ml within the soul, 
Than to be lord of what remains. 

— Atlantic Monthly. 



BY ALlt'li CAUY. 



"Oh tell me, sailor, tell me true, 

Is my little lad, my Elihu, 

A sailing wilh your ship?" 

The sailor's eyes were dim wilh dew — 

•'Your liitle lad, your Kliliu?" 
He said, with trembling lip— 
"What Utile lad? what ship?" 

"What little lad? as if there could be 
Another such a one as he! 

What little lad, do you say? 
Why, Kiiliu, that took to the sea 
The moment 1 put him oil' my knee! 

It was jus; the other day 

The Gray Swan sailed away." 

"The other day ?" the sailor's eyes 
Stood open with a great surprise — 

"The other day? the Swan?" 
His heart began iu'his throat to rise. 
"Ay, ay. sir, here in the cupboard lies 

The jacket he had on " 

"And so your lad is gone?" 

"Gone with the Swan?" "And did she stand, 
With her anchor clutching hold of the sand, 

For a month, and never stir?" 
"Why to be sure! I've seen from the land, 
Like a lover kissing his lady's hand, 

The wild sea kis.-jng her — 

A sight to remember, sir." 

"But, my good mother, do you know 
All this was twenty years ago? 

1 stood on the Gray Swan's deck, 
And to ihi.t lad I saw you throw, 
Taking it off, as it might be, so! 

The kerchief from your neck." 

"Ay, and he'll bring it back!" 

"And did the little lawless lad 

That has made you sick and made you sad, 

Sail with the Gray Swan's crew?" 
"Lawless! the man is going mad! 
The best boy ever mother had — 

Be sure he sailed with the crew! 

What would you have him do?" 

"Aud he has never written a line, 
Nor sent you word nor made you sign 

To say he was alive?" 
"Hold! if 'twas wrong, the wrong is mine; 
Besides, he may be in the briue, 

And could he write from the grave? 

Tut, man! what would you have.'" 

"Gone twenty years— -a long, long cruise— 
'Twas wicked thus your love to abuse; 

But if the lad still live, 
And come back home, think you, you can 
Forgive him?" "Miserable man, 

You're mad as the sea— you rave— 

What have I to forgive?" 

The sailor twitched his shirt so blue. 
And from within his bosom drew 

The kerchief. She was wild. 
"My God! my Father! is it true? 
My little lad, my Elihu! 

My blessed boy, my child! 

My dead, my living -child!" 



After the Burial* 

BY JAMES KU8SELL LOWELL. 

Yes, Faith is a goodly anchor ; 

When skies are sweet as a psalm, 
At the bows it lolls so stalwart 

In bluff broad-shouldered calm. 

And when, over breakers to leeward 

The tattered surges are hurled, 
It may keep our head to the tempest, 

With is grip on the base of the world. 

But, after the shipwreck, tell me, 

What help in its iron thews, 
Still true to the broken hawser, 

Deep down among seaweed and ooze? 

In the breaking gulfs of sorrow, 
When the helpless feet stretch out, 

And find, in the deeps of darkness, 
No footing so solid as doubt, 

Then better one spar of memory, 

One broken plank ot the past, 
That our human heart may cling to, 

Though hopeless of shore at last ! 

To the spirit its splendid conjectures, 

To the flesh its sweet despair, 
Its tears o'er the thin-worn locket 

With its beauty of deathless hair! 

Immortal ? I feel it and know it ; 

Who doubts it of such as she! 
But that is thetpang's very secret,— 

Immortal away irom me ! 

There's a narrow ridge in the graveyard 
Would scarce stay a child in its race ; 

But to me and my thoughts it is wider 
Than the star-sown vague of space. 

Your logic, my friend, is perfect, 
Your morals most drearily true, 

But the earth that stops my darling's ears 
Makes mine insensate too. 

Console, if you will ; I can bear it; 

' r/is a well meant alms of breath ; 
But not all the preaching since Adam 

Has made Death other than Death. 

Communion in spirit! Forgive me, 
But I who am earthy and weak, 

Would give all my incomes from dreamland 
For her rose-leal-palm on my cheek ! 

That little shoe in the corner, 
So worn and wrinkled and brown, — 

Its motionless hollow confutes you, 
And argues your wisdom down. 



Bong in Praise of Water. 

BY REV. JOHN PIEIUPONT. 

[Rev. John Pierpont, at the Spiritualists' con- 
vention, held in Providence, made the following 
poetic contribution. lie said that the old Greek 
post Anacreon lived to the age of eighty rears 
and more, and made songs in praise of wine." The 
speaker, too, was over eighty years of aire, and 
he would make a song in praise of water.] 

When the bright morning star the new daylight is 
briuging, * 

And the orchards and groves are with melody ring- 
ing, 

And away to and from them the early birds wing- 
ing, 

And their anthems- of gladness and gratitude singing, 

Why do they so twitter and sing, do you think? 

Because they've had nothing but water to drink. 

When a shower in a hot day of summe-is over, 
And the fields are all smiling with white aud red clo- 
ver, 
And the honey bee, busy as plundering rover, 
Is tumbling the blossom leaves over and over, 
Why so fresh, clean and sweet, are the fields do you 

thiuk? 
Because they've had nothing but water to drink. 

Do you see that stout oak on the windy hill growing ? 
Do you see what great hailstones that black clouu is 

throwing? 
Do you see that stout warship its ocean way going 
Against trado-wn.as and head-winds like hurricanes 

blowing! 
Why so strong are oaks, clouds and war-ships do 

you think? 
Because they have had nothing but water to drink. 

Now if we have to work in the shop, field or study, 
And would have a strong hand and a cheek that is 

ruddy, 
And would not have a brain that is addled and 

muddy, 
With our eyes all "bunged up" and our noses all 

blocuy, 
How shall we make and keep ourselves so do you 

think.' 
Why you must have nothing but water to drink. 



(yr* 



[From the New York Ledger.] 



BY WILLIAM CTJLLEX BKTA3T. 






O country, marvel of the earth ! 

realm to sudden greatness grown! 
The age that gloiied in tiiy birth, 

! it behold ihee overthrown? 
Shall traitors lay. that greatness low? 
No, land ot hope and blessing, No ! 

And we who wear thy glorious name, 
Shall we, like cravens, stand apart, 

When those whom thou hast trusted aim 
The dcalh-blow at thy generous heart? 

Forth goes the battle-cry, and lo! 

Hosts l ise in harness, shouting No ! 

And they who founded, in our land, 

'i 'lie power that rules from sea to sea, 
Bled they in vain, or vainly planned 

e their country great and free? 
nil a ashes from below, 
Send up the thrilling murmur, No! 

Knit they >V.e gentle lies which long 
'1 hese si.-rer States were proud to wear, 

A nd forged the kindly links so strong 
For idle hands in sport to tear— 

For scornful hands aside to throw? 

No, by our fathers' memory, No! 

Our humming marts, our iron ways, 
Our wind-tossed woods on mountain CI 

•The hoarse Atlantic, with his b 

The calm, proud Ocean of the West, 

And Mississippi's torrent-flow, 

And loud Niagara, answer, No! 

Not yet the hour is nigh, when they 
Who deep in Eld's aim twilight sit, 

Earth's ancient kings shall rise and say, 
" Proud country, welcome to the pit! 

So soon art thou like ns brought low?" 

No, sullen group of shadows, No! 

For now, behold, the arm thai gave 
This victory in our fathers' i 

Stroii:; as of bid, to guard and e 

That mighty arnynrhich none can stay- 
On clouds above ;<■ fields below, _ 
Writes in men's sight, the answer, No! 



' 



BAD THOUGHTS. 

" We cannot keep the crows from flying over our 
heads ; but we can keep them from building their 
nests in our hair," said Martin Luther. 

We can't always prevent bad thoughts from com- j 
ing to us ; but, when they do come, we can at once * 
easily frighten them away. 



The God who formed the planets bright, 

Makes every child his care; 
Then daily raise your infant heart 

To Him in grateful prayer. 



LIBERTY, IOLINESS, LOVE/' 



A SUMMER IN EUROPE. 

A Way with »hoU«pcrc. 

Correspondence of TLe Republican. 

Red Horse Inn, 1 
,Sti;atpori>-on-Ayon, June, 1862. ) 
It is not to be wondered at that our gentle 
Washington Irving lingered here for three weeks. 
Although it was not his sad lot to find "his warm- 
est welcome at an inu," yet his experience as a 
traveler must have enabled him to appreciate the 
warm hospitality of this one, and incline him to 
prolong his stay here. I envied him the leisure 
that allured him to tarry in such a homelike place, 
in the midst of such a charming country. The 
kind and ladylike hostess, probably the successor 
men with a genuine pride the room which he oc- 
to her of Irving'* visit, now shows to his country- 
cupied, and the poker with which he stirred the 
fire. And it is to her credit that she no longer 
permits the latter to be used in its humble voca- 
tion, but keeps it sacred as a memento of her dis- 
ting'iushcd guest. But it is to the lovely country 
and its rich associations that Irving's long visit, 
in which he wrote one of his most delightful 
sketches, must be attributed, rather than to the 
hospitality of mine hostess of the Ked Horse. To 
one who loves the "green stillness of the country" 
this is a most attractive spot. Here he can walk 
over the soft, velvety grass, under the grand old 
trees, into sylvan solitudes, or he can stroll 
through the green lanes, lined by the hedges, 
now so fragrant with 3weet-briar and the pink 
and milk May-bloom, into the quiet hamlets which 
are thickly scattered over the land. Or, more 
likely, he is attracted to the river, if this clear 
running brook may be called a river, to wander 
along its banks, for 

"How sweet arc the banks of the clear winding Avon, 
Its green waving bushes and flowers blooming fair." 

He may turn his walk into the broad park of 
some lerd's demesnes, where, in the dark shade of 
the old oaks, the deer are grazing, or explore the 
ivy-clad ruin of seme old abbey or castle, in which 
this region abounds. And in whatever direction 
his steps may lead, or whatever he may see, its 
association with Shakspere threw a powerfid 
charm over it all. He is the genius of the place, 
and his name hallows even the humblest object 
with the highest interest. In yonder little cottage 
hs was born, the neighboring park is the scene of 
his boyish adventures, and in the next street he 
went to school. By this path across the fields, 
he went to woo Ann Hathaway, who had a way 
which pleased him then according to his own tes- 
timony, though the critics disagree as to her gen- 
tleness afterwards. In this garden near by, he 
sat, thinking and writing his immortal verse, and 
in the sweet seclusion of yonder church, he re- 
poses. Everything is linked with his great name. 
You see his bust or his eftlg7 at every turn, and 
the little boy who shows you the way, says his 
name is William Shakspere. 

So great is the change made by the Shakspere 
society in the appearance of the birthplace, since 
I saw it last, that I scarcely recognized it. The 
venerable sigu board with its dim inscription, "In 
this house the immortal Shakspere was born," 
no longer hangs over the street, and the disfig- 
uring butcher's stall is replaced by a pretty lat- 
ticed window. All the adjacent buildings on 
both sides and in the rear, have been removed, 
and the house itself has been completely restored. 
Although this restoration has been thoroughly 
done, so that the foundation and frame work of 
the entire building are renewed, all the outward 
features of the house have been most strictly pre- 
served. Such substantial work was doubtless nec- 
essary to keep it standing, especially after the re- 
moval of the adjoining houses. The interior of 
the chamber in which he was born remains wholly 
untouched by the restoration, wearing its familiar 
appearance. Its walls have long since been cov- 
ered with the names of visitors, and tl 
iug is being rapidly darkened with the same 
process. No pious Mahomcdan ever wrote the 
name of Allah so thickly on the walls of his tem- 
ple as the pilgrims to this shrine of th< 
poet have covered the walls of this little room. 
Those of several distinguished visitors are pointed 
out, among thorn that of Walter Scott, written 
on the window pane with a diamond. Its sturdy 
characters may be traced, under those of a score 
of inglorious names, which are written over it, but 
cannot bide it. The better custom which now pre- 
vails of asking visitors to inscribe their names in 



a book was introduced by one of our countrymen, 
and as such books soon became of great value 
for the autographs of distinguished persons they 
contained, every person who has anything of 
interest to 6how now asks you to write your name 
in his book, and in some cases in two. The space 
obtained by the removal of the houses adjacent 
to the birth-place is devoted to a pretty garden, 
surrounded with a neat rustic fence. In this gar- 
den is planted only those trees and flowers and 
shrubs which are mentioned in the writings of 
Shakspere; a very pretty idea, which, if carried 
out strictly, will make one of the most interesting 
and precious gardens in the world. The selection 
is largo of course, and would embrace some plants 
that are not natives to this climate, but it is 
hoped that the funds of the society may seme- 
time enable it to collect here exotics as well as 
natives, and have means to preserve them. It is 
all young as yet, but I noticed the pansy, the 
daisy, the cowslip, the laurel and the yew among 
many others. 

This restoration and preservation of the birth- 
place of the "sweet swan of Avon" has been done 
by the Shakspere society, formed a few years 
since for the purpose, and the money was raised 
by voluntary subscriptions, in which our country- 
men joined to some extent. Indeed, the whole 
enterprise owes its origin to a "big prickly scare" 
which seized the English people upon the discov- 
ery that a Yankee showman was trying to buy up 
the house, bricks, mortar and all, to remove it, 
and exhibit it as an "extraordinary attraction." 
The British public started up in horror at such a 
bold scheme of vandalism, and for the first time 
bestirred itself to rescue the birth-place of the 
great idol of mankind from the ravages of both 
time and speculators. The Yankee should be re- 
garded as a benefactor for bringing about such * 
praiseworthy reform. The society contemplates 
the purchase of the "New Place" also, and at 
present has it under its control. This is the 
ground of the house which Shakspere owned 
and occupied on his return from London, and 
where he probably wrote mast of his plays. The 
old mulberry tree, which stood in the middle of 
his garden, under which he loved to sit, was cut 
down by an ugly scoundrel into whose possession 
the property unhappily fell, because, as he said, 
he could uot be annoyed by the numerous visitors 
who came to the interesting spot. It would have 
been too good a fate for him if Gen Dix's sen- 
tence upon the man who would pull down ftie 
stars and stripes, had been executed upon h\m. 

It is the generally accepted belief that t'rie well 
known epitaph which Shakspere wrote for him- 
self was inspired by horror of a custon. which 
prevailed ia his day, that of throwing out the 
bones of old occupants of the grave yard to make 
room for new comers. But I think the theory 
might be plausibly maintained that he did not 
wish his remains removed to a more ambitious 
tomb. If there is a more fitting resting place for 
the great poet of human passion than this, I 
know not where it is. Under the altar steps of 
the church, within a few feet of where he was 
baptized, he reposes. The anthem of praise is 
daily sung in the old gothic church, whose beautiful 
tapering spire points like a finger towards heaven, 
a prominent object in the landscape far and near. 
Without the church yard is quiet and secluded. 
Its green turf is broken with the graves of hun- 
dreds who sleep under it, and the old trees throw 
a deep gloom around the place. The Avon flows 
past silently as the stream of Time, which 
hears down to all ages the fame of him who 
sleeps upon its batiks, and as it did the ashes of 
the martyr, scatters his noble works ''as wide as 
£ waters be." A most sweet and charming spot is 
this old church yard in Stratford, and I spent an 
hour in its grateful seclusion, trying to decipher 
some of the quaint inscriptions of the old tomb- 
stones, which stagger this way and that. On« of 
them, remarkable for its good sentiment and bad 
spelling, I here transcribe : — 
"Death creeps Abonght onllard, 
And steals Abroad onSecn, 
Hur dart* are Suding and her arows Keen, 
Uur Stroaks are deadly, come they soon or late, 
When being Strock Repentance is to late. 
Death is A minute ful of Suden hoitow, 
Then Live to-day, as thou my est dy to morrow." 
Another, but on a stone of later date, which 
marks the grave of a young man, a printer, who 
possessed, as the inscription states, rare qualities 
as a poet and botanist, which he modestly con- 



ap- 



cealed while living, struck me as being very ap 
propriate to the place and subject. It is from 
Shakspere's 94th sonnet : — 

"The summer flower is to the summer sweet, 
Though only to itself it lho and die." 
One of the most delightful walks in the neigh- 
borhood is that to Ann Hathaway's cottage. 
Leaving the village street, you enter the fields by 
a turnpike, and keep the well trodden path over 
the grass and through the grain. This is the 
same path which Shakspere took for his evening 
courtship, and now, if it be the long twilight 
hour when 

"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day," 

we may hear the "old, old story" in the shape of 
a rustic courtship going on over the stile, which 
is the chosen trysting place. Ann's cottage pre- 
sents the same charming rustic picture, with its 
low thatched roof and pretty garden in front. 
The garden is smiling with well-tended flower 
beds, and in the turn of the road, just beyond, 
under the tall trees, the flock of sheep is coming 
home. While you stand at the little wicket gate, 
admiring the scene, the good housewife comes to 
the door, and bids you "come in, if you please." 
She shows you with an honest pride, for she is a' 
descendant of the house, and whose maiden name 
was Hathaway, the wide chimney corner in which 
the lovers sat. I fancied I saw the big, round-faced 
hoy, sitting there and watching Ann as she swept 
the stone floor, or set the dishes by on the 
well arranged dresser. Your guide then takes 
you up stairs to show the "second best bedstead" 
which the great William left by his will to his 
wife. It is a quaint and richly carved old four- 
poster, by which one is led to form a magnificent 
idea of Shakspere's housekeeping arrangements, 
taking this to be the "second bast." The heavy 
and richly embroidered bed linen is not claimed 
- to have been a part of the legacy, but is known 
to have been in the Hathaway family from time 
immemorial. There is no good reason to disbe- 
lieve the genuineuess of the bedstead, and if we 
felt inclined to a doubt, the hearty confidence 
which this simple-hear ted woman, the inheritor 
of the family name, places in it, would dispel it 
all. You are invited to sign your name in two 
books, "one for the proprietor and one for her- 
self," and allowed to cull a posy from the garden 
' as a memento. 

Many pleasant excursions may be made from 
here to places of note, which are in the immedi- 
ate neighborhood. Nearest is Charlecote House 
and its noble parks, from which Shakspere stele 
the deer in one of his boyish pranks, which he 
had the misfortune to be caught in. At least, it 
| seemed so to himself and his fond parents, doubt- 
less, when he was arraigned as a culprit before 
Sir Thomas Lucy, the proprietor; but as it was 
the means of driving him out into the great world 
of London, it was a lucky circumstance for the 
rest of us. The family seem not to have taken 
unkindly the notoriety which the scribbler gave 
them in his caricature of their ancestor in the 
Justice Shallow ef the play, for they have made a 
specialty of deer for many years. In the noble 
park I saw hundreds of these beautiful creatures. 
A short drive, or a pleasant walk, brings you to 
Warwick, a notable old town, with ancient gate- 
ways and its famous castle, the proudest relic of 
the olden time in England. Two or three of the 
late earls of this ancient family have bad a pas- 
sion for collecting curiosities and rare objects of 
art, of all kinds, consequently the castle, which is 
freely shown to visitors, is a large museum. It 
is highly amusing to hear the old porteress relate 
the wonderful history of the objects in her charge 
at the gate, especially of the old iron porridge-pot 
of the doughty Guy of Warwick, who was the 
"head of the family." It is now used as a punch 
bowl on high days, and the gusto with which she 
tells of the "100 gallons of rum, 100 gallons of 
brandy, 150 gallons of water, 100 pounds of loaf 
suijar and lemons and oranges in proportion," of 
which mild beverage she "saw it twice emptied 
on the coming of age of the present earl," makes 
it evident that she recalls the interesting occasion 
with satisfaction. It is said that the income of 
the present earl is so slender that he is obliged to 
live on the continent in order to make both ends 
meet. It is certain that he spends little time on 
this, his family estate. The park is five miles 
broad, and contains among other noble trees sev- 
eral giant cedars, brought many years ago from 
Mount Lebanon. 



<- 



A 



f 



* 



THE FIRST DA Y OF APRIL. 

low it wai «„.„. ... « _ J 'niaking in a mechanical fashion, failing to note 

"' Spem at »«■«•■ Cray*, the absence of the upper sheet until the whole 

maggie bird. Jvas smoothly spread up. It seemed too bad to 

l clon t want any of that nonsense goinsr on in tear ]t aU \ to pi , eces a - ain ' and forgetting for the 

my honse, to-morrow/ said Deacon fW ♦« m. ™ oment . that *e had taken off the missing sheet, 

asspmhlPd t.a„ „>.^i » , ^ ea con bray to his she concluded it must be still hidden at The foot 

TwTr m hOUSehold onthe ev ening of the last of the bed. Carefully reaching down she se zed 

day of March, as he hud aside the Boston Re- hold of » nem > *W was in flct the hem of the 

corder and pushed his spectacles up on his forp- ,ower sheet, b ut jumping at conclusions she was 

head. The remark was caused hvL«r,-«l! sure she had found the lost upper one, so she 

ronvprs-itinn *,„/ , I y heann S some deftly drew it up clear across, and folded it over 

conversation between his children with regard to .' smoothly at the top as her mother mid carefX 

the old custom of 'April fooling.' Esther and ! a , u ? ht her years ago, little thinking what a capi- 

Dan both looked up in surprise at the tone and rSits tr&P She had 8et for ber staid P a ' 

wds of their father. Returning to the kitchen she found Daniel just 

It is positively sinful, that is just my opinion of < brin ^ *om the cellars basket of Soes 

at, said he, 'and it is high time that church mem- « ;«L • P 1 ^ and carrying in one hand a long 

se f oo„ s „ P „r s | SETS, 3g£ .OTMBSttS 

I of a candle, little Wilhe leaving his box of blocks 

to stand by and watch with wondering eyes , 

Daniel had quite an imitative faculty and soon 




~<**i. m . « wvuou j«av,m,ra ^ ccueu to wnittie tnis latter articlp into thA oiio^o 

ofthe world's people. Everybody that enters into of a candle, little Willie Icl^hiVboirfWoSE 
it should remember what the Bible says: 'He 
that sayeth thou fool, shall be oast intn hpii-fir^ > > 

produced a very fahr likeness of a partially bum" 

candle, it being squared off at the top except an 
-imitation wick in the center which he smeared 

with lamp-black. 
'There, was his triumphant ejaculation as he 

placed his handiwork in an old-fashioned 



'Oil fool,' lisped little Willie, who was just be- 
ginning to talk, and whose quick ears had caught 
the words so strongly emphasized by his father. 
It was not in human nature to restrain a smile at 



the little fellow's words, under the circumstances, s candlestick and stood back to surveyT 'thartl 
and even the deacon's face grew perceptibly do 7 ery welL l ' n P ut jt in to my lantern to-ni»-ht 
shorter while the rest were decidedly demonstra- \~„T e0 i th f neighbors and see if I doVt 
tive in their merriment. ' ' * SME5 &w! fe father ' 

'I think myself,' said Mrs Gray at length in her 



usual mild tone, 'that the custom of April fool- 
ing is often carried to excess and so becomes dis- 
gustingly silly. A really good practical joke, on 
that day, I do not object to, provided it does vio- 
lence to no one's feelings.' 



don't have the fun here. 

'I presume not,' said Esther, and Dan set away 
his prize on a shelf in the corner of the buttery 
above the one where candles were usually kept 
thinking it would not attract attention. Esther 
was just twisting her doughnuts preparatory to 
frying them. . r * 

'I say, Esther,' said Dan, 'I wish you'd make 
oome out from among them and be ye separate,' 80me round ones and stuff them with cotton ' 

responded the deacon, who always went armed k , '* m afraid father would not like it ' was 

with scriptural weapons. A silence ensued, 

broken at length by Mrs Gray, who had walked 

to the window and was looking out into the still 

night. 'It is beautiful starlight, and so clear. It 

rwill freeze to-night, and the sap will run well to- 
morrow, I guess. Why can't we go and see old 

Mr Matthews to-morrow morning while it is 

frozen?' said she to her husband. 
'The very thing,' was his quick response. 'Dr 

Bentley says he may drop away at any moment, 



dutiful reply. * v "' "^ the 

'He need never know it,' persisted Dan, 'or if 
he did I guess he wouldn't mind if we only car- 
nod them all off. I'd like to stuff my pockets 
with them for Mr Lamson's children: you know 
I often carry them such things.' 
"""Esther felt herself overruled, ana possibly 
thought she might have a little innocent sport 
with them herself, so she fried a platefull of the 
desired round ones with their deceitful hearts, 
and now the sleighing is so nearly gone, we had ^ and put them away in an out-of-sight corner of 
better improve the first chance. We can get up the cupboard where she was sure no one would 
there and back very comfortably if we don"t wait find them. 

till it thaws out. I'm glad you spoke of it, for I Meanwhile the good deacon and his wife were 

know we ought to go and see him. He has been ' having a prolonged talk with old Mr Matthews; 
one of the pillars of the church for a great while.' tor though his death was hourly expected, the 
So that matter was settled, and with the earliest ruling passion was still strong within, and he 



dawn of the morning the household were astir 
Mrs Gray and Esther busied themselves in pre- 
paring breakfast as expeditiously 8 s possible, so 
as to favor the projected sleigh-ride. ^Esther was 
making milk toast, a favorite article of food with 
her father, and had just taken the heavy-covered 
dish from the cupboard and placed it upon the 
kitchen table to receive the toast, when little 
Willie called out from his crib in the bedroom. 



was garrulous as ever and determined to converse 
with his visitors on all subjects, mental and 
moral, social, political and religious, which he 
could think of. By the time they could get away 
from him the roads were pretty well thawed out, 
and sleighing dubious as well as slow, and thus 
it came to pass that it was nearly one o'clock— 
when they reached home, and dinner had long 
been waiting. They brought with them a mes- i 



Her mother was skimming milk, so Esther set k sage for Esther and Dan, winch a neighbor's 
(the spider containing the toast into the oven to | daughter ran out , and gave them^as^they passed 



innocently set the covered dish on the table 
jempty; for taking it for granted that Esther had 
*put in the toast, in her haste she did not take the 
trouble to lift the cover to see, and the dish be- 
-ing a very heavy one ox itself, she never suspect- 
ed its emptiness. 

But they all saw it when the good deacon, af- 
ter a brisk skirmish with the baked potatoes and 
sausage, lifted the cover from the toast dish with 
an air of eager expectancy. The frown on his 
Drow snowea mat ne felt the joke as much as 



preparatory 

Arnold's, the neighbor's aforesaid, and the time, 
one o'clock. It was so near that time already 
that the young people made a mere pretense ol 
♦sating dinner, arrayed themselves, ajad set oul 
with all speed. So hasty indeed that the choice 
plate of doughnuts in the cupboard was quite 
forgotten, a fact which Dan remembered, just as 
they reached Mr Arnold's and lamented aloud to 
his sister, and he would have run back after 
them had they not found the whole company just 



stead of the twisted, as they are probably the 
richest, a very natural conclusion, as every 1 
housekeeper knows. g 

'Foreordination' lasted till tea was ready, and I 
even after for the deacon was obliged to inter ' 



— , ...„^ „ uviu«i K i iove any Dett 
was so from my earliest remembrance. Indeed 
my fondness for doughnuts has always been a 
Standing joke m our family. And there is no xl 
collection of my dear mother, now in her grave 
which is more touching, than the thought of the 
kind loving way in which she always used to go 
and fry doughnuts for me, whenever I returned 
to visit her after I had gone away from home to 
commence my studies.' 

There were tears standing in Mrs Gray's mild 
eyes in answer to those in the sparkling black 
ones of Mr Kennett, as he thus tenderly alluded 
to his mother, and even the deacon's eyes were 
suspiciously moist. 'There is no love like a 
mother's,' said he, in a sympathizing way, and he 
took a huge bite at his doughnut. 'Time in the 
primer! was his startled exclamation as he took 
it iron, nls mouth. 'What does it all mean?' 

The others looked on in astonishment as he 
broke open the doughnut and revealed the cotton. 
An examination of theirs then revealed the same 
and there was a puzzled look on all their faces till 
Mr Kennett exclaimed. 'The first day of 4pril ' 
and burst into a hearty laugh, in which Mrs Gray 
joined m spite of herself, and no doubt the deacon 
would have followed, but for dignity as head of 
the family and his words of the previous evening 
I think it is strange,' said he at length, 'that 
Esther should have done so, after what 1 said last 
night.' 

'Now, father,' said his wife, gently, 'I don't 
think she meant to be undutiful, for that is not 
like her. I presume Dan put her up to it, and 
she is fond of sport, too; but she did not intend 
we should ever be annoyed with them. They only 
meant them to amuse the young folks with, but*l 
chanced to find them and put them on the table 
innocently enough.' And Mrs Gray arose and 
carried them away and brought on some of the 
twisted ones, not however till Mr Kennett had 
begged one to carry home to Mrs Wells.' 

'You see,' he explained as he put it in his 
pocket, Mrs Wells is always joking me because 
I do not marry, and I told her only yesterday 
that I was waiting to find a young lady who 
could fry doughnuts to suit me. So if I carry 
this to her and tell her I have found the right 
one at last she will naturally be very eager to 
try it,' and Mr Kennett laughed now in anticipa- 
tion of the scene. 

'But don't you think,' said his host, 'that such 
things are unbecoming in Christians— that we 
ought to leave joking and April fooling to the 
world's people?' 

'In a measure, yes,' was the quiet reply. 'Yet 
I think we may err as much in going to one ex- 
treme as the other. Religion should not be made 
gloomy and full of terrors, if we would induce 
young people to embrace it, and I think many' 
old people are quite too forgetful of their own 
youth. We should remember that those things 
for which we have outgrown a relish are still 
sweet to young people as they once were to us 
and not by seeking to deny them all pleasures 
except such as are suited to older people, disgust 
them with both religion and its professors. A . 
really good practical joke, like the present one, I K "A3 T" "'< 
will harm nobody.' ' \ {& Jj** k *™ " 

The deacon was mollified, that was evident 
Berhaps I m too straight with my children some- 

titvuia *aw I'll n ll« X J^ r»_ _ , 



Spice D&t 

-i 1 of an 
■ rW Tnli<i- 



'•Th i h thq ir-V7 1 

Ion; |i.ti 

An.l mcMimcit lc- 

1 fjuail it 

YwlY arc wo 
exit iij-ajaiii 



VVjin i 



la'jrl 

■ \> iim it i» 
la Iiarc (Var'i. 



though some one had shouted for him, 'April / ready for a start. But both of them regretted 
fooir and he evidently considered his words of exceedingly having lost so capital a chance lor 



the previous evening to be trifled with, but Mrs 
Gray quickly explained. 

'I supposed you put in the toast, Esther, and 
,■ did not take the trouble to look, in my haste.' 
Esther sped away with alacrity for the missing 
food, and soon returned with as bountiful a supply 
cf the rich creamy preparation as any one could 
desire. It was not impossible, however, that 
three of the family felt amused at the incident, 
although too respectful to show it. 

Breakfast and prayers over, the deacon went 
out to harness up, and Mrs Gray made herself 
ready. 'Esther,' said she, as she came out put- 
ting on her things, 'if you make our bed you 
may take off that flannel sheet. Now the weather 
is so mild your father complains of its irritating 
him, and it fretted him so last night that I deter- 
mined to take it off this morning without fail.' 
Up came the sleigh and she hurried out. 'Oh, 
Esther, if you have time, I'd like to have you fry 
some doughnuts this forenoon,' and then the 
door closed . 

Esther went about her duties with cheerful 
readiness, for she was one of those good, whole- 
some farmer's daughters who consider work no 
disgrace. The morning's round of bed-making, 
sweeping and dusting, brought her at length to 
her parents' room, and mindful of the injunction 
concerning the obnoxious upper sheet, she re- 
moved it at once and put it in the clothes basket 
i in the closet. But one of those fits of musing in 
which the most practical of young ladies are 
prone to indulge at times, came over her just then, 
and she went through the process of the bed- 



fun with the cotton-stuffed doughnuts. 

The quiet which settled down over the house 
after their departure was broken about four 
o'clock by the advent of the new minister, Mr 
Kennett. He had only come to town a lew weeks 
previous, and this was his first call, so of course 
Deacon Gray and his wife vied with each other 
in showing attention to their guest. An hour 
passed away in pleasant conversation, for Mr 
Kennett was one of those cheerful Christians 

4 whom it is a real pleasure to meet. A young man, 
just entering on the ministry, his heart was warm- 
ly engaged in the holy cause, but at the same time 
he did not regard a smiling countenance, or even 
a hearty laugh when occasion requi»cd, as posi- 
tive proofs of total depravity. 

The clock striking five aroused Mrs Gray to 
thoughts of tea, and her husband and guest hav- 
ing become deeply absorbed in the deacon's fa- 
vorite topic, foreordination, she excused herself 
and went into the kitchen. On hospitable 

l\ thoughts intent she stepped about in her brisk 
way determined to have Mr Kennett's first im- 
pressions of her tea-table pleasant ones. 'How 
glad I am,' was her inward exclamation, 'that 
Esther fried doughnuts this forenoon/ remem- 
bering how his boarding-mistress, Mrs Wells, 
had said one day when she went in there and 
found her frying doughnuts, that there was 
nothing Mr Kennett liked so well. 'It seems she 
fried two sorts,' was the good lady's next thought 
as peering into the dark corners of the cupboard 
she dragged to light the plate of round ones. 
'Well, I guess I'll put on these round ones in- 



* v. ua,£ 3 » u, iuu su-aigui witn my eti iiriren some- "," T'"" r , '," 
times, for I'll allow I do forget occasionally that *Z*E2£* 
I was a boy once, and a pretty wild one too/ said 
he, thoughtfully. 'They are dutiful children, I 
cannot deny that, but they will show out their 
youth. 

'They are good children,' interposed his wife 
decidedly. 'Daniel is as kind-hearted a boy as I _ _ 
ever saw, and Esther, especially since she experi- » 5" 7 
enced re hgion, has always been as good a dauirhr p- » 2 xa 
ter as I could desire.' B n " « ° 

'She is a member of the church, is she not T in- c 7 S « 
quired Mr Kennett. 

'Yes, sir/ replied the deacon, 'she joined it two - 
years ago, and I think she tries to lead a Chris- 
tian life. And I don't despair of Daniel yet ' 

Ihats right/ replied his guest as they rose 
from the table; 'hope on, and work as well as 
pray and you will be blessed.' 

Mrs Gray busied herself in clearing away the 
tea-things while the gentlemen returned to the 
sitting-room and their conversation, but just at 
dusk Mr Kennett arose to depart. 

'Stay with us this evening, can't you, said the 
deacon, 'the children will be home soon.' 

'Thank you/ was the pleasant reply, 'but I 
have been out of my study all day, so I must im- ^ g? *< ■ 
prove the evening. Nothing would give me £ g - £ ? 
greater pleasure than to remain were it expedient.' 3 <3 J" | 

'Wal, anyway, hold on and have some apples < ^ & ^ 
before you go.' And the deacon went for a can- £L M % 2 
die but found nothing in the candlesticks save % ^ 5' 5* 
exceedingly 6hort pieces. Just then he caught .* | °^ "^ 
sigh t of Daniel's chei'-cTceuvre on the shelf above, ° 

««^l ii M1 . n p n n/.fi'n(rl.T f^./^lr ir ol f llAll 0"ll th A VPTV fflPt. P 






S ' * 

o » W 

*** «• £3 

3 M, w 

O ffjl 

x <; K 



for adhering to vhe good old maxim— 'a place for 
everything and everything in its place.' With 
his usual lack of ceremony he took it into the 
sitting-room that he might converse with the 
minister as he lighted it, the more naturally as the 
cellar door opened from that room. Taking a 
match from the box on the mantel he essayed to 
light the candle but in vain. Again and again 
- -X f " 



3 *H 

p 4 






he tried with no better success, holding each 
match until it burned bis fingers in his persever- 
ing attempts. The small, close room was getting 
tolsmcll unpleasantly suggestive of a place which 
we will not name, when Mrs Gray entered with 
the table lamp ready lighted, and Esther and 
Daniel simultaneously appeared on the scene. 

'Why father,' cried the latter, when greetings 
were exchanged with Mr Kennett and he saw his 
parent trying to study out by the light of the 
lamp the cause of his failure to light the candle, 
'I didn't expect you were going to get hold of 
that thing.' _ ,;. '; - ■ 

'What is it anyway? said the deacon, and 
Daniel explained, giving his hearers occasion for 
another hearty laugh, while Esther slipped out, 
lighted a candle and went for the apples. 

*Mr Kennett soon departed, and Daniel, after 
seeing to the chores, made his projected visit to 
the Lampsons, carrying the sham candle in his 
lantern and not forgetting the doughnuts, this 
time. . 

Esther was considerably amused when her 
mother told her of the scene at the tea-table, but 
she begged her father not to think she intended 
.that he should be deceived by her stuffed dough- 
nuts. She explained the reason of her making 
them, and was glad to see that both parents en- 
tirely exonerated her. The probability is, that if 
her father could have unsaid his words of the 
previous evening he would have been glad to. 

One more joke was vet destined to be in his ex- 
perience of the day. No one had thought of re- » 
i-ring save little Willie, already in his cub, when ' 
belaid aside his paper and drew off his boots, for « 
he always went to bed early. His wife and daugh- 
ter conversing busily as they sewed, hardly no- 
ticed his absence till an unmistakable expression 
of astonishment from his lips called their atten- 
tion to the adjoining bedroom. 

'Good hemlock and dumplings!' (and when 
Deacon Gray said that you might be sure he was 
astonished more than ordinary) 'what does this 
mean ?' 

'What is the matter?' inquired his wife. ? 

'That's just what I'd like to know,' was the re- 
sponse, 'but this bed is too short even for little 
Willie. I can't begin to get into it.' 

'Did you take off that flannel sheet this morn- 
ing?' said Mrs Gray to Esther as she lighted a 
candle to go and investigate the trouble. 

'Yes, mother,' was the ready reply, but then the 
whole of the mischief flashed upon her and she 
hastened to explain. It was ludicrous enough in 
its results, and the deacon was fairly uproarious^ 
in his merriment, strange as it might seem. But 
matters were quickly put to rights by the addi- 
tion of another sheet to the bed, and the good man), 
was soon sleeping, none the less sweetly, we ven- 
ture to say, that he had yielded up some of his 
stiff prejudices. 

Mr Kennett carried home the doughnut and 
had as merry a time over it as he anticipated. 
But all of Mrs Wells' quizzing failed to extract 
from him the name of the young lady who manu-' 
factured it. Why he would not tell we do not 
pretend to say, but the fact was certain that he 
did not. 

Some years have passed since that memorable 
day, and there is now a rumor (and not without 
foundation) in his parish, that he intends shortly 
to marry. And the present name of the future 
Mrs Kennett is universally conceded to be Esther 
Gray. ____^ , 




WAITING, 

A Tale of Chicago. 

The good .steamer Empire lay swinging un- 
ea-ily at her moorings in the Chicago river on a 
bright August morning in 1848. Railways had 
not then wrested travel from the lakes, and the 
best route from the Northwest to New York was 
the round-about way by Mackinaw and Buffalo. 
The old block-house of Fort Dearborn was still 
standing. The streets of the embryo city were 
innocent of macadam or Nicholson; indeed the 
streets of to-day were not at all, for the Chicago 
of that day has been buried six feet out of sight. 
The old Lake House was a prince among hotels. 
A glaring white two-story frame rejoiced in the 
Boetonian name of Tremont, on the same corner 
where its namesake now rears its colossal propor- 
tions, while where the Sherman now stands, a 
blowsy red-brick flaunted the same name in pre- 
tentious gilt letters on its st.iring sides. McVick- 
er's and the 'Crosby's' were in the undreamed-of 
future, but the since mayor was then proprietor 
of a Thespian temple where Charles Dibdin Pitt 
and Mrs Jones, and other histrionic celebrities of 
that day and generation delighted the unambi- 
tious denizens of what has since become one of 
the most wonderful cities of the world. 

A busy throng hurried to and fro on the wharf 
where the steamer lay, ready to start on her long 
run around the lakes. There was a summer 
pleasure-party, full of merry jest, and merrier 
laughter— self-absorbed— heedless of all the hurry 
and anxiety an J care about them. The merchant 
from some interior town, journeying to New 
York to purchase merchandise, clutched his va- 
lise closely, and, outwardly calm, but inwardly 
perturbed and anxious lest some abandoned 
wretch should steal his trunk or pick his pockets, 
walked solemnly into the 'grand saloon.' All 
social grades seemed to be represented, from the 
sell-possessed, traveled man of the world to the 
wide-eyed bumpkin from the remote farm-house. 



Threading his way daintily through the throng, 
came a gentleman with strongly-marked and not 
altogether pleasant, though handsome and smil- 
in' r features, with faultless outfit und air of most 
imperturbable aplomb. A plainly-dressed and 
quite pretty woman leaned nervously on his arm, 
and half accompanied, half followed him. Her 
eyes bore traces of recent weeping, and her face a 
wore the half-puzzled, half -penitent expression of > 
one in strong doubt whether the present action 
be criminal or innocent. Stepping from the 
wharf to the boat, she seemed to hesitate a mo- 
ment; but her companion ignored any such 
suspicion, if he entertained it, aud, moving rapid- 
ly and confidently forward, led her into the sa- 
loon. Here he seated her with ceremonious 
politeness, and, telling her that she need do 
nothing but wait until he attended to the disposi- 
tion of her baggage and secured her state- room, 
he turned away, but, after a step or two, returned, 
and, with an appearance of respectful concern, 
said : — 

'It would be well, Mrs Barnes, if ?ou would 
drop your vail. It would save you from imperti- 
nent staring, and perhaps from annoying 
questions.' 

She glanced toward his face with a slightly 
surprised look ; but he had turned again, and 
was walking away, with the air of jaunty as- 
surance that sat so naturally on him. She half j 
rose, as if to follow him, but immediately re- 
sumed her seat, and muttering, 'Perhaps he's right 
— perhaps he's right,' she drew her vail closely 
over her face, and settled herself back into the 
luxurious sofa with an uneasy sigh. 

Her companion hurried out to the street, and 
glanced up and down. Presently a baggage- 
wai?on drove up, from which the driver lifted two 
large trunks, conspicuously lettered, 'Mrs M. 
E. Barnes,' and carried them on board the steam- 
er. Then, approaching the gentleman we have 
remarked, he said, with a knowing grin: — 

'There, Mr Jeremy, I've brought them 'ere 
trunks in good time, and I shall have to have 
two dollars, for I've had to drive fast, I tell you.' 
'Certainly, my man,' replied he who was ad- 
dressed as Mr Jeremy; 'three of them, if you 
like.' Then, handing the man a bank-note for 
five dollars, and also a folded and sealed paper, 
he added, — 

'Here,— I shall give you five; but you must 
promise to take this letter to some one of the 
newspaper offices, and hand it to the local editor; 
but don't, uuder any circumstances, tell from 
whom you received it. Will you take the five, 
and do this, or m<ist I give the three to some 
other messenger?' 

'Oh, I'll take the letter, of course. But' — with 
another grin— 'do you think they'll print it?' 

Mr Jeremy betrayed a little surpris- at the 
man's mauoei', but answered, with a pleasant 
smile :— 
'I guess so. Items are scarce.' 
Softly whistling a popular air, Mr Jeremy 
stepped aboard the Empire. The baggage-man 
looked after him, admiringly, and muttered to 
himself, 'You're a sharp 'un. It don't make no 
difference to you whether Cass or Taylor's elected, 
so you gits the petticoats on your side, I know,' 
he jumped on his wagon, and drove away, well 
content with his afternoon's earnings. 

The steamer's bell rang out the last note of 
warning; the lines were cast loose, the gleaming 
engine slid away with a cat-like tread, the pon- 
derous wheels shook off the flashing spray, and 
the good steamer Empire, freighted with inani- 
mate value and pulsing life, bearing the buoyancy 
of youthful years and pleasurable intent, and the 
uneasy imaginings of unscrupulous and plotting 
guilt, moved out on the bosom of the lake. 

The afternoon of the succeeding day was far 
advanced. The westering sun pierced his level 
lances through the veil of grimy smoke that 
settled along the busy river, and far out across 
the green bosom of the lake their golden points 
were dimmed and blunted against the purple 
east. The clatter, rather than roar, which was 
the business voice of the Chicago of that day, 
was dying into quiet, and over vast regions 
where one now hears the rumble of the horse- 
cars, and the many -toned voice of traffic, the air 
trembled only to the faint bell-note from grazing 
kine, or their mellowed lowing, as they lazily 
wandered homeward. 

The steamer Baltic, from Buffalo direct, had 
just arrived. The bustle of landing was almost 
over, and the knot of idlers which such an event 
at that day always drew, was moving gradually 
away. A gentleman of tMrty to thirty-five years 
stepped briskly ashore, leading by the hand a 
little boy of not more than five years. Both were 
well but plainly clad, indicating a middle social 
rank ; and the face of the gentleman wore that 
expression of pleasurable anticipation, not, in- 
deed, entirely unmixed with apprehension, which 
one always feels upon a return home after a long 
absence. 

'We'll soon be home now, Harry, my boy, and 
I shouldn't wonder if mamma half choked you 
with kisses.' 

'Oh, I'm so glad to come home!' returned the 
boy. 'I am tired of boats and water. And we've 
get such lots of nice things for mamma, too ; 
haven't we!' 

'Yes, pet; and only think how lonesome mam- 
ma must have been all these weeks, without her 
little boy.' 

He caught the little fellow up in his arms, and 
moved onward at a more rapid pace. Along 
Luke street he greeted two or three acquaintances 
with a brief nod to each; while they, unnoted by 
him, looked after him with troubled eyes and a 
compassionate shake of the head. 
Threading his way rapidly and confidently he | 



turned up Clark street, passed under the shadow 
of the old court-house to Lasalle, and up that 
street to a point not many hundred feet away 
from the spot where the great new buildings of 
the Young Men's Christian association have re- 
cently been burned. Here lie turned off diagonal- 
ly, and, crossing some vacant lots, approached a 
low, white cottage. He saw, as he came up, that 
the blinds were all closed, and the house looked 
deserted and silent. Bu* it was a hot day, he 
said to himself, and behind the blinds must be the 
fluttering curtains and cool shade of pleasant 
home. 'Besides, 'he thought,' she is not expect- 
ing me; I am more than a week ahead of time.' 
He stepped on the little stoop and turned the 
knob, but the door was locked. Bidding the boy 
wait for him there, he went to the rear door. 
That, too, was closed and locked. He returned 
to the front with surprise and anxiety, and thr 
shadow of gathering fear written on his face. 
But he plucked up heart again when he came 
back to the front, and his little boy asked,— 

'Papa, where is mamma? Why don't we go 
in?' 

'Mamma did not expect us to-day,' he replied, 
with a dreary cheerfulness, 'and she has gone 
out to see some neighbors, or shopping, may be. 
But she'll be back presently, and we'll sit down 
on the step here, and wait for her.' 

But he rang the bell loudly, and listened in- 
ently as its echoes sounded through the deserted 
rooms, before he sat down, and tried, with a 
trouble heart, to think where his wife -could be. 
Presently the clicking of the gate-latch roused 
him irom his unquiet thought, and he looked up 
with an eager smile. But it was a neighbor, who 
advanced gravely, and replitd to his hurried 
questions only by wringing his hanl and holding 
out to him a copy of a morning newspaper, fold- 
ed down to an indicated paragraph. He took it 
eagerly, and the neighbor, walking quickly away, 
leaned on the gate. Let us look over his shoulder 
as he reads : — 

Elopement!— Last evening, soon after the depar- 
ture of one of our magnificent lake steamers.it traus- 
?ired that the wife of a quite well-known citiien had 
aken passage for Buffalo and the East in guilty com- 
pany with a young man who has contrived to attract 
the admiration of our business men by the boldness 
and success of his commercial operations, quite as 
much as that of their daughters and wives by his per- 
sonal graces. The run-away seems to have been con- 
ducted in the most deliberate manner. The gentle- 
man , within a few days, has closed up all his outstand- 
ing business, announcing bis purpose to remove from 
the city ; and the lady, up to within a few hours of her 
depariure.having continued the apparent course of her 
life with the utmost sang froid, making engagements 
with friends and neighbors for days still in the future, 
and ostentatiously bewailing the absence other hus- 
band, whom pressing business called to New York 
several weeks ago. On the whole, we have rarely 
heard of a case exhibiting cooler depravity. The 
parties' names we suppress for obvious reasons. 

Later.— Since the above was in type, we have 
learned that Mr B-rn-s is accompanied in New York 
by his only child, a bright little boy of five years or 
thereabouts. Mr J-re^-y has .therefore secured his 
frail inamorata free from any incumbrance of that 
nature. 

His face grew white and rigid, as, first rapidly, 
then with marvelous deliberation, he read the 
damning paragraph, and he clutched the paper 
till the letters'thereon left their impression in 
the damp moisture that stood on his fingers. His 
little boy had leaned his head upon his lap, and, 
wearied with the long summer afternoon, had 
fallen quietly asleep. By and by the paper drop- 
ped from his relaxing fingers, and, lifting his 
child in his arms, he turned his steps once more 
to the rear of his deserted house. One or two 
vigorous pushes forced open the door, and father 
and son, not in the anticipated joy and brightness 
of happy home, not with the glad smiles and 
warm kisses of a beautiful wife and mother, but 
in silence and the bitterness of desertion, with 
a heart-sickness and a sense of utter loneliness 
past expression, trod again the fimiliar rooms. 
Let us imitate the example of the pitying neigh- 
bor, and leave him with his grief. 

Twenty-four hours after, looking almost as if 
twenty four yc ars had left their tn cas on his Kindly 
fjatuies, he called to Mr Gage, the neighbor who 
brought him the paper on the preceding evening, 
asking if he could give him an hour. Mr Gage 
entered his house expecting to be asked for all 
his knowledge with respect to the disappearance 
of Mrs Barnes, and felt a vague sense of relief, 
mingled with surprise, when Mr Barnes, with a 
gravity deep and settled, but composed, entered 
at ence upon quite different matters ; ?.nd through- 
out their Whole conference there was no allusion 
made to the erring wife. 

'I am about to leave the city, Mr Gage, for a 
period which may extend over several years, and 
wish to leave this property in such shape that it 
may be cared for properly, and ultimately return- 
ed to mc, or to my boy. I do not wish to sell, be- 
cause my faith in the future of Chicago is strong; 
and if anything should happen to me, I want 
Harry to profit by the growth of this place. To 
this end, I have drawn up a lease, at a merely 
nominal rent, of the whole property (which, you 
are aware, includes three lots,) to run absolutely 
ten years, aud terminable after that period by 
giving six months' notice to the lessee. This paper 
needs only my signature and the fillingin of the 
name of the lessee to complete it. If you will 
examine it, you will find it in due form. Will 
you accept the trust (for so I regard it), and suf- 
fer me to insert your name as lessee? ' 

'I will, Mr Barnes. I do not desire to ex- 
amine it,' as the other offered him the 
paper. 'Insert my name at once, if it be your 
wish.' 

'Thank you . There arc no instructions that I 
wish to irive, except that, as the rent falls due, 
you will forward it, subject t? my Order, to 'i>e 
Bank of the State of Missouri, at St Lou :s ; but 



I 



f 



imc 



der no circumstances either seek yourself, or, 

far as you may be able to prevent, suffer any 

one else to seek to discover my whereabouts. In 

good time I will make it known to you. Have I 

your promise?' 

'You have.' 

'Let us, then, execute this paper at once. I had 
forgotten to say, that I would be glad if you 
would dnpose of all my household goods, by 
auction or otherwise, as you may elect, remitting 
the proceeds as before. My business affairs I have 
already placed in process of adjustment. I shall 
start to-morrow morning.' 
'And your son ?' 
'Goes with me.' 

The Chicago of 1848 had given place to the 
Chicago of 186T. Nineteen years had wrought 
changes as radical and marvelous as those of the 
j kaleidoscope. Instead of a provincial town, there 
was a considerable city, and a city more full of 
energy and vitality, as well as of 'brag,' than 
any city in the world. Planking had given way 
to the pervasive 'Nicholson;' long rows of wood- 
en 'shanties' had yielded up their standing-room 
to costly stone and iron; bridge after bridge had 
spanned the sluggish river; the stream itself 
from a mere muddy prairie creek had become a 
reeking; sewer, to get rid of whose fetid breath 
was the subject of anxious consideration to more 
than 200,000 people. 

The shadows of a September evening were 
slowly closing in, yet the roar of the busy city 
did not seem to lull. At intervals the horse cars 
went rumbling by, packed full and running over 
with tired men seeking their comfortable homes 
far out in what had been commons and corn-fields 
nineteen years before, and the tide of hurrying 
pedestrians which flowed along the broad side- 
walks seemed to know no ebb. 

Near one of the busiest points of the city, a 
little 'fancy store' in a modest wooden house, 
nestled shyly between two pretentious marble 
fronts. It bore on its face the traces of a former 
era, and it was evident that its successor would 
be of signally different style. Inside, a young 
girl was daintily putting in order some laces tum- 
bled by a just-departed visitor, and slowly and 
tenderly manipulating the soft meshes with all 
the feminine fondness for the delicate web. 
Drawing a piece of the foamy fabric about hef 
white necfc, she turned to a little mirror behind 
the narrow counter, and stood dreamily contem- 
plating its effect. She was startled by a quick 
tread, and a rough but manly and pleasant 
voice : — 

'Pardon me, miss, but can you tell me if these 
streets bear the same names they did twenty 
years ago?' 

Tin sure I don't know, sir,' she replied with a 
little pout and blush, as she busily folded up the 
lace, with a half-glance at the amused face of her 
questioner. 'Aunt Mary can tell you all about 
it, though; and if you'll wait a moment, I'll call 
her.' 

She flitted away through a door in the rear of 
the shop, but returned almost immediately, fol- 
lowed by a much older lady clothed in sober 
black, with a grave but pleasant face, on which 
were drawn the unmistakable lines of sorrow and 
tears, but whose expression plainly showed that 
thsse had not harrowed the heart nor embittered 
the spirit. 
The young man repeated his question. 
'Yes, sir; the names are the same, but their 
features have changed in that time. But surely 
• you are too young to have known them so long 
ago?' 

Aunt Mary slowly drew nearer the young 
stranger, her eyes fixed almost wistfully on the 
fresh," ruddy face, while the color which yet lin- 
gered in her rounded cheek came and 
went fitfully, and an unwonted light moistened 
and trembled in the habitually pensive eye. 

'Yes,' he replied, 'I know them, but my recol- 
lection ot them is very dim and faint. I am ask- 
ing for my father, who was very familiar with 
them then, and is now looking about just out- 
side there to see if he can identify some property 
he once owned in this vicinity.' 

'Please ask him to step inside. Perhaps I can 
give him some information. I have been famil- 
iar with this part of the city for many years.' 

A paleness crept over the kindly face as she 
watched the young man's elastic, swinging 
tread, as he passed out to the street. 'How like 
his walk!' came through her lips, more like the 
ghost of a forgotten whisper than articulate 
sounds. A boot, which she had been reading, 
and was still holding, was laid noiselessly down, 
and, with hands clasped closely against her 
bosom, she stood fixedly watching the door. 

Presently father and son entered together. Cai- 
tfbrnian suns and Oolbradan winds had browned 
(he once thin and colorless cheek; the dark locks 
had changed to iron-gray, and the wild, free life 
of the remote West, the healthful toil and expos- 
ure of the mine and the camp, the cheery com- 
panionship of forest and river and mountain, 
while keeping the spirit fresh and free from 
moody repining, had, even at that period of life, 
broadened and strengthened the frame. But all 
these changes ■could not conceal the individuality, 
and -Robert Barnes was unmistakable in this hale 
and deliberate mountaineer, as in the hurrying 
denizen of the citv of nineteen years before. 
'This is mv fatlK-r, ma'am— Robert Barnes.' 
'Yes, ma'am; Harry tells me you are quite—' 
He stopped abruptly, and gazed at the woman 
before him, who, with streaming eyes and parted 
lips, loaned eagerly toward him, and murmured 
in tones choked and low, — 



'Answered! U infinite Father! answered! 
Robert — husband — at last — Oh, at last !' and tot- 
tering forward, she seized his unresisting hand, 
and, clasping it closely in both her own, looked 
eagerly into the bronzed face, where surprise, 
and joy, and love, and the smouldering fires of 
half-forgotten anger and distrust, seemed strug- 
gling for supremacy. 

He would have signed to the young people to 
leave them alone; but she led him still unre- 
sisting into her little sitting room at the rear of 
the shop, then, softly closing the door, she re- 
leased his hand, and still looking into his face 
said, — 

'Not one kiss for your wife, Robert, after so 
long — so long,' and the low voice choked and the 
clasped fingers grew white under each other's 
pressure. 

'How is it possible, Mary?' 

She laid her finger on his lips. 

'Hush !' she said. 'I can guess all you would 
■ say.' Hastily throwing open a writing desk she 
took from it an old, yellow, iolded paoer, and 
giving it to him, continued, 'Read that before 
you judge me.' 

, The writing was irregular and scrawling, as 

if done by one in great haste or with shattered 

nerves. Mr Barnes read the few lines three or 

, four times through, before he seemed to take in 

their full significance. They ran : — 

New York, August 7, 1848. 

My dear wife: Come to me at once. Harry is 
very ill, and worn out with care and watching, my 
own health is giving way. I send this by private 
hand, to Mr .Jeremy, who will arrange for your de- 
parture, and possibly may accompany you a part of 
the way. Robekt.' 

, There was a brief silence. Then he laid the 
faded letter softly down, and whispering with 
bated breath. 'I seeit all— I seeitall,' held toward 
her his trembling hands. A smile like the mem- 
ory of childhood's sunny mornings flushed 
through her lingering tears, and the weary bur- 
den of twenty years seemed to be lifted from her ' 
life like the mist of the night, as the strong arms 
closed around her again, and she heard the fa- 
miliar voice, speaking to his own heart rather 
than to her, — 
'How can I ever atone for these twenty years 
-i of wrong?' 

Oblivious of the young people waiting and 
wondering in the next room — oblivious of all the 
world but themselves, they looked in each other's 
'eyes, and talked fitfully for more than an hour ; 
but the reply to his first question discloses all 
that we care to know. 
'Who gave you that letter!' 
'Mr Jeremy. I did not knaw what to do. It 
seemed so unlike you to send to him, and not to 
me direct, that I felt inclined to doubt. But you 
were not quite well when you left home, and Mr 
Jeremy was your most trusted frieud. So trust- 
ed, you remember, Robert, that you laughed at 
/me, as both vain and foolish, when I told you. 
some months before, that he seemed to be seek- 
ing opportunity and encouragement for culpable 
advances, and in very shame I tried to persuade 
myself that you must be right. And then, the 
thought that you and Harry might be dying, 
among strangers, a thousand miles away from 
me, wrung my heart; and, following my first 
impulse, I started to go to you on the same day 
he gave me the letter. It was the second day 
out before he threw off the mask. At first I af- 
fected not to understand him, and tried to laugh; 
but that only encouraged him. Then I repulsed 
him, and threatened to appeal to the captain of 
the boat for protection. But he taunted me with 
my helpless and equivocal position; and finally, 
in his anger and chagrin, he threw off all disguise, 
and told me that the letter he gave me was writ- 
ten by himself, and that he spared no pains to con- 
sult me irrevocably to his fortunes; and, with 
idevilish malignity, he even showed me a copy, a 
true one, as I found afterward, of an article 
which he had sent to the press, and yvhich he as- 
sured me had then been circulated throughout the 
city. I was crushed, but not conquered. I did 
appeal to the captain, who placed me on the first 
westward-bound steamer we met, and, within 
^five clays after I started away, I was at home 
again. But it was home no longer! I saw Mr 
9 Gage, and he told me of all you had done, but was 
slow to believe what I had to tell. AVe have tried 
to learn your whereabouts ; but beyond the cold 
courtesy of the bank-officers at St Louis we could 
never penetrate. You guarded your secret well. 
With the little money you left me, added to what 
v Mr Gage generously advanced me, I opened this 
little shop. God prospered me abundantly; and 
here I have remained ever since. In my inmost 
heart I knew you would come back again some- 
" time, and I never closed my eyes in sleep 
praying God to spare me to see that dav. And 
now that clay has cone. Oh, husband — dear 
husband! the past is buried out of sight, and we 
are young again!' 
'Is Mr Gage still living?' 
'No; he died two years ago; but his sons have 
"succeeded to his business. Several years ago the 
lots where we lived were covered by huge busi- 
ness houses, built by Mr Gage. The rents paid 
for them long ago, and, since then, neither father 
nor sons would take a dollar of their proceeds, 
but have regularly deposited them in a savings 
bank, to the credit of 'little Harry,' as they would 
always call him. Of course I would not touch 
them without your consent. Twelve years ago 
my cousin Helen died, and left me her five-year- 
old girl. You saw her in the front room.' 
'Where is Jeremy ?' 



'Dead ten years ago. Mrs uage has a letter 
written bv him a few days before his death, to 
her husband. I have never seen it, but they told 
me that these facts are there stated, amid much 
penitent protestation, substantially as I have just 
told them to you. God forgive me, but it was be- 
wildering work, sometimes, to think of him with 
anything but malediction.' 

There was a long pause, broken only by the 
scarce audible sob that marked the ebb of the 
storm of emotion which had so lately swept 
through that quiet house. One by one the street- 
lamps threw their struggling beams into the set- 
tling darkness, and the roar of the day subsided 
gradually into the city's multitudinous 'voices of 
the night.' Then she rose softly, and said : 'Let 
us call in the children; and when we shall have 
satisfied their wonder, you shall tell me all your 
history through all these many years.' 

In all Chicago's quarter of a million souls this 
day, there are none more serenely happy and de- 
votedly content than these 'tried and true.' 



D 



ifc Among our Ancestors. 

The .. .stoms, manners, literature, architecture, 
history, everything in fine pertaining to Englanc 
previous to the commencement of the seven 
teent^h century, may be regarded as the commor 
ancestral property of all John Ball's progeny 
wherever scattered over the world. To a large 
majority of onr readers, therefore, whatever 
throws light upon the olden times of Great 
Britain, can never cease to be of interest. The 
Onober New England Farmer, noticing a recent 
publication, "Oar English Homes," extracts 
and comments as follows : 

"The whale was eaten by the Saxors; and 
when men were lucky enough to get it, it ap 
peared at table late in the 15th century. In 1246 
Hanry III. directed the sheriffs of LoDdon to 
purchase one hundred pieces of whale lor hie 
table. Whales fouud on the coast were the per- 
quisites of royalty ; they were cut up and sent 
to the king's kitchen in carts. Edward II gave 
a reward of twenty shillings to three manners 
who had caught a whale near London bridge. 
Those found on tne banks of the Thames were 
claimed by the lord mayor, and added to the 
civic feast. Pieces of whale were often pur- 
chased in the thirteenth century for the table ot 
the Countess of Leicester. England was sup- 
plied with this choice dainty by the fishermen of 
Normandy, who made it an article of commerce. 
The Normans had various ways of cooking it ; 
sometimes it was roasted, and brought to the 
table on a spit; but the usual way was to boil it 
and serve it up with peas; epicures looked out 
for a slice from the tongue or the tail. The gram- 
pus, or sea-wolf, was also highly esteemed ; -but 
of all the blubber daiuies the porpoise was 
deemed the most savory. The- Saxons called it 
sea-swine, and the ecclesiastics of the middle 
ages porco marino Porpoises were purchased 
for the tabie of Henry III. in 1246 " 

The questions will naturally arise, why was 
society in so rude and unsettled a condition, and 
why were the necessaries, comforts, and con- 
veniences of life so few ? The land was not poor, 
but capable of sustaining a much larger popn 
lation than it had, and yet the people were 
scarcely out of a semi barbarous condition. Noi 
it was not poor land, or bad seasons, nor even 
the indisposition of the people to labor on the 
land but a "general round of oppression, re- 
suming from ignorance of the proper interests of 
the productive classes, and a constant contest be- 
tween capital and labor, each plundering the 
other, and both plundered by arbitrary power! 

In the reign of H.nry HI the whole stock of 
a carpenter's tools was valued at one shilling, 
and consisted of a broad axe, an adze a square 
and spoke-shave! "There were very few ctiim- 
neys ; the fire was laid to the wall, and the smoke 
Seaout at the roof, or door, or window, and 
the furniture and utensils were of wo <,d. lbe 
people slept on straw pallets, with a log of wood 
for a piUow." Even as late as the time of El.za- 
beth 1558. it is stated that apologies were made 
to visuors if they could not be aecommod.tcd „ 
rooms provided with chimneys They had lew 
JXS windows, and when glass was in roduced , 
was for a long time so scarce, that when tr>t 
people wen-, away they would order the window 
{Uenou* and laid up in safety! la the Mtb 
century none but the clertf wore linen. Ine 
SsehW furniture, among the weakly, cor, 
Sed oi *n occasional bed. a b«>8 pot, 
a brass cup, a gridiron, and a rag ; or 
two and perhaps a towel. Of chant 
™ moles we hear nothing Even the nobili" 
sat upon the- chests in. which they kept their 
clothes. P a man in seven yeats after mam* 
could purchase a flock bed and a sack ot chafl 
to rest his bead upon, he thought himselt as wel 
lodged a« the lord of the town! 

In addition to this poverty of what seems t to 
us absolute necessities, the houses and the , peopl 
*ere exceedingly dirty. Erasaius a celebrate., 
scholar of Holland, who visited England, com- 
plains that "the nastiness of the people was the 
cause of the frequent plagues that destroyed 
them;" and he says their floors are commonly ot 
The' average duration of human life was, a 
that period, not one half as ««t»« « »t the P- J 
entday. The constant use ot salted meat, am. 
few or no vegetables, con.ributed to the shorten- 
ing oT life, o ^ay nothing of the large numbeis 
swept away by pestilence and (amine. 



NEWSPAPER NOMENCLATURE. 

A Chapter on Curious a iilcw, 

[Prom the New York Evening PoSt.J 
As the history of nations may be traced by 
then- coins which bear the imprint of successive 
rulers and the dates of important cVerits, i»o» 
their progress be noted by the names bestowed 
"P™ £•*" """VP* « different periods. 
While this is true of every country, in no case s 
it so strikingly exemplified as in the United 



> 



began to array itself against the government 
openly advocating secession, there at once aro«e 
an array of Unions and Kepublics, with the 
Union Ark, the Flag of the Union, the Star 
Spanc-led Banner, and the National on one side 
and the Confederate, the Southern Confederacy' 
Spirit of the South, and Southern Rights on the 
other. War then speedily broke out, and with 
Sa^^F* 1 ™*** F, «g. the True Flag, the 
tee/ana*^ J" Patriot, the Rebel, the Volun- 
were mifefe^^^- When our men 
Soldiers' Friend „ & "f ei,n S there appeared the 

snrnn.tl ir„ "'v, ail . d °"-t of the COllVlilsmn 



kfe 



Temperance and Intemperance In 
land m the Olden Time*-'. ,. e T.„,e. „> 
Cotton Mather. 



♦i,„.7 . A, " ""-■> l "-u«- >» e snail 

therefore choose this country as the most inter- 
esting field for investigation, 

In the ancient time', before the age of steam 
and electricity, when post-roads wei'e few; and 
not even the lumb ring maiKcoach wal seen at 
all except upou the grand highways of commu- 
nication people were satisfied to know that great 
events bad actually occurred, al hobgh their 
dates might have been full months jinWirjj "fc 
the rece.pt of such iutelUiranoe. NewsDaocrs 
hen were simply Recorders,' Chronicles, Reg - 
£ rn^ et ^ and O^ervers. Some, claiming to 
!SL™ ? enterprising or more, discerning ffidn 
A™ «' ot St V Ve '} vpon - theWSe1ve« the fi!ies of 
p^hl' a r Cle ' & H * hi! « btfl ers were simply 
of &S LT aaA the like - But as the spirit 

tL «« f^-'l 80 bCgan t0 eXtCnfI ' a " d ' he h °™ Of 

c ill P° s J- r,d « w «s more frequently heard, as fa- 
cilities for intercourse Were increased, and men 
received enlarged ideas, their desire for speedy 
}nrU U u\ U ° n ,n J crea , s 1 ed . ?nd newspapers accord- 
ingly became ; Heralds, Couriers. Postboys Mer- 
curies and Messengers. Then, with the advent 

tor^TowJvSf °f L( ?e°mot,ve. Some edi- 
urni.hino. T ' ?7 n ( ot aspire t0 ,)e foremost in 
^ v l ,mi G ' atest n . ew \ b «t were Content to 
give simply a synopgjg of current events and 
«ying 8 , and modestly christened their bantlings 

Exdo , i ? P 5'?r ffhN0teS ' Blld .-et,AU Sorter 
expositor. They were an economical or indo- 

unrm n«l° f tb , fra . tcrait >-< *"<* Upended more 
n Vr-1 8 , nd sclssors than upon their purse 
and Individual exertions. 

With the development of new territory aud 

San^ ai p«ft n e ^ gra ^ Ca,ae the PioneeifEmi- 
Worl I Pa , t , h p finder - Bordc f State and Western 
i l?n 1* ««£5 7 ere more J° n ™als whose aspi- 
nS V C T hed beyond the n «nx)ff limit of their 
native land, even to the gathering in of infor- 
mation from all parts of the habitable -lobe- 

World' The n° bC ' ThC ^ OTTd ' A " Ro "" d the 
aid. u i" verse, and the Universal £Hcr- 

hrf I fh?**? 0k / 0< 4- at an early day, and each 
S£*S^^* , ? d,catar » Champion, Ban- 
vhAIh ? tandard -, As these were rapidly de- 
veloped into openly avowed creeds and profes- 
sions they adopted the names most expressive of 

bor^iT^Th!! ^• ft ? etB T The S P iri t»«list, Sweden- 
KS' Tlle f Higher Law, and Equalizationist. 
3 h SeC - tS a ll° had their P ecul ' a ' organs, in 
Chfttf names of t,)e denominations 
JSififtS. « **"?• • As these s eets broke into 
actions from time to time, printed exponents of 
the new doctrines and dogmas wereXnwl un- 
der appropriate titles. They were adwavs ahaiE 
hved and ephemeral. The ^name o' ai.V oSe of 
them, coupled with ith its date, will show at a 
glance at what period these "ism's" flourished 

Discoveries and inventions are also duly no- 
ted and fostered into popular favor by .pedal 

SfpKSni tl K W» such a « the y AK! 
Ope,lantajiraph, Kaleidoscope, &c. So also 
the arts and sciences, the trades and al 1 branch- 
es of. industry have their Farmer, Crayon S 
N.JEnjnneer Miner, Insurance' Monitor Den- 
tai Register, Druggists' Circular and VulcanRe 
•Journal. Even the ladies have their Gazette of 
Fashion, the wags their Phunnv PheUow Vmd 
Budget of Fun, and the blind and m an™ fi 
fWropnate paper. Even the sportsmen have 
their Turt.Register, Chess Monthly a nT B iluard 

The history of American politics can be essilv 
traced by newspaper names. In the the early 
days, when there were few disturbmgquest^ns 7 
the political complexion of a ncSaner w£ 
desipnued by the general name oT' ffiral It 
So g .',K e T Cra t and independent. Then to ! 
S£ ^Sfg?' NativJ American andlrien 
£m )> ■ n x 1 n l V hed f- YS of Knownothing- 

Liberator, Slaveholder, Cotton Plant, Banner -of 

&2^£« . and . ****** cS 



Freed ( 



prophets and adtSers Beacons -*»endly guides, 

ened^iuT^^S ^"ger actually threa^ 
•nregnfj "I the Union, and the South 



sprang the New 'Roa;m °^ °l the co "vulsion 
Kation, and New ?£ ' W* L T lH ^ the New 
Issue, and perhans shS?! «« e u have DOw a N ew 
CotfsoHdatSt P c5nSjr°« have a Dic tator, 
archist. ' Cenfral, zationist, and Mon- 

hu?w^^^ p a e ut sy Xr a t. s , tb r are man ^ 

are the Alligator, Screech Ow i ? w A . m °? K °i hers 
er, Rising Tide Itinera.^ m Wo j v . e ™e, Suck- 

boring under a nreis n?mo« ); A , valanche (la- 

used to hang witches w,i- ts ' where they 
survivor)- and thT'v but th,S , appears to be a 

principle that "a «,wi L^ e n P tl0ns . on the 

discussion m our art community, wheh win we 

SSW in preveiltin S a waste of the pubUc 
lands, and save our national Capitol from hi 
coming a place of deposit for statiia y and nlc" 
tures whtch cannot properly be callecf £$$ 

The Capitol is a noble and beautiful buildina- 
not perfect, but incomparably the finest mihlft 
budding we have in this country It ought to 
be adorned with examples of the works of our 

l e nlT S lf' f0r K SUC,) works symbobS and I illus- 
trate the thought and history of the nation But 
the nation does not want to hang in its c'mitol 

In tiSel.vf K " S ' ° f F WS ° r U,lk »°wn artisKf 
J!J, - 1 ?7 B a P° ,nter or sculptor has merit it is 
no probable that he will be without fame The 

Sr P s if , L n0ttl,e ? ,acerorthe works of begin- 
ners , if we are to have works oi art there thev 

dSped ge e n b u C s St P1 '° dUCtS ° f ™^ ^ -S 

ic£noVSK e ^d i8tS C^r&e^ 
lyapprQached the antique than any man stoce 
Michael Angelo. Story and Powers are f to d? 
acknowledged by Europeans as the greatest liv- 
ing sculptors. The statuteof Washington h Un- 
ion square, by Brown, is not equalled by any 

' contZr a p 0n ^R^'orS the European 
continent. Rogers's bronze doors in the capitol 

She S a n7r.° n,y t0 thc 1 f r ons g«tes which are 
InrM ory ,°/ Fl " ren T c e and the admiration of the 
world. Ward's Indian Huntei will make its 
mark at the Paris Exposition. Palmer's ma r- 
bles are justly admired, as well in Europe as 

fc? ^"S.^H 8 ' La,int Thompson ohn 
Rogers, T. Bali and others, have won deserved 
fame in their profession. We might in a similar 
way name American painters. 

KtOMOS TO TBI YoVhQ DlMl.-Al) 

«u»dian banter, declares that the reason 
why tbe wild deer were not all Killed when 

. (as they only breed <";<'<• a jte*r,tmd are 
always Borroundcd by otbenrtrimals \\i.i< fa prey 

" !> "". 11h " 1 ' ' |; * • l>ea% panthers, 

•S'c) is, that lt no<hg $ .-.., ;/ ,, in ,. /Vn7 

i do 



The following extract is from a sermon to the 
General Assembly of the Massachusetts Province 
of New England, preached by the celebrated Cot- 
ton Mather in 1709. 

It will be seen from this sermon the state of 
things under an old license system one hundred 
and sixty years ago, a hundred years or more be- 
tore any kind of a temperance society was organ- 
ized, and before any erne hardly thought of prohi- 
bition. I send it to you in the stvle in which it 
was then printed. Edwin Thompson. 

You are not at a loss, What is the Matter, about 
which I make such a Cry : Such a Repeated Cry; and 
wii not give over doing so. I am with all possible 
Solemnity to tell you; such Prodigious Quantities of 
hum, to be consumed among a People of our Eagage- 
ments to be the most Sober People in the World I 
must say. 'lis an horrible Thing > I request some capa- 
ble Person, to compute the Quantities, and then make 
the most Proper and Obvious Inferences. I am sure 
they must all say, 'Tis an Horrible Thing ' 

In my importunities for a Street of Pure Gold if 
I am asked, When I will have done with my Btowt 
upon the Battel! My Answer is, When I see it broken; 
W hen 1 see '(is universally counted a Shameful thing 
to be too free with it; When I see People take it 
only J] hen, and As, it may be useful (o them 

I don't move to have the Use of it Banished; but 
the Abuse and Exctu of it. And, I most import* 
rate,y move, That ali Sober People throughout the 
Land, would set themselves to think, What may be 
done to have RUM used with more of Moderation ? 

The French and the Indians have sorely Scourged 
us ; but let it not be thought a Paradox, That one of 
tbe Sorest Punishments which ever did or ever can be- 
fall this poor Country, is the Great Esteem which this 
Liquor has among us. It makes us Poor ; It keeps us 
Poor ; whole Families may curse the Day, that ever 
the Bottle came into them. It will soon make us a 
Eespicable Country. All our Strength will be de- 
parted from us. Ah, NEW ENGLAND, fhy Street 
will not be Pure Goto; No, 'twill be a filthy Puddie; 
a nasty Kennel. Yea, the Wild beasts of the Desert 
will dwell here; thy Bouses will be full of doleful 
Creatures. 

Instead of Propounding LXws to retrench a mis- 
chief, not easy to come at, my Proposal i? : That this 
One Observation may be Spred thro' the Country, 
and awfully considered of. ThoMhis Liquor may be 
Useful, at some time, and in some things, yet no MAN 

THAT USES IT CONSTANTLY WttB EVER BE GOOD 

for vert much. It will infallibly Stunt his Abili- 
ties; he will discharge no Office, as he ought to do. it 
wirl .Seso* bim, or, at least, very much Flatten him, 
and make him very little better than a meer Good for 
notsimg. Take him from the Bottel, for the STATE 
or for the CHURCH, or for the FIELD, he'll be a 
Poor Tool. God will do little by him; he'U never be 
Excellent. When a man stands as a Candidate for 
any Preferment, I move, That it may beknoion'whether 
he be a Friend of the Bottel t or no? 

Could Fmake my Voioe heard beyond the Herald 
of the Tewfple, I would say: Sirs, Why should you be 
willing to have your Estates Evaporated, you Bodies 
Carbonado'd, your Families wretchedly Educated. 
Ah, Foolish New Englande«s, Has the Bottel so 
bewitcked yeu? Why, why should you expose year 
Souls, to the hazard of that take, from whence th<? 
Smoke of the Torment shall ascend for ever and ever ? 
All fcr a BOTT3& 1 A Good : y Price are they valued at I 



I 



or fawn, while tbe latter is 
too yonng to take care ol if,l, r He stated 
that he had often Been it demonstrated He had 
i:lk, ' M ' 'Ottd when he had 

'" them pasB,and they would take 
no notice o| tfe*> track.and conld not be induced 
to follow whwi taken to tbeapet, w l,il t - thev 
■ would instantly discover the track ol any «!,,", 

-«>ot having yoaug s . This tetajt one proof 

of thp adaptation of the natural laws topr* 
serve life when Jtmosl oneda protection. 



THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 

From HeaveD, what fancy stole 

The dream of some good spirit, aye at hand, 
The seraph whispering to the exiled soul 

Tales of its native land ? 

Who to the cradle gave 

The unseen Watcher by the Mother's side, 
Born with the birth and journeying to the grave, 

The holy Angel-guide ? 

Is it a Fable ?— No ! 
I heard Love answer from the sunlit air, 
"Still where my presence lights the darkness, know 
Life's Angel-guide is there !"— 

Is it a Fable 1— Hark ! 
Faith answers, from the blue vault's farthest star, 
"I am the Pilot of thy wandering bark, 
Thy guide to shores afar !" 

Is it a Fable ?— Sweet, 
From wave, from air, from every foresUree, 
. The murmur spoke-«Each thing thine eyes can greet, 
An Angel-guide can be ! 

"From myriads take thy choice, 

In all that lives a guide to God is given ; 
Ever thou hear'st some Angel-guardian's voice 
When Nature speaks of Heaven !" 



~ t 



/s. 



RELICS OF THE LOST. 



A. large boat; within Iter were two human skele- 
tons :i email Bible, interlined in many 

places with numerous references written in the mar 
gin. — Capt. APClintoek's Journal. 

Our stout hearts brave the ice-wind* l>le»k, 
Our keen eyes scan the endless snow ; 

Ali sign or trace of those we sock 
Has pasted and perished long ago. 

0, flash of hope! O, joyous thrill! 

Onward with throbbing hearts we haste, £j 

For looming til rough the ice-fog chill, 

A lonely boat is on the waste. 

Sad recompense of all our toil, 

Wrung from the iron realms of frost, 

A mournful but a precious spoil — 
A reliquary of the lost. J 

Here lie the arms, the sail, the oar, 
Dank with the storms of winters ten, 

Anil by their unexhausted store 
The bones that once were stalwart men. 

Their last dark record none may learn; 

Whether, in feebleness and pain, 
Heart-sick, they watched for the return 

Of those who never came again; 

Or if, amid the stillness drear, 

They felt the drowsy death-chill creep, ^ 

Then stretched them on their downy bier, ^ 

And slumbered to their last long sleep. 

He only knows, whose Word of Hope 
Was with them in the closing strife, 

And taught their spirits how to cope 
With agony that wins to life — 

He only knows, whose Word of Might 

Watched by them in their slow decay — W 

Sure pledge that Death's long, polar night 
Should brighten into endless day : 

And when the sun with face unveiled 

Was circling through the summer sky, 
With silent words of promise hailed " f 

The symbol of Eternity. 



Welcome, dear relics ! witness rare 1 
Faithlul as if an angel wrote : 

Though Death has set his signet there, 
The Lord of Life was in the boat. 



MY OHIT EOH IN TOWN. 

My church in town ! It fronts our square, 

With Gothic portals— Scott designer- 
Tall spire, and painted windows rare. 

There's nothing in all London finer. 
A church that's counted "very high," 

A ritualistic reel or owning. 
Who makes a claim to Heaven rely 

On crosses, candles, and intoning. 

A ! -owds of worshippers come there, 

v^ho give one morning ot the seven 
■ . treading w ith exceedipg care 

A fashionable road to Heaven — 
F 1 'adies who low bending pray, 

1 sigh lor services in Latin, 
An uurtify the flesh each day 

gleaming robes of silk and satin. 

2 curate, "such p -'"ar," you know, 
Irs a white hav turn his pages; 
I ■ "'- 'hink " aul did so, 

\ reaci. ' to Athenian sages. 
His doctrine, If it has a tault, 

Stands much in need of force and flavor. 
And makes me think the gospel salt 
Has very nearly lost its savor. 

Where Dive* sits, I look in vain 

For Lazarus, even at the portal, 
I wonder, does their creed maintain 

The rich man oaly is immortal? 
And yet my mind is somewhat eased : 

So vain and vapid is the preaching, 
That Lazarus hardly weuld be pleased 

To gather fragments of such teaching. 

It would be worthier of the times, 

And talk ot charitable graces, 
If we took care the Sunday chimes 

Shiuld sometimes pound in silent places. 
The broider'd altar-cloth might tell 

Of pious hands, and yet be plainer : 
A simpler, homelier rite were will, 

So should the poor man be a gainer. 
— All the Tear Round. 



u 



v 



THE RETURN. 

nr p. j. iiAii.tf. 
Th»>y come from the ends of the earth, 

White with its aged snows ; 
From the hounding breast of the tropic tide, 

Where the day-beam ever glows ; 
From the liast wnere first they dwelt, 

From the North, and the South, and the West. 
Whore the sun puts on his robe of light, 

And lays down his crown to rest. 

Out of every land they corns — 

Where the palm triumphant grows, 
Where the vine overshadows the roofs and the hilli, 

And the gold orbed orange glows ; 
Where the citron blooms, and the apple of ill 

Sows down its fragrant head. 

From the lands where the gems are born— 

Opal and emerald brigh ; 
From shores where the ruddy corals grow, 

And pearl- with their mellow light; 
Wher« silver and gold are dug, 

And tlie diamond rivera roll, 
An i tho in rlil e white as the still moonlight 

Is quarried, and jetty coal ; 

They come— with n gladdening shout; 

They come— with a tear of jov ; 
Father and daughter, )oulh and maid, 

Mother and blooming boy. 
A thousand dwellings they leave, 

Dwellings— but not a home; 
To them there is none but the sacred soil, 

And the laud whereto they come. 

And the Temple again shall he built, 

And filled as it was of yore ; 
And the burden be lift from the heart of the world, 

And the nations all adore ; 
Prayers to the throne of Heaven 

Morning and eve shall rise, 
And unto and not of the Lamb 

Shall be the sacrifice. 



Another year is past and gone, 
A wider streak of gleaming gray 
Waves down my hair, and yet I say, 

" Have patience, weary heart ! Love on." 

Love on through sorrow-cankered years, 
And count each hour of joy a gain 
Snatched from a dreary lapse of pain, 

Through hours of pleasure, nights of tears. 

Love on through hope and through despair, 
That changeful o'er our being pass, 
As sunlight on a woodland's grass, 

And never let love die of care. 

Love on, unless an anchorite 
Thou wouldst live for thyself alone, 
Encinctured with a cynic zone 

That darkens every noon with night. 

And when another year is gone, 
Though still thy hope be unfulfilled, 
The wisdom from the past instilled 

Will bid thee of thyself—" Love on." w.r.h. 



£-< 



1IIAT SHOWER. 



THOUGHT AND SPEECH. 

BY ERWIX MTTRDOCK. 

Thought is greater than all speech ; 
Spirit, speech doth overreach; 
Speech expresses, spirit teaches : 
Speech cannot tell what spirit reaches. 
Words are atoms, thoughts are mountains ; 
Words are drops, and thoughts are fountains ; 
Speech a brook, and thought an ocean, 
Speech is rest, thought is everlasting motion. 
Speech is tho action of an hour, 
And thought a nover-ending power. 
Thought is the soul's own voice, 
'T is wisdom's wisest choice ; 
Speech in vain essays to show 
What thought doth ever know. 



'The flowers that bloomed the brightest, 
Are soonest doomed to fade ; 

The forms that move the lightest. 
In earth are soonest laid.' " 



Oh, wasn't it gay 
To wake last night at the sound of rain? 

And didn't it say 
Hope again J, hope again ! 
The katy-dids hushed their plaintive rhyme, 
To the daucing drops they couldn't keep time ; 
But the crickets kept up t&eir whirr of glee 
And joined in the mirthful jubilee. 

Oh, wa-n't it bright, 
The thought of earth so thirsty and sad, 

All through the night 
Made merry and glad? 
Each flower held up its cup, to fill 
All brimming w ith joy its heart;— on, still, — 
It spangled each leaf, and, with power benign, 
Hung a diamond on every clustering vine ! 

Ob, wasn't it full 
Of ceaseless patter and ringing trills, 
7 So musical? 

f It filled all the rills, 

Whose bosoms bounded with joy anew, 
And off to ths hills their echoes threw. 
The corn in the meadows did laugh and sing 
And shook their tall forms in the merry ring. 

Oh, wasn't it dear, 
A gift so precious so cheering indeed? 

Shall we ever fear 
He forgetteth our need? 
No ! waiting in patience His time, who still keeps 
A watch o'er our wants, and ne'er slumbers nor 

sleeps, 
With trustful rejoicing and hearts full of love, 
Give thanks to our Maker and Father above. 



" Full many a day for ever is lost 

By delaying its work till tomorrow ; 
The minutes of sloth have often cost 
Long years of bootless sorrow." 



FrilhiolN J.osson. 

Boast not thy father's fame— 'tis his alone; 
A bow thou canst not bend is not thine own. 
What can a buried glory be to thee? 
By its own force the river gains the sea. 

Thy confidence to many shun to give ; 

Full barns we lock; the empty open leave; 

Choose one to trust; — more seek not thou; 

The world, O Halfdan, knows what three men know, 

Praise not the day before the night arrive; 
Mead till 'tis drunk, nor counsel till it thrive ; 
Youth trusteth soon to many an idle word ; 
Need proves a friend, as battle proves a sword. 

Trust not to one night's ice, to spring-day snffW» 

To serpent's slumber, or to maiden's vow ; 

For heart of woman turneth like a wheel, 

And 'neath the snowy breast doth falsehood dwell. 

Thyself must perish, all thou hast must fade; 
One thing alone on earth is deathless made — 
That is, the dead man's glory; therefore thou 
• Will what is right, and what is noble, do. 

Frithiofs Saga. 
/ 



PATIENCE. 

BY OREL. 

Ah, simple husbandmen ! who hope to feed 
On fruit, to-day, from yester's scattered seed ! 
Who look, ere yet the latent germ appears, 
For stately stalk, and richly ripened ears ! 
Call ye to mind, the heat, the clouds, the rain, 
The care and toil, which must precede the grain. 
Fail not to comprehend th' eternal plan, 
Which nature opens to the mind of man. 
"Let patience have its perfect work," and when 
The blossoms ripen, look for harvests, then. 
For, though a nation with reforming hand 
May sow the seeds of truth throughout the land ; 
And though that land's so dry and weed-choked soil, 
May be enriched by pain, and blood and toil ; 
Not e'en for this, will God reverse the law 
Whose workings, man in earliest ages saw. 
The final good shall not at once arise, 
Stately and fair, before our longing eyes. 
In 3rod's own time, will the upspringing germ, 

Tbr ugh sure gradations, stand erect and firm. 

y 

TO THE SEA. 
Thou gea,— thou blue unfathomed sea : 
I love thy billows wild and free, 

Thv vast unstudied lore ; 
And when the stars of evening rest, 
Like jewels on thy tranquil breast, 

I seek thy lonely shore. 

TJoll back thy billows, mighty sea. 
Unveil thine awful depths to me,— 

Thy deep mysterious caves, 
Where mermaids dwell in coral bowers, 
And gems lie strown like summer flowers, 

Beneath the sounding waves. 

Thou hast the spoils of many lands, 
Concealed amid thy weltering sands, 

And many a form lies there, 
Whose heart once thrilled with leve and fear— 
For whom was poured the scalding tear, 

And fervent midnight prayer 

Thou givest thy slain a glorious rest,— 
A couch with gold and diamonds drest,— 

A more than kingly grave ; 
And there the young and fair lie down, 
The hero with his proud renown, 

And there the fettered slave 

And naught to thee is human pride ; 
T i rich and poor li> ■ h ide, 
?n thine o'ershadowipg com ; 
here the outcast wanderer sleeps, 
■ princely treasures, heaps on heaps, 
'Adorn his (Joral tomb. 

■ hast a mournful voice to me, 
restless, ever murmuring sea ! 

a sad funebrial wail ; 
A8rjf thy strange, repentant waves, 
Wt^e sighing o'er the hidden graves, 

Of those, whom they have slain. 

Roll on,— roll on, thou mighty deep 1J 
I hear the wrathful tempest sweep,— 

I hear thy billows moan ! 
And if perchance my grave may be 
Within thy bosom, — sing o'er me 

That mournful dirge-like tone. V. G. R. 

RECEIPT' FOR DRESSING SALAD. 

y BY KEV. SIDNEY SMITH. 

Two large potatoes, passed through kitchen 

J stove, 

Smoothness and softness tollie salad give, 

Of mordent mustard add a single spoon, 
Distrust the condiment Ihnt bites too soon ; 
Hut deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault, 
To add a double quantity of salt ; 
Four times ihe spoon with oil of Lucca crown, 
And twico with vinegar procured from town: 
True flavor needs it, and your poet begs. 
The pounded yellow of two well boiled eggs : 
Let onions' atoms lurk within the bowl, 
And, scarce suspected, animate the whole : 
Ami lastly, in the flavored compound to»s 
A magic spoonful of anchovy sauce. 
Oh ! great and glorious, Oh ! herbaceous treat, 
'Twould tempt the dying anchorite io eat ; 
Back to the world he"'d turn his weary soul, 
And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl. 



/ 



; 



SOMEBODY. 

BY WILLI ' H ALI/5N EUTL^R. 

There's a medd'esome "Somebody" goin^ about, 
And playing his pranks, but we can't find him out ; 
He's up stairs and down stairs i.om morn. n^ till 

And always in miccbief, but never la s'-ht. 

The roguen I bave read of in song or in f\'e 
Ave caught at tbe end, and conducted to jau ; 
But "Somebody's" tracks are all covered so well 
He never bas seen the inside of a cell. 

Our young folks at home, at all seasons and times, 
A" e rehearsing the roll of "Somebody's" crime3 ; 
Or *"ast as their feet or their tongie: can well run, 
Come to tell the last deed the sly scamp ha3 done. 

" 'Somebodv' has taken my kn 5 "e," one will say; 

" 'Somebody' has carried my pencil away; 

" •Somebody* has gone and tbrowu [down all the 

blocks;" 
" 'Somebody' ate up all tbe cakes m t.ie box. 

It is "Somebody" breaks all the "pitchers and 

And bides the boys' sleds and runs oT with their 

skates 
And turns on the water and tumble", the beds, 
And steals all the pins and melts all tho dol.s 

heads. 

One ir'ght a dull sound like the thump of a head, 
Announced tnat one young3ter was out of bis bed ; 
And he said, half asleep, when asked what it , 

meant, 
" 'Somebody's' " pushing me out of the tent! 

Now, if thece high crimes of "Somebody" don't 

We must summon in the detect' ve police ; , 

And they, in their wisdom, at once will ma.ee known . 
Ine culprit belongs to no house but our own. 

Then should it turn out, aiier all, to be true, 

Ibat cur young folks themselves are "Somebody ' 

too, 
How queer it would look if we saw them an go, 
Marched off to the station-house, six in a row ! 



Ixzctlfonttm*. 



The Invitation. 



/_ 



The Button man has tome to town, 

With Buttons of all kinds; 
And shortly ho will conic around, 

To trade and suit your mind*. 

He's got good Pearl, for trimming charts, 

Some for Ladies' drosses; 
Black whalebone Buttons; he asserts, 

Do well suit the misses. 

) 
They're much in fashion, I will state*, 

Just buy them while you can, 
Tor they've been getting scarce of hit. 

All with the Button Maw, 

I've now on hand a good supply, 
Which I am pleased to know, 

That when I come, if jon will buy,, 
You'll get them very low. 

I'll sell at half the retail prfee 
My Pearl and Black Whalebone; 

Those Buttons now arc made so nice, 
They look like Silk you'll own. 

And when one dress they shall out-wcar-, 
You'll trim with them again, 

Tor they've well made you'll all declare, 
All by the Button Man. 

The Button Man you can't mistake, 

With his black moustache, 
And basket too of his own make. 

With Buttons cheap for cash. 



.til minde To Me A Kingai » 
My minde to me a kingdom is ; 

Such perfect joy therein I finde 
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse ' 

That God or Nature hath assignd : 
Though much I want, that most wJald hi. 
Yet still my minde forbids to crave. 

Content I live; this is my stay — 
I seek no more than may suffice. 

I presse to beare no haughtie sway ; 
Look, what I lack my mind supplies. 

Loe! thus I triumph like a king, 

Content with what my mind doth bring. 

I see how plentie surfets oft. 

And hastie clyinbers soonest fall; 
I see that such as sit aloft 

Mishap doth threaten most of all. 
These get with toile, and kcepe with feare; 
Such cares my mind could never beare. 

Some have too much, yet still they crave; 

I little have, yet seek no more. 
They arc but poore, though much they have; 

And I anrrich with little store. 
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; 
They lacke, I lend ; they pine, I live. 

I laugh not at another's losse, 
1 grudge not at another's gaine; 

No worldly wave my mind can tosse; 
I brooke that is another's bane. 

I feare no foe, nor fawne on frien 1 ; 

I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. 

William Byrd. 



BV AUGUSTA LABNED. 

O cast that dull, prosaic book away, 

And read the poem of this Summer day, 

Unfolded by a heaven of living blue, 

With here and there a cloudlet wand'ring tin ogh 

The spaces of oar leafy orchard trees, 

Swayed by a gentle, soft, delicious breeze, 

To shadow dances on the v ground, 

Mixed with bird-music, and it othin t 

Of humming bees, of murm'rinc „mats a I hies, 

And all the manifold and chirphig cries, 

From aged trunks and half -embowered walls, 

O'er which the graceful, unpruned creeper falls, 

Wreathing these granite rocks with soft festoons, 

To hide the velvet moss beneath their blooms. 

See how against the porch the roses climb 

To meet and clasp that honey-suckle vine ; 

With what a manly, tender sort of graca 

It woos the coy one to its soft embrace, 

And, lifting up its fragile burden sweet, 

Twines gently round our fav'rite window seat. 

The bold wisteria, with a higher stride, 

Fastens upon the topmost chimney side, 

And decks the swallows' humble home with screen 

Of purple blossom and enchanting green. 

philosophy is sweetest out of doors I 

God meant that we should take it through the pores. 

Trust no conclusion, friend, till you have tried 

Its worth with rocks and streams and trees beside. 

your indoor thoughts smell musty, and look pale ; 

They need the breath of woodlands to grow hale. 

Aristotelian logic put away, 

And choose a text from grass or budding spray ; 

Show how the little cells grow into form, 

And with the vivid soul of color warm. 

Here, stretched full length beneath your fav'rite tree, 

Explain the sunbeam's mystic alchemy ; 

Else turn aside from learning's tangled maza, 

And dream away this lovliest of days. 

We'll spend our thanks in wishing all men good, 

The off ring to our common brotherhood. 

'Tis easier to love the whole world round, 

When stretched upon this daisy-sprinkled ground ; 

'Tis easier to own the gen'ral tie, 

Beneath God's Bacred, overarching sky. 

The fair republics of the woods are ours ; 

Free institutions live amid the flowers ; 

No heresy can gurgling brooklet teach, 

No dang'rous doctrine can the pansy preach ; 

" The Word " is written on each clover head ; 

New " Gospels " blossom out in white and red. 

Well, preach, my friend, if preach indeed you mu6t, 

But call us not poor, wretched worms of dust ; 

Fashion an oaten pipe, a poet's reed, 

And in harmonious numbers chant your creed. 

If curse there be upon the earth to-day, 

'Tis like some ancient ruin, grim and gray, 

By nature's kindness fairly over-grown, 

And wreath'd in green, from base to capping stone. 

But, no, the earth is consecrate to God, 

And holy is the dark and teeming clod ; 

His own right hand has poured the sacremental wine, 

And pressed the chalice to your lips and mine, 

Inspired with rapture, ev'ry living thing ; 

So, friend, come forth, rejoice, be glad, and sing. 



The- Bachelor's Dilemma, 

"By all the sweet saints In th Missal of Love, 

They are both so intensely, bewitclnngly tair, 
That/let Follv look solemn, and Wisdom reprove, 

1 can't make up my mind which to choose ot the 
pair. , 
There is Fanny, whose eye is as blue and as bright 

As the depth of spring skies in their noontide 
array ; 
Whose every soft feature is gleaming hi light, 

Like the ripple of waves on a sunshiny day. 

There is Helen, more stately of gesture and mien, 

Whose beauty a world of dark ringlets enshrouds ; 
W T ith a black, regal eye, and the step of a queen, 
And a brow like the moon breaking forth from the 
clouds. 
! But since I must fix or on black eyes or blue, 

Quickly make up my mind 'twixt a Grace and a 
Muse; 
Prithee, Venus, instruct me that course to pursue 
Which even Paris himself had been puzzled to 
choose." 
Thus murmured a Bard, predetermined to marry, 
But so equallv charmed by a Muse and a Grace, 
That though one of his suits might be doomed to 
miscarry, . . 

He'd another he straight could prefer in its place. 

So trusting that Fortune would favor the brave. 
He asked each in her turn, but they both said him 
nay ; , ; 

Lively Fanny declared he was somewhat too grave, 
And Saint Helen pronounced him a little too gay. 

DrfMing for Church. 

Has anybody heard the bell? 

You have !— dear me, 1 know full well 

I'll never dress in time — 
For mercy's sake, come help me, Luce, 
I'll make my toilet very spruce, 

This silk is quite sublime ! 

Here, lace this gaiter for me — do: 

"A hole!" you say? plague take the shoe, 

Please, Luie, try and hide it- 
Just think, it's Sunday, and my soul, 
J cannot wear it with a hole ! 

The men will surely spy it. 

They're always peeping at our feet, 
(Tho', to be sure, they needn't peep, 

The way we hold our dresses!) 
I'll disappoint them, though, to-day, 
"And cross myself," pray, did yousayj 

Don't laugh at my distresses! 

Now Lucie, pray feei my waterfall, 

Ho you think it large? ain't it too small? 

What bother these things give. 
My Bats and Mice, do they set straight? 
Please, hurry, Lucie, I know I'm late — 

"There's Willie!" as I live. 

How splendidly the silk will rustle! 
(Please hand my "self-adjusting bustle," 

My corset and my hoop.) 
There now, I'll take live skirts or six- 
Do hurry, Lucie, aud help me lis, 

You know I cannot stoop ! 

"How shall 1 say my prayers to-day?" 
As if girls went to church to pray ! 

How can you be so foolish? 
Here, dump this ribbon in cologne ; 
"What lor.'" to paint, you silly one! 

Now, Lucie', don't be mulish. 

Now, then, my hat— for he abhors 
This thing — its big as all out doors — 

The frightful sugar scoup! 
Thank iieaven, my cloak is handsome, too ; 
It cost enough to be, I know — 
(Straighten his horrid hoop). 

My handkerchief and gloves you'll find 
Just in that drawer. Luce, are you blind? 

(Does my dress trail)? • 
It's all the fashion, now, you know, 
(Pray, dees ihe paint and powder show 

Through my loose vail) ? 

Thank you, my dear, I b'lieve I'm dressed ; 
The saints be praised ! the day of rest 

Comes only once in seven, 
For if, on all the other six, 
This trouble I should have to fix, 

I'd never get to Heaven ! 



Otjb best critics seem to agree that "The 
Spanish Gipsy," by George Eliot, is a poem of 
remarkable merit and power. We have a prom- 
ise of a notice of it from one of our most accom- 
plished contributors. It is full of gems, such 

as this : 

No great deed is done 

By falterers who ask for certainty. 
No good is certain but the steadfast mind, 
/ The undivided will to seek the good ; 

'Tis that compels the elements, and wrings 
/ A human music from the indifferent air, 

The greatest gift the hero leaves his race 
Is to have been a hero. 

and this : 

'Tis a vile life that like a garden pool 

Lies stagnant in the round of personal loves ; 

That has no ear save for the ticking lute 

Set to small measures — deaf to all tbe beats 

Of that large music rolling o'er the world : 

A miserable, petty, low-roofed life, 

That knows the mighty orbits of the skies 

Through naught save light or dark iu its own cabin. 



A Sons from the Sud*. 

BY LOUIS M. ALCOTT. 

Queen of my tub, I merrily sing 

While the white foam rises high ; 
And sturdily wash and rinse and wring, 

And fasten the clothes to dry ; 
Then out in the free Irosh air they swing, 

Under the summer sky. 
I wish we could wash from our hearts and souls 

The stains of the week away ; 
And let water and air, by their magic, make 

Ourselves as pure as they ; 

Then on the earth there would be indeed 
A glorious washing day ' 

Along the path of a useful life 

Will heart's-ease ever bloom ; 
The busy miud has no time to think 

Of sorrow, or care, or gloom ; 
And anxious thoughts may be swept away, 
1 As we busily wield a broom. 

1 am glad a task to me is given 

To labor at day by day. 
For it brings me health and strength and hope, 

And 1 cheprfully Jearn to say. 
'Head, you may think, Heart, you may leel, 

But Hand you shall work alway!" 



THE UHNEK CHAMBER. 



\ 



Tier? is in every human heart, 
A chamber made for privacy ,- 
And some have roosw which subfile art 
' .Has formed, with r»Ies that cannot be 
E'ei squared at Sinai's Mount: yet God knows «i 
WiiLii' ; He coming tbyough the d&orless wall. 

Walls built with thought, like stones,- have writ 
On them coramandrnenft graven deep; 

The master-roi-nd has thon$ht it fit, 
That tntse ihe tenant weiJ should keep; 

And that He may all things all times descry, 

He places there 1 is ever-aeesag eye. 

The soni dwells here, asleeep, awake ; 

Hes li<»re its ] eace and heioitS haunt; 
Acts dope — designectt' obt;v, or break 

Command, win welcome, or ervaunt, — 
Bo here Hums, or do in darknesir trace 
Their flick'ring shades o'er windows of the fires. 

There is like new discovered cave, 

Eo* ope'd to us a ebanberod heart, 
In which there lies upon its pave 

A skeleton -with Satan's dart! 
Be! e*th appearar.ee bland, with care concealed). 
There is the airk and arson— torch revealed. 

But now the light of truth 'slet in, 
And mingles with the caverned night, 

Deep shsidowed are these forms of sin 
That trcop like specters to the light! 

Guilt, of itself, and unaccused, against thedoor 

Will knock, and haunt the heart's most happy hour. 

What was this one's paternal home, 
Wfcen pla^ir.g rouna his father's knee? 

That ia thti man results should come 
Of deep and dark malignity ! 

The tl ings he learned, O could the world be tolil\. 

That one so young, ia crime should be so -old!' 

jMd he think man, or God supreme? 

Or v. as he taught i.ow t<> deceive— 
Jha: wrong is right if right ic seems, 

Ar.d best 01 all to make relieve? 
.Tor this is Satan's sckcol, where taught are lies?; 
And lie so soon has won the deathly prize; 

Where kept he heinous guilt apart, 

When fondest wife was in his mind? 
Within dark chambers of bis heart, 

Were secret cells she must not find, — 
She did not dream he'd thoughts he wo;;Id'nofr teU'j. 
And down so deep, they lay next things to < hell !' 

Tkc deed is done God with his eye— 
Who looks ia hidden hearts of men- 
Was theie'; and saw young Converse die! 

Awake, or in his sleep, since then, 
That sir.gle eye has piereed him throug and 

through ; 
T3 own his guilt is all that he can do. H. Di 

The Sowers. 

They are sowing their seed by the dawnlight fair; 
They are sowing their seed in the noonday's glare; 
They are sowing their seed in the soft twilight; 
They are sowing thoir seed in the solemn night : 
What shall the harvest be! 1 

They are sowing the seed of pleasant thought; 

In the spring's green light they have blithely 

wrought; 
They have brought their fancies from wood and dell, 
Where the mosses creep and the flower-buds swell : 
Rare shall the harvest be. 

They are sowing their seed of word and deed, 
Which the cold know not, nor the careless heed;] 
Of the gentle word and thekindlj deed, 
That have blessed the heart in its sorest need : 
Sweet will the harvest be. 

And some are sowing the seed of pain, 
Of late remorse, and a maddened brain; 
And the stars shall fail, and the sun shall wane. 
Ere they root the weeds from the soil again ; 
Dark wili the harvest be. 

And some are standing with id'c hand, 
Yet they scatter seed on their native land ; 
And some are sowing the seed of care, 
Which their soil hatii b>;rne, and still must bear: 
Sad will the harvest be. 

They are sowing their seed of noble deed, 
With a sleepless watch and an earnest heed; 
With a careless hand o'er the earth they suw, 
And the lields are whitening where'er they go : 
Itieh will the harvest be 

Sown in darkness or sown in light, 

Sown in weakness or sown in might, 

Sown in meekness or sown in wrath, 

In the broau worid-field or the shadowy path, — 

Sure will the harvest be. 
— From Hymns for Mothers und Child mi. 



Diamonds of Thought- 



Let us fit ourselves for the hour, and 
though we keep in the warm precints of our 
homes till the victory is won, and we walk 
undisputed through the paths opened before 
us, let no cutting sarcasm or unkind word 
pass from us upon those who are to sow the 
seed that others may reap the harvest. 

"New occasions teach new duties, Time makes an- 
cient good uncouth, 

They must upward still, and onward, who would 
keep abreast of Truth. 

Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires I we ourselves 
must piigrims be— 

Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the 
desperate winter sea, 

Nor attempt the future's portal with the poet's 
blood rusted key." 



CLOUDS. 

From "Stray Leaves," a volume of sweet, natural poetry, . 
by Mrs. J. P. Grant, just published in Montreal. 

* "Tell me, dear mother, what are clouds, 

80 wondrous strange they seem, 
Floating across the summer sky 
As noiseless as a dream f 



WHILE THE DAYS ARE GOING BY. 

There are lonely hearts to cherish, 
While the days are going by. 

There are weary souls to nourish, 
While the days are going by. 

If a smile we can renew, 

As our journey we pursue, 

Oh ! the good we all may do, 
While the days are going by. 

There's no time for idle scorning, 
While the days are going by; 

Let our face be like the morning, 
While the days are going by. 

Oh ! the world is full of sighs, 

Full of sad and weeping eyes ; 

Help your fallen brother rise, 
While the days are going by. * 

All the loving links that bind us, 

While the days are going by, 
One by one we leave behind us, 
While the days are going by; 
But the seed of good we sow, 
Both in shade and shine will grow, 
And will keep our hearts aglow. 
While the days are going by. 



A 



"I watched one rising slowly up, 
Of thick and inky hue, 
That over all the landscape fair 
A gloomy shadow threw. 

"But as I mourned the sudden change, 
And brightness passed away — 
A breeze sprung up, and o'er the cloud 
There glau'jed a singie ray. 

"And lo ! what seemed so dull before, 
No longer shadow flings, 
But, touched with light and glory, turns 
To angel's snowy wings." 

"My child,'' the gentle mother said, 

With a quick starting tear, 
"Clouds, both to young and old alike, 

Dark mysteries appear. 

"But 0, beloved one ! mayst thou still, 
With pure undoubting eyes, 
Through earth's dark storms, however w 

God's angels recognize." 



HOME EVANGELIZATION. 



r 







SILENT SORROW. 

Speak not a word to break the spell 

'ihat binds a heart in silent sorrow, 
No one can know of grief so well 
As he who bears a funeral knell 

And thinks of many a lonely morrow. 
No one oan share the weight of grief 

That bows the form of all who bear it; 
No sighs or tears oan give relief, 
No smiles bring joy, however brief, 

Or linger on the lips that wear it. 
No comfort can a friend impart 

In words, however kindly spoken; 
No hand can dry the tears that start, 
From the chilled fountains of that heart, 

When once the crystal bowl is broken. 
But from each calmer, holier thought 

Can we alone our comfort borrow. 
We find it soonest when untaught; 
Joy comes to us again unsought, 

And we forget our silent sorrow. 



"Ah, madam, you know, then, that sometimes In this 
world of ours it.requires more courage to live than to die." 
Mrs. Southworth. 

To die, O ! is it not to cease 

From sorrow dark, and fold in peace 
The weary hands, and lay the head 

Down with the quiet, dreamless dead f 
0, is it not to say farewell 

To griefs the tongue might never tell, 
To falsehood^ smile, to envy's sneer, 

And all the future dark with fear 1 
To welcome rest, that blessed calm 

That folds us safe from earthly harm 
If this is death, how blest to be 

Forever free from misery. 
To live, when all that made life dear 
Has passed away, nor sigh nor tear 
Can give the poor heart back its spring, 
Or hopes that made Its blossoming;— 
To live or die, which is the test 

Of courage true, when at the breast 
The thorns of fate press sharp and keen, 

And no kind heart on which to lean ? 
To live, doth not the mariner 

When wrecked seize e'en a broken spar, 
And, clinging to It mid the waves, 
Seek gladly thus his life to save ? 
And jhaply then, a broken spar 

Some struggling one, more wretched far, 
May grasp, and by thy helping hand 
Be aided to the better land. Athkkton. 



At the recent meeting of the State Conference of Congre- 
gational Churches in Jfitchburg, the Hon. William B. Wash- 
bum gave a very able and practical address on Home Evan- 
gelization. This was followed by a vigorous and carnevt 
discussion by pastors and laymen, during which the largo 
audience united in tinging the following hymn, written for 

the occasion by Hon. Alfred Hitchcock: — 
4 

Go where sorrow finds a dwelling, 
Work of mercy— heavenly gem ; 
Hands upholding— fear dispelling. 
Help to touch his garments hem; 

Fear dispelling, 
Touch his sacred garments hem. 

Haste to clothe the poor and needy, 
Feed the hungry, shield from cold; 
Jesus taught us, He is ready 
To receive them to his fold. 

He is ready 
To receive them to his fold.. 

Softly watch the sick and weary, 

Gently soothing every pain, 

Teaching thus the heavenly story— 
"Bear the cross the crown to gain :" 

Heavenly story — 
"Bear the cross the crown to gain." 

Dress their wounds— they'll know this language, 
Gently cheer them— bathe their brow; 
Erring ones will know Christ's image- 
Christ who calleth sinners now, 
t Know Christ's imago — 

Christ who calleth sinners now. 

Upward raise from sad condition 
Those who need a Savior's love. 
Thus began his blessed mission, 
True evangel from above; 

Blessed mission, 
True evangel from above. 



> 

5> 






One Hundred Tears to Come. 

Who'll press for gold this crowded street! 

A hundred years to come! 
Who'll tread yon church with willing feet 

A hundred years to come! 
Pale, trembling age and fiery youth, 
And childhood with his brow of truth, 
The rich and poor on land and sea; 
Where will the mighty millions be 

A hundred years to come ! 

We all within our graves shall sleep 

A hundred years to come ; 
No living soul for us will weep 

A hundred years to come ; 
But other men our land will till, 
And others then our streets will fill, 
And other words will sing as gay, 
And bright the sunshine as to-day, 

A hundred years to come. 



1 



Wise Words of the Chinese. — The Chinese are 
very fond of pasting scraps from authors upon thair 
houses, shops, and temples. Enter the poorest house in 
the most miserable village, and, though you will find a 
want of the commonest necessaries of life, you will he 
sure to see some beautiful maxims written upon scrolls 
of red paper. These maxims are often finely worded, 
and full of sense. Here are a few specimens, selected 
almost at random : 

One day is worth three to him who does every thing in 
order. 

Great minds have purposes, others only have wishes. 

Who is the greatest liar? He who talks most of himself. 

We can do without the world, but we need a friend. 

My books speak to my mind, my friend to my heart, heaven 
to my soul, and all the rest to my ears. 

TRIFLES. 

Think naught a trifle, though it small appear ; 
Sands make the mountain, moments make the year, 
And trifles, life. Your care to trifles give, 
Else you may die ere you have learned to live. 

A Picture of Death. — The phenomenon of death is 
thus painted by Dr. Holmes in one of his laonthlv 
papers : 

By the stillness of the sharpened features, by the Mankness 
of the tearless eye, by the fixedness of the smile less mouth, 
by the deadening tints, by the contracted brow, by the dilat- 
ing nostril, we know that the soul is soon to leave its mortal 
tenement, and is already closing up its windows and putting 
out its fires. 



=*- 



Judge CHapin's Poem. 

The real poet, when he strikes the lyre, 
Lights up the gleam of ever burning Are, 
Clothe with swCet music every rippling rill, 
With magic grandeur every mount and hill t 
While the mere rhymer, playing With his pen, 
Makes jingling nonsense every now and then, 
Looks round in vain, the poet's field to gleam, 
Then settles back, and starts the old machine. 
******* 

Be startled not, for musing on the past, 
A pleasing radieuce o'er the scene is cast; 
It hinteth thus, and giveth sweet relief, # 
The rhyming fits, though violent, were brief; 
As little streamlets, gathered in a pond, 
Stopped by a dam, and not one spring beyond, 
May iroth and foam, upon some warm March day: 
Just raise the gate, and quick they rush away. 

It chanced of late, when stars their vigils kept, 
And tired with toil, I laid me down and slept, 
Strange forms in dreams came dancing round my 

bed 
And queer wrought fancies flitted through my 

head. ' ... 

The years rolled backward, on each vale and nm, 
The forest stretched, in quiet silence still, 
And dusky forms, all in their strange attires, 
Roamed o'er the lands, since peopled by our sires. 

No teeming fields, with crops of living green, 
No cultured homes of happiness were seen, 
No busy mills, to grind the gathered grain, - 
Or cut the monarch of the grove in twain ; 
No traveled way, no nicely graded street, 
No wayside inn, the weary guest to greet, 
Look where you would, you saw no culture there, 
The forest reigned unbroken everywhere. 

The rivers flowed unhindered to the sea, 
Beast, fish and fowl were radiant and free, 
They saw the rising and the setting sun, 
But saw no Yankee with his hook and gun: 
The N iprauc hunter roamed the forest wide, 
The lord and master of his dusky bride; 
And dark-hued children, in a motley 'throng, 
Learned ihe first lessons of their yoking war song. 

I looked again. The Anglo Saxon came, 
Scheming and wise, and always just the same, 
1 saw him, as with solemn steps and slow, 
He trod this soil two hundred years ago ; 
And looked about him with a conscious pride 
That he had lauded, thanks to wind and tide, 
Where free to worshisp, and as free to trade, 
He'd pitched his tent where money could be made. 

I saw the Indian stern and stately stand, 
To fix the price of this his own fair land, 
And coelly sell his birthright then and there, 
For fifteen pounds, at least full eight miles square ; 
While Squimshapauge, so musical in name, 
Is blotted out, to meet some English claim, 
The wild, sweet music 'morig the hills and trees, 
Is heard no longer on the summer breeze. 

The mighty red men, from that fatal day, 
Like morning snowflakes seemed to melt away, 
Jealous and cruel through the waning years, 
The dreaded phantoms of our childish fears ; 
Till at this hour, the remnant of the race, 
With quiet step, and sad and dreamy face, 
Are poor and Humble, where they reigned before, 
And wander lazily from door to door. 

The sturdy veterans of the olden time, 
Of stern resolve, and purposes sincere, 
Whose names were never made to sing in rhyme, 
Whom children's children honor and revere, 
Come in my dreams as Puritan as when, 
Building their cabins on the forest plains, 
They worked and prayed among the sons of men, 
In summer sunshine, or in wintry rains. 



They fought wild beasts, subdued the soil, 
And found the treasures in it, 
They learned the blest results of toil, 
And hardly lost a minute; 
No eight hour doctor beat the drum, 
To set the world half crazy, 
Breaching a kind of kingaom come, 
A premium to the lazy. 

They cleared the forest, ploughed the field, 
They built the church for meeting, 
And when Job Tyler wouldn't yield, 
They sent the rebel greeting ; 
While Job defied ofhcial'noise, 
And scorned the fearful warning, 
As impudent as singing boys, 
Who won't go home till morning. 

Till lie who dared to speak so plain, 
Of meeting house and preaching, 
Found that he struggled all in vain, 
"Gainst puritanic teaching; 
Denounced in proper terms at last, 
lhe way ho had conducted, 
Obtained forgiveness for the past, 
And thus was reconstructed. 

The fathers thought they understood t 

The way to deal with sinners, t. 

And always did the best they could, 
in taming the beginners; 
J'hev trusted in the living God. 
And hud largo faith in preaching, 
Bat never wholly spm-p.d the rod, 
Nor its benignant teaching. 

They took fast hold of the decrees, 

And battled stout and hearty, 

They nevertrembled in the knees, 

Whate'er theirsect or party) 

They scaled the mountain tops of thought,* 

And faced the-rolling thunder, 

Men who were never sold nor bought, 

Who wouldn't stand from under. 

What cheered those hardy pioneers, 
That band of friends and brothers, 
In the dark forest calmed the fears 
Of sisters and of mothers, 
Who sell-devoted and sincere, 
All calmly did their duty, 
To help to found a township here, 
In freedom, thrift and beauty? 



In faith and hope, the cherished few, 
Jjist struggled on together, 
Ami builded better than they knew, 
In spite of wind and weather; 
They float along the stream of time, 
The banks all gray and hoary, 
And need no word of prose or rhyme 
To tell their simple story. 
******* 

I dreamed again, or seemed to dream, 

Of which I sometimes doubt, 

That by the light of the moon's beam, 

Few houest folks about; 

1 met hard by an aged man, 

Of sturdy look and form, 

Who never hid himself nor ran 

In danger or in storm. 

He stopped, and leaning on his cane, 

With white and flowing hair, 

And coat which in King Charles's reign 

' The fathers used to wear; 
He seemed a man of days gone by, c * 

Beneath the British yoke, JN. 

He looked me squarely in the eye, NA 

' And these the words lie spoke : rjZr 

****** ^ 

"How queerlv ladies dress to-day, \ 

The bonnets all are going, , 

How noiselessly they fade away, ^ 

While waterfalls are growing; ^V 

And hoop skirts sort of stay and go, \ 

'Twill do to wear no others, N 

Ok, if our girls had figured go, \ 
H ow 'twould have shocked their mothers. V 

"The boys seem old, whom I have seen, ^ 

Considering their knowledge ^ 

To see them, one would think they'd been \ \ 

In Congress or in College ; ^s. 

Their coats, and boots, and shoes, and hats, 

More costly than adorning, 

Their fathers must be blind as bats, 

Not to observe the warning. , 

"I hear of oil and fancy stocks, 

And second sight physicians, 

AY ho look one through from hat to socks, 

And tell his whole conditions ; j 

They order pills and powders too, 

All ready, just in season, 

To guarantee a cure for you, , 

With neither sense or reason. I 

"I ask you as piece of news. 

Whence comes this smell of leather, 

Which makes one dream of boots and shoes, 

At least in sultry weather? 

What means that thick and motley throng 

Of every name and nation, 

I noticed as 1 pagsed along i 

Down near that boot shop station ? Jc 

"Why is there but a few miles north ,J^ 

Such monstrous piles of bonnets, 

Where bright-eyed damsels sally forth, 

To tempt a lover's sonnets ? 

'Tis tearful ns the rebel raids, 

Takes courage to go by it, 

Yet lose those bonnets and those maids, 

Still worse would" bo the quiet. 

"Pray tell me how that little stream, 

Which wasn't worth the naming, 

Now glitters with so bright a gleam, 

From sundry forges flaming ; 

What mean'those lights among the hills, i 

Like stars each night illuming, 

Why run by steam those cotton mills, fc £ 

The wood and coal consuming? 

"Explain to me the mystery, J 

Which marks the southern quarter, n 

The mills and cars and tracks I see, v j, 

Where on«e was only water. NA 

Where once the birds among the trees \ 

In solitude were singing, y\ 

Are heard the bells on every breeze, \, 

Their busy orders ringing. _* 

"What means that low and rumbling sound. 
Just over by the river, 

Which seems to shake the solid ground, L 

And put one in a quiver ? «T\ 

1 saw a train a half mile strong, NJ^fc 

Which filled my soul with Wonder, |N 

An iron horse dragged it along, "«^ 

And puffing smoke like thunder. ^ 



"You call it Milford over there? 

And Upton over yonder? 

Northbridge and Uxbridge? I declare, 

Old Mendons rent asunder;" 

For Blackstoue growing discontent, 

IJegan the same old story v 

Last of the wayward sisters weDt, 

And left her in her glory. 

"Shorn of her strength at every turn. 
First one side then another, 
'Tis time the parricides should learn, 
Ihey ve helped to slay their mother; 
She's learned to drink the bitter cun, 
All flavored with desertion, 
She's had an awful cutting up 
1 lie victim of coercion. 

"Let Milford boast of boots and shoes, 

Of choicest kinds of leather, 

And Upton girls grow rich a's Jews, 

On bonnet, band and feather; 

Northbridge and Uxbridge thrive and grow. 

On cotton, steam and water, 

While Blackstone spreads her branches 

1 hough she s the youngest daughter. 

"Old Mendon yet shall raise her head 

She is DOt (lead but slecj.etb, 

She yel remains the old homestead 
Ihe fathers' dust she Iceepeth; ' 
She hath ber share of homemade joys 
The choicest toil she tillelb, 
Tbfj da mips home her bovs 

The fatted calf she killed.. ^' 

" The waters murmur in the brooks 
The fields are sweet with stover 
How bright this loving mother looks 






As this dnv's work is over? 
Around us earthly angels here, 
Their choicest gifts are bringing, 
Above us sweet and sott and clear, 
The spirit choirs are singing, 

" The voices of the buried past 
There ohant their sweetest members, 
Their loving echoes here shall last, 
To soothe our quiet 'lumbers ; 
And life, with all its hopes and fears, 
Shall brighter be, and clearer, 
As on the rolling tide of years, 
Heaven comes to all the nearer." 

He ceased his strain, no more he sang, 

But after he had started, 

This farewell, like atrumpet rang, 

And thrilled as he departed : 

"Toil on for honor, power or pelf, 

There's need enough of growing, 

But make your other rhymes yourself, 

'Tis time that I was going. 

If on the fifteenth day of May, 

I'm at the celebration, 

I'll tell you on that festal day 

My name and age and station ; 

But if, perchance, I am not there, 

Whate'er the wiud or weather, 

Just read these lines, and we will share 

The praise or blame together." 

**##.** 

One simple thought, which comes not now of 
dreaming, 

Fills every heart, 
One simple word, this festival beseeming, 

Before we part. 
The meB, who met us with their kindly greeting, 

In days of yore, 
Are gone, and at our friendly meetings 

Are seen no more. 

We'll read their history, nasae and station, 

la words that bum, 
As filled with heartfelt admiration, 

Each page we turn. 
We'll fancy as" we read that noblf r mortals 

Than one now meets, 
Once passed benignly though these earthly portals, 

And walked these streets. 

The friends and neighbors we have loved so dearly 

In later days, 
On whom the light of memory sheds so clearly 

Its kindling rays, 
Seem with us now, as on these honored places 

We look with pride, 
While they, with their familiar forms and faces, 

Seem by our side. 

Prince, Russell, Rawson, Wood and Cook and oth- 
ers, 

Hayward and Green ( 
Hastings and Davenport, Jike friends and brothers, 

So often seen. 
Taft, Gaskell, Allen, Stone, and George, and Mow- 
ry, 
„ Aldrich and Thayer, 
Bates, Adams, Thurber in his honest glory, 
With fame so fair. 

That noble brother of our friend the speaker, 

Whose spirit burned 
With brighter lustre, as his frame grew weaker, 

And home he turned. 
His body in the quiet churchyard sleeping, 

His soul so clear, 
While we this happy festival are keeping, 

Seems listening here. 

Men of the days gone by, the starry token 

Adorns each name,* 
The worthy tribute, ail too long unspoken, 

Ye well may claim. 
Immortal now, for on the glowing pages 

Of this bright day, 
Shall shine your memories, for future ages, 
. With purest ray. 

It stirs the blood, it sets the pulses leaping, 

Say what we will, 
To feel that friends, for whom we yet are weeping, 

Are with us still ; 
To feel their warm and loving presence ever, 

In scenes like this, 
To know that they forget the feeling never, 

Of social bliss. 

We hear their human voices here no longer, 

Their forms are gone ; 
But ah, the feeling in our hearts grows stronger, 

As time rolls on. 
The hour may come, when other souls may listen, 

And think us true, 
When tears in other eyes may glisten, 

Like morning dew. 
Enough for us, if children's children reading 

Names we call ours, 
Shall strew our tombs, our faults and sins un- 
heeding, 

With sweetest flowers. 



J 



L. 




The Mention «'«iil<iiiiial. 




(Written by one of the sons of Mendon, for the 

Second Centennial Anniversary, in 

that town, May 15th, 1867. 

! Sweet May has come with blossoming buds, 

And the rippling silvery notes 
! Are bears, high up In the leafy oohp.ik 
u birds' tufted throats; 
The robin's eonte Back, from wandering far 

■ simiiv southland lair, 

And the blue-Wrd pipes In merry glee 

As he breathes Ins mountain air. 

re turned, with joy, our roving feett 
From the varied walks of earth, 
To join in 1 1 1 i ^ gathering, household band, 

■ lie place that gave us birth. 
We answered with joy, your call, "Coma Home," 
* For our i'.ef were then 1 and sore; 
! lie road has been hard since last we left 
The path that leads to your door. 



r 









here ire b ight, in every eye 

\ we pledge, with solemu truth, 
The purest love, that our hearts dan know* 

lo the dear home of our youth; 
No blush of shame need mautle the brow 

Of the man of high renown 
As he turns aside, from worldly strife, 

To his. quiet, native town, 

I look abroad, o'er the green crowned hills 

And the valleys, spreading wide, 
And the stern old woods, that many years 

Have the storm king's power defied; 
The iruitful orchards, clustering stand, 

And the cherry blossoms, white, 
Are sprinkling the earth with suowy leaves, 

As they fall so pure aud ligh. 

And, scattered about, embowered with trees, 

All over the goodly laud, 
Crowned with contentment's sweetest joys, 

The homes of the farmers stand. 
And my grateful heart responds with joy 

To the sentiment just read, 
We'll wreathe, with laurels of well earned fame, 

The names of the honored dead. 

We stand erect in our manhood's prime, 

And our hearts, with pleasure glow, 
As our thoughts turn hack to days long past, 

When, "two hundred'' years ago, 
Where our goodly town now prosperous stands 

W as a forest tar and wide, 
And the Indian warrior roamed at will, 

And the white man's power defied. 

But there came, from 'cross the foaming deep, 

A firm and stalwart band, 
\\ ho sought a home 'mid the dreary wilds 

Of a distant, stranger land ; 
They fled, from tyranny's iron rule, 

To the drear New England's shore 
Where Hie while waves dashed against the rocks 

With a coustant sullen roar. 

While the snow king wove a mantle white, 

Aud covered the frozen ground, 
The bleak winds whistled through branches bare 

With a wailing mournful sound: 
And the hungry wolf roamed through the woods 

W ith a fierce and fearful cry, 
The war whoop shrill of the Indian brave 

Rung out through the winter sky. 

But Hii ir hearts changed not from their stern resolve, 
Though their cheeks turned white with fear, 
_. When the reaper Death, with cruel hand, 
Gathered their loved one's dear,- 
In the dim old woods and meadows sweet, 

Where our childish feet have trod, 
The pilgrims found what long they had sought, 
( The freedom to worship God. 

While the changing years passed one by one, 

In their never-ceasing flight, 
They brought success to the pilgrim band, 

1 or God is with the right; 
The sunlight ripened their corn and grain, 

tn the golden Autumn time 
They gathered from off their wide spread fields 

A beautiful harvest line. 

The people learned, on the Sabbath day, 

'I he golden rule of love, 
At the little church with the spire upraised 

Towards the arching blue above; 
They built the school house down by the hill, 

Though the winds blew cold and drear, 
The children came, with willing feet, 

.From the homesteads far aud near. 

And the village grew and prospered too, 

Was a place of great renown, 
And they sought a name worthy the fame 

Oi their busy, thriving town ; 
When the fathers gazeel, with conscious pride, 

On each brave and stalwart son, 
They gave it a name which suited well, 

The one it still bears— Meu don(e). 

With pleasure to-day we've turned aside 

Krom the vexing caies and strife, 
From the troubles which shadow every path 

'Long the weary march of life; 
Our youth days come back with magic power, 

As we see each well-known face, 
And hearts grow light as we gaze upon 

Each well remembered place. 

'there are the woods, which in summer time, 

Bent low o'er the rippling pond, 
Where we sailed at eve for the lilies pure 

To tho further side beyond ; 
There is the hill where we coasted oft, 

When the snow, so pure and white, 
Covered the top and sloping sides 

With a fleecy mantle light. 
In those good old days, strong common sense 

Was taught in the country schools, 
Aud the young folks then knew not the power 

Of dame fashion's iron rule. 
The boys rose up with the morning sun, 

Ami whistled a merry lay. 
They ate their breakfast with right good will, 

And off to the fields away. 

They plowed and sowed, reaped and mowed, 

Though rough aud rocky the soil, 
But the harvestjfine in Atuumn's time 

Well paid for their hardy toil. 
When Winter came with chilling blast, 

And the farm work all was done, 
With a willing heart and busy brain 

They studied till set ot sun. 
Then, Dabolls' Arithmetic they conned, 

Learned Murray's grammar too, • 

The American Preceptor read, 

And Morse's geography through. 

But young America rules to-day; 

[is sad indeed but true, 
Thin- wisdom exceeds, when ten years old, 

\Y hatever their fathers knew. 
They roam all night and sleep all day, 

And labor, to them, is disgrace; 
Their hair is curled by barbers' hand 

And powdered their simple face, 
With dainty gloves and their feet well pinched 

To a small and high heeled boot; 
Their little forms are padded ahd stuffed, 

To fill out a lashionable suit ; 
They carry a cane with graceful air, 

Or handle a lady's fan, 
No wonder people ask as they pass 

If that thing is called a man. 



The girls were taught, in their youthful days, 

To make butter and cheese; 
To spin the yarn and to knit and sew 
-' And cook a dinner with ease. 

They spun and wove the flannels so soft, 

And the linen pure and white, 
The bedquilts warm, all quilted so firm, 

Indeed were a goodly sight. 

But now a little Latin and French 

Goes into each feeble brain, 
With all the "Isms ' and Ologies, 

And they soon fly out again. 

< But the ladies fair can promenade 
Or join in the mazy dance, 
They can gossip and simper and smile 
\\ ith the ease and grace of France. 

Like lilies, they neither toil nor spin, 

Their hands are folded in case, 
While Solomon in his glory bright 

Was never arrayed like these. 

1 hey have many a dress and robe so gay, 

But weep in bitter despair, 
Like "Flora McFlimsey," renowned in song, 

Because they have nothing to wear. 

Oh ! sad are the changes time has made, 

For everything now is fast, 
-And we pray w ith anxious, waiting hearts, 

F'or the good old times that's past. 

I wandered along the well known road 

With an aching: heart this morn. 
And passed, all shaded with ancient trees, 

The homestead where I was born. 
The robin sang clear its notes of joy 

As it sang in by-gone Mays, 
But 1 gazed in vain for the loved ones dear 

Who gladdened my boyhood's days. 

The voice is hushed that tenderly soothed 

Each childish trouble and pain, 
And the cradle song with its magic power| 

Will never be heard again. 
In sorrow's hour I have sadly felt 

The loss of that mother love, 
But I know the spirit, robed in white, 

Roams the better land above. 

I sought for the landmarks known in youth, 

For each old familiar spot, 
Where 1 often, strayed in childish hours, 

But alas ! I found them not. 
The blacksmith shop of old "Uncle Sim,*' 

Where 1 often stopped to play, 
And watch the sparks from the heated iron, 

lias long since passed away. 
How well I remember the patient John, 

His good natured face aglow, 
As he stood with strong and steady arm, 
/ Keady to strike or blow. 

A little farther just around the corner 

Nestled a cosy hatter's shop, 
/ Where Mr. Stone, with a skilful cratt, 

Made coverings for the head. 
I've watched him bowing the rabbit fur, 

And making the lofty crown, 
With a generous brim he formed each hat 

For the staid men of the town. 
Genuine hats, not shoddy or sham, 

Were made in the days of yore. 
For btst they were worn full fifteen years, 

For common acme ten years more. 
Up under the elms was the bake-house old, 

Where Mr. Brackett baked our bread, 
And the crackers light and buns so sweet, 

With which the hungry were fed. 

We are proud today of our noble sires, 

And high on the roll of lame 
Is writ, in letters of blazing light, 

Many an honored name. 
That of "Aldrich" stands first on the list. 

George and Nathan, soldiers bold, 
At Crown Point and old Ticonderoga 

They fought in days of old. 
Peleg the surveyor, and Jabez the postmaster, 
L Anson, Scammel and Quissett Luke, . 

And that other Luke at the turnpike gate, 
r Who is here to-day with a smiliug face, 

All free from the world's contending strife, 
V To welcome the children home. 
r Methinks the angel of health came down 
■ And granted a new lease of life. 

I There was Eben and William aud Major Rufus, 

Who anxiously watched the fray 
At the bloody battle of Bunker Hill, 

When the Patriots won the day. 
He saw the flames of the city rage, 

And heard the pealing bell 
Toll, e'er it fell, with a crashing sound, 

The oppressor's ftn;eral knell. 

A numerous race were the; well known Thayers,— 

Allen, the merchant, Alexander, the doctor, 
Over the river was Aaron, Nahum and Uncle Ben, 

And Alex, and Capt. Amos; 
And down by the tavern, near the Five Corners, 

Were many more of the name, 
Henry, Joseph, Ichabod and Nicholas 

At Wat "Waterbug" Hill Uncle Robert, . 
At "Chestnut,"' Capt. Caleb and Esq. JBliiali, ♦ 

All eminently useful men. 

In the green and shady Quissett vale 

Lived the blacksmith Mr. P., 
Who toiled. from morn till the set of sun 

For his little family! 
In those old days each man was taxed, 

The minister to pay; 
Whether he heard the preaching fine, 

Or whether he staid away. 

The blacksmith refused to pay the tax, 

And they started him for jail, 
He turned away with an anxious heart, 

From his peaceful, quiet vale, 
Before he reached hisjourney's end. 

He met good Parson 1). 
Thtj blaciksnlith aaid in sorrowing voice— 

'lis very hard for me, 
To be sent to jail because I have 

No money the tax to pay, 
When I never came inside your church; 

And never heard you pray. 

But Ah ! the parson blandly said, 

My doors were open wide, 
'Tis your own fault, nobody's to blame 

That vou never came inside. 



M 



Bui lor fear your family might want, 
1 his time the tax I'll pay, 

Thelblacksmith thanked the generous man, 

Aud homeward took his way; 

While musing, he roamed along the road, 

In the weary march he paused ; 
He had found a way the parson to pay, 

For the tronble he had caused. 
So the blacksmith made and sent a bill 

Right over to Parson D., 
For shoeing his horse at sundry times, 

And a good round sum charged he. 

In indignation the parson came 

A galloping down the hill, 
And asked the blacksmith what right had he 

To send to him such a bill ) 
For I have not been inside your door, 

In your shop I never trod, 
I don't undretand the meaning of this, 

For my horse you never shod. 

My tools were ready, theblacksmith said, 

And my doors are open wide, 
'Tis no one's fault but your own, dear sir, 

That yon never came inside. 
The parson left with a knowing air, 

Nor went that way for days, 
The blacksmith sung, 'tis a very poor rule 

That "does not work both ways.'' 

Our hearts are grieved as we close our lay, 

And the sad tears dim our sight, 
As we sing the changes time has wrought 

In his onward rapid flight; 
And our lives are drawing to a close, 

And soon we shall bid farewell 
To the homes made dear by memories sweet, 

Where the loved and loving dwell. 
Let us strive with earnest, faithful hearts, 

Stern duty's call to obey, 
And walk with a Arm and steady tread 

In the straight and narrow way. 
Let us imitate with purpose firm 

Our fathers' virtues of olden time, 
And defy oppression's cruel power 

With a courage firm and bold. 
We will nobly stand for freedom and right 

Till the setting of life's sun, 
Till our ears shall hear the Master's voice, 

Servants of God well done. 

My muse is sad as I gently breathe 

That sweet old word good-bye, 
But we hope to meet in union sweet 

In the better world on high. 
At the river side, for the boatman pale, 

We stand aud tremblingly w r ait, 
Loved ones will welcome who've gone before, 

When we reach the pearly gate. 
No sorrow or partiug can sadden 

Inthose mansions of the blest, 
W here the wicked cease from troubling 

A ud the weary are at rest. 



\\\ 1 


r 

1 < 



Or epitaphs, serious and filled with poetry, 
there is none in the language more beautiful than 
the following, written by Samuel Taylor Cole- 
ridge a few months before his death : 

"Stop, Christian passer-by! Stop, Child of God ! 
And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod 
A poet lies, or that which once seemed he — 
O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C. ; 
That he who many a year with toil of breath 
Found death in life, may here find life iu death ! 
Mercy for praise— to be forgiven for fame 
He asked and hoped, through Christ. Do thou the 
same 1" 



Hon. James Draper of Spen cer, celebrated his 
90th birthday, Wednesd ,y evening, Feb. 26th, 
by receiving at his faruiiy mansion a goodly 
number of his neighbors an£> friends. His de- 
scendants, though few in number considering 
his advanced years, were well represented. 

V h»~ -js --v.— '■ — •~ : — •' * "■ — 

I The following lines written by Mr. Draper two 

! days previous to bis ninetieth birthday, were 

findy read by one of the guests. Aa original 

piece of vnsic was sung, aud all joined in"Auld 

Lang Syne" : 

EXPERIENCE OF OLD AGE. 

When young and unthinking, and Idle and rain, 
And glowing with health void of sickness or pain; 
Mr days glided swiitly, my heart leaned with joy, 
A life filled with pleasure with nought to alloy. 
But the scene was soon changed, with time's rapid 

flight. 
When the youth's simple pleasures no longer de- 
light; 
As the world passed along, I from manhood to age, 
With various employments was called to engage. 

When stern duty called I was prompt to comply, 
And the claims of misfortune did never deny! 
Though weak and imperfect while seeking more light ; 
Sometimes in the wrong*, while intent to be right. 

Though passion might rage and at times take the 

rein, 
Yet reason and candor soon triumphed again; 
While following charity, and conquering pride, 
Honor and justice were ever my guide. 

Now, the world and all nature seem changed to my 

view, 
Old scenes disappearing, and all things seem new ; 
As I pass through the street, or wherever 1 roam, 
My thoughts oft revert to my once happy home.* 

Sweet days of my youth 1 they have all passed away, 
Like a fleeting bright cloud in a fair summer's day ; 
Old friends ad departing, thus lonely my state, 
May I patiently wait and submit to my fate. 

♦Alluding to the loss of mv wife, aud three of my four 
| daughters, the youngest still living with her family in 
I the oity of Jiew York, having no son. 



T t 



FROM A CHILD'S GRAVE AT FLORENCE. 

" Love strong as death can conquer death 
Through struggle made more glorious : 
This mother stills her sobbing breath, 
Renouncing, yet victorious. 

" Arms empty of her child she lifts, 
With spirit unbereaven : 
' God will not take back all his gifts, 
My Lily 's mine in heaven. 

" ' Still mine maternal rights serene, 
Not given to another ! ' 
The crystal bars shine faint between 
The souls of child and mother. 

" ' Meanwhile,' the mother cries, ' content ! 
Our love was well divided ; 
Its sweetness following where she went 
Its anguish stayed where I did. 

" ' Well done of God to halve the lot, 
And give her alf the sweetness ; 
To us the empty room and cot, 
To her the heaven's completeness. 

" ' To us the grave, to her the rows 
The mystic palm-trees spring in ; 
To us the silence in the house, 
To her the choral singing ! 

" f For her to gladden in God's view ; 
For us to hope and hear on ; — 
Grow, Lily, in thy garden new, 
Beside the Rose of Sharon ! 

" ' Grow fast in heaven, sweet Lily, clipped, 
In love more calm than this is ; 
And may the angels, dewy-lipped, 
Remind thee of our kisses I 

" ' While none shall tell thee of our tears, 
These human tears now falling, 
Till, after a few patient years, 
Oui home shall take us all in : 

" ' Child, father, mother, — who left out? 
Not mother and not father ! 
And when, their dying couch about, 
The natural mists shall gather, 

" ' Some smiling angel close shall stand 
In old Correggio's fashion, 
Bringing a Lily in his hand 
For death's annunciation.' " 

E. B. Browning. 



A 



6 



LOVED ONCE. 

A remarkablecomposition, Vf^uuiia Barmtt Bbowhwo. 

I class'd, appraising once, 
Earth's lamentable sounds ; the weli a -day, 

The jarring yea and nay, 
The fall of kisses on unanswering clay 
The sobb'd farewell, the welcome mournfuller ;- 

But all did l.*ven the air 
With a less bitter leaven of sure despair 

Than these words— "I loved once." 
And who saith, "I loved once ?» 
Not angels, whose clear eyes love, love foresee, 

Love through eternity ! 
Who, by To Love, do apprehend To Be 
Not God, called Love, his noble crown-name.-casting 

A light too broad for blasting ' 
The Great God, changing not from everlasting, 
Saith never, "I loved once." 
Nor ever the "Loved once" 
Dost thou say, Victim. Christ, misprize* friend ! 
The cross and curse may rend • » 
But, having loved, thou lovest to the end I 
It is man's saying-man's ! Too weak to move 

One sphered star above, 
Man desecrates the eternal God-word, Love, 
With his No More, and Once. 
How say ye, «W e loved once," 
Blasphemers ? Is y our earth not cold enow, 

Mourners, without that snow ? 
Ah friends j and would ye wrong each other so 7 
And could ye say of some, whose love is known ' 

tvw i w i! ose prayers bave met y° ur ow, ' 

Whose tears have fallen for you, whose smiles'have shone, 
Such words, "We loved them once ?» 



JB« •:■:. 

"He giveth :i; ,,,>,,_.. 

2 fal Latare 

■Borne inward unto souls afar. 

Along the Psalmist's music deep- 
Now JeTl me if there any h, P 
forgiftorgrjice, surpassing this— 
de giveth flis beloved sleep!" 

Sleep soft, beloved : we somctimes'say'; 
And have no potfer to chase away ' 

bad dreams that through the eyelids cropn- 
But never doleful dreams again* ^ 

fehall Weak the happy slumber, when 
•tie giveth His beloved sleep.'' 
' O earth, so full of dreary noises ! 
O men, with wailing in ycur voices! 

Odeived gold, flie waller's heap! 
O strife, O curse that o'er it fall ' 
Cod makes a silence through you all. 

"He giveth His beloved sleep." 
His dews drop mutely on the hill; 
His clouds above it saileth still 

1 hough on its slope men toil and reap! 
More softly than the dew is shed, 
Or cloud is floated overhead, 

"He giveth His beloved sleep." 

And friend.-:— dear friends— when itsball be 
lhat this low breath is gone from me— 

When round my bier ve come to weep; 
Let one most loving of 'von all 
bay "Not a tear for her 'must fall 
'He giveth His beloved sleep.' " 
-Jfri Browning. • 



A Woman's Conclusion. 



IN AN ATTIC. 

BY MISS EHZABHT1I A. C. AKEH3. 

'"ill 15 m E att , 1(> room - 8itdown, my friend- 
Thi^t T* Ilow , 8 ne6i la "** !ln<! 1 an! to lain ' 
The stairs are long and steep, but at the end ' 
1hn rest repays the pain. 

F ?»1 h D tr e arc peace and freedom; room for SDeeoh 

This lofty altitude. 
You hapless dwellers in the lower rooms 

Heaven's ligfit unhindered falls. 
So early In the street, the shadows creen 

\ our nlghi bestns while yet my eves belmM 
The purpfin* Mils, the wide IiohLuV sween 

Flooded with sunset gold, P ' 
Die day comes earlier here. At morn I sen 

While you are lost in sleep. 
I Patch flic rustle of Uie maple leires 

I he bright-necked pigeonYcalL ' 

* 1 'l wen &ne*wim Mat **& 5*™*™ crowds 
I ^ve mute ^^^XS^ 

And love-trysts with the birds. 

^fndoro^Ulr'ev^'^ "i 6 nolse an<1 »»«»- 
The air l» &£f£fiR %&&%**' •»«*. is clea 
And the blue heaven more near. 



I Could ye "We loved her once" 

Say calm of, me, sweet friends, when out of sight » 

When hearts of better right 
Stand in between me and your happy Iig ht? 
And when, as flowers kept too l0 ng in the shade 

Ye find my colors fade, 
And all that is not love in me, Jecay'd ? 

Sucn words-Ye loved me once ! 

Could ye "We loved her once" 
Say cold of me when further put away 

In earth's sepulchral clay ' 
When mute the lips which deprecate'to-day ?- 
Not so! notthen_, eajmen! when life is sm , 

And Death's full joy is giFen 
Of those who sit and love you up in Heaven 
Say not, "We loved them once." 
Say never, ye loved once ' 
. God is too near above, the gra ve below, 
And all our moments go 
Too quickly past our souls, for saying so ■ 
The mysteries of L*f e and Death ayenge ' 

Affoclions light of range— " 
There comes no change to justify that change 
Whatever comes-Loved once ! 
And yet that word of "once" 
Is humanly acceptive | Kings have said, 

Shaking a discr owued head, 
We ruled once ;"- idiot tongues, "we once bested •» 
Cripples once danced V the vines ; - J b ^ ptoyed 

Were once by scornings moved ! 

But love strikes one hour-Love. Those never loved 

Who dream that they bved once. 



THE GOLDEN SIDE. 

There Is many a rest in the iM of life. 

If we would only stop toTsfsk ; 
And many a tone from tlT^I»?tter land, 

Iflhe querulous heart would make it! 
To the suuny soul that is full of hope 

Aud whoso beautifbl trust ne'er iaileth, 
The grass Is green and the flowers are bright, 

Though the winter storm prevaileth. 

Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, 

And to keej) the eyes still lifted ; 
J- or the sweet blue sky will soon peep through, 

When the ominous clouds are ntted ! 
There was never a night without a day, 

Or an evening without a morning ; 
And the (Hrke it hour, as the proverb «om. 

Is the hour before the dawning. 

^fr'S'l man y ft « ew ln rI '« P»t" of life, 

Which we paw in our idle pleasure, 
That is richer far than the jewelled crown, 

Or the miser's hoarded treasure; 
It may be the love of a little child, 

Or a mother's prayers to heaven. 
Or only a beggar's grateful thanks 

For a cup of water given. 

Better to weave in the web of life 

A bright and golden Wiling, 
And to do God's will with a ready heart 

And hand* that are ready and willing ' 
limn to snap the delicate, minute threads 

Of our curious lives asunder, 
And then blame Heaven for the tangled end*. 

And sit and grieve and wonder. 



BT PHOBBB CART. 

" I said, if I might go back again 

Tot&e very hour and place of my birth ; 
-Might have my life whatever I ohose 

And live itjrn any part of the earth. 
"Put perfeot sunshine into my sky 

Banish the shadow of sorrow and' doubt ■ 
Hare all my happiness multiplied, 

And all my suffering strickon out; 

" ShVS?*!!!" kn ° Wn ' iath6 ^"'nowgone, 
Tho best that a woman come* to know 

Could haye had whatever will make her blest, 

Or whatever she thinks will mako her so; 
" Have found tho highest and purest blise ' 

That the bridal wreath and ring enclose • 
And gained the one out of all the world 

That my heart as well as my reason chose; 
" And if this had been, and I stood tw-night 

But my children , Hying asleep in their beds 
And could ceunt in my prayers, for a rosary ' 
The shining row of their golden heads ; ' 
•« Yeal I said, if a miracle such a* this 

Could be wrought for me at mj bidding, still 
I would choose to have my past as it is, 
And to let my future come as it will I ' 
" I would not make the path I haye trod 

More pleasant or eyen, more straight or wide ■ 
x\or change my c.urse the breadth of a hair ' 

-this way or that way, or either side. ' 
". My past is mine, and I take it all • 

Its weakness-its folly, if you please— 
Nay, even my sins, if you come to that 

May have been my helps, not hindrances; 
" If I saved my body from tho flamea 
. Because that once 1 had burned my hand ■ 
Or kept myself from a greater sin 

By doing a less— yo« will understand; 
" It was better I suffered a little pain, 

Better I sinned for a littlo time, 
If the smarting warned me back from deuth 
a.nd tho sting of sin withheld from crime. ' 
" Who knows ita strength by trial will know 

What strength may bo set against a sin ; 
And how temptation is overcome 

tie has learned, who has felt its power within | 
And who knows how a life at the last will show ? 
Why, look at the moon from where we stand I 
Opaquo, uneven, you say; yet it shinos, 

A luminous sphere, complete and grand. 
" So let my past stand just as it stands, 
An* let mo now, as I may, grow old ; ' 
I am what I am, and my life for me 
Is the best— or it had not been, I hold " 






! 





The Little Doves. 



[ From "Carols, Hymns, and Songs," by Rev. J. H. 
Hopkins, Jr.] 



TO MY BIRD IM THE SOUTH. 



High on the top of an old pine tree, 

Broods a mother dove with her<7oung ones three ; 

Warm over thorn is her soft downy breast, hi. | 

And they sing so sweetly in their nest ; 

"Coo" says the little ones, "Coo" says she, 

All in their nest in the old pine tree. 

Soundly they sleep through thetaoonshiny night, 
Each young one cover'd and tuck'd in tight: 
Morn wakes them up with the first blush of light, 
And they sing to each other with all their might— 
"Coo" says the little ones "Coo" says she, 
All in their nest in the old pine tree, 

When in the nest they are all left alone, 

While their mother far for her dinner has flown, 

Quiet and gently they all remain, 

Till their mother they see-come home again : 

Then "Coo" says the little ones "Coo" says she, 

All in their nest in the old pine tree. 

When they are fed by their tender mother, 
One never will push nor crowd another ; 
Each opens widely his own little bill, 
And he patiently waits and gets his fill : 
Then "Coo" says the little ones, "Coo" 
All in their nest in the old pine tree. 



'8 s 



she, 



Come back to me, Robin ; the days are so long, 

The nights are so silent and drear; 
There is never a note like your rapturous song 

In all the wide heavens to hear. 

Oh, the rare sunny mornings, the warm dewy eves, 

The perfumes from gardens of bloom; 
And high from his bower of tremulous leaves 

My bird's last good-night through the gloom. 

Now blows the dry snow from the drift's wavy peak, 

And fields glitter eold to the moon, 
In gusts of the night wind the icy bough* creak 

And moan out a dolorous tune. 

But when the red clovers grow thick in the grass, 

And rosebuds are bursting again, 
When musical flocks over meadow lands pass, 

Oh, where will my robin be then? 

Pouring wildly at casements where strangers look 
through, 

The notes that once ravished mine ear, 
And eagerly wooing, as all robins do, 

New lovers for every new year. 

So sing, pretty warbler, and praise whom you may ; 

Only haste with the spring to my tree, 
And trill me a measure, forlong is the day 

Since Robin came singing to me. 

These skies must grow warm ere your greeting be 
heard, 

These winds flutter soft to your breast; 
But a heartthrobs for you in the north, little bird, 

While tempests are rocking your nest. 

Boston Transcript. 



Wisely the mother begins, by and by, 
To make her young ones learn to fly ; 
Just for a little way over the brink, 
Then back to the nest as quick as a wink ; 
And "Soo" says the little ones, "Coo" says she, 
All in their nest in the old pine tree. 

Fast grow the young ones, day and night, 
Till their wings are plumed for a longer flight ; 
Till unto them at last draws nigh 
The time when they all must say good bye ! 
Then "Coo" says the little ones, "Coo" says she, 
And away they fly from the old pine tree. 

THE SILENT-BEGGAR. 

BY MRS. LTDIA J. BAXTER. 

- Each day upon my window sill, 
A little beggar sits ; 
'Till I, his hungry stomach fill, 
And then away he flits. 

1 know not that he ever weeps, 

And yet his eyes are rod ; 
For I have seen him as he peeps 

At ine, and hows his head. y 

He never asks me for a crumb, 

Nor says that he is cold ; 
And yet through wind and rain he'll come, 

For hunger makes him bold. 

His little feet are always bare, 

And they are cold I know ; 
If I, some stockings had to spare, 

I'd screen them from the snow. 

One day a nice warm toast I made, 
'Gainst l^ibby came from school ; 

And closely in a dish 'twas laid, 
Well covered, lest it cool. 

'Tvvas bitter cold, but soon appeared, 

The beggar on the spot 
1 knew as he the window neared, 

He wanted what I'd got. 

I told him this was dainty fare, 

lie bowed and kept his seat ; 
So from the dish I took his share, 

And laughed to see him eat. 

When Libby came, I told her soon, 

I knew her generous heart; 
She said, "poor pigeon, let him come, 
• I'll gladly give him part." 
New York, 1853 



[From Merry '8 Museum for December) 
Yellow- Bird. 

BY CELIA THAXTER. 

Yellow-bird, where did you learn that song, 

Perched on the trellis where grape vines clamber 

Iu and out, fluttering all day long, 
With your golden breast bedropped with amber!* 

Where do you hide such a store of delight, 
Oh delicate creature, tiny and slender, 

Like a mellow morning sunbeam bright, 
And overflowing with music tender? 

You never learned it at all ! Thesongj 
Springs from your heart in rich completeness^ 

Beautiful, blissful, clear, and strong, 
Steeped in the summer's ripest sweetnes. 

To think we are neighbors of yours! How fine! 

Oh, what a pleasure to watch you together, 
Bringing your fern-down and floss to re-liue 

The nest worn thin by the winter weather. 

Sand up your lull notes, like worshipful prayers ; 

Yellow-bird, sing, while the summer's before you. 
Little you dream, that, in spite of their cares, 

Here's a whole family, proud to adore you. 



The Robins Have Come Elavk Again. 

There's a call upon the housetop, an answer from the 

plain, 
There's a warble in the sunshine, a twitter in the 
rai n ; 
And through my heart, at sound of these, 

There comes a nameless thrill, 
As sweet as odor to the rose, 

Or verdure to the hill ; 
And all these joyous mornings 

My heart ponrs forth this strain — 
"God bless tl. dear old robins, 

Who have^come back again." 

For they bring a thought of Summer, of dreamy, 

luscious days, 
Of king-cups in the meadows, maki ng a golden haze — 
A longing for the clover blooms, 

For roses all aglow, 
For fragrant orchards, where the bees 

With droning murmurs go. 
I dream of all the beautli 

Of Summer's golden reign. 
And sing— "God keep the robins, 
Who have come back again." 



MAT M0EKIB& VISITOR, 

When light, in the orient breaking, 

The tears ef the right drives away 

From the cheeks of the woodbine and roa?, 

And lilies their eyelids unclosa 

To behold the new day, 

When men should be waking 

Ard bending the knee, 

I hear at my lattice " Pe-we— Pe-we !" 

The singer is dressed like a Quaker, 

His music is Quakerish too, 

But I will not complain of rria coat — 

He looks well in drab— and his throat 

Does the best it can do ; 

He is loved by his Maker 

And shall be by me, 

Theugh lie only can say " Pe-wa—Pe-wff !'• 

The oriole, proud of adorning, 

the theme of his song, 
And he woiks at adjusting his dyes, 
To please-lii^ fasti 
Nearlj all the day long ; 
BvX oh ! in the morning, 
While he 'sleeps in the tree, 
I hear at my iattice " Pe-we— Pe-wa *.", 

The mocking-bird tries to ba merry 

Abeut my monotonous pet ; 

Well, I grant he has only one toae. 

But, he surely has never been known 

To plagiarize yet ; 

Than steal songs to vary 

My music, let me 

Far rather sing ever " Pe-we — Pfi-ws '." 

For the lesson that he has been te£Ctin»; 

I welcome my little drab friend ; 

He has barely one talent, but then 

He is happy as though he had ten— 

And this see ma the end 

Of his singular preaching 

So early to me : 

" / praise God with all he has given— -Pe-we !' 

— Rev. Jan. Stephenson 



TO CORRESPONDENTS. 

When writing an article fur. the press. 
Whether prose or verse, just try 

To utter your thoughts in the fewest words, 
And let them be crisp and dry, 

Ai d when it is finished, and you suppose 
It is done exactly brown, 

Just look it over again, and then 

Boil it down, 

hange, 



The Synagogue of Swallows. 

Lo, on the roofs the swallows congregate, 
What time the raindrops of October patter, 

And each one talks about his future fate; 
And bless my soul, how merrily they chatter! 

"I'm oft'to Memphis," are the words of one; 

"A nest by azure Nile was the suggestion 
01 rare old lyrical Anacreon, 

Ere earth was plagued with an Egyptian ques- 
tion." 

"Well, I'm for Ath«ns," quoth another bird : 
"Extremely pleasant is the Greek metropolis; 

Dear Procne's wailings long ago it heard ; 
And I've a cosey nest in the Acropolis." 

"I'm tor Stamboul," thus twittered Number Three; 

"I like the Turks, who desperately tore an 
Enormous slice from Europe. Then, you see, 

I'm rather heterodox, and love the Koran." 

Another said. "Afar in Eastern land 
Tartars would snatch old England's gold tiara ; 

I mean to fly straight off to Samarcand, 
Aud watch the Russian armies through Bokhara." 

"Away! away! and at your swiftest pace! 
Come back, and tell what's done and who is un- 
done, 
So spake the sages of the swallow race ; 
"I'm tired of travel, and shall stay in London." 
[Echoes from the Clubs. 



What the Birds Said. 

BY JOHN G. WHITTIEK. 

The birds, against the April Wind, 
Flew north wad, singing as they flewi 

They sana: '"The land we leave behind 
Has swords for corn-blade3, blood for dew." 

"0 wild birds, flying from the South. 

What saw and h ard ye, gazing do vm f " 
"Wssaw tho mortal's upturned mouth, 

The sickened camp, the blazing town! 

"Beneath the bivouao's starry lamps, 
We s iw y< ur march-worn children die) 

In shrouds of moss, in oy press swamps, 
We saw ycur dead uncollinea lie. 

"We heard the s'arving pri< ner's sighs; 

And saw, f om lne and trench, your sons 
Follow our flight with home-sick eyes 

Beyond the battery's smoking guns." 

"And heard and saw ye only wrong 
Aud pain," I cried, "0 winsr-worn 11 cks f" 

"We heard," they sang, "the Freedman's song, 
The orash of Slavery's broken looks! 

"We sa t from n?w uprising States 
The Treason nurslugm sohief spurned, 

A", crowding Free otn's ample giates, 
The long estranged and lost returned, 

"O'er dusky faces, seamed and old, 
And hands horn-hard with unpaid toil, 

With hope in every rustling fold, 
VVe saw your star-dropt flag uncoil. 

"And struggling up throush 'oundsacoursed, 

A gratefti. murmur olomb the air, 
A whisper scarcely heard at first, 

It filled the listening Heavens with prayer, 

"And sweet and far, as from a star, 
Replied a voioe which shall not cease, 

Till, diowning all th^noise of war, 
It sings the blessed songs of peace!" 

So t^ me, in a doubtful day 
Of chill and slowly greenns spring, 

Low stooping from toe cloud v gray, 
The wild-birds t>ang or seemed to slag. 

They vanl hed in the misty air, 
Toe song went win them in their flight) 

But lo! they left the sunset lair, 
Aud in the evening there was light. 

" Accept God's gifts with resignation, 
Content to lack what thou hast not : 
In every lot there's consolation : 
There's trouble, too, in every lot"" 

"THE STORMY PETREL." 

Where the gray crag beats back the northern main, 

And all around, the ever restless waves, 

Lil>e white sea-wolves, howl on the lonely sands, 

Clings a low roof, dose by the sounding surge. 

If, in your stammer rambles by the shore, 

His spray-tossed cottage you may chance espy, 

Enter and greet the blind old mariuer. 

Full sixty winters be has watched beside 
The lurlulent ocean, with one purpose warmed: 
To rescue drowning men. And round the coast— 
For so bis comrades named him in his ) onth— 
They know him as "The Stormy Petrel" still. 

Once he was ligbtning-swit and strong; his oyes 
Peered through the dark, and far discovered the wreolt 
Plunged on the reef. Then with bold speed he ile.v, 
The Jiie-boat launched, and dared the smitiug rooks. 

'Tis fflid by those long dwelling near his door, 
That hundreds have been storm saved by his arm; 
Thai never was he kuowu to steep, or lag 
In-ripors, when danger sw ept the seas. His lifo 
Wa- givc-h t ■ toil, his strength to perilous blasts. 
In freezing floods when tempests hurled the de p, 
Ann battling winds clashed iu their icy caves, 
Sawed housewives, waking, thought of him, and said, 
" ' 1 he Stormy Petn 1 ' is abroad to-night, 
And watches from the cliffs. " , 

He could not rest 
When shipwrecked forms might gasp amid the wave*, 
And not a cry be answered trom the chore. 

Now Heaven has quenched his fight; but when he hears 

Bv his lone hearth the suiien sea-wind.- olang, 

Or listens, in the mBd, wild, drowning night, 

As v ounger footsteps burn o'er the beach 

To pluck the ssidor from his sbar|>-fauged death— 

The old man starts, with generous impulse thrilled, 

Ai.d with the uatmal habit of his heart, 

Callsto his neighbors in a cheery tone, 

lells them he'll pilot toward the sigual guns, 

And then, remembering all Lis weight of >• 

Sinks on his couch, auu weeps that ho is bliud. 



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Many of our readers will recognize in the fol- 
lowing pathetic lines the genius of a favorite poet, 
(Sprague) and none can withhold their sympathy 
from feelings so unaffectedly delineated. 

M. S. C. 
I knew that we must part— day after day, 
I saw the dread Destroyer win his way ; 
That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, 
aZ | o As on my ear its prophet-warning fell ; 
I (jj; 2 Feeble and slow thy once light footstep grew, 
a2 js-f Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue, 

§«.*= Thy thin, hot hand to mine more weakly clung, 
2 *> 2 -s Each sweet " Good night" fell fainter from thy 
a i*2 » tongue ; 

o a -^ T , , & ' 

Km -3 53 1 Knew that we must part — no power could save 
f2gs Thy quiet goodness from an early grave ; 
^ £ Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they 
cast, , 

Looking a sister's fondness to the last ; 

Thy lips so pale, that gentlv pressed my cheek, 
C b - n Thy voice — alas! thou couldst but try to speak ; — 
£ § All told thy doom, I felt it at my heart, 
"f J . § The shaft had struck — I knew that we must part. 

13 1 % 

Z. 5 ® H And we have parted, Mary — thou art gone ! 
•S-S § o -Gone in thine innocence, meek-suffering one. 
a § *3 f .Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep 
J2 jT | § 'So peacefully, it seemed a sin to weep, 
2 £r 8 •§ In those fond watchers who around the stood, 

ic And felt, even then, that God, even then, was good. 
Like stars that struggle through the cloud of 

night, 
Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious light, 
As if to thee, in that dread hour, 'twere given 
To know on earth what faith believes of Heaven ; 
Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest, 
Nor one, one pang the awful change confessed. 
Death stole in softness o'er that lovely face, 
And touched each feature with a newborn grace ; 
On cheek and brow unearthly beauty lay, 
' And told that life's poor cares had passed away. 
In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me, J 

1 ask no more than this — to die like thee. 



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But we have parted, Mart — thou art dead ! 
On its last resting-place I laid thy head, 
-Then by thy coffin-side knelt down, and took 
A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look ; 
Those marble lips no kindred kiss returned ; 
. From those veiled orbs no glance responsive 
a. burned ; 

§ a' Ah ! then I felt that thou hadst passed away, 
•§ a That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay ; 
a £ And then came Memory, with her busy throng 



<*Z 1--C g" Of tender images, forgotten long ; 



oj ?"?§'J^fcl' Years hurried back, and as they swiftly rolled, 

K „M iS ** >> 

2 «« a 13 2 
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i^g'fi I saw thee, heard thee, as in days of old ; 
Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew, 
Manhood was moved, and sorrow claimed her due ; 
Thick, thick and fast the burning tear-drops 

started, 
1 turned away — and felt that we had parted. 



V7 



Boston Hymn. 

The word of the Lord by night 
To the watching Pilgrims came, 

As they sat by the seaside, 
And lilled their hearts with flame. 

God said,— I am tired of kings, 

I suffer them no more; 
Up to my ear the morning brings 

The outrage of the poor. 

Think ye I made this ball 

A field of havoc and war, 
Where tyrants great and tyrants small 

Might harry the weak and poor? 

My angel— his name is Freedom- 
Choose him to be your king; 

He shall cut pathways east and west, 
And fend you with his wing. 

Lo t I uncover the land 

Which 1 hid of old time in the west, 
As the sculptor uncovers his statue, 

When he has wrought his best. 

1 show Columbia, of the rocks 
Which dip their foot in the seas, 

And soar to the air-borne flocks 
Ot clouds, and the boreal fleece. 

1 will divide my goods ; 

Call in the wretch and slave; 
None shall rule but the humble, 

And none but toil shall have. 

I will have never a noble, 

No lineage counted great ; 
Fishers and choppers and plowmen 

Shall constitute a state. 

Go, cut down trees in the forest 
And trim the straightest boughs ; 

Cut down trees in the forest, 
And build me a wooden house. 

Call the people together, 
The young men and the sires, 

The digger In the harvest field, 
Hireling and him that hires. 

And here in a pine state house 
Tbey shall choose the men to rule 

In every needful faculty,— 
In church and state and school. 

Lo, now ! if these poor men 
Can govern the land and sea, 

And make just laws below the sun- 
As planets faithful be. 

And ye shall succor men ; 

'lis nobleness to serve ; 
Help them who cannot help again ; 

Beware from right to swerve. 

I break your bonds and masterships, 

And 1 unchain the slave: 
Free be his heart and hand henceforth, 

As wind and wandering wave. 

I cause from every creature 

His proper good to flow: 
So much as he is and doeth, 

So much he shall bestow. 

But, laying his hands on another 
To com his labor and sweat. 

He goes in pawn to his victim 
For eternal years in debt. 

Pay ransom to the owner. 

And fill the bag to the brim ! 
Who is the owner? The slave is owner, 

And ever was. Pay him ! 

O North ! give him beautyfor rags. 
And honor, O South ! for his shame; 

Nevada! coin thy golden crags 
With Freedom's image and name. 

Up ! and the dusky race 
That sat in darkness long — 

Be swift their feet as antelopes, 
And as behemoth strong. 

Come. East, and West, and North, 

By races, as snow flakes, 
And carry my purpose forth, 

Which neither halts nor shakes. 

My will fulfilled shall be, 

For, in daylight or in dark, 
My thunderbolt has eyes to see 
His way home in the dark. 
-R. W. Emerson. 



SITTIJTG OK THE SHORE. 



i am the family cat. 

I can fold up my claws 
In my soft velvet paws, 
And purr in the sun 
Till the short day is done — 

For I am the family cat. 
I can doze by the hour 
In the vine-covered bower, 
Winking and blinking 
Through sunshine and shower — 

For 1 am the family cat. 

From the gooseberry bush, 

Or where bright currants blush, 

I may suddenly spring 

For a bird on the wing, 

Or dart up a tree, 

If a brown nest 1 see, 

And select a choice morsel 
For dinner or tea, 
And no one to blame me, 
Berate me or shame me— 

For I am tha family oat. 

In the cold winter night, 

When the ground is all white, 

And the icicles shine 

In a long silver line,. 

I stay not to shiver 

In the moonbeams' pale quiver, 

But curl up in the house 

As snug as a mouse 

And play Jacky Horner 

In the coseyest corner, 

Breaking nobody's laws, 

With my chin on my paws, 
p with one eye and awake with the other, 
>ats from the children, kind words irom the 
mother, — 

For I am the family cat. 



To Tommy Truant. 

If you would not be a fool, 

Go to school; 
Learning helps to make the man ; 
G8t instruction while yon can ; 
Life is short — 't is but a span; 

Go to school. 

If you wauld not be a dunes, 

Go at once; 
There is danger in delay, 
Do not stay at home to play, 
Take your satchel and away; 

Go at once. 

If you wish to speak, take care — 

Do not swear; 
Swearing: makes one seom so mean; 
Always keep the conscience clean; 
Lit good morals reign supreme; 

Da not swear. 

If you would be happy here, 

Persevere; 
Straight and pleasant is the road 
That leads to happiness and God; 
Choose the path that Jesus trod ; 

Persevere. 



THE YOUNG WIDOW. 



t 



But not forever-in the silent tomb, * No moTjSiSaL'bfaS'iaiSrth. adamant rocks, 

Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find room ; Nor swings amidst sea-weed false that macks 
A little while, a few short years of pain, ^ No'uugh of fiutowf vfiets at their play • 

And, one by one, we'll come to thee again ; ^o lucid pools reflecting heaven's clear brow • ' 

The kind old father shall seek out the place, , B °' h St ° m " nd calm aiike are ej ded nowr - 

And rest with thee, the youngest of his race ; %s -kSit^V" gray a , nd Ione ; . 

ice shirting sand is spread so smooth and dry 

- That not a tide might ever have swept by, 



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The dear, dear mother, bent with age and grief, 

Shall lay her head by thine, in sweet relief; 

Sister and brother, and that faithful friend, 

True from the first and tender to the end, 

All, all, in His good time, who placed us here, 

To live, to love, to die and disappear^ 

Shall come and make their quiet bed with thee,_ 

BeMath the shadow of that spreading tree ; 

With thee to sleep, through death's long dream- Caliing— « Come ihou wn'erVall we glad souls be. 

less night, 
With thee rise up, and bless the morning light. 



Stirring it with rude moan ; 

Ot.ly some weedy fragments Idly thrown 
T« rot beneath the sky, tell what has been ; 
But Desolation's self has grown cerene. 

After the mountains ris«, 
And the broad estuary widens out, 
All tiutsbine ; wheeling rouLd and round about 

Seaward, a while bird flies ; 

A bird ? Nav, seems it rather in these eyes 
A spint, o'er E'.err'ity'a dim sea 



She is modest, but not bashful; 

Free and easy, but not bold; 
Like an apple — ripe and mellow; 

Not too yoong, and not too old ; 
Half invifintr, half repulsive, 

Now advancing, and now shy; 
There is mischief in her dimple, 

There is danger in her eye. 

She has studied human nature; 

She is schooled in all her arts; 
She hiis taken her diploma 

As the mistress of all hearts; 
She can tell the very moment 

When to siy;h and when to smile; 
0, a maid is sometimes charming, 

But the widow all the while! 

Are you sad ? how very serious 

Will her handsome face become; 
Are you angry? she is wretched, 

Lonely, friendless, tearful, dumb; 
Are you mirthful? how her laughter, 

Silver soundiiijr, will ring out; 
She can lure and catch and play you 

As the angler docs the trout. 

You old bachelors of forty, 
^ Who have grown so boid and wise, 
Young Americans of twenty 

With the love locks in your eyes, 
You may practice all your lessons 

Taught by Cupid since the fall, 
But I know a little widow 

Who could win and fool you all. 




© life, O silent shore, 
Whire we sit pa. .« sea beyond, 

To which we turn wi'-h e^femn hope and fond, 



But so/ro wuil no more; 

But little while, and then we too shall ssar 
L he wbite-wing'd sea-bhdi in the Ioiuiie Deep : 
Till then, Theu, Father, will yur spirits keen. 

— Miss Muloch, 



THE HOLY SUPPER. 

The Ho'y Supper is kept. Indeed, 

In whatso we sl ia re with another's need.— 

Not that which we pre, but what we share, 

For the gift without the giver is bare : 

Who' bestows himself with h »lms fced« three,— 

Himself, his h angering neighbor, and me 



) 



qppp 



Remarkable Escapes of Eminent Men.— 
Some years ago a young man holding a subordi- 
nate position in the East India Company's ser- 
vice twice attempted to deprive himself ot life by 
snapping a loaded pistol at his head. Each time 
the pistol missed fire. A friend entering his room 
shortly afterward, he requested him to fire it out 
of the window; it then went oil* without any 
diffloultv. Satisfied thus that the weapon had 
been duly primed and loaded, tbe young man 
sprang up, exclaiming, "I must be reserved for ;, 
something great;" and from that moment gave r 
up the idea of filicide, which for some time pre- 
vious had been uppermost in his thoughts. That 
young man afterward became Lord Olive. Two 
mothers were on one occasion walking togethor 
when a violent storm of thunder and lightning 
overtook them. One was struck dead ou 
the spot, the other was spared; else would 
the uarao of the great reformer, Martin 
Lather, have been unknown to mankind. 
The holy St. Augustine, having to preach at a 
distant town, took with him a guide, who, by 
some unaccountable means, mistook the usual 
road and fell into a by-path, lie aiterwards dis- 
covered that his enemies, having heard of his 
movements, had placed themselves in tbe proper 
road with the design of murdering him. Bacon, 
the sculptor, when a tender boy of five years of 
age, fell into the pit of a soap-boiler, and must j 
have perished, had not a workman just entered 
the yard, observed the top of his head, and im- 
mediately delivered him. When Oliver Orom- 
weil was an infant, a monkey snatched him 
from his cradle, leaped with hiia through a gar- 
ret window, and ran along the leads of the 
house. The utmost alarm was excited among^ 
the inmates, and various were the devices used 
to rescue the child from the guardianship of 
his newly-found protector. All were unavail- 
ing; his would-be rescuers had lost courage, 
and were m despair of ever seeing the 
baby alive again, when the monkey quietly 
retraced its steps and deposited its burden 
safely on the bed. On a subsequent occasion the 
waters had well ni^h quenched his insatiable 
ambition. He fell into a deep pond, from drown- 
ing in which a clergyman named Johnson was 
the sole instrument of his rescue. At the siege 
of Leicester a young soldier, about seventeen 
years of age, was drawn out for sentry duty. 
One of his comrades was very anxious to take 
his place. No objection was made and this man 
went. He was shot dead while on guard. The 
youu»- man first drawn afterward became the 
author of the "Pilgrim's Progress. Doddridge, I 
when born, was so weakly an infant it was believ- 
ed to be dead. A nurse standing by fancied she 
saw some signs of vitality. Thus the feeble 
spark of b e was saved from being extinguished, 
and an eminent author and consistent Chris- 
tian preserved to the world. John Wesley, 
when a child, wa3 only just preserved from tire. 
Almost the moment after he was rescued, the 
roof the house where he had been fell in. Of 
Philip Heury a similar instance is recorded. 
John Kuox, the renowned Scotch reformer, was 
always wont to sit at the head of the table, with 
his back to the window. On one particular eve- 
nin I, without, however, being able to account tor 
it, he would neither himself sit in the chair nor 
permit any one else to occupy his place. That 
very ni^ht a bullet was shot in at the window, 
purposelv to kill him ; it grazed the chairm which 
he sat, and made a hole in the foot of the candle- 
stick on the taole. Many years have now elapsed 
since three subalterns might have been seen strug- 
glin j in the water off St. Helena; one of them, pe- 
culiarly helpless, was last succumbing. He was 
eaved, to Uveas Arthur Wellesiey, Dnkeot Wel- 
lin toe. The life of John Newton is but the bis- 
tort of a series of marvellous adventures. As a 
youth he had agreed toaccompauy some friends 
cm board of a man-of-war. He arrive 3 too late 
to go; the boat in which his friends had gone . 
was capsized and all its occupauts drowned. On 
another occasiou, wheu tide-surve\ or in the 
port of Liverpool, some business had detained 
him, so that he came to his boat much later than 
usual, to tbe great surprise of those who were in 
the habit of observing his then undeviating 
punctuality. He went out in the boat as hereto- 
fore to inspect a ship, which blew up before he 
reached her. Had he left the shore a few min- 
utes sooner he must have perished with the rest 

ou board. 

If I want to be a man and succeed in life, — do 
my stroke of work in this working world — 
there can be no shilly-shally about beginning. I 
must take right hold of what is before me, no 
matter how humble and low the place, rather 
than lose time and purpose waiting for some- 
thing better. I must see that no infernal idea 
of going nicely through the motions of work 
without working ever enters my heart. If I 
want the best I must give the best. The Master 
of us all, who said "My reward is with me, to 
give unto every man according as his work shall 
be," never gave any man a dollar's worth of 
work for ninety cents' worth of work, and he 
never will while the world stands. So says one 
who has tried him in many ways for a good bar- 
gain ;— seven years in the factory, twenty-one 
years in the forge, and now eleven more in the 
most sacred work a man can ever do— the over- 
*fclght of human souls.— liobert Collyer. 



Author* and their Writing*. 

Mr. Saunders, the author of "Mosaics," names 
the following illustrations of the striking contrast 
thatoften exists between the disposi ion of authors 
and the general tone of their productions : 

Burton, the author of the "Anatomy of Melan- 
choly," was extremely facetious in company; and 
the most ascetic poet of our own day, Lord Byron, 
was one of the most brilliant and humorous of 
associates when he mingled wi:h the world. 

That singular writer, liobert Burton, is said, by 
Anthony Wood, to have composed his* "Anatomy" 
in order to divert his "melancholy." So great 
was the demand for this book, when first publish- 
ed, that the bookseller is said to have acquired an 
estate by it. In the intervals of his labors, he was 
the rno&t facetious companion in the university. 
"When he felt a depression coming upon him, he 
used to relieve his melancholy by going to tha foot 
of the bridge, and listening to ihe coarse ribaldry 
of the bargemen, which seldom failed to throw 
him into a fit of laughter. 

"The Comforts of Human Life," by R. Heron, 
were written in a prison, under the most distress- 
ing circumstances. "The Miseries of Human Life," 
by Beresford, were, on the contrary, composed in 
a drawing-room, where the author was surrounded 
"by all the good things of this world. A striking 
contiast will often be found to exist between au- 
thors and their works, melancholy writers being 
usually the mo3t jocular and lively in society, and 
humorists in theory the most lugubrious of ani- 
mals in practice. 

A man of letters is often a man with two natures ; 
one a book nature, the other a human nature. 
These two often clash sadly. 

Homer had such an instinctive aversion to mu- 
sic, that it is reported he could not be prevailed 
upon even to walk along the banks of a murmur- 
ing brook; yet tradition also asseits that he sung 
"his own ballads. 

Seneca wrote in praise of poverty, on a table 
formed of solid gold, with millions let out at usury. 
Sterne was a very selfish man; yet, as a writer, 
excelled in pathos and charity. At one time beat- 
ing his wife, at another, wasting his sympathies 
over a dead donkey. 

Sailttbt, who bo eloquently declaims against the 

licentiousness of the age, was repeatedly accused 

in the senate of public and habitual debaucheries. 

Steele wrote excellently on temperance, wh/an he 

was sober. 

Johnson's essays on politeness were admirable ; 
•vet his "You lie, sir!" and "You don't understand 
ihe question, sir!" were the common caasacteris- 
tics of bis colloquies. o r»f_ jg 

Young, whose gloomy fancy cast such sombre ■ 
tinges on life, was in society a brisk, lively man, ; 
continually pelting his heavers with puerile puns. ' 
Mrs. Carter, fresh from the stern, dark grander of 
Uhe "Ni*ht Thoughts," expressed her amazement 
at his flippancy. "Madame," said he, "there i3 
much difference between writing and talking ' 

The same poet's favorite theme was tbe nothing- 
mess of worldly things; his favorite pursuit was 
rank and riches. Had Mrs. Carter noticed this in- 
congruity, he might have added "Madame,there is 
much difference between anting didactic poems, 
sad living didactic poem*." 

Bacon, the most comprehensive and iorwa'd- 
looking of modern intellects, and in feeimg one of 
ihe most benevolent, was meanly and contamptl- 
11>!v ambitious of place; aud while teaching morals, 
we find him taking bribes. 

Mcic in his "Utophia," declares that no man 
oueht tb be punished for his religious belief, yet he 
£ found to be among the active persecutors of the 
opponents of bis own. . . 

Rosseau with the same pen we nod giving ver- 
sions of the Psalms, and the most infamous oi api- 



Anot^er figure constructed by Vaucanson play- 
ed on the Provencal shepherd's pipe, held in its 
left hand; and with the ri^ht beat upon a tam- 
bourine, executing the music tor some 20 minutes 
and contra dances. 

In a letter to a friend,Vaucanson thus describes 
an artificial duck of his own construction. In 
this duck will be noticed the mechanism of the 
viscera intended to perform the functions of eat- 
in"- drinking, and digestion. The bird puts out 
its"head, takes up the seed, and swallows it. It 
stands on its legs, dives, swims, drinks, dabbles 
with its bill, quacks and appears like a living 
duck in almost every respect. 

These three pieces were exhibited at Pans where 
his receipts were enormous. __ ^ _ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

Attacked by a long and paiaful sickness he re- | 
tainedall his activity to the last moment of hi. 
life. While dangerously ill he devoted himselt 
to his machine for making his endless chain. 
"Do not lose a minute," he said to his workmen, 
"I fear I may not Ave long enough to explain my 
1 idea thoroughly." Eight days later, on the 21s 
of November, 1782, he died at the age of 73, but 
before leaving this world he had the consolation 
ol seeing his machine at work. . 

lie kept his bed duriug the last 18 months of 
his life on account of a complication of severe 
diseases, and his friends desired that he should 
<rive some token of a return to religion. It was, 
however, with much difficulty that he was per- 
suaded to confess. A collection of machines, a 
kind of conservatory of arts and trades which he 
had established at Paris, was placed after his 
death under the direction of Vandal •monde. 

His eulogy as a member of the Academy ot 
Sciences was composed by Condorcet. 



VATiCANSOH'S AUTOMATIC MACHINES. 

Prof. Watson, in one of his interesting leetures 
on machinery, at the Massachusetts Institute of 
Technology, after speaking of the ancient ma- 
chines and of the contributions of Archimedes, 
Galiko, &c, gave an account of the life and ex- 
trordinary automatic machines of Vaucanson, 
some of which he had lately examined in Paris : 

Jaqnes de Vaucanson was born at Grenoble, 
24 Feb. 1709, of a noble family; and his taste for 
mechanism was developed at a very early age. 
His mother, a very pious lady, did not allow him 
any other amusement than to accompany her to 
the houses of ladies equally religious with her- 
self. During their conversations, the young 
Vaucanson amused himself by looking through 
the openings in a partition at the clock place! in 
the adjoininc: room; he studied the motions and 
endeavored to draw the structure and understand 
the working of the parts, most of which were con- 
cealed; finally he seized the escapement, which 
he had been trying to understand for several 
months. From this moment all his ideas turned 
toward mechanics. He made a wooden clock, 
which kept approximately the time. He invent- 
ed a child's chapel, containing little angels, 
which moved their wings, and automatic priests, 
who imitated feome of the ecclesiastical gestures. 
At Paris he devoted himself for several years 
to the studv of anatomy. The flute-player at .the 
Tuileries suggested to him the idea of a statue 
which should play airs, and imitate the gestures 
of a flute-player. Vaucanson occupied himself 
with it during a long fit of illness, and he suc- 
ceeded to such a point that he had only to put 
together without correction or trial the pieces 
which had been made by several different work- 
men. Terminated in 1738 this master-piece was 
presented to the Academy of Sciences, and exci- 
ted general admiration. 

This figure represents a flute-player, which was 
capable of performing twelve different airs on a 
German flute, the holes of which it opened and 
shut with its fingers. The figure was about 5i 
feet high, placed upon a square pedestal, 4i feet 
high and Si broad; the air entered the body by 
three separate pipes, into which it was conveyed 
"by nine pairs of bellows, which expanded and 
contracted in regular succession by means of an 
ax-is of steel turned by clock-work. These bellows 
perfcrmed their functions without any noise, 
whick might have discovered the manner 
by wfcieh the air wsrs conveyed to the machine. 
The tliree tubes which received the air from the 
bellows passed into> three small reservoirs in the 
trunk o$the figure; here they united, and ascend- 
ing toward the throat, formed the cavity of the 
mouth, which terminated in two small lips, 
adapted in some meas:ire to perforin their proper 
functions. Within this cavity was- a small mov- 
able toague, which by its motion at proper inter- 
vals admitted the air, or intercepted it in its pas- 
sage to the flute. The fingers, lips, and tongue, 
derived their proper movements from a steel 
cylinder turned bv clock work. 

This was divided into 15 equal parts, which by 
means of pegs upon the ends of 15 different levers 
caused the other extremities to ascend. Seven of 
these levers directed the fingers, having wires 
and chains fixed to their ascending extremities, 
which being attached to the fingers made them 
ascend in proportion as the other extremity was 
pressed down by the motion of the cylinder, and 
vice versa; then the ascent or descent of one end 
of a lever produced a similar ascent or descent in 
the corresponding fingers, by which one of the 
holes of the flute was occasionally opened or 
stopped, as it might have been. by a living per- 
former. 

Three of these levers served to regulate the in- 
gress of the ah-, being so contrived as to open and 
shut by means of valves the three reservoirs above 
mentioned, so that more or less strength might 
be given, and a louder or softer note be produced 
as occasion required. , 

The lips were by a similar mechanism directed 
by four levers, one of which opened them, to give 
the air a freer passage, a second contracted them, 
a third drew them backward, and. a fourth pushed 
them forward. The lips were projected upon 
that pait of the flute which receives the air, and 
by the different motions already mentioned modi- 
fied the tune in a proper manner. 

The remaining lever was employed in the direc- 
tion of the tongue, which it easily movedso as to 
shut or open the mouth of the flute. The just 
succession of the several motions performed by 
the various parts of this machine was regulated 
bv the following simple contrivance: The ex- 
tremity of the axis of the cylinder terminated on 
the ri"iit side by an endless screw, consisting ot 
twelve threads, each placed at a distance of 
a line and one half from the other. Above 
this screw was fixed a piece of copper, and m it 
a'tccl W-, which tailing between the threads 
of the screw, obliged the cylinder to follow the 
threads, and instead of turning directly round, it 
was continually pushed to one side. Hence it a 
lever was moved by a peg placed on the cylinder, 
in any one revolution, it could not be moved by 
the same peg in the succeeding revolution be- 
cause the peg would be moved a line and a half 
bevond it by the lateral motion of the cylinder. 
Thus by an artificial disposition of these pegs in 
different parts of the cylinder, the statue was 
made by the successive elevation of the proper 
levers to exhibit all the different motions of a 
flute-player, to the admiration of every one who 
saw it. 



Aa Art Anomaly. 

The recent publication of Marshau'flPorjnrit 
of Abraham Lincoln has attracted public atten- 
tion to the artist of this splendid work, and an 
inquiry into his history, on the part ot many to 
whom Ms name was unknown. Mr. Marshall is, 
in the highest and best sense, a self-made man, 
and has developed a genius so rare and peculiar, 
and achieved successes so unprecedented in tne 
history or American art, that a sketch ot his 
•onal career cannot fail to be of general 

^r?* William Elrar Marihall is a native of 
New York city, an.l is now thirty years ot age. 
Friin his seven teen th to his twentieth year he 
worked in a watch ea*e manufactory, engrav- 
iir>- the backs of watches, where he attracted the 
attention of Mr. Cyrus Durand, (well known TO 
the bank-note business,) by the dexterity and 
neatness of his work. He was advised to try bis 
hand at plate engraving, anil Mr. Duraud ap- 
plifd to one of the i\ T ew York bank-note compa 
nies to take him and teach him the business of 
engraving. Mr. Duraud'a application failed, 
bat so thoroughly was he convinced of young 
Marshall's talent [bathe told him to procure a 
photograph of Buchanan, (it was in the beat of 
the presidential campaign of 1850,) to >ake it 
home and engrave it on Steel the best way he 
could. The embryo artist went at his novel work 
with determined energy, and with such success 
that in three weeks he placed the plate ot bis nvst 
engraving in Mr. Durand's bands. 

This P'ate waa taken to a bank-note company, 
and the manager, without k-iowing the engrav- 
er was requested to purchase it. He demanded 
the price, and was to! I $10, which he immediate- 
ly paid aud accepted the plate. Encouraged by 
this first success, Marshall executed a similar 
bea 1 oi Fremont, and his friend repeated toe ex- 
periment upon the bank-note engravers, but ad- 
vanced the price to$30,whichwasagaiu prompt- 
ly paid. The bank-note engraven, where Mr 
Duran I made bis first application, were then in- 
formed to their great amazement, that the two 
heads were the work oi" the young man whoa 
i l declined to receive into their employ 
as an apprentice. They at once offered to re- 
ceive him and give him a permanent situation, 
with a salary of S500 per annum. 15at it was 
now the young man's turn to make terms, and 
be declined their offers until they mcicascd his 
compensation to such a sum as he considered his 
services to be worth, lie at once took a leading 
position in the establishment, and found him- 
ielf- without instruction, the master of a diffi- 
cult and delicate, but very lucrative, profession. 
But real genius is always born with wings; 
and Marshall soon began to aspire to higher 
fli .-hts. Stimulated with success and the encour- 
a jement of friends, he resolved to essay a larger 
and more difficult style of engraving. He select- 
ed the famous head ol Washington by Stuart as 
his first subject, lie procured a photograph 01 
the original, and commenced his work. Bat as 
fie progressed, be became dissatisfied with the 
results^ and resolved to go to Boston and see the 
origina 1 painting. No sooner bad he seen it, 
than he exclaimed, "I see I am all wrong. I have 
been working from light and shade. There was 
no color in my photograph, and 1 must have col- 
or to work from." Arrangements wore soon 
made at the Boston Athnaeurn to transfer Mr. 
Marshall's atalier to that gal cry; and there he 
engraved that magnificent plate, wh'efi is the fin- 
est copy of the great original picture which has 
yet been made. 

fciis success as an engraver seemed just perma- 
nently established, when to the dismay ol his 
friends, he suddenly announced his resolve that 
he wouid paint as well as engrave! Despite all 
persuasions to the contrary, he left tore time Irs 
engraver, and took up.ihe palette and easel, 
How he mastered the rudimentary mysteries of 
the grand art no human being can explain. He 
took lessons from no one, but, doubtless, like the 
famous German artist, '-evolved his camel from 
the depths of his own consciousness." He pro- 
duced, among other pictures, a full lcneih por 

if his friend, James Field, the eel 
publisher, which as a portrait and a work of art 
challenges the admira'ion and wonder of all who 
Lave been jrirlleged to 

And now this strange genius determined to go 
abroad and place hiinsel I for a short time under 
Couture. Arriving in Paris, and finding }hat 
M. Couture did not take pupils, he studied art 
in the great galleries, and worked diligently at 
hi. new profession. Dunne: the winter of 18(14- 
5, he astonished the Parisians in two ways. 
in ted a bead ol the well-known old janitor 
Louvre, and offered the portrait and Iris 
engraving Ol Washington to the French annual 
exposition of art for i860. The merits of both 
works were so cicam lceognizcd that thev were 
accepted; an I, for the first time in the history 
1 art, an American artist who ha I 
; to engrave or paint, was 
permitted to display two works, one in each de- 
partment, simultaneously, in that select aud ex- 
:xhibitiou. 
iiut Marshall has a trick -of excelling in cvery- 
Icrtnkc?, and while he was enjoj ing 
bis distinction as an artist, he took the Parisians 
ater in France. He at- 
I the imperial notice by the extraordinary 
iirjce and skilfof hisperlormanceon the ice, and 
^..s honored with an invitation to skate on the 
-Imperial P^rk/in the presence of the Emperor 
and the Court; and there he sported with the 
fair I 



la tb > midst of Ins art-ianorm faris came the 
sudden news of the deaih of Mr. Lincoln. It 
fell like a thunderbolt upon the young American 
who had learned, long before, to revere and love 
thai (Treat man with all the ardent enthusiasm ot 
his nature. His first impulse was to return to 
his native land for the purpose of engraving a 
nor raft ot the martyr-President. On arriving 
111 America he at once addressed himself to this 
labor of love. He had seen Mr. Lincoln but 
once or twice; but he bad studied bis character, 
aiid fully appreciated the great qualities ot the 
man when a-ked by his friends what portrait 
b« wou'd lake for his model, he promptly an- 
swered "none! I will paint my own portrait 
and en'Tave from that.* He did so. He show- 
ed bis work to no one, and consulted no one un- 
til it was finished. J:i the year and a half that 
ha3 elapsed since Mr. Lincoln's death be has 
painted his portrait, aa I engraved it upon a 
scale nwer before attempted in this style of art. 
•Mr. Bancroft, Mr. Stanton, Mr. Seward, Mr. 
Chase" aud other intimate associates of Mr. Lin- 
coln' arc unanimous in their declaration that 
thi3 is in very truth the face of their Old familiar 
friend The gieat charm of the work is that flic 
artht has produced a "pure line" engraving 
upon a moat unusual scale. By this style o 
art there is given not only the effect ot Hghi and 
shade, as in an ordinary engraving, but the ef- 
fect ol color also. The original panning is now 
on exhibition at New York and is vaiued at 
85000. Will not some of our art loving million- 
aires secure this g?ir. for a Philadelphia gader.W 
We have gone into a somewhat tumute sketcn 
ol Mr" Marshall's career, because be may well 
be re 'arded as one of the greatest artists that 
! America has yet produced, ami because each 
i step ol his progress has been marked with all 
the true signs ol a genius as rare as it is genu- 
ine Foravoang American, without instruc- 
tion, almost without models or practice, to seize 
with such a masterful hand those two great sistci 
Branches of art, and make himself, almost by an 
act of volition, famous in them both, is an 
anomaly hard to be accounted lor Yu h such 
achievements in bis yet earn hi c vvho shalUcn- 
ture to say what future may not be belorc this 
young American Gcmu S ?-J>hUadelphm hven- 
ing Bulletin. 



Art 



Extraordinary Invention— A 
Man. 



■team 






<X 



Nathan Read and hi* Invention*. 

Nathan Read was born in Warren (formerly 
Western), Mass., in 1759, and was the son of 
Major Reuben Read, a revolutionary officer. He 
entered Harvard College in 1777, and had the 
valedictory at his graduation, in 1781. He taught 
sc'Aool in Beverly and in Salem until 1788, when 
he vas appointed tutor at Harvard. In 1787 he 
resigned his tutorship and began the study of 
mediciae with Dr. Holyoke, in Salem. After a 
year or so, he relinquished the study of .medicine 
and opened an apothecary's shop in Salem. And 
this business he relinquished in 1795, and removed 
to Dan vers and became associated with a com- 
pany for manufacturing chain cables, anchors, 
&c ' He was afterwards a member of Congress 
and Jud^e ol the Common Pleas Court, and bad 
other honors conferred on him. He removed to 
Belfast, Me., in 1807, and there Jived on his farm 
to the time of his death, in 1849, at the advanced 
age of nearly 90 years. 

While living in Salem and Danvers Mr. Read 
was much occupied with inventions of various 
kind« and particularly with inventions designed L 
to make steam engines applicable to boats and - 
locomotives; and it is clairueu-and, so far as we 3 
*l know, proved-that he preceded all other, ,11 the 3 
invention of tubular (or multi-tubular) steam 
boilers and high pressure engines, which made . 
the steam engine applicable to roads; and also 
anpledand adapted side-wheel paddles for pur- 
^ of navigation. As early as 1788-91 Read , 
invented and patented a tubular boiler, ,n every- _ 
thing that is essential like that which Stephen- 
son adopted in the Rocket locomotive, in 1829, 
which took the Liverpool and Manchester pmc 
of G500; and about the same time Mr. Reed ap- 
plied the float-wheels to project boats and vessels, 
which as applied, resembled very closely the appli- 
cations of Fulton to steam navigation twelve 
years later, in 1801 . And what is more, his mod- 
els and plans and explanations were made to 
Stevens and others in New York, who were inter- 
ested in steam navigation, as early as 1789-90, 
and Rave stimulus and direction to their subse- 
quent movements. 

Thus it would seem, that to Nathan Read, more 
than to any other man, belongs the credit of hav 
ing invented and applied to the steam engine 
what was essential to make it useful as a propel- 
ling power on railways. 



Mr. Zadock Deddrick , a Newark machinist, 
has invented a man; o«e that, moved by steam, 
will perform some of the most important func- 
tions Of humanity ; that will, standing upright, 
walk or run, as he is bid, 1 any direction and 
at almost anv rate of speed, drawing afterhim a 
load whose weight would tax the stength of 
three stout draught horses. The history of this 
curious invention is as follows*— Bis years ago 
Mr. Deddrick, theinvenfor.'who is as present but 
22 years of age, conceived the novel idea of con- 
structing a man that should receive its vitality 
from ft perpetual motion machine. Tbe idea 
was based on the well-known mechanical prin- 
ciple that if a heavy weight be placed at the top 
of an upright slightly inclined from a vertical, 
gravitation will tend to produce a horizontal as 
well as vertical motion. The project was not 
successful. However, by observing carefully the 
cause of the failure, preserving and perfecting 
the man-form, and by substituting steam m 
place of the perpetual motion machine the pres- 
ent success was attained. 

The man stands seven feet and nine inches 
high, the other dimensions of the body being 
correctly proportioned, making him a second 
Daniel Lambert, by which name he is facetiously 
spoken of among the workmen. He weighs five 
hundred pounds. Steam is generated in the body 
or trunk which is nothing but a three-horse pow- 
er engine, like those used in our steam-fire en- 
o-ine"! The legs which support it are complicat- 
ed' and wonderful. The steps are taken very 
naturally and quite easily. As the body is thrown 
forward'upon tne advanced foot the other is lift- 
ed from the ground by a spring and thrown for- 
ward by the steam . Each step or pace advances 
the body wo feet and every revolution of the 
engine produces four paces. As the engine is 
capable of making more than a thousand revo- 
luFions a minute it would get over the ground, 
on this calculation, at the rate of a little more 
than a mile a minute As this would be work- 
in* the le-'s faster than would be safe on uneven 
I. round or on Broad street cobble stones it is pro- 
posed to run the engine at the rate of five hun- 
dred reflations per minute, which would walk 
the man at the modest speed of halt a mile 

m The fellow is attached to a common Rockawa 
carrria-e the shafts of which serve to suppor 
him inf Vertical position.. The* shafts are ^tir- 
bars of iron, fastened in the usual manner t 
the front of the carriage, and are curved so as t 
be joined to a circular sustaining ; bar wbic 
rvisses around the waist, like a girth, and 1 
wfich theraan moves so as to face in 1 any -diP 
don Besides these motions machinery ha, 
been arranged by which the figure can.be thrown 
backward or forward from a vertical nearly for- 
?v-flve deorees. This is done in order to enable 
if to ascend l or descend all grades. To the soles 
of the feet spikes or corks are fixed which effect- 
ually prevent slipping. The whole affair is so 
fl?rSv sus ained by the shafts and has so ex- 
cellent a loothold, that two men are unable 
<! rTnch it over or in any way throw it down. 
°n order pSin the "giant" from frighten- 
in- horses bv its wonderful appearance, Mr. Ded- 
drickTntends to clothe it and gve'm? e «rly 
possible a likeness to the rest of humanity. The 
boner and such parrs as are unnecessarily heafr 
Se enca/ed in felt or woolen underga - 
merits Pantaloons, coat and vest, of the latest 
Me 'are provided. Whenever the fires need 
« ai,n J •which is everv two or three hours, the 
dri SJ ^^^Se machine, descends from his seat 
r.wtnn i "Daniel's" vest, opens a door, shovels 
?n 5e £3 bmons up the vest and drives on. 
On the back between the shoulders the steam 
rocks and Wes are placed. As these would 
causl fhecoauo set awkwardly , a knapsack has 
be^piovirled that completely covers hem A 
blanket neatly rolled up and placed on top of the 

,0 ?TTe\ostVf ra tnS''nr C s rman» is $2000, though ' 
tho iakerV Messrs. Deddrick & Grass, expect to 
™«nKe?urc succeeding ones, warranted to run 
uianuiaciurc »«tu.tu *7„ annn The same nar- 

tiser. 





/ 



THE TOnNKUMON. 

full-grown rats in a single room, sixteen feet square, n less than 
one moment and a half. Such is their antipathy to reptiles and 
vermin that one of them will keep a whole neighborhood l'ree 
from all such nuisances, and in the markets of the East may be 
seen numbers of young ichneumons, brought by the peasantry 



SOMETHING ABOUT THE ICHNEUMON. 

The little animal portrayed in our engraving has sadly fallen an d exposed for sale for such purposes 
from the rank it held of old, for in the days of the Pharaohs it 
was one of the sacred animals of the old Egyp- 
tians, and was served every day with bread 
soaked in milk, and bits of iish, fresh from the 
River Nile, cut in small pieces, and prepared 
daintily for the consecrated ichneumon. It is 
a pretty little creature, with fur in which are 
nicely blended dark chestnut brown and yellow 
tints, but the feet and muzzle are of a deep 
black. It feeds on rats, mice, plants, fowls and 
eggs, and is often called "Pharaoh's Rat" in 
Eastern countries. 

Pliny relates that the crocodile, when asleep, 
with open jaws, is frequently assailed by the 
nimble little ichneumon, which darts, like a 
weapon, immediately down its throat, and 
gnaws its way out through the entrails of the 
prostrate creature. This ridiculous fable was 
very solemnly believed, and still obtains cre- 
dence among the unlettered. 

The ichneumon is swift, fierce and crafty in 
its motions; it scratches up the sand along th^ 
shores of the Nile with remarkable agility, to 
find the buried eggs of the crocodile, which it 
devours with eager appetite, and if it can sur- 
prise its enemy the crocodile in an unprotected 
position, it is not slow to spring at its throat, and 
suck out the life-blood in a moment. 

Yet this stealthy little creature can be easily 
tamed, and will become very gentle. A friend 
of ours had one which she highly prized ; it fol- 
lowed her around the house like a cat, rubbing 
its head against her hand, and testifying the 
greatest delight when caressed. It was extremely 
playful, and seemed to enjoy a hearty game at 
romps no less than the little oues of the house- 
hold. Rats and mice were its mortal aversion, 
and not one was to be seen on the premises, so 
thoroughly did Master Ichneumon perform his 
duty. But its natural penchant for sucking eggs 
was impossible to be eradicated, and a visit to 
the farm-yard was sure to 'be followed by dis- 
astrous consequences ! It was a great favorite 
with every one of the family until its death. 

It is credibly affirmed that one of these ani- 
mals, kept in the Tower of London, killed twelve 



4 



" Ann Arbor 
Arbor," said another 
she, reaching over the 




Nen ferstan" renlied he -"Wei," she continued, « I did n't moan nothing contemptible, ana it would n't nave cost you anyming to nave ^™ » « 
fswer." The mantoked persistently out of the window, and the cars moved on, Mrs. Partington consoling herself with the reflection that Ann Arbor must 



answer 

In the other car. 





Scientific Discourse. 

BY PROFESSOR JULIUS CESAR , HANNIBAL. 

MORAL DISCOURSE. 

THE TOMB OF THE ROTHSCHILDS, JAT THE JEWISH CEMETERY OF PEBEIlA CHAISE, PARIS. y^ ^ ^ ^ ^^ Q , my ^ Jn de lags cljmg ob 

de ninety-furst chapter of de Pilgrim's Progress, whar it 
The Tomb of the Rothschilds. of death. The tomb has been prepared to receive says — 

The tomb of the Rothschild family, at the Cemetery toe last of tne flve sons of , Meyer ' f„ Fr "' kf ° rt » °' A n' Simon said unto Peter, Let not dy conscience be made ob injin rub- 
)f Pere-La-Chaise, in Paris, is adjoining that of the whom tne elde 8t > Nathan, died in 1836 ; Charles, of fcer , Mt it strutch d 8olo into dat i ake whioh burns wid fier an brim- 
Blebrated tragedienne RacheL It represents a monu- N*P leB . in 1855 I Solomon, of Vienna, in the same stone , kian pepper an' aisefedity. 

ended. On the stone that covers the vault is placed a or December, 1855. and the Baron James de Roths- 
.asket of rare flowers ; in a corner a low chair «**» b *« recentl y been « alhered to m9 falhe^s • 
avites the visitor who comes to reflect in that abode 



Wus and Wua . 




P^ter 'luded to in de text was de Simon an' Peter wat 
libed in de time when Jerusa-lam was a little willage, an' 
when de 'possle Noah wore swaddlin' clothes, kase it 
wasn't he at all. It was Simon Smock talkingto he son 
Smith whose madea aaim is Patience, two p e ter, when he lebe he fadder's manshun, in Tater-pelin 
quarts of kerosene, one gallon of whiskey, alley, one mornin' on a carryin' wood speculation. Now 
(for a uaber)aad an Evening Telegram. Pete was a bad feller, an' would lie and take tings casion- 
Aslneeredthe ralerode crossing, a frate ally wich didn * b'longto him ^de j^e wic^my W 
tvane was acros the rode, taking on a load to gj, ?*^ l ^™g£ ^^ hab 
of something, and their wus several teems ^^ C01iscience g 5 an > de most prominent ob de 

wating to cross, and I at ones preceded to clags am considered de lawyer— next de showman, and 
wate. Where uppoa my coalt took frite, den de doc t rman. De lawyer's concience will 'low him 
he backed and he forewarded, and at larst to s trech it furder dan de rest, an' some ob dem nab near- 
he kickt, and he kickt awful. He ruened ] y broke it in, too, by continual stretchin. One ob dese 
mv nabers goods, he spild my ile, he hurt days, snap it will go, and den good Mr. Lawyerman, way 
my wife of now more than 41 years stand- he go to de lake dat burn wid all dem gredrances splam- 

i a l** lm-P n vprv seveer attact of ed in de text. Dis lake, my fntened hearers, mufrt be a 
mg, lamed me like a very seveei attact or ^ de j if no bod tho in 

; the rumatiz, and my waggon is no ™^er ^y^g^ § dero/kase dere am seberal 

the vehekle that it wus. The only thing j re to ebery inhabitant throughout de State. Whar 

that came out of the affra unharmed was dig ]ake am s j tewa ted am a puzzler to me, an' all succeed- 

The Telegram, and to you mister Editor, ing 'gtronimers dat hab libed afore my time. But I find, 

ien-ce at do I take my pen it hand to write these few by wbat I can glean, arter burnin' seberal quantities ot 

t^atk^eft railroad crossing. lines, to ask what shall I doo? My reietives mid night oil, in deep and laborus research, dat it must be 

rHE main STREET railroad CROSSING , ^ ^ gu lf wbar de walcanoes mountains am, else whar 

Mr. Telegfcam-Dear Editor, Sen :-I ana menus sa ralerode Company, de debil do de walcanoes get up such a fire from ? Why, 

yow I don't know what to say, but I must the bo.ton and albanj ^roae Lompa y kjge gez dat de , tions ob Mount Woc ^ erous 

speek. I am two ful. I want to kno if I and I want to no ^JW****?** ° e can be heard fur seberal days, fur seberal miles off pre- 

h-v ennv redres? who will pay fur my wag- my nabers goods, to Ue ke,o ene, to tne de fire fl an , viousl arte rwards. Now, 

tIa in, of mv mediser ' Who is waggon, to me and to her who answer to . u J or trembfin > sinners , wat noise 

^^^J "^ ™^ u Vo Tolate^y christion name? Will It always be fj &m datg heard ' ieeding from de mount ? Well, I'll 

nsponseb.efurdaage^ seen, ^.totate 7 re n0 h for the fewture? tell lt ain de grones, de lamontashuns and de smash- 

to be avoyded But, hat yoa may no tte ^ ^ ^ b ^ ^ £ ^ ^ ob de s who bab let their con . 

hole truth, I will reia»t the ux as tnej wus u p rubbej-> 



on the fust day of apreljust passed. 

My name is Abrahajn Smith, origenelly a 
french naim, and my wife, hur name is Pa- 
tience. We have lived at our present 
boam for forty years, and had hoped soon 
to breathe our last on our native fig tre, as 
the poet ses,— but at ; te prospeckt 

is doubful. 

My profeshun is that of a tiller of the soil. 
I sell my produce in Springfield, and to git 
to my custemers. I am o I cross the 



backt into a man's teme, and mind it. has science struck like injin rubber 

he no resenable hoap of the future punish- Dis lake, my friends, am seberal hundred miles in sar- 
he no resenauie uuap ui tuc i p lirn f Pre nce an' 'bout ha f dat d stance round de edges. It 

ment in ^^^-^^^r^Z^mfi perpendicularly measured, an' no bot- 
edme to bacs onto him? I do not asK tor ^ ^ ^^ fomid r to it yet dat we nose on . De Roches- 
myself aloan, uthers wish to know. Utn- tej% knockin » gpirfte didn't come from dis place, else we 
er3 who have suffered and expect to sufier flnd Qut aU , bout it< Dere was some wicked sailors 'got so 
mower. I have disappointed my custer- nie to de top f de mountain where de\ 'ruption comes 
mers who expect my butter, and my hens frolll once) da t next day de found dcmselfs broke out; wm 
-ire all lain", the price of egsis faling, and a 'ruption all ober dere bodies, which de dockter struck 
here I am. Stock ackcumilatiug, and my-him consience 'fishently to pronounce de measels and I he 
Lit lade up, no waggon to use, no lite in condemd the whole proceedings as bem; rash. 



to my custemers, I am obliged :o cross the self lade up, no waggon to use no « _ - ^ ^ for bad colored ^ as wel , M bad wite man 
ralerode track at Mane streat, and thents the house and my nabe. is \ery luul p ^ ail , no matteP bovv muc h yo u 'spize de moon-struck tribe 
I remark that there are Strong hopes that lam sad at hart, I am well ni ased up. uan^ djs ^ yQU pot to mix wid dcm in dat warm c n. 
T mav no^ expire at my native hearth. you tell me the alternative ? mat „» n0 * doubt many in dis extremely southern cli- 

Twa, to town last week, and such was If so do so. If not, let silents be your te wiU ^ fon „d to hab northern principles An' ole _ 

m J^^r^aa m now d e Prf L 3 ,e, ^^" 3^^£^!&C^S 

the propper use of my walking utensils. I _ a ^^^ lover wmt to vi , it ~ hl3 girl on9 nim it > g ^ 

I was about to leevc the Citty for noam eveDipg recently, but for some reason, P°? 8,b1 y * ' . n , w b ]et me te ll you dat a man who possesses an 
with the following named groceries, Mrs' that the fire had mat eriaiiy changed ms c ^ dlt, ^; niinn]bl)e ' 1 . conscience, and libs only to skin him brudder 

in life, ebe ™™ c «* n ?J™Z r 1 L moLnte o ob him eye teeth, can neber be happy in dis world nor 

br*r;r^^ 

marking teat "he guessed he'd go." "Oh!" 8 aid own head, like « siege hanuner on a capet tack, and sooner 
SJ 'sKe from a beautiful condition of semi- „ r later lie get smashed like egg b egg now time. De 
unconsciousness, "won't you take a chair?" more vou tuist and turn dis fac, de bigger it git, gis like 
"Well, I don't care if I do," was his reply, and he snow . ba ii. • 

took the chair, thanking her kindly, and carried while Brudder Charles Weetch passes round de hat, de 
it home. He says it is a good chair, made ofwalr con g regas hun will please sing de useal Ducshohday to de 
nut, with stuffing, and green cover-just what he ^ good o]q tune ^ 

wanted. 



_ / 

APXJEK MANY MAYS, 

A NEW YEAR'S STOKT. 



Mrs. Chariton's accounts were not coming out 
right; there was a deficit of five dollars in the 
treasury, and nothinsr to show for it; the very 
five dollars she was depending on to make ail 
square with the market man, whose little bill 
was sure to come in next morntng. 

"And, of course, to-morrow's dinner will be 
charged in ir, because I ordered it to day," said 
Mrs. Chariton, knitting her pretty brows; "if it 
wasn't lor tliar I should have cnouah. dear! 
Georgie, do you suppose I could have spent five, 
dollars and noi remember anything about it? 
When lam soptrticu'ar, too! If I could only find 
that memorandum I made in John's office — an 
old envelope it was, an old yellow envelope that 
he handed me, and I wroie everything down 
upon it. I dec are, Georgie, I don't believe you 
bear one word I say 1" 

A young lady was sitting in the bay window, 
her pr< file outlined against the dark pane like a 
head in a cameo. There was a Clvlie-like droop 
and sadness about her there, alone and still, 
which all vanished as she rose in answer to Lau- 
ra Chariton's appearand came forward to the 
little centre tab;e under the chandelier. . 

"What a becoming d<ess that is, Geonrje." 
said Mrs Chariton, dropping her pencil, "such 
n real old fashioned apple-green shade, cut 
pompadour, and trimmed with mcchlin. Wear 
it to-morrow, dear, at dinner. But there, you 
matte me lorget my trouble. Isn't it provoking 
when I have tried so hard all this year to keep 
my accounts nicely, now just at the very end to 
make a blunder of five dollars? And John will 
l.iu li at my bookkeeping." 

'Perhaps you spent it on the pndding," sug- 
gested her sist-r. 

"Never, Georgie. Not when I paid for the 
raisins and currants the moment Igot them, and 
nil the other thinss are down in my list. If I 
could find that memorandum. I brought it 
home in my muff. Tuesday is the only day I am 
uncertain about, for I remembar I went into sev- 
eral stores looking tor the shoes for baby, and 
ever so many little things." 

"Did you?" asked Georgie, rather absently, 
and toying with the siiks in her sister's work- 
box. 

"Yes, why Georgia, what a far-away look 
there is in your eyes. O, what a selfish sister I 
am to sit here worrying over my miserable ac- 
counts, and not asking you a word about your- 
self. Mr. Hart was here this afternoon, I know. 
Georgie, tell me quick, has anything happen- 

"Only that he asked me to marry him," 6aid 

Georgie quietly meeting (he wondering blue eyes 

that rose to hers. 

"What did \ou tell him' O, Georgie-!" 

"Told him I would take a day to consider it, 

and he might come lor his answer to morrow 



'Cyphering as usual, little stewardess?" he 
said gaily. "I may see all tbosejwonderful ac- 
counts to-morrow, mayn't I? It will be just a 
year since you began to be so famously systemat- 
ical. Pet." 

Mrs. Chariton, with crimson cheeks, shut 
down the desk lid. and flew about for John's 
dressing-gown and slippers, and thus for that 
evening effectually diverted his mind from the 
dangerous subject of accounts. Georgie, too. 
came brilliantly to the rescue, and commenced 
her usual spairing and joking with her good 
Matured bi other in law. 

"O, bye the bye, Georgie," he said suddenlv, 
'whom shall I invite to fit opposite you at table 
to-morrow? Weouaht to have some one here 
to eat New Year's dinner with us, and not leave 
n whole side of the table empty. Shall I ask 
Mr. Hart?" 

"No, I thank you." s*id Georgie, making a 
stately bow, "i shall invite Babv to be my vis-a- 
vis, and fasten her up in her little high chair to 
cat plum pudding." 

"How different it was last year," said Liura 
thoughtfully, "mamma was here then, and 
John's Uncle Gray with his two bovs, and Cous- 
in Phil." 

"I wish they were here now," exclaimed John, 
"hospitably, lor he loved many friends and irood 
cheer, especially at holiday .time. 

"How queer it is that Piiil don't write to us! 
I wish we knew how he is getting along," re 
marked Laura. And then she got out a little 
frock she was embroiderinir, and seated herself 
contentedly by John, while he cut the leaves of 
a new magazine, and Georgiana, crossing the 
room to the piano, began playing a stormy 
br vara. 

The shutters were closed, the curtains drawn, 
and as the New Year's eve passid softly awav, 
the Charitons did not know how the snow clouds 
were fillim: all the sky, and bow fast and thick 
the flakes were falling on the whitened streets 
nrd roofs. 
j Happy New Year! Happy New Year! The 
salutations went round next mornimr, and even 
Baby ecstatically shouted: "Appy Noo eer!" 
"But 0, John, just see how it snows!" ex 



eveningc 

"A day to consider? Then it must end in 
your retusimr him, Georgie, for it you loved 
him you would have answered at once. Imbibe 
me making John wait for his answer, when he 
first told me he loved me!" 

"You and I are different, dear, you know," 
said Georgie briefly, and drawing out her tittle 
gold watch, shy added, "In twenty-four hours 
more it wil all be settled one way or the other." 
— "But you used to be so diffeient," remarked 
Mrs. Chariton. "Only last summer yon felt just 
as I do, and what nice litt'e talks we used' to 
have! You liked to go out marketing with me, 
so you would know how to manage if you should 
marry a poor man, you said." 

"Tnat suems a long, long time ago," replied 
her sister, de aching as she spoke a tiny charm 
from her truard, "and as it turns out, I am not 
goimr to marry a poor man. That is, it I decide 
to take Mr. Hart" 

' Don't (or worlds accept him unless vou love 
him!" urged Mrs. Chariton, whose own mar- 
itime had been a decided love match, and a hap- 
py one. 

"But Georgiana, who had now taken a lowly 
scat before the fire, and was gazing into the 
coals, had had a very different experience. She 
too had loved once with all her soul, and the 
man she loved after paying her every afention 
all summer, had suddenly departed without a 
word, jilted her, she bitterly told herself, and 
now love seemed like the crudest of mockeries. 
The stintr was not cone yet, and in her reckless, 
defiant mood she had almost determined to mar- 
ry Mr. Hart and be worldly. Only because that 
love had once been sweet, she would let it have 
the whole year to itself, she thought, unshared, 
and not till the new year finally began would she 
enter upon ber new cold lile. These were the 
thoughts in her beart, as she sat before the fire in 
rather a dreary attitude, her little bands lying 
listlessly on her lap, and the unshed tears gath- 
ering: in her beautiful eyes. 

There was the turniug of a key in, the front 
door. Mr. Chariton had come borne 

"O, there's John," said the little wife hurried- 
ly, "pray don't, Georgia, say anything about that 
missing five dollars." 

And she began to hide her papers away in her 
desk, but John caught her at it. 



^claimed Mrs. Chariton, as she lifted up the cur 
tain; "it is almost up to the horses' knees, 
and ever so much deeper where it has drif'ed 
Come here, Baby, and see the pretty white 
snow!" 

When they descended to the breakfast room 
there was Georgians with a scarlet shawl hm^cd 
Hsrbtly rou.id her shoulders, her lace close to the 
window pane, looking out disconsolately at the 
falling, whirling, daneing flakes. 

"Now do you suppose that postman is such a 
coward as to let a storm like this keep him from 
his rounds this morning?" was herfirst question 
cs her sister entered. 

"Why, what's the matter now, George?" ex- 
claimed Mr. Chariton. laughing. g,"Orie would 
think your whole fa e depended on getting a 
, letrer this morning." rt 

"Perhaps- it does." said Georgiana turn in" 
away from the window; "It is a curious' stud v 
in life bow often the great things are determined 
by the little ones." «n*»ueu 

The breakfast hour passed away eventless 

Mr Chariton mourned over the lateness of bis 
morning paper, and Mrs. Chariton silently won- 
dered whether the snow would keep the market- 
man from sending in his bill that day It if 
could only be postponed till John gave "her her 
next quarter's allowance, then her mistakes in 
reckoning ; might be so easily managed. Or i 
she could only .find the lost memor?ndum! 
Meanwhile her sister, feelin-r low-spirited and 
utterly at odds vvith life, tried nevertheless to 
5.p her coffee with an ait, and to wear a brave 
holiday smile. 

"I hope, Laura, yon have'made all your ar- 
rangements for dinner," said John, glancino- 
out at the still thickening storm; "lor there will 
nenogoimroutof tne h ouse to-day, aud I pin 
all wayfarers!" J 

"Yes, everything was sent round yesterday " 
replied Laura, cheerfully; "we can make believe I 
we are a besieged city, and I think there are 
provisions enough to hold out as Ion" as the 
storm does." 

Suddenly there was the grand excitement of 
th3 postman's well known ring. "Two hours 
late," 6aid Mr. Chariton, looking at his watch 
and then hastened to the door for a little news 
from the outside world. Two letters, and the 
newspaper, too, for a wonder. The post man 
tai I he had fouud thG news-boy up to his elbows 
in a drift at the top of the hill, so he had offered 
to help him by taking all the papers for this 
street. The man looked like a polar bear with 
his shaggy coat, and hat, and beard, all white 
with tho thick cold snow. There would be no 
more letters for that day, he said, for the trains 
were all detained, and there was no knowing 
when any c-i them would get in. The horse-cars 
had not. i en since midnight, and there were only 
two or three omnibuses out, on runners. Mr. 
Chariton come back and reported. 

"Is there a letter for me?" asked Georgiana, 
looking at his hand. 

"No, miss! but two for Laura; perhaps she 
wi'l divide." 

"0," exclaimed Laura, delightedly, seizing 
tftetu; "a letter from mamma, and one from 
brother Fred ! How splendid, isn't it, Georgie ?" 

U Georgia had hoped to. find any straw to 



cling to in the post-man's comine, it h<»d been in 
vain. Had she hoped for anvthing? She hardly 
Knew herself; anyway, it was all over now, and 
she started rather aimlessly to kave the room. 
Laura called after her. 

"Georgie dear, would vou mind stayinc witn 
Baby a little while for me? Nurse is ha f sick, 
and lwant to go down ia the kitchen to help 
abotit dinner. She won't be much trouble, will 
she? It you will only keep an eye on her, aod 
see that she is happy with herplaythings. Nurse 
will be in the next room, and you can take your 
work or your reading." 

"Just what I should like," said Georgie bright- 
ening. "I'll take care of her the whole morning 
Laura and you needn't be distui bed about her 
at ah! Sj away she ran up stairs to find the <k 
ittle blue-eyed niece who always shouted with * 
delitiht at any attention from her pretty aunt 
Georgi \ 

"D.-ordie, Djjordiel" cried the little one Glee- 
fully, springing into her arms, as soon as she 
entered the room, and then nurse was sent eff to 
try and get well of her headache, and Baby and 
her grave young'aunt began a series of glorious 
romps that ended only when both were thorough- 
ly tired out. f 

" Hred, Tot, are you? So am I; let's have a 
rest! and drawing a great rocking chair up in 
tront of the fire, she seated herself with Baby 
in her lap, tho big blue eyes lookiog 
dreamy and quito ready for sleep. Georgie 
l.toked steadfastly down at the innocent baby- 
face, while the round dimpled fingers held hers 
in a tight warm clasp. Sha had been told that 
the child rfg ml led her. 

"Are you like mo, little Tot?" she said, softly 
'Arc you going to be like me alwavs? Weil' 
up as rar as twenty years old, for I believe I was 
a happy little girl, with ever so many to love 
me, and I bad beautiiul times. Never mind 
when it comes to going to school, either, Tot, lor 
Aunt Georgie loved to study and loved her teach- 
ers, and found dear, dear trieuds at school. Life 
is so splendid when you are a schooi-giil, Tot so 
you needn't mind that. And then if you're like 
Aunt Georgie you'll read romances and poems 
and dream ot heroes. That won't hurt you,' 
either, you darling, if you try to live a noble 
womanly life with it all. But dont be like Aunt 
Georgie after you're twenty; no. not for worlds 
lot, for that would spoil everything!" 

Baby looked up ac her and smiled— a brief 
uncomprehending, bi'iv smile— and Aunt Geor- 
gie bent, over her and cried a little, softlv, to her- 
self, and then went on. 

"Don't be like ma after you're twenty, baby, 
because you'll be a woman then, and some one ' 
splendid and noble will c.-me and make you love 
iiim. But if you are like me he will go awav 
and never care for you, and that wi.l'bieak your 
heart, little Tor, so you never can love anybody 
again, and then maybe you will crow reckless 
and wicked, and marry some one you don't care 
lor, if you arc like Aunt Georgie." 

And there she fairly broke down and began to 
weep passionately. He/ poor aching, ertino- 
heart was try.ng to fight its way out to peace, 
and she did not know how near the victory was 
It was baby who helped her to conquer at last; 
and wben,forby-aud-bye, she grew calmer, aud 
looked down at the child, now peacefully asleep 
she went on with her old train of thought] 
mingling all sorts ol fancies with it about what 
she ihoughtTot would do if she should indeed 
be like her Aunt Georgie Suppose it were 
ready so, that her own life would decide wha 
Tot's life sboud be. Ol course there was no 
truth in the fancy, but suppose it were true, and 
that her o*n hand had the power todecidc Tot s 
future, then would she be willing to lee her dar- 
ling baby niece grow np to blight her woman 
hood by a loveless marriage? She gaz?d at the 
sweet lirtle innocent face and shuddered at the 
thought. No! a thousand times no! It would 
be better for baby to life alone all the days ol 
ber life, without any love, aud keep her soul 
white and pure. And if better for baby, wbv 
not better lor Aunt Georgie herself? She sat 
there a lodg time, thinking earnestly, and then 
kissing the fair little brow, whispered softly: 

"Never mind, dear, you may be liae Aunt 
Georgia all you waut to, for she means to save 
both of us. Life is going to bd pretty hard, lit- 
tle Tot; but you must be brave and true, and not 
let any false thought stain your 8uul. Aud then, 
if you are v ry lonely jou may come and live 
with Auot Georgie, and whatever else we miss 
of, we will at least be honorable women. I wiii 
not accept Mr. Hart— I will not accept him, ana 
may Heaven help me always to be a trua we- 
man!" 

So she msda her resolution, and won her vic- 
tory; and tttmg there m her quiet room, with 
baby asleep in her arms, many calm, peaceful 
thoughts came to hsr and refreshed her soul. 
She had indeed begun a new life with a new year. 
Msanwbiie, down stairs the others had been 
bu\y in their own wajs. Mr. Chariton, after 
reading his paper, had betaken him=elf to the 
library to do some necessary writing, and his 
wife had gone down into t he kitchen to help Jane 
in '.he mysteries of the New Year's dinner. The 
turkey was baking finely in the oven, the vegeta- 
bles were all on, the jellies set, and the pudding 
just beginning to boil, when there was anothei 
ring at the dc or- bell, and Jane had to run np in 
the ball to answer ir. ^___ 



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"Thou hast prepared the light and the sun Thou hast made summer." — Psalm 

lxxiv. 16, 17. 






mt 



' —Jin. 



"Who can it be ?" thousht Mrs Chariton, loos- 
ing out at the unabated storm; "0, I hope it is 
nor, that cruel market man with his bill!" 

In a moment more, Jane came back and re- 
ported that it whs a gentleman all covered wi:h 
snow, and muffled up, so she could not see his 
face, and he wis.'ied to bee htr master on busi 
ness, so she had spoken to Mr. Chariton, and then 
come away directly. 

"I wish you had waited to hear his name " 
said Mrs. Chariton; "if dinner was all ready' I 
would go right up there." 

When Mr. Ciiariton was called out into the 
hall, he would not have known his cousin Phi) 
from the great Mogul if i; had not bean for the 
honest gray eyes, and, a moment after, the fa~ 
miiiar voice. 

'Got snowed up on the railroad," said Phil- "I 
have business to transact two hundred miles 'be- 
yond here, but the train can't get an inch farther 
u.-day, they say, so I thought I'd come up and 
make you a New Year's call, old boy!" 

"Bravo!" exclaimed Mr. Chariton; "we were 
tiiking about you only last Bight, and wishing 
you were here. Here! let me help you off with 
that overcoat— why, you're made of nothing but 
snow, man! Laura will be very glad— no one 
here but our own family, and it's lonesome to eat 
a big dinner by ourselves. Well, you are a fig- 
ure ! Come right into this room and get warm I" 
The new comer was a stalwart young fellow, 
with a fine, noble facp, not without its few lines 
of care, perhaps pain. He glanced hurriedly 
around the library as he entered, then seated him- 
self comfortably before the glowing grate and be- 
gan to answer John's questions about the weather 
and his business prospects. 

"An I why haven't you let us hear from 
you?" asked John, "I have been anxious 
euough to hear how you were getting alon" I 
c<»n tell you!" 

"I supposed you had had enough of me," said 
the other, with, an odd little l.uigh; "but I'm the 
inevitable bad penny, you see!" 

An hour passed by, and it was almost dinner 
time. Mrs. Chariton looked proudly at her suc- 
cessful achievements, and then glanced at the 
kitchen clock. 

"Now von may go set the table for dinner. 
Jane, she said, "while I run up stairs and 
change my drcs*. That gentleman is sti.l in the 
library, isn't he? Of course John will ask him 
to dinner, so you ma? put on an extra plate." 

She hastened up stairs, cast a curious glance 
at the heavy overcoat in the hall, and then sped 
on up to her own room. There was Georgie, to 
a'l appearance perfectly happy and contented, 
p ayiug bo peep with Tot, who had just waked 
up. 

"Ob, you two darlings!" exclaimed Mrs. 
Chariton. "Now let me call nurse to take baby, 
and you hurry off and get dressed, dear, for din 
ner is almost ready, and we are going to have 
company alter all !" 

"Who?" asked Georgia in surprise. 

"1 dui't know Some one who came to see 
John, and he has been here an hour, so of course 
he will stay to dinner now. Isn't it cxcitiii"? 
Now put on your green silk, Georgie, and look 
beaiviful, for may be it is some one perfectly 
sp endid, a hero for you!" 

In her present mood oi mind, Georgie would 
rather have worn the dress she then had on, 
which was simple as possible, but "Laura would 
not like that," she thought, "and one must not 
beein by being selfish," so s'.:e compromised 
matters by arraying herself in black silk, with 
her plainest ornaments. Then, meeting Laura 
on the stnirway. they went down together, when 
suddenly John Chariton threw the library door 
open, and there stood Cousin Phil! 

Mrs. Chariton, with a little shout of delight, 
rushed forward to welcome him, and when he 
had replied to her eager greeting he looked past 
her at Georgie. It was as it eye met eve, and 
thought leaped up to answer thought, bill thev 
only bowed gravel v to each other, and uttered 
the few words that politeness demanded, and 
then, half bewildered by the surprise and the 
sudden tumult in her helm, Georgie silently pre- 
ceded him into the dining room. 

"Now, Phil, what have von been doing?" said 
Laura, as soon as ber husband was fairly hunch- 
ed in the carving of thetutkey. "Hasbusiness 
been going wiong, or what is it makes you 'ook 
ten years older than you did last summer? And 
why haven't you written? I think it was reallv 
unkind not to let us hear Irom you, even once!" 

"Even once may be once too often 1" said Phil, 
sarcastically, and then as if to atone for bis dis- 
agreeable remaik, he plunged into a glowing ac- 
counts of the business trips he had been making, 
talked of politics, the times, anything, everv- 
thing except last summer and the reason be had 
not writteu. Georgia, sitting opposite to him, 
tried to eat her dinner in stately indifference, but 
succeeded only in looking very dreamy and de- 
mure as she trifled with the morsels on her 
plate 

Phil asked for Tot Onally. and when the des- 
ser„ came, she was brought down in all the glory 
of anew white dress and crimson sash. She 
was f*y of him at first, but soon set med to rec- 
ognizi him as an ok! friend, and gambolled 
about him like a litt'e plavfnl kitten. 

"Wha a darling she is," he said admiringly, 
and t-egan to search in his pockets for something 
to please her, finding nothing but an old carte do 
yisiro of his own; but that was joy for Trot, who 
tidtwl on pictures. She seized it with a gurgle of 



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baby delight, and made as if she would eat it up 
at once. 

"0, don't tear if, Tot, don't tear it J" exclaim- 
ed Mrs. Chariton, "bring it to mamma and let 
her keep it tor you." 

"Butt at was not Tot's idea, and she raced 
\ up and down the room with her treasure, stop- 
ping at last on the floor in the confer by an otto- 
man. A home-made ottoman it was, one Mrs. 
Chariton had contrived herself, by nailing bright 
bits of carpet on an old box. Tot tippel it over 
and began tugging away at the carpet with great 
energy. 

"How comical children are," said Mr. Chari- 
ton, looking after her. "Now that old ottoman 
is as good to her as a new country to explore 
would be to Dr. Livingstone. What is she do- 
iw ing, Laura? Hiding that picture away, upon 
P*my word!" And he hastened to stop her. 

"Why, there are more things in here/' he ex- 
claimed; "it's a regular treasure bouse. Here's 
an old yellow envelope to begin with!" And 
with thumb and finger he drew it out from be- 
tween the ottoman cover and the wood. 

"O, my memorandum," cried Mrs. Chariton, 
running across the room to get it. "It's a list of 
all I bought last Tuesday, and O, I declare, if 
here isn't the five dollar bill I thought I bad lost, 
tucked into the envelope. How careless in 
me!" 

"Here's half a cookey," said Mr. Chariton, 
making further explorations, "and a leaf out of 
the primer; and what's this? A letter for you, 
Georgie — you must have dropped it somewhere, 
and Tot has hidden it away here." 

"A letter for me!" exclaimed Georgie, coming 
forward. 

"Yes, and on my word the seal isn't broken! 
Well, Miss Tot, this is very fine. That etter 
may have lain there six months, ever since the 
child first 'earned to walk. I only hope it wasn't 
an invitation to a party." ; 

Georgie was reading it with dilating eyes, and 
a wonderful b ush in her cheeks. Philip ap- 
proached and glanced curiously at the envelope, 
postmarked four months before. 

"So you never got it?" he whispered, "what 
would your answer have been if you had?" 

For all answer she turned and clasped his 
hand. True love never runs smooth, and that 
is doubtless why unconscious little Tot, follow- 
ing some hidden guidance of nature, had seized 
W the waiiing letter of appeal and put it safely, 
away; till months of delay and doubt had tried 
poor Georgie's heart, and proved it pure gold at 
last 

Well!" said Mr. Chariton, alter a brief com 

is 

And wasu't it? 



\ 



> 



WW ell J said Mr. Chariton, alter a brief ct 
prehending look at the radiant pair, "this 
what you call a Happy New Year, I suppose? 



Dickens on Thackeray. 

A GRACEFUL AXD TOUCHIHG TBIBtTTlj. 

The following tribute to the memory of Wil- 
liam Makepeace Thackery, by Charles Dickens, 
opens the February number of the Cornhill Mag- 
azine : 

" It has been desired by some of the personal 
J friends of the great English writer who estab- 
lished this magazine, that its brief record of his 
having been stricken from among men should be 
written by the old comrade and brother-in-arms 
who pens these lines, and of whom he often wrote 
himself, and always with the warmest generosity. 

I saw him first, nearly twenty-eight years ago, 
when he proposed to become the illustrator of my 
earliest book. I saw him last, shortly before 
Christmas, at the Athensaam Club, when he told 
me that he had been in bed three days — that after 
these attacks he was tronbled with cold shiverings ^ tiou 



'which quite took the power of work out of him' 
— and that he has it in his mind to tijy a new rem- 
edy which he laughingly described. He was very 
cheerful and looked very bright. In the night of 
that day week he died. 



wnicft ne atterwaitis added a verbal pbstecriptj, 
urging me to ' come down and make a speech, and 
tell them who he was, for he doubted whether 
mora than two of the electors had ever heard of 
him, and he thought there might be as many as six 
or eight who had heard of me.' He introduced the 
lecture just mentioned, with a reference to his late 
electioneering failure, which was full of good sense, 
good spirits and good humor. 

He had a particular delight in boys and an ex- 
cellent way with them. I remember his once ask- 
ing me with fantastic gravity, when he had been 
to Eton where my eldest boy then was, whether I 
felt as he did in regard of never seeing a boy with- 
out -wanting instantly to give him a sovereign. I 
thought of this when I looked down into his grave, 
after he had laid there, for I looked down into it 
over the shoulder of a boy to whom he had been 
kind. 

If, in the feckless vivacity oi nis youtn, nis sa- 
tirical pen had ever gone astray or done amiss, he I 
had caused it to prefer its own petitions for forgive- 
ness, long before : 

The aimless jest that, ptrikinj?, hatheaueed pain; 

'I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain; 

The idle word that he'd wish back agsin.' 

In no pages should I take it upon myself at this j 
time to discourse of his books, of his refined 
knowledge ot character, of his subtle acquaint- i 
ance with the weakness of human nature, of his '. 
delightful playfulness as an essayist, of his quaint 
and touching ballads, of his mastery over the | 
English language Least of all, in these pages, 
enriched by his brilliant qualities from the first of ; 
the series, and beforehand accepted by the public \ 
through the strength of his great name. 

Bat on th9 tabic before me, there lies all that j 
he had written of his latest and last story. That 
it would be very sad to any one — .hat it is incx- 
nressibly so to a writer — in its evidences of ma- 
tured designs never to be accomplished, of intern 
i tions begun to be executed and destined never to 
be completed, of careful preparation for long roads 
of thought that he never was to traverse, and for 
I shining goals that he was never to reach, will be 
readily believed. The pain, however, that I have 
felt in pernsing it, has not been deeper than the 
convicton that he was in the healthiest vigor of 
his powers when he wrought on this la3t labor. In 
respect of earnest feeling, far-seeing purpose, char- 
acter, incident, and a certain loving picturesque- 
nes3 blending the whole, I believe it to be muca 
the best of all his works. That he fully meant 
it to be so, that he had become strongly attached 
io it, and that he bestowed great pains upon it, I 
trace in almost every page. It contains one pic- 
' ture which rau^t hc^v cost him extreme distress, 
and which is a masterpiece. There are two chil- 
dren in it, touched with a hand as loving and 
tender as ever father caressed his little child with. 
There is some young love, as pure and innocent 
and pretty as the truth. And it is very remark- 
able that, by reason of the singular construction 
of the story, more than one main incident ususlly 
belonging to the end of such a fiction is anticipat- 
ed in the beginning, and thus there is an approach 
to completeness in the fragment as to the satisfac- 
tion of the reader's mind concerning the most in- 
teresting persons, which could hardly have been 
better attained if the writer's breaking-off had beea 
foreseen. 

The last line he wrote, and the last proof he 
corrected, are among these papers through which 
I have so sorrowfally made my way. The condi- 
tion of the little pages ot manuscript where death 
stopped his hand, shows that he had carried them 
about, and often taken them out of his pocket 
here and there, for patient revision and interlinea- 
The last words he corrected in print were, 



' And my heart throbbed with an exqniaite bliss.' 
God grant that on that Christmas Eve when he 
laid his head back on his pillow and threw up his 
arms as he had been wont to do when very weary, 
some consciousness of dnty done and Chris tain 



The long interval between those two periods is /< hope throughout life humbly cherished, may have 



marked in my remembrance of him by many occa- 
sions when he was supremely humorous, when he 
was irresistably extravagant, when he was soft- 
ened and serious, when he was charming with 
children. Bat, by none do I recall him more ten- 
derly than by two or three that start out of the 
crowd, when he unexpectedly presented himself 
in my room, announcing how that some passage 
in a certain book had made him cry yesterday, 
and how that ho had come to dinner, ' because he 
couldn't help it,' and must talk some passage 
over. No one can ever have seen him more genial, 
natural, cordial, fresh and honestly impulsive, 
than I have seen him at those times. No one can 
be surer than I, of the greatness and the goodness 
y of the heart that then disclosed itself. 

When we were associated m remembrance of the \ 
late Mr. Douglas Jerrold, he delivered a public 
lecture in London, in the course of which he read I 
his very best contribution to Punch, describing the I 
'grownun cares of a poor family of young chil- 
dren. No one hearing him could have doubted 
his natural gentleness, or his thoroughly unaffected 
manly sympathy with the weak and lowly. He 
read the paper most pathetically, and with a sim- 
Dlicity of tenderness that certainly moved one of 
lis audience to tears. This was presently after 
lis standing for Oxford, from which place he had 
dispatched his agent to me, with a droll note (to 



Z\ 



caused his own heart so to throb, when he passed 
away to his Redeemer's rest ! 

He was found peacefully lying as above de- 
scribed, composed, undisturbed, and to all appear- 
ance asleep, on the twenty -fourth of December, 
1863. He was only in his fifty-third year; so 
young a man that the mother who blessed him in 
his first sleep blessed him in his last. Twenty 
years before, he had written, after being in a white 
squall : 

" ' And when, its force expended, 
The* harmless storm was ended, 
And, as the sunrite splendid 

Came blushing o'er the sea; 
I thought, ae day was breaking, 
My little girls were waking, 
And smiling, and making 

A prayer at home lor me.'' " 

Those little girls had grown to be women when 
the moarnfal day broke that saw f heir father lying 
dead. la those twenty years of companionship 
with him, they had learned much from him ; and 
one of them has a literary course before her, worthy 
of her famous name. 

On the bright wintry day, the last but one of the 
old year, he was laid in his grave at Kensal Green, 
there to mingle the dust to which the mortal part 
of him had returned, with that of a third child, lost 
in her infancy, years ago. The heads of a great 
concourse of his fellow workers in the arts, were 

hr,w«H around the tonib." ^^^ 



Henry Ward Beecher, 

/ 

I never like to hear a man dispraise the voca- 
tion to which he is called. It is not a good and 
wholesome sign. Men are perpetually making 
mistakes in regard to their pursuits in life, and a 
man may perceive that if he had had an opportu- 
nity, and could have followed this or that occupa- 
tion he would, as he is organized, have been more 
in harmony with his work; but a mau might as 
well repine because he is not a Frenchman or an 
Italian, and is an Analo-Saxon, as mourn over his 
lot in life. When a man is bcrn, it is done with, 
and he cannot help it. You have got to be what 
you are. And as a man has been educated, so he 
must pursue life. And to murmur at his occupa- 
tion, and look wistfully at something else, and 
spend his time thinking what he would like to do 
and to cover that other pursuit with his imagina- 
tion, and make fancied flowers grow upon itfand 
see abundant and varied fruit hanging from its 
boughs, while making his own business as barren 
and hateful as possible by associating it with dust 
and wet, and inexorable necessity, and, rising in 
the morning to say, "Must I go to work again to- 
day ?" and, going home at night, to curse the day's 
work— that is unmanly and mean for a man that 
God has endowed with the many faculties of his 
mind on purpose that he may" clothe his tasks 
with fancy, and plan them with variety, and fill 
them with blessings. I love to see some sturdy 
smith, or laborious mason, or carpenter, or delver 
in the soil, who, although he perceives that there 
are occupations that would have given him a 
larger sphere, and more agreeable results.yet hon- 
ors and dignifies hi3 vocation, and makes every 
man that comes after him a better man, because 
he has left with his pursuit an honorable name. 
Since the days of Benjamin Franklin, it has been 
easier for a man to go into the office and be a com- 
positor than it was before. He left almost a pro- 
fessional element in that mechanical business. 
And out of type-setting have sprung more great 
public men, I suppose, than have sprang from any 
manual employment. Since the days of Roger 
Sherman it has been easier to be a shoemaker. 
Shoemakers are almost always metaphysicians. It 
would seem as though it had. come, fa be a pre- 
scriptive riiiht for them to be thtvughtful men. 
And there have been sturdy men at the anvil who 
have made blacksmithing an occupation that no- 
man need be ashamed of. 



V, 



"A. 



thtre be" mariy persons wno say, "i try so uvo 
according to the light 1 have; but then I do not 
seem to myself to be such a Christian as many 
who are around about me are. I do not have that 
generous glow of feeling that they have.'' It m ij| 
be that you have not had so good training as thoy* 
have. It may be that you are not adapted to 
secrete feeling a.s they are. 

A sparrow came and sat in a tree by rny win- 
dow I. sr, and bemoaned its fats, an J I 
heard what it said, It said, "I have *>een listening 
to that canary bird on your porch, and I cannot 
sing half as well as he sings; and as I listened I 
felt that I was. good for nothing. 1 have been 
trving to sing like him all day, and. I cannot, and 
I do not feel as though I was anything ai a sonj- 
bird." I could not help laU'ti m-.' at the sparrow ; 
and I said to it, "When God m ido you a sparrow, 
he wanted you to sing like a r-p irrow. If he hal 
not, be would not have made your throat as h» 
did." And my canary sin ;s as God wanted it to 
sing. When God made bluebird.*, he gave thru 
one or.two notes, and said, "i>o tin best you can 
with those." And when he made robin i, big ivo 
ttum organs adapted to. the stylo of sin-rinj 
wfckh h& wanted' them to do. And all livin; 
tureVfbr the most part, except inr 
discern en ted sparrow, art- contented with wait 
they have. -•■ -- 

The Discipline of Suffering. 

The secret of more than half our trouble in life 

is, that we are attempting to shape our life for 

the world; and God, who loves us, is attempting 

to overrule that bad enginery, and to sin pe our 



Now and then, when I am tired, when I have 
worked long and wearily, and have had some ex- 
perience of the attritions of man with man, and 
have gained some new light respecting the moral 
condition of imperfect and unsanctified men, j say 
to myself: " Well, you have worked more than 
the ordinary allotted period of man's life, and 
would it not be better for you now to withdraw 
and give place to younger men, and spend in an 
elegant leisure the declining period of your life?" 
It is a temptation of the devil. And when I get 
retted, when I eet one sound night's sleep, and 
my nervous energy is restored again, and my sys- 
tem is reinvigorated, 1 am amazed at myself; and 
in the morning I flagellate the man that I knew 
last night. 

Retire from life? I observe that trees keep all 
their beautv to the closing periods. How beauti- 
ful is the tree when it comes out of winter, and 
puts on all its delicate tints and shades of green I 
We then look upon the tree as though it was a 
new creation, and we say: " Surely, God never 
made any thiug so beautiful as these trees;" and 
yet when summer deepens their hues, and they 
have become more robust, and we see what vigor 
and freshness and succulency there is in them.'we 
say : "After all, give me the summer tints. They 
are far better man the spring delicacies." And 
yet, when the October days have come, and the 
last part of the tree life for the year is enacted, 
ai.d we see the gorgeous yellows, the rich browns, 
and the magnificent scarlets, we say: " There, the 
last is the best." And might we not take pattern 
fiom the trees? Might we not follow up our 
youth and manhood with fair colors and delicate 
tints to the end of life? 

1 do not think a man ought to want to rest in 
tbis world. He may deiire to achieve the means 
of setting himself free from physical taxation. He 
may say: 'I wiil relinquish, in a measure, this, 
that I may transfer my activity to other spheres." 
Thar, it is proper for a man to do. But for a man 
to retire from life and society after he has been an 
active force therein, and filled his sphere with use- 
fulness, and seen the fruits of his labor multiplied 
at his hand, ar.d known the satisfaction of well- 
spent years- -nature itself rebukes it. But many 
a mnn, at ihe age of forty -five or fifty years, says 
to himself: "I am worth five hundred thousand 
dollars, ami what a fool I am to work any longer! 
I am going to buy me an estate in the country, and 
be a gentleman." He buys him an estate, and un- 
dertakes to be a gentleman; but a man who has 
nothing to do is no gentleman. He goes into the 
country, ami lepras how to gape, and learns how 
to wish he knew what tc do. He goes into the couu- 
try in order to take the cais every morning and 
come to the city every day to see what is going 
on. And he soon discovers that he has made a 
mistake, and says: "What a fool I was! I 
thought I was unhappy, but I see that I was uot." 
And he becomes discontented, and before- two 
years have gone he sells his country place 
for fifty per cent less than he gave, and goes'back 
to the city and enters into a new partnership, 
and says,*"I have learned that a man had better 
i y^ l not STve up business so long as he is able to attend 
to it." Hecoukl, I think, have learned it without 
going through that practice. A mau ought not 
to be obliged to stumble upon every evil of life in 
order to find it out. Something ought to be 
learned from other people's blunders. There are 
enough of them. 

The same is true in regard . to aged persons. 
No mistake, I think, can be greater than that 
which unclasps the harness and takes off the occu- 
pations of men when they come to be old. Do not 
ever sell your home and go to live with your chit* 
dren. Take my advice. Do not suffer yourself, if 
you have been in a primary situation, to go into a 
secondary one. Of all things in this world, do 
not, when you get to be sixty years of age, give 
up a regular occupation. Do not permit your- 
self to be cheated out of it. Hold to yourbusi- 
ness. That. has a definite aim, and will tax your 
hope and fear, and will lay responsibilities on 



life for the glory of the eternal world. Wnen an 6t you, and you will be better off for it. If any part 
organ is at concert-pitch, everything else has got 
to come up to it— and the instrument is gener- 
ally at concert-pitch. Some note by and by falls 
away; and then, when the stop is drawn, and the 
scale is played, every time that note comes in it 
wails. W hy ? Because all the other notes are . 
against it, you would think. So they ai-e when 
a note is out of tune. Once have a string of 
a violin below pitch, and all the three other 
strings are fighting it. Let one note of a piano 
be out of rune, all the rest of the piano is at 
enmity with it. If one pipe of an organ is out 
of tune, all the rest of the organ is against it 
That note wails and wails, and all the other notes 
are sweet- sounding. By and by, the hand of 
the tuner begins to bring it up ; ,aiid up and up it , 
goes, crying and whining; but the moment it 
touches the concert-pitch it falls in, and there is 



( 



of life needs labor, it is the latest. Nothing 
wears out a man who has been active sixty years 
like nothing to do. It scours like emery. It 
may polish, but it takes off the substance, 
and will wear through soon. It is no good 
fortune to be set free from industry in the 
later years of life. No ma; should abandon his 
position and throw of his resposibility, and seek 
happiness in release from activity and industry. 
And no one should believe one word of that 
poetry which talks about the rosy bowers of re- 
tirement, about elegant leisure, and about a man 
standing in a serene old age, as the sun on the 
horizon casting back his great round golden beams 
in his declining movements. The sun does not 
stand still. It keeps travelling, though* it does 
not seem to move. And a man should never 
stand still. No man should ever seek happiness 
except through proper, systematic, well-directed 



no longer any conflict of one note with the other. 
The moment it comes into harmony, there is no \ fi j activity in life, 
longer any "wolfing" of vibrations, no longer When two souls come together, and unite withj 

any turmoil.. It is in tune. And the sorrows and J each other, no one has a right to meddle with 
tumbles of this world are but discordant wails tha 2_ them, to know their most blessed intercourse, or 
men make when God takes them and attempts to *■ to interpret their thoughts to each other. I hey \ 
bring them up into harmony by bringing thenvo < are to be let alone. And when a soul goes up in the i 
-rt-pitch. »o . enthusiasm of its affianced love to unite to Jesus 

/(4 Christ, shall its trust be respected ? Shall any- 
thing separate it from him? No, nothing. It is 
God that surrounds us; it is the etarnal Father 
that rejoices in us ; and at no time ddes he rejoice \ 
in us liiore than when we arc giving Our life and 
our being to Jesus Christ our Saviour. 



L 



Now, when Pharaoh is said to have been hard- 
ened, 1 do not understand that God hardened him 
in any other sense than that in which he makes 
drunkards. He hardened Pharaoh only in the 
sense in which he makes liars. He created every 
man so that he might become a liar or a drunk- 
T J, «? e ffave him tne P ow er to do so. And in 
the Hebrew phraseology they were accustomed to 
say that every thing that happened from natural 
law happened from God. God is said to make the 
grass grow; but he only made the fundamental | 
laws of nature according to which grass grows. I 
God is said to thunder; but he only made the con- 
ditions out of which thunder proceeds. And /] 
when it is said that he hardened a man, it is only 1 
meant that lie created such laws that under cer- 
tain circumstances the man should harden him- 
self. He gave him power to do it. And when it 
is said that he hardened Pharaoh's heart, the only 
interpretation that can be fairly given of it is this: 
tfcat, when Pharaoh was made, he was made like 
you, or me, or any other person, with power to go 
right or wrong. 

Well, how would God glorify himself in his 
going right or wrong? In that whenever a 
man that occupies an eminent position violates 
a known command, and suffers for it, God 
vindicates natural law and vindicates moral law 
by making the suffering stand out as a warn- 
ing against transgression. He punished Pha- 
raoh because he violated his laws; and so, and 
only so, does God glorify himself when he 
punishes sin and crime. A man in a few years 
wastes the spring and fountain of his whole 
life; and when he is thirty years old he is 
eighty, and he walks about decrepit, inane, 
almost idiotic; and men say, " See the witness of 
God against draining, wasting, rotting vices." 
Law is justified, law is honored when a man suf- 
fers for vice and crime. No man feels that there 
is any wrong in this. And only in that sense is 
true that God glorified himself in Pharaoh 
namely in the sense of putting him in a situation 
where, if he had pleased, he might have been gen- 
tle, humane just; but where, instead of that, he 
made himself proud, unjust, haughty. And pen- 
alty for wrong-doing is a token of the wisdom of 
God s administration as much as the o-ivine- of r*> 
wards for right-doing. " 8 re ' 

stands central among all his* creatures, and hoi 
them in platoons, and companies, and regimen 
by the laws that he has established. Not only is 
be in vital and everlasting sympathy with, but he 
is in absolute and perpetual control of, everything 
f that ht has created. He says to all things, 'Go," 
and they go; and "Come," and they come. 
I There is not a season with its bounty that he has 
I MM something to do with, as you have something 
•o with the food, the dress, and the education 
of jour child, and with attending to whatever he 
needs to have done. Do not you take care of your 
Id? Suppose the cook should say, "I prepare 
the child's victuals, and I take care of him;" and 
the tailor should say, "I make his clothes, audi 
take care of him;" and the sarvant should say, "I 
wash him and comb him, and I take care of him;" 
and the schoolmaster should say, "I teach him, 
and Itakccare of him;" and the neighbors should-- ; 
say, "We whip him, acd administer discipline to'^, * v 
him when he steals our fruit, and we take care of 3 -»* 
h him." It would appear from such claims as these » m 
^ that the parent was nothing, and that the cooks, ^SS^ 
• and tailors, and ser rants, and schoolmasters, and ®^2 
y meddlesome neighbors, were everything in the &: 00 £ 
' taking caie of the child. But who gave the cook ^5 
the chance to prepare the child's victuals? Who g 
appointed the tailor to make his clothes? Who c 
^ directed the servant to wash and comb him? Who ^ 
" sent bim to the schoolmaster to be taught? Tfie 3 4 
parent not only takes care of the child, but suffers -.0 § 
all these persons to become auxiliary to him in the r[§ f 
work. He multiplies himself by as many agents sfl! s 
_ as he can control, and centres them on the child's n % 
~ wel are. -^o 

And f ; t is in respect to the mighty forces of § I 
nature. '<od says to light, "Go forth and illumine a.g> 
the univ erse." *He says to electricity, "Be § ° 
i thou a power through nature." He commands : g!cpc 
' each one of the agencies that he has called into 
being to aid in carrying out his purposes. And 
with one accord they obey. Mountains, and iiclas, 
1 and rivers, and clouds, and dews, and rains, arc 
1 Ged's servants and messengers ; and they take his 
will and perform it. 



OSr* We were much struck with the love of flow- 
ers manifested by the "English laboring classes. 
In no other places did we see finer plants of ge- 
ranium, finer fuschias, than in the windows of la- 
borers' cottages. We often stopped to admire 
the vigor, cleanliness, and brilliancy of bloom of 
the half-dozen plants standing on the window- 
ledge of poor, shattered houses, without another 
attraction apparent within or without. These 
glorious flowers were the only visible links which 
connected these rude children of toil with refine- 
ment and beauty. It is well known to horticul- 
turists that the finest prize flowers at the shows in 
England often are those sent by the workingmen 
in manufacturing districts. A small allotment 
of land gives them opportunity. It is not food for 
the mouth that they most eagerly seek. There is 
a higher appetite. At the expense, if need be, 
of 'bodily comfort, they rear flowers in earnest 
rivalry with one another, and are redeemed fr m 
many of the curses of toil by being ordained 
humble priests of the garden. — H. W. Beecher. 



Good and Bad I,uck. 

I may here as well as any where impart the 
ant insects a like cunning, if tberc is Be cret of good and bad luck. There are men, 
aSSTS^iS»/ h afflt M"* supposing Providence to have an implaca- 



Insect Shrewdness.- Last week I mentioned 
some instances of the shrewdness of animals of 
the larger kind. HnT\Tnnve noticed in the most 
insignificant insects 
one creature 
less, it is a fly — the common house-fly 



SELF EXAMINATION. 



There are a great many persons who examine 

themselves for motives — whicli is right ; hut 

s a vexation and a pest in hot days in July and ble spite against them, bemoan in the poverty how many persons examine themselves in the 




ib.c sparks of fire, or are thev like drops 
Another, with a good trade, perpetually D * make Ufe 8Weet with " t F ue wher . 

burnt up his luck by his hot temper, which pro- 



strange person coming into the room is at once fi C e. 



quarter of an hour every fly in the room has ap- " uriu U F . mo '"^ "J "*° """ ""««t""> """'"P'"" ever you go, or is your tongue like the tongue of 
pioaehed the new-comer, and crept over his "voked his employers to leave him. Another, J a serpent, carrying terror whenever your mouth 
clothes. Let any new objeet|he brought into the " w i tn a lucrative business, lost his luck by amaz- opens and it comes forth ? How often do you 
room, and placed conspicuous! v — a box, a new . • -«• , t u- r . i . i- u • *u;„u - ... — 

dress; or any shining object-and in a moment "»g diligence at every thing but his business.^ think 
if will be found that a stream of flics begins to -Another, wfao steadily followed his trade, as- 
set in toward it, until its novelty is worn off. st eadilv followed his bottle. Another, who was 

Flies are very cunning in eluding attempts to a ^ ay * J ' 

to drive them t'rom the room. If a door be s,et honest and constant to his work, erred by per- 
wide open, and two persons with towels, or news- petual misjudgments ; he lacked discretion. 



papers, or better vet, large fly-whisks made of w .- i n( ,i. l„ -»„,!,»-„:«.-. . k„ cot , 

paper like a cat o'-nine-tails, begin at the back Hundreds lose their luck b) endorsing hyson- 
part of the room and drive in concert, the fly can guine speculations ; by trusting fraudulent men ; 
he managed like a flock of sheep. Once or twice an( j Dy dishonest gains. A man never has good 

gone over, aud the room will be measurably free , ,11 1 j t t _i„„.. 

trom their annoyance. But some will always be luck who has a bad wife. I never knew an ear- 
left, A dozen or two wHl duck tfudcr or Btooot ly-rjsing, hard-working, prudent man, careful 
over your whisks and defy yourdriving. thave j f ^- earnings and strictly honest, who coin- 
so olten undertaken to clear a bed-room so that . j ,..f., , A J , , ' , 
not a single fly should remain, that I have had plained of bad luck. A good character, good 
much observation of the shrewdness of this in- : habits and iron industry are impregnable to the 



of your speech ? Do you know anything 
about it ? I venture to say that every person in 
your neighborhood knows more about it than 
you do. If you were to sit down and write 
your opinion as to what you do with your 
tongue, and carry it to people that know you, 
they would be respectful to you while you were 
present, but the moment you were gone, and 
the door was shut, they would say to each other, 
"See here ; that is what he thinks he does with 
his tongue !" and they would laugh at your ex- 
pense. Your wife knows you ; your brothers 
and sisters know you ; your servants, that you 
think you are so superior to, know you, and 
take you to pieces, and talk about vou every 
1 assaults, of all the ill luck that fools?ever dream- day ; people above you and beneath you know 



wants a quiet nap alter dinuer. If you exile 
ninety-nine, and leave the one hundredth, just so 
' sure as you are on the very point of dropping 
asleep, in that most delectable moment, when 
the rapture of the disembodied state is more 
keenlv felt than in any other state this side of 



ed of. But when I see a tatterdemalion, creep 
ing out of a grocery late in the forenoon, with 
his hands stuck into his pockets, the rim of his 
hat turned up, and the crown knocked in, I 
actual dying, the very fly that had reserved him- ^k now he has had bad luck, — for the worst of 
self for the occasion, issues from behind the r - ,, , t • " , „ „i„_„«.j „ L- nn „~ n - „ t : n 
head-board, and alights with a congratulatory 7 all luck is to be a sluggard, a knave, or a tip 
hum upon your cheek, and turns your paradise pier." — Rev. H. W. Beecher. 
into a vexation. ** 

How often have I raised up in wrath bent upon 
vengeance.! But, the fly has disappeared. I 



search vainly. I sit perfectly still, thinking that 
he will re-appear in 1 lie stillness to explore. Not 
he! As well as I do, he knows that I am watch- 
ing. It' at length I find him on the looking-glass 
up in the very comer, I dare not strike very hard 
with my towel for fear of breaking the glass. 
He had calculated that. Away he goes, in a re- 
joicing whirl, now before me, now behind, over- 
head, on the floor, with enough buzzing to fur- 
nish a whole band of flies with music! Then, 
suddenly, all is still. He cannot be found. I 
look everywhere. The room is small. Practice 
has made me acquainted with his hiding-places. 
In none of them can he be found. At length 1 
lie down, hoping that he has darted out through 
the slats ot the blinds, — I am quiet. My thoughts 
recall the pleasant scenes of life. A soft mist is 
rising, and I seem undulating upon its airy bil- 
lows. Just then, with a delighted whaek^as' I a 
familiar friend long absent and sure of his wel- 
come, comes back my fly ! 

This time I trace him. The c'othes-press door 
is ajar. He steals in there and lies hidden. On 
another occasion one has crept behind a picture- 
frame. As good luck would have it, a spider 
had arranged a pretty little surprise for him, 
and I had the wicked satisfaction of hearing the 
sinner buzz out a dying confessiou of his 
sins. Not half were told, I'll warrant. Bless- 
ings on spiders! 

But while, against particular flies, on special 
occasions. I entertain a spite, lam bound to con- 
fess that I place this creature much higher in 
the scale of intelligence than most people seem 
to do, or than I did myself before f measured 
my shrewdness against its, and found myself so 
_ often outwitted. 

if we had the means of closely watching the 
small fry of creation we should discover in them 
not simply blind instinct, but traces of reason 
11s well. From the brain of a man a silver 
thread runs down through the animal kingdom 
to a very low point, uniting all creatures by 
their common bond. Whether in the upward 
scale, the same line, rises through superior intel- 
ligences and connects the animal creation with 
the great Head of All 'filings, 110 one can doubt 
who reads and beiieves in the words of the 
Psalmist, who, everywhere and often, unite- 
together the whole creation around its common 
life in the Creator. — Henry Ward Beecher. 



/ 



It is trite, that "Men do sot know how to value 
health till they lose it." It is also the same with 
wealth. No man that has it appreciates it half so 
mueh as when he has lost it. And it might be 
well for those that are blessed with comfort, if 
once in a while they were brought to a violent 
shock, and looked over into th* crevasse of bank- 
ruptcy. It is well for men's very enjoyment 
of wealth that it shall seen* to take (to itself 
wings and fir away, for then riches are very 
rich, and treasirrc is very treasurable when you 
seem about to lose it. So long as we are getting 
it, so long as we have it, so l&ng as we are in- 
creasing it, we undervalue it. It is not what we 
have got — it is the more that we mean to have, 
that we set our heart upon.. It Is not so much 
wealth, as it is the avarice of wealth that is cor- 
roding the sonl. Ah, if God would but make our 
bag with holes, that our wealth might be dis- 
tributed along the road and that we might not 
discover it until the half was gone, the half would 
be above the whole in the power of producing 
pleasure. . _ / 



How People Give. Some men will give a 
dollar and put so much heart into it that it will 
he worth more than a thousand dollars from an- 
other. Some men will give, but it is as when 
miners blast out gold-bearing quartz — you have 
to drill and drill till you can effect a lodgment, 
and then put in good motives like powder, and 
then off at last goes the explosion, and you are 
almost covered by rocks which they fire at you. 
This giving is not what the Bible requires. It is 
not enough for our Father in Heaven that we arc 
generous in giving. We must wreath our chari- 
ties about with beauty. [H, W. Beecher. 



Life bt Death. An oak tree for two hurt- 1 
dred years grows solitary. It is bitterly handled 
by frosts; it is wrestled with by ambitious 
winds, determined to give it a downfall; it 1 
holds fast and grows, seemingly alone. What 
is the use of all this sturdiness, this strength, to 
itself ? Why am I to stand here, of no use? My 
roots arc anchored in rifts of rocks. No herds 
can lie down nnder my shadow. I am far above 
singing birds, that seldom come to rest among 
my leaves. I am set as a mark for stonrls, that 
bend and tear me. My fruit is serviceable for no 
appetite. It had been' better for me to have been 
a mushroom, gathered in the morning for some 
poor man's table, than to be a hundred-year oak 
—good for nothing. While he yet spake, the 
axe was hewing its base. It died in sadness, 
saying, as it fell— "Many ages for nothing have 
I lived." I 

The axe completed its work. By-and-by the 
trunk and foot form the knees of a stately ship, 
bearing the country's flag around the world; 
other parts form keel and rib of merchantmen; 
and having defied mountain storms, it now 
equally resists the thunder of the waves, and the 
murky threat of scowling hurricanes. Other 
parts arc laid into floors, or wrought into wains- 
coting, or carved for frames of noble pictures, or 
fashioned into chairs that embosom the weak- 
ness of age. Thus the tree in dying, came not 
to its end, but to its beginning, of life. It 
voyaged the world. It grew to pcots of temples 
and dwellings. 

It held upon its surface the soft feet of chil- 
dren, and tottering, frail patriarchs. It rocked 
in the cradle, and swayed the crippled limbs of 
age by the chimney-corner, and heard secure 
within the roar of those old unwearied tempests 
that once surged about its mountain life. Thus, 
after its growth, its long uselessness, its cruel 
prostration, it became universally useful, and 
did by its death what it could never do by its 
life. For so long as it was a tree, and belonged 
to itself, it was solitary and useless. But when 
it gave up its own life, and became related to 
others, then its true life began ! [Henry Ward 
Beecher. 



you ; and you are the only fool that does not 
know anything about you. 

When we set about examining ourselves, we 
say, "It is necessary that I should examine my 
motives." So we push our head into what is 
/ called metaphysics. We look into our soul ; 
and it is as though we put our head into a dark 
closet, where there is nothing. It seems very 
dark there, and it is very dark there ; and yet 
we persist in looking there. But these things 
that we might know something about : these 
things that are all the time orbing themselves 
into facts ; these speeches that we make, morn- 
ing and noon and night — how many of us ever 
take any notice of them ? Did you ever think 
what a volume your talk would make if it were 
printed? If everything that some persons say 
in a single day were printed, what a volume it 
would make ! and if all they say in a year 
were printed, what a library it would make ! 
I pity the man that should have to read the 
one or the other. And yet, all their sayings, 
from day to day, and from year to year, are 
flying in every direction, producing their effects 
upon those on whom they fall. The exagge- 
rations, the overcolorings, the misrepresenta- 
tions, the lies (for we all lie continually) 
which escape us when we are speaking about 
}| ourselves, about our children, about our fam- 
ilies, about our property, about our neighbors, 
about everything that we have to do with — 
what must be their influence upon the world? 
Still, how few there are that know anything 
about the use of their tongue, which is for ever 
on the move? A man might as well undertake 
to keep an account of what goes out of his 
chimney of smoke and gas and cinders, as to 
keep an account of what goes out of his mouth 
of wondrous influences for life or for death. 
How important it is then that we should exam- 
ine ourselves in the matter of speech. 

Henry Ward Beecher. 



. Oh! to hear men talk! •'Sir, I have 
not always been as you see me now. 1 have been 
in better circumstances." Perhaps so; but I 
don't consider, madam, thai you were in better 
circumstances because yon once wore silk, and 
now you wear calico. I don't consider that you 
were in better circumstances, necessarily, be- 
cause once you lived in a fine house, and now 
you live in" rooms that arc let. Good circum- 
stances I always interpret from the inside. 
and not from the outside. I do not disregard, 
my friend— I would not undervalue these ma- 
terial forces, but I say that a man that is rich 
and does not understand how to use riches 
not blessed by them. Pride and vanity, dn 
J in silk, is not fialf so prosperous as neatness 
and gentleness dressed in tht plainest— yea, in 
sackcloth. 1 have many persons that tell me — 
"OnceT was in better circumstances/' No you 
were not in better circumstances. Gay you were 
and giddy, but not self-helping. Life was all to 
you as a flight of butterflies Life meant nothing 
— neither was it deep, nor high, nor wide, nor 
noble, nor pure. And God took from you the 
sight of your eyes, and the desire of your heart, 
and the world grew wide, and the heaven grew 
higher to your trouble that never was high to 
your jov, and when wealth left you grace came. 
Then you began not onlv to know what was the 
wort!n of pelf, but what was the worth of life it- 
self. 



Oeli- (»r lh« Buctitl of AbrabamLlucoln, 

Oli. clow to smite and guilt to *<paic, 

Citiiit :<*. and nfercilul, aut] just ! 
Who, in tlie tear ol God, iliilM beat 

The sword id pow-er, a 11 ition's trust. 

In sorrow by tliy bier we stand, 

Amid the awe that hushes all, 
And speak the anguish ol a land 

iiiut shook with honor at thy fall. 

Thy tusk is done; the bond are free: 
We bear thee to an honored Jf.ro ve, 

Whose noblest monument shall be 
The broken letters of the slave. jqq 

Furo was thy life; its bloody close 

Math pUiced thee with the sons of light, 

Anions the noble host of those 
Who perished in the cause of right. 
— Wm. Cullen Bryant. ,A ; 



J 



OFFICIAL ACCOTfJTT. 

War Department, April 15—1.80 A. M. 
Major General Dix : 

Ttris evening at about 9.30 P. M., at Ford's 
Theatre, the President while sitting in his private 
box with Mrs. Lincoln Mrs. Harris and Major 
Rathbone, was shot by an assassin, who suddenly 
entered the box and approached behind the Presi- 
dent. 

The assassin then leaped upon the stage, bran- 
dishing a large dagger, or knife, and made his es- 
cape in the rear of the theatre. 

The pistol ball entered the back of the Presi- 
dent's head, and penetrated neaily through the 
head. The wound is mortal. ' 



SATU11DAY, APRIL 22, 1865. 



REVIEW OF THE WEEK. 



Abraham Lincoln 

ASSAS8IHATKD GOOD raiDAY, 1865. 
"Forgive them, for they know not what they do.'" 

H k said, aud so went shriven to his late — 
Unknowing went, that generous heart aud true. 

Even while bespoke the slayer lay iu wait, 

And when the morning opened Heaven's gate 
There passed the whitest soul a nation knew. 

Henceforth all thoughts ot pardon are too late; 
They, in whose cause that arm its weapou drew, 

Have murdered Mkucy. Now alone shall stand 
Blind Justice, with the sword unsheathed she wore. 

Hark, from the eastern to the western strand 
The swelling thunder of the people's roar: 

What words they murmur— Fetter not her 
hand! 
So let it smite, such deeds shall be no more! 
Edmund (\ Stkdman. 

April 15, 1866.— Tribune. 

No man should ever be elected Vice President 
who is not iu all respects worthy and qualified 
to discharge the duties of the higher office. And 
no man should ever be nominated for that office 
by the republican party because it is hoped that 
he may bring to it some new element or influ- 
ence which does not legitimately belong to it 
Had we adhered to this rule in the Baltimore 
convention, Abraham Lincoln would to day be 
Jiving or Hannibal Hamlin would be President 
of the United States. " » ^j 



TUB DEATH OF THE PBESIDES T. 

While celebrating the (all of Richmond and^ 
the capture of Lee and his army, we did not 
— bjlieve greater news possible; but greater 
news,— or, at any rate, news that more pro- 
foundly moved the whole nation, — came last 
Friday night. We believed that the slave 
power and its malignant horde of barbarians 
had exhibited the whole extent of their capac- 
ity for crime; but, though already a loathing 
to civilization and an astonishment to devils, 
they have added a still more horrible illustra- 
tion of their depravity. The only event in 
history that can even be thought ol as a paral- 
lel to the assassination of President Lincoln 
is the assassination of William Prince of 
Orange, who was shot July 10, 1584, by a 
creature of the most cruel and horrible bar- 
barism of that day. 

No purer or truer man than Abraham Lin- 
coln has ever lived. In all the land there was 
not a more earnest, devoted, and incor- 
ruptible patriot; and it has been well said that 
a tenderer and nobler spirit never put down a 
rebellion. He had earned the love and rev 
erence of all true friends of this republic ; and 
they were given to him in the largest meas- 
ure. No president of the United States was 
ever called to a work so great, trying, and 
responsible, as that which he has done so no- 
bly during the last four years. He lived to 
see the power of the rebellion broken, and to 
hail the dawn of peace. His work is now fin- 
ished; his fame is secure; and not only the 
people of this nation, but good and true men 
everywhere will keep his memory green 
through *wi l jvuning time. His character and 
his administration of the presidential office 
will be among the most attractive themes- c«f 
the historian, and brighten with a pure and 
steady light some of the noblest and most ex- 
citing pages in our history. 



Death of the President. 

Washington, April 15 . 11 o'clock. — The- 
Star extra, 6ays.at "twenty minutes past seven 
o'clock the president breathed his last closing 3 
his eyes as of falling to sleer>. and his coun- 
tenance Assuming an expression of pe f. ct se- 
renity. There were no indications of pain, 
and it was not known that he was d c ad until r 
the giadually decreasing respiration ceased al- j 
together. Rev. Dr, Gurley immediately on 
ite being ascertained, that life was extinct, 
knelt at the bedside and offered an impressive 
prayer which was responded to by all present. ] 
Dr. Oar ley then proceeded to the front parlor : 
where Mrs Lincoln, Cupt. Robert Lincoln, 
Ers- John Hay, the private secretary and ot- 
hers were waiting, where he again offered a 
prayer for the consolation of the family. The 
following minutes taken by Dr. Abbott, show 
thegCondition of the late presidsnt throughout 
the jnight — 12 o'clock pulse, 11-05, 45 and 
growing weaker, 11 15 42, 11-20 pulse 45, re- 
spiration 27 to 20. .11-25 pulse 42. 21-30 48 
and full, 1140 45,11-45 45 respiration 22j 
12 pulse 48 respiration 22, 12-15 48 respiia- 
tion 21. Fchmos of bo;h eyes 12 30 45, 
12 32 60, 12-35 66. I3 40 69, right rpe much 
swollea and echmos. 12 45 70, e2-55 80, and 
j a struggling motion of the arms, 1 o'clock 86 
I respiration 30. 1-30 95 and appearing easier, 
| 1-45 95 very quiet, respiration irregular, Mrs 
! Lincoln present. Seven o'clock symptoms f 
| immediat dissolution' 7 22 death. 

Surrounding the death bed of the president, 

I were Sec ys Stanton, , .Welles, Usher, Att'y 

{ Gen. Speed, Post master general Dennison, 

M B Field. Ass't Sec'y of the Treasury, Judge 

Otto, Ase't Sec'y of the Interior. 

oe'n. Halleck, Gen. Meigs, Senator Sum- 

I ner, R. F. Andrews of New York, Gen. Todc 

j of Decotah, John Hays, private secretary 

i Gov. Oglesby %f Illinois, Gen, Farnsworth, 

I Mrs. and Miss Kenney, Mrs. Harris, Capt 

j Robert Lincoln, son of the President, anc 

Doctors E. W. Abbott, R. K, Stone, B. D 

I Gatch. Neal Hall and Mr. Lieberman, Secre- 

I tary McCulloch remained with the Presiden' 

(until about 5 o'clock and Chief Justice Chast 

/I after • several hours attendance during th< 

night, returned early this morning. 

' ' - j. //' 

Mourning Throughout the Country. 
Dispatches from every part of the Union indi- 
cate that the allocking news of the assassina- 
tion of the president created the most profoud 
indignation and grief J In every city business 
was totally suspended on Saturday, and never 
was mourning so general or more heartfelt. 
We have received a host of dispatches from 
cities and villages all the way from Maine to 
San Francisco, and everywhere the buildings 
were hung with black, the bells were tolled, 
and the flags bung in distress. In several in- 
stances well known secessionists were roughly 
handled 1 J $&$. 




The most exciting week ever known in this 
country is now closed, and we may be said to en- 
ter upon a new era from this time. President 
Lincoln's death took place on the morning of the 
15th, 7h. 48m., Boston rime, wbkh is the same 
ss7h. 22m, Washington time. We held to the 
hope to the last moment that his wound was not 
moital, for we had teen so many Washington des- 
patches turn out the grossest of exaggcmt : OBB, that 
we supposed those tbat appeared on the morning 
cf the 15th might be of the number, but the as- 
sassin had done his wicked woik too thoroughly, 
snd the President was the same as dead from the 
moment that the ball entered hit brain. A m->re 
wicked, foolish ca?e of assassination than this la 
not to be found in Maury, — and history 
is full of acts of assassination, some 
of which the world has agreed to praiie, tyrant- : 
kil.ing and regicide being very laudable pursuits 
in the estimation of many persons. It is to be 
flared that the common way of looking at the 
oct'on of Harrxodins and Aristogiton, Brutus and 
Qasstus, and other immortal tyranckides, has had 
much to do with bringing about that state o' opin- 
kn which has Bade President- killing possible. If 
>c,ung men are constantly told h»w noble k was to 
kiil such men as were considered tyrants by parties 
tr individuals, the da»ger is that they will com* to 
tLe conclusion that it is their daty f kdl pubtio 
n=en whom they lold to be tyrants, j&o ma'.rer how 
free from tyrannical actum the lives of 3uch men 
rooybe. "The tyrant Wnc»hr"k what our de- 
poned President was almost nniversa'Iy called by 
tie secessionists, and copperhead journals in the 
No.th have didly charged him with the destruction 
cf tie Constitution, with duregardkg all human 
lkbts, and, generally, wtth such conduct as 
carried the lives of those Hellenic tyrants, who 
te;d positior.8 to striking in that classic lit- 
erature on which the yourh of mos; Christian 
rations are nursed. Can it be matter of surprise 
tbfteomeof the Southern hot-heads should have 
trooded over these charges against the late Chief 
of the land, until they came to the conclusion^ 
that they wculd immortalize themselves by taking 
that life which was to valuable to us, and which 
had been to ordered as to bring destruction to the 
cause of the rebellion"? Yet there nefer lived a 
n:an who had £ivea less cause to be regarded as a 1 
tyrant thsn President Lincoln. His only fault was 
that he was too kind-hearted, too mild and sweet, 
tempered to deal with a perverse aud rebellious 
generation. Had he bad, in his disposition, the 
least taint of the tyrannical element, he would 
have been alive at this moment, and would have 
lived to place his feet en the oe.-k of all his ene- 
mies, who are bkewise, tbe enemies of the couatry. 
But he had a most rare aversion to the giving of 
pain. There was no gall in his composition. If 
even a chance word disconcerted the person with 
v.hom he was conversing, he was prompt with 
apologies, and sought to restore good feeling. We 
Co not believe his equal ia kindness is to be found 
hktoiically mentioned; and his desire to effect 
the restoration of the rebels wuhcut punishing any 
tfthem-stinds in striking contrast with the <on 
duct of all monarchs who have been assailed 
by powerful rebels. He entertained . no' a 
particle of persial malice toward tbe reba; 
chiefs, though they had abused him in the 
most odious manner. What rentiers his readiness 
to award forgivencs all the moro remarkable Is 
the circumstance that they rebelled wantonly, and 
made of h's constitutional ekction to the Presi- 
dency a pretence for rebellion, though he had giv- 
en them no cau;e for such action, aod never meaut 
to give them any. No, — Abraham Lincoln vas no 
tyrant; he was as much un'ike a tyrant as k id 
b'efcta man. to be; and it was because ha 
Wi8 conscious oiyns ovai ^ood intentions, and of 
b m to o-3rrr4pem oflPfend therefore cotrid 
r.ot fctlre-.-e'Whad personal cdftM oven among 
the worst or" ike reb -.'s, that he^rW! in the noon of 
fcr's cerce% i I Qftsoent whence bad every 

rci'f-on for fupjHirg that his great object was, 
about to bfieuhzCd, atfd that he should e'sso his 
life in peace, the beloved chief-magistrate of" 
a a hard, belflsU man, 

>e thoughtful of himself, 

a^u we rever should ha»e been forced to add hi< 
I rulers who Lave fal'eu bytho 



Washington, April 20, 1865. 

THE FOTnBRAL DAT OF LINCOLN. 

Yesterday was the most solemn day Washington 
ever saw. I have seen and conversed with many cit- \ 
izens who were here and witnessed the funeral of 
Harrison, Tyler, Clay, and Calhoun, and they say 
that there was never anything like the solemnity of 
feelieg and the depth of sorrow felt here yesterday in 
all circles. It has been like a personal sorrow. Hun- 
dreds of families bavo mourned as if they had lost 
ore of tbeirown number. The sorrow has been (and 
still is) all absorbing and bordering on frenzy. Dar- • 
iDg the funeral services yt sterday rugged men— men ■ 
ol iron mould and temperament — wept like children. 

BUSINESS AT THE CAPITAL. 

To-day thousands of people who were unable on 
Honday to see the remains of the late President have 
crowded to the rotunda of the Capitol where they 
rest. Since l88t Frid«y no business has been publicly 
transacted in this city. The shutters of business plac- 
es have been constantly up, aad though to-day there 
is a general resumption of business, yet a dreadful 
elocm rest* upon the city and upon the face of almost 

President Lincola's funeral took .place on WecF 
nrsuay last, April 19th , bsing the fourth anniver- 
sary of the attack made on t'ne forces o F tae Uni- 
ted States at BaUimere, iu 1861, —an attack; be it 
faio in passing, mace in the fame spirit that led 
Booth to murder our patiiotic President,— the 
ninetieth anniversary of the battle of Lexington, 
wi ich was the beginning of the American Rcvo- 
raiionar? War ; and the 176th anniversary of the 
overthrow of the Stuart government in Massa- 
chusetts. It is a memorable day in American an- 
nals, srd so it evermsst be Mr. Lincom is to be 
burled at Sprirgfield. in the soil of that State 
whicb £s:yc him to the natien, end which he loved 
bo wed. Not one of onr Presidents, we believe, 
hps found at Washington the place of his last and 
long repose. That town is so associated with the 
idea of trouble, turbulence., and turmoil, that it is 
impossible to think of it in connection with " the 
GieatPrkcipleof Rest." Washington sleeps at 
Mount Vernon, John Adams at Quincy, Jefferson 
at Mcnticello, Madison" at Montpelier, Monroe at 
Richmond, John Quincy Adams at Quincy, Jackson 
at the Hermitage, Van Buren at Kinderhook, Har- 
en the banks of the Ohio, Tyler at Richmond, 
Polk at Nashville, and Taylor in Louisiana. The 
late President is deeply and sincerely mourned, 
and the natioral loss i3 great, but the gain to him 
is greater. Few men have been b3tter prepared 
for the great audit than he was. He was full of 
ebcrity for all men, and sought to promote peace 
on .earth, and was at the very time he died deeply 
end anxiously engaged in plans having for their 
sole end the restora.ion of the lebels to their old 
position as citizens. Man never so nearly ap- 
proaches to the Deity as when he is engaged in 
works of generosity and mercy, and Mr. Lincoln's 
jvLole soul, his whole mind, his whole heart, 
weie bent upon the inauguration of a gen- 
erous and merciful poiicy toward the yery 
men who had behaved most ungene-ously 
end unmercifully toward bim, and com- 
peted him, wha^t he mo3t disliked, to shed 
blocd and to take life. We may doubt whether he 
was altogether right in allowing himself to ba so 
very sfongly borne in the direction of generosity 
and mercy ; but assuredly the fact that he did so 
m the side of extrem? kindness is evidence 
that he was fit to die. As the funercd cloud* set- 
tied down upon him, and the tread of the coming 
assa r sin may have fallen on his ear, he was think- 
ing only hew he could best do good to his ene- 
mies, ttc best proof of Christian excellence that 
man can give, and which id, we fear, sel lorn af- 
forded even by very good Christians. Thus he 
may be said to have fallen ripely, in the autumn 
cf life, and net untimely. We think, too, that he 
died in rood time fur his comfort and hi* fame. It 
is useless to deny that many of the most zealous 
of his friends looked with strong aversion on the 
mild course which he had resolved to pursue; and 
as he was determined to carry out hi? ideas, — for 
his strergth was irresistibly great,— it is altogether 
P'O' i " would have lost half the sup- 

portcrp le had, and have become the object of 
um ninny who now mourn 
his dent!', and whdJhaU cv<.'<*ptn him in affection- 
agtjk ? s a great and gjol man, who 
6 wonderful things for his country and 
for the wolfc. We may assume that his waik w<is 
done, »nd that his turn had come to rest. What is 
yet to be doEe probably requires a sterner man to 

do it, in order that the good which he did may not 

be lost 



_ 



At 10 mmutes past 12 o'cloek, amidst profound 

silence, the Rev. Dr. Gurley approached the head 

of the catafalque and announced the order of the 

religious exercises, when Dr. Hall, Episcopalian, 

read the sublime and touching Episcopal bnrial 

aervices, commencing with the word*, " I am the 

resurrection and the life," and enoimg with " So 

teach us to number our days that we may apply 

our hearts unto wisdom." He followed this with a 

subdued and reverent reading of the last half of 

chapter 15 of 1st Corinthians, the words of St. 

tajiL. . „ 

Bishop Simpson's Prayer. 

The prayer by Bishop Simpson, of the Method- 
ist Episcopal Church, was extremely solemn and 
affecting. In the course of it he said : 

In the hands of God were the issues of life 
and death,— our sins had called for His wrath to 
descend upon us as individuals and as a communi- 
ty —for the sake of our blessed Redeemer, forgiv- 
ne'ss was asked for all our transgressions and that 
all our iniquities might be washed away. While 
we bow under this sad bereavement, which caused 
wide-spread gloom not only in this circle, but over 

1 the entire land, an invocation was made that all 
might submit to God's holy will. 

Thanks were returned ior the gift of such a 
man as our Heavenly Father had ju3t taken from 
us, and for the many virtues which distinguished 

J all his transactions, for integrity, honesty, and 
transparency of character bestowed upon him, 
and for having given him counsellors to guide our 

ft nation through periods of unprecedented sorrow. 
He was permitted to live to bfchold the breaking 
, of the clouds which overhung our national sky 
and disintegration -of the rebellion. Going up 
the mouEt he beheld the land of promise with its 
beauiy ecd happip.ess and the gloriotis destiny 
reserved for us as a nation. 

Thanks were abo returned that his ara was 
strengthened and wisdom and firmness given his 
heart to pen a declaration of emancipation, by 
which were broken chains of millions of the hu- 
man race. God be thanked that the assassin who 
struck down the Chief Magistrate haa ritu'£ ^and 
to aeain bind the suffering and oppressed, ine 
name of tie beloved dead would forever be idasti- 
fied with all that is great and glorious with hu- 
manity on earth. God grant that all who stand 
here intrusted with .the administration of public 
affairs may have power, strength and wisdom to 
complete the work His servant had so gloriously 
begun, and may the successor of the deceased 
President not bear the»sword in vain. God giant 
that strength may be given him and our military 
to perfect the victory and to complete the contest 
now nearly closed. "May the spirit of the reoel- 
lion soon pass away." 

M&y the last vestige of slavery which caused the 
rebellion, be driven f:om the laud. G id grant that 
the sun may shine on a free people from the At- _ 
lantic to the Pacific, and from the L»kes to the 
Gulf. May He not only safely lead us through our 
present struggle, but give us peace with all na- 
tions of the earth— give us hearts to deal justly 

i with them, and give them heart3 to deal justly 

¥ wit* us — so that universal peace may reurn on 
eaita. We raise our heans to thee, to pkad tha- 
tfcy b'essijjg may descend on the family of toe de 
ceased. Gcd bless the weepiag widow as in her 
bioken-heartedness she bow.* u ader the sad stroko, 
moro than she can tear. Encircle her m thine 
iron arms. Gnd, be giacious with the children 
left behind him. Endow his sons with wisdom \/ 
from on high, endow them with ereat usefulness. KN 



d,r, liberty and gosd covertmieat and nnr* -xmi i 
undented religion. Though weeping may endure 
for anight, joy ccmeth in the morning. Thank 
God that in spite of this temporary darkness the 
morning has begun to dawn; the morning of a 
brighter day than our country has ever bofor* 
seen. 

That day will come, and the death of an hun- 
dred Presidents and Cabinets cannot prevent it. 
The people confided in the late lamented President 
with firm and loving confidence, which no other 
man has enjoyed since the days of Washington. 
He deserved it well aisd deserved it all; he merited 
it by his character, by his acts, and by the whole 
tenor and tone and spirit of his life. Ha was wise, 
simple, sincere, plain and .honest, truthful and 
most benevolent and kind. His perceptions were 
quick aad clear, his judgment calm and accurate, 
and his purposes were good and pure beyoqd a 
question— always ard everywhere he aimed and 
endeavored to be right and do right; his integrity 
was all-pervading; aU-centroliing and incorrapt'- 
ble. He gave his personal consideration to all 
matters, whether great or small. 

Hrw firmly and well he occupied his post, and 
met its grave demands in seasons of trial and diffi- 
culty, is know to you all, to the country, and to 
the t*forld. He comprehended all the enormity of 
treason, and rose to the full dignity of the occa- 
sion. He saw his duty as the Chief Magistrate ot 
o . great and imperilled people, and he determined 
to do his dnty, and his whole duty, seeking the 
guidance and leaning upon the arm of Him of 
whom it is written, " He giveth power to the 
faint, and to them that have no might be increase th 
strength." Yes, he leaned upon His arm ; he 
recognized and .received the truth that the king- 
dom is the Lord'», and He ia the governor among 
the nations. He remembered that God is in his- 
tory, and ihe felt that nowhere had His hand and 
His mercy been so marvellously conspicuous as in 
the history of this nation. He hoped and he 
prayed that that same hand would continue to 
guide us, and that same mercy continue to 
abound to us in the time of our greatest need. 

I speak whpt I know, and testify what I have 
often heard him say, when I affirm that God's 
mercy and guidance were the prop on which he 
humbly and habitually leaned; that they were the 
best hope he had for himself and for his country. 

Hence, when he was leaving his home in Illinois 
and coming to this city to take his seat in the Ex- 
ecutive chair of a disturbed and troubled nation, 
he said to good and tried friends, who gathered 
tearfully around him and bade him farewell — " I 
leave you with this request — pray for me." They 
did pray for him, and millions of others prayed for 
him; nor did they pray in vain. Their prayer was 
heard, and the answer appears m all his subsequent 
history. It shines forth with Heavenly radiance. 
In the whole course and tenor of his administration 
from its commencement to the close. God raised 
him up for the crreat'and glorious mission, farnish- 
ed him for His work and aided him in its accom- 
plishment. Nor was it merely with strength of 
mind, and honesty of heart, and purity and perti- 
nacity of purpose that He furnished him. In addi- 
tion to these things He gave him calm and abiding 
confidence in an overruling Providence of God and 
in the ultimate triumph of truth and righteousness 
through the power and blessing of God. 

This confidence strengthened him in all his hours 

of anxiety and toils ; inspired him with calm and 

cheering hope, when others were inclining to des- 

_ pondency and gloom. Never shall I forget toe 

~] emphasis and deeo emotion in which he said in 

May they appropriate tlw patriots oxanM« and \i thisverv room to a comnanv of clerovmen and 

the virtues of tLeir father and walk in his foot- /(, th 



.of dm- V 

remains " 



ate rcmembr.injj 
had wrought ' 



steps. 

We pray Thee to make the assassination 
sonal profit to our hearts. While by tha re 
of the deceased, whom we had called a friend, do 
Thou ^rant us grace »nd repentance of our sins, 
so that, at the end of life, wo may by gathered 
where assassins are not known, where sorrow and 
sickness never come, but all gather in peace and 
love around the Faihei's throne and glo* y. 

We pray Thee that our republic ni&yb-j maie 
stronger for tk.s blow; while hero wc pledge our- 
selves to set our faces as fLat agaiust every form 
of oppression which mar rise up for its destruc- 
tion, io tha r . we and our children may eujoy tho 
blessed advantaee.s of a gore rumeHt deliver .d to 
us from our fathers. Ho concluded by repeating va 
the Lord's Prayer. yP 

Rev. Dr. Gurley delivered the funeral address, 
standing on the steps, near the head of tho open *'}A 
ceffln. It ocecpied about three-qusrters of au 
hour inydelivi ry . He commenced by saying : 

We recognize and adore tha sovereignty of Al- 
mighty God. His throno is Heaven and His king- 
dom rulcth over all. It w.is a cruel hand, tae dark 
hand of an assassin, that smote the hoaoru I, w so 
8nd noble President, and ftllrti the laud with mourn- 
ing. But above this hand there is asotbor which 
we must see and acknowledge. It is t!ic chasten- 
«ngbar.d of a wise, and f.ut!>f«l God. WeyM-lto 
His b<h<'8 f 8 and drink the draught. This chastise- 
ment comes in away heavy uni mysteriously deep, 

Our afflictiem haa not come fort'i from dust nor 
from ground. Beyond the act of the assassination 
Jet us look to God, whose prerogative is to bring 
light out of darkness an3 good out of evil. 
He, who has led us to well and prospered us so 



wonclei fully during the last four years of anxiety 
His place. in history is made«ecuroVand I and cot ilict, will not furs. Le us now. He may 
. e ?i. " u ' '" ' lo,Utt , . u " ' uu I chasten, bnt will not destroy. He may purify us 
the bullet of tr>e assassin, cruelly and wickedly as [_ m a lm ' mC e, but will not comnrrtb us. Let our 
it was directed against the life of an exalted and ; principal anxiety now be that this new sorrow 
most excellent man, probably prevented his crown • nay be a sanctified eorrow, and induce us to give 
of triumph from being converted into a crown of i p 1 ! ^e tnve to the ca-ss of truth, justice, law, or- 



others, who called to pay him their respects in the 
darkest days of our civil conflict: "Gentlemen, my 
hope of success in this great and terrible struggle 
rests on that immutable foundation, the justice 
and goodness of God, and when events are now 
threatening, and prospects very dark, I still hope 
that in some way which man cannot see, all will be 
well in the end, because our cause is just and God 
is on our side. ___^ 

He was permitted, before he departed, to see the 
great triumph. The assassins meant to strike the 
dastardly blow before the 4th of March. But God 
kept him for that joyful hour when his feet trod 
the streets of the conquered rebel capital. He did 
not die as did the old prophets, and see no sign. 
He beheld the fruition of his labors, the fulfilment 
of his hopes, the end of doubt and anxiety. Per- 
haps he did say, in his heart, like the aged Sim- 
eon, "Lord, now lettest thon thy servant depart in 
peace, for mine eves have seen thy salvation." 

His work was done. God giveth every man his 
task. All that was committed to bim to do he 
finished well. God is not limited by the number 
of his age&ts. God's cause is not dependent on a 
human life. It is invisible, invulnerable, pervading 
the air, expressed in inscrutable providences. It is 
too deep, too high for humanhand to strike. God 
did not lead Israel through thejRedSea to leave them 
to perish in the dtsert. In that God is our trust. 

God be praised that our fallen chief lived long 
enough to sec day dawn and tho da/ star of p ace 
ariee upon the nation. He saw it and was glad. 
Alas! AlasI He only saw the dawn. Wncn the 
sub had risen 'full and glorious, and a happy and 
re-united re- plo arc enjoying its light, it will 
shine upon bis that grave will bs a 

precious and couShcrA'ed spot Th8 friands of lib- 
eity aud of the Knion will repair to it in years and 
ages to to IM o j.ronounce too mpm.fr/ of its oc- 
< upt nt bussed, and ga . m his very ashos, 

i nd fVv rn tnl rehearsal of bis deeds and virtues, 
; otism, th^y will there w 
Lfcwtheli vows of fidelity to .their country aud 
i i.. 'i <; d 



President Lincoln's Farewell Speech. — 
fhe remains of President Lincoln are to be 
some to his home in Springfield, 111. The 
words of farewell which he spoke on leaving 
liis home on the 11th of February, 1861, will 
be read with interest now : 

My Friends : No one not in my posi- 
tion can appreciate the sadness I fed at this 
parting. To this people I owe all that I am. 
Here I have lived more than a quarter of a 
century; here my children were born, and 
here one of them lies buried. I know not 
how soon 1 shall see you again. A duty de- 
volves upon me which is, perhaps, greater 
than that which has devolved upon any other 
man since the days of Washington. He never , 
would have succeeded except for the aid of 
Divine Providence, upon which he at all times 
relied. I feel that 1 cannot cucceed without ' 
the same Divine aid which sustained him, and 
on the same Almighty Beim; I place my reli- 
ance for support ; and I hope you, my friends, 
will ail pray that I may receive that Divine 
assistance, without which I cannot succeed, 
but with which, success is certain. A"ain I 
bid you all an affectionate farewell. 



It is related as a circumstance made remark- 
able by what has since occurred, that duiing 
the late trip of President Lincoln to City 
Point, he relieved his mind of wearying cares 
by reading Shak.-peare, and that he read sev- 
eral times over and impressively to his com- 
panions this mournful apostrophe of Macbeth 
over the being he had murdered : 
"Duncan is in his grave; 
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ; 
Treason has done its worst; nor steel, 

Nor poison, 
Malice domestic of toreign levy, nothing. 
Can touch hiiu further." 

Mr. Lincoln and the Flag. — On the 22d 
of February, 1861, Mr. Lincoln was in Phila- 
delphia, on his way to Washington. He ac- 
cepted an invitation to raise the national flag 
over Independence Hall. In a brief address 
he alluded to "that sentiment in the Declara- 
tion of Independence, which gave liberty, not 
only to the peopU of this country, but hope to 
the world for all future time." He then said : 

"Now, my friends, can this country be 
saved on that ba.-.is ? If it can, I will consider 
myself one of the happiest tnen in the world, 
if I can help save it. If it cannot be saved 
on that basis it will be truly awful. But if 
this country cannot be saved without giving 
up that principle. / tooitld rather be assassina- 
ted on this spot than surrender it!" 



The Body to go to Illinois. 

Washington, April 18.— The programme for 
transportation of President Lincoln's remains from 
Washington has been issued. The railroads over 
which the remains will pass are declared military 
roads, subject to the order of the War Department, 
and railroads, locomotives, cars and engines 
engaged on said transportation will be subject 
to the military control of Brig. General McUul- 
lam. No person will be allowed to be transported 
on the cars constituting the funeral train, save 
those v;ho are specially authorized by the orders of 
the War Department. The funeral train will not 
exceed nine cars, including the baggage and hearse 
cars, which will proceed over the wnoie route from 
Washington to Springfield. 

Gov. John Brongh of Ohio and John W. Garrett, 
Esq., upon the request of the War Department, 
' consented t® act as a committee to make arrange- 
ments for the transportation of the remains. They 
will arrange time-tables with the respective railroad 
companies, and regulate all things for safe and ap- 
propriate transportation. 

The remains will leave Washington at 8 A. M. of 
Friday, 21st; will arrive at Baltimore at 10; leave 
Baltimore at 3 P.M. ; arrive ut Hanisbnrg at 8.30 
P.M. : leave Harrisburg 12 M., 22d; arrive at Phil- 
adelphia at 6.30 P. M. ; leave Philadelphia at 4 A. 
M., 24th; arj-ive at New York at 10; leave New 
York 4 P.M., 25th; arrive at Albany 11P.M.; 
leave Albany 4 P. M., 26th; arrive at Buffalo 7 A. 
M., 27th; leave Buffalo at 10 minutes past 10 same 
day; arrive at Cleveland at 7A. M, 28th; leave 
Cleveland at miJnight same dav; arrive at Colum- 
bus at 7 A. M., 29th; leave Columbus 8 P. M. same 
day; arrive at Indianapolis 7 A.M., 30th; leave 
Indianapolis at midnight same day ; arrive at Chi- 
cago at 11 A. M., May 1st; leave Chicago 9.30 P. 
M„ 2d; arrive at Springfield at 8 A. M., 3d. 



The month of April, 1865, strikes a thander peal 
on the bell of time. The month of April, 1865, 
with its stupendous results, is immortal. 

In this bright month of April, Victory comes to 
us, and rests her crimson arms; Nationality moves 
sublimely foiward, with resistless march; Liberty 
flings her eagle standard to ihe breeze, unstained 
by slavery and nnhnmiliated by defeat. Yicfcory, 
Union, and Liberty, nestle together in the folds of 
that glorious Flag, and together mourn for the 
mighty dead. And well they may. American 
nationality, victory over rebellion, immortal lib- 
erty, have reason to weep tears of ineffable sorrow 
over the grave of their departed friend. 

GraEdest, grandest, among the grand old names 
of history, shall stand the name of Abraham Lin- 
coln, forever I 

1 1 ■TiH i -aiwiii., mim mi'WMmmwr m 



Settlement of the Estats of the Late 
Abraham Lincoln.— Hon. David Davis, ad- 
ministrator of the estate of the late President 
Lincoln, made a final settlement of the estate 
with Hon. William Prescott, Judge of the coun- 
ty court of Sangamon county, on Wednesday 
last. After paying all debts and expenses, there 
remains to be dittoed among the heirs the sum 
of $110,290.80. Of this amount Mrs. Lincoln re- 
ceives $36,765.30, Robert T. Lincoln and Thomas 
Lincoln each the same amount. It is a remark- 
able fact tlmt the total amount of Mr. Lincoln's 
indebtedness, at the time of his death as per 
schedule filled in the county clerk's office was 
only $38.81. Since the death of the President 
Mrs. Lincoln has received from the estate $4 - 
085.51 Kobert Lincoln $7,269.15, and Thomas 
Lincoln $1,586.54. We learn that Judge Davis 
who was a warm personal friend of the lamented 
President, made no ebanres for his services in 
the settlement of the estate.— Springfield (III.) 
Journal, Nov. 15. 



THE YOUNG P0STMASTEE. 

Abraham Lincoln was once postmaster in 
! the small village of New. Salem, "out West." 
He then went to Springfield to study law, and 
for years had hard work to earn his bread and 
butter. Fighting with poverty is a hard fight. 
One day a post-office agent came round to col- 
lect a balance due the Washington office from 
the New Salem office. The bill was $17.60. 
Dr. Henry, a friend of "poor Abe," happened 
to fall in with the agent, and was as sure as 
couid be that he had nothing in his pockets to 
pay it with'. He went, therefore, to the office, 
in order to lend him the money, or offer to 
lend it. 

When the agent presented the draft, Lin- 
coln asked the man to sit down, and sat down 
himself, with a very puzzled look upon his face. 
He then stepped out, went, over to his board- 
ing house, and came back with an old stocking 
under his arm. This he untied, and poure 
°ut upon the table a quantity of .small silver 
coin and "red cents." These they counted, 
exactly $17.60, —just the amount called for; 
and, moreover, it was the very money called 
for, for on leaving the office, the young post- 
master tied up the money, and had kept it by 
him, awaiting the legal call to give it up. 

On paying it over, "I never use," he said 
"even for a time, any money that is not mine! 
This money, I knew, belonged to the govern- 
ment, and I had no right to exchange or use it 
for any purpose of my own." 

That is the right and true ground to take. 



Abraham Lincoln's origin was humble enough to 
please the most ardent admirer of "self-made men." 
Born of a rough backwoodsman— of a family looked 
dawn upon by the elite of even such a settlement as 
that in which they lived ; obtaining a scanty education ; 
passing his earlier years in a cabin without flooring, or 
doors, or windows ; in his young manhood a flat boatman 
on the Mississippi; it is one of the high honors of our 
system of government that such a man, of such parent- 
age and education, could be placed in the highest oflice, 
and trusted to guide a great nation through the most 
imminent and deadly perils. j ' " " 



Our President. 

1804. 

Abraham Lincoln knows the ropes ! 
All our hopes 

Centre now about the brave and true. 
Let us help him as we can. 
He 8 the man, 

Honest for the country through and through. 

Others good, perhaps, as he 
There may be; 

Have we tried them in the war-time's flame? 
iDo we know if they will stand, 
Heart in hand, 

Seeking for the right in Heaven's name? 

}>f, the nation ask him, then, 
Once again 

i'o uoiu ihe rudder in this stormy sea. 
fell him that each sleepless night. 
Dark to light, 

Ushers iu a morning for the Free. 

Let us not forget our rude 
Gratitude 1 

But lend our servant the poor crown we may! 
Give him four more years of toil 
Task and moil, 

Knowing God shall crown him in His day! 



President Lincoln's reply to the petition of two 
Aundred and nfty young people of Concord, 
Massachusetts, under eighteen years of age. for 
the freedom of all slave children is as follows: 

led those little people that I am very glai their 
young hearts are so full of just and generous sym- 
pathy, and that while I have not the power to 
grant all they ask, I trust that they will remem- - 
ber that God has, and that, as it seems, He wills — 
to *> »*• A. LiHgouT. _ . 



tmm\ 



.y/s. eU 









c*c 7^f^t/Zt,cA A ^• 




The though:, tb*t being P.<e.?ideat of the Unit- 
ed Siatfcs he was b<vtnr than orticr man, seems 
never to have eriUsnd his mind, for he treated ev- 
ery loyal and rt-vec able min. without reference 
to his wealth and social stanaiug, with the consid- 
eration due an equal 

In like maimer Mr. Lincoln was but Ihe gentle, 
patient, persevering agent of Providence for the 
great task of emancipation, and through executive 
moderation combined with a linn purp6se prevent- 
ed a too precipitate adoption of the act of ireedom. 
lie was a man of prayer who searched the word of 
God lor light, His official acts were more than 
those of any President since Washington, pecu- 
liarly his own, and compelled at last the admira- 
tioh of foreign governments and the respect of his 
opponeuts at home. 

lie believed in God. YouTinow how he lelt bis 
home lor Washington in Febiuary, '61, in his part- 
. ing words requesting that his neighbors would ar- 
' ray iu his support the mysterious power of the le* 
* gions of prayer'; and alter he had assumed his high 
trust at the Capital he cultivated that religious life 
which is the Dest guaranty of a nation's triumph. 
Wi-ile war, according to its prescriptive laws, open- 
ed all the avenues ol inconsideratioii and levity to 
others, he drew his consolations and refreshed his 
courage at the never-lailing fountains ol Divine 
mercy. .It. was this, added to his humorous and 
sunny views, which bore him upward and onward 
through such a regime of four years as never had 
been allotted to a head that wore a crown. And 
therefore all the people believed in him. More dis- 
tinctly than any other President since Washington 

Proclamation of Emancipation. 

A5 ACJIOSTIC. 

All hail to the birth of the new year decree; 
Break forth into triumph, Columbia is free! 
King out the glad peau from shore unto shore, 
And say unto the nations, her bondage is o'er. 
High aloft our own eagle shall echo the strain, 
As it swells over mountain and sweeps over plain, , 
'•Mlrck onward, Columbia, ihe iiydba is slain !'■' 

Lo, a sun has arisen that nevershall set; 

In its light let us learn our grief to forget. 

Not the grim cloud of conflict, though heavy and 

dun, 
Can cciipsc the bright beams of that gorgeous sun. 
Oil, on may it sweep through the brightening skies, 
Lighting every dark home of the slave as it Uie3, 
Nor sink from the sight till a greater arise. 

But let us remember-the sage that arose, 
Like the Orient star, through the night of our woes. 
Endowed with the'power of Washington's God, 
See, he walks the true pathway that patriot trod; 
See; he strikes with his word for the millions that 
weep 

ed in the dungeons of slavery deep; 
Sweeping tierce, on the foe with the hurricane's 

eep. 
More millions shall blets thee, thou patriot sage, 
As they learn of thy doings from history's page. 
Not alone shall Columbia publish thy worth. 
Kindred nations will tell it o'er all the broad earth 
in a chorus of joy they will echo thy name, 
(Now lighting the world like a mystical flame.) 
Down the valley of time on the highway of lame. 
20th Keg't N. J. Vol. John W. Spbar. 



SATURDAY, APRIL 15, 1865. 



[dent had been sitting, also on the partition 
[and on the floor. A common single-bar- 
reled pocket pistol was found on the carpet 
A military guard was placed in front of the 

DETAILS OF 1HE DREADFUL TRAGEDY.R private residence l0 which the Pre8ident had 

jbeen conveyed. An Immense crowd was in 



Washikoton, Friday, April 14, 
11:15 P. M. 






A stroke from Heaven laying the whole of 

(he city in instant ruin* could not have 

I 
startled us as did the wor.d that broke from 

I 



.front of it, all deeply anxious to learn the con- 
dition of the President. It had been previous- 
ly announced that the wound was mortal ; 
, but all hoped otherwise. The shock to the 
[community was terribie. 

The President was in a state of syncope, 



President had been shot, "^i^fli w everv<*-:,ereT |*otaIly insensible, and breathing slowly. The 
in five minutes, and set five thousand people i gblood oozed Irom the wound at the back of 
in swift and excited motion on the instant. I II ni8 hp * d - The surgeons exhausted every 



It is impossible to get at the full facts of 
the case, but it appears that a young man 
entered the Presid(nt's box from the theatre, 
during the last act of the plav of "Our Amer-I 
ican Cousin," with pistol in hand. He shot 
he President in the head and instantly jumped 
from the box upon the stage, and immediately 
disappeared through the side scenes and 
rear of the theatre, brandishing a dirk knife, 
and dropping a kid glove on the stage. 

The audience heard the shot, but supposing 
it fired in the regular course of the play, did 
not heed it till Mrs. Lincoln's screams drew^ 
their attention. The whole affair occupied 
scarcely half a minute, arid then the as 
sassin was gone. As yet he has not been 
found. 

The President's wound is reported mortal. 
He was at once taken into the house oppo 
site the theatre. 

As if this horror was not enough, almost 
the same moment the story ran through the 
city that Mr. Skwabd had been murdered in 
his bed. 

Inquiry showed this to be so far true also. 
It appears a man wearing a light coat, dark 
pants, slouch hat, called and asked to see 
Mr. Seward, and was shown to his 
room. He delivered to Major Seward, 
who sat near his father, what pur 
ported to be a physician's prescription, 
turned, and with one stroke cut Mt-Skward's 
throat as he lay on his bed, inflicting a horri 
hie wound, but not severing the jugular vein, 
and not producing a mortal wound. 

In the struggle (hat followed, Major Seward 
was also badly, but not eeriously, wounded in 
several places. The assassin rushed down 
stairs, mounted (he fleet horse on which he 
came, drove his spurs into him, and dashed 
away before any one could stop him. 



effort of medical skill, but all hope was gone 
|The parting of his family with the dying 
^President is too sad for description. 

At midn'ght, the Cabinet, with Messrs. 
Sumner, Colfax and Farnsworth, Judge Cur- 
tis, Gov. Oolesby, Gen. Meigs, Col. Hat, 
and a lew personal friend?, with Surgeon 
General Barnes and his immediate assistants, 
were around his bedside. 

The President and Mrs. Lincoln did not 
start for the theatre Until fifteen minutes after 
eight o'clock. Speaker Colfax was at the 
White House at the time, and the President 
stated to him that he was going, 
although Mrs. Lincoln had not been well, be 
cause the papers had announced that Gen 
^Grant and they were to be present, and, as 
Gen. Grant had gone North, he did not vti&h 
the audience to be disappointed. 

He went with apparent reluctance and urged 
Mr. Colfax to go with him ; but that gentle- 
man had made other engagements, and with 
Mr. Ashman, of Massachusetts, bid him good 
bye. 

^._ y 

8AIUBDAT MORHIKO -1 O'CLOCK 

The person who shot the President is rep- 
resented as about 80 years of age, five feet 
nine inches in height, sparely built, of light 
complexion, dressed in dark clothing, and 
having ft genteel appearance. He en 
tered the box, which is known as the State 
box, beiag the upper box on the right 
hand side from the dress-circle in the regular 
manner, and shot the President from behind. 
the ball entering the skull about in the middle,! 
behind, and going in the direction of the lefi 
eye ; it did not pass through, but apparently 
broke the frontal bone and forced out the 
brain to some extent. The President is 
not yet dead, but is wholly insensible, and 



Reports have prevailed that an atteraptfi the Surgeon-General says he cannot livel 

till day-break. The assassin was followed] 
across the stage by a gentleman, who sprang] 
out from an orchestra chair. He rushed! 
through the side door into an alley, thencel 
to the avenue and mounted a dark bay horse,) 
which he apparently received from the hand! 






was also made on the life of Mr. Stanton, 

There was a rush toward the President's 
box, when cries were heard : " Stand back 
and give him air." " Has any one stimulants." 
On a hasty examination, it was found that the 
President had been shot through the head, 
above and back of the temporal bone, and that 
some of the brain was oozing out. He was 
removed to a private house opposite to the 
theatre, and the Surgeon-General of the army, 
and other surgeons sent for to attend to his 
condition. 

On an examination of the private box 
blood was discovered on the back of the 
cushioned rocking chair on which the Presi 



of an accomplice.daehed up F.toward the back! 
part of the city. The escape was so sudden] 
that he effectually eluded pursuit. The as-l 
sassin cried " sic sempre" in a sharp, clear] 
voice, as he jumped to the stage, and dropped] 
his hat and a glove. 



} WASHisaroH, April 15—2:12 A. M. 

The President is still alive ; but he is grow- 
ing weaker. The ball is lodged in his brain, 1 
three inches from where it entered the skull 

\ Death of the President. " 

Washington, April 15, 1-1 o'clock. — The 
Star extra, says at twenty minutes past seven 
o'clock the president breathed his last closing 
his eyes as of falling to sleep, and his coun- 
tenance assuming an expression of perfect se- 
renity. There were no indicaiions of pain, 
and it was not known that he was dead until 
the gradually decreasing respiration ceased al- 
together. Rev. Dr, Gurley immediately on 
ite being ascertained that life was extinct, 
knelt at th> bedside and offtred an impressive 

Draver which was responded to by all present. 
Dr. Uurley then proceeaea to tne'ironc punor 

where Mrs Lincoln, (Japt. Robert Lincoln, 
Ers- John Hay, the private secretary and ot- 
hers were waiting, where he again offered a 
prayer for the consolation of the family. 



Abraham Lincoln! upholder and de- 
lenoer ot the Union, purifier of the Constitution, 
friend and emancipator of the oppressed, the peo- 
ple's choice and champion; leafless amid dangers, 
s:eadfast in uncertainties, uneorrumed by tampia- 
tion, faithful in triil asm triumph, faithful fr^ti 
the beeinnine: to the end, faithful in life, faithful 
even unto death! the no'okst patriot, the ptrest 
politician, the grandest, man, the greatest bene- 
factor, the most glorious martyr of the age. 
How fidy says the poet Bryant — 

Ob, slow to smite and swift to "pars, 

Gentle, ai>d mercifu! aid juBtl 
"Who, in the tear of God, Ui-ist bear 

The sword of power, a nation's trus.t. 

In sorrow by thy bier we stand, 

Amid t v e awe tnat hushes all, 
And t-pi-uk the anguish of a land 

That shook with horror at thy fall. 

Thy task is dore ; the bond are free ; 

We bear thee to an honored grave, 
"Whose noblest n>onument »hi)l be 

The broken f&iters of the slave. , 

Pore was thy life; Its Woody close 
Hath placed thee with the sons of light, 

Am»»e the noble host of those 
Who perished in the cause of right! 



re- 



The London Spectator closes a long r< 
view of Dr. Draper's "History of the Civ- 
il War in America, 1 ' with the following ' 
reference to President Lincoln and his co- 
adjutors: — 

The figure and character of Lincoln, the culti- 
vated Western man, so simple, strong and thor- 
ough, is one of those which will not readily pass 
away from the memories of men. It stands be- 
side the courtly Washington; for if the latter 
founded, Lincoln saved, the republic, and, more 
than any other man, made it a nation. In say- 
ing this we do not overlook the services of his 
civil coadjutors, some of whom— Stanton, for ex- 
ample—have not had justice done them in Eu- 
rope ; nor do we forget the labors of Grant, Sher- 
man and Sheridan, or of Farragut and Porter, 
whose high qualities were illustrated during ev- 
ery phase of the war. But the most original and 
perhaps the loftiest character brought to light by 
the conflict was that of the steadfast President, 
who died so tragically just as victory was won, 
and as the peace he sighed for dawned upon the 
troubled land. 

Ai-.i:.\iiA\: Lincoln used to say the l> - 
he ever r» ad of himself was this: Two Quaker* 
esse* were travelling on the railroad, an 
heard discuasiuc the probable teriniuation of the 
war; "1 think," said the first, "that Jcfferso* 
will succeed." "Why doeti thee think so' 
jisked the other. "Because Jefferson is a pray- 
ing roan," "Ami so is Abraham a praying 
liiiin." objected the second. "Yes; but the f»»ra 
»rill Ihink Abraham ta joking," tln> ii^' replied, 
Mwly. 



< — «» > 



The Stuarts and Stewart. 

The New-York correspondent of the Richmond 
Enquirer makes the subjoined statement respecting 
the members of one of the largest commercial firms 
in New- York, namely, Robert L. and Alexander 
Stuart : — 

"Their father and mother emigrated from Scot- 
land many years since, in poor circumstances, but 
with the sterling Scotch habits of industry, econ- 
omy and integrity. The twain commenced the 
manufacture of sugar candy, the husband ped- 
dling it about the streets. By close economy and 
unremitting toil, their circumstances soon im- 
proved, so far as to enable them to take a store 
and to extend their business. The boys were 
brought up in habits of industry and proper fam- 
ily discipline, having the principles of honesty 
and moral obligations instilled into them. As 
they grew up, they were enabled to help their pa- 
rents in the business. At the death of their fath- 
er, the whole business, which had grown from a 
candy shop into a considerable sugar refinery, was 
conducted exclusively on the cash system. Stu- 
art's candies became celebrated as the best in the 
country. 

"Under the management of the sons, the sugar 
refinery has become the largest in the United 
States, if not in the world. The house has given 
up the manufacture of candies to some old em- 
ployees, who carry it on at another place. The 
wealth of the firm is estimated at not less than 
$8,000,000. Alexander is the out-door and man- 
aging man. Their care and economy in the man- 
agement of their business is as great now as it was 
when the business was in its infancy. In opening 
boxes of Havana sugars, every strip and piece of 
raw hide is carefully preserved to be sold to the 
glue-makers. The nails and boards are also saved, 
to be used over again, and nothing that can be 
turned to account is wasted. Robert attends to 
the in-door financial department, bank business, 
&c. 

"The two brothers are yet in the prime and 
vigor of active manhood. They are both married, 
but neither has a child to inherit his immense 
wealth. They are liberal and public-spirited men. 
They built a first-class house for their mother in 
Twenty-fifth Street, near Fifth Avenue, supplied 
it with every comfort and the best attendance, 
she having many years survived her husband, and 
a year or two since followed him to the tomb. 
While she lived, one or the other of her sons dined 
with her every Sunday, and visited her during the 
week if necessary. They themselves live in plain, 
substantial, well- furnished houses in Chatham St., 
in order to be convenient to their great sugar re- 
finery." 

The same correspondent gives the following ac- 
count of Mr. A. T. Stewart, the great Croesus of 
dry goods : — 

"Born in the neighborhood of Belfast, of Scotch- 
Irish parentage, he came to the United States 
when quite young, and early exhibited an apti- 
tude for commercial pursuits. In his youth he 
had received a good education, with careful pa- 
rental discipline. With unremitted industry and 
skill in his pursuit, he soon began to exhibit 
symptoms of progress and prosperity. He early 
introduced the cash system in both buying and 
selling, and was thus enabled to sell at compara- 
tively low prices, which attracted the best cash 
custom of the town. His business continued to 
prosper, and as he bought and sold almost exclu- 
sively for cash, no revulsions, bank suspensions, 
hard times or good times seemed to make any ma- 
terial difference to him. 



C 



"His house, at present, taken in all its branch- 
es of wholesale and retail, is probably the largest 
establishment of the kind in the world. The cap- 
ital employed is estimated at $2,000,000, and the 
annual sales at about $7,000,000. Mr. Stewart's 
wealth is estimated at between $7,000,000 and 
$12,000,000. He is a married man, but, unfortu- 
nately , without children . He is plain-looking , al- 
ways neat, about five feet ten inches in height, of 
light, sandy-colored hair and whiskers, quick, ex- 
pressive blue eyes ; though older, looks not over 
fnrtv-fi"A nr fift.v vears of age." 

Anecdotes of Steward. 

Harper's Magazine relates the following an- 
ecdotes of Alexander T. Stewart, the great 
dry-goods merchant of New York. < 

Accident made him a merchant. Where he i 
was to be in connection with an experienced | 
business man and to contribute capital he sud- 
denly found himself principal alone, charged 
with the rent of a store, and. with the whole 
responsibility devolving on him. With that 
indomitable will and wondertul energy which 
has marked his whole life he at once went ' 
back to Ireland,, converted into money the i 
moderate fortune which he had inherited, in- 
vested that fortune in goods — principally the I 
laces which were manufactured at and around * 
his birthplace — and then returned to New | 
York and opened his store. L 

And in this connection may be mentioned r 
an incident of touching interest — one of many | 
showing, perhaps, somewhat of the Scottish 



Mr. A. T. Stewart's income everyday lai 
year, as rendered to the assessor in the disrrii 
in which he resides, averaged a trifle over $850 
Twenty-live years ago this amount would hav 
been regarded as a respectable income per ai 
mini. Just think of $8500 coming in every da 
in the year! 

:. 

OBITUARY. / 



Beatli of A. T. Stewart. 

NEW York, April 10, 2.45 P. M. 



A. T. 



Stewart died at his residence in 84th Street 
and 6th Avenue this afternoon from innamma 
tion of the bowels. 

His age wits T»>; his wealth perhaps one hun 
dred millions all made since 1834, in New A oil 
«it v. 



*■ blood in his veins, which, if it rarely forgives N 
an enemy, never forgets a friend. A young ] 
I lady whose acquaintance he had made said to • 
' <■ him on the day preceding the opening of his 
store: "You must not sell anything on the" 
morrow till I come and make the first pur- 
C chase; fori will bring luck." True to her 
promise, she drove up in her carriage early in 
the day, and purchased goods to nearly $200 
'- in value, principally of Irish laces. Long'' 
years passed ; the laay married and removed 
with tier husbatid to a European city. Mr 
Stewatt was in that city on business, and, 
there learned that his first customer was still 
living, but in very reduced circumstances. 
Her husband was dead, but before his death 
had squandered her fortune. Procuring good - 
apartments, he caused them to be furnished in 
L a style corresponding with her former position * 
> in Jite. Then calling upon her and renewing 
I his acquaintance, and after conversing on old 
t times and former friends, asked her to take a* 
I drive with him around the city in his carriage, 
1 which stood at the door. Alter looking at 
I some object of interest he took her to the new 
residence, saying : '"This, if it meets your ap- 
probation, is your future home. ' lie settled 

an annuity upon her, and during the residue— 
of her life she lived not only in comfort but 
in comparative affluence, supported entirely by 
his bounty. Truly, if she brought luck to the 
young mei chant, that first morning's purchase 
wu„ a lucky one for her. * 

But there was another incident connected' 
with the sales of merchandise on that tirsf 
day, of far more importance in its results, 
though apparently trifling in its character. 
One of the clerks stated to a purchaser that a 
piece of calico was of a certain quality, that 
the colors were "fast" and would not wash 
out, and if not so, the aiticle would be taken 
back and the money returned. The remarks 



A. T. STEWART. 

I was talking, yesterday, says a correspond- 
ent of The Atlanta Constitution, with a gentleman ' 
who had been an intimate friend of A. T. Stewart, 
the greatest merchant perhaps that this country ever 
kn">w, and he threw new light on his history. Con- 
trary to general belief, Stewart started with a com- 
fortable fortune, and did not work his way from tha> 
ground up. He came to this country as a young man, 
sent od a pleasure trip by hl3 father. He was a close 
observer and leisurely traveler, and went home thor- 
oushly posted as to this country. Having to return 
to America very soon, he recalled the fact that there 
was a fine margin of profit between the price of laces 
in the old country and this. He therefore invested 
$25,000, his patrimony In laces and brought them 
over on his second trip. This speculation turned 
out so well that he had another lot sent o\ 
opened a shop from which he might dispose of them. 
This was the beginning of his mercantile business. 

Stewart was a man of confirmed superstitions. He 
would never eat at a table at which thirteen people 
were seated, and on one occasion when a guest who 
had declined coming to his usual Sunday uinlhg and 
afterward came when his place had been filled, he 
declined to receive him as he made the number 
thirteen. He finally determined to overcome this 
superstition, and dined at a table at which thirteen 
were seated. He died a tew weeks afterward, 
but I very much douht If that was what killed him. 
rie never wanted to have his photograph taken, say- 
ing: "People who buv goods from me think 1 am a 
noble-looking man with flowing whiskers and a gray 
beard. They'd lose faith In my prestige If th<>y be- 
come famlllaT with my Insignificant face." He was 
a shop keeper all his life, and the shoukeenins ln-_ 
stlnct never left him. He once dropped Into Tiffany's" 
and saw a friend examining some pearls that he was 
thinking of buying for his wife. Stewart caught hold 
of him and hurried him out before he had time to 
close the trade. Once down stairs he got him Into 
his coupe and Insisted on his going to his store with 
him. He hurried him upstairs to the lace depart- 
ment, took out an especial pattern and said : " Now, 
that's what you want to buy for your wife!" and be 
sold it to him. At this very time Stewart was worth 
millions and would have given the friend he had 
cajoled into buying twenty times the price of the lace, 
but the selling Instinct was stronger In him than any- 
thing else. 




were overheard by Mr Stewart, and he called! 
the clerk to him and spoke with indignation : 
"What do you mean by thus saying what you 
know to be untrue?" The cleik, perhaps as- 
tonished at thus being called to account, re- 
plied that the woman would not return the 



What exactly is the secret of true success in file i 
It is to do, without flinching, and with utter faithful- 
ness, the duty that stands next to one. When a 
man has mastered the duties around him, he is ready 
for those of a higher grade, and he takes naturally 
one step upward. When he has mastered the duties 
at the new grade, he goes on climbing. There are 
no surprises to the man who arrives at eminence 
legitimately. It is entirely natural that he should be 
there, and he is as much at home there, and as little 
elated, as when he was working patiently at the foot 
of the stairs. There are heights above him, and he 



goods, and if she did she could easily be put remains humble and simple 



off by stating that she must be mistaken, and 
the purchase must have -been made at some 
other store. Put no ; that was not the point. 
A lie had been told to induce a purchase; and 
no goods must be sold in his store or in his 
name under any misrepresentation whatever. 
The clerk would conform to that rule or at 
once vacate his place. This interview be- 
tween him and one of his first clerks was nar- 
rated to the. writer a few years since, when in 
a familiar conversation the di/ect question 
was asked : "To what do you attribute your 
great success as a merchant r" "That I have 
conducted my business from the first on the 
basis of truth. Truth, truth," he added, with 
'great emphasis, "is the talismanic word; and 
if I have any one earthly wish or desire greater 
than another, it is. that in this respect my ex- 
ample may be commended and followed by 
young men entering in business, and especially [ 
by young merchants." 



Preachments are of little avail, perhaps ; but when 
one comes into contact with so many men and women 
who put aspiration in the place of perspiration, and 
yearning for earning, and longing for labor, he is 
tempted to say to them : " Stop looking up, and .'ook 
around you ! Do the work that first comes to your 
hands, and do it well. Take no upward step until 
you come to it naturally, and have won the power to 
hold it. The top, in this little world, is not so very 
high, and patient climbing will bring you to it ere 
you are aware." 



txtt, u 4 *T>RTtB of New York— Hon. James 

uS«r honorable becauBe. once our Mayor- s 
Harper-honorao e u and there jg 

aoout 8evebty- ; ^rce y b mQre active 

no youth about tn* ■ q d 8t a good 
than be. He delights m - - diseover 

listener and a good joke and no ontf can ™° ov e e t r 
a reason why he shouldn't live twenty y^™/ r e *: 
Mr John Harper is about seventy, but not ."0 ro 
Suit in health as James. He is the negahve ele- 
ment in the firm and commonly wields the veto 
nower Mr. Wesley Harper is gentlemanly and 
cordial, comforting a disappointed author and < 
encouraging a promising one with equal suavity. 
Mr Fletcher Harper is the active, aggressive 
sDiritof the firm, but with a vaulting ambition , 
that never overleaps itself. It is his spirit * 
than animates and directs the Monthly, 
Weekly and Bazar. Besides the four mem- 
bers of the firm there are numerous sons, mak- 
ing a round dozen in all. The Harpers resem- 
ble English firms in the tenacity with which 
Keir employs cling to them There is one 
gray-headed octogenarian who has been in then 
employ fifty years. The foreman of then com 
pSg-roomhas been with them forty years; 
the foreman of the press-rooln th, rty _ five yearS) 
and there are women in the losing-rooms that 
have been with them thirty years. Their cashier 
has been in their employ for thirty-five years. 
They have made fortunes for themselves and for 
others. As high as forty thousand dollars, have 
been paid in a single year to one author as his 
copyright profits. Their issues are from pouder- 
/ ous Greek and Latin lexicons down to the last 
new novel in paper-cover, and include every de- 
partment of literature. They run forty Adams' 
steam-presses and six large cylinder-presses. 
They have the largest press-room, the largest 
bindery, and the largest engraving-room in the 
country.and all are employed solely on their own 
nublica tiona. —New York cor. Boston Gazette. 



Publishing House of Harper & Brothers. 

t w^il te ' ia ChiId8 ' s Publishers' Circular gives 
the following personal sketch of Mr. Fletcher 

ofXflrm^f 8 ?^ 6 aC ?°?, nt cf th3 earl ? history 
or tne firm of Harper ot Brothers : 

four£ e h ^ ar r r is the y° un S:est born of the 

FaS^ «nV he SO k S of a substantial Long Island 

Sr fcth d WGre born upon a farm in Newtown. 
The r father was a man of sound common sense 

Chnrnh\ mera I b f °/ the Methodist Eniscopa 

SJLninflnfi'ft tfce , - SOnS *«M»>re, and* a man 

no^oa iu r industry and integrity. 

x>rari%«*X ohn - H , arper were indentured ap- , 
when thpt i he P r i ntin S business by their father ; 

5Su£fJ-H e K- of W a ? e ' Jat " e8 * as **■ ' 
; 1 °P n i! h , ed,, «.h«yoht£fi)rSi8 great strength 

Ms wl dl K ary K e i ldn ? nce in working at 
nnMil ^ hen he had a helper" wnom he did 
not like he was sure to drive him off by working 
him out. These two brothers established them- - 
selves in bfanefts at first as printers for book- { 
8-liers .and in those days they set type and 
worked at press themselves. "^ 

Wesley and Fletcher were apprenticed to the 
eiuer brothers, who were rigid musters, and fa 
held the boys to full hours and the thorough per- * 
formanre of their work. When they were "out 
of their time ' they Bought shares in the busi- - 
Bess which the elder brothers had established, 
MM /or some years took an important part in 
tne mechanical work of the house. Wesley, \ 
who has fine literary taste, and is master of an 
uncommonly terse, and at the same time finished 
mid eL'gant literary style, was for some vears 
the proof-render. Fletcher was, during the same 
fftodi foreman of the composing room; and, 
tradition relates, a very energetic and driving 
foreman. When it was once necessary to push 
a work rapidly through the press, Fletcher did 
not leave the composing room for several days 
and nights, an extra force was put on, and the 
foreman, whose duty it was to impose the mat- 
ter, had his meals brought to him, and slept un- 
der the ' stone" on a rug. The adventure is not 
one he is ashamed of, for be is rightly proud of 
having been, in his time, one of the ablest print- 
ers in New York. 

The four brothers have always co-operated 
amicably; they pull well together in tiie traces. 
Having now carried on their business for over 
fiity years, they are now probably the oldest 
publishing house in the country. Their enter- 
prises have always been fully discussed amon" 
themselves, ana nothing is attempted :o which 
al four do not agree. It is said that "Fletcher, 
who, though the youngest, has long been the 
leader of the house, had, on account of his age, 
at first less influence. But power tells; he is a 
man of uncommon business sagacity, who in- 
stinctively foresees trie public wants and tastes, 
and knows admirably how to suit them. It was 
to Fletcher, as we have heard, that the establish- 
ment of Harper's Magazine was due. For a 
while, tradition report*, the brothers were averse 
to the enterprise. They were wealthy, were 
making money rapidly, and were opposed to 
venturing^? » new field, where they might not 



succeed. Fletcher, who was imprcsseu witn tne 
idea of establishing a magazine, long urged the 
plan in vain, till at last he declared his deter- 
mination to do what he wanted alone,- if the 
brothers would not go in with him. Then, as is 
their happy custom, they gave in, saying that 
they had never engaged in separate enterprises, 
and woul 1 not now begin. 

The success of the magazine, which is one of 
the greatest known in literary annals, so com- 
pletely justified Fletcher's judgment, that his 
predominant influence in the firm was establish- 
ed from that time. 

This was in 1850. In 1853 the great fire con- 
sumed, in a day, their whole stock, and inflicted 
on them a loss of over a million of dollars. Then 
the energy of these printers was shown. They 
held, on the evening of the fire, a family council, 
to decide whether or not they should rebuild 
their business. They had already so great wealth, 
that their loss, so far from crippling them, left 
them with a competence for themselves and their 
children. But the claims of authors, of work- J 
men who had been long with them, and the de- *j 
sire to leave a well established business to their 
children, induced them to determine to go on. 
An order on Adams of South Boston, for twenty 
of his new power presses, to replace those de 



*? 



The qualities which lie lias orougnt iu m» 
upon his business are of that kind that if he 
had been trained to public life, would have made 
him one of the foremost men of the country He 
is shrewd, and yet with broad views; he has 
courage which never deserts him; he has a most 
keen eye for shams and for an illogical position • 
and, finally, he is an upright and humane man' 
whose heart is with the lowly, and. whose sym- 
pathies are with every effort to elevate the peo- 
ple and to help men to help themselves. His 
love of retirement and a modesty which amounts 
almost to shyness lead him to keep himself iri the 
background. He courts obscuritv, and is most 
contented in his home, where, surrounded by 
wife, children and grandchildren, and by bis 
chosen friends, he finds the best reward of his 
labors. 



APOLOGIES. 

Fishing for compliments, with apologies for 
Jbaits! 

And this kind of fishing is just the meanest 
stroyedby the fire, was telegraphed the same l kind of fishing, 
dav. thus anticipating bv a few hours annlion. p And tho moit rnmmnnt 

To say nothing about the bait, all that 
caught don't amount to i row of pins. 

It is strange that folks cannot see through a 
mill-stone, and understand that somebody else 
may be just as scheming as themselves. 

Don't you suppose everybody knows what 
you are after when you bait your hook with an 
apology, and throw it into the waters of so- 
ciety? 
Of course they do. 

And the easiest way to get rid of trouble- 
some fishers for compliments is to manufacture 
it is. It is of iron and brick; each floor is inde- 1 one for the occasion, and allow them to catch it. 
pendent, there being no connection between the i Then, if they are wise, they will put up their 
stories, except by means of a huge circular stair- fishin „ apparatus and go home. 

case of iron, which rises between the two great i r f ® f +u„ Tr >n „„<. *„„,^u„,. >>„;* „„j *i „ 

buildings, in a central court, and is protect- J*? . 1 ' ?<* U P. ut on £??£ h ? r 5 ait , a °? ^T ^ 
ed by a brick tower. The floors are laid on brick out their lmes a g ain > untl1 their basket 1S filled - 
arches; the doors are of iron; in fact, the build- j What do you suppose your friend who visits 
ing is of the utmost security, and ought to cost !| you, and sits at your table, cares to hear about 
very little to insure. So far is precaution carried j the bad luck you had with your yeast the last 
that the boilers which furnish motive power for ! time you made it? 

the establishment are placed in a separate court, I r what business is it of theirs whether your 
woulddo JUtle harm. UP ' explosion ! oven baked as well as usual when your cake 

The counting room is on the second floor if | was co •• • - y 

EFFECTS OF BAD READING. 



day, thus anticipating by a few hours applica 
tions by mall from other enterprising printers for 
a| similar number of presses. By this prompt 
and characteristic action the Harpers were ena- 
bled to furnish their new office with some 
presses several months sooner than they could 
have done had they sent their order by mail in- 
stead of telegraph. 

It is said that the whole question was discussed 
and decided at this family council, the evening 
after the fire; and the neXjt week already plans 
began to be considered by the firm for a new 
building. Of course, the business was tempora- 
rily carried on in anothea place. The new build- 
ing, .it was determined, should be fireproof— and 



I 



In Mr. James T. Fields' lecture on 



you enter from Pearl street. It is simply a space 
railed off from the business floor; and hene the 
brothers sit at very plain desks, and transact 
their vast business. 

How is it divided among them do you ask? -Fiction, he alluded to Pomeroy, the 
The Reverend Doctor Blank, one of the ereat • u r j r fh . «T rfVpnf i vm iH 

bores of this country, told once a little anecdote Do y murderer, tnus . i recently paid 
of Mr. James Harper. ''I asked the Mayor," a v i s i t to the Pomeroy boy, who was 
said Doctor Blank, "what he did?" 1 said to J J ' 

him, I know that Mr. John Harper attends to < sentenced to be hanged for killing 
the business; Mr. Wesley Harper looks after the .i ,-i i u u 

literary correspondence; Mr. Fletcher Harper three children, but whose sentence 
receives authors, and looks after new books and J wi , Q ofrprwnrrl rnmrrmf-prl to imnrienn. 
the Magazine-but you, Mr. Mayor, I have never WaS atterwam commuted to lmpnson- 
been able to discover what you do." me nt for life. I asked him if he read 

'Til tell you," answered the'Mayor in a whis- , rT • i ,, . , i-j ,,,,, 

per, "but you must not let it out; I entertain much. He said that he did. What 

th ThaUs about the way in. which the labors of kind of books do y OU read ? ' Said L 
the Harper Brothers are divided. As all their 'Mostly one kind,' he said — 'mostly 
sons, seven in number, are engaged in the busi- .. J ' J 

ness with them, it will be seen that they have dime novels. ' What IS the best 
help in their various deparlments. 1 , , .. , j •» t i j 

Mr. Fletcher Harper is the life and soul of the i book tnat y ou have read • l asked, 
establishment. He bears^the heaviest burdens, 'Well, I like " Buffalo Bill" best/ he 



and bears them lightly. He has courage for any 
enterprise; it is no secret that it was his thought 
to establish Harper's Weekly in 1856, and the 
Bazar in 1867, both of which journals have met 
with a success unsurpassed only by that of Har- 
pars Magazine. To him the reports of book 
readers, the "tasters" of a publisher, are made, j 
He* exercises a close and constant scrutiny over 
all the articles which appear in the three period- : 
icals, and is, in conjunction with Mr. J. Wesley 
Harper, and Fletcher Harper, Jr., the real editor 
of those publications. There was a time when 
he read, in manuscript, the greater part of the 
Magazine and Weekly, and even now, in cases 
where there is any doubt, he does 
this; and while he rather prominently asserts 
himself to be without the qualification to jud«-e 
of the literary merits of a work, his taste and 
judgment, and his tact iu seeinc what will take 
with the public, are unfailingly correct. 

In person Fletcher Harper is tall, well formed 
of light complexion, with blue eyes and a very 
fine head. Elliot's portrait of him is full of the 
character of the man. In conversation he is 
brief, somewhat given to listening, and makin* I 
up his mind while others arc discussing a qucs" 
Hon. He decides rapidly, but does not always 
announce his decision at once. He is cheerful 
most admirably good-tempered, slow to speak 
but quick to act; sharp at a bargain, but very 
apt to be much better than his word in carrying 
it out. He is, in the broadest sense of the word 
a gentleman; and those who know him best are 
likely to love and respect him most highly. In 
fact, the kindly and affectionate relations exist- 
ing between the Harpers and the authors whose 
books they publish form one of the pleasantest -\ 
incidents imaginable in business life. 



replied. ' It was full of murders and 
pictures about murders.' 'Well,' I 
asked, 'how did you feel after reading 
such a book?' 'Oh,' said he, 'I felt 
as if I wanted to do the same.' " 



Of the Prince of Wales and Dr. Lyon Play- 
fair — the latter aged sixty, son in-law of our 
fellow-citizen, Samuel H. Russell, aged fifty- 
five — it is told that they were once standing near 
a caldron containing lead, which was boiling at 
white-heat. "Has your royal highness any faith 
in science?" said the doctor. "Certainly," re- 
plied the prince. "Will you, then, place your 
hand in the boiling metal and ladle out a portion 
cf it?" "Do you tell me to do this ?" asked the 
prince. "I do," replied the doctor. The prince 
then ladled out some of the boiling lead with his 
hand, without sustaining any injiry. It is a 
well-known scientific fact that the human hand 
may be placed uninjured in lead boiling at white- 
heat, being protected from any harm by the 
moisture of the skin. Should the lead be at a 
perceptibly lower temperature the effect need 
not be described. After this let no one under- = 
rate the courage of the Prince of Wales 



Emanuel Swedknbokg.— Emanuel Sweden- 
borg was born at Stockholm, Sweden, January 
29, 1688; he graduated at the university of Up- 
sal, m Sweden, at the age of twenty -two years; 
imo>ediately alter which he spent one year in 
Euglaad and three yeats in France aad Holland, 
studying mathematics, philosophy, astionomy 
and mechanics. At the age of twenty nine he 
was appointed, by Charles XII., king of Swe- 
den, gcneial assessor over the mines and metallic 
works of the natiou; be was ennobled and took 
his seat in 1719. His writing* on vai ious scientif- 
ic objects, principally on the animal and miner- 
al kingdoms, are said to amount to some thiity 
volumes, of 500 pages each; some of which have 
been translated into Engl. ah withm the last thirty 
years, and are found 10 contain the germs of 
some of the discoveries which are supposed to 
have had a later origin. 

la the year 1745, not in the enthusiasm of 
youth it will be seen, but at the mature age of fif- 
ty-six years, be resigned bis office of assessor, 
and declaied that ''he was called to a holy office 
by the Lord himself, who opened his sight to 
view the spiritual wor.d and granted him the 
privilege ot conversing: with spirits and angels." 
He claims to nave been guaided and specially 
permitted to set and converse with the inhabi- 
tants of heaven, the world of spirits and hell, 
face to face, with the same firedom that man 
converses with roan in this world, for the long 
period of twenty-seven years; and that this priv- 
ilege was grauted to bim that he might reveal to 
the world the state of men after death. Accord- 
ing to his teachings the spiritual world is not far 
distant tiom us, but we are in the midst of it ' 
and all the manifestations of life in this world are 
'.'Ut the clothing of spiritual foims. He agrees 
with St Paul that man has not only a natural 
body but also a spiritual body while in this world. 
The resurrection, he says, takes place at death; 
and the character of the iud.vidual is not changed 
when he puts off his material body. Very few 
wnen they enter v the spiiitual worlti are fully pre- 
paied for either heaven or hell, tut almost all 
tarry a longer or shorter period in the world of 
spirits, which is 4wtrveen heaven and hell; here 
tbe good and oad gradually separate; the good 
go finally among those who love the Lord and 
tneir neighbors supremely, and m the utmost 
freedom live toiev^r a lite of usefulness in obedi- 
ence to the divine commands; this ;s heaven. 
The evil, after death, fiddly go voluntarily 
among those who love themselves and selfish 
things supremely ; and as thost who are governed 
by selfishness here, for their own good and the 
welfare of society, require to be resir«>ined by 
fear and punishments, iney will require the same 
in the next lite when they do evil; and when 
their characters,are fully developed m societies 
by themselves, they constitute hell. Man's rul- 
ing love at death governs his destiny. The Lord 
leaver men in fraeuoin here, and compels no oue 
to be good, and 4he same is true hereafter. Hell- 
fiieis be.f love, io is posabla for man's spirit- 
ual senses to be opened so that he can see and 
converse with tbe inhabitants of the spiritual 
world, '<ut at tbe present day this is not desir- 
able, for every man is us>ociuted with spirits of 
his own quality, like with like. 



Bishop Qcintabd, of Tennessee, is one of the j 
live bishops of the American Episcopal Church, ! 
a man of remarkable energy, fine ability, of child- 
like simplicity of character, with a thorough con- 
tempt for every kind of sham. He was one of 
the dignitaries" who attended the Pan-Anglican 
Council, and while in London frequently ad- 
dressed audiences quite unlike those he is called 
upon to address in the mountains of Tennessee. ^ 
On one of these occasions (it was not in church) r 
he ''brought the house down" by illustrating his 
point with the following story of a negro planta- (. 
tion preacher : J 

I was visiting a, plantation, and the bell was 
rung, and the negroes, numbering some five hun-V 
dred, gathered in the parlors and piazzas of the 
house — belonging, unfortunately for himself, to 
a bachelor. After reading a chapter to them I / 
preached, and said that I would hold a service 
the next day to baptize such as should be pre- 
sented. I baptized between seventy and eighty, 
and, after a service, I fell into conversation with 
"Uncle Tony," a plantation preacher. I asked 
him about various Christian doctrines, and final- 
ly said : 

"And what about the resurrection?'' 

With a very solemn face he replied : 

" You see, massa, intment is intment." 

"Yes." 

"Well, you see dere is a speritual body, andy 
dis body made out of dus'." r 

"Yes." 

"Well, you see, when the Angel Gabriel comes 
down from Hcaben, and goin' up and down de 
Riber Jordan, a-blowln' of liis trumpet, and the 
birds of Heaben singtn', and de bells of Heaben 
ringin', and de milk and de honey rainin' down 
on all de hills of Heaben, lie will bring de sper- 
itual body wid him down from Heaben, and take 
dis here "body up out of de dus', and take the 
intment and rub it on, den stick togedder — and 
dar dey is!" 



Fk.vxkun and the Spark of Electricity. 
The following extract from Mr Mace's new 
volume respecting Franklin's electric discovery 
is interesting : 

"Franklin was not exactly a learned man, for 
he was originally a printer, working for his daily 
bread, but liking study very much, he wrote cer- 
tain books for the improvement of his con- 
temporaries which will never go out of date, 
because they include the secret of all true manli- 
ness. From a book that happened to be sent 
from England, Fran kin learned what I have just 
been endeavoring to teach you ; and the idea 
occurred to him, that since the discharge of an 
electric machine resembled, as it were, terrestrial 
electricity of a certain force, celestrial electricity 
or the lightning of heaven, with its noise and its 
brilliancy, might, after all, be nothing more or 
less than an immense electric discharge. And 
he found that he was right. 

Franklin had announced, three years pre- 
viously, that by placing metallic wires on end, at 
a sufficient hight insulated from the ground, and 
terminating each in a point, one could see them 
electrified on the approach of a thunder cloud, 
and he was waiting until a steeple, then in 
course of erection in Philadelphia, should be 
completed, that he might make the experiment. 
Tired of waiting, however, he at last constructed a 
kite with two sticks and a kand kerchief, arm- 
ing it with a metallic point, and one stormy day 
he went into the fields to fly it. 'A large black 
cloud passed over the kite, and Franklin received 
electric sparks by touching a key with his finger, 
having first fastened the key to the end of the 
kite string ; this was indubitable proof of the 
presence of electricity in the cloud. 

This took place in June, 1752; and now mark 
well the danger of delay. By waiting so long 
for the steeple, the illustrious American was not 
the first to realize the idea which he was the first 
to conceive. A month previous, on May 10, at 
2.30 o'clock in the afternoon, the first electric 
spark drawn from the clouds, as one may say, 
was seen by a carpenter at Marly — the Marly of 
Louis XIV. — which will one day be talked of 
for this, let me tell you, much more than for its 
having been the occasional abode of the great 
King, for whom the world at large will care but 
little. Marly-le-Koi is near St. Germain, and 
belonged to Mine, do Maintcnon, for whom it 
was built by Louis XIV. 

I must give you the history of this spark, 
which is more worthy of record than many a 
battle. 

Buffon, the celebrated naturalist, had under- 
taken to introduce' the ideas of the Philadelphia 
printer into France, as he already begun to 
astonish the scientific men of Europe, who were 
somewhat mortified to see themselves left in the 
background by one who had hitherto held no 
rank among philosophers. 'As Buffon was oc- 
cupied with more important affairs,' says one of 
his contemporaries, 'he abandoned this duty to one 
of his friends named Dalibard.' This Dalibard 
was an intelligent man, and had so strong a 
liking for the new doctrine that, impatient to 
know whether the inventor was right in his sur- 
mises, he could not wait till Franklin had tried 
his experiment. 'It never thunders in Philadel- 
phia,' was already the byword in Paris, among 
those who were teased with Franklin's delays. 
I quote the expression to show you how little 
was known of America at that period. 

Dalibard caused a pointed iroti rod, 100 feet 
high, to be placed on end, well insulated from 
the ground, on a property he possessed at 
Marly. As no storm occurred, he returned to 
Paris, leaving the iron rod in charge of a carpen- 
ter, who had orders not to lose sight of it, in 
case the weather changed. The storm came at 
last, the iron rod emitted sparks, and thus it 
happened that, owing to the fortuitous arrange- 
ment of Franklin, Buffon and Dalibard, this car- 
penter, was the first man to see, with his own 
eyes, the fire of heaven coming down by com- 
mand and exposing itself for the gratification of 
human curiosity." 



Gail Hamilton wishes the following advertise- 
ment to have a first-class insertion : 

Strayed or Stolen— From the subscriber, some- 
where on the New York, Sew Haven and Springfield 
railroad, between Meriden, Ct., and Boston, a camel s 
hair scarf, valuable in its own right and as a keepsake,. 
Whoever will return the same to box ltf, Hamilton, 
Mass., shall receive warmest thanks of the owner. 

The owner would offer a more substantial reward, but 
on the same journev she lost her port monnaie. If that 
shall be returned, the port monnaie shall be given to 
the finder, and all the money in it to the finder ol the 

Also, lost on the same journey, a rigolette. Also a 

freen veil. Also a drab veil. Also a water-procf cloak. 
n short, anv little things lyin* about, the country prob- 
ably belong in the same box, and shall be given to the 
finder of the scarf as fast as they come in, and no ques- 
tions asked. .4 ,,. 
N. B. If any person shall find a large, new, black silk 
umbrella, andshall wish to communicate with the own- 
er, he can do so at once by addressing box 16, post office, 
Hamilton, .Mass. 



ANECDOTE OF JUDGE MARSHALL. 

It is frequently remarked, that the most 
laudable deeds are achieved in shades of re- 
tirement ; and to its truth history testifies in 
every page. An act of heroism or philan- 
thropy, performed in solitude, where no un- 
due feelings can affect the mind, or bias the 
character, is worth, to the eye of an impartial 
observer, whole volumes of exploits displayed 
before the gaze of a stupid and admiring 
multitude. It is not long since a gentleman 
was travelling in one of the Counties of Vir- 
ginia, and about the close of the day stopped 
at a public house to obtain refreshment and 
spend the night. 'He bad been there but a 
short time before an old man alighted from 
his gig, with the apparent intention of be- 
coming a fellow guest with him at the same 
house. As the old man drove up he observ- 
ed that both shafts of his gig were broken, I 
and they were held together by withs formed 
from the bark of a hickory sapling. Our 
traveller observed further, that he was plain- 
ly clad, that his knee buckles were loosened 
and that something like negligence pervaded 
his dress. Conceiving him to be one of the 
honest yeomanry of our land, the courtesies 
of strangers passed between them, and they 
entered the tavern. It was about the same 
time that an addition of three or four young 
gentlemen was made to their number, most 
if not all of them of the legal profession. As 
soon as they became conveniently accommo- 
dated, the conversation was turned by one o{ 
the latter upon an eloquent harangue which 
had been displayed at the bar. It was re- 
plied by the other, that he had witnessed the 
same day a degree of eloquence no doubt 
equal, but that it was from the pulpit ; and a 
warm and able altercation ensued, in which 
the merits of the Christian religion became 
the subject of discussion. From six o'clock 
until eleven the young champions wielded 
the sword of argument, adducing with inge- 
nuity and ability every thing that could be 
said pro and con. During this protracted 
period the old gentleman listened with all 
the meekness and modesty of a child, as if 
he was adding new information to the stores 
of his mind ; or perhaps he was observing 
with a philosophic eye the faculties of the 
youthful mind, and how new energies are 
evolved by repeated action ; or perhaps, with 
patriotic emotion, he was reflecting upon the 
future destinies of his country, and on the 
rising generation, upon whom those destinies 
must devolve ; or most probably, with a sen- 
— timent of a moral and religious feeling, he 
was collecting an argument which, charac- 
teristic of himself, no art would be able to 
elude, and no force resist. Our traveller re- 
mained a spectator and took no part in what 
was said. 

At last, one of the young men, remarking 
that it was impossible to combat with long 
t established prejudices, wheeled around and 
"with some familiarity exclaimed, "well, mv 
old gentleman, what think you of the'-J* 
things?" If, said the traveller, a streak t> 
vivid lightning had at that moment crossed 
the room, their amazement could not have 
been greater than it was with what followed. 
The most eloquent and unanswerable appeal 
was made for nearly an hour by the old gen- 
tleman, that he had ever heard. So perfect 
was his recollection, that every argument 
urged against the Christian religion was met 
in the order in which it was advanced. — 
Hume's sophistry on the subject of miracles 
was, if possible, more perfectly answered than 
it had already been done by Campbell. And 
in the whole lecture there was so much sim- 
plicity and energy, pathos and sublimity, that 
not anoflier word was uttered. An attempt 
. to describe- it, said the traveller, would be aa 
attempt to paint the sunbeams. It was im- 






rm ,< ~ 






mediately a matter of curiosity and inquiry 
who the old gentleman was. The traveller 
concluded him to be the preacher, from 
whom the pulpit eloquence had been 'heard. 
But no, it was John Marshall, the Chief 
Justice of the United States. 



Ax Anecdote of Dean Swift.— The ec- 
centric Dean Swift was walking in the Phoenix 
I Park, in Dublin, when a thunder shower came 
on, and he took shelter under a tree where a 
party were skeltering also — two young women 
and two young men. One of the girls looked 
very sad, till as the rain fell her tears fell. The 
Dean inquired the cause, and learned that it 
was their wedding day, they were on their way 
to the church, and now her white clothes were 
wet and she couldn't go. "Never mind, I'll 
marry you," said the Dean; and he took out 
his prayer-book, and there and then married 
them, their witnesses beins; present. And to 
make the thing complete, he tore a leaf from 
his pocket-book, and with his pencil wrote and 
signed a certificate, which he handed to the 
bride. It was as follows : 

"Under a tree, In stormy weather, 
I married this man and woman together. 
Let none but Him who rules the thunder 
Sever this man and woman asunder. 

Jonathan Swift, 
Dean of St. Patrick's." 



^Pil 



Jonathan Edwards as a Student. — The 
following extract from a letter of Mrs. Ed- 
wards, soon after marriage, gives an insight in- 
, to the habits of study of the greatest of New 
England thinkers and divines. We find it in 
an interesting article in Hours at Home: — 

"And here let me say a word, partly for 
James' benefit, about Mr. Edwards habits of 
study. As you know, he has a hereditary love 
of books. He rises early and spends thirteen 
hours of the day in his library ; the rest he 
devotes to exercise and to visiting his parish- 
ioners. He is as systematic as the big clock. 
His constitution is not strong, and to keep 
himself in good health, he has to maintain the 
most prudent kind of living, For exercise 
he rides on horseback, or takes long walks 
in the fields and woods. 

Sometimes he keeps up his hard thinking 
while abroad on his rambles. It is amusing to 
see his coat when he comes in from a stroll in 
the woods, covered as it often is, with bits of 
paper pined on it to help his memory. The 
position of each paper suggests the idea he 
wishes to rceall, and which, when he gets in- 
to his library, he writes out in full. His favorite 
studies aside from sermon writing, are philoso- 
phical. He says. he read Locke on the Human 
Understanding Mien he was only fourteen 
years of age, ami enjoyed it, too, as much as 
he did Eobin,*on Crusoe. We spend our even- 
ings together in the study, when he unbends 
I is mind, and we read to each ether from the 
Speemtor, or the plays of fc>hak«j>eare. We 
have jubt ihnsued Sydney'^ Aie;.diu, a charm- 
ing t!.i: 



llie following letter was addressed hv Robert 
mo ""the^tfu"' B H nnk ' ^P^n of" h ?0l3 ! 
K? MSsJiiS'iS?^* of the Hudson river. 

«p.»b.i d • '/ Yew Y ? bk » October 9, 1807. 
C. plain Bnrdc-Su-: Inclosed is the number 
of voyages winch it is intended the boat should 
run tins season. You may have them publ shed *] 
in he Albany papers. As she is strongly made 
an 1 everyone, except Jackson, under yom com 
maiul.you must insist on each one doing Ms -^ 

hsni^' U p b ?i. Onsh0rc anfl P lU mother in 
his place. Everthmg must be kept in order- 
' ven Hi:ng , n Its p | acc , and a „ f f h "™« 

scoured and clean. I* is not sufficient to tell 
make them do it. One pah* of good and auick 

Kue bo'i h i SiX 1 ?airSOf hands * acomma q nd er. 
the boat -is dirty or out of order the fault 

U™™lX?h% n0 T be ^«2I there 
quickly g (1 °' and mak e'>hem move 

Tour most obedient, 

ROBERT FtJLTON." 



Audubon, the Naturalist. A newly pub- 
lished life of Audubon, who devoted the best ener- 
gies of his mind and body to the great work of 
enumerating and illustrating the birds of America, 
relates that as a boy he neglected his studies for 
birdnesting, &c. ; as a youth, mathematics were 
given up to make a collection of sketches of French 
birds, until his father, in despair, sent him to 
America, to look after an estate in Louisiana, 
where he had been born. Here he had an oppor- 
tunity of indulging his tastes, and here he formed 
the first idea of his great work. Here, too, he 
married, afterward endeavoring to support him- 
self by trade. All his commercial ventures failed, 
however— probably because he was hunting in the 
forest when he ought to have been attending to 
business. He next took up portrait painting for a 
living, and at last became dancing master— all the 
while adding to his collections and drawings of 
American birds, his wife supporting herself and 
their children by her own exertions. Audubon 
thus amusingly describes his first essay as a terp- 
siehorean artist : 

" I went to begin my duties, dressed myself at the 
hotel, and with my fiddle under my arm entered the 
ball-room. I found my music highly appreciated, and 
immediately commenced proceedings, i placed all the 
gentlemen in a line reaching across the hall, thinking 
to give the joung ladies time to compose themselves 
and get ready when tbey were called. How I toiled 
before I coula get one graceful step or motion ! I broke 
my bow and nearly my violin in my excitement and im- 
patience! The gentlemen were soon fatigued. The la- 
dips were rext placed in the same order, and made to 
walk the stei>s; and then came the trial for both parties 
to proceed at the same time, while I pushed one here 
and another there, and was all the while singing myself, 
to assist their movements. Many of the parents were 
present, and were delighted. After this first lesson was 
over, I was requested to demee to my own music, which 
I did until the whole roam came down in thunders of 
applause in clapping ot hands aud shouting, which put 
an end to my first lesson aud to an amusing comedy." 

With $2000, the result of his dancing lessons, 
and with his wife's savings, he started for Eng- 
land to obtain subscriptions for his intended book. 
There he subsisted partly by exhibiting his pic- 
tures and painting new ones and selling them to 
shop-keepers. In England he was very successful 
injobtaining subscriptions, but in France less so. 
He accomplished his purpose, however, and re- 
turned to the United States for more specimens. 

Fisher Ames's Great Speech.— From the 
speech of the Hou. Rufus P. Spalding of Ohio, 
on the treaty-making power, we extract the fol- 
lowing reference to Fisher Ames: 

I might here remark that the treaty was 
finally voted to be carried into execution under 
the influence of that memorable speech made 
by Fisher Ames of Massachusetts, who at that 
time was apparently drawing near the end of 
his earthly career. I have been told by a sen- I 
tleman who was a member of Congress at the 
time and sat by his side, that when Mr. Ames 
rose to speak, he begged his friend if he found 
him going beyond his strength to draw him 
by his coat to his chair, and when he got 
through that long aud eloquent speech— one 
which perhaps never will be equalled in the 
United States— I doubt whether Demosthenes or 
Cicero, in the days of their highest glory and 
most palmy eloquence, ever surpassed it— I say 
that when he was through and took his seat, 
finding himself completely exhausted, he said 
to his friend, "Sir, why did you not do as I 
requested you? Why did you not draw me. to 
my chair?" "Why," said he, "if I had known 
that you would have dropped to your chair 
dead the next instant after closing vour speech, 
I could not have stopped you." And the elo- 
quence of that speech had such a powerful ef- 
fect upon that sage assembly that they would 
not then take the vote; they dare not take the 
vote; they adjourned to give time for coolness 
and reflection; but finally the treaty was car 
ried by a vote of three majority. 

Vices oF^TENius.—L/'oieriage was sucn J / 
slave to liquor that he had to be kept an un- 
willing prisoner by Christopher North on an oc- 
casion when some literary performance had to ^ 
be completed by a certain time; and on that 
very day, without taking leave of any member 
of the family, he ran off at full speed down the 
avenue to Elleray, and was soon bidden, not m J 
the groves of the valley, but in some obscure 
den, where, drinking among low ccfmpanions, 
his magniScent mind was soon brought to the 
level of the vilest of the vile. When his spree 
was over he would return to the society of de- 
cent men. 

PeQulnpy was such a slave to the use of 
ppiurn that his daily ullowance wa s of more im- 
portance tipm eating. An punpe of laudanum a 
day prostrated animal life during Jhe forenoon. 
It was no unfrequent sight to find him asleep on 
the rug before the fire in his own room, his head ! 
on a book, and his arm crossed on his breast 



had to arrange their supppr parties so that sit- 
ting until three or four jn tfop aftprnpon, ho 
might be brought to that pojut at wbiph in 
charm and power of conversation he was so 
trulj wonderful, 



' Sir 



The liOUKCBt Uved Englishman. 

it may interest your readers, I send you 



' —/ 2r u may mterest y° ur readers, 1 send you 
, y Of a, history of Henry Jenkins, purporting 
to have been Written by a Mrs. Anne Savilie, and 
copied; fforh the foot 'of a yery fine engraving (u*- 
waios of a «euttiryra my family) of the old man 
TromdlfjictUre'byWallsc-r.'' < '■> 

• Yours oWtoefMry, 

'to. 7. ]>. SeRrell. 

Henry Jenkins 1 , of Eilerton. in; Yorkshire, Who 

lived to'tho rfnrprirfng age of 169, which is 16 yedfo 

longer than (.w| Qd V&ti The great age Of Henry 

Jenkm^by Mrs. Avne Suviile, When J camenrst to 

' live at KoltfiB I was told i several particular^ of tiiis 
great age of Henry Jenkins, but! believed little of 

, the stoty for ni^py Xfitu-a, till, one day, he coming to 
beg an alms, I defeired him to tell me truly how old he 

vwai; He .pansed a little-, and?,,then said that to the 

; best .of his remembrance he was about 162 or 3; and 
Las! ed what Kings he remembered. He said, Henry 
the Eight. I asked, what public tbmg he could long- 
est renumber. He said, Flowdendeld. I asked 
whether the KiDgwas there. He said, 'No, he was in 
France, and the Earl of Surry was General.* I asked 
him how old ho might be then. He said, 'I believe I 
might be between 10 *nd 12; for,' says he, 'I was sent 
to Northallerton with a horse load of arrows, but 
they sett a bigger boy from thence to the army with 
- r them.' 

, All this agreed with the history of that tirno; for 
bows and arrows were then used, the Earl he named 
was General, and King Henry the Eisrht was then at 
Tournay. And yet is observable that this Jenkins 
could neither write nor read ; there were also four or 
five in the same parish that were reputed all of thsm 
to be lOOyearsold, or witbui two or three years of it; 
and they all said he was air elderly man ever since 
they knew him; for he was born in another parish, 
ai d before any registers were in churches, as it is 
said. He told me then, too, that he was butler to tb.e 
Lord Conyers, and remembered the Abbot of Foun- 
tain's Abbey very well before the dissolntion of the 
monasteries. Henry Jenkins departed thi3 life De- 
cember, 1670, at Eilerton-upon-S wale, in Yorkshire; 
the battle of Flowden-field was fought September the 
9th; 1513, and he was about twelve years old When 
Flowden-field was fought. So that this Henry Jen- 
kins lived 169 years— viz., 16 longer than Old Parr, 
and was the oldest man born upon the ruins of this 
postdiluvian world. <* 

In the last century of his life he was a fisherman, 

I and used to trade in the streams; his diet was coarse 
ana sour, but towards the latter end of his days he 
begged up and down. He hath sworn in Chancery 
and other courts to above 140 years in memory, and 
was often at the assizes at York, where he generally 

, went on foot ; and I have heard some of the country 

( gentlemen affirm that he frequently swam in the 

rivers after he was past the age of 100 years. In the 

King's Remembrancer's-office in tne Exchequer is a 

I I eeord pf a deposition in a cause by English bill between 
Antony. Clark and Smirkson, taken 1665, at Ketter- 
jrig, in Yorkshire, where Henry Jenkins, of Eflerton- 
npoiq -Swale, h borer, aged 157 "years, was produced, 
'dud 'deposed as a witness.— Correspondence London 

Times. 



n 







The Hiding Place of Martin Luther.— 
Eisenach is a little over two hours' car vide 
southeast of Cassel, but in itself has nothing to 
be seen except what may be found in any other 
German city. On an eminence near by is an old 
castle callad Wartburg, which, on account of the 
historical and religious associations connected 
with it, attracts many visitors. In the court- 
yard of the old castle stands an old, dilapidated 
two story house, in which Martin Luther, after 
his return from Worms, was concealed and pro- 
tected for nearly a year by the Elector of Saxo- 
ny, Frederick the Great. It is here that he 
labored so arduously, from May 4, 1521, to 
March 6, 1522, on his translation of the Bible. 
The little room that he occupied remains as it 
was when he left it. His table, chest, 
chair, stove, footstool, bedstead, library, 
book-case, manuscripts, portraits, &c, arc st'ill 
ill the same old place and position, while on the 
wall hangs the armor he used to wear when he 
went out, for he never passed outside of the 
walls surrounding the castle except in the dis- 
guise of a knight, as there were at that time per- 
sons all over the country lying in wait for him, 
who had sworn to kill him whenever they 
might find him. Near the table is the "hole in 
the wall," or rather in the plastering, that be 
made by throwing his ink bottle at the Devil, 
who, on a certain occasion, it is remembered, 
troubled him in his work and meditations. The 
bole is at present fully three feet in diameter, 
and has a very irregular and informal appear- 
ance about it. Our .guide, however, said that 
it was thus enormously enlarged hv former 
visitors picking off souvenirs. Travellers 
in Europe are great on souvenirs. Still, a 
crumbling bit of mortar would certainly be a 
very peculiar keepsake to carry about in one's 
pocket or carpet-sack. But persons are no long- 
er allowed thus to pick and gather specimens. 
As a substitute, photographs of all those inter- 
esting places can now be bought very cheaply 
ri^iit on the spot, which aro in fact, tho best' 
souvenirs that one could desire. -While I was 
sitting a qua/ter of an hour in Luther's straight, 
old, wooden arm-chair, a thousand confused 
ideas were hurrying through my head. Over 
three hundred and forty-five years ago the Great 
Reformer sat in this same chair and in this same 
dark, dingy-walled chamber, developing those 
ideas aud religious truths which had already set 
Germany on fire, and which subsequently shook 
the world so tremendously- Correspondena of the 
Indianapolis Journal. 



V / C.OETHF. j, 






/ 



Johann WoUgang von Goethe Was born on the 2Sth 
of August, 1749, as the clock sounded the hour of noon, in 
the busy town of JTiankfort-on-the-AIaine, ot res peccable 
and wealthy parents. Their son's improvement \v.;s the 
primary object of their care. In the public school ol'hls 
native town young Goethe evinced great proofs of 
genius. He applied 'himself to the study oi the law for 
three years, at Leipelo, and took the degree of LL. D , 
at.Strasburg. Three years alter this event he mad 3 
■j tour in Switzerland, in company with the two counts 
Stolberg, the poets, and the well-known Prussian minis- 
ter, Count HaucY* itz. In the coarse of this tour, he met 
with the Grand Duke of Saxe-Y\ eimar, Oharlea Augus- 
tus, who was so prepossessed in his favor by his agree- 
able manners and groat talents, that he invited him l« 
Weimar. The invitation was readily accepted, and in 
that town Goethe remained to the end of his life. 
Loaded with honors and dignities by his prince, ad- 
mired, nay, almost adored by "his countrymen, aud pos- 
sessing a competence which rendered exertion a matter 
of choice and not of necessity, Goethe devoted nearly 
the whole ofhis time to literary labors. He died— 
after a happy lite, fortunate to 'the hist, in that the 
creative powers of his genius never forsook htm— ou 
the 22d of March,1882, in his eighty-third year. The last 
words of this never-satislied student of 'truth in all its 
ibtms were: "Kobe Light." 

Standing as it were by the death-bed of this matt who 
was the colossus ot German literature, and at once the 
Alpha and the Omega ot German poetry, aud vvftoe 
name was a Shibboleth of German critics,— J am cop- 
strained to say that! do not find it hard to hold mv 
censer in the crowd of his incense— burners, anil 
I do now, and will evcrmoro joyfully exclaim, 

"Man whose great thoughts possess me like a passion, 

Thoughts which command all coming times and minds ; 

V hose name is ever on the world's broud tongue, 

Like sound upon the tailing of a force; 

Man whom 1 build my love round, like an arch 

Of triumph, as thou goest on thy wav 

To glory and to immortality," 

thy works, like Shakespeare's, are destined to be im- 
mortal, since thou didst feel that what Terence said was 
true: "Homo bum, »T nihil alikkum jie pitto,"— 

"1 AM A MAN. AND INTJiUJ-.STED IN ALL THAT CON- 
CERNS humanity,"— and inasmuch as thou didst have 
tor a friend Jung Siiliing, who was not ashamed to pen 
these words: "Goethe's heart, which few knew, was 
as great as his intellect, which all knew." 

As soon as the news of Goethe's death reached Mu- 
nich, the philosopher, Schelling, pronounced a eulogy 
ti] on him before the Academy of Sciences, which ended 
t bus : 

"Germany has suffered the severest loss which it 
could sutler. That man has withdrawn himself, who 
amid all confusion, internal and external, stood as 
a mighty pillar, the support of many, as a Pharos 
Enlightening all the paths »f intellect, who, an enemy 
by nature to all anarchy and lawlessness, wished to owe 
the mastery that heexercised OTertheminds of men only 
to truth and to the standard that existed in himself, lrom 
whose mind and heart, German} was sure to receive a 
judgment of fatherly wisdom, a final, reconciling deci- 
sion upon all that presented itself in art or science, in 
poetry Or lite. Germany was not fatherless, was not 
indigent; with all its weakness and internal disorders, 

was great, rich aud .powerful in mind, so long as 
Goethe lived.'' 

(■'lid 'lieck in concluding the funeral solemnities of |*t 
Goethe: 

" He is not removed from us; 
It is no dream that we knew him and loved him; 
He dwells In us, and we are most happy 
'lhat the blessed power remains to us 
Of admiring and loving the Greatest." 



•X ' 



* "- . 



If 1 had time I might give a few extracts from an 
article in the New Monthly Magazine (for June, 1832), 
in which this German poet and novelist is described a? 
the moral sun of mankind, ine one great philosopher of 
his age, the iii.vophant of a new era in the history of 
his race; the powerful workings and future effects of 
whose mysterious energy, the most initiated can as yet 
but imperfectly comprehend. 

At the time when Goethe came upon the stage of life, 
German literature was in a si ate ot transition. He did 
tot wish to see it go to ruin, or take the veil and be 
shorn of its ti esses. He felt that the writer was a sa- 
cred person. Ho seemed to be pervaded with a deep 
sense of the mission he had to fulfil. To borrow the 
language of another: "He is the type of culture, the 
amateur of all arts, and sciences, and events; artistic, 
but not artist; spiritual, but not spiritualist. There 
is nothing he had not right to know ; there is no weapon 
in the armory of universal genius he did not take into 
his hand, but with peremptory heed that he should not 
le ior a moment prejueiiced by his instruments, ilo 
htys a rav of light under every fact, aud between him* 
seif and fiis dearest property. From him nothing was 
hid, nothing withholden. The lurking daemons sat .o 
him, and the saint who saw the daemons; and the 
metaphysical elements took form. 'Piety itself Is no 
aim, out only a means, whereby, through purest inward 
pence, we may attain to highest culture.' And his 
penetration of every secret of the fine arts will make 
(Joetbo sfiil more statuesque. His affections help him, 
like women employed by Cicero to worm out the secret 
ef conspirators. Enmities ho has none. Enemy of 
him you mry be, — if so you shall teach him aught 
which your good-will cannot, were it only what expe- 
rience 'will acerue trom your ruin. Enemy and wel- 
come, but enemy on high terms. He cannot hate any 
body, his time is worth too much. Temperamental an- 
tagoimms may be suffered, but like feuds of emperors, 
who tight dienificdly across kingdoms." 

It is undoubtedly true that during his own lifetime 
Goethe held the highest place in the estimation of his 
fellow citizens. Thfy called him Munsaobtks. Far, 
lar did he outstrip alt rivalry, ou an arena where liter- 
ary competition has been more eager than in any other 
portion or period of the world. Until an extreme oul 
u e, he swayed an undisputed sceptre over the tastes of 
his nation, which he had in a great measure formed by 
bis writings. 

W e are told that when, during the last years of his 

life, Goethe occasionally visited the theatre at Saxe- 

\\ i in rr, it was customary for the assembly to refrain 

from applauding the performances until he gave some 

in token of his approbation. 

hdest of 
i ns of song cf whom Germany has ever boasted. 
|i a mode of verse through which Ins 
harp has not freely and sweetly run. ii: I pool 

Ion springing foi th from his mind in a poetic form 
pave birth to poetry in the Wi oi >" ' ' ' " 



in every pari ofhis poems you maj discover the seal of 
inspiration testifying to the orH toe of the 

spirit and of the fon», by the creation of wnieh that 
spirit has manifi . , in short, 

whxe is the spontaneous and rich outpouring 
of his poetic mind. In the language of a 
modern writer, " Goethe in his wanderer, as 
well as in other poems, exhibits the spirit of 
aucient literature in a degree which probably no mod- 
i rn poet ef any ration lias reached, as the resemblance 
is not merely in tlie form but in the very conception of 
the Ideas." 

Know'st thou the laud, where citrons scent the gate, 

V\ here glows the orange in the golden vale; 

AY hero Bofter luec.es fan the azure skies; 

Where myrtle- spring, and prouder laurels rise? 

Know'st thou the laud? 'tis there our footsteps tend; 

And there, my faithful love, our course shall end. 



* ' . 



Know'st thou the pile, the colonade sustains, 
Its splendid chambers and its rich domains, 
Where breathing statues stand in bright array, 
And seem, "What ails fhee, hapless inaid," to say? 
Know'ht thou the land ? 'tis there our footsteps tend; 
And there, my gentle guide, our course shall end. 

Know'st thou the mount, where clouds obscure the day ; 
Where scarce the mule can trace his misty way; 
\\ here lurks the dragon and her scaly brood, 
And broken rocks oppose the headloug flood? 
Know'st thou the land? 'tis there our course shall end. 
'there lies our way— ah, thither let us tend ! 

1 thir.k the song to the clouds is exceedingly beauti- 
ful. I give a translation ot it: 

Clouds that sweep the midnight heaven, 

On your bright wings let me rove, 
Leave me not with anguish riven, 
None who love me— none to love. 

Oft, my nightly vigils keeping, 
I have watched you till the dawn, 

Through the far blue heavens sweeping, 
On your snowy pinions home. 

Away,— away forever speeding. 

Careless wanderers of the air, 
Human joy and woe unheeding; 

Ah, j t pause not at my prayer. 

Leave, O leave me not in sadness, 

Heavenly longings in my breast; 
Bear me on your wings of gladness 

To the far home ot my rest. 

\ I think all will agree that these are touching lines— 

"Who never ale his bread in sorrow; 
Who never spent the darksome hoars 
Weeping and watching for the morrow; 
He knows you not, ye uuseen powers." 

And although I refrain from giving a translation ot 
those finely executed songs entitled "The Fisher," 
"The Erl-king," and "To the Parted One,"— yet I must 
say that 1 do not knew any thing morenassionate, tre.e 
and simple, than the following song, of which 1 give a 
iv.ii; 

WELCOME AND FAT; I WELL, 

My heart i: beats :— to ho;v<? in haste 1 
'1 v. as doni >re 'f was thought : 

The evening rocked the wild and wa 
Night round the dill's her veil had wrought. 

The oak. a tow'ring giant tl 
In garb oi mist had sought the 

V< here darkne: s trom the wood did .: 
all her hundred jet-biack eyes. 

Tl o moon, behind a cloudy train, 

1 through the haze with look of fear; 
On wings the winds did ilo;tt amain, 

And, awful, rustle in mine ear ; 
The night a thousand monsters framed, 

Yet fresh and gay my feelings fl i 
For in my veins what ardor flamed, 

And in my heart what passion glowed ! 

tsaw thee; gentle Joy did glide 

From thy he witching gaze on me; 
M v heart it throbb'd at thy fond side, 

And heaved its ev'ry sign for thee! 
A zeph\r with its rosy I 

Piay'tl round thy face in that sweet spot; 
And, gods!— Ibr me thy tenderness!— 

I hoped it— I deserved it notl 

1 et ah ! when morn had chased the night, 

Mv heart was rung by Farewell's throe ! 
But "lu thy kiss, oh: what delight) 

Though In such tearful wo! 

I went— though stood'st,— -thy heart was moved! 

On mo was fixed thv dewy sight, 
Yet what delight to he beloved! 

To love— ye gods !— oh, what delight ! 



WASHINGTON. 

Extraordinary Pi-aycr by the Chaplain 
©f the Senate. 

Washington, March 3.— The chaplain of the 
Senate today made the following extraordinary 
prayer:— "Oh Lord o'tr God,— we come to this place 
to deplore before Thee, the spitit of lying which Is 
abroad, and we beseech Thee to rebuke the giant 
demon of slander that stalk3 forth, casting upon all 
the earth a fearful shadow. Paralyze the hand that 
Writes the wilful detractions: palsy the tongue that 
utters wanton calumny,— the things which tend to 
undermine all conQdence in the good, an I to give 
a malignant power to all the b.vl elements 
for tlm demoralization and destruction of human 
society Let Thy flaming spirit take vengeance 
upon the false accuser, and consume this spirit o' 
ruin from off the land. This we ask in the name 
and lor the sake of Him who was truth itself.',' 



7f/4 



■* * 



• Hamilton's Greatest Argument.— Ham- 
ilton made the greatest argument ever uttered in 
this country. It was on the law of libel, and 
by it he stamped upon the mind of this country, 
the principle that in an action for libel, the truth, 
if utterred without malice, was a justification. 
Upon the night previous to the argument, he wrote 
out every word of it ; then he tore it up. He 
was, by writing, fully prepared ; it lay very fully 
in his mind ; and not tfc ko cramped and fettered 
by a precise verbal exactness, he tore it to pieces. 
Then he spoke and conquered. — Choate. 



/a 



/ 



A Warning to Early Risers. —The 
recent life of Josiah Quincy has the fol- 
lowing good anecdote : " One day Mr. 
John "Quincy Adams, who was adidicted 
to the. same vice of intemperate early ris- 
ing, with much the same consequences, 
was visiting my father, who invited him 
to go into Judge Story's lecture-room, and 
hear his lecture to his law-class. Now 
Judge Story did not accept the philoso- 
phy of his two friends in this particular, 
and would insist that it was a more e±cel- 
lent wSy to take out one's allowance of 
sleep in bed, and be wide-awake when 
out of it — which he himself most assured- 
ly always was. The Judge received the 
two presidents gladly, and placed them in 
the seat of honor, on the dais by his side, 
fronting the class, and proceeded with his 
lecture. It was not long before, glancing 
, his eva aside, to scfc Uow his guesjE 
impressed by his doctrine, he saw hat 
they were both of them sound asleep ; and 
ftg saw that the class saw it, too. Pausing 
a moment in ni* swift career of speech, he 
pointed to the two sleeping £ £ures, and 
uttered these word3 of warning : ' Gentle- 
men, you see before you a melancholy ex- 
ample of the evil effects of early rising F 
The shout of laughter with which this ju- 
dicial obiter dictum was received effectu- 
ally aroused the sleepers ; and it is to be 
hoped that they heard and profited by the 
remainder of the discourse." 




A 



HOW PRESCtlTT LOST II IK I 

lem (Mass.) Register in speaking of the death 
ef Ptescott the historian, mentions Urn following 
important though unpleasant incident of his 
life : 
We have hoard that the accident which dc- 

_prived Prescott of the use of one eye, and sub- 
sequently so impaired the power of vision in 
the other, was occasioned by a blow from a 
crust of bread thrown across the room by a fel- 
low-student in Commons Hall, t" jir the close of 

S college career. This seeming cai.t. Sity chai 
the whole current of his life, which he in! !- 
ed to devote to legal pursuits, and finally' 
hit#lnto that brilliant career as a histori 
which he has achieved a world-renowned 
or for himself and country. 



SCHILLER'S MIDNIGHT STUDIES. 

On sitting down to his desk at night, he was 
wont to keep some strong coffee or wine- choco- 
late, but more frequently a flask of old Rhenish 
or champagne, standing by him, that he might 
from time to time repair the exhaustion of nature. 
Often the neighbors used to hear him earnestly 
declaiming in the silence of the night ; and who- 
ever had an opportunity of watching him on 
such occasions — a thing very easy to be done 
from the heights' lying opposite to his little gar- 
den-house, on the other side of the dale — might 
see him now speaking aloud, and walking swift- 
ly to and fro in his chamber, then suddenly 
throwing himself into his chair, and writing, and 
drinking the while, sometimes more, than onto, 
from the glass standing near him. In winter he 
was to be found at his desk till four, or even five 
in the morning ; in summer till towards three. 
He then went to bed, from which he seldom rose 
till nine or ten. — Carlyle's Life of ScJiilkr. 



\ 






The Life of John James Audubon, the 
Naturalist, edited by his widow, has been pub- 
lished in New York by G. P. Putnam & Son. 
It is a handsome duodecimo volume, made up 
largely of extracts from his journal. Audubon 
was born May 4, 1780, on a plantation in Louisi- 
ana. He died January 27, 1851, in the city of 
New York. His father was a Frenchman who 
won fortune and distinction by his own efforts ; 
the mother, who had beauty and wealth, it is 
said, was of Spanish origin. Her name was 
Anne Moynette. The Audubon family dwelt 
originally in the small village of Sable d'Olonne, 
in La Vendee, France. Here the naturalist's 
grandfather, who was a poor fisherman, had a 
family of two sons and nineteen daughters, 
twenty-one in all, who grew to maturity; and 
the grandson says:— "When I visited Sable 
d'Olonne, the old inhabitants told me that they 
had seen the whole of this family, including the 
two parents, at church together, several times, 

He be- 
came a sailor, rose to the command of a vessel, 
became a ship owner, settled in Saint Domingo, 
and accumulated a large amount of property. 
He became an officer in the French navy, and 
had command of a vessel of war. He purchased 
estates in Louisiana, Virginia, and Pennsylva- 
nia. His wife perished during the insurrection 
in 'Saint Domingo. He finally returned to 
France, married again, purchased an estate on 
the Loire, nine miles from Nantes, and died 
there in 1818, aged ninety-five years. He seems 
to have been a man of remarkable force of mind 
and character; being, algo, it is said, a man of 
"good proportions," with "simplicity of man- 
ners and a perfect sense of honesty." He had 
one daughter, and three sons of whom the natu- 
ralist was the youngest. 

John James Audubon was educated in France, 
more in accordance with his own tastes, it 
seems, than with the intention of his father, who 
desired to have him become an accomplished 
naval officer. "His step-mother, being without 
children of her own, humored him in every 
whim and indulged him in every luxury." 
When a boy, he' began to collect specimens of 
natural history, and, while at school in Nantes, 
figured about two hundred specimens of French 
birds. He was finally sent to America to super- 
intend his father's property in the United States. 
Here, the estate at Mill Grove, in Pennsylvania, 
became his home, and his taste for natural his- 
tory was indulged without restraint. Here he 
found his wife, who who was the daughter of a 
wealthy English gentleman -°ttled in the same 
neighborhood. He could not easily overcome 
his French repugnance Englishmen; hut 
when he was finally indu ^7 to C »H on this gen- 
tleman, Mr. Bakewell, he lmrn e ( iiatcly fell in 
love with his daugh'T, Lucv> whom he after- 
wards married, an to who m w< 5 ftr e indebted 
for thi? ord of his life His account of the 
I' nu '.ng with tUc 7 Bakewell, is naive, 
" * and quite characteristic. 
it me necc' S8ar J r f° r n * m t0 return to 
franc, ,v., b his father again sought to trans- 
im into a naval officer. When he was 
again at home in " Penns y lvaiua > his time was 
chiefly occupied by his favorite pursuits. Lucy 
Bakewcll's brother Williara £ avc the following 
accounts of a visit t0 Audubon, at this time: 

"AuduDon took me to his house. On enter- 
ing his room, I was astonished and delighted to 
find it turned into a museum. The walls were 
festooned with all sorts of bird's eggs carefully 
blown out and strung on a thread. The chim- 
ney piece was covered with stuffed squirrels, 
racoons, and opossums; and the shelves 
around were likewise crowded with specimens, 
among which were fishes, frogs, snakes, lizards, 
and other reptiles. Besides these stnffed varie- 
ties, many paintings were arranged upon the 
walls, chiefly of birds. He has great skill in 
stuffing and preserving animals ot all sorts. He 
was an admirable marksman, an expert swim- 
mer, a clever rider, and had great activity and 
prodigious strength." 

This was not prec^ely the business which the 
elder Audubon deemed wisest; and it was not 
the most promising in the eyes of Lucy's father, 
who advised htm to engage in mercantile pur- 
suits. Eager to please the old gentleman, he 
went to New York and entered the business 
bouse of Mr. Bakewcll's brother; but he did 
not succeed. The failure is explained by the 
statement that he was constantly wandering 
from his business "in search of birds and 



natural curiosities," and that "his natural 
history pursuits in New York occasioned a 
disagreeable flavor in his rooms from drying 
birds' skins, and was productive of so 
much annoyance to his neighbors, that 
they forwarded a message to him 
through a constable, insisting that the 
nuisance must be abated." He returned to 
Mill Grove, but soon sold this estate, intending 
to go into business at Louisville, Kentucky. He 
was married, April 8th, 1808, and started for 
Louisville, going down the Ohio in a queer flat- 
bottomed, slow-moving vessel, which he called 
an ark. At Louisville, the business was left to 
the care of a friend, while he devoted himself 
to the pursuits which he found it impossbile to 
forsake. Here he became acquainted with Wil- 
son, the ornithologist, who seems to have been 
first astonished at his collection of birds, and 
then jealous of his superiority. 

From this time onward to the end of his life, 
Audubon was chiefly occupied with his studies 
and discoveries in natural history, and, es- 
pecially, in ornithology. He travelled through 
the wild west, went among the Indians, traversed 
every section of the country irom Texas and 
Florida to Labrador, and gathered an immense 
collection of specimens. His peculiarity as a 
naturalist consisted chiefly of the physical en- 
ergy and endurance, as well as intelligence, with 
which he pursued his explorations, and of the 
astonishing skill with which he painted birds, 
producing life-like pictures of their forms, 
plumage, attitudes, and characteristic marks, 
which have never been excelled. His pictures 
have been described as " forcible photographs in 
colors." In 1826, he went to England, to secure 
subscribers and a publisher for his great work 
on " The Birds of America." He visited France, 
also, and was absent nearly three years. 
In 1880 he returned to England and began 
the preparation of his " Ornithological 
Biography of the Birds of America," which 
was rapidly finished, and immediately publish- 
ed. For several years afterwards he was engaged 
in his explorations in Florida, Labrador, and 
the British provinces. There was another 
voyage to England, and there were other ex- 
plorations; and we can see that, in all his la- 
bors, he was sustained, and probably made sue 
cessful, by the appreciation and sympathy of 
his wife ; by whom he was encouraged and aided, 
when others saw, in his enthusiasm, madness 
rather than wisdom. She seems to have been 
one of the "rare women." This account of his 
life is full of interest, and . will, doubtless, find 
many readers./*. -J 



-V\N- 



/U*+-£~ 



^-VsV 



In the fall of the same year a malignant epi- 
demic of a typhoid character, probably brought 
on by the preceding famine, broke out at So- 
leure. It was to become fatal so the old Gener- 
al too. On the first of October the first symp- 
toms of the disease made their appearance. 
With the calmness peculiar to him he made at 
once his will. The larger portion of his con- 
siderable fortune he bequeathed to the Zeltner 
family, and made, of course, the most liberal 
provision for his beloved Emily. The poor, the 
orphan asylum, and several other charitable in- 
stitutions were remembered with his usual mu- 
nificence; and he, moreover, handed a large 
sum in cash to his friend Amiet, a lawyer, 
for distribution among persons in straitened 
circumstances. He declared most emphatical- 
ly that his funeral should be as simple as pos- 
sible ; but he wished that six poor men should 
carry his coffin to the grave. After making 
these dispositions Kosciuszko, heaving a sigh 
of relief, laid down his pen and exclaimed, 
"Now I am at ease again!" Although the 
symjftoms of his disease seemed not to justify 
any serious apprehensions, and his intellect re- 
mained clear and unimpaired to the last, it was 
his firm conviction that he would die. He 
conversed calmly with his friend Zeltner, who 
scarcely left his bedside, on his past and on 
the future of Poland — a subject which engrossed 
his attention to the last. 

Solemn and deeply affecting was the mo- 
ment when Kosciuszko took leave of Zeltner 
and his family. All knelt down at the bedside 
of the beloved sufferer; he gave his blessing 
and addressed a word of love and consolation to 



each of them. Then, in accordance with the 
old custom, he caused his sword to be handed 
to him, gazed at it mournfully for a few mo- 
ments, and laid it down by his side as if to in- 
trust to it the custody of his ashes. 

On the 15th of October, toward nightfall, his 
strength was rapidly decreasing, and all felt 
that the end was close at hand. All at once 
he raised himself up with a last spasmodic ef- 
fort, held out his hands to Mr. and Madame 
Zeltner, greeted his Emily* with a sweet smile, 
and, heaving a gentle sigh, sank back. He 
was dead. 

A post-mortem examination took place next 
day, and the remains were then embalmed. 
The body was covered all over with the traces 
of old wounds ; several deep scars adorned his 
breast, and his skull was crossed with sabre- 
strokes. When the corpse was undressed the 
undertaker found on his breast a white hand- 
kerchief which he had worn there ever since his 
youth, and of the meaning of which few persons 
were aware. It was the last love-pledge which 
Louisa Sosnowska, daughter of the Marshal of 
Lithuania, had given to him, and which he had 
worn on his heart for forty years past as a pre- 
cious relic of his pure and only love. Forty 
years before, when the illustrious deceased had 
been but an obscure captain, he had wooed the 
young lady. But her haughty parents had 
scornfully rejected the poor young nobleman. 
An elopement was the consequence of this re- 
ply, and already the two lovers had escaped un- 
der cover of night and were close to the goal 
of their wishes when armed pursuers overtook 
them. Kosciuszko defended himself with lion- 
hearted courage, but he was overpowered and 
sank, severely wounded, to the ground. When 
he awoke to consciousness all that he found of 
his beloved was a handkerchief which she had 
dropped, and which was stained with his blood. 
He picked it up ; it was the same handkerchief 
which was found after his death. It was on 
account of this unhappy love-affair that the 
young officer quitted the Polish service and de- 
voted his sword to the deliverance of the Amer- 
ican colonies. He never forgot Louisa Sosnow- 
ska, and always rejected the advice of his friends 
to marry another lady. Louisa, on her part, 
became, several years afterward, the wife of a 

distinguished Pole, but she always remained 
devoted in true friendship to her beloved Thad- 
deus. 

The hero's funeral was simple and destitute 
of military pomp, but most impressive, owing 
to the universal sorrow and the large number 
of mourners to whom he had been a father, 
and who now followed his coffin with tears and 
lamentations. Six poor old men carried the 
coffin. The procession was headed by orphan 
children wearing mourning-scarfs and bearing 
! flowers in their hands. The coffin was open 
that all Soleure might gaze once more at the 
dear features of the great and good man. 
Youths walked on either side, bearing, on 
black velvet cushions, Kosciuszko's sword, his 
hat, his baton, the regalia of the Cincinnati, 
and laurel and oak wreaths. The remains 
were placed in a leaden coffin in the Church 
of the Jesuits, at Soleure, after the solemn 
service of the dead had been celebrated. The 
authorities then affixed their official seals'to it, 
whereupon the leaden coffin was inclosed in a 
wooden one, and deposited in the vault of the 

There was a loud burst of grief throughout 
Poland when the news came that her great 
leader was dead. It seemed intolerable to the 
nation that he should repose in foreign soil. 
The Emperor Alexander was requested, in the 
name of the people of Poland, to permit the 
burial of the remains of the idolized General 
in his native country. Alexander, who had 
repeatedly expressed his esteem and sympathy 
for Kosciuszko, granted the request with the 
utmost readiness. The authorities of Soleure 
acknowledged the claims of Poland : Kosciusz- 
ko's coffin was taken from its grave, and, ac- 
companied by Prince Jablonowsky, Alexan- 
der's chamberlain, conveyed amidst imposing 
solemnities to Poland. But his heart had been 
daced in a metal box at the time the remains 
ere embalmed, and it had been buried in the 
-ve-yard of Zuchwil. "The heart of the 
h General throbbed for the whole world ; 
then, be accessible here to the venera- 
nll mankind." With these words Mr. 
ad refused to allpw the Poles to re- 
duezko'i heart. 



THE F AITHFUL WIFE. 

In 1798, M. de Talleyrand was in Bos'on. One 
day, whilst crossing the market-place, he was com- 
pelled to stop by a long row of wagons, all loaded 
wiih vjgetables. The wily courtier, generally so 
dea^ to emotions, could not but look with a 
kind ef pleasure at these wagons, and the little 
wagoners, who, by-tht-by, w,:re young and 
pretty country-women. Suddenly the vehicles 
came to a stand, apd the eyes of M. de Talleyrand 
chanced to rest on one or tbe yoang wo'nen who 
appeared more lovely ami graceful tiian the others. 
An exclamation escaped from his lips. It attract- 
ed the attention of the fair one, whoss couutry 
dress and large bat bespoke da ly visits to the 
n aiket; as she beheld the astonished Talleyrand, 
whom sbe recognized immedia'ely, she burst out 
laugbirg. 

"What! is it yon/" exclaimed she. 

'Yes, indeed, it is I. But yon, what are you do- 
irg bere?" 

"I," said the young wom&n ; "I am waiting far 
my turn to pass on. I am going to sell my greens 
and vegetablf i &< the market." 

At that moment the wagons began to move 
along, sbe of tbe prraw hat applied the whip to hsr 
borse, told M. de Talleyrand the name of the vil- 
lage where she was living, requesting him earnest- 
ly to come Bnd see her, disappeared, and left him 
as if riveted on the spo; by this strange Repara- 
tion. 

Who was this young market-woman ? Madame 
la Comtesse de la Tourdu-Pm, (Mademoiselle de 
Dillon. ) tbe most elegant among the ladies of the 
court of Louis the Sixteenth, king of Franca, and 
whose moral and intellectual worth had shone 
with so dszzling a lustre in the society of h'jr nu- 
merous friends and admirers. At the timo when 
tbe French nobility emigrated, sbe was young, 
i dowed with the most remarkable talents, 
and, like all the ladies who held a rank at the 
court, bed only had time to attend to such duties 
as belonged to her highly fashionable and courtly 
life. 

Let any ose fancy the suffering and agony of 
that woman, born in the lap of wealth, and who 
bad breathed nothing but perfumes under the 
gilded ceiling of the royal palace of Versailles, 
when all at once she found herself surrounded with 
blood and massacres, and saw every kind of dan- 
ger Resetting her young and beloved husband and 
her infant chikl. 

They succeeded in flying from France. It was 
their good fortune to escape from the bloody laud 
where Robespierre and his assocfares were busy at 
tbe work of death. Alas! in those times of terror 
the poor cllldien themselves abandoned with joy 
the parental roof, for no hiding place was secure 
against the vigilant eye of those monsters who 
thirsted for innocent blood. 

The fugitives landed in America, and first went 
to Boston, where tfeey found a retreat. But what 
a change for the young, pretty, and fashionable 
lady, spoiled from infancy by loud and continual 
praises of her beauty and talents. 

Mods, de la Tour du Pin was extravagantly fond 
of bis wife. At the court of France he had seen 
her, with the proud eye of a husband, the object of 
gereral admiration. Indeed, her conduct had al- 
ways been virtuous and exemplary; but now, ia a 
foreign land, and among unsophisticated republi- 
cans, (1703,) what was the use of courtly refine- 
ments. 

Happy as he was in seeing her escape from all 
the perils he bad dieaded on her own account, still 
he could cot but deplore the future lot of the wife 
of bis bosom. However, with the prudent fore- 
sight of a &,ood father and a kind husband, he 
Derved himself against despair, and exerted him- 
self to render their condition less miserable than 
that of many emigrants who were starving when 
the little money tbey bad brought over with them 
had been exhausted. Not a word of English did 
he know ; but his wife spoke it fluently, and ad- 
mirably well. 

They boarded at Mrs. Muller's, a good-natured, 
notable woman, who on every occasion evinced the 
greatest respect and admiration for her fair board- 
er; yet M. de la Tour-du-Piu was in constant dread 
le&t the conversation of that good, plain and well- 
meaning woman might be the cause of great en- 
nui to his laoy. What a contrast with the society 
of such gentlemen as M.deNOr Donne, M. de Tal- 
Icyjand, and the high-minded and polished nobili 
ty of France! Whenever he was thinking of this 
transition, (particularly when absent from his wife, 
and tilling the garden of the cottage which they 
were going to inhabit,) he felt such pan»s and 
beart-thiobbings as to make him apprehensive on 
his return to Mrs. Muller to meet the looks of his 
beloved wife, whom he expected to see bathed in 
tears. Meanwhile the good hostess would give him 
a hearty shake of the hand, and repeat to him, 
"Happy husband ! Happy husband !" 

At last came tbe day when tbe fugitive family 
left the boarding-home of Mrs. Muller to go and 
inhabit their little cottage, when they were to ba ac 
last exempt from want, with an only servant, a ne- 
gro, a kind of Jack-o'-all trades, viz., gardener, 
footman and cook, the last function M. de la Tour- 
du-Pin dreaded most of all to see him undertake. 

It was almost dinner-time. The poor emigrant 
went into his little garden to gather so me fruit, and 
tarried as long as possible. On his return home his 
wife was absent ; looking for her he entered the 
kitchen, and saw a young countrywoman, who, 
with her back to the door, was kneading dough ; 
her arms of snowy whiteness were bare to the el- 
bows. M. de la Tour-du Pin started, the young 
woman turned round. It was his beloved wife, 
who had exchanged her muslins and silk for a 



The L vte Mks. Sigoukn'ey was one of the 
most amiable of human beings, and everybody 
who real her verses instinctively felt the kindli- 
ness and good will of her heart. The result was 
that everybody who wanted the services of an 
author considered that sbe was the person to be 
applied to. In her posthumous autobiographi- 
cal work she has devoted several pa?cs to a con- 
densed account of the absurd applications she 
has received. Here arc some specimens : 

Epitaphs for a man and two children, with 
Warning that two hundred and fifty letters must 
be allowed in the whole, the monument not being 
larie enough to contain more. A piece to copy 
in the album ol a lady of whom I had never 
heard, requested by a gentleman "to be sent as 
soon as Saturday afternoon, because then he is 
more at leisure to attend to it." To punctuate a 
manuscript volume of three hundred pages, the 
author havtn-i' always had a dislike to tlie busi- 
ness of punctuation, finding that it brings on "a 
pain in the bae'e of the neck." 

An album from a clerk in a store, given him 
by another clerk in another store, to be written 
in for a young lady of whose name he was not 
quite certain, and the "most he knew about her 
was, that she was a very rich girl." The owner 
of a canary bird which had been accidentally 
starved to death wishes some elegiac verses. A 
stranger, whose son died at the age of nine 
months, "weighing. lust thirteen pounds, would 
be glad of some poetry to be framed, glazed, and 
hung over tbe chimney-piece, to keep tbe other 
children from, forgetting him." Solicitation 
from the Far West, that I would "write out 
lengthy" a sketch of the loves of two person" 
ages, of whom no suggestive circumstances were 
relate!, one of whom was a journeyman tailor, 
'; and the name of the other, "Sister Babcock," as 
far as the chirogapby could be translated. A 
father requesting elegiac linea on a young clr, id, 
supplying, as the only suggestion for the tune- 
ful muse, the pact that he was unfortunate y 
"drowned in a barrel of swine a food. 



country dress, not as for a fancy ball, but to play 
tbe part of a real farmer's wife. At the sight of her 
husband her cheeks crimsoned, and sae joined 
her hands in a supplicating manner. "Oh! my 
love," said she, "co not laugh at me. I am as ex- 
pert as Mrs. Muller." 

Too full of emotion to speak, he clasps her to 
his bosom, and kisses her fervently. From his 
inquiries, he learns tfeat when he thought her 
given up to despair, 3he bad employed her time 
more usefully for their future happiness. She 
had taken lessons from Mrs. Muller and her ser- 
vants— and after six\ months, had become skilful 
in the culinary art, a thorough housekeeper, 
discovering her angelic nature and admirable for 
titude. 

"Dearest," continued she, "if yoa knew how- 
easy it is. We, in a moment, understand what 
would cost a countrywoman sometimes one or 
two years. Now wj shall be happy — you will no 
longer be afraid of ennui for me, nor I of douats 
about my abilities-, of which I will give you many 
proofs," said she, looking with a bewitching smile 
at him. "Come, come, you promised us a salad, 
and I am going to bake for to-morrow; the oven 
is hot. To-day the bread of the town will do— 
but oh ! — henceforward leave it to me." 

From that moment, Madame de la Tour-duPin 
kept ber word; she insisted on going herself to 
Boston to sell her vegetables and cream-cheeses. 
It was on such an errand to nown that M. de Tal- 
leyrand met her. The day after he went to pay her 
a visit, and found her in the poultry-yard, sur- 
rounded by a hast of fowls, hungry chicks and 
pigeons. 

She was all that she had promised to be. Besides, 
her health had been so much benefited, that she 
seemed less fatigued by the hou3«-work, than if 
she had attended the balls of una winter. Her 
beauty which had been remarkable in the gorgeous 
palace of Versailles, was dazzling in her cottage in 
the New World. M. de Talleyrand said so to her. 

"Indeed I" replied she with* :iaivete, "indeed, do 
ycu think so? lam delighted to hear it. A wo- 
man is always and everywhere proud of her per- 
sonal attractions." 

At that moment the blaak servant bolted iuto 
tbe drawing-room, holding in. his hand his jacket 
with a kmg rent in the bick. "Missis, him j aefcet 
torn; please mend him." She immediately tcok 
a need's, -.repaired Gullah'3 jacket, and continued 
tbe conversation with charming simplicity. 

This little adventure left a deep impression on 
the mind of M. de Talle/sraarJ, who used to relate 
it with that to»e of vffcae, peculiar to lis nar- 
rations. 

_ -Up. .. -L- 

Epitaph on a tombstone in Chautauqua Coun- 



(jmuilla trio. 

The reappearance In our public concerts of 
the remarkable female violin virtuoso, Madam 
Camilla Urso, and the large amount of interest 
manifested in her by tbe public, leads us to pre- 
sent a sketch of her history : 

"Camilla belongs to an Italian family which 
has rendered considerable service to art. 
Her father, Salvator Urso, born at Pa- 
lermo in 1810, was the son of a 
distinguished musician, and himself receiv- 
a £. ,Dorou £ a musical education. He establish- 
ed himself at Nantes, where he was organist of 
the Church of the Holy Cross. The musical sensi- 
bility of Camilla was so great at a vcrv early a"- e 
that the slightest sound caused her to weep or 
laugh according as it expressed joy or grief. 

Tbe occasion which first revealed to Camilla 
her vocation, and when she made choice of the 
instrument which was to give her, at such a ten- 
der age (seven years), the joys and dories of the 
artist, deserves to be related, Her father had 
taken her to amass of St. Cecilia in the church 
of the Holy Cross, where he was organist. The 
temple had been sumptuously decorated for the 
solemnities of the riay; and the rays of the au- 
tumn sun, shining through the windows of 
stained glass, ^hed a grave and religious lijfnt 
upon the - aa ve. At the moment when Camilla 
had takrv rt a place at her father's side, a well 
traine; a orchestra gave the opening chords of the 
*-y;Ae Eleison. Soon the sound of the organ 
0<nd of the voices of the choir joined with the 
harmony of the instruments. From that mo- 
ment Camilla remained motionless as the pillar 
against which she was leaning; all the pomp of 
the divine service had disappeared from her 
eyes; she had but one sense left— hearing; and 
while other children of her age were gazing with 
curious eyes upon the altar, blazing with ta- 
pers, and the gilded vestments of the priests. 
Camilla saw nothing, heard nothing, but the 
music and the singing. Finally, the service be- 
ing finished, the music ceased; the crowd began 
to retire while she stood still, as if listening," mute' 
and motionless as a statue. Her father was 
obliged to rate her by the arm to make her con- 
scious that they were alone, and that it was time 
to return, UO me. Camilla followed, and confided 
2 i m on tne wav au ber impressions. What 
she l^ad found to be most beautiful, most touch- , 
!«;<, in the midst of tbe Mass of St. Cecelia, the? 
instrument which had most charmed her among 
all those whose sounds rang amoug the vaults of 
the chnrch, was tbe violin, the king of instru- 
ments,— the violin, whose tones weep and sing 
like the human voice; that instrument which 
best obeys the hand, the most efficient • 
agent of the will and inspiration of the ! 
artist. " I wish to learn the violin." ' 
said the little Camilla, resolutely, to her i 
father. M. Urso, like a sensible man, did 
not attempt to oppose an inclination announced ' 
in so characteristic a manner; he procured a 
teacher of the violin for his daughter, and him- 
self taught her the first elements of music. The 
progress of the child was so rapid that, at the 
end of about a year, she appeared for the first 
time in public, at a concert given for the benefit 
of an artist. 

The debut of the young violinist produced an 
immense sensation, repeatedly interrupted by 
applause and acclamations. Sbe was saluted at 
ihe end bv salvos of bravos and a shower of 
bouquets. The grea |ibility displayed by Camilla 
caused her father to place her at the Conserva- 
toire at Pons, where, under the personal attention 
•of the distinguished Massart, she made the mobt 
rapid progress. 

One who heard at this early age says of her: 
''Her attitude was at once modest and confident, 
one would say that she had a consciousness ot 
herself, of her talent, and that this conviction 
inspired her with the boldness which is indispen- 
sable to the success of all who would offer them _ 
selves for the suffrages or to the criticism of the 
public. This strength, which springs from con- 
fidence in b^s own resources, is as necessary to 
the artist as superiority of talent." Success fol- 
lowed Vfl e young artist everywhere. Dilettanti, 
artists, everybody overwhelmed her with praise 
a p ,d loaded her with bon bons and toys — a kind 
of ovation to which the little Camilla was not 
yet of an age to be insensible. Camilla after com- 
pleting her studies and making the tour ot the 
■continental cities, being everywhere received 
with great applause, came to this country, still a 
mere child, in 1852. We have many among us 
who recollect well the fragile girl who charmed 
us in those by-gone days with harmonies beyond 
her years. 



ty:- 



"Neuralgia worked on Mrs. Smith 

Till 'neath the sod it laid her; 
She was a worthy Methodist, 

And served as a crusader. 
"Friends came, delighted at the call, 

In plenty of good carriages; 
Death is the common lot of all, 

And comes more oft than marriages.' 



"Who was the most merciful man mentioned 
in the Bible?" asked a Scripture teacher the oth- 
er day of the class he was examining. "Og, the 
King of Bashan!" exclaimed a smart youngster, 
with all the force of certainty. "Og, the King 
of Bashan— why?" "Because, Bir, his mercy 
endureth forever." 



WILLIAM COWPER. Biog- 

raphers and critics have discussed, with wide 
diversity of opinion, its character and causes. 
The melancholy which ushered in his first attack 



In 179C his "faithful Mary," Mrs.'Unwin, who 
had watched over him with a mother's tender- 
ness for many years, died. With unsurpassed 
tenderness and delicacy the poet had expressed 



I 



assumed a religious form. From that attack he his desire to celebrate in fitting verse her worth 
passed into a state of high religious enjoyment, yet thus checks himself: 
which continued for several years without a 
cloud, and then he became the victim of religious 
doubts, or rather of a settled conviction that he 
was rejected of God. At St. Albans, under the 
guidance of Dr. Cotton, and afterward under that 
of Mr. Newton, he adopted and ever after firmly 
held the Calvinistic faith. That this faith gave 
shape and color to the imaginations which haunt- 
ed him in later years is more than probable. 
But there is not the slightest reason for suppos- 
ing that his insanity, as some have intimated, ' shattered nerves 



" But thou hast little need. There is a book 
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 

On which the eyes of God not rarely look, 
A chronicle of actions just and bright; 

There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, 

And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.' 



Urs. tTiiwin, the friend of ^ 
■eatative of that noble class of persona who deri 
their happiness from imparting comfort to oihe 
oowper was insane. Insanity indeed 
Bsh-eration. The darkened mind gropes vague 
tor human love, the heavy heart longs for some ua 
m whom to confide. He wVo brings a smile to th 
4xed, lined features of such an one, sends beams 
light where all is chaotic and cheerless. The ca s 
•f ©owper was extremely touching. Innocent au< 
tender-hearted, loying all and beloved by all,desii 
i»g the eemforts of religion, and elinging to Hi 
fcro.s of religious devotion, he lived, looking upo 
himself as an outcast of God, and doomed so ete 
nai misery. 

" My love is Elain, and by my crime in slain, 
Ah ! new beneath whose wings shall J repose V 



But it is mercifully ordained 
was due to any such cause. We have seen that that, while declining years weaken the force nee 
predisposing tendencies to mental disease ap- essary to enable us to bear up under trials, they 
peared even in his childhood, and we know under in a corresponding degree diminish the keenness 
what circumstances of anxiety and apprehension of our sensibility to suffering and sorrow. When 



His friends were apprehensive that the death of 

one whose life he had so long considered essential Tho delusion lay upon his mind like an ineabw 
to his own, would prove too severe a shock to his * B * ei « e P* & t brief intervals, the lapse of time di 

not remove it. 



" Seasons returned, but not to him returned 
Cod and th« sweet ap preach of heavenly day. 



predisposing tendencies to mental disease ap- essary to enable us to bear up under trials, they 

Th* unhappy poet was the eare of Mrs. Mary 
F»win. He was not her relative — he had enterei 



a ir ^ «.#•#«. li v.- -I t x. lj 1 " 7*. *T , *« u *»e<»- Unt she Jrnew that he looked up to he 

madness. Had the affair of the clerkship never corpse of one who had so long acted the part of as to a mother, and that without her his cise wouh 

occurred, Cowper might never have become in- mother to him, he looked at it a few minutes, •• greatly aggravated, and she willingly conseatet 

sane. But the probabilities are otherwise. Some then started back with a vehement but unfin- *• heeome his nurse. Her husband soon afte 

died ; the malady of Cowper became settled ; anc 



other trouble — some other excitement — was sure ished exclamation of anguish. From that mo- 



lten pure sympathy, she devoted to him the whol 



to come, and there, in his brain or blood, ever ment he seemed to have lost all memory of her ; .f*w JP"t By *!!«?! TA. t 

, . . ' ., j.j. , , i j ,. , , -, . J , .'•! ner subsequent lite. During his long periods o 

he never asked a question about her funeral, in Mt itement, when for months no smile would 



ready to quicken, were the see^s of disease." 

The last original poem of Cowper was ^.^ — , - 
Castaway, founded on an anecdote in Anson's the slightest allusion to her 



The last original poem of Cowper was The fact, never after mentioned her name, or m&de tnliven his countenance, she watched by him da] 

and night, regardless of her health, ever seeking U 



voyage. It was composed on the 20th of March 
1799. Its last stanza relates to his own desolate 
and despairing condition. 

" No voice divine the storm allayed 
No light propitious shone, 
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, 

We perished each alone. 
But I beneath a rougher sea, 
And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he. 

In the fall or winter of this year dropsy inter- 
vened with the other maladies of Cowper, and 
hastened his demise, which took place April 25, 
1 800. The closing scene is thus described by Mr. 
Johnson, his relative and friend: "At five in the 
morning a deadly change in his features was 
observed to take place. He remained in an in- 
sensible state from that time till about five 
minutes before five in the afternoon, when he 
ceased to breathe. And in so mild and gentle a 
manner did his spirit take its flight that, though 
tie writer of this memoir, his medical attendant, 
Mr. Woods, and three other persons were stand- 
ing at the foot and side of the bed with their 
eyes fixed upon his dying countenance, the pre- 
cise moment of his departure was unobserved by 
any." As life ebbed away the expression of 
agony and despair upon his countenance gave 
way to one of "calmness and composure, min- 



. ,nnpart to him some ray of eomfort. And when th 

en sable vail was partially lifted, it was her coastau 



Southey says that "Lady 
conversation had as happy an effect upon th«are to make his life flow so smoothly Chat hi 
melancholy spirit of Cowper as the harp o«aind might be strengthened by the soothing influ 
David upon Saul. Whenever the cloud seeme* Bee - $ ne encouraged poetical composition 
to be coming over him, her sprightly powers wer*? e knew ' li *. Balu *«y effects on a mind like 

exerted to dispel it." One afternoon she tol? h ! w?', h . 8U f bjecte ; *»* .T e are ^^ 
, . , . r r T , n-, ■ " C1 " uuu BUts tUi indebted to her for some of his most beautitu 
him the tale of John Gilpin, which she had hearken*. Of her devotion to him in his dark© 
in her childhood. The story took hold of hihouxs,he writes, on one occasion : "I wnlk eon- 
gloomy mind amazingly. Again and again h** 8 *^' taat * s *° sa y> Mrs. Unwin and I together 

burst forth into immoderate fits of laughter an 1 * 1 .,** 8Uch l T e * I k#e P * er ©onatantty employed 
the r, av + ™~™- +1 -ii xi . i • ,', , an<i never Rufler her to be absent from mo many 

the next morning told her that, being unable t», nteB . She gires me all her time and all he. 
sleep during the night, he had turned it into attention, and forgets that there is another object 
ballad. No sooner was it published than it be** ** e world." And again, on another occasion 
came famous all over the land Who is the/' The wno,e management of me devolved upou her 

that has not read it and laughed over it? Bu^i * t^Hf f f k she haA u ^ e P erfomw * ** 
•, • , . e „. ' , ■" "however, with cheerfulness hardly ever equaled 

it is a sad commentary upon this to hear th M d I have often heard her say that, if ever sh 
melancholy poet say: " I am compelled to thpraised God in her life, it wae when she fouud tha 
arduous task of being merry by force. And th* De was to have all the latior. 5>he performed i 
most ludicrous lines I ever wrote were written jf»«««*dingly, but, as I hinted ouoe before, very muct 

te the hurt of her own constitution." It was t 



i my saddest mood." 

T j « . _ . ««) »o «* oat, •»¥ iicr uiutj in iter litst at 

I Lady Austen urged Cowper to try his hand a wre t e the touching poem, commencing : 
1 blank verse. He complained that he had n< 

theme. " You can write upon any theme," sai< 

she. " Write upon the sofa." The fancy struc] 

him. What was designed simply for a fugitiv 

production grew upon the poet's hands till " Th- 
jTask" — the noblest monument of his genius— 



her, as he sat by her side m her last days, that h< 



the twentieth year is well-nigh paut, 
Since first our efcy *>as o'eriagt ; 
Ah, would that this might be the last, 
My Mary. 



Iliy spirits have a fainter flow ; 
I see thee daily weaker grow ; 
'Jfwaa roy distress that brought thee low. 
My Mary !" 



— The life of Cowper is a household story, and 

as it were, with holy surprise" ^And his | one that may wcl1 exci,e our s >" m l >a1h y and V^Y- 
kinsman suggests that this may have been an '^e delu.mn that at last clouded his mind and fol- 
ir>A^ ~r +v, i i. ai 1.1 , • lowed him to his dving hour, is a melancholy sub- 

mdex of the last thoughts and enjoyments of his j ec t for thought. It is sad to think that he died 
soul as it gradually emerged from the depths of and verbally "made no sign." " Calmness and corn- 
its despondency into the serene and glorious light posum mingled, as it were, with holy surprise, 
mat thon Vivoolri'n« ,i^^« u„ ...• : ttt ' S&V8 one who stood bv Hir Hviiit nnr>f. mnrl.-p 



just then breaking upon its vision. We may 
well hope that such was the case, nor have we 
reason to doubt it. But it is still painfully cer- 
tain that, so long as the gifted but unhappy poet 
was able to hold intelligent connection with 
earth, darkness and despair were round about 
him. 
r "■ f-~? 

Some relief from his fearful malady was ex- 
perienced during the seven years that preceded 
1794, then it returned upon him with its full and 
fearful force. In his former attacks the idea pre- 
vailed that God had required self-sacrifice of him, 
and that, failing to make it when he had the 
power, he had been condemned soul and body 
forever. 



ays one who stood by (he dying poet, marked 
his departure. The truth that he had been an out- 
cast from God only in a disordered imagination, 
must at last have been to him indeed precious and 
delightful. Glorious to his soul must have been 
the dawning of celestial day. Though we may 
scorn discursive, we cannot refrain from quoting 
the thoughts of Mrs. Browning on the subject : 

"Like a sick cliiM, that knoweth not his mother while she blesses, 
An<\ drops upon his burning brow the coolness of her kisses,— 
Jluit, turns his fevered eyes around— 'My mother! where's my 

mother?' 
.As if such tender words and deeds could come from any other!— 

The fever gone, with |p;i)w or heart he sees her bendins o'er him. 
Her face ;<!l pale frojo watchful love, the nmveary love she bore 
him ! 

Tims wo!." '.he port from th/diCHm lite life's long fever pave lam. 
iJcneath those deep, pathetic ej;es, which closed in death to save 

• dm. 
Thus ? Oh, not tku* ■ no typo of earth can itmpie that awaking. 



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ti v j • . J Thus? Oil, not thus : no typo of earth can ima~e that awaking. 

xie uvea m momentary expectation of Wherein he scarcely heard the chant of seranhs, round him break- 
being smitten instantly with the Curse of God. Orfeiuhe new, immortal throb of soul from body parted, 
In his latest attack he would sit silent gloonvy Bifttelt those Kyesaioncjand knew— Mi/ Savior! jMf.daserted ! 
and despairing. His dearest friends were not ^es pr, '' (, '■ Wll ° natu dl 'e»med that when the cross in darkness 
recognized. The announcement of a pension rponThe victim's hidden face, no love was manifested ? 

from the king had no effect upon him ^' hat f,antic hi " K,! ' outst<-etcne<i uave c' cr the atoning drops 

" ' averted ? 

What tears have washed thcra from the soul, that one should be 
deserted? 



33s 
hi 



5 • I 

5. B -• 
B ^fl 

1 



Eifa 

t re 2 £ 

it B 



7. 



Woman's Work. 

The following letter from Florence Nightin- 
gale contains some interesting reflections upon 
the question of woman's work : 

London, Sept. 18, 1866. 

To Lemuel Moss : My Dear Sir— I could not 
do what you ask me to do in vour kind letter of 
July 12th. viz. : give you information about my 
own lile; though if I could it would be to show- 
how a woman of very ordinary ability has been 



Farmers' Wives. Tk iding ot essays by 
the ladies is one of the vxercises which give 
life and interest to the meetings of the Spring- 
field (Vt.) Farmers' Club. From one of the 
essays by Mrs Daniel Rice, published in the 
Vermont Farmer, we copy the following para- 
graphs : 

"Did you* ever think of the amount of 
thought requisite to plan three meals a day for 
three hundred and sixty-five days in -succes- 



led to God— by strange and unaccustomed paths -*-sion ?■ To prepare enough and not too much, 



to do in his service what he did in hers. And 
if I could tell you all, you would see how God 
has done all and I nothing. I have worked hard, 
very hard— that is all — and I have never refused 
God anything; though, being naturaliy a very 
shy person, most of my life has been distasteful 
to me. I have no particular gifts. And I can 
honestly assure any youmr lady, if she will but 
try to walk, she will soon be able to run the 
'•appointed course." But then she must first 
leant to walk, and so when she runs she must 
ruu with patience. (Most people don't even try 
to walk.) 

1st. But I would also say to all youag ladies 
who are called to any particular vocation, quali- 
fy yourselves for it as a man doe3 for his work. 
Don't think you can undertake it otherwise. No 
one should attempt to teach the Greek language 
until he is master of the language; and this he 
can become only by hard study. And, 

2d. If you are called to man's work, do not 
exact woman's privileges — the privilege of inac- 
curacy, of weakness, ye muddleheads. Submit 
yourselves to the rules of business, as men do, by 
which alone you can make God's business suc- 
ceed; for He has never said that He will give 
His success aud His blessing to inefficiency, to 
sketching, and unfinished work 



well be further from the truth. I question 
whether God has ever brought any one through 
more difficulties and contradictions than I have 
bad. But I imagine these exist less among you 
than among us, so I will say no more. 

4th. But to all women I would say, look upon 
your work, whether it be an accustomed or an 
unaccustomed work, as upon a trust confided to 
you. This will keep you alike from discourage- 
ment and from presumption, from idleuess and 
from over-taxingyourself. Where God leads the 
way He has bound himself to help you to go 
the way. 

I have been nine years confined a prison2r to 
my room from illness, and overwhelmed with 
business. (Had I more faith— more of the faith 
which I profess — I would not say "overwhelm- 
ed," for it is all business sent me by God. And 
I cm really thankful to Him, though my sor- 
rows have been deep and many, and he still 
makes me to do his business.) 

This must be my excuse for not having an- 
swered your questions before. 

Nothing with the approval of my own judg- 
ment has been made public, or I would send it. 
I have a strong objection to sending my own 
likeness for the same reason. Some of the most 
valuable works the world has ever seen we know 
not who ii the author of; we only know that Gcd 
is the author of all. I do not urge this example 
upon others, but it is a deep-seated religious 
scruple in myself. I do not wish my name to re- 
main, nor my likeness. That God alone should 
be remembered I wish. 

If I could give the lessons of my life to my 
countrywomen and yours (indeed I fain look 
upon us as all one nation)— the lessons of my 
mistakes as well as of the rest— I would; but for 
this there is no time I would only say, work- 
work in silence at first, in silence' for years — it 
will not b? .time wasted. Perbaps in all your 
life it will be the time you will afterwards' find 
to have best spent; and it is very certain that 
without it you will be no worker. You will not 
produce one "perfect work," but only a botch in 
the service of God. 

Pray believe me, my dear sir, with great truth, * 
ever your faithful servant, 

Florence Nightingale. 

Have you read Baker's "Sources of the Nile," 
where he says he was more like a donkey fhan 
an exploicr? That is much my case, and I be- 
lieve is that of all who have to do any unusual 
work. And I would especially guard young 
ladies from fancying themselves lady superiors, 
with an obsequious following of disciples, if they 
undertake any gieat work. 



Sir," 6aid a young wife to her husband a 
few days after their marriage, "You told 
me that you had an Improved Emperor 
Cook Stove in the kitchen, but why was 
you not honest enough to tell me you had 
this old fashioned etove in the parlcr; I 
must have a new one at once, and the best 
at that." The last 6een of the husband he 
was coming from Flint & Co.'s Emporium 
with a smiling face, having purchased cne 
of the "Superb Parlor Stoves." 



and for those living at a distance from the vil- 
lage, to remember that the stock of flour, 
sugar, tea, etc., etc., is replenished in due 
time ? Do you ever think of the multitude of 
her cares and duties ? She must rise early to 
prepare breakfast or oversee it. Perhaps 
there are children to wash, dress, and feed, or 
to get ready for school with their dinners. 
There is baking, sweeping, dusting, making 
beds, lunch for the men, may be — dinner and 
6upper to be made ready at the proper time — 
the washing, starching, folding and ironing of 
clothes — the care of milk, including the mak- 
ing of butter and cheese — and the inevitable 
washing of dishes. In autumn there is the 
additional work of picking, preserving, can- 
ning of fruit, drying apples, boiling cider, 
making apple sauce, with the still more un- 
pleasant task which falls to her lot at butcher- 
time. Then there is haying, harvesting, sheep - 
shearing, etc., when more help is needed, 
bringing an increase of her labors. Twice u 
year comes house-cleaning. By the way, of 
all the foes a housekeeper has to contend with, 
dirt is the greatest, She may gain a complete 



3d. It has happened to me more than once to ^victory and think to repose upon her laurels 
be told by women (your country women) "Yes, > after her semi-annual engagements— but it isi 
but you had personal ireedom. Nothing can nn1v t »mr.nro,u 'i'h„ o.. m *, 

only temporary, J.ne euemy soon returns, 

and even daily skirmishing does not keep it at 

/bay. 

There is the mending too. Sewing ma- 
chines are great blessings, but they can't set iu 

^a patch- or darn the stockings. I do not men- 
tion these things by way of complaining of 
woman's lot in general, or asking for her any 
rights which she does not possess. I don't 
know as there is any remedy in the present 
state of the world. It seems'to be one of the 
evils of life which must be borne as we bear 

'other ills — but what I do ask is a due appre- 
ciation of the important part that woman acts, 
and a concession that her labors, mental and 
physical, are as great, all things considered, 
as those of the other sex. Women are not so 

^childish that a little sympathy now and then or 
acknowledgment of their efforts and sacrifices 
make them imagine their case worse than it is. 
I tell you, men and husbands, 'It doeth good 
like a medicine,' and many a poor crushed, 
broken-down wife and mother is dying for 
want of it." 



Thirty Thousand Women in the Hop 
Fields. — It is estimated that 30,000 women are 
now engaged in picking hops in the state of 
Wisconsin. Immense trains of cars were re- 
quired to convey them to the hop picking region, 
and the scenes as thousands of women landed at 
the depots were novel and picturesque in the ex- 
treme. At least ten thousand passed through 
Portage City. A local paper describes the ad- 
vent of the merry crowd as fellows: 

"The first instalment by cars, seme three hun- 
dred, came last week Tuesday evening. VVed- 
nesday even ins nearly one thousand came. 
Thursday and Friday evenings each five or six 
hundred. Saturday afternoon it was rumored 
that a vary large number were on the way, and 
the rumor was corroborated by the great Hiimber 
of teams that seemed to be in waiting. About 
train time — half-past seven— probably one thou- 
sand persons had collected at the depot to wit- 
ness the arrival. It was then found tjiat 
the cars were two hours behind time, and that 
iustead of one train, two were coming, with 28 
cars loaded. When the two hours were up the 
crowd at the depot had increased; and this, with 
the acres of two and four-horse wagons about 
the depot, and the music and fun of the merry 
drivers, tormedjao small preliminary show of it- 
self. But as the two trains came thundering 
along, and as they stretched themselves away 
beyond and away back of the depot and stopped, 
excitement was on tiptoe. And when 2000 pick- 
ers began to pour out of every door of those 28 
cars, the scene beat aH other western shows. I 
Cheering, laughing, singing, shouting ! 
Admirable confusion, no disorders. Sec- 
tions of tens, platoons of twenties, oompa-'j 
nies of forties, all officered, moving in every pos- 
sible direction ; corporals guiding their squads; 
captains giving orders [to their companies; 
marching and counter-marching — direct and 
echelon — forming camp and breaking camp; 
armed and equipped with umbrellas, parasols, 
satchels, baskets, bandboxes, bags, bundles, 
babies! Teamsters shouting for their loads — 
rush for the wagons— tumbling in ! all formed a 
scene to beat any army camp cr movement. W* 
can't do justice to the subject. 



Thei 



THe Missionary's Wife. 



Diaries 



l here is something exceedingly interest ml 
ig m a missionary's wife. I saw much o W 



j - . ^.^u.. union u 

the missionaries abroad, and even math 
1 many warm friends among them ; and ] 
repeat it, there is something exceeding 
interesting in a missionary's wife. She 
who had been cherished as a plant, that thf 
winds must not breathe upon too rudely 
recovers from the separation of her friends 
to find herself in a land of barbarians, 
where her loud cry of distress can never 
reach their ears. New ties twine round 
her heart, and the tender and helpless girl 
changes her very nature, and becomes the 
staff and support of the man. In his 
hours of despondency, she raises his droop- 
ing spirits; she bathes his head, and 
smooths his pillow of sickness. I havd 
entered her dwelling, and have been wel- 



N 

00 



o 

u. 




15 



corned as a brother, and sometimes, when if 
have known any of her friends at home, I 
have been for a moment more than recom- 
pensed for all the foils and privations of a 
traveller in the East.— And when I left her 
dwelling, it was with a mind burdened with 
remembrances to friends whom she will, 
perhaps, never see again. — Stephen's In- 
cidents of Travel. 



16 

2» 



10 



17 



24 



18 



What a Woman did in the Continental 
Akmy.— At the last meeting of the N. E. 
Historical-Genealogical Society in Boston, 
; Key. John A. Vinton read a paper on Debo- 
rah Sampson, who under the assumed name 
of Robert Shurtleff served as a soidier in the 
, continental army. She was born in Ply- 
mouth, and was a deseendent of John Alden, 
ol Miles Standish, of Peter Hobart and of 
Gov. Win. Bradford. She enlisted under the 
above assumed name in April, 1781, had a 
personal share in the siege of Vorktown, and 
witnessed the scene of the surrender of Corn- 
wallis. She was afterwards wounded east of 
the Hudson. Oh recovering from her wounds 
she was engaged in some severe engagements 
with the Indians, and was finally appointed 
aide-de-camp to Gen. Patterson, and taken 
into his family; and ail this time without a 
suspicion of her sex. Her sex was finally 
discovered by the physician who attended her 
in a severe illness. She was honorably dis- 
charged from the army Oct. 23, 1783,— she 
received the same pension as other soldiers. 
A few months after she had left the army she 
was married to Benjamin Gannett of Sharon, 
and was the. affectionate and exemplary moth- 
er of a respectable family of children. She 
died in that town April 27, 1827, aged sixty- 
six years. 

/ / ;xsry <>_j — oy — 

" Thk Romance of War.— The following 
bit of the romance of the war is from a let- 
ter dated at Lake Providence, La. : 

' 'The First Kansas regiment, of which 1 ^5 
have spoken before, is encamped near us. J. 
Ono of the members of that regiment, a ser- *~ 
geant, died in the hospital two weeks ago.. . O 
After death his comrades discovered thatA— — 
_their companion, by the side of whom they = 
had marched and fought for almost two 
years was — a woman. You may imagine 
their nurprise at the discovery, T went to 
the hospital and saw the body after it was 
prepared for burial, made some inquiries 
about her. She was of rather more than 
the average size for a woman, with rather 
strongly marked features, so that with the 
aid of man's attire she had quite a mascu- 
line look. She enli«ted in the regiment af- 
ter they went to Missouri, and consequently 
they knew nothing of her early history.-* 
She probable served under an assumed 
name. She was in the battle of Springfield, 
where Gen Lyon was killed, and has fought 
in a dozen battles and skirmishes. She al- 
ways sustained an excellent reputation both 
as a man and a soldier, and the men all 
f-peak of her in terms of respect and affec- 
tion. She was brave as a lion in battle, 
and never flinched from any duty or hard- 
ships that fell to her lot. She must have 
been very shrewd to have lived in the regi- 
ment so long and. preserved her secret so 
well. Poor girl ! she was worthy of a bet 
terfrte. Who knows what grief, trouble J 
or porsecution induced her to embrace such _ 
a life?" 

JANUARY 



H)k.f 



V ITOMM'I Contribution-Letter from 
Clara Itartou i» AcknoivleUsjinent-'A 
Dollar U a Life ' 

A few weeks since I received a letter from 
Mrs. Helen C. Harlow, late of Shrewsbury, 
Mass., now journeying overland to California, 
duted near Kearney City, Nebraska, May 2d, 
in which she says, "I hear of hard fighting ill 
Virginia and the southwest, but know but lit- 
tle of the particulars. I can do but little for 
my country, but wish to ameliorate the suf- 
ferings of the soldiers as much as possible* 
and if you have any of my funds in your 
hands please appropriate fifty dollars for that 
purpose." In obedience to this patriotic re- 
quest I sent fifty dollars to Miss Clara Bar- 
ton, (known by the soldiers as the Angel of -| 
the Battle Field,) and here follows her ac- 
knowledgment of the same: 

Washington. D. C, June 19, 1864. 
T W. Hammond, Esq.— My Dear Friend : 1 have 
been waiting some days in the vain hope of finding 
a longer minute in which to reply to your excellent 
letter and acknowledge the reception ot the gener- 
ous donation of a check for fifty dollars (S50) tor- 
warded me by you. Plea.-e accept in behailot our c 
suffering armies, my most heartleit thanks, both lor 
yourself and the patriotic, kind-hearted lady, whose 
soul has gone out in sympathy with her eastern 
brothers, righting and dying in the Virginia swamps, 
hundreds of miles from her home ot flowers. I irst 
to her tor the gift belong my grateful thanks, and 
next, and more especailly, my good Iriend, to you, 
lor the appropriation you were pleased to make of 
it I am glad that my acquaintances have the con- 
fidence in tny integrity and ability, which enables 
them conscientiously to entrust their bounty to my 
hands. Tkty will never know bow faithfully 1 shall 
strive to use all so entrusted; can never understand 
as 1 do the new estimate of value and means that 
the last lew years experience has give me. Former- 
ly, a dollar was a dollar only, and might be indif- 
ferently used, or laid aside for future contingencies ; 
now. with the memory of all these bloody fields, ot 
perishing men, constantly looming up in my sight— 
a dollar is zlife— must be expended to the best pos- 
~ sible advantage, and may not be retained a single 
hour, lest while it waits some father's soul goes up 
to God, and his widowed wife and orphaned chil 
dren weep alone upon the desolate hearth-stone 
Nothing but these terrible scenes have, even for a 
moment of my life, enkindled in my mind the just 
desire for wealth. To-day, I would take the wealth 
of a gold mine if I could get it, and tomorrow, 1 
should be poor. 

It will of course be no news to you that I expect 
to start for James river soon, and I shall be most 
happy, if I am able, to do any favor lor my Wor- 
cester county friends among their friends at the 
field. 

i called upon Lieut Woodworth of the 25th, last 
evening, wounded in the hand, lie is cheerful and 
•■doing well." 1 hope to be able to meet the rem- 
nant of that regiment. How latally it suffered. 

With kind remembrances to all inquiring friends, 
and always happy to hear from you and Mrs H.. I 
beg to remain, as ever, 

fours sincerely, Claka Barton. 



I 1'M- , 1 ,CI ' T c I 

it the follow- 1 
will interest T 



Miss Clara II. Star ton. 

[We find in the Bordentown (N. J.) Register a let- 
ter of this excellent woman, acknowledging the re- 
ceipt of valuable supplies from la dies of Unat state, 
which slie had herself distributed among the wound- 
ed and suffering after the battle of Culpepper. We 
have not space to publish the letter, but 
lag friendly comments of the Register 
many of our readers to whom Slits Barton is not 
wholly a stranger.] 

We have long been seeking for :i pretext by 
" which we might, without seeming to be tres- 
passing, speak of the noble deeds of this be- 
nevolent lady. Many of our citizens are well 
acquainted with Miss Barton, she having been 
a teacher in the public school when first es- 
tablished here, and a number who were then 
her pupils, are now bravely lighting for the 
Union. Her native place is Oxford, Mass , 
where she received a liberal education from 
the well regulated public schools of her own 
noble state. After finishing her education, 
she immediately started upon her mission of 
teaching. She came to Bordentown about 
twelve years since, and was engaged by the 
trustees of the public school as teacher, and 
no one has given such general satisfaction 
since the institution was founded. She 
remained here in this occupation for about 
six months, and then removed to Washing- 
ton, where, through the aid of some kind 
friends, she obtained a situation in the patent 
office department, which situation she has held 
ever since. She is known to many to possess 
rare qualities as a philanthropist. Wherever 
sickness or Borrow visited any one within her 
knowledge, there she was surely to be found, 
administering cheer and comfort to the af- 
flicted. But her true character was never re- 
vealed until this wicked rebellion threw with- 
in her reach the bleeding, wounded, and dying 
soldiers. Soon as the first battle was fought, 
and the mangled forms of our wounded sol- 
diers were brought into Washington, she 
threw aside her quill, and left her situation to 



Romance in Real Life. Love at First 

Sight. — The Rochester U uion of Saturday edi- 
torially vouches for the truth of the subjoined 
remarkable incident said to nave occurred to a 
young lady (an orphan) who recently left a 
quiet home iu the country to earn a livelihood 
as saleswoman in New York city. Wo take up 
the point vvheu she reached the great metropo- 
lis: 

"Our heroine was accosted by som e friends, 
who had heard of her coming, and kindly of- 
fered her the hospitalities of their home "until 
she should find a home elsewhere. A few hours 
later her friends, wishing to show her some at- 
tention, invited her to go aboard an ocean 
steamer then lying in harbor. She complied 
with the delight of a country lass, and her curi- 
osity was satisfied and pleased with all she saw. 

A* Liverpool packet was lying beside the dock, 
mid our little party, descrying it, thought they 
would visit it also. So, going aboard, they 
walked up aud down the deck. Meanwhile, a 
little sailor boy — a 'jolly tar' in technical lan- 
guage — beckoned to them, saving, 'O! come in- 
to the cabin : you have not seen the best part of 
our ship.' They followed him into a beautilul- 
ly fitted up saloon. Our heroine was in ecsta- 
cies. A door opened at the other end of the cab- 
in, and a tall man approached — his noble form 
and lordly bearing at the same time impressing 
all with the feeling that he must be the captain 
of the ship. Introductions ensued. In her de- 
light, our heroine exclaimed: 'O! I should like 
to go to Europe on such a ship.' It was the deep ' 
voice cf the captain that answered, 'Well, and 
you can if yon will.' 'As your stewardess, I sup- .. 
pose, sir?' replied the young lady. 'As my wife!' ? > 
exclaimed the master. 'As your wife, sir?' cried 
the damsel in no feigned astonishment, 'you 
must be joking!' 'No! I am not.' exclaimed the 
captain, '1 mean every word of it 1' On the in- 
stant the color sprang' to the cheek of the young 
girl; her heart beat rapidly. 'Could he mean it '■:' 

Oonccalins the emotions of her heart, ,she 
stood buried iu thought. The captain mean- 
while took her friend aside and showed him let- 
ters of credence from some of the most respect- 
able firms in Europe. Then, returning, he anx- 
iously awaited a favorable response, bbe, with 
trepidation, asked for a few hours to consider 
this unexpected proposition, which was to be 
fraught with such a remarkable change m her 
condition, her hopes, her fears alternating iu her 
mind as she meditated. It was finally agreed he 
should receive an answer at 8 o'clock v. m. At 
the appointed time the captain called, and with 
emotions such a.s the tender sex only are suscep- 
tible, she yielded her heart confidingly to him 
who was to lie her future lord, and to whom she 
had been but a few hours before an utter stran- 
ger. And in a few moments they were standing 
together, bride and groom, she no longer the de- 
pendent, orphan country girl. What thoughts 
must have whirled through her brain asshejour- 
ncyed tome three hundred miles to her native 
village to tell the wonderful story of her sadden 
change, and make ready lor tier departure tor 
Europe (on her bridal tour, which was to be iu 
three days. 

The residence of the orphan girl was a Tillage 
on the Erie railroad, 'where two roads meet.' 
The groom is CapLO., of the ola JJverpool line 
of packets."^ , r t±f -jA > / - {&6q% 

assist in soothing the sufferings ot our gallant 
volunteers, and for a long time she had been 
indefatigable in her benevolent acts of mercy, 
giving her time and money without fee or re- 
ward. But at last, through the intercession 
of friends, her charitable conduct was brought 
before some of the departments at Washing- 
ton. Since then Miss Barton has been pro- 
vided with passes entitling her to free access 
in any of the conveyances to and from the va- 
rious hospitals and battle fields, or wherever 
her services are needed. 

We saw a letter from a correspondent of 
one of the New York papers, speaking of 
Miss Barton's presence at rhe battle field of 
Cedar Mountain, whither she hastened on 
learning of the dreadful slaughter that had 
there, taken-place. Not only, that but every 
other battle ground anywhere near the capi- 
tal has been visited by her. She at last fol- 
lowed to the dreadful field of carnage at Bull 
Run and Centerville. That no doubt was the 
most horrible of all the scenes yet witnessed, 
because there the slaughter was greatest, and 
there she had provided herself with tent and 
equipage for a short campaign. She left her 
home on Sunday morning, and was upon the 
battle field at least four days, all the time en- 
gaged in binding up wounds and giving nour- 
ishment to the bleeding, fainting soldier. 

The services of this good lady will ever be 
remembered by the poor soldier, and many 
an earnest prayer has been off'erW for heaven's 
best, blessings upon the kind and benevolent 
Clara If. Barton. If those who give but a 
cup of cold water to a disciple, lose not their 
reward, how great must be the reward of one 
Who has given so many days and nights of 
watching and attention to the unfortunate but 
heroic soldiers? May heaven's choicest bless- 
ings attend the future steps of ons who has 
done so much for the cause of humanity. 



iver> 



Ordfoatlon an* (insinuation ut Hlntf** 

A large congregation was gathered in the t r a ivftr 
salist Church at Jlingham on Wednesday, lath L n8t -> 
to witnessand participate in the work of setting »j '"• 
to the ministry of the Gospel, and installing as pa* or 
of that church, of Mrs. P. A. Hanaford, the first ee* v 
sion of the ordination of a woman preacher in Maem " 
chusett-. 

The services of' the morning were devoted to the or- 
dination, and commenced at 10J, with singing by thf? 
choir oi the anthem, "When the Lord shall build up* 
Zion." Rev. H. R. .Nye, of Springfield, invoked God's 
blessing upon the services; Rev. J. Marsden, of Ab- 
iDgtOE. read a h> inn written by Mrs. C. A. Ma^on; 
Rev. E Francis, of Mediord, read selections from 
.Scripture; Kev. W. K. Haskell, of Marblehead, read a 
bvmn written by Mrs. M. G. Farmer; Rev. J". G. Ad- 
ams, of Loweli, preached an able discourse from GaL 
hi. 28, "Ihereis neither Jew nor Greek; there is neither 
bond nor free, there is neither male nor female ; for ye 
are all one in Christ Jesus ;" the Ordaining frayer was- 
made by Rev. J. J. Twiss. of Lowell; Kev. Olympia 
r.rown, cl Weymouth, gave the Hand of Fellowship; 
Rev.A. R. Nye,of Springfield, the Charge to the Candi- 
date; and lead a llymu, written by Mrs. N. f. Mtm- 
rce; Closing Prayer by Rev. B. H. Davis, of Melrose; 
Benedlctioii by the Pastor. 

T he Installation service commenced at 2 P. M,, whh 
a line rendering of the glorious anthem, "Awake, 
awake, put on !hy strength, O Zion." Rev. E Francis 
followed, with an Invocation of the Divine Favor and 
Blessing; a hymn, written by Mis? A'mira Seymour, 
was read by Rev. W. G. Haskell, of Marb'ehead ; Se- 
lections lrom Scriptuie were read by Rev. J. J. Twiss, 
of Lowell; Kev. E. Hewitt, of South Weymouth, read 
a hymn written by Mrs. M. A. Adams, and offered 
prayer; Rev.' Olympia Brown gave the Installation 
Seimon lrom 1 Cor ii. 2, "For 1 determined not to 
know anything among yr,u, save Jesus Christ and 
him crucified," and it was a discourse of great 
merit. Rev. J. G. Adams, of Lowell, offered the 
Installatory Prayer; the Fellowship of the Churches 
was given by Rev. B. H. Davis, of Melrose; Charge to 
the pastor, by Kev. J. Marsden, of Abingtan ; Charge 
to the ppople, by Rev. J. W. Keyes, of Arlington, who 
also read fha closing hymn, written by Mrs. Syivanus 
Cobb. 

At the close of the services, mornicg and after- 
noon, a sumptuous dinner was served bvthe Univer- 
sahsts of Hingharn, at Loiing Hall, and the entertain- 
mint by these good people was as coidial as their 
ancient lame implies. 

In the evening, Rev. J. J. Twi99, of Lowell, preached 
a mest able and interesting discourse to a goodly con- 
gregation. 

Ibe whole services were marked by an unusual de- 
gree of solemnity, and were unusualry interesting and 
profitable. 

The lady ordained, Mrs. Hanaford, is well known 
throughout the country, wherever " The Empty 
Sleeve" is sung, the "Life of Lincoln" read; into all 
homes where the Ladies' Repository goes, of which 
she is tbe able editor; where the cause of temperance, 
or social and moral refoim needs an earnest and elo- 
quent advocate, this devoted woman is known. 

God's choicest blessings be upon her in this new re- 
lation, and may many souls be given the Lord, through 
her ministrations of the Word, aad bless the people, 
with her, and unite them in the fellowship of the Gos- 
pel. W. G. H. 



Franklin's Wifk.— To promote ber hus- 
band's interest, she attended in his little shop, 
where she bought rags, sewed pamphlets, folded 
newspapers, and sold the few articles in which 
he dealt, such as ink, papers, lampblack, blanks, 
and other stationery. At the same time she was 
an excellent housekeeper, and besides being eco- 
nomical herself, taught her somewhat careless, 
disorderly husband to be economical also. Some- 
times, Franklin was clothed from head to foot 
in garments which his wife had both woven and 
made, and for a long time she performed all the 
work of the house without the assistance of a 
servant. 

Nevertheless, she kuew how to be liberal at 
proper times. Franklin tells us that for some 
years after his marriage, his breakfast was bread 
and milk, which they ate out of a two-penny 
earthern vessel, with a pewter spoon; but one 
morning, on going down to breakfast, he found, 
upon tbe table a beautiful china bowl, from 
which his bread and milk was steaming, with a 
silver «poon by its side, which had cost a sum 
equal in oar currency to $10. When be ex- 
pressed his astonishment at this unwonted splen- 
dor, Mrs. Franklin only remarked that she 
thought her husband deserved a silver spoon and 
china bowl as much a3any of his neighbors. 

Franklin prospered in his business until he be-/ 
came the most famous editor and most flourish-/ 
ing printer in America, which gave him the 

Cleasttre of relieving his wife from the cares of 
usiness, and enabled him to provide for her a , 
spacious and well furnished abode. She adorn} i 
ed a high station as well as she had borne a low- 
ly one, and presided at her husband's liberal ta- 
ble as gracefully as when he ate his breakfast of 
bread and milk from a two-penny bowl. — Par- 
ton's Life of Franklin. 



The Maid of Orleans —At daybreak, on 
the 30;h day of May, 1431, a priest entered the 
c II of a young woman at Rouen, and announced 
tbat he was come to prepaie her for death. Not 
that the prisoner was ill — she was young, healthy 
and in the full possession of her faculties; the 
death she was to suffer was a violent one— she 
was to be burned alive! Burned alive at oae- 
and-twem> ! What could the poor wretch have 
done? She had sniveled the power of tee Eh 
glish in F/ance; she had, by means of an en- 
thusiasm which rendered her obnoxious to the 
c eay, roused the French nation from the torpor 
in which bho had been thrown by the stunDing 
blo^s dealt to it by Henry V. of England, and 
she had dared to thwart the purposes and brave 
tie anger of vindictive churchmen like 
the Bishop of Benuvais, and the Bishop 
o Winch ster, Cardinal Beaufort. The 
prisoner's name was Jeanne Dare, or 
as sre hfs been more more commonly, bur erro- 
neous y, called, Joan of Arc. The priest's an- 
nouncement took thi poor maiden entire y by 
surprise. A week before she had been led out 
into a public place in Rouen, and compelled in 
a moment of weakness, when surrounded by en- 
em k's — not one kindly foce among the crowd— 
and, under circumstances of great excitement, 
to sign a document disavowing and solemnly 
aiijurintr certain charges of beresv which were 
prulerredagainsi her; and she bad been lold on 
that occasion that her life would now be spared, 
though she must resiirn herself to a sentence ol 
perpetual imprisonment. The excuse lor break- 
ing laiih with the poor gH was ihis: that aim e 
her abjuration she had said that St. CatLenne 
and St Margaret, wiih whom she asserted she 
was frequently in drrcct communion, had ap- 
peared to her, and rebuked her lor her weakness 
in .v elding to the threats ol violeuce. 

On first hearing the announcement of the 
priest, Jeanne's firmness gave way; she wept 
and save vent to piieous cries, tore her hair, and 
app aled to ' the great Judge" against the ciuel 
wrongs done to her; but, by degrees, her self 
possession returned, and she listened to the min- 
istrations of the pnesr, received the last sacra- 
ment from him and announced herself ready to 
submit to the will 01 God. At 9 o'clock in the 
morning she was carried away in the hangman's 
cart to the marketplace oi Rouen, where had 
been already iaid the luncral pyre on whi h the 
youi'tr victim was ro be :-acrifiad The Bishop 
of Beouv;iis, Cardinal Bean tort, and several 
other prelates, wi L the Engli h military com- 
mai dcrs, were there, and avast crowd Dad come 
out to see 'the Maid ot Orleans" die. in the cen- 
tre of the market place, about the spot where now 
stands a i on n tain surmounted b.y a figure of 
Jeanne Dare, the stake was reared, and around it 
werepilid the faggots. Soldiers guarded the place 
ot execution The ceremonial of death was be- 
gun on that beautiful May morning by a sermon 
in which the crime ot heresy was vehemently de- 
nounced, then the sentence prouounced by the 
shepherds ot the flock upon the ewe lamb before 
them was published, and the signal was given 
to proclaim the last act of the tragedy. A sol- 
dier's stfff was broken and formed iuto a rough 
cross, which 'the Maid" clasped to her breast. 
She was then bound to the srakc, the fairgots 
were lighted, the flames leaped up around her, 
and alter suffering the agonies indispensable to 
death by busning, her spirit returned to God who 
gave it. The English Cardinal watched the 
whole proceeding with unmoved face, and when 
his victim's life was beyond bisreach.be ordered 
her ashes and bones to be gathered up and to be 
cast into the Seine. 



MELANCTHOST AS A FATHER. 



Two years thereafter, the lovely child was tor 



L.a Luther, and all men of large and loving na^SfofStovetL'.SXv^''' J "£ tl, VT a 
turea, Melanethon waa Ina.ioe^e I attracted toward 2 ^A'^Tu^S^ taal^sCfe™ 

"isconsolale father. Profoundly sadden 

eath of his mother, which occurred i 

loved friend, delights to denote the gentle and" grace- ^h^he"" **"' "" 8 -°™ W beC&me overwhelmia 



. ~ & lI ,."."• "**: &*} m HRSJOVe y, 






childhood,* general, with almostT too s^^er^^^ 

The parental instinct of his affectionate nature, abllitie^ To^M al !?i manifes ted extraordinar 
existing in intensity and delicacy, was destined ? 5 ha t r^kSttS^oS. or^KS™£S f° doa P flbo <» y« 
S^Bftrtt 1 ?* t0 ^ocks of severest sor- t^lt^^^oJT *" *"* t0 "* 



row. Th0 u gh) as he states in a lette , ^ o^ of the Ion* after tTeTcTase of° hta^and KtdT** 
« inner circle " of his friends, he loved Anna, his first- v-rite ^ Sesslv when hi ? LT' h ^ ?• ^/^ 2? 
born, with an affection of singular strength and JSr from wh ch^ P hi^P f,n^ ^ ^ M ^ 
sweetness, he loved all hi, ..hUHrl* « ™nu tut , "" "?? J , f™? w ™ we ^ ave quoted, « that his 






2S*«J-S«?d by his spirit of genial good- IZ^J^&^^^^^Si 



GOETHE A5D MENDELSSOHN, 



MEETING BETWFEN THE POET AND THH 
COMPOSED. 



Vill. Luther, Bugenhagen, Jonas, and Amsdorf, had 
met in the holy and "lappy home over which Cather- L 
ine presided, in a manner which made her presence 
a charm to the good men who visited, and which 
riveted the bond whereby Melancthon was attached „-,„ vlT!fiT 
to her. The friends were conversing "at large oa 
the love of parents toward their children." One of 

them exclaimed, « I know, I know what it is !" " You M. L. Rellstab, a German writer of considerable 
tEOW nothing about it, ' was Luther's characteristic reputation, has recently published in Germany two 
rejoinder, which Melancthoa reports with mirthful volumes of his autobiography, replete with interesting 
satisfaction, and seems to settle by the simple affir- gossip about distinguished men. He tells the folio w- 
mation of Amsdorfs celibacy. In one of his dis- tog tale of the meeting of the author of Faust ant 
courses— as he expatiates on the sentiment of the the composer of Elija h, 

KSv^Si *A Bugenhagen on the death In the evening we assembled in Goethe's rooms 
«? SimSS SSf Anna-he shows, in a strain te fo r he had invited a large party of his Weimar 
Sir T£v l ffiw ^ a graVeSt °i ° Ur readere C °? ld musical acquaintances to make them acquainted with 
?al'v n n ^»^ g h ^V reacher « s e.hownatu- the boy's extraordinary talents. Presently Goethe 
£to.£™ ™ Z « t° tl0n ^^"/^P" 11 ^ made his appearance; he came from his study, and 
J?fe JT, h 6, ni ^M Chl dr6n f ° Ur ° Wn ' had ahabit-at least I generally noticed it-of wait- 
Thli ff ?!E£ 1 H \ 1{h ^ m 'k 8 " Ch r a V?™' ™g tiil all the guests wire assembled ere he showed 
™™ n » EAT if Tw^" 1 ? cllI } e ? to Tf" himself. Till that period his son and daughter-ia 
Ik-tI U ' Wh , at \ sira P le f tonttie law did the duties of host in the most amiable way., 
K L 1 f T i fT'^ e ?? teS - I Pltt " A ceitain solemnity was visible among the guests^ 
Sft S^f a *J« the fathemness of Agestlaus, ior to {he entram C of the rreat poet> ai f d even those, 
Srjl'l? t » e / n " als ..f t S P arta for Pinty of patn-* ho stood onterms of intira acy with him underwent 
oti & m valor and versatility as a military command- f u of veneration. His slow, serious walk, hiJ 

S£*™^ iom ^ Tom th Vf e % 20 + . co ^ mo » amon 2 hl s impressive features, which expressed the strength! 
countTymen The anecdote of the Grecian general t ^ er than weakne ; s of old ^ the lofty forehead, 
|as its counterpart m Melancthon's history. The ^ wni( abundant hair) la8tl * ' the deep voice and 
Spartan father, who had won so many battles, and slowway ' of peaking, all united Lto produce this effect. 
negotiated so successfully for the peace and pros- His «< Go J od evening" was addressed to all, but hel 
penty ot his kingdom, was found, by a friend who walked to Zelter 6 nrst and sh ook his hand cordiallvl 
had come to visit him, amusing his son after a homely Fe lix Mendelssohn looked up with sparkling eyes aj 
fashion. The boy Archidamns-who in after days, ^ snow . white head of the poet. The latter, hovd 
wis the hero of the -'Tearless Battie " so called be- ]aced his hands kind , ^ the b , s head ari J 

cause it was notified in the dispatch that the victory said l Now you shaU pla / us g0 mething." ZelteJ 
had been won without the loss of a man by the con- ^ d his a / sent p ^ 

querors-was receiving a lesson in the art of riding The ian0 was ed and lights arranged on tl J 
©n a stick! The visitor who witnessed the scene &&sk Mendelssohn asked Xelter, to whom he dis J 
was enjoined by Agesilaus " not to fell any one wnat , d thor0 ughly childish devotion and confidence j 
he had seen until he had children himself." £ ^r na t s h a ]i i pi a y ?" 

Melancthon, on a certain day, was accostsd, in ac- „ Wel] what you' can," the latter replied, in hil 
cents of astonishment, by a foreign scholar, who had -^ culiaily sharp vo iee ; " whatever is not too difficu*! 
sought an interview with h:m. The learned French- f rvou " 

man did not expect to find the preceptor of Germany r/ " who knew what lbe boy could do, and 
in the nursery, reading indeed, yet rocking the cradle n 0task was too difficult for him, this seemed an i 
»t the same time. The amazement which was signi- Hpnrppintinn nf hi* facilities Tf was at leusM 
A Delicate Piece of Work, The Treasury jied by the visitor, led Melancthon so to speak of SSthathe ,£uldXy aVantos^ which heM 
experts have finished the work of restoring the, chil Q ho od and its claims, that a lesson was conveyed JJX 8 wonder ^^ all But the vouS 
securities of the Pemberton Savings Bank of Frank- .. . ., h >' . , f . , - i to the wonder ot all. ^ut tne }oung artist; Knejw 

Un, Penn , which were thrown into the fire by the Y rtucl, > amia man y D00KS ' haa not Deen learned De- when to i eaV e off, and thus the effect he produce! 
insane cashier. Of the $140,000 in government Jer f- ..'-., , ,,, u-uvu was all the greater. A silence of surprise ensue | 

bonds all were identified ; of the $60,000 in railroad ' Anna, his first-born, from the day on which he be- when he raised a i s hands f roia the keys after a lou. I 
and municipal bonds ah were restored; of the came a father, was regarded with a love which never fi na i ei 

$150,000 in notes and bills receivable, all were re- lost its freshness, and often gushed forth. In a letter 2 e ite r was the first to interrupt the silence in hi{ 
stored or made good by then ai ties interested. The-ato Camerarius, between whom and himself the friend- humorous way by saving aloud "Ha you must hav 
only loss of the bank has been two or three thou- | y re ] a tion was so clo&e that any trace of reserve v ppn drf amin „ Af kobolds and dragons • why thd 
?S^ A- wl^SSai^^ShS and and reticence ^ correspondence and intercourse was *™ ^S al s?one F' At mefame StS 
^Kr^^Tva^^sS^rtt^ topossiolcandthe | most minute incidents of personal was a fect indifferen ce in his tone, as if theJ 
Mrs. Davis. Miss Patterson' and Miss Schrimer and domestic history were eomrrmnicated, he tells were nolhing remarkable in the matter. Wi 
The time occupied was about five weeks ot clear how the little girl soothed him as he was sorrowfully imht the teacher intended to prevent, in this wa3 
days, the woi% beinjrof such adelicate nature that affected. The child found her father weeping in his ^e danger of a too brilliant triumph. The playing 
it could not be prosecu ted in cloudy we ather. room— doubtless distressed by the disasters which however, as it could not well otherwise, aroused tbi 

- had emerged to confound the Eeformers, and to inter- Ugliest admiration of all present, and Goethe, espe 

fere with the development of the great movement c i a i] y! W as full of the warmest delight. He eneoar 
ivith which they were identified— and artlessly sym- aged the i ad< to whose childish features joy, pride 1 

Inawpnt^PPhaM^;, it a m ■ pathized with him, as she clambered on his knee, and confusion were at once depicted, by taking hii 

dan ™m ? speech at Indianapolis Gen. Sheri- and with her little apron wlped away the tears. Tae head between his hands> pat ting him kindly, and say- 
nan saia ne gained the hatUe of Winchester comforted father assured his correspondent " that the toe iestinglv "But vou will not set off with that 
"almost entirely" *■' 



almost entirely" through information given proof of his little daughter's sympathy touched him y ou mus t p i ay more pieces before we recognize yout 
by a Miss Wright, a Union woman of Win- to the heart." Little Anna, one day, intent on sport, merits." 

forgot that her father had restricted the time for play, « £ u t what shall I play," Felix asked, " Herr Pro- 
and stayed among her companions longer than she fessor ?"— he was wont to adSress Zelter by this title 
ought. On her return, Melancthon reminded the —"what shall I play now?" 

Child that she must answer to her mother for the tres- i cannot say that I have properly retried the 
pass, and, in tones which belied displeasure, inquired pieces the young virtuoso now performed, for they 
what she would.say to save herself from reprimand, were numerous. I will, however, mention the mos' 1 
The reply— which was "Nothing"— wa3 greatly to interesting. ■* 

Jdelancthon's taste ; and, in after days, when pro- Goethe was a great admirer of Bach's fug* 
Vokec to wage a war of words, the provocation was which a musician of Berka, a little town abou , 
rendered poweffless by the remembrance of the sage miles from Weimar, came to play to him repe#, o 
answer Of his amiable child. Pelix was therefore requested to play a fugu '#/• 

grand old master. Zelter selected it from the?* ' 



Chester. His great difficulty was to communi- 
cate with her. Finally he wrote her a letter on 
tissue paper, which he rolled and compressed to 
the size of his thumb end, and then enveloped 
in tin foil. This weighty package was then con- 
signed to the capacious mouth of a colossal 
African, who had a confederate pass to sell 
vegetable in Winchester. He delivered the mes- 
sage and returned with the answer, rolled in 
the same tin foil within two days. She is now 
a clerk in the treasury department at Washin<*- 
.. ton. ° 






>ook, and the boy played it without any preparation, 
>ut with perfect certainty. 

Goethe's delight grew with the boy's extraordinary 
>owers. Among other things he requested him to 
jlay a minuet. 

" Shall I play you the loveliest in the whole world ?" 
ie asked, with sparkling eyes. 
" Well, and which is that ?" 
He played the minuet from " Don Giovanni." 
Goethe stood by the instrument, listening, joy 
glistening on his features. He wished for the over- 
iur« of the opera after the minuet; but this the,, 
tfayer roundly declined, with the assertion that it' 
iiould not be played as it was written, and nobody 
lared make any alteration in it. He, however, of- 
jfered to play the overture to " Figaro." He com- 
Tipnnpd it. with a lightness of tnnt*h «.«-■> ja,"-*?J7^u 
md clearness as I never heard again. At Jue same 
ime he gave the orchestral effects so magu'ihcently 
hat the efTectwas extraordinary ; and I can honestly 
;tate that it afforded me more gratification than ° v er 
in orchestral performance did. Goethe grew more 
tnd more cheerful and kind, and even played tricks 
vith the talented lad. 

" Well, come," he said, " you have only played me 
>ieces you know, but now we will see whether you 
;an play something you do not know. I will put yeu 
>n trial." 

Goethe went out, re-entered the room in a few 
noments, and had a roll of music in his hand. " I 
iave fetched something from my manuscript collec- 
ion. Now we will try you. Do you think you can 
day this ?" 

He laid a page, with clear but small notes, on the 
lesk. It was Mozart's handwriting. Whether 
Goethe told us so or it was written on the paper, I 
brget, and only remember that Felix glowed with 
lelight at the name, and an indescribable feeling 
;ame over us all, partly enthusiasm and joy, partly 
idmiiation and expectation. Goethe, the aged man, 
aying a manuscript of Mozart, who had been buried 
nil ty years ago, before a lad so full of promise for the 
uture, to play at sight— in truth such a constellation 
cay be termed a rarity. 

The young artist played with the most perfect 
;ertainty, not making the slightest mistake, though 
be manuscript was far from easy reading. The task 
was certainly not difficult, especially for Mendelssohn, 
is it was only an adagio ; still there was a difficulty in 
Joirg it as the. lad did, for he played it as if he had 
jef n practicing it for years. 

Goethe adhered to his sood-humored tone, while 
ill the lest applauded. " That is nothing," he said ; 
' others could read that, too. But I will now give 
you something over which you will stick, so take 
are." 

With these words, he produced another paper, 
which he laid on the dest. This certainly looked 
very strange. It was difficult to say were they notes 
:r only a paper ruled and splashed with ink and 
blots. Felix Mendelssohn, in his surprise, laughed 
ioudly. " How is that written ? Who can read it ?" 
he said. 

But sudden'y he became serious ; for while Goethe 
was sayirg, " Now, guess who wrote it?" Zelter, who 
had walked up to the piano and looked over the boy's 
shoulder, exclaimed, " Why, Beethoven wrote that! 
any one could see it a mile off. He always writes 
with a broomstick, and passes his sleeve over the 
totes before they are dry. I have plenty of his manu- 
scripts ; they are easy to know." 

At the mention of this name, as I remarked, Men- 
delssohn had suddenly grown serious — even more 
than serious. A shade of awe was visible on his 
features. Goelhe legarded him with searching eyes, 
from which delight beamed. The boy kept his eyes 
immovably fixed on the manuscript, and a Io»k of 
glad surprise flew over his features as he trace,d a 
brilliant thought amid the chaos of confused, blurred 
notes. 

But all this only lasted a few seconds, for Goethe 
wished to make a severe trial, and give the performer 
no time for preparation. " Yeui see," he exclaimed, 
" I told you that you would stick. Now try it ; show 
us what you can do." 

Felix began playing immediately. It was a sim- 
ple melody ; if clearly written a trifling, I may say no 
task, for even a moderate performer. But to follow 
it through the scrambling labyrinth required a quick- 
ness and certainty of eye such as few are able to at- 
tain. I glanced with surprise at the leaf, and tried 
to hum the tune, but many of the notes were per- 
fectly illegible, or had to be sought at the most un- 
expected coiners, as the boy often pointed out with a 
laugh. 

He played it through once in this way, generally 
correctly, but stopping at times, and correcting seve- 
ral mistakes with a quick " No, so ; " then he ex- 
claimed, "Now I will play it to you." And this 
second time not a riote was missing. This is Bee- 
thoven, this passage," he said once, turning to me, 
as if he had come across something which sharply 
displayed the master's peculiar style. " That is true 
Beethoven. I recognized him in it at once." 

With this trial- piece Goethe broke off. I need 
scaicely add, that the young player again reaped the 
fullest praise, which Goethe vailed in mocking jests, 
that he had stuck here and there, and had not been 
quite sure. 



Q UAKER S AND PU RITANS. 
Some more "New England Tragedies." 

The first notice ot the Quakers in Massachu- 
setts was an order of the General Court of 1656, 
annointinsr a 'public day of humiliation to seek 
the face of God— in behalf of our native country, 
with reference to the abounding of errors, espe- 
cially those oi the Ranters and Quakers. 
Hardly was the day passed when a vessel from 
Barbados arrived in 'the Road before Boston, 
with two Quakerwomen on board— Ann Austin 
and Mary Fisher. Officers visited the vessel 
and found about a hundred Quaker books. 
Thereupon the Council ordered that 'all such 
corrupt books be burnt in the market-place by 
the common executioner,' that the two women 
should be kept in close prison until they could 
be transferred out ot the country, and that the 
master of the ship that brought them should 
transport them back to Barbados. This order 
was carried out to the letter. The maiden Mary 
Fisher after being carried to Barbados, contin- 
ued her travels and had some very roman- 
tic experiences. Being: 'moved of the Lord' 
to deliver a message to the sultan of Turkey , she 
entered upon a journey to the Sublime Porte. 
She toiled along by land from the coasts of Mo- 
rea to the citv of Adrianople. This part of her 
iourney about six hundred miles, she made 
alone, 'without abuse or injury.' At Adrian- 
ople she found the grand vizier encamped with 
all his army. She discovered means of an- \ 
nouncing her arrival, which was done in these 
words- 'An English woman hatha message 
from the great God to the great Turk.' She was 
soon invited to his -tent, and with the aid of 
three interpreters 'uttered her mind.' He lis- 
tened 'with much gravity and soberness,' and 
offered her a guard for her further progress. She 
declined it, and departed for Constantinople, 
alone, 'whitherto she came without the least 
hurt or scoff.' The Orientals regarded lunatics 
as inspired, and accordingly overwhelmed the 
Quaker visitor with prodigious quantities of 
o-enuflections and salaams, and bowed her out of 
the country, never to be troubled by her like 
a°-ain The New England Puritans were not so 
philosophical as the Turks. No sooner had Ann 
and Mary taken their departure than another 
vessel sailing from London, brought eight more- 
Quakers to Boston. Their treatment was simi- 
lar to that of the first party. After eleven weeks 
of suffering in the jail, they embarked again for 
En<riand. It is noticeable that thus far, action 
against the Quakers had confined itself to ban- 
ishment. But laws of much greater rigor were • 
now passed, and these were not destined to re- ~ 
main a dead letter. 

In the following year, 1657, Mary Clark left 
her husband and six children in London, and 
sailed across the Atlantic, 'that she might 
warn those persecutors to desist from their ini- 
quity.' She delivered her message, was 
scourged ^committed to prison for twelve weeks 
and then sent away. Thenceforward offenders 
were not to be so lightly dealt with; foi on the 
20th of October of the same year it was decreed 
that thereafter persons convicted by special jury 
of belonging to "the pernicious sect of Quakers 
should be sentenced to banishment on pain of 
death.' 'But desperate souls,' says Mr Allen, 
'were abroad, men who looked upon this menace 
as an invitation, and sprang forward at once to 
avail themselves of the chance of martyrdom.' 
Marmaduke Stevenson, a young man then in 
Barbados, heard of the 'bloody law,' and took 
passage immediately for New England. He 
reached Rhode Island, and found there 
his friend, William Robinson, to whom, in the 
language of a letter from the cell in ywhich he 
lay condemned to die, the word of the Lord had 
come expressly, and commanded me to pass to 
the town of Boston, my life to lay down.' ' Aftu 
a little time,' as a similar letter asserted, 'the 
word of the Lord came to Marmaduke also| say* 
in°- 'go to Boston with thy brother, William 
Robinson.' The two accordingly went. Mary 1 
Dyer, 'a comely, grave woman, the mother of 
several children,' likewise was 'moved of the 
Lord to come from Rhode Island to mike them 
a visit.' Nicholas Davis also was one of the par- 
ty. The four were arrested and straightway 
banished on pain of death. Nicholas and Maiy 
'found freedom to depart;' but the other two 
were 'constrained in the love and power of the 
Lord to try your bloody law unto death.' They 
hovered about Salem a few weeks, and then , in 
the midst of quite a troop of friends, marched 
into Boston with unfaltering steps. Alice Cow- 
land, who had come with them, brought some 
'linnen,' as she showed the Governor, 'wherein to 
wrap the dead bodies of them who were to suf- 
fer.' Mary Dyer reconsidered ber duty, and 
was also 'soon espied' in Boston. Being 
brought before the Magistrates, Robinson and 
Stevenson and Mary Dyer were condemned to 
be hanged, and on the 27th of October, 1659— a 
dark day in the calendar of New England— the 
three, 'walking hand in hand, Mary being the- 
middlemost,' took up their solemn march to the 
gallows, which stood upon Boston Common. 'The 
two men, one after the other, climbed the ladder 
and were hanged. They died with exalted hearts. 
The last words of Robinson were, 'I suffer for 
Christ, for whom I live and in whom I die.' 
Stevenson said : This day shall we be at rest 
with the Lord.' Mary Dyer then stepped up the 
ladder. The halter was put about her neck; her 
face was covered with a handkerchief; she was 
iust to be turned off. — when a faint crv arrested 



the hangman's act. It was this: 'Stop! stop^T 
she is reprieved!' 'A reprieve! a reprieve!' was 
shouted for by a hundred willing voices. The 
execution immediately stopped. But she, whose 
mind was already, as it were, in heaven, stood 
still, and said 'she was willing to suffer as her 
brethren did, unless they would annul their 
wicked law.' Could there be a deeper pathos 
than that? Her own son, who was secretary of 
state in Rhode Island, had come to Boston to in- 
tercede in her behalf. The magistrates could 
not refuse him, and he bore his dauntless mother , 
back to their home.' -S 

But Mary Dyer could not be at rest. The next r 
spring 'she was moved to return to the bloody 
town of Boston.' Her husband wrote beseech- 
ingly to Endicott, who indeed was loath to con- 
demn her, and suggested to her the evasion of 
denying her identity. But she would not equivo- 
cate. With wonderful heroism she marched to 
her fate. Even at the gallows they delayed the 
execution, and her life was offered her again and , 
again if sho would only promise to leave the jur- 
isdiction. 'Nay, I cannot,' was her constant 
reply; 'for in obedience to the will of the Lord I 
came, and in his will I abide faithful to the 
death.' 



Daniel Webster and Jenny Lind.— Jenny 
Lind gave a concert at Washington during the 
session of Congress, and, with a view to eclat, 
sent polite invitations to the president, Mr Fill- 
more, the members of the cabinet, Mr Clay, and 
many other distinguished members of both 
houses of Congress. It happened that on that 
day several of the members of the cabinet and 
Senate were dining with Mr Bodisco, the Rus- 
sian minister. His good dinner and choice wines 
had kept the party so late that the concert was 
nearly over when Webster, Clay, Crittenden, and 
others, came in. Whether from the hurry in 
which they came or from the heat of the room, 
their faces were a little flushed, and they all 
looked somewhat flurried. After the applause 
with which these gentlemen had been received 
had subsided, and silence once more restored, 
the second part of the concert was opened by Jen- 
ny Lind, with "Hail Columbia." 

This took place during the hight of the debate 
and excitement of the slavery question, and the 
compromise resolution of Mr Clay; and this pa- 
triotic air, as a part of the programme, was con- 
sidered peculiarly appropriate at a concert, where 
the head of the government, and a large number 
of both branches of the legislative department, 
were present. At the close of the first verse, 
Webster's patriotism boiled over; he could stand 
it no longer; and rising, like Olympian Jove, he 
added his deep, sonorous, bass voice, to the cho- 
rus; and I venture to say, that, never in the 
whole couse of her career, did she hear or 
receive one-half such applause as that with 
which her song and Webster's chorus was 
greeted. 

Mrs Webster, who sat immediately behind 
him, kept tugging at his coat-tail to make him 
sit down or stop singing; but it was of no 
earthly use, and at the close of each verse, 
Webster joined in, and it was harel to say 
whether Jenny Lind, Webster, or the audience, 
were the most delighted. I have seen Rubini, 
Lablache and the two Grisis on the stage at one 
time, but such a hippy conjunction in the Na- 
tional air of "Hail Columbia," as Jenny Lind's 
tenor and Daniel Webster's bass, we shall never 
see or hear again. 

At the close of the air, Mr Webster arose with 
hat in his hand, and made her such a bow as 
Chesterfield would have deemeel a fortune for 
his son, and which eclipsed D'Orsay's best. 
Jenny Lind, blushing at the distinguished honor, 
courtesied to the floor; the audience applauded 
to the very echo ; Webster, determined not to be 
outdone in politeness, bowed again; Miss Lind re- 
courtsied, the house re-applauded, and this was 
repeated eight or nine times, or "I'm a villain 
else." — Southern Society. 



f 



£j 



> 



Which Would You Rather Do?— John 

Aeuiu.s, father ot John Quincy Adams, used io 
say : When 1 was a boy I hud to study the Latin 
grammar; but it was dull and 1 hated it. My 
father was anxious to send me to college, and 
therefore I studied the grammar till I could bear 
it no longer; and, going to toy father, told him 
1 did not like study and asked him for other em- 
ployment. It was opposing his wishes, aud he 
was quick in his answer. "Well, John," said 
he, "if Latin grammar does not suit you, you 
may try ditchin<> — perhaps that will. My mead- 
ow \ order needs a ditch and you may put bv 
grammar and dig." This seemed a delightful 
change, and to the meadow I went, but soon 
iound ditching harder than Latin, and the first 
forenoon W88 ihe longest 1 ever experienced. 
That day 1 ate the bread of labor, and glad was 
1 when night came on. That night I made com- 
parison between Latin grammar and ditching, ' 
but said not a word about it. I dug the next 
forenoon, and wanted to return to Latin at din- 
ner time; but it was humiliating and 1 could not 
doit. Af night toil conquered pride and 1 told j 
my father — one of the severest lessons of ni\ 
— that, if he choose, 1 would go back to Latin 
grammar. lie Mas glad of it, and if 1 have since 
gained any distinction, it las been owing to my 
two days' labor in that ditch. 






1^^^ 






TIMOTHY 1ITC0MB IN EUROPE. 

JLETTERS FROM »R IIOI.I,ANI>-13. 



Mr Spurgcoiij IVewnian Hall and l>r Cam- 
mine ni Their Own Pulpit*. 

From Our Special Correspondent. 

Lausanne, Switzerland, October, 1868. 
There are three clergymen in London, whose 
names are particularly well known to American 
people, viz: Mr Spurgeon, Newman Hall, and 
Rev Dr Cumming. Of course, I took pains to 
hear them all preach. The rush to Mr Spur- 
geon's church is so great that I took an early 
start, on a bright Sunday morning, in order to 
be served among the first strangers, if possi- 
ble.. On alighting at the door of the church, in- 
stead of being obliged to wait, I was met by 
some officer of the place and day, who inquired 
whether I would like to go directly into the 
church, and wait my chance there. Responding 
In the affirmative to his polite proposition, he led 
the way, at the same time putting into my hand a 
slip of paper which he begged me to read. It was a 
request for a contribution to Mr Spurgeon's in- 
stitution for the education of clergymen. It was 
a very neat business transaction— one for which 
the practical and business-like Mr Spurgeon is 
justly celebrated. It was as much as to say: "I 
have taken you out of the sun and given you a 
good chance for a good seat; now, if this amounts 
to anything to you, state the sum in silver or 
gold in the contribution-box." I stated it and 
took a scat in a sort of elevated waiting-stand, 
near the entrance. The officer told a gentleman 
that some "American friends" would like seats; 
and we — myself and party— were soon invited 
forward, and seated in some of the best pews in 
the house. 

Mr Spurgcou's church is a very large and well 
contrived house, capable of holding a larger con- 
gregation, I judge, than that of Mr Beecher, in 
Brooklyn. Indeed, it is claimed that it affords 
comfortable sittings to five thousand persons. 
There were not more than five hundred people in 
the church when I entered, but they came pour- 
r" ing in from that time forward,*until every part 
of the building was crowded. The interior is 
oval, the platform pulpit standing out from one 
extremity, and permitting the seats to sweep en- 
tirely around, an arrangement which gives a 
j pretty good sized audience only the chance of 
I seeing the back side of the speaker's head. The 
personal appearance of the great preacher has 
I become so familiar to Americans, through en- 
gravings and the descriptions of letter-writers 
that I need not say more than that ho impressed 
me, as he stepped quietly upon the stand, as a 
heanj, healthy, powerful man. After giving 
out a hymn, and begging the congregation not to 
sing it too slowly, he joined with them in the 
| music Then he read a telegram he had just re- 
i ceived from some distant part of the kingdom 
: from a man who was dying, and who found him- 
. self.in the dark hour, unsustained by the Chris- 
tian's hope. His prayer for this stranger was one 
of the most touching things I ever heard. In- 
j deed, the whole prayer, of which this formed an 
I episode, was marked with great fervor, thorough 
spirituality, and a flow and command of lan- 
guage which much surpassed my expectations. 
When he finished his preaching, I was not left at 
a loss to understand the secret of his power. He 
is a good man, a strong man, thoroughly in earn- 
est. There were passages in his sermon, not a 
few, which reminded me of Beecher. The same 
directness, the same bursts of grand and sweep- 
ing power, the same felicities of diction, which 
distinguished the performances of the American 
preacher, were scattered through the sermon. 
i Mr Spurgeon's vocabulary is not so large as that ' 
.4 of Mr Beecher. He is not so completely en rap- 
"wort with the world of nature, and his fancy and 
imagination are not so active; but he is dramatic, 
■ understands human nature, believes in Christian- 
ll'ty, (a good thing in a preacher,) knows exactly 
J what he wants to do, and drives straight forward 
I to the end he seeks. I do not know that Mr 
I Spurgeon is Mr Beecher's superior in anything 
I except it may be as a business mun. His faculty ; 
I of organization— of so setting other people at I 
I work as to multiply his own personal power a j 
| thousand foid.must distinguish him,in the results ' 
" of his life, from Mr Beecher. Mr Spurgeon is do- I 
i ing by organization and institution what Mr 
I Beecher does by personal magnetism. Mr 
■Beecher inspires other clergymen; Mr Spurgeon 
^educates them, and so builds and shapes the 
•.policy of institutions that he will be producing 
f preachers after his own kind long after he has 
-passed away. The spirit of the man is kindly. 



His manner towards his people is familiar and 
fatherly. Like the Brooklyn preacher, too, he is 
not without Ins dash of humor. In short, I left 
his presence, at last, with a good taste in my 
mouth, and the firmest wish in my heart that 
the Lord would send into the world, and set to 
work, ten thousand just such sensational fanatics 
as Mr Spurgeon. 

I heard Newman Hall at St James Hall, an 
immense room, on the upper floor of a high 
building. The afternoon was warm, and the hall 
was hardly two-thirds full. I find that this fa- 
mous clergyman, though standing high as a 
pulpit orator, is not so popular as a preacher, as 
he is as a platform speaker. He attracts no such 
audience as Mr Spurgeon; but on the occasion 
of a public meeting, for the discussion of any 
political, social or religious question, he can 
never be in the audience and escape a call to the 
platform. His off-hand performances are always 
acceptable, when under the spur of great tudi- 
enccs and great occasions, while, in his pul- 
pit efforts, carefully planned, he is often 
commonplace. He seemed to me like an 
exhausted man, and I verily believe he 
is. He loaked more worn than when he was 
in America. He is one of those unfortunate men 
who have undertaken to do more than any one 
man can do. His sermon, though not without 
good and telling points, was the work of a man 
who preaches too much. There was not time 
/) enough spent in its preparation. He had left too 
much to be thought out under the inspiration 
of the moment, and found too late that the after- 
noon and the audience were not capable of in- 
spiring a man so tired as himself. In this thin" 
Mr Spurgeon shows himself to beDr Hall's supe- 
rior. Every blow of Spurgeon's tells. When he 
is tired bis brother preaches. What he cannot 
d® he makes other people do. He looks now as 
if he would be good for thirty years, while 
Dr Hall will certainly break down unless he 
changes his policy. 

As Dr Hall retired from the house I presumed 
upon an introduction to him with which I was 
favored during his American tour, to greet him ' 
and express the kindly feeling for him which all 
loyal Americans entertain. He spoke very cor- 
dially of his American friends and of his Ameri- 
can experiences, talked hopefully about his church 
building enterprise, invited me to one of his so- 
cial meetings, and excused himself from further 
conversation on the ground that another congre- 
gation, in another place, was already assembling 
to hear him preach. Here was a man who had 
already preached two long sermons, on his way 
to preach a third. I did not ask him whether he 
expected to preach in the evening, but 1 presume 
he did. When will public men learn to econo- 
mize their strength ? There is no wisdom in the 
policy pursucaby this man, and unless he goes to 
Chicago, as 1 hope he mav, and then undertakes 
to do the work of one man well, instead of endeav- 
oring in vain to do the work of ten men, he will 
be sure to break down suddenly, or quietly fade 
out. He is a great, good man, capable of great 
things, if he will but economize his power and 
concentrate his efforts; but he is tryino- to do 
what no one man in the world can do. 

The national Scotch church, Dr Cum- 
in mg s, Crown Court, Covent Garden is 
not a conspicuous edifice, and mi«-ht be 
passed a hundred times without excithV in- 
quiry Supposing that it would be crowd- 
ed- J adopted the , same P° lic ^ of early attendance 
which had served me so well at Mr Spurgeon's 
church. I might as well have stayed at home as 
not a bit of the inside of the church did I see un- 
til every man who owned a seat in the church 
was seated. With my party I waited in the ante- 
room for fifteen or twenty minutes, when I was 
informed that if I would go around to the side of 
the church and wait there, until the side-doors 
were opened, I should be able to get a seat I 
waited there With a discontented and anxious 
crowd of strangers until the ladies with me were 
weary and faint with standing; and when, at 
last, the doors were opened, I entered the church 
only to find that the preacher had alreadv con. 
menced the reading of the first hymn The seat 
ing of strangers had stopped with the doctor's 
rising, and there we all stood. Not a pew door 
opened, not an usher stirred. The hymn was 
read and was then sung through at leisure I 
am afraid I was angry. Such lack of all decent 
show of Christian hospitality I never witnessed 
in a church before in my life. At the conclusion 
of the hymn and of an elaborate opening prayer 
we were received into the pews against which we 
had presumed to lean; and there "was the end of 
our trouble for the time. But I made up mv 
mind that that was no way to treat strangers 
and that if Dr Cumming's church did not-'W 
sent me with a good example in this matter it 
had at least furnished me with an "awful warn- 
ing." 

I was very pleasantly disappointed in Dr Cum- 
ming s preaching, for the looseness with which 
for several years he has spread himself upon / 
print, had led me to expect more of words than / 
ideas. His sermon, compared with those of Mr 
Spurgeon and Dr Hall, certainly deserved the pre- 
eminence as a literary performance. Its Eng- 
lish was clearly formed, and the style, both of 
its composition and delivery, was nervous and 
forcible. The whole effort was more finished 
careful and scholarly than either of the other 



sermons of which I have written. Nor did it 
lack in earnestness of purpose; and I shall al- 
ways remember it among the comparatively fcw 
really excellent sermons I have heard in my life. 
*It contained nothing of Dr Cumming's peculiar 
views touching the imminence of the consumma- 
tion of earthly affairs, but was a manly protest 
against certain usurpations and presumptions of 
the established church of England. Indeed, 
there was not one of the three sermons,*to which 
I have alluded in this lettPi, that did not have 
its "dig" at the church —not ill-natured in the 
least, but a plain t outspoken denunciation of 
some of its' me8^ ures an d claims. 

Dr Cumm'.ng is a fine-looking man, with a 
good strong cast of countenance, which remind- 
ed me n»t a little of the late Dr Wayland of 
Brov>n University. After the close of the ser- 
vice, he retired to his dressing room '(he wears 
1 a gown) and was followed into it by an elegantly 
I dressed lady. As I wished to see him, I inquired of 
' the sexton whether I could see him. , He said 
that as soon as the duchess of Sutherland should 
come out 1 could go in. So, after a while.'the 

duchess came out, a yv^ finC lookinK - wo ^' 
and tvhen she had trailed Tier pcrftimaa »»»,>»..- 
tudes ofj silk and muslin past mc f 1 efitei'ed, in- 
troducing myself to him as an American. 1 was 
received with a hearty greeting. He immediately 
relieved me from the burden of conversation, and 
talked about the Americans whom he had 
known. He said that when \ T r Abbott Lawrence 
was the American minister, be constantly at- 
tended his church. He spoke rf Mr Lawrence 
with much affection* and ended t, v r savi "g> that 
until the day of his death he (Mir i.) had sen, 
him (Di C.) every year a barrel of Nevv' ton pi P" 
pins, a gift which the widow of Mr La\." ren . ce 
continued until she died. Then the Newton £ J^ 
pins stopped altogether. Mr Buchanan was alst, 
an attendant of Dr Cumming's church, during 
his residence near the court of St James. 

All these men speak without writing their ser- 
mons. At least they bring very few written 
words into the pulpit. I cannot help feeling 
that, in this direct.dealing with the people, lies 
one important secret of their power. Suppose 
you were to i'tf Mr Beecher down to written ser- 
mons; would it be hard to see that, thus tied 
down, he would cease to be the orator of power 
that he confessedly is? Thus hampered, he 
would cease to be Mr Beecher. His strictly char- 
acteristic efforts would be ended. I suppose it 
would be the same with these three great Lon- 
don preachers. A man in a pulpit is never so 
much a man, or so much a preacher, as when he 
does, in the presence of his audience, his best 
thinking, and utters it in words forged in the 
heat of the occasion. 

The singing in all these three congregations 
was, I regret to say, congregational. I have 
heard nothing but congregational singing since 
I left home, and I am really getting hungry. 
The singing in Mr Spurgeon's church dragged 
itself along in a way to set a musical man fran- 
tic. That in St James Hall, though supported by 
an organ, was hardly better, while that in Dr 
Cumming's church was not singing at all. I am 
tired of this singing on a theory. It is undoubt- 
edly a pretty thing for a whole congregation 
to unite in singing, provided they know how; 
but I have never yet seen a congregation that did 
know how, and I never expect to see one. I 

hope to hear something better in Germany, 
where musical culture is more univ'«*"sal; but so x S 
far, in all my life, congregational Jteging has f §, 
been a torment to me, and never a source or me- |J j 
dinin of devotion. The theory itself is lame. £ * 
People who do not know how to sing havo no ffe! 
moral right to sing in public. It is just as le- g$ 
ultimate to hire a choir to lead a congregation in a » 
public praise, as it is to hire a minister to lead, in hg g 
public prayer. Thct was the old doctrine of The S 
Republican when I had the privilege of "doing 
the music." Permit me to repeat it again and 
here. J - g. h. 

The Hotel d'ltalie, where we are, is situated on the 
steep side of a hill just east of the town. Behind and 
above us the ascent is so abrupt that a look upward is 
almost dizzying, while far down below, and yet at our 
very feet, is the Mediterranean, whose waters look 
more "deeply, darkly, beautifully blue," every time 
we fix our eyes upon them. Its waves, with never 
ceasing roar and plash, lull us to rest at night, and 
are the first sound to fall on the ear when day begins. 
The shelving grounds in front are built up in terraces 
loaded with a profusion of flowers, and are so laid out 
as to convey the impression that they are much more 
extensive than they actually are. It is the very spot 3 
in which to make the most of landscape gardening, 
and by vistas and nooks to cheat the beholder into the 
belief that land here is not so scarce after all. Here 
is a fig tree, there an aged olive, while the lilac, with 
breath like home, the pittisporum, with its glossy 
leaves and fragrant blossoms, and roses, white, pink, 
dark red and pale yellow, are all within sight, almost 
within reach. The scarlet geraniums, which give 
such coler to our own gardens during the summer 
months, here climb the house walls to the highest 
stories, like woodbine or wisteria, aud fling on the air 
and fling on the air a wealth of bright blossoms. 

Piazza, terrace and rustic palisade are alike hidden 
.and beautiful, while gillyflowers, nasturtiums, wall- 
flowers and cactuses are little accounted of, so abun- 
dant are they. But our great delight is the heliotropes 
This delicate and choice plant has born some blossom, 
all winter, and now, trained in rich masses at the cor- 
ners of the house, its hundreds of clusters load the 
scring breezes with fraerance. 



IX. 



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WOBGESTEB, ENGLAND. 

Corrc.pondcncelftoe" Worcester Spy. 

The desire, before returning borne, to see the 
Old Worcester and to compare her with our own 
good city, has led me to this place, and I have 
thought that your readers might be interested in 
learning something of it. 

In some respects I find a striking resemblance 
to our city, and it is situated near the centre of 



England, railways extending through it in all di- ]m one is conservative, two liberal 

rections. Its population is 33,000. Its icvtygOT- JJ^ 

The religious wants of the community 



The lovers of good living know that here is ear]y ^^ dccomed ^ perpeilUJC 
manufactured the celebrated Worcestershire of arcbitcctui . e . There are many ancient monu-^ 
sauce by Lea & Perkins. men ts within its walls, among them the 

A Chamber of Commerce has been established tomb of £. Dg Juhn wLo wag ^^ ^ ^ ^ ^- 

for promoting the commcrc.al interests of the Am011 o- the eminent men who were born in \v,,-' 
city. There are four banking institutes and two cester may be mentioiie(l Pcpe Clemeut VII, 

savings banks. Bishop Latimer, Lord Chancellor Gifford, aud 

There are no daily papers here to enlighten the (jobbam. 
■people, but their reliance is on five weeklies, | An annual agricultural and " horticultural 
Worcester Journal, Herald, News, Chronicle and show is held at Worcester, but unfortunately I 
Advertiser, which appear to be well supported; am uere a weck t00 early for jt F H D 

two — -- 



eminent consists of a mayor, twelve aldermen, 

and thirty-six councillors, and its police force ^ providcd forj hy twe nty-five places of wor- 

numbers thirty. It is the county seat of Wor- ^ ^ established church (Episcopalian) being 

tester county, and its court house, with its six mucL the mostnumerouSj but they have an All 



jnassive granite pillars, forcibly reminds one of 

home. 

! On examining the guide book to ascertain the 
best hotel, I found the first named was the "Star 
and Garter." On inquiring of a fellow passen- 
ger, he assured me the "Star" was the only first 
class hotel; that for many years it had been 
known as the Star and Garter, but a now com- 
pany having recently taken it, they had dropped 
the garter, and now the star sinned alone. But 
I found by personal observation that this city 
abounded in hotels, and to show the singular 
taste of the English in this respect, I give you 
their names: Unicorn, Dove, Swan, Black 
Horse, Pack Horse, Ram Tavern, Holly Bush, 
Hop Pole, Falcon, Three Turks, Saracen's Head, 

These inns, as 



Saints Church, Presbyterians,Congregationalists, 
Baptists, Methodists, Roman Catholics, aud 
Friends, being all provided for. . 

In public buildings tbey outnumber us, the 
town hall, called by them Guildhall, is a nand- 
some stone building. The market house is a sub- 
stantial building, 233 feet in length, with a foun- 
tain iu the center. The museum is a tasteful 
building with a lecture room 60 by 30 on the 
lower floor, a room of the same size on the second 
floor is appropriated to a large and valuable 
collection of specimens in natural histo- 
ry. The city library occupies the second floor 
of another building, the first floor of which con- 
tains the reading room and law library. They 
have also a Music Hall, and a school of arts, au 
orphan asylum, a dispensary, an iufirmy and an 



and lasj, the Punch Bowl Iun. 

they term them here, are principally patronized "^^^ta^rkolieofthetetaflffliiipi, 

W people from the adjoining country towns 1 ^ .^ ve tQ om . Mc _ 

The "Star," though fair for an English hotel, ^^.^ ^ 

jwas greatly inferior to the Bay State House. ^ ^ ^^ ^ ^ ^ im , u faa? , 

Passing through the streets another strange ™ lupported by six lofty iron col 

sight meets your eye. Large sign-boards an- Pm1tllins a Mnntv t M Q n *w w a* „„, 



umns, contains a county hall 90 feet by 40, and 
40 feet high, and two court rooms with galleries 
for spectators; in the basement are cells for pris- 
oners awaiting trial. Adjoining the court house 
in the rear, a large building has been erected, 
called the judges' lodgings, where they reside 
during the terms of the court, and the clerks 
have offices; the entire cost of the buildings was 

$150,000. • 

The county goal is more extensive than ours, N/ 

and has within its enclosure a house for the gov • 

ernor of the goal, aud a chapel. The charitable * J 
institutions are numerous, there are not less than J U 
fourteen hospitals and almshouses, usually 
bearing the name of the individual by whose lib- \V 
erality they were founded; they are usually for 
it experienced man the worthy poor, who, in addition to a home, re- 
ceive a weekly allowance. ' One of the gifts pro 
vides two houses as residences for two poor 
widows whose husbands shall have been mem- \/__ 
hers of the town council; another gilt has pro- 



nounce that Eliza Johnson and Jane Jones are 
ilicensed to brew ale and sell spirituous liquors; 
from the number of signs of this kind, it is very 
evident the business of brewing and selling are 
both extensively carried on. 

There is much of general interest in the his- 
tory of this city; it is so ancient that the date of 
-its original settlement is unknown. A6 early as 
the year G80 it was surrounded by lofty 
walls and noble fortifications. A cathedral was 
erected here toward the close of the seventh cen- 
tury. Iu the year 1041 it refused to pay tributoto 
a Danish King, who for that reason sent a body 
of troops and destroycijp the city; but it was 
soon rebuilt and flourished under the early Nor- 



nncommon degree the vicissitudes of fortune; it 
it was the scene of many bloody battles, it was 
four times plundered and burned down; after 
thebattleof Bosworth Field, Henry VII. seized 
the city and caused many of its inhabitants to be 
beheaded. In 1534 it suffered from a great earth- 
quake. 

It was especially the scene of war between 
Charles I. aud Parliament, being always true to 
the royal cause; it was several times besieged, 
and in August, 1651, the battle between Charles 
II. and Cromweil's forces, which destroyed all 
hopes of the Royalists and established Crom- 
well's authority, was fought within its bounda- 
ries, and' Cromwell ordered its walls to be razed 
to the ground before he quitted the city. Since 
that time Worcester has rested in peace, and 
seems now to be in a prosperous condition. 

The principal business now carried on is the 
manufacture of porcelain and of gloves. It has 
long been celebrated for its -porcelain works, 
which were established in the year 1751; one es- 
tablishment employs 500 hands, and the entire 
work, from the breaking and grinding to 
du-a of the rocks, to the painting by hand of the 
beautiful flower? and fruit, b all done on the 
premises; one who has witnessed the twenty in- 
teresting and curious processes of making, dry- 
ing, painting and glazing the porcelain, will not 
wonder at its high cost. The manufacture of 
gloves has been carried on here extensively for 
many centuries; latterly the hop trade has be- 
come a leading one. The vinegar works are the 
most extensive in the country; one firm have 
casks holding 80,000 gallons each, and havere-^ years 
cently added probably the largest cask in the W thorc 



> r / 



world; it is 23 feet high, 102 feet in circumfer- 
ence, 23 feet in diameter and holds 114,600 gal- 
lons, when full weighs 570 tons. 



yided four houses for four poor men of good 
character who shall have been members of the 
town council for a period of not less than six 
years, and who shall be upwards of sixty years 
of age; the men also leceive seven and the 
women five shillings each weekly. Perhaps if 
some of our philanthropic and wealthy men 
would hold out such inducement! seats in our 
common council might be more sought for. 

There are a number of free and charity schools 
in the city, bnt their benefit is limited, and their 
system is far inferior to ours. I must not omi 4 
to mention that a general and superior system o f 
sewerage has, at great cost to the citizens, re" 
cently been introduced, the facilities afforded by 
the river Severn, that passes through the city, 
being superior to those of Mill Brook. New wa- 
ter works were built and the supply of water 
greatly increased in 1866. A new cemetery was 
laid out in the year 1858, and recently a park o f 
twenty-five acres, with gardens and bowling 
grounds. There are numerous fountains in the 
city, generally the gift of some liberal citizen - 
an example worthy of imitation among us. 

I cannot close my l< tteigavitliout giving a brief 
account of the Cathedral, which, to the stranger, 
is the most attractive building. The cathedral 
originally commenced in the year 680, was many 
times partially destroyed and defaced, but a 
large portion of the present cdilice is over 600 
s old, and the whole of it has recently been 
oughly restored; its length is about 400 feet, 



»\/ 



and its greatest width over 200 feet, being built 
!in the form of a double cross. Constructed at 
different times.it affords examples of the Norman, 



LETTER FEOM E0MB. 



Correspondence of the Traveller. 

Roue, Dec. 2o, 1333. 
I am here In the "eternal city," and have seen the 
grand Christmas show of Pope, cardinals, bishops, 
priests, " prince, potentate and peer," not to mention 
the monks, nuns and curates which mix in in eadles3 
numbers. The day was all that could be desired— like 
a May day with us in New England. St. Peters was of 
course thronged. The pageant in the church was a3 
gorgeous as it was possible for the art of man to con- 
trive; and as I looked upon all this, 1 could not but 
speculate in thought on what the Nazarine would have 
to fay about it all, if he should come down irorn his 
celestial dwelling. The contrast between the condition 
of this elected crew and satelites, and the people who 
prostrated themselves before all this splendor, I think 
might induce him to act something as he did at a cer- 
tain time with the brokers in the temple. 

Pome has nearly four hundred splendid churches an 
innumerable pa'aces; five thousand priests, and a popa 
lntion of two hundred and fifty thousand souls, ninety 
per cent, of whom are but little better than beggars 
A grand eruption of these human elements will by and 
by lake place. The outward world is moving onward 
too fast to allow this church to hold these people much 
longer in bondage. The condition of our .Southern 
negroes in the time cf slavery was as that of dweller; 
in a paradise compared to the condition oi these- Porna: 
people. Every church entrance and corner of stree 
teems with beggars. The holes those people live in, aud 
the food they, eat, are by far inferior to tiio n 
and food we give our pigs. Yet after all this how 
full of interest is Pome. I wander about i 
ruins with more delight than 1 do about i 
churches. The galleries and museums of aut 
qtiity fill me with wonder that such a poop 
have lived before us. I gohito enclosures whei e work 
teen are busy clearing away the accumulated rcfcbif) 
of ages past, over the palaces of the Ciesura, ai 
them unearth and bring to light beautiful (Ireeiai 
statues that for nearly two thousand j 
bidden iiom sight— works of art, models for the genius 
of the present age. The interest excited by a few hours 
of these explorations is more tiresome to i 
and physical powers thau days of my ordinary busines 
p sir. -nits. 

Since Sunday last 1 hare been constantly on the go 
winding up with the Christmas festival last evening, 
licw pleasant it is to reflect that though Lir away from 
heme, and in the midst of all the "pomp, pride and 
circumstance" of the Romish church, my personal aw 
business relations are with those who austi 
moral characters, and live in harmony and brotherly 
lore, though they may not pray in public. Oath 
basis I v ish to see established th<> great fact that fhei 
is a true religion outside of the church as well : 
in. Hie Pope's choir at St. Peters on Chriataaj 
day breathed the most delicious music I ever hean 
He has seven eunuchs in the choir, who sing withoa 
any instrumental accompaniments. 1 am told the Pop( 
centimes to bring forward constant supplies of th 
class cf singers: the foundling hospitals, ., 
filled with subjects, furnishing the supply. 
about Pome and see the old temples turned into bar 
racks lor priests, I get out e>f good humor. Bui 
world moves on, and time will settle all these mista 
So we must not be impatient. I suppose all people 
have the best they are capable of appreciating. 

To-day I rest previous to om- departure for Naples 
for the purpose of writing a few letters, one of which 
contains these lines to you. How I would lil 
of orr cold, bracing New England weather. 1 think 
there is r.o climate so good, and I shall miss it this year 
There is no country in the world so good as New I 
land, and certainly no people so good. Thank for 
it is my home. 

AVe l.ave what is QftUad, and really is, pood cookin, 
nere, una tbe dishes served are excellent, but it. wont 
be a decided luxury to sit down on* more to a gooi 
New England dinner. lam in the most comfortable 
quarters, in a new bote), and the be«t one I have found 
since leaving Paris. It is called the Hotel C'ostauzzh 
and is filled with Americans. I shall write yoi; again. 

C.W. 



Some Old English Houses. 



Hever Castle, Penshurst, and Enole— Histori- 
cal Relics. 



[Correspondence Of the Evening Post.] 
Chichester, Eng., April 24, 1866. 



dais and table lor retainers, with a superb carved 
oak screen at one end supporting a music or 

minstrel gallery. Through this vou pass into an 
oak corridor ninety-six feet long— called the 
Holbein gallery— filled with most curious por- 
traits by that artist of great men and women of 
, the period; then through Lady Betty Germain's 
r^om and dressing-room of dark wainscoted oak 
and lined with charming portraits by Sir God- 



sss«ff»;^^S&S 



^ 10 H^l Au, f. ri H a!,; l v,sitil ^ En S^ndgo to frcyKneller and Sir Peter Lcl.y. Thence "you 

i™, a majestic 
e it lies on the road and onlyTfew "miles .< S" I^^r^d tdv'' ZhS^ff 
from Chatsuorth, the Duke of Devonshire's, UoA^^ ^^^f^^^\^ 
which everybody must see, partly, perhaps, be- Sir Joshua Reynolds's ^ (the la K TdrbrL 
cause it is said to have been the original of Mrs. "Giosev Girl" amonsrothS-fi celebrated 

Radeliffe's "Mysteries of Udolpho." Very few, At the e 1 ofTe ncx nnarfmenf thn Mil 
however, go to Hever Castle, or Knole, or Pen- room-is a Iar-e S^lShSh?' ba J l 
eSot,ier iU *»*"**«-*-» *w miles of jX «^yS^SSf^-S^. 

°^ f qiWU .kh^shchsx. . r e ^M 

Hever Castle is especially interesting as being *-~ 



rooms are precise yui the same state as when The decorations of this roora Tare said to him 

visited and occupied by Henry VIII., and the cost twenty thousand poSte sterling while th« 

castle is stall surrounded by a moat, which is bedstead cost eight thousand nouna^Thehan- 

1_ by a drawbridge, (he bridge being drawn rags are of rose-colored cloth bf^old stiff with 



Near embroidery. The park at Kwte%'lama ei^ht 
miles m circumference, and contains some majr- 



up and the portcullis let down at night. 
Hever is Chiddingstone, a village still rich in 

specimens of old English architecture. About .mncent ~s^imo^r^^^'bJ!±^ 
three miles from Hever is Penshmst— now own- *aud oaks ' * LU ' U1 - "" c 

ed by Philip Sidney, Lord dc Lisle Dudley— _ h. w.s. 

celebrated as the birth-place of the famous Sir 
Philip Sidney, as well as of his brother, Alger- 
non Sidney, who was beheaded on Tower Hill. 

In the park here there still remains a magnifi- 
cent specimen of an oak, twenty-two feet in cir- 1 
euinference, planted at Sir Philip's birth, of 
which "rare Ben Johnson" wrote: 

"That tall tree, too, which of a nut was set, 

At his preat birth, where all the muses met 



Sir Philip wrote his celebrated "Acadia" at 
Wilton House, near Salisbury, where his sister, 
the Countess of Pembroke, lived. It is only 
within a few years that a governess in the Earl 
af Pembroke's family, opening a dusty aud 
worm-eaten copy of the "Acadia" in the library, 
accidentally found a lock of Queen Elizabeth's 
hair, labelled in Sir Philip's hand, as having 
been given him by the queen. 

The house at Penshurst is very large and ram- 
bling, and was celebrated before the Conquest. 
It was presented by Edward IV. to Sir William 
Sidney for his gallantry at Flodden Field, la 
1649 the young Duke of Gloucester and the] 
Princess Elizabeth, the unfortunate children of" 
Charles I., spent a year here under charge or the 
Countess of Leicester, the mother of the celi" 
brated Sacharissa of the poet Waller, and a beau- 
tiful avenue in the park is yet called alter her, 
"The Sacharissa Walk." The house consists of 
several courts within courts, of differ* nt styles of 
architecture — having been built af different pe- 
riods. The hail is, perhaps, the oldest roo a in . 
England, 54 feet long, 38 wide, and 62 high; the" 
(ire place in the centre is a heavy set of bars on 
heavy dogs of iron rudely carved, the siee 
cending to the ceiling and escaping by a flame.! 
At the upper end is the raised dais, on which was 
the table for the lords and ladies; below, at right 
angles, were the tables for the servants and re- 
tainers — now all black and grim with age and 
smoke, and cut and hacked by centuries of use. 

The most interesting rooms at Penshurst were 
the apartments of Queen .Elizabeth — who often 
passed some time here— after it came for a while 
by marriage into the Earl of Leicester's bauds. 
licr suite of six or seven rooms is precisely as if, 
she had left them yesterday, save the wear and 
tear of time and the faded and somewhat tat- 
tered appearance of the hangings and tapestry. 
On the Avail of the dressing room hangs her man- 
es she last played upon it; in her closet 
a card table embroidi i t own 

hands, and even an inkstand of silver, still be-' 
spattered with ink. 

In the gallery, filled with portraits of the Sid- C 
ncy family, is a most extraordinary picture, rep- 5 
resenting some Christinas festivities at Pens- 
hurst, where the Earl of Leicester appears in a 
dance, lifting the staid, serious looking queen , 
off hei feet. Her grave face, pointed and high 
ruff, and high-heeled shoes, present a curious 
want of harmony with the rest of the picture 



KNOLE, 

By far the most interesting place in England 
for antiquity and preservation is Knole, belong- 
ing at present to the Countess Amherst. Knoie, 
like Penshurst, existed before the Conquest. 
This magnificent mansion covers five acres of 
_ground, and furnishes specimens of the archi- 
tecture of several ages, the most ancient being 
as the old Mareschals and Bigods, the most 
modern being the erection of Thomas Earl of 
Dorset, in the reign of James I. \t one period 
it belonged to the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
but it was sold by Cranmer. While at Pens- 
irst the most interesting rooms are those once 
i by Elizabeth, -at Knole, the most at- 
ictive are the apartments of King James I. 
, like Penshurst, is entered through a suc- 
11 of courts, not unlike Hampton Court, 
ry gray and mossy. The great 
hall, which is immense, has the raised 



\. "Warning to Americans A.l>eut tj Visit 
Rome. 

Dr. J. G. Holland, writing about Rome, 

It is 11 igfora mai luthern 

is family 

and Borne are not ';■ 

or the White Mountains. The influences of the 

whether of malaria or moisture, or 

alternations of sun and shadow, induce a fever 

numbers of strai 

months of sickness. It makes one's heart bleed 
to think of the large number of Americi 

vary spring, leaving 
one of their number behind there, orb 
embalmed on its way to the forsaken home be- 
yond the sea. In the winter, the sun is hot and 
the shadows are cold. 

a great deal of time is 
spent are cold. The change from day to night is 
a great change; and at the time of that change 
hundreds of Americans are coming home, wearied 
with their day's excursions, and dinnerless— with- 
out the power to resist the chill that comes upon 
them the moment that the sun passes from sight. 
Then th exposures that come ol 

■ receptions, the heated 
he late balls, the theatres and operas. Is 
it to be wondered at that Naples fever aud Roman 
fever seize upon so many ? Ti me rules 

which it would be well for all people visiting 
Italy to adopt. The first is never to accept a 
room in a hotel or boarding-house that is without 
the sun ; second, never to be out of doors when the 
sun sets; third, make no attempt to economize in 
the matter of fuel, but pile on the wood whatever 
the expense may be ; fourth, stay in the hoysc 
nights; and, fifth, never to go to a gallery without 
thick shoes and an extra "shawl. These rules, 
thoroughly followed, will give 3-ou your kest 
chance of getting out of Italy in safety. I assure 
you that I do not exaggerate the dangers of a 
winter's residence in Naples and Rome. And 
now, if it is hard for a healthy man to get through 
such a residence unscathed, hew do you suppose 
the invalids fire? The consumptives die, pretty 
nearly all of them; and few, indeed, aj 
who are benefited. It is true, too, that those who 
have gone further— who have visited Egypt or 
Palestine— have been sick on the passage nearly 
every one of them. I write this because I sup- 
pose the general public is as ignorant upon ths 
subject 1 fore visiting Italy. It is a seri- 

ous thing to visit southern Italy and "the 



The Regicides. 

The lecture in the historical course at the Lowell Insti- 
tute last evening was delivered by Rev. Chandler Rob- 
bins, I). D., of this city, on "The Regicides Sheltered in 
New England." The first half of his lecture Dr. Robbins 
devoted to a review of the civil war in England whioh re- 
sulted in the death of Charles I., in January, 1649. Three 
persons prominent in this struggle, he said, were Edward 
Whalley, Wi Ham. Goffe and John Dixwell. The first of 
these was a descendant from a highly respectable family; 
at the breaking out of the civil war, under the influence of 
his religious convictions, he took up arms under Crom- 
well, whose cousin he was, and distinguished himself as 
a soldier In many battles. After the elevation of Crom- 
well he was made governor of five counties, was a repre- 
sentative in Parliament, and at one time member of the 
the upper house. When it was proposed, to make 
Cromwell king, Wballey passionately opposed the 
measure, and was mainly instrumental in putting off 
the debate. His name was signed to the proclamation to 
make Richard Cromwell protectorafterhis father's death. 
William Goffe enlisted with enthusiasm in the army of 
parliament, and roso to a high rank. He was a devoted 
partisan of Cromwell, ever ready to execute his will, 
lie received from the Protector the office of ma.ior-geue- 
ral, and was a member of both Houses of Parliament. He 
married the daughter of Whalley, and his name was also 
signed to the proclamation issued at Cromwell's death. 
Every selfish interest would have prompted John Dixwell 
to have kept aloof from the revolutionary party, but his 
head, conscience and heart moved him to engage in a 
contest which he believed was for freedom and for God. 
He rose to the rank of colonel, and was an active and 
distinguished member of Parliament. He was held in 
high consideration for his sound judgment, firm purpose, 
and practical ability. On the 29th of May, 1660, Charles 
II. entered London to take possession of the throne, {and 
Whalley, Goffe and Dixwell fled tor safety from thecoun- 
try; the two former to America, and the latter to Ger- 
many. Immediately upon their landing in Boston Whal- 
ley and Goffe called upon Governor Endicott, who gave 
them a courteous welcome. They then proceeded to 
Cambridge, where it was their intention to reside. Here 
they were admitted to the best society, and their gravity 
and dignity of manner secured to them general respect. 
They took part in public meetings, and partook in the 
communion ot the church. When tl ie act of 
indemnity from which Whalley and Goffe were 
excluded arrived in this country it produced 
much excitement. The General Court were 
divided in their feelings, some being inclined to protect 
the refugees, and others to give them up to the crown. 
Before any decided action was taken in reference to them 
by the Court, they left Cambridge, escorted by their 
friends, and proceeded to New Haven. On their journey, 
which occupied nine days, they called upon John Win- 
thropat Hartford, by whom they were kindly received. 
At New Haven they met with a friendly and cordial re 
ception, and took up their abode in the house of John 
Davenport, the minister of the town. For some time they 
moved freely among the people.but a proclamation for their 
arrest was issued, and for several months thev were 
obliged to secrete themselves in Mr. Davenport's collar. 
Two young royalists were commissioned to search for 
them, but they were thwarted at every point, for intelli- 
gence of their movements was secretly conveyed to the 
fugitives, and they kept secluded. After hiding in various 
places they went to a house in Milton, where they re- 
mained two years in comparative safety. At length a 
special commissioner came to this country in search of 
them, and they were obliged to make a hasty retreat. 
They went first to a cave, but bsing discovered 
by Indians, they went to the town of 
Hadley, where they lived in the house of Mr. John Rus- 
sell, a worthy minister, of the place, until the death of 
Mr. Whalley, about the year 1676. He was burled in the 
tomb behind the front cellar wall of Mr. Russell's house 
Whether General Goffe remained in Hadley after this is 
not certainly known, but it is thought he did. and that his 
remains and those of Whallev, were afterwards conveyed 
^^""V™ «nd deposited beside Colonel DliweU who 
had come tolthis country from Germany, and 1 lad lived in 
:i retired spot until his death in 1689. The remains of flhiS 
pecentne but truly heroic men, who nev™ wavered ? 
heir loyalty to what they thoroughly believed the n A 
H C JS A and <L lorioa8 cause committed by Heaven to m n ? , 
^„ ar f S /? Ci *i ,a - nds ' now lie beneath a stately monument 
erected to their memory near the colleges in NeTll""e, 
unlv^lSn ^? 1 ^ 6 ' ° f ailti9Ua?ian &fig?Si i 



Here also hangs the double bridle used by the, nnd no man sIl0uld li?htly uude rtak 9 such a 
i-l, when at Penshurst, m his rides with vig j t or fail t0 gu . ml himself and the precious 
his royal mistress. members of his family from the influences of the 



climate, by the most jealous care, by day and by 



This is the last year's work record of a Con- 
cord clergyman's wife: Guests entertained, 53; 
guests at tea, 69; at breakfast, 38; at dinner, 
47; lodged, 39; number of calls made, 484; re- 
ceived, 565; letters received, 491; written, 610, 
covering 1287^ pages. She has also read 9u 
books and written 116 newspaper articles, be- 
sides doing her own sewing, attending to her 
marketing anrl parish matters, keeping only one 
servant. ~ 



A Boston merchant not long since telegraphed 
to Calcutta at five o'clock in the afternoon or- 
dering the purchase of merchandise to the value 
of $100,000. The following morning at nine 
o'clock a response to the order was on the mer- 
chant's table, prices given, rates of freight, etc., 
etc. 



"We have here the touching letters by which 
the regicides, Goffe and Whalley, who in 1664 
found a refuge in the house of Rev. Joseph Rus- 
sell, at Hadley, communicated with their fami- 
lies in England. Whalley was an aged man and 
quite infirm Goffe was younger, and he mar- 
ried Whalley's daughter. Increase Mather was 
the medium through whom the letters were 
transmitted. The names and relation of the 
parties were disguised iu order that the letters 
might be unintelligible, in case they fell into the 
hands of the English government. Goffe was 
Walter Goldsmith, and his wife Frances Gold- 
smith. He addressed her as "Deare Mother." 
Her letters were to her "Deare Child." Their 
children were his "sisters." Goffe spoke of his 
father-in-law as his "friend" or "partner." Their 
place of concealment was "Ebenezer." Money 
was freely contributed for their support in the 



California. It seams almost sacrilege to attempt 
this whit* »h,. imnrossion of a visit arc still livsli 



•« the only 



♦-- 



PICTURESQUE TOWN 
THIRD HOTTEST 
IN ALL THE WORLD 



The third hottest city in the world— 
that is what Kingston is called, and no 
traveller visiting this city and hearing 
that remark has ever asked the names 
of the other two. 

In spite of the heat, however, the city 
is habitable, chiefly through three 
agents— the rains, the "Doctor" and 
"John Crow". By the "Doctor" the 
Jamaican means the cool breeze that 
pays a morning and an evening visit 
to the city, laden with comfort and life. 
"John Crow" the first seen as one enters 
the city, is black of coat, ragged of 
wing and red of head; but he is a 
scavenger of such value that the peo- 
ple call him the street cleaner. Noth- 
ing that is thrown into the street es- 
<-r.pes his attention, and he keeps the 
thoroughfares as clean of refuse as do 
the famous 'white wings" of the cities 
of the north. 

CITY'S QUAINT PEOPLE. 
Kingston in itself is a city of moder- 
tttractions to one who is accus- 
tomed to tropical ways and growths. 
The foliage, of course, is very beautiful, 
palm trees towering everywhere 
with their long branch-like leaves in- 
cessantly moving. The buildings are to- 
tally different from anything seen any- 
where else, being squatty, of a dazzling 
■whiteness, and with queerly peaked 
roofs. 

Then the manners and customs of the 
people are quaint and interesting. The 
women work in the street with hoes 
and shovels; lazy negro messengers 
stroll along with their burdens on their 
heads, and the black policeman, unlike 
their northern brothers, are ever will- 
ing to oblige the traveller with use- 
ful information and are not loath to 
take a "tip" for their pains. 

Pretty Creole girls lounge on the 
verandas during all hours of the day 
or night, and wrinkled fruit or sweets 
venders linger in the deep snadows 
that the porches mark on the white, 
glaring streets. 

"WHISKEY BOT'L; GWI' BY" 
The street cries are novel and strange 
The first thing a person hears in the 
morning, as he half wakes from deep 
sleep Is: "Wi' pi' chpai' pi,' whiskey 
bot'l; gwi' by" called out by the wom- 
<?n whose business is to collect the 
bottles. 

Every peddler crying his wares in 
the streets winds up with the inevit- 
able "Wwine by", which, drawled out 
in a sing song way, penetrates every 
room in the house and brings the 
housewife to the door as quickly as a 
bell would. 

The two handsomest buildings in the 
city are the museum and the library, 
the latter a building of pleasing archi- 



tecture, containing at present about 
15,000 volumes, among which are a 
number of rare old books and pamph- 
lets upon the history, geography, nat- 
ural history, botany, etc, of Jamaica. 
GRUESOME HUMAN CAGE. 

There are books on the days of 
Spanish rule, of piratical atrocity, of 
English occupancy and of slave insur- 
rection. Penn and Venables and Mor- 
gan, the greatest pirates who ever 
lived, and the great earthquake that 
destroyed Port Royal in a minute, all 
are told in most interesting fashion. 

In the museum is a gruesome relic 
that was dug up nearly a generation 
ago. It is a cage of strap iron, so 
constructed as to fit the body, with 
bands to go about the neck, breast 
and loins, bars and stirrups for the legs 
and feet (the last having sharp spikes 
to pierce the soles of the feet) and a 
ring by which to suspend the whole 
thing. This awful instrument of tor- 
ture "cc." tain ed, when found, the bones 
of a woman . 

CITY CROSS^SHAPE.D. 

Kingston was first built in the sh3n<? 
of a cross, owing to the religious fervor 
of Its incorporators, King street run- 
ning north and south and crossins 
Queen street running east and west At 
the juncture is the "parade ground" a 
pretty little park with trees and a 
fountain, pleasantly arranged walks 
and flower gardens a favorite resting 
place for the people after the heat of 
the day. Each street is 65 feet wide 
Since they were laid out the city has 
grown largely toward the east and tow- 
ard the north. 

Not only is Kingston the metropolis 
and capital of Jamaica, it is also the 
most important city in the British 
West Indies. Its population is cosmo- 
politan, the English and Americans 
predominating, among the whites. It 
was built directly after the destruction 
of Port Royal. For years it possessed 
a charter and a seal, but gave up both 
when the ancient rights of the island 
were surrendered in Governor Eyre's 
time. 

FOUR TIMES FIRE SWEPT, 
It has been the victim of four great 
fires. The first, in 1780, caused a loss 
estimated at $150,000. The second, in 
1843, swept the city from the east end 
of Harbor street to the Catholic chapel 
at the end of Duke street. The third, 
in 1862. burned down stores, wharves 
and other property to the amount of 
$450,000. The fourth, in 1882, a disaster 
still fresh in the minds of the residents, 
who lost their all, destroyed a large 
portion of the business part of the city 
and rendered 6000 persons homeless. 



IJesperatel 
jCoughs 



Dangerous coughs. Extremely perilous cougbs. 
Coughs that rasp and tear the throat and lungs. 
Coughs that shake the whole body. You need 
regular medicine, a doctor's medicine, for 
such a cough. Ask your doctor about Ayer's 
Cherry Pectoral for these severe cases. 

W»h«r»no «»CTeti! We pnbliah J. C.AyerCo 

the formulae of al l our prepTetlone. Lowell, ~~ 



Lowell. Mail. 



The last fire, however, was a sort of 
blessing in disguise, as it resulted in 
the city being rebuilt with more sub- 
stantial buildings and better streets. 

The water supply of the city comes 
partly -from the precarious source of 
wells and cisterns, just as it did yearis 
and years ago. About 1848, a private 
company brought water from the Hope 
River and to this supply has since 
been added that of the Wag water. The 
pressure is sufficient for all fire pur- 
poses and the system of filtration used 
results in a supply for drinking pur- 
poses that probably no tropical city in 
the world can excel and few can equal. 

The seat of government was removed 
to Kingston in 1872 from Spanish 
Town; a move, the wisdom of which is 
open to debate, since the contingencies 
of war, riot or conflagration would first 
menace the larger city, and endanger 
the public. 

ALL, ICE AT 70 CENTS. 
At the last census, the population 
numbered about 50.000. Several build- 
ing* societies do a large business, and 
banks, life and fire insurance compan- 
ies and discount associations flourish. 
Ice is manufactured and sold at the 
uniform price of 70 cents per 100 
pounds, and electric lights have taken 
the place of the gas. Street cars, drawn 
by mules.traverse the principal streets. 
Among Kingston's buildings, beside 
the museum and library already men- 
tioned, the finest are the Victoria Mar- 
ket, at the foot of King street; the hos- 
pital, on North street; the Colonial 
Bank on Duke street; the old parish 
church, on King street, where Admiral 
Benbow, is buried and which contains 
half the records of the events of the 
last two centuries; the colonial secre- 
tary's office and the building created 
for the exhibition some years. 
MANY FINE STATUES. 
Many fine statues stand on the prin- 
cipal streets, among which is that of 
Sir Charles Metcalfe, one-time govern- 
or; the Hon Edward Jordan, C. B., and 
Dr Lewis Q. Bowerbank, each statue 
labelled with large placards forbidding 
all sorts- °f "bill-sticking." 

Kingston's ^e^s^are unique. In the 
first place, they have ilQ,^*^ prices, 
and in the second, one is ai'ml7j\k sure 
to get fooled in his purchases unless fit* 
knows pretty well what he wants to 
buy, and its real value. Clothing and 
books cost much less than in America, 
as do all sorts of food supplies, with 
the exception of meats and poultry, 
which are nearly the same. Fruits, 
naturally, are very cheap. Taken alto- 
gether, the cost of living is not so great 
as it is in the North. 

Beggars and small boys swarm the 
streets, the latter offering to do all 
sorts of work for a "quattle" or penny. 
Labor wages are lower than in the 
United States, and higher than in Eng- 
land. 

There are about a • dozen lodging 
houses and as many taverns where 
food and lodging may be had at rates 
varying from $5 to $10 per day. There 
is one American hotel situated on the 
site of the old Myrtle bank on Harbor 
street which is considered the best in 
the city, closely followed by the Park 
Lodge Hotel, Creole In style. 

Churches of all denominations flour- 
ish—Roman Catholic, Presbyterian, 
Baptist and Hebrew, besides the 
Church of England, which, as in the 
mother country, assumes first rank. 

In commercial circles the tone of 
thought is more American than Eng- 
lish, and reference is much more fre- 
quently made to the opinion of the 
States and New York than to that of 
England and London. 

This comes from the fact that the 
greatest trade is with the United 
States. Jamaica has practically no 
manufacturers except those of sugar 
and rum and a few products such as 
bamboo, from which an American at 
Black River is extracting fibre. Most 
of the articles of personal or household 
use or ornament which the Jamaican 
uses is imported from other countries, 
and of these the greatest number come 
from the United States. 




better thai. 

tin liis second 



:ira! .survey of 



-dl U 



ouum 



'iup uranaiy. 



AN ELOQUENT TRIBUTE. 
Dr. Putnam's address at the funeral of Gerj. 
Lowell is an out-gush of glowing patriotism and 
true-hearted affection clothed in fitting anfl 
soul-stirring words. As the address is out of 
print, the edition having been at once sold, we 
will give our readers a few selections. Dr. P. 
begins with an allusion to the departed : 

The body of Charles Russell Lowell, brought 
in honorable and affectionate custody from the 
distant valley where he fell, lies here before us 
for the customary rites. 

His one brother (and what a pair was that 
in endowments and character to be the posses- 
sion and the crown of a single household !) sleeps 
at Nelson's Farm on the Peninsula, and no fu- 
neral words were said over him. It was the same 
with his almost brothers in the flesh, and quite 
in the heart'6 affections, Robert G. Shaw and 
Cabot Russell, buried in the sands of Fort 
Wagner ;— the same with his near relative, 
Warren Russell, and his .^veil-beloved class- 
mate, Savage, and his life-long friend and com- 
peer, Stephen G. Perkins, all buried in Vir- 
ginia. We need not grieve for them on this 
account. The soldier, if he might choose for 
his own sake alone, would naturally prefer to 
have his resting place on the spot where death 
found him in the way of honor and duty, and ( 
would ask no funeral honors but those of a 
comrade's tear, and the witnessing, stars, and 
the whispered -requiem of the trees ; yet' we will 
remember those dear and noble ones in this 
day's solemn service of love and religion. If 



"He liveth long who liveth well ; ro s sweet and glorious memory, made their own 

All othe,- life is short and vain." ^ forever, and to be to them henceforth, though 

Says the Book of Wisdom : "Honorable, age i8 a ! Dld riuni cg tears and unutterable grief's, the 

not that which standeth in length of time, nor lvine8t Deilu -ty, the sacred pride, and joy, and 

that is imasured by number of years. But' lo P oi tne ' r l' v es, 

wisdom is the gray hair unto men, and an un- Su we mil8t not grudge what our dear coun- 
spotted life is old age. He pleased God and; r { has re q il| rcd of us, but must give more, and 
was beloved of Him, so that he was translated. baok her infin »te compensations, — give all 

And, being m»^ perfect in a short time, he * le asks and needs,— give ourselves and our^ 
fulfilled a long time. For his soul phased the ieare9t '~ aud 8 ive on an( i to the uttermost, 
Lord ; therefore hasted He to take him away." :11 ti,le . ls redeemed, rehabilitated, re-enthroned, 
words rich in comfort and lofty faitu. I 9 ** ,r <**i freest, benignest, most majestic 

* a t-u- it u i • j- a ,U)r >g the empires of the earth 

And this life, over whose close we meditate, 



.And now let the young men take up tenderly 

is dear burden of their friend's body, and 

•ir it forth to yonder garden of the Lord, and 

it reverently down in its place to rest in 

y sleep which God giveth to his beloved. 

soul, already ascended, lives the new life 

*good fruits and energizing influen- A^'.^h'™ T* g ™ W [ 0Tcver } n P ()Wer - 

Jove, and blesseJness,— and yet abides here 
more living than ever, for example, for in 



and pray, and weep to-day, — do not murmur 
that it has been short in the reckoning of our 
earthly calender. "Think, rather, how rich, 
how beautiful, how highly inspired and nobly 
spent it has been, — and still is ; for is it not 
still here, here in its near and sacred memories, 



ces, and all the sweet companionships of the 
spirit ? Was he ever so dearly loved as to-day ? 
Was he ever so near as now to those to whom 
he has been always nearest ? Was he ever so 
wholly, so unalterably, so inseparably, their 
very own ? 

0, we must have patience with our poor, 
frail hearts, if they keep yearning on to have 
their precious treasures present to the eye and 
the embrace, and if they bleed and break in the j 
seeming separation, and refuse to be comforted I 
at once in that unutterable pain and loneliness, ' 
— patience and forgiveness — for the heart can- 
not see afar, and would fain keep its earthly 
home and joy unbroken,— patience ! And yet 
we would learn, in devout and uplifted thought, 



,-ation, and all-comforting and uplifting in- 
jfcoce. 

'arewell, thou sleeping form ! All hail, thou 
..nfied and ever-living spirit ! 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 



these marble lips could move, they would bid ^ to 8° U P ofte n and high into the mount of God, 
us couple tjieir name and memory with his. ^ themountof thesoul's wide vision, wherewemay 
And they, if they still have sympathy with / 8ee and know that the truc l»'e is imperishable ; 
earthly doings, would gladly have his funeral and that 5t 8ta J 8 J" 081 vital when it seems to go 
rites made theirs, and their only ones, by any awa y 5 and that death, though it come to such 
thought or mention of their names with his. £ a8 J?f» S0 loved and 80 y carned f °r, comes of 
They loved him so much, and looked up to him . d ' 8 lovc ' and m,t untimely,— that it must be 
with such ardor of admiration and affection ! L n S ht ' De8t - happiest, as it is. 

William Lowell Putnam, who fell at Bail's £ TH ^ price for our country's salvation 



Bluff, had his burial, just three years ago this 
day, from amid the endearments of his home, 
yet his name forces itself upon my lips in this 
connection, for he was verily one with this 
kinsman, in blood, in spirit, and fraternal love. 
And besides these near ones, may we not 
spare a moment's space in these solemnities to 
bring to mind with him, in a comprehensive 
j kind of All-Saints commemoration, the many 



This mighty mother of us all, our country, 
is indeed just now severe and exorbitant in her 
exactions upon us. She summons from the 
homes of her domain their best and dearest, 
and appoints to them toil, and hardship, an 
peril. She steeps her soil in her children's 
most precious blood. She tears her brightest 
J jewels from her own forehead, and flings them 



y 



When Freedom, from her mountain height, 
Unfurled her stadard m the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night 
And set the stars of glory there; 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes-. m*mm 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And stripped its pure, celestral white 
With streakings of the morning light; 
Then, from his mansion in the sun, 
She called her Eagle bearer down, 
Aud gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen 1 ,nd. 

Flag of the free heart's only home! 
By angel hands to valor given, 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome 
And all thy hues were born in heaven! 
I-orever float that standard sheet! 
Where breathes the foe but falls before us 
With freedom's soil beneath our feet 
And freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! 

THE STRIPES AND THE STARS. 

BY EDNA D^AN PROCTOR. 

(Air—" The Star-Spangled Banner.") 



k ,'Tr commemoration tne many - in the dugt> She 8end8 dail her Bwift me8se ,"„.„■_, 

who followed him, and fell with him on that J 8 of ief and desoIat £ n from heart ^OStar- Spangled .Banner! the Flag of our pride! 
field of glorious daring and achievement, un-/ ncart and frovn hou8e to ho throuhou Though trampled by traitors and basely defied, 



known to us, but valiant and faithful men, our 
friends and champions all, who gave up their 
lives with him, and for us and ours. 

After giving a few of the leading facts in the 
career of Gen. Lowell, and delineating a few 
prominent features of his character, he thus en- 
forces the truth that 

OUR FRIENDS DO NOT DIE TOO SOON 



y ' — A 

this fresh, strong life closed too soon ? Too^j 
soon, we say, when we think of the high earthly 
possibilities and promises contained in it. Too 
soon, we say, when we think of our country's 
need of such as he. Too soon, we say, when we 
take council only with the affections. Our 
poor, fond hearts do so cling to their beloved, 
and demand the sight of the eyes, and the con- 
tinuance of these visible ties, and do feel so des- 
olate in the anguish of parting. 

And yet not too soon, friends? From the 
highest plane of thought and feeling, — the plane 
above the senses, the understanding, and even 
the heart, — from the plane of the soul, the se- 
rene heights of faith, we must say, and we will 
and do, Not too soon ! There is an all-wise 



her borders. She does all this , but she does it£ tog ° U I to ^e glad winds your Red, White, and Blue, 
not in cruelty, but in love, that she may pre-'^A heart of ^North-land is beating for you ! 
serve her own glorious life, her own impeml^"" 8 ^ ng ^J" ne ™ ng to strike witl > a will 
sovereignty, and her benignant power to bless ™ l , he f °f and hls boastui g s are humbled and still ! 
her children, and fold tbem under her brooding™ 1 ; 6 * welc ° m e *° wounding and combat and scars 
wings, to nourish and keep them, as she only , And the glor y of <»**— for the Stripes and the Stars ! 
can , in freedom in honor and in peace. And ! Prom prairiej plowman , spe ed boldly away- 
23 thus she pays the stupendous debt she owes to , There>s seedt0 be 80Wn in Qod , s fum)ws ' 
her afflicted pfiGfHe. 

Let smith leave his anvil and weaver his loom, 



Row landward, lone fisher ! stout woodman, come home 
>w, hi ,is fair spirit fled too early,- „ And she pays it not only in the promise of fu- ^ smith leaTe hig anvil and we&ver hig ^ 

1™ &*;!!!£ 1™aT™1 „ U u:.ll IT^ And hamlet and c "y ™« l°»* with the cry, 



now, daily, amply, and that in a higher curren- „ 

»„"«.£ i\ ( \t , .,., ,?, , ... For God and our country we'll fight till we die 

cy tnan that ol the mortal life and blood which n .„i. „,^i„„„„ .„ ™ 1- a v . 
/ » ou •* a Ueie s welcome to wounding and combat and scars 

she exacts. She pays it over and over in the en- .„j fl ,„ ,„ tA ., c f, ^ . , , In , 

ki- i i. i • u u i • -iv And the glory of death— for the Stripes and the Stars •' 

nobling loyalty which she awakens in millions F M ° ar ' 

of souls; by the high inspiration of sacrifice Invincible Banner ! the Fiag of the Free ! 
and devotion which she in her needs and dis- o where teeads the foot that would falter for thee » 
tresses sends thrilling, mounting, blazing r the hands to be folded till triumph is won 
through her children's hearts ; by the energies And the Eagle looks proud, as of old, to the sun? 
she calls forth ; by the manhood she creates to Give tears for the parting-a murmur of prayer- 
meet her exigencies ; and by the opportunities Then po rwiird , the fame of our standard t0 share , 
and the stimulants she provides for an earnest with welcGme ta wounding and combat and scars 
life and noble heroisms. 0!j ! she pays all the And the glory of death _ for the gtri and the gtarg 
debt and more. She takes but mortal lire, she 

gives thesoul's life; she takes but perishable O God of our Fathers ! this Banner must shine 
treasures, she pays back the durable riches. Where battle is hottest, in warfare divine ! 






Disposer of the issues of life and death, and/ $*» wrong life which so lately animated the The cannon has thundered, the bugle has blown,- 
present being opens into the life eternal, andt- form _ tnat ' ,,es shrouded there-she, the great We fear not the summons-we fight not alone 1 
therefore it cannot be too soon. mother, has scarcely claimed and taken one o lead us, till wide from the Gulf to the Sea 

And, moreover, in the supreme believing "'ore precious ; but she has paid for it —paid T he land shall be sacred to Freedom and Thee! 
moods of the soul, we know that the value of a >{' ?w ' ^ c mt in advance, and he knew it felt with lave, for oppression ; with blessing, for scars- 
life consists not in its length, but in the charac- it.-paidjHw lt] the splendid sphere ol duty One €ountry-one Banner-the St rip es and the Stars 
ter attained and the work done in it. A short life L and sacnnce.s^e openedto him, always to the 



may be very complete, and a long one may be 
all shapeless and ravelled. To the good and 



faithful there is no such thing as untimely- \ l^**«pi»t she breathed into him, whereby 



death. The fruits of the spirit are always ripe 
for the heavenly garners, and though the reaper 
come before the harvest-time, it is not too soon. 



j ingenuous and nobly aspiring mind, the dearest 
b ion that heaven or earth can grant, — in the 



to 



Death of Ex-President Fillmore 



do valiantly, to live greatly, to die willingly. 

, ,", , J . ■ , • , ■ ■ u Buffalo, March 8.— Midnight— Ex-President 

And those who Joved that lite better than Millard Fillmore died at his residence in this 
their own, — she pays them ; pays them in a he- city, at ten minutes past eleven o'clock tonight, 
-'•w ^- ■ ■ • ... . I He was conscious up to the time. His death 

was paiuless. 



. ///* 



Hl.tory ulthe SU»r. »..«! Stripe*. 

BY ALFKEl> B. STKKE1'. 

The most interesting incident connected / 
with the battle of Saratoga, was the uuturhng^ 
for the first time the Stars and Stripes at the 
BurrCuler o! Burgoyne. " 

Bunker Hill was fought under a red Bag 
bearing the motto "Come it you dare, b t on 
'the 14th ot June, 1777, the continental con- 
Kress resolved "that the flag ot the thirteen <~ 
United States be thirteen stupes, alternately 
red and white, and that the Union be thirteen 
sl;t rs white on a blue Held, representing a new 
constellation." This was made public on the 
3d ot September following. Previous to this 
our national banner was the Union Hag, com 
billing the crosses ot St. George and St. An- 
drew (taken tiom the English banner) with 
thirteen stupes alternate red and white. 1 ne 
bannerol St. l'atriek (Ireland's emblem) was 
not combined with the crosses ot St. George 
and St. Andrew in the standard ot Great Bri- 
tain until 1801, the year ot the union with Ire- 
land. . , , .. 

The stars of the new flag represented the 
new constellation ot slates, the idea taken 
from the constellation Lyra, winch signifies 
harmony. The blue of the field was taken 
from the edges of the Covenanters' banner in 
Scotland, likewise significant of the league 
and covenant of the United Colonies against 
oppression— and incidentally involving vigi- 
lance, perseverance, and justice. The stars 
were deposed in a circle, symbolizing the per- 
petuity of the Union — the circle being the 
sign of eternity. The thirteen stripes showed, 
with the stars, the number of the United Col- 
onies, and denoted the subordination of the 
states' to, and their dependence upon, -the 
Union, as wtH as t quality among themselves. 
The whole was a blending ot the various flags 
previous to the Union flag, viz : the red flags 
of the army, and white ones of the floating 
batteries— the germ ot our navy. The red 
color also, which iu Roman days was the sig- 
nal of defiance, denoted daring, and the white 
purity. 

What eloquence do the stars and stripes 
breathe when their full significance is known. 
A new constellation, union, perpetuity, a cov- 
enant against oppression, justice, equality, 
subordination, courage, purity. 

By the United States law of January 13, ■ 
17'J4, it was enacted "that from and alter the 
1st of May, 1795, the flag ot the United States 
be titteen stripes, alternate led and white," 
and "that the union be fifteen stars, white in 
-a blue field." Thi* was our national flag dur 
ing the war of 1812. 

On the 4th of April, 1818, congress altered 
the flag by directing a return to the thirteen 
stripes, as follows : — 

"Be it enacted, $c„ That from and after the 4th day 
of Juiv next, the Hag of the United States be tliii- 
teeu horizontal stupes, alternate red and white; that 
the union be twent) stars, white, in a blue tield. 

And be it further enacted, That on the admission of 
a new stale into the Union, one star be added to the 
union oi the flag; and that such addition shall take 
e fleet on the 4lh day of July next preceding sueli 
admission." 

The return to the thirteen stripes was by 
reason of the anticipation that the addition of 
a stripe on the admission of each state would 
would make the flag too unwieldy. The old 
number of stripes also perpetuated the origi- 
nal number of states of the Union, while the 
addition of the stars showed the Union in its 
existing stati 




•• ^ - 

Tin- flag planted by our troops in the city 
ol Mexico, at the conclusion of the Mexican 
war, bore thirty stars. 

The size of the flag for the army is six feet 
six inches ill width, with seven ltd and six 
white stripes. The first seven stripes (louiy 
red and three white) hound the square of' the 
blue field for the stars, the stripes extending 
from the i xtiemrty of the field to the end ol 
the flag. The eighth stripe is white, extend- 
ing partly at the base of the field. The num- 
ber of the stars is thirty-four. 

Success to the Hag of our nation! 

lis toldia all around u* be spread ! 
It it blazoned with deeds of Mm valiant, 

Ann sacred with names of the dead. 
Thr Btarsare thesymbol of union; 

In union they ever must wave! 
1 he white is the emblem of honor. 
1 he red is the blood of the brave. 

Success to the flag of our nation! 

Let it sweep o'er the land and the sea! 
The shades of out heroes are round it, 

Beneath it, the ranks of the tin-. 
We Will keep its young glory unsullied, 

In the ages to come as the past; 
Upbear it a beacon ot freedom, 

Unbowed, through all storms to the last. 



The American Flag. 

The history of our glorious old flag is of ex- 
ceeding interest, and brings back to us a throng- 
of sacred and thrilling associations. The banner 
of St. Andrew was blue, charged with a white 
saltier, or cross, in the form of the letter X, and 
was used in Scotland as early as the eleventh 
century. The banner of St. George was white, 
charged with the red cross, ancTwas used in Eng- 
land as early as the first part of the fourteenth 
century. By a royal proclamation dated April 
12, 1706, these two crosses were joined together 
upon the same banner, forming the ancient na- 
tional flag of England. It was not until Ireland, 
in 1801, was made a part of Great Britain, that 
the present national flag of England, so well 
known as the Union Jack, was completed. But 
it was the ancient flag of England that consti- 
tuted the basis of our own American banner. 
Various other flags had indeed been raised at dif- 
ferent times by our colonial ancestors. But they 
were not particularly associated with, or at least 
were not incorporated into and made a part of 
the destined "stars and stripes." It was alter 
Washington had taken command of the fresh 
army of the revolution, at Cambridge, that Jan- 
uary 2, 1770, he unfurled before them the new 
flae of thirteen stripes of alternate red and white, 
having upon one of its corners the red and white 
crosses of St. George and St. Andrew, on a field 
of blue. And this was the standard which 
was borne into the city of Boston when it 
was evacuated by the British troop3, and was en- 
tered by the American army. Uniting, as it did, 
the flags of England and America, it showed 
that the colonists were not yet prepared to sever 
the tie that bound them to the mother ce.untry. 
By that union of flags they claimed to be a vital 
and substantial part of the empire of Great Brit- 
ain, and demanded the rights and privileges 
which such a relation implied. Yet it was by 
those thirteen stripes that they made known the 
union also of the thirteen colonies, the stripes of 
white declaring the purity and innocence ot their 
cause, and the stripes of red giving forth their 
defiance to cruelty and oppression. 

On the 14th day of June, 1777, it was resolved 
by Congress, "that the flag of the thirteen United 
States be thirteen stripes, alternate red and 
white, and that the union be thirteen white stars 
in a blue field." This resolution was made pub- 
lic Sept. 8, 1777, and the flag that was first made 
and used in pursuance of it was that which led 
the Americans to victory to Saratoga. Here the 
thirteen stars were arranged in a circle, as we 
i sometimes see them now, in order better to ex- 
press the idea of the Union of the states. In 
1794, there having been two more new states 
* added to the Union, it was voted that the alter- 
nate stripes, as well as the circling stars, be fif- 
teen in number, and the flasr, as thus altered and 
enlarged, was the one which was borne through 
all the contests of the war of 1812. But it was 
thought that the flag would at length 
>J become too large if a new stripe should 



Recapitulation of the U. S. 


Government Expenses. 


. Washington, 


8 years, 
1 year, 


815,892,198 tJO 
1,886,884 CO 


u 


1 month, 


' l« 


M 


1 day, 


5,518 00 


i« 


1 hour, 


289 I 


<• 


1 minute, 


* 3 82 


. Auam», 


4 years, 


$5,362,557 00 


(< 


1 year, 


1,340,646 00 


<t 


1 month, 


111,720 00 


« 


1 day, 


3,724 CO 


M 


1 hour, 


155 00 


.( 


1 minute, 


2 58 


Jefferson, 


8 years, 


$41,300,788 00 




1 year, 


6,162,558 00 


it 


1 month, 


/ 430,210 n 


u 


1 day, 


14,340 ( i 


<< 


1 hour, 


597 CO 


<( 


1 minute, 


9 95 


Madison, 


8 year*, 


$144,684,939 00 


« 


1 year, 


18,085,617 00 


(i 


1 month, 


1,507,135 CO 


il 


lday, 


60,237 00 


K 


1 hour, 


2,093 00 


« 


1 minute, 


31 88 


Munroe, 


8 years, 


$104,463,400 00 


el 


1 year, 


13,057,925 C3 


u 


i month, 


1,088,160 C3 


a 


1 day, 


36,272 (•• 


<c 


1 hour, 


1,511 80 


M 


1 minute, 


25 IS 


J. Q Adams 


4 years, 


$50,501,914 03 


« 


1 year, 


12,625,478 00 


« 


i month, 


1,052,123 tJ 


« 


1 day, 


35,071 10 


<« 


1 hour, 


1,461 00 


" 


1 minute, 


21 35 


Jackson, 


8 years, 


$145,792,735 00 


« 


1 year, 


18,224,092 GO 


« 


1 month 


1,518,67-1 ( 3 


c. 


1 day, 


50,622 00 


M 


1 hour, 


2,109 C3 


K 


1 minute, 


35 15 


Van Buren, 4 years, 


13G,4f 6,963 CO 


<c 


I year, 


.34,101,741 00 


« 


1 month, 


2,841,812 ( J 


« 


lday, 


94,727 CO 


(( 


1 hour, 


3,947 00 


(1 


1 minute, 


65 73 


Tyler* 


4 years, 


$91,158,177 CO 


it 


1 year, 


22,739,5-1 1 CO 


u 


1 month, 


1,899,129 00 


<« 


lday, 


63,304 00 


« 


1 hour, 


2,637 C J 


« 


1 minute, 


43 95 


Polk, 


4 years, 


$302,50O.OCO 00 


H 


1 year, 


76,625,000 00 


H 


1 month, 


6,803^93 00 


« 


1 day, 


210,C39 00 


M 


1 hour, 


8,753 00 


*< 


1 minute, 


145 83 



be added with every freshly admit- 
ted state. It was therefore enacted, in 
1818, that a permanent return should be made to I 
the original number of thirteen stripes, and that I 
the number of stars should henceforth corres- 
pond to the growing number of states. Thus 
the flag would symbolize the Union as it might 
be at any given period of its history, and also as 
it was at the very hour of its birth. It was at 
the same time suggested that these stars, instead 
of bcing*arranged into a circle, be formed into a 
tingle star — a suggestion which we occasionally 
sec adopted. In fine, no particular order seems 
now to be observed with respect to the arrange- 
ment of the constellation. It is enough if only 
the whole number be there upon that azure fold 
—the blue to be emblem; tical of perseverance, 
vitnlancc, and justice, each star to glorify the 
.rlorv ol the state it may represent, and the 
-whole to be eloquent, forever, of a Union that 
rmiat be "one and i nseparable . , 

"How sleep the bravo who sink to rest, 
By all their country's wishes blest? 

When Spring with dewy fingers cold 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould. 

She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have eVer trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung; 

By lorms unseen their dirge is suug. 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 

To bless the turf that wraps their clay i 
And Freedom shall i -vhile repair 

To dwell, a weeping hermit, there." 



The Constitution now. by virtue of the incor- 
poration ol this amendment, proclaims that al 1 
citizens born or naturalized in the United States 
are citizens oi the United States and of thes'ates 
in which they reside; prob bits any laws abridg- j 
ing the privileges or immunities of citizens, or ' 
denyins to any citizen the equal protection ol 
the laws; without establishing nesro suffrage, 
it provides that in case the suffrage shali be de- 
nied to any class of citizens except persons 
guilty of rebellion or other crime, the representa- 
tion in Congress of the state in which such re- 
strictions exist shall be proportionately reduced; 
it disables from holding office ali ihose who, after 
taking an oath "as a member of Congress or an 
officer of the United States, or as a member of 
any state legislature, or as an executive or ju 
dicial officer of any state," had afterward en 
gated in the rebellion, but allows this disability 
to be removed hy Congress when It shall think 
it expedient; it declares that our public debt is 
invio'.anle, and repudiates all obligations in- 
urred by the state or confederate governments 
in aid of the rebellion, and all claims for com- 
pensation on account ol the emancipation ol 
slaves. 




SLAVERY ABOLISHED IN THE 
UNITED STATES. 

OFFICIAL PBOCLAMATIOJT 



To all whom these presents may come, greeting : 

Know ye, that whereas the Congress of the 
United States, on the first day of February last, 
passed a resolution, which is in the words fol- 
lowing, namely: 

"A resolution submitting to the legislature! 1 of 
the several states a proposition to amend the 
constitution of the United States: 

"Resolved by the Senate and House of Repre- 
sentatives of the United States of America, in 
Congress assembled, two-thirds of both houses 
concurring, that the following articles be pro- 
posed to the legislatures of the several states, as 
an amendment to the constitution of the United 
States, which, when ratified by three-fourths of 
said legislatures, shall be a part of said consti- 
tution, namely : 

Article XIII. Seel. Neither slavery nor invol- 
untary servitude, except as punishment for 
crime whereof a party shall have been convicted, 
snail exist within the United States or any place 
subject to their jurisdiction. 

Sec. 2. Congress shall have power to enforce 
this article by appropriate legislation ; 

And, whereas it appears from official docu- 
ments on file in this department that this 
amendment of the constitution of the United 
States, proposed as aforesaid, has been ratified 
by the legislatures of the states of Illinois, 
Rhode Island, Michigan, Maryland, New York, 
West Virginia, Maine, Kansas, Massachusetts, 
Pennsylvania, Virginia, Ohio, Missouri, Nevada, 
Indiana, Louisiana, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Ver 
mont, Tennessee, Arkansas, Connecticut, New 
Hampshire, South Carolina, Alabama, North 
Carolina, and Georgia — in all 27 states; 

And, whereas, the whole number of states in 
the United States is 36, and, whereas, the before 
specially named states whose legislatures have 
ratified the said proposed amendment, constitute 
three-fourths ot the whole number of states in 
the United States; 

Now, therefore, be it known that I, William 
H. Seward, Secretary of State of the United 
States, by virtue and in pursuance of the second 
section of the act of congress, approved 20th of 
April, 1818, entitled an act to provide for the 
publication of the laws of the United States, and 
for other purposes, do hereby certify 'hat the 
amendment aforesaid has become valid to all 
intents and purposes as a part of the constitu- 
tion of the United States. 

In testimony whereof I have hereunto set my 
hand, and caused the seal ot the department of 
state to be affixed. 

Done at the city of Washington, this eigteenth 
day of December, in the year of our Lord 1865, 
and of the independence of the United States of 
America the 90th. 

Wm. H. Sewaed, Stc'y of State. 



/ 



Mr. Greeley said to the Canadians at Montreal, that 
Gen. Grant was nominated and elected President be- 
cause he did not seek the office, and one great merit 
of his was, in Mr. Greeley's estimation, that he did 
not want to be President. The Times has this perti- 
nent comment on the tact: "Among Gen. Grant's 
distinctions is the fact that he did not seek the 
Presidency. He did not even look forward to it and 
labor for it as the fitting crown of his victories for Ms 
country, the proper goal of his career. In this, there 
is none of all our Presidents like him except the 
first. All the others longed for it, worked for it, kept 
it in sight as a beacon by which they shaped 
their course. Even Mr. Lincoln looked forward to 
it from the beginning of his political life. Among 
the men of highest distinction who strove for it in 
vain, and whose failure to obtain it embittered their 
later years were, notoriously, Henry Clay, Daniel 
Webster, Calhoun and Gen. Grant's eminent prede- 
cessor in the army, Gen. Scott. To Grant, alone, in 
the last two generations, the office came unasked, 
unsought; to him, alone, the representatives of the 
people went, and offered him what he had not tried 
to get ; he, alone, made a personal sacrifice when he 
consented to take office. And this is the man whom , 
the people are asking to set aside as a greedy office- 
seeker, and to take in his place a political philosopher 
whose itch for office has been the pest and the plague 
of the leaders of his party in this State for the last / 
twenty-five years." 



Pope's translation of Homer, book 24, has the fol- 
lowing: 

"Since Ulysses' band 
Hath slain the traitors, heaven shall bless the land. 
None now the kindred or the unjust shall own; 
Forget the slaughter brother and the son ; ./ 

Each future day increase of wealth shall bring 
And o'er the past oblivion stretch her wing. 
Long shall Ulysses in his empire rest, 
His people blessing, by his people blessed. 
Let all be peace." 



Wimtzzttt $aHg'£pg. 

A Worcester man nt ibe luaugiii-ntiou. 

[From an Occasional Correspondent.] 
Washington, D. C, March 7, 1869. 
Dear Spy :': The inauguration of Gen. Grant 
caused such a rush of people to Washington as 
was never before known, and the occasion hav- 
ing been looked forward to for so many months, 
and being the. main topic of conversation 
throughout the country, perhaps an account of 
some of the ceremonies may not be uninterest- 
ing 4o the many readers of your paper, though 
written in the crude manner of your correspond- 
ent, who with his two sons has been spending a 
week here sightseeing, from morning to night, 
and sometimes from night till morning, as you 
will see by the account below. Beginning with 
Tuesday evening, you shall hear of the last re* 
ccption of the pardon broker of assassins, de- 
faulters, counterfeiters and state prison birds of 
every description. Thousands rushed to see the 
outgoing President, for the very reason that he 
had made himself notorious by. his outrageous 
conduct. The reception was announced to open 
at 8 o'clock, long before which an im 



had gained would be lost. Thus- tor Ironrs we. 
s'ood, with ladies swerving, screaming and 
fainting on all sides, and when we did get out 
of the door, part of our company were .en 
one way and part the other. Two of our ladies 
were lost in the crowd, we being unable to get 
near them to render assistance; they became 
nearly wild, and when they did make their ap- 
pearand looked more like maniacs than sane 
people. Such an experience we never before 
had. It was in accordance with the administra- 
tion of Johnson, without order, lawless and dis- 
graceful; was a fit ending of his sojo- v n at the 
White House. The credit of the motley crowd 
was much better than it will average amo, : totjsi- 

> ness men, for we all had strong backers, in more 

' senses than one. 

Rejoiced to escape from such a scene, we pro- 
ceeded to the Capitol to attend the night or rath- 
er morning session ol the Senate and House, not 
reaching there till past midnight, and remaining 
till the adjournment Wednesday we went with 

•_ some 400 down the Potomac to*Mount Vernon, 
the home and tomb of Washington, full of in- 
terest to eveiy American; and when we returned 
in the evening found every corner of Washing- 
ton fu 1 of strangers Trains had been pouring 
in all day, some with thirty cars with 1800 to 
2000 passengers. Everything was full; 150 cot 

at Wil- 



mmense ^ beds had been put in the billiard room 
crowd assembled in front of the President's man- lard's for the Philadelphia Invincibles, and an 



sion, the throng reaching to Pennsylvania Ave- 
nue; and when the doors were opened the mob 
went in with a rush, the ladies passing to the i 
right into the cloak room, and the gentlemen fill- 
ing the large hall, and waiting to receive 
their ladies in the Green room, from which the 
visitors wero to pass into the B!u3-room, where £-* 
s:ood the notorious and treacherous Andy John- 
son, with Mrs. Patterson sitting near by; and as p*-: 
the crowd passed, some one, to introduce him, 
stood, and continued to repeat, "The President, 
the President." Very few shook hands with 
hitn, and his appearaoca was rather sour and 
unpromising. Passing by the notorious broker, 
the crowd entered the splendid East room, about 
60 feot by 120, most magnificently lighted and 
decorated, whore there was a perfect jam. The 
only prominent man present wa3 Postmaster 
General Randall, no other member of the Cabinet 
being sufficiently interested to attend the funeral 
ceremonies of their workiDg leader. 

Now for a description of the crowd and the 
scenes occasioned by it. The ladies having 
filled their cloakroom, and the large hall being 
crowded with gentlemen, the door was 60on J 
opened into the Green room, at which the ladies __ air 
in satins and silks, with powdered hair, &c., 
were to receive their escorts, and then pass be- 
fore the President. For a short time all moved 
on pretty well, but the crowd soon became intol- 
erable, and a grand rush was made for the Green 
room, after which it was impossible for the 
gentlemen to find their ladies, and perspiration 
was pouring from the faces of the police, who 
were endeavoring to restore order. Many at- 
tempts were made by them to close the door, but 
When the crowd perceived this, one solid forward 
movement was made, carrying with it door, po- 
licemen and all, till the crowd became so dense 
that ladies fainted in every direction, and were 
raised ' Jrom the crowd and passed hori- 
zontally over the heads to the windows 
for air, many of them having their tine 
dress torn in shreds, and head-gear demoralized. 
In the Green room the ladies climbed upon the 
splendid marble tab'es for protection, till crushed 
by the load, down went marble, wood, silk and 
satin, painted flesh, powdered hair, with faint- 
ing and screaming ladies, all in one pile, and 
when you are told that it was two hours after 
our company, which had become separated, 



unfinished building near by had been tr.ken by 
i 600 men merely for lodging, at $10 each, making 
— for the building the nice little sum ol six ihou 
sand. dollars for the week. Some pitched teuts 
and dwelt in them. Al the halls and parlors at 
the hotels were filled with beds, but the cry 
tinued, "Still they come." Thus passed Wei 
day night in Washington. 

The next morning, notwithstanding the ram, 

the streets and avenue were black with crowds 

of moving men and women, and arrangements 

"""" were being m^de for the grand procession, amid 

'la sea of umbrellas, the venders of which reaped 

, a rich harvest. There was raiD, rain, till 

^ past ten, when the clouds began to lift, making 

f bright and joyous faces of all. 

Balconies were hired on the avenue, some per- 
sons paying as high as $150 for room sufficient 
~ for six persons. Our party secured early a situ- 
_! ation in the north colonnade of the Treasury 
/ building, overlooking the avenue, where we 
watched the forming of the possession and the 
rapid moving of the clouds. When the signal gun 
was fired, and as Gen. Grant stepped from his 
house with Gen. Rawlins to take his simple 
' phaeton with two of his famous nags, driven by 
' a negro in livery, the clouds opened and the sun 
.poured his cheering rays upon the coming mart, 
< amid the booming of guns and the shouts of the 
* multitude. Soon the grand army moved, and 
Grant was the observed of all observers. Tens of 
thousands of handkerchiefs waved as be passed, 
and the shouts of an admiring crowd filled the 
Infantry, artillery, Grant clubs from differ- 
ent states, many fire companies with their 
splendid machines, the Philadelphia Invincibles, 
the Boys in Blue, manv companies of Zouaves 
_ splendidly uniformed, with many Lincoln and 
Butler guards composed of colored men, (who, 
by the way, were loudly cheered, it being their 
first appearance in an inauguration procession), 
swelled the column The navy was well repre- 
sented by marines, and a full rigged ship with 
sailors all over the yards and masts. The pro- 
cession was over two miles long and was nearly 
^ an hour passing a given point. It presented one 
• of the most magnificent spectacles ever seen in 
Washington. When General Grant arrived in 
y front of the White House, a messenger was sent 
L. to Johnson to Join, but he had gone to the house 
of Secretary Welles privately, and took no part 
in the ceremonies, leaving the office which he 
bad disgraced by the back way. The ceremonies 
of inauguration were very inspiring, and are al- 
ready familiar to your readers. 

Some of the colored officers were dressed in 

velvet bound with yellow, and with yellow 

stripes on their pants, and in giving their orders 

made a great flourish and display, the avenue 

„ being hardly wide enough for them to spread— 

— the spread of the. American eagle was nothing 

to it. It was a happy day for the negroes of 

«£_ vtfbington, and one that will long be remem- 

i I by the race. A greater display of ivory 

was never before seen. The next grand rush 

k_^ was for the reception ball tickets, nearly 3000 of 

7 which were sold for $10 each, admitting a gen 



i 



could get together again with the ladies of the ^ tleman and tw0 i ad i es . instead of 1500, as was 

party, you can have a faint idea of the jam. ; (he understanding. Your correspondent was 

My two sons, being below the cmrent of air, p among the duped ones. The ball, as you know, 
were nearly suffocated, and when they came out 



their hair was as. wet with perspiration as 
though their heads had been dipped in water. 

Such was the. experience of getting in and 
parsing by thi President. Now came the tug of 
W ar— to get ouY; one entrance being used for 
ingress and egress, with thousands outside striv- 
ing to enter. You .can in a faint degree imagine 
the struggle.- Policemen were of no avail, being 
swayed to and fro by the crowd, sometimes the jr 
outward bound would, in a body, by a rush I* 
forward, gain a foot, then the inward throng, 
fecjitfg that their onward movement was being 
1, would renew their efforts, and all we 



took place in' the new wing of the Treasury 

budding, which was beautifully illuminated by 

-2 gas jets in large letters making the word "Peace," 



J, 



with an immense star at each end, behind which 
were passing the gay festivities of the evening. 
The doors were opened a little past 7, when the 
charmed and charming mass began to enter. Four 
s ;ories were opened, beautifully furnished, dec- 
orated and lighted for the ceremonies, a descrip- 
tion of which would be tedious. On entering, 
the ladies wer« conducted to their cloak and dress- 
ing rooms on the second floor, where were hair 
dressers, waiting maids, dressmakers, &c ; and 
the gentlemen's'cloak and hat rooms were on the 
fourth floor, w hero, oi the side of a long hah, 
were three openings with a shelf at each, likej* 
tickit office, through which each one passed his 
coat and hat, receiving a check with number 



■'■ »' "*■ 



ad there hppn ? n , c ! w,lile tbe meu were detained lor hours, their 

ilea, bat the? L^'?? W T *}«* P in " u P° n the flo01- in all pans 

the floor in 0f - tlle build,n ?> others were sitting upon the 

n stairs anxiously waiting to hear the ' Jatest news 

from absent friends. Horace Greeley was in the 

crowd for two long hours, crowded to and fro, S= 

T ru ing far his white coat and hat, known to 

aff, Out hi's number must be called" by the se* 



corresponding to tne one put on to ins otuiuie. 
Tins would have all Worked well h 
separate aparitncnts for the bundles, 
were all put prom iscuottsly upon the' floor, in 
' iu.mcnse room. 

"' "ii o' tue nnest bands that coma De pro-' 
cured were in attendance, and six dancing rooms * 
were most beautifully prepared. The grand re- 1 

ception room for the presidential party was the vants pulling over the bundles before he "could 
splendid marble room, which is finished in mar- set it. Thus passed the night, and at daylight 
ble of seven different kinds. It is the most beau- hundreds were still there, and many never got 



tifiilly finished room in this cotinti'y.and with its 
fine bronze gallery was magnificently decorated 
with flags, eagles, statuary, &c., and was the 
great ball room of the evening. The crowd was 
so denwMhat for several hours dancing was out 
of the question, and breathing hardly possible. 
SucL . display of rich dresses were never before 
seen in this country. Satins, silks and jewelry 
ran riot in the crowd. 

It was understood that the President was to 
arrive with his party at 10, which he did, when 
the jam was so intense that it was with great 
difficulty that the police made a passage for him, 



their hats or coats. Some 500 were left without 
owners. Thus ended the inauguration ball and 
reception given in honor of Gen Grant, our new 
President, very hurriedly described by your cor- 
respondent. 

1 he next morning we were present at the 
opening of the Senate, and saw Parson Brown- 
i»w sworn in by the Vice President, so palsied 
that one of the door keepers had to hold up his 
hand forbim while he was taking the oath. I 
also visited the H use and saw the new Speaker 
conducted to the chair, and the new republican 
Congress organized. Our next business was to 



and when he reached the grand reception room get out of Washington if we could. Many were 
the doors had to be closed, and the committee for prevented, alter getting tickets, from getting in 
a ruse reported that he was receiving in the next! to the station, and we were not able to leave be- 
story above, which turned the crowd in that di-J tore Saturday afternoon, and then five 
reetion, after which the doors were opened, and; hours late at Philadelphia on account of the 
for two hours a dense crowd passed by and took length of the train, nineteen cars and every seat 
a look of Gen. Grant, who stood behind a table, beinir taken, and every aisle full of standing vic- 
with the ends of his fingers gracefully upon it,, tims, whose only consolation for the week's jam 
bowing to the passers by, Gen. Barnum and was that they had witnessed the inauguration of 
Gov Hawley continually saying, "Ladies and Gen. Grant. t. e. 

gentlemen, please not shake hands with the ~* - 

President, but take one look and pass on." Th< Washington and the Place of Washington's 



President stood nearest the door.with Mrs. Gran 
on his riirht ; then Vice President Colfax with hi: 
beauiiiul bride upon his rightj immediately be 
hind them stood Mrs. Grant's Master Fred. U 
S. Jr., and Jessie and Miss Nellie Grant, herein! 
dren, Mrs Phelps and Miss Phelps of Galena 
guest? ol the President, Gen. Comstbck and la> 
dies, Gen. Badcau, Gen. Porter and Gen. Bib 
cock of Gen. Grant's staff, and others. During 
this reception the jam was most terrific; swoon 
ing ladies were banded about in a matter oHoc 
way, as if ft were A part cf the programme 
anil fag^ed-out committee men tried in vain tc 
keep the procession in line and moving. 

During tfiis reception another crowd 
more dense and damaging, was mar 
shalling for the supper room Such a scent 
as was there witnessed beirgars description 
Many ladies and some men fainted by the way 
and were passed out over the heads of the crowd 
and when the supper soon was gained a grand 
rush was made lor the tab e, and whole dishes ot 
chicken salad, stewed oysters, ice cream, were 
•rrabbed, together with half a dozen forks oj 
spoons, and i he lucky grabbel' would be surround 
ed by his Iriends.all eating like so many pigs fron 
one dish. Then a rush was made behind the table 
a retrular stampede carrying all belore it, waiter 
and all, and everything was cleared from the win 
dows and tables; waiters stood aghast with cries 
of "Sambo," "Cuffy," "Uncle Ned," and "Jim,' 
resounding in their ears. The table being cleared, 
a -rush was made for the kitchen. Down wenl 
the door, but here the well dressed mob, not tc 
say srentlemen, met their match, in the shape ol 
a dish ub and dishcloth brigade ol negro women, 
who sprinkled them thoroughly— faces, clothes 
and all— with dirty dishwater, driving them back, 
when the committee, with police, came and par 
tally restored order Stewed oysters, ice cream, 
and many other things were turned all over the 
most splendid dresses, from head to loot, com- 
pletely ruining them, and some of the trails 
were so Ions that they were torn in the crowd 
ncarlv or quite off of the ladies, three or four men 
standing on then at the same time. The unfor- 
tunate lady would be carried with the crowd, 
while her dress was left behind. 

A Chilian belle was so covered with jewelry 
that she was escorted by two policemen all the 
evening. Her attire was a rich orange colored 
satin dress with beautiful lace trimmings, a 
magnificent necklace of pearls and diamonds, 
and headdress of the same material. Next 
to the President she was the attraction 
of the evening among the ladies. The 
daughter of Senator Chandler was beautiful, 
with powdered hair, and the costume and coif- 
lure of the last French regency, and she created 
universal admiration. Mrs. Senator Morgan 
wore a set of most magnificent jewels, said to ' 
bo the finest in America. Column after column 
might be written in describing the dresses of the 
ladies, and naming the many distinguished 
siuests who were present, among whom were the 
British minister, Edward Thornton and lady, 
Messrs. Fane and Howard of the English leaa- 
tion, the Austrian minister, the Italian minis- 
ter, with many others of the diplomatic corps, 
many of the senators and representatives, prom 
inent officers of the army, &c. 

After the President retired, about 12 o'clock, 
with his party to the supper room, and the re- 
ception was over, many ot the crowd wished to 
be first in leaving, so hastened to the cloak 
rooms, where occurred one of the most trying, 
laughable, swearing and crowding scenes ever 
witnessed, lasting till daylight. Over two thou- 
sand coats and hats had been thrown into a 
pile promiscuously, and the plan adopted was to 
call the number of the check on each bundle, 
waiting lor an owner from the crowd. If the 
person holding such number was not present, 
lie must wait till that number was called again. 
Suffice it to say some were kept all night, and 
<nme 500 went home bareheaded and coatlcss; 



Eest, 

Correspondence of the Traveller. 

Washington, Dec. 4. 
To-day a colored man asked a brother, "What is the 
difference between this and the day when Washington 
diedf" "Give it up, Sambo." "Well, them- when 
Washington died the Capitol and White House went 
into black. To-day the black go into the Capitol and 
White House." 

There is deep philosophy in this, and the whole coun- 
try feels it. But nowhere is it felt more sensibly than 
when strolling around the grounds or passing throusrfi 
the wasting buildings of Mount Vernon. 

To-day Gen. Grant has been inaugurated President of 
the United States. 

Yesterday we visited the resting place of our great 
first President. In the light of to-day it is painf A to 
feel as you look unon the ruins of the home of the im- 
mortal Washington, that the provision made for the 
comfort of his horses were quite equal, if not superior, 
to those made for his slaves. But the evidences are un- 
mistakable. Still, Washington was a good man in his 
greatness, and if he lived to-day, his humanity would 
doubtless place him on the advance wing In the work 
of uplifting and unifying the nation. 

Mount "Vernon, in the midst of its quiet surround- 
ings, beautifully seated upon the rolling slope of the 
Potomac, with its commanding and peaceful outlook 
on the waters above and below, ha3 been so oiten des- 
cribed that nothing is left of interest which has not 
been written and. read again and again. 

Every true patriot will rejoice to know that Congress 
ha? just made an appropriation to arrest the nun and 
decay which are so manifest through every part of 
those sacred precincts. 

To-day, in the city which bears the name of the great 
patriot, has occurred one of the greatest events of this 
eventful age. A modest, unassuming man, lifted from 
among the people, has by their voice been declared the 
President of the greatest nation upon which the sun 
has ever shone. The crown of any monarch upon- the 
.earth could not have been so great an honor. It was 
fitting that beauty and wisdom and valor from every 
land and from every rank should, as your columns have 
ly announced, meet and rejoice together. But the 
(ireat want, and the one which justifies the old saying 
coming events cast th:;ir shadows before," was tin; 
that white, and black, clergymen, citizens and sol- 
diers, by invitation, mingled together in the throng 
which welcomed the dawning of a new era. Only the 
retiring President cor .plained of not being invited. 

The inaugurals, both ot the President and Vic ■■ 
President, were r.ot only short but direct and pointed. 
The most beautiful thing which occurred was upon 
the platform after the Inaugural was completed, when 
the President turned and, in the presence of the vast 
concourse, kissed his wife and children. A man who 
has a heart and courage for this, ha3 heart and courage 
enough for almost anything that is good. 

This was in keeping with his conduct when he had 
taken Richmond, as lie i urned away from all importu- 
nities to go into the city, oaying, as he started north- 
ward, "There is a little woman WW in Now Jersey 
who wants to see me." Thee thiamin a great man 
and a great soldier, are most touching and be:: 

May he ever keep his heart tender and mil of 'affec- 
tion, and make it as pure as it is sympathetic. 
How strange, all this lack of pomp, this simple unaf- 
tib the tinselled avid ermined diplo- 
matists of other lands ! An unostentatious citizen, wiah 
itavy title, rising grandly to the 



West Point Stories About Oram, Sher- 
man mid Bccchrr. 

A West Point correspondent writes that dur- 
ing the recent examination it was observable, 
all during the conversation, which was general, 
how Mr. Colfax and every othef person except 
Gen. Sherman, when addressing the President, 
would say: "Mr. President," while Gen. Sher- 
man, in the most familiar style, would address 
him as simply "Grant," They passed jokes and 
told their stories like school boys, and the 
scenes around them seemed to bring back their 
former days when they were such. Grant and 
Sherman were one year in the academy togeth- 
er. Gen. Grant observed that "Sherman was a 
tall,*fine looking fellow," when Sherman said : 
"Yes, and Grant was a little runt of a boy, run- 
ning around here." Neither Of them reached 
the dignity of a. sergeant while here, Sherman 
saying that he was never anything more than a 
"high private," and Grant adding that he was 
worse than that, for he "was always at the foot 
of his class." 

The President has a son now in the academy, 
and Gen. Grant says that he i,=t "following in 
the footsteps of his father, always at the tail of 
his class;" "but," said he, "he is not quite so 
bad as I was, for he is only next the foot in one 
department, while I was at the foot." This was 
a little exaggerated, for the register shows that 
Grant, as a cadet, stood very fair in mathe- 
matics, as indeed his son does also. Gen. Grant 
dined with the board several times, and one 
thing was observable : that while several of the 
board drank freely of wine, of which there were 
several kinds on the table, Gen. Grant abstain- 
ed. So did Mr. Colfax. He is a thorough-going 
temperance man. 

A good story is told of Henry Ward Beecher, 
who preached the sermon to the graduates last 
Sunday. On seeing the cadets at their dress 
parade, on Saturday evening, he remarked that 
he "wished Providence had destined him for a 
soldier, for he thought he would have made a 
good one." Major Boynton, the accomplished 
adjutant of the post, said to him, on Sunday, 
as he came out of the pulpit, "Mr. Beecher," I 
heard you say you wish you had been destined 
for a soldier, for you thought you would have 
made a good one— do you think so still?" 
"Yes," said Beecher, "I think I should." 

"But I think I can prove that you probably 
would have made a poor one," said the Major. 
"How so, Major?" said Beecher, "You told us 
in your sermon, that when Providence wanted 
to do a great work He chose the best means — 
selected men who were fitted for the work. 
Now, wc have just come out of a war, and you 
were not a soldier in it. On your doctrine, is it 
not a fair inference that you would not have 
made a good soldier, as Providence did not call 
you into the service ?" Mr. Beecher acknowl- 
edged that the application the Major made of 
his sermon was just. 



loftiest pedestal cf any human governor 



Wellington. 



—James T. Fields, in his new lecture on "Fic- 
tion and its Eminent Authors," has the following 
concerning the habits of novel writers: Haw- 
thorne waited for moods, and mounted his tower 
stans for composition only when the lit was ok 
him. Dusky processions constantly moved about 
him as he walked his piny hill-top, but his charac- 
ters rarely spoke to him until he had locked his 
study-door and shut out all ingress from the world 
of living beings. Anthony Trollope whose novels 
Hawthorne greatly delighted in, writes every day re- 
gularly, when he is engaged on a new story, a given 
number of manuscript pages before 12 o'clock, 
and smiles at the idea of waiting until he "feels 
like writing," as it is called. Thackeray was c»n- 
stantly studying character, and his observation 
was unceasing. His eyes were alert in the street, 
in the club, in society, everywhere. I remember 
one evening he whispered to me in a brilliant 
drawing-room : "How I envy you fellows who are 
not in my line and are not obliged to utilize 
professionally all these fine creatures for your next 
novel." Dickens was at one time so taken posses- 
sion of by the characters of whom he was writing 
that they followed him everywhere, and would 
never let him be alone a moment. He told me 
that when ho was writing the "Old Curiosity 
Shop" the creatures of his imagination so haunted 
him that they would neither allow him to sleep or 
eat in peace ; that tittle Nell was constantly at his 
elbow, no matter where he might happen to be, 
claiming his attention and demanding his sympa- 
thy, as if jealous when he spoke to any one else. 
When he was writing "Martin Chuzzlewit," Mrs, 
Gamp kept him in such paroxysms of laughter by 
whispering to him in the most inopportune 
places— sometimes even in church— that he was 
compelled to fight her oft by main force when ha 
did not want her company, and threaten to have 
nothing more to do with her, unless she could be- 
have better and come only when she was called. 



/ 



s 



THE ELECTION 



THE ELECTION 



IMMENSE REPUBLICAN GAINS, 



REPUBLICAN NOMINATIONS. 

FOR TUESIDEKT, 

xrL.*8SES 8. «K/iJfT of Illinois. 

FOK VtCE PRESIDENT, 

SCHIITI.SK OOLFAX 01 ISDUHA 



THE RESULT IN MASSACHUSETTS. 
75,000 Majority for Grant ! 



DEMOCRACY DEAD ! 



The Will of the People the Law 
of the Land ! 



ILLINOIS 60,000 

IOWA. 80,000 

WIS(((.\S1X 20,000 

PEJrNSYLVAjriA 80,000 

tl A IX E 30,000 

CONNECTICUT 7,000 

WCST VIRGINIA 8,000 

INDIANA 18,000 

NEW HAUrSHIRE 8,000 

MlltKASKi 4.SOO 

KANSAS 10,000 

MKHIGAX 85,000 

VERMONT 30,000 



Official Vote of Worcester. 

The election in this city yesterday passed off 
quietly, and without the usual rallying: of voters 
and its consequent excitement; but the result 
shows a full vote, and the election of every re- 
publican candidate by handsome majorities. 

The following is the official vote in the several 
wards on the national ticket, compared with the 
vote of 1864: 

FOR PRESIDENT. 

1868. 1864. 

Grant. Seymour. Lincoln. McClellan. 

Ward 1 483 114 236 .78 

" 2 508 62 439 58 

•* 3 263 224 96 126 

" 4 318 396 211 198 

" 5 346 199 269 225 

" 6 547 115 452 92 

" 7 556 59 737 86 

" 8 591 48 466 70 

Total 3612 1207 2905 938 



WEDNESDAY, NOV. 4, 1868. 



VictoVy. 

Let ns rejoice! The victory is won. In the 
elections in the several states we have been suc- 
cessful even beyond our hopes. It is necd- 
' less to repeat the catalogue of those which have 
given republican majorities or the number of 
each. 

The most exciting political contest in our an- -^ 
nals is closed with a signal victory for the party of 
national integrity, equal rights and human prog- / 
ress. We have not only elected a President in 
whose ability, patriotism and firmness the whole 
country can confide, but we have set at 
rest the questions which have so intensely agi- 
tated the people, and threatened to impair the 
most valuable results of the war. 

Repudiation, partial or entire, open or covert, 
will no longer be threatened or suspected. No 
man will be deprived of any of his rights t>n ac- 
count of race or color, and in every part of the 
land perfect freedom of opinion and speech will 
be established and maintained. 

The result of this election is even more signifi. 
cant and more honorable to the people of the 
United States than that of the last, when Lin-t 
coin w?s chosen. The excitement of the war 
has had time to subside, and the enormous debt 
and unprecedented weight of taxation have been 
used with the greatest skill and persistency by 
our opponents as arguments against the rep 
I'.can party. The people have been wise enou 
and patient enough to resist the temptations 
urged upon th m, and to reaffirm the principles 
for which they (ought and suffered. 



The Meaning of the Victory. — There is 
ererywh ere and from every quarter, from those 
who speak with authority, and in the heart of 
every intelligent man of every party, a similar 
recognition and assurance of the meaning of the 
election of Gen Grant. Men who voted against 
him feel it as truly as those who were his friends . 
It means Peace. The common voice expresses 
it — the common heart feels and welcomes it. — 
At the rejoicing in Galena, after the result was 
known, Mr Washburne, the representative of 
that district, and the next friend in politics of 
Gen Grant, said : — 

The election of Gen Grant means that the 
country shall have peace; that the people shah 
have an honest and economical administration of 
the government ; that the flag shall be every- 
where respected ; the rights and liberty and pro- 
perty of all men, of all colors and climes, shall 
be protected and vindicated throughout the 
length and breadth of the land. 

So Mr Colfax, coming east, said more fully and 
eloquently to a gathering of people at Harris- 
burg : — 

My friends, we have gained a noble, a magnifi- 
cent, a patriotic triumph — a triumph that means, 
in the expressive language of your noble presi- 
dent, Ulysses S. Grant, "Let us have peace and 
protection alike for every man everywhere." It 
means that every man in this country shall be 
protected in his rights in every part of this land, 
and that every man has the right to go South or 
North. East or West, so long as he is true to the 
principles which our flag represents. It means 
that the flag has the power to protect him from 
outrage and wrong. There may be no place in 
this nation where the people may be prevented 
from singing such songs as are found in the 
lines that our brave soldiers sang : — 
"Down with the traitors and up with the stars." 
You could sing those songs among the ban- 
ditti of the Alps, and uo one would harm you; 
they could be sung among the Thugs of India, 
among the cannibals of the South Sea islands, 
and none would molest. But heretofore you 
would not have dared to sing_ them over "the 
grave of a fallen soldier ill the South— over a 
grave into which ft rebel bullet had sent him. 
Thank God that state of things is ended. We 
are going to have a chieftain in the executive 
chair, President Grant, who never failed his men 
when they stood on the gory battle field with 
gleaming bayonets against him, and who said, 
in my hearing, he was for peace, quiet and pro- 
tection everywhere; and what he says he 
means. He will bring to the duties devolving 
upon him as president the same energy, the same 
ability and the same will, that have hitherto char- 
acterized him, and when he says that there shall 
be peace and quiet and protection everywhere, let 
traitors beware; for he will be terribly in earnest; 
while in no spirit of revenge, no spirit of malice 
or ill will, he is determined that this thing shall 
be. Every man in this country shall have the 
right to protection in every part of this land ; 
and you may depend upon it. 



jjm, /m- f&t- 

Jor the first time since Presidential elections 
have been held here the news of the result of such 
an election was known in Europe the- next day, 
the ocean telegraph takiffg over the news on 
Wednesday of what had been done on Tuesday. 
This is one of the marvels of the age, and shows 
how Immense is the victory that has boon 
achieved over space and time. That victory in- 
cludes what was done here by the telegr.iph, 
which transmitted to its Atlantic brother what 
had taken place over a vast extent of 
country. It is probable, too, that the result of 
the election was known the same day in Africa 
and Asia, for the news could have been transmit- 
ted to Alexandria, which would answer for 
Africa; and to Constantinople, which has one of 
its suburbs in Asia,— Scutari. So it was or could 
have been known in all four quarters of the 
globe in less than twenty-four hours after the 
last vwte was cast. 

Enigma. 
I am composed of 26 letters. 
My 1,2,3, 4. 5, Is application to boots. 
I. Behead an animal, and leave capable. 2. Behead My 6,7, U toward, or moving toward. 
! a large fish, and leave to listen ; behead again, and leave My 8 ' 9 > l0 > u • ls * e intellectual power of man. 
: a vessel. 3. Behead loosen, and leave want. 4. Behead My l2, 13, l4, 15 ' bt!l(> "P i t0 > •>«• 
to draw back, and leave a ledge; again, and leave a ^ X ^V^t^V^^t\ 
measure. 5 Behead a flower, Ind llave'a black sub- ^^F&^ttS*'**^ 
stance, o. Behead a tree, and leave a curved structure. 



DECAPITATIONS. 



The result of the Twenty-First Presidentia 
Election, held on Tuesday last, November 3d, wui 
in no important respect different from wha* ww 
looked for by every intelligent man in the Usitec 
States, uo matter to what party he belonged. Th< 
election of Gen. Grant to the Presidency was cer 
tain to take place from the moment that he ac- 
cepted the Republican nomination; and all the in- 
cidents of the contest had the effect ol strength- 
ening the original convictions of his supporters. 
The democrats, who might have done much bet- 
ter than it was their luck to do, made the worst 
possible nominations, and they placed their can- 
didates on the worst possible platform. They an- 
nounced their purpose to be restoration, not re- 
construction,— for their platform provided for the 
restoration of the very men to political supremacy 
who had brought civil war upon the Republic ; and 
the American people were sure to put their 
veto upon so suicidal a policy. The local elec- 
tions that took place in half a dozen States while 
the contest was going on showed, through the re- 
turns from them all, that the popular current was 
setting stiongly in a patriotic direction, and 
that the democratic party was about to receive a 
third successive defeat in the nation; and on 
Tuesday last that defeat took place. Tins is the 
important fact of onr political history. For sixty 
ears the democracy never knew what two sue. 
cessiye defeats meant. It they failed in 1840. 
after having- succeeded at nine national elections 
in forty years, — all that were hekl, but one, — they 
were victorious in 1841. Though beaten in 1848. 
they were successful in 1852, and again in 18-jG, 
Their defeat in 1 800, therefore, was not very dis- 
couraging; and they fought hard in 1861 to get 
back their old ground. To their dismay, a sec- 
ond defeat befel them, and '.hey found themselves 
situated almost as badly as the federalists had 
been ia 18Q4. But, though discouraged, they 
would not give up without making another effort 
to re-establish their affairs. Tiiey were en- 
courged to exertion bv the treachery of Presidqn.1 
Johnson, who had placed the government in op- 
position to the party that had created it, an 
whose "policy" was such that the Southeradem 
crats were at liberty to begin aud ^to pursue 
system of intimidation and butchery at the ex-" 
pensc of the colored population of fib* reconstruc- 
ted States, through which it was supposed jome 
fifty electoral votes could be secured, not to men- 
tion the twenty-three votes of the three unrecon- 
structed States. With such circumstances in 
their favor, their prospects, from their own point 
of view, must have seemed good ; and for the greater 
part of the campaign they labored with zealous 
industry to accomplish their purpose. But all they 
did was done in vain. Their third defeat had boon 
set down in the Book of Fate, and now we see 
them in the occupation of a position that bears a 
strong resemblance to that which the federalists 
hekl in 1S08. In 1808 the federalists made a rally, 
Laving their third battle with the democrats to 
fight, but, though they more than trebled their 
Electoral vote of 1804, they were badly beaten, 
almost three-fourths of the. Electors being chosen 
by their opponents. In these facts the democrats 
of to-day can read their own history. They may 
exist as a political organization for some years to 
come, and do their country some service as an 
opposition,— but their day as a ruling party is 
over. When they went out of power in 1861, 
after having done their utmost to help the se< 
sionists destroy the old Union, they went out for 
good and all. Their sun went down on the 
4th of March, 18(51, and since then it has 
been deepest night with them. They 'nave 

condemned by tb<- people of every] \ tftf 
quarter of the Republic. The voice of condemna- 
tion proceeds as heartily from the Northwest a«L q. 
from the Northeast; from Missouri and Tonnes! wO 
see as from Pennsylvania ; and the South aids 
some of* its strength to tlte volume of censure, 






THE INATJGUEATIOH 



and adorn the occasion by lending it all the 
grace and coloring which their presence and 
toilets could afford. As the clock struck ten the 
doors opening into the galleries were opened, 
and the 1200 seats were soon filled, with the ex- 
ception of seven or eight in the front row to the 
Washington, March 4, 1869. J right of the diplomatic gallery, which were re- 
Grant and Colfax had a wet day for their in- 3 served for the family of the President elect. On 
ano-iiraiion Tt heo-nn to nin po,.i„ *m. „,„,.„ thc bencb behind this one sat Mrs Colfax, Mrs 
au„uiauon. it Began to mn eaily this morn- Matthews and Miss Matthews, accompanied by 
ing, but notwithstanding the disagreeable state a few of their intimate friends, 
of the weather, the avenues and Streets were At the left of tlie centre aisle and in the 



crowded soon after daylight. 

A regiment of Philadelphia Zouaves arrived 
this morning at 4 o'clock, while the House was 
still in session, and a resolution was passed al- 
lowing them to sleep in the hall of the House all 
night. They were on the avenue among the first 
this morning, and their bright red uniform at- 
tracted much attention. At the time that the 
sun should have risen a party of Yankees, with 
a good drum corps, gave Gen. Grant the reveiU 



■Jof the desks of senators, were seated a large 
number of the department and bureau officers, 
the mayors of Washington and Georgetown, ex- 
governors of states and many others more or less 
distinguished. To the right of the same en- 
trance were 20 or 80 of the most distinguished 
officers of the army and navy, prominent among 
whom were noticed Gens. Sherman, Thomas] 
Hancock and Terry, who sat next to each other; 

, also Admirals Farragut and Goldsborough. 

] Elsewhere on the floor were Gens. Meigs, Dyer, 
Sickles, O. O. Howard, and a large number of 



in army style. The President elect did not make ' °. tners > including all of Gen. Grant's staff, be- 



his appearance, but Mrs. Grant came to a win- 
dow and bowed acknowledgments. ' 

The greatest crowd was at General Grant's 
headquarters, where a multitude assembled for 
the purpose of getting a glimpse of the Presi- 
dent-elect. He reached headquarters about half- 
past ciae, where the Ffch Civalry was drawn up 
to receive him. A military rendezvous in the 
immediate vicinity of headquarters presented a 
fine appearance. 

At half-past 10 the escort of TJ. S. troops un- 
der Colonel Wallace, formed on Pennsylvania 
avenue, facing the Presidential Mansion, to re- 
ceive and escort President Johnson and the Pres- 
ident and Vice-President elect in carriages here 
provided for them and their suits. Then came 
the committee of arrangements of the Senate and 
House in carriages, followed by. the Twelfth In- 
fantry preceded by the bund of that regiment 
The Forty-fourth Infantry and TJ. S. Marines 
together with a battery of artillerv, formed the 
remainder of the escort of honor. 

The second division was composed of volnn- 



sides the various senators elect, who naturally 
attracted much attention, particularly Hon. R. 
D. Pratt of Indiana, whose giant size rendered 
him conspicuous. 

There were pointed out many persons distin- 
guished in literary, scientific and commercial 
pursuits, and distinguished representatives of 
the learned professions. Among them were ex 
Gov. Hamilton Fish of New York, ex-Governor 
Geary of Pennsylvania, J. Lothrop Motley, A. 
T. Stewart, Bishops Ames and Simpson, Rev. 
W. M. Punshon of England, and many others. 
The venerable Jesse Grant, tlie father of the 
President, also occupied a seat on the floor. 

The entrance of the President and Vice Presi- 
dent elect into the Senate chamber was followed 
by the entrance of the justices of the Supreme 
Court, headed by Chief Justice Chase, and clad 
in the.r robes of office. 

Gen. Grant had meanwhile been conducted to 
a chair in front of the clerk's, and sat there fac- 
ing the audience, the target for several thousand 
furious eyes whose gaze he seemed to all appear- 
ance neither to avoid nor to realize, but exbib- 



tecr armed military organizations, embracing, 

among others, tho Albany Burgess Corns the his usual self-possession and unassuming 

Washington Greys of Philadelphia tho Zouaves demeanor. A seat to the left of that prepared 

of Buffalo, and others. The Butler Zouaves a for ^ en - Grant was in readiness lor Prsident 

colored military organization of this district Johnson, but it was not occupied, neither w 



the latter in the Capitol this morning, but signed 
the bills as they were sent to him at the White 
House. 

The presiding officer having announced that 
all was now in readiuess for the inauguration of 
the Vice President elect, Mr. Colfax advanced 
up the steps of the rostrum, and facing tha pre- 
siding officer took the usual oath of office, which 
the latter administered. Turning to the Senate, 
Mr. Collax then delivered the following address, 
which was listened to with the deepest attention, 
and was distinctly audible to all within the 
chamber. 

KESPONSB OF VICE PRESIDENT COLFAX. 

soldiers' and sailors' union. The "rear "of the - When, senators, in entering upon the duties 



were about raidwayof the military organizations. 
Among other features of the procession were 
survivors of the war of 1812, tha most decrepid 
of whom were drawn ia a four horse omnibus 
while others paraded behind it. The miniature 
ship Constitution, full rigged and with sai'ors 
aloft, attracted much attention. The Boys in 
B.ue made a very handsome appearance, turning 
out as they did in full force and with complete 
uniform?. Many of the "boys in blue" marched 
in the line. Tha ward political organizations, 
which made great preparations for the event, did 
not turn oat in great strength, preferring to pa, 
rade either with the "boys in blue" or with the 



The street from the Capitol, during the progn 
tho procession, whs exceedingly grand in 
vain. Before the signal for moving was given, crowds 
Of people flocked towards tho White Homo from 
H direction, and all the streets leadiug to tho Presidential 
/ Mansiou were packod with human beings for a 
tfreat distance. From tho Capitol dome, the 
White Houso, a milo away, together with too 
adjacent streets could be directly seen, and when the 
little puff of smoke and the sharp report of the signal 
gun gave notice that the President was ready to pro- 
ceed, the whole mass, liko a living sea, rushed towards 
the Capitol. So dense was the crowd, numbering o\ or 
75,0<X> "persons, that the buildings appeared to be afloat 
in the shifting tido of human beings. 

THE NEW PRESIDENT AND HIS INAUGURAL. 

Gen Grant carried himself modestly, and yet 
manfully, throughout. Inside the Senate cham- 
ber the people were compelled to silence, but the 
moment he showed himself to the 20.0C0 people 
outside, the applause was quick and tremendous. 
He was as modest in delivering bis inaugural as 
any lyceum youth. Few could hear a word, 
but an occasional sentence was caught up by 
the crowd and cheered. 

The address is admirable in form and spirit. 
^It is straightforward, manly, independent and 

intelligent, and cannot f a. 1 to increase the gen - 
/ cral confidence in the wisdom, integrity and 
'firmness with which the affars of the nation 

will be admiuis:ered under his guidance. His 

- ^_ ' ws ~ " * — » • ■ * 

CONGRATULATIONS FROM THE OLD WORLD. 

During the day the following cable dispatches 
were received by President Grant: 

"March 4, 1869. To President Grant, Wash- 
ington: la honor of the man and the day. 
Three cheers for the President. 

Members of the Berlin Exchange. 

Fritz Mayer." 

"Berlin, March 4. President Gen Grant, 
White House, Washington: My cordial con- 
gratulations on this solemn day. 

_ Bismarck." 

ULYSSES S. GEANT. 



procession was brought up by the fire brigade, 
which made a very handsome appearance. Tfcey 
had with them their engines and hose carriages. 
The procession was certainly one of the most im- 
posing ever witnessed here, and was at least an 
honr and a half in passing a given point. 

President Johnson refused to ride in the pro- 
cession. He excused himself with the plea that 
his presence was required at the Capiiol and re- 



in this chamber, to the performance of which I 
have been called by the people of the United 
States, I realize fully the delicacy as well as the 
responsibility of the position, presiding over a 
body whose members are in so large a degree my 
seniors in age, and by the body itself, I 6hall cer- 
tainly need the assistance of your support and 
your generous forbearance and confidence; but 
pledging to you all a faithful and inflexible im- 



paired thither at an 'early hour. - * " \ partiality in the administration of your rules, and 

All along the line of march, from the corner of earnestly desiring to co-operate with you in mak- 
15th street to the Capitol, the President elect was iDg tae deliberation of the Senate worthy not 
greeted with vociferous cheers. House tops and only of its history and renown, but also of the 
windows were all thronged, and in acknowledg- states whoso commissions you hold. I am now 
ment of the cheers and waving of handkerchiefs rea( ^. v t0 ta ke the oata ot " office required by law. 
the President lilted his bat and bowed, but the 1 GEN ' GRANT takes the oath of office. 
cheers were so frequent that lie rode almost all At the conclusion of tha address senators elect 
the way bareheaded. In spite ot all the precau- came forward as their names were called and took 

the senatorial oath of office, which was adminis- 
tered by the new inducted Vice President. The 
organization of tho new Senate having been com- 
pleted, it was announced that the Senate, Su- 
preme Court and invited spectators would pro- 
ceed to the east portico of the Capitol to partici- 
pate in the ceremonies of the inauguration of the 
President elect. 

A procession was accordingly formed, and tho 
late occupants of the floor of the Senate pro- 
ceeded through the corridors and rotunda to the 
place indicated. After reaching the Central Por- 
tico the President elect appeared on the platform 
and was greeted with pro'oneed cheers. He was 
followed by the Senate, the Diplomatic Corps in 
their court dresses, officers of the army and 
navy, and ladies whoso bouquets, ribbons and 
shawls introduced into the sceno tho effective e.e- 
mein of color. The President elect came to the 
front of tho platform where there was a small 
table upon which was a copy of the Bible. Near 
him was the stately form of the Chief Justice 



tions adopted, the crowd could not be kept 
away from the General's carriage, and three or 
four policemen were accordingly detailed to give 
it special guard. What was the case at the com- 
mencement of the march, was equally so along 
the route, the President being the recipient of the 
most flattering ovation in thc way ol cheers and 
waving of handkerchiefs. The streets were 
literally liued with citizens and strangers, male* 
and female. 

The crowds In the streets here were so great 
that it was with difficulty they could be kept 
clear. The windows of houses and the stores, 
and thc roofs of houses, were filled with men, 
women and children. No such spectacle was < 
ever witnessed at any previous inauguration. 
Flag's and streamers and mottoes decorated the 
line in profusion, and thc general joy of the oc- 
casion was manifested in thc elaborate prepara- 
tions made everywhere in honor of the eventful 
day. 

Gen. Grant rode in 
composed as ever in 

nied by Gen. RawlingsLof'bfs stafl^attTredin "a ?j Tho oa,h was taken reverentially, and then 
renewl's uniform. Vice President Col- 1 ? h ?, u ? 



his pbaton as calm and H hlD ? "f 8 \ h ° h Bf a v te,y form f of 
his life. He was accompa- «£ attended by his associates. 

.... . ... ..?.**•"* - Tlid nnth ivpo taken revm*. 



and huzzas from the immense multitude 



fax, who came next, was accompanied by Ad- ** hailed President Grant, while Dupont's L'ght 
miral Bailey of the navy one of the committrc - BaUe T fired a saluto announcing the event 



The procession reached the Capitol at about 2 throughout the metropolis. It was a spirit stir- 
Hi o'clock. awui •> ring sight, full of interest and not to be wit- 

nessed without deep emotion. 

President Grant then defcered his inaugural, 
which will be found in full in another column. 



PROCEEDINGS AT THE CAPITOL. 

Before ten o'clock the corridors and stair- 
ways of the Senate wing were literally jammed 
with a brilliant crowd made up in thc iarge pro- 
portion of ladies. Their bright spring toilets in- 
dicated that they anticipated a chaVe in thc 
weather, or at least were determined to honor 



After the inauguration President Grant was 
escorted by the procession to the White House, 
amid much enthusiasm. Ex-President Johnson 
left the White House as the clock struck twelve, 
leaving Gen Schofield in charge of the public 
offices. 




Genealogy of the Grant Family.— 
Nathan Grant, of the county of Devon, England, 
was one of the company who came in the ' 'Hen- 
ry and John" to Dorchester, Mass., in 1630, and 
he was a free man there in 1031. In 1651 he 
moved to Windsor, in this state; he was among 
thc very earl.est setters there, the second town 
clerk, and for many years surveyor. He was 
prominent in the church, and the compiler of its 
records, a just, conscientious, hard-working j 
Christian man and a model town clerk. His son 
Samuel, who married Mary Porter in 1658, had 
also a son Samuel, who married for his second 
wife Grace Miner in 1688. The descendants of 
the Grants settled in the towns of Windsor, Tol- 
land, and Coventry, and then intermarried wiiii 
the Porters, Miners, Huntingtons, and other 
Connecticut famile-. The son of Samuel was 
Noah, who married Martha Huntington in 1717, 
and had a son Noah, who married Susanna De- 
lano. This second Noah was captain of one of 
the Connecticut companies sent against Crown 
Point in 1755, and lost his life in the battle at 
Lake George, September j,8, 1755, in which 
baron Ditskau was mortally wounded and cap- 
tured, his entire army being cut to pieces by 
Major General Phineas Lynun of Suffield, com- 
manding provincials and provi.icials only from 
Connecticut and Massachusetts. The No.ih ^ 
killed at Lake George left a son Noah, who was 
horn at Coventry, and who married Rachael 
Kelly in 1791. This third Noah, thc grandfather 
of President Grant, entered the continental 
army as lieutenant from Coventry, ro-e to be a 
aptain, and served with credit through the 

volutionary war. It was good tightiiiir stock. 

aving married when the cruel war was over, 
Noah i-ettled in Westmoreland county, Pa., 
where Jesse Boot Grant was born in 1794. The 
fan lily removec. into Ohio, and there, in 1805, 
Noah died. Jesse, at thc age of 11, was left' 
fatherless, and had to make his own way, amid 
the usual hardships of frontier life and the perils 
of Indian warfare. When his father died he de- 
termined to be a tanner, and went to Marys- 
ville, Ky., to learn his trade. His repug- 
nance to slavery, however, caused him to leave 
Kentucky and settle in Ohio. At Point Pleasant, 
in 1821, June 21, be married Hamuli Simpson, 
the daughter of John Simpson, who had emigra- 
ted from Pennsylvania to Clermont eouim, 
Ohio; and in Clermont county, Ulysses Simpson 
Grant was born April 27, 1822. 



GENERAL GRANT. 



A New BloBraphr, 



Considerable interest has been excited by the 
announcement of a new life of General Grant, by 
Mr. Charles A. Dana and General James H. Wil- 
son, which is soon to appear. Although General 
Badeau's " military history " is, so far as it has 
gone, complete, authoritative and minute, there 
is a demand for a briefer and more popular bio- 
graphy. 

From Mr. Dana much might be reasonably ex- 
pected as a biographer of the General of our armies. 
To his experience as a writer have been added 
unusual opportunities for observation of the more 
recent and important events in the career of his 
sub'ect. As Assistant Secretary of War he was 
brought in contact with General Grant, both offi- 
cially and personally, at some of the mo3t criti- 
cal periods in the war. Not only in his office at 
Washington but in the field Mr. Dana had occa- 
sion to learn the inner history of the decisive 
movements which mainly brought the war to a 
close. General Wilson adds the advantages of 
his military training and experience under Gen- 
eral Grant's command. The Joint biography by 
two such authors will, therefore, be aenerally 
accepted as authoritative and read with interest. 

We give below a few extracts from the advance 
sheet: of the book: 

HIS APPEARANCE AND MANNERS. 

" Grant is somewhat under the medium size, 
though his bedy is closely and powerfully built. 
His feet and hands are small and neatly shaped ; 
his dress is plain and exceedingly unostentatious ; 
his eyes are large, deep, leonine, and very strong, 
equally capable of blazing with a resolution that 
nothing can withstand, and of shining with the 
steady light of benevolence and amiability. His 
fibre is like that of steel wire, elastic, close-grain- 
ed and enduring ; his temperament is admirably 
compounded of the sanguine, nervous and lym- 
phatic, but the last in such proportion as to tone 
down and hold in equilibrium the other two, per- 
fecting both mental and physical organization. 
His capacity for labor surpasses com- 
prehension ; neither mental nor physical exertion 
seems to produce the least wear and tear in bis 
case. He rides at a dashing speed for hour after 
hour, and day alter day, with the same ease with 
which he plans a battle or issues the instructions 
for a campaign. There is no noise or claf"i or 
clangor in the man; his voice is as quiet and 
orderly as a woman's, and his language judicious- 
ly and tastefully chosen. He was never heard to 
give utterance to a rude word or a vulgar jett ; no 
oath or fierce, fiery imprecation has ever escaped 
bis lips. No thundering order, no unfeeling or 
undignified speech, and no thoughtless or ill-na- 
tured criticism ever fell from him. Wheu angry, 
wh'chis rarely the case, or at least, he rarely 
shows his anger, he speaks with a well ordered 
but subdued vehemence, displaying his passion by 
compressed lips and earnest flash of the eye. But 
it must be said of him that of all men he is the 
slowest to anger. He has been heard to say that 
even under the severest insult he never became in- 
dignant till a week alter the offence had been 
given, and then only at himself for not having 
sooner discovered that he had been insult" d or 
misused. This arises rather from an unconscious 
self-abnegation than from any inctpacity for 
cooler. 

"It is precisely this quality which has made 
him so successful In the personal questions which 
have arisen between him and his subordinates. 
They have usually mistaken his slowness for dul- 
ness or a lack of spirit, and have discovered their 
mistake only alter becoming rash and committing 
a fatal error. Grant is as unsuspicious and p are- 
hearted as a child, and as free lrom harmful inten- 
t'on ; but he is stirred to the very depths of his 
nature by an act of inhumanity or brutality of any 
sort ; while meanness, or ingratitude, or unchar- 
itableness, excites him to the display of the live- 
liest indignation. He is not slow in the exhibition 
of contempt or disgust for whatever is unmanly 
or unbecoming. 

KINDNESS TO SUBORDINATES. 

" In issuing orders to his subordinates, or in 
asking a service at the hands of a staff-officer, he 
is always scrupulously polite and respectful in 
manner, and orders or requests rather as he 
would ask a friend to oblige him personally than 
as a military commander whose word is law. His 
consideration for those about him is admirably 
show a by the following incident: On the night 
after the battle ot Mission Ridge, while return- 
ing from the front to his he? Iquaicers at Chat- 
tanooga, he desired to know what bad become 
of Sheridan's division, which had been reported 
at noon as engaged „in building a bridge 
across the Chickamauga at Mission Mills ; and al- 
though it was then after midnight he requested 
one of his staff to obtain the desired information. 
The officer, after a long and tiresome ride, re- 
ported at headquarters just at sunrise, and found 
the General not yet asleep. It seemB that in re- 
turning: to Chattanooga, at about one o'clock, he 



I 



pose, as he expressed it. oncn boiiciluub ior tue 
comfort ot others, it is needless to say, was rare, 
even among the most humane of our generals. 
Many of them would not have hesitated to save 
themselves even the slightest trouble at the ex- 
pense of others; and not a few would have given 
themselves scarce a moment's thought had an aid- 
de-camp been killed, much less if he had only 
gone on a long and difficult ride upon a wintry 
night. 

HABITS, TASTES AND MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS. 

11 Grant' s personal habits and tastes are exceed- 
ingly simple ; he despises the pomp and show of 
empty parade, and in his severe simplicity and 
manly pride he scorns all adventitious aids to 
popularitv. He lives plainly himself, and cannot 
tolerate ostentation or extravagance in those 
about him. His mess was never luxuriously, 
though always bountifully furnished with army 
rations, and such supplies as could be transported 
readily and easily in the limited number of wagons 
that he permitted to follow his headquarters. His 
appetites are all under perfect control. He is 
very abstemious, and during his entire western 
campaign the officers of his staff were forbidden 
to bring wines or liquors into camp. He 
has been represented as one of the most taciturn 
ot men, and in one respect he is such. He never 
divulges his thoughts till they are matured, and 
never aspires to speech making ; and even in pri- 
vate conversation he falls into silence if be sus- 
pects that he is likely to be reported. He is the 
most modest ot men, and nothing annoys him 
more than a loud parade of personal opinion or 
personal vanity ; but with his intimate friends, 
either at home or around the camp fire, he talks 
upon all subjects, not only fluently and copious- 
ly, but in the most charming and good-natured 
marier. His life ha3 been too busy to read his- 
tory or technical works, but he has always 
been a close and careful reader of the 
newspapers. He has a retentive mem- 
ory, and is deeply interested in all 
matters which concern the interests of humanity, 
and particularly his own country. Upon all such 
subjects, In fact, upon all the vital questions of 
the day, he thinks carefully and profoundly, and 
expresses himself with great ease and good sense. 
His understanding is of that incisive character 
that soon probes a question to the bottom, no 
matter how much the politicians and newspapers 
may labor to confuse it; while his judgment ifl 
so deliberate, honest and truthful in its opera- 
tions that it may be implicitly relied upon to 
arrive at a fair and unbiased conclusion. His 
memory is stored with pergonal incidents 11- 
ustrative of men and manners In &)\ 
parts of the country, showing that he ha3 
evidently been a profound student of human na- 
ture throughout life ; his appreciation of men and 
character has never been surpassed. This was well 
shown in the reorganization of the army aUer he 
became lieutenant-genera 1 . It is well known that 
he did not tail in a sinarle instance, where a change 
was made, in putting "the right man in the right 
place. This was due neither to chance nor snap 
ludgment, but to his habit ct careful observation. 
He warms towards a bold, outspoken and loyal 
nature : full of ardor and zeal himself, he natu- 
rally admires these qualities in others. He 
has no patience with a weak, complaining 
and selfish disposition, and cannot en- 
dure double-dealing or indirectness of any sort. 
Straightforward and frank in all things himself, 
he respects these qualities wherever they are 
found. Indeed, the most striking peculiarity of 
his nature, both as a man and a general, is a pro- 
found and undeviating truthfulness in all things. 
Those who have known him best will bear a 
willing testimony to the statement that he never 
told a falsehood, or made a voluntary misrepre- 
sentation of fact, and will believe us that it wou'd 
be almost as impossible tor him to do so as for the 
needle to forget its fidelity to the pole. 

MORAL QUALITIES. 

" He is a true friend and a magnanimous enemy. 
His liberality is boundless, and his charity asbroad 
as humanity itself. He has neither vanity nor sel- 
fish ambition ; no promotion has ever been sought 
by him, and none has ever turned his head or 
changed his character in the slightest degree. 
Naturally a strong believer in the goodness of 
Providence as exerted in the affairs of mankind, 
he yet possesses none ot that blind fatalism which 
has at times characterized military chieftains. 
So confident was he in the moral strength and rec- 
titude of our cauee, and the superior intelligence 
and endurance of the northern people, that he 
never, even in the darkest hour, despaired of a 
united and prosperous country. In this respect 
he is a perfect embodiment of the great Amei'.can 
characteristic, faith in the manifest destiny of the 
Republic. 

" ' We rarely find,' said Napoleon. ' combined 
in the same person, all the qualities necessary to 
constitute a great general. The most desirable is 
that a man's judgment should be in equilibrium 
with his courage; that raises him at once above 
the common level. If courage be a general's 
predominating quality, he will rashly embark in 
qirt prp rises above his conception; and on the 
vmer Jiand, he will not venture to carry his 
ideas 4ito effect, if his character or courage be 
inferior to bis judgment.' By way of illustrating 
this principle, Napoleon went on to assert that 
it was impossible for Murat and Ney not to 
be brave, but added that « no men ever possess d 
less judgment.' Speakinsr of moral courage, he 
said : ' I have very rarely met the two-o'clock-in- 
the-morning courage ; I mean unprepared cour- 
age; that which is necessary on an unexpected 
occasion. Kleber was endowed with the highest 
talents, but was merely the man of the moment, 
and pursued glory as the only road to enjoyment, 
while Dessaix possessed in "a very superior de- 
gree the important equilibrium just described.' 



It was not necessary for mo *,o enioy the spirited 
affability, the exquisite conversational powers of 
Mrs. Gbant, ii/ order to learn that Ulysses Gbakt 
has a well-developed domestic nature; that his love 
of home and of family is of the purest, highest or- 
der; that his home relatioi is are refreshingly sweet 
and beautiful. A visit or tv/o at his fireside will dis- 
close theso facts, and they lire seen, too, not in the 
grand drama of "family exhibition," (with the 
astonishing reality behind the curtain.) but in those 
small, intimate and fam.liar • matters which, com- 
bined, form the delightful superstructure of a happy 
home. Gen. Geant tak<as great delight In his chil- 
dren, particularly the youngest— the family pet- 
Master Jessie. He Is, Indeed, a dear bright boy, 
and worthy any father's affection; but Geant makes 
him a companion, and is both a father and a friend 
to the young scion. Speaking of the coming cares 
and responsibilities of the Executive Mansion, and 
of the old-time joys when they lived in a rented 
brick cottage on a towering ridge in West Galena, 
Mrs. Gbakt said so me: 

" Those were the happiest days of my life. We 
had a sweet little home, with every convenience and 
comfort; tho yard was large; son saw it I Well.it 
doesn't look half so lovely now as then; tbe grass 
grew luxuriantly, and bright flowers and fresh trees 
made it a little paradise. In tbe evening Mr. Gbakt 
would como home, and I would have the children 
all dressed and myself in an evening robe, and we 
were just as happy as we could wish. Often we 
would ride out with tbe children, and I did really 
love to keep houje then." 

As she BFokWEeee words her eyes sparkled, and 
they were uttered with an earnestness which plainly 
indicated their depth of meaning. She spoke of a 
published statement in a Paris journal, alleging that 
Gbant's military discipline was so severe that he 
even practiced the most painful exhibition of it in 
his family, and related, as an instance, a certain in- 
fliction on a eon, which was made severer by his 
mother for some trivial offence. Mrs. Gbant said 
it was wholly unfounded, and that "the children are 
never punished— never, by either of us. We are ex- 
- tremely lenient to them, and try to conquer and rule 
by love. If Gen. Geant determined on punishing 
them I know I should protest." And all that I saw 
of Jessie and his older sister goes to confirm my 
opinion that the domestio peace is never disturbed, 
and that few, indeed, are the "family jars " which 
Interfere with the marital joys of Ulxs3es and Julia 
Geant. 



r 



«, ^,— v GeantTs great indeed. His mind is broad; 

' comprehensive and incisive. No man in the nation 
would be better prepared to " accept the situation,'* 

^whatever might be Its novelty or intricacy. Calm, fl 

-thoughtful without being morose, determined ye| /L. 
anything but obstinate, and possessing reasoning 
powers of tbe first magnitude, he would grasp in his 7 
wide views the most difficult condiiion of affairs, 
and find in the best of great good sense the trr.e* 
legitimate means for the vindication of cosmopolite 
justice. 



Grant's Appearance and Manners. 
Washington correspondent says : — 

"The democratic nature of the President elect 
is a never ending source of comment here. He 
is seen on the streets almost every pleasant day, 
sauntering carelessly along, peering into the 
stores and shops, and nodding pleasantly to ac- 
quaintances whom he chances to meet in his ram- 
bles. He is as careless in his dress as the com- 
monest people could desire, while he is criticis- 
ed by those who b.dieve that a man should be 
judged by the linen he wears. I have never seen 
Gen. Grant on the avenue in full uniform, and I 
have never heard that he ever thus appeared. He 
generally wears a long frock coat, frayed and 
worn, of a fashion rive years past, a slouch hat of 
black material, or a tall untidy beaver; his vest 
is of the military style, buttoning to 
the throat, of blue cloth and adorned 
with staff buttons, and his pantaloons are of the 
dark blue military pattern, without stripes. He 
does not wear gloves, and his feet, whirl; aie 
small and shapely, are covered with boots inno- 
cent of blacking. He wears a heavy vest chain, 
with a miniature drum, a sword and spurs as 
charms. Excepting a very large plain ring on 
his little finger, he wears no other jewelry. In 
appearance he bears about as much likeness in 
comparison to Gen. Hancock (who, until recent- 
ly, was often seen on tbe streets) as a great mili- 
tary chieftain, as an ordinary wagoner would 
have borne to Gen. Scott. Ha often goes to an 
oyster saloon to get his lunch of raw oysters, 
and in Ins walks through the city he is usually 
unaccompanied. He entertains in the same 
democratic spirit, never luxuriously, but always 
plentifully and with homely grace. I hear that 
he has lately banished wine from his entertain- 
ments." 



have no other God before him who made the 
heaven and earth. All nature declares there is 
no othe-. Why should we love that one God? 
The B ; ble answers, not because he is gieat and 
powerful, but because he is {rood, his authority 
rightful and his government just. Filial affec- 
tion in return for parental love. What does this 
book teach as principles of individual character? 
To be simple, true, honest, meek, pure, temper- 
ate, merciful, just to all, tender to the needy, 
return ^ood for evil, jud^e others leniently, and 
have that charity which fulfils the whole law. 
These are principles deep rooted and eternal in 
the nature of moral beings. Power or prejudice 
may lead astny, but a character based on these 
Bible principles will be founded as on a rock. 
The lowest slave and the Grecian sage, the child 
and the man, always judge such character alike 
when seen in actual life. 

What is right? Take the question over the 
globe and mean by it what is right in principle 
of religious character, honesty or dishonesty, 
justice or injustice, simplicity or craftiness, for- 
giveness or revenge, and not a moral being 
would ever mistake, never. But ask what out- 
side act is right, eating this or that, living in 
such or such a fashion, customs of society, forms 
of religion, there must be different answers vary- 
ing according to climate, progress, national 
prejudice*, &c. lie alluded to a pamphlet "What 
is right ?" that diseased these questions to the|ex- 
tent of sixteen pages, and in a few words show- 
ed that it would be absurd to expect from a Bible 
explicit directions in regard to these individual 
points. Our Sabbath day as given by the Bible 
means that one-seventh of our time shall be de- 
voted to rest and worship. Our day is not the 
.seventh, but the first. To the question shall we 
drink wiae, he would say useypur common sense 
as to its use. Let no man deceive you by quib- 
bling about words ; find your principles and there 
you can stand, 

Banevolenco is a fundamental principle of re- 
ligious truth, every man must spend all for the 
good of others, how, and in what manner we are 
not told ; if each man was told all he would be 
but a machine. Judges, rulers, great men, rich 
men, come under the same principles of duty as 
the humblest. Their responsibility extends to 
j the extent of their power, their ta'ent, their 
wealth, their culture. All are stewards. 

The Blblo, then, teaches a systom of religious 
truth founded in the nature of moral beings as 
perfect as any science gathered from the physical 
creation. la its light we can see how Abraham 
could bo as good a man as Paul. But how dif- 
ferent his outward character! If one has not the 
written law he is a law to himself, or has it writ- 
ten on hi3 heart. God acts with tho human race 
as a wise, merciful father acts to hi3 children. 
The doctrines of the Bible were briefly alluded to 
as showing the same perfect, fundamental princi- 
ples. Sin is a transgressor of the law, a stepping 
over or falling short of the line of duty— it is an 
act of will. The 18:h chapter of Ez?kiel was re- 
commended as bearing on this point. All men 
are sinners to various extent, and the Bible sets 
: off this world as being pretty wicked. The lov- 
i ing, earnest call all through the Bible to coase to 
j do evil and learn to do well, and that there can 
be no pardon of a transgressor until that trans- 
gressor comes back to law, whether that law be 
human or divine, this point was urged with 
trreat force, and illustrated by a scathing allu- 
sion to a recent pardon issued in our own country 
by it3 recreant President. 

The decrees of the Bible that God in his per- 
fect plan ble?ses those who comply with his 
terms, and curses all who turn away from him, 
finds its parallel everywhere in daily life— if you 
sow tares you will reap tares — all will reap as they 
sow, in character as in the field. 



Discovery of the Sinaitic Manuscript of 
the Bible. 

[Leipsic Correspondence of the Boston Transcript.] 
Tho most celebrated scholar in Europe is, I 
suppose, generally conceded to be Professor 
TischeudOrt of Leipsic. I have had occasion to 
visit him, to ascertain souk-, lacw connected with 
his discovery of iuj Smaitic manucript of the 
Bible, and may bo abie lo gratify the curiosity of 
jour readers witn reference to his personal ap- 
pearance. In the first piace, because the thing 
which struck me the most forcibly, this man, 
who has tor many years been regarded as me 
greatest living 'Greek scholar and fudge of an- j 
cieut manuscripts, is not an old man; indeed, he ^ 
can hardly be above forty-five, iiis whoio man- 
ner is fresh and vigorous, his tones earnest, and 
he is as approachable a* the simplest child. He 
is so u»cd to be talked about as the "einineut 
Tischenclori" that lie accepts his position as a 
matter of course, and so has not a trace of that 
vanity which, in a man struggling to be great, is 
so obnoxious. He is large and solidly bunt, and 
has the appearance of being in penect health. 
Never dm I sec a man having less uie appearance 
01 being a dyspeptic bookworm. 

Tiscuendurr, after giving me the particulars 
which 1 wanted, related to me in a ven pleasant, 
ofi-hand, racy way, the story of his recovery of 
tne famous aiuiacic manuscript of tne Biole, 
which is fifteen hundred years old. He saw 
some fragments of it at the time of his first visit 
to the convent at Mount Sinai, in 18-14. On his 
second visit, when he weut simpiy supplied by 
the Saxon g veriiraent with means tor purchas- 
ing it, he could not find a trace of it; and waen, 
on the occasion of his third visit, aoout seven 
years ago, he went out as the special agent of 
the iiussi an emperor, he was tor a louj time 
equally unsuccessful. At last, when he was 
aoout to abandon the search, the precious relic 
was discovered in a corner 01 the cellar, and was 
committed to his fiands to be taken to Russia. 
Tueseciet charm exerted in this case was due 
not so much to the influence of Russian gold as 
to the fact that the established church of that 
empire is of the Greek faith, the same as that of 
the Siuaitic Convent.^ 

Teschendorf told me he was hardly able to 
command himself when ne made this discovery. 
He went instantly to his room, but that ni^ht lie 
could ntitner lie down nor sleep, and so, to work 
off his excitement, he spent the iii^ht in trau- 
sci.b ng the whole of one of the Epistles- His 
rece, tiou on his return was such a one as princes 
show to piMices. The occasion was one of great 
solemnity and magutneeuce at St. Petersourg, 
fo.- it was recognized, not only there but all over 
tne civilized wond, that the discovery of this 
manuscript is tue most important event of the 
age, looked at in connection with the authenti- 
city of the New Testament and, ih? whole Bibli- 
cal record. The original Was photographed with 
the utmost care, and copies were sent to the 
leading libraries of the world. 



h will I 



no wisdom, nor understanding, llov counsel 
pinst tie Lord.- -Prov. xxi.30. The Lo dkllleth. anil truth- 
l!'- brlngeth down to the grave, and he hnir;eth 
He lais-eih np the poor out of the. dust, to set them 
nong princes : for the pillars of the earth are the Lord's, 
id he hath set the world upon them. He will keep the 
it of his saints; and the wicked shall b e silent in rlatk- 
ss ^ for by strength shall no man prevall.-l Sam ii. ^^ 8 cha pters. 

re not an appointed time to man upon earth? aire 
it his days also like the days of an hireling?— Job vil. 1. 

i 1 vanish th away. so he that 
ieth down t<> the grave shall come up no more. He shall 
turn no more to his house, neither shall his place know 
m any more.— Job vil, 8, 10. 

'iheit is no man that hath power over the spirit, to re- 
Math he power in the day 9f death: 
id thei arge in that war.— Eeclea. vill. H 

Jinrk t; and behold the upright, for the end 

rrerious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his 
tints.— l's. cxvi. 15. 

A good name is better than precious ointment; and the 
iv of death tkan the day ot one's birth.— Ecclws. vii. 1. 
Blessed are they that mourn , jor they shall be comfort- 
1.— Matt. v. 4. 

Let not your heart be troubled. I will not leave von 
imfortless. 1 race I leave with you, m peace 1 givo unto 
Let net your heart bp troubled, neither let it bo 
raid.— John xiv. 1. Is. Tl. In the world ye shall have tri- 
ulation : but be ot good Sheer : I have overeomo the 
orld.— John xvi. 3o. I am the resurrection aud tho lite. 
John xl. 25. 

Whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we 
., we die unto tliv Lord : whetiier we live, therefore, or 
e. we are the Lort's.— !'• in. xiv. s. 

Uemember now thy Creator in the days ot thy youth, 
bile Hie evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, 
lien thou shall say I have no pleasure i;i them : when the 
(ci eis oi the bonse shall tremble, and the strong men 
all bow themselves, a. id the Kra-sho>per shall be a 
i.ruen, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his 
nig home and the moomert go about the streets : or over 
le silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or 
,<■ pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel brok- 
at the .cistern. Then shall the dust return to the earth 
s it was : and the spirit shall return unto Ood who gave 
.— Kccles. xiil. 5-7. 



Bibles. It has been computed that the whole 
number of copies of the scriptures in existence in 
the Christian world at the close of the last cen- 
tury did not exceed four millions. Recent inves- 
tigation has revealed that the aggregate issue of 
Bibles from Great Britain every year is now nearly 
four millions, or as many as existed in the whole 
world before the present century. 

To Rend the Bible Through in a Year, 

BY REV. B. W. ROBINSON. 

Read 3 chapters daily, and 5 on tne Sabbath ; that is, 2 
chapters in the Old Testament, and 1 daily, — 3 on the Sab- 
bath,— in Psalms, Prov., Eccl., Sol. Song, and the New Tes- 
tament. 

The Old Testament, without these 4 books, contains 2 
chapters a day for the year ; and the New Testament, with 
the 4 books, has 1 chapter a day, and 3 for Sabbath days, 



Read Ps. 119 as 11 chapters of 2 divisions each, and con- 
nect the short Psalms 117 and 131 with the next, and 133 
and 134 together, thus adding 8 chapters to complete the 
year. 

Five chapters a week will go through the New Testa- 
ment in a year. 



The White Stone. — " To him that overcometh 
give a white stone." Rev. ii, 17. 

It is generally thought by commentators, says the late 
Rev. Henry Blunt, that this refers to an ancient judi- 
cial custom of dropping a black stone into an urn when 
it is intended to condemn, and a white stone when the 
prisoner is to be acquitted ; but this is an act so distinct 
from that described, " I will give thee a white stone," 
that we are disposed to agree with those who think it 
refers rather to a custom of a very different kind, and 
not unknown to the classical reader; according with 
beautiful propriety to the case before us. In primitive 
times, when traveling was rendered difficult from want 
Df places of public entertainment, hospitality was exer- 
cised by private individuals to a very great extent; of 
which, indeed, we find frequent traces in all history, 
and in none more than in the Old Testament. Persons 
who partook of this hospitality, and those who practiced 
it, frequently contracted habits of friendship and regard 
for each other ; and it became a well-established custom 
among the Greeks and Romans to provide their guests ^ 
with some particular mark, which was handed down 
from father to son, and insured hospitality and kind 
treatment wherever it was presented. This mark was 
usually a small stone or pebble, cut in half, and upon 
the halves of which the host and the guest mutually 
inscribed their names, and then interchanged them with 
each other. The production of this tessera was quite 
sufficient to insure friendship for themselves or descend- 
ants whenever they traveled again in the same direc- 
tor. ; while it is evident that these stones required to be 
privately kept, and the names written upon them care- 
fully concealed, lest others should obtain the privileges 
instead of the persons for whom they were intended. 

How natural, then, the allusion to this custom in the 
words of the text, " I will give him to eat of the hidden 
manna!" and having done, having made himself par- 
taker of my hospitality, having recognized him as my 
guest, my friend, " I will present him with the white 
stone, and in the stone a new name written, whirl uc 
man knoweth, save he who receiveth it." I will giV* 
him a pledge of my friendship, sacred and inviolable, 
known only to himself. 

A Thousand Years as Yesterday. — " For a thou- 
sand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is 
past, and as a watch in the ntg/U." Psa. xc, 4 

It is evident in the Scriptures, that besides these cares, 
they had watchmen who used to patrol in their streets; 
and it is natural to suppose that they were these people 
that gave them notice how the seasons of the night 
passed away. I am indebted for this thought to Sir 
John Chardin. He observes, in a note on Psalm xe, 4, 
that as the people of the east have no clocks, the several 
parts of the day and of the night, which are eiglit in 
all, are given notice of. In the Indies, the parts of the 
night are made known as well by instruments of music, . 
in great cities, as by the rounds of the watchmen, who, 
with cries and small drums, give them notice that a 
fourth part of the night is passed. Now, as these cries 
awaked those who had slept all that quarter part of the 
night, it appeared to them but as a moment. 

It is apparent the ancient Jews knew how the night 
passed away, which must probably be by some public 
Inotice given them; but whether it was by simply pub' 
'lishing at the close of each watch, what watch was then 
,ended; or whether they made use of any instruments 
of music in this business, may not be easily determin- 
jable; and still less what measures of time the watchmen 
I made use of. 



( 



Jan. 1.. 


..Gen. 1. 


P». 1. 


July 2.. 


..IChr 


27. 


Mat*. 27. 


8.. 


.. ■ 15. 


" 10. 


9.. 


..2 " 


12. 


Mk. 8. 


15.. 


.. "29. 


» 19. 


16.. 


« 


28. 


IA. 1. 


22.. 


.. « 43, 


• -28. 






4. 


" 10. 


29.. 


..Ex. 7. 


• 3T. 


30 


..Neh. 


8. 


" 19. 


Feb. 5.. 


.. ■ 21. 


* 46. 


Auj. 8. . 


.Ksth. 


0. 


John 4. 


12.. 


.. "35. 


• 55. 


13.. 


..Job 


13. 


" 13. 


19.. 


..Lev. 9. 


" 54. 


20.. 


. , n 


27, 


AoU 1. 


20.. 


. . « 28. 


» 73. 


27.. 


., •» 


41. 


» 10. 


Mar. 5 . . 


.Num. 10. 


• 82. 


Sept. 3.. 


.Isaiah 13. 


' 19. 


12.. 


.. "24. 


« 91. 


10.. 


« 


87; 


H 88. 


19.. 


..Deut. 2. 


» 100. 


17.. 


ti 


41. 


Ben. 9. 


26.. 


. » in. 


• 109. 


24.. 


ii 


55. 


l Cor. 2. 


Apl. 2.. 


. . ■ 30. 


• 119. 


Oct. 1 . 


. .Jer. 


3. 


» 11. 


9.. 


..Josh. 10. 


■ 119t145 


8.. 


n 


17. 


2 » 4. 


16.. 


.. " 24. 


« 127. 


15 . 


« 


31. 


« 13. 


23.. 


. Judg.14. 


" 138. 


22.. 


(t « 


45. 


Eph. 3. 


30.. 


..1 Sam. 3. 


« 147. 


29.. 


!!Ezek 


2, 


Col. ii. 


May 7.. 


... • 17. 


Prov. 6. 


'Nov. 5 . . 


K 


It, 


2 Thes.2. 


14 


. * 31. 


« 15. 


12.. 


II 


80. 


2 Tim. 2. 


21. 


..2 « 14. 


■ 24. 


19.. 


|, » 


li. 


Heb. 3. 


28. 


..lKga. 4. 


Eccl. 2. 


26.. 


.Dan. 


10. 


» 12. 


June 4.. 


.. " 18 


» 11. 


Dec. 3.. 


..Hoi. 


12. 


1 Pet. 2. 


11.. 


..2 ■ 10.Sol.S'g8. 


10.. 


. .Am. 


9. 


1 John 4. 


18.. 


« 24. 


Matt. 9. 


17.. 


..Kah. 


2. 


Rev. 5. 


25.. 


..IChr. 13 


» 18. 


24.. 


..Zech. 


5. 


« 14. 



The First Verse In the Bible. 

This simple sentence denies Atheism— for it as- 
sumes the being of God. It denies Polytheism 
aud, among its various forms, the doctrine of two 
eternal principles, the one good and the other 
evil; lor it confesses the one eternal Creator. It 
denies materialism ; for it asserts the creation of 
matter. It denies pantheism; for it assumes the ex- 
jsKuce of God before all :,hings, and apart from 
them. It denies Fatalism; for it involves the free- 
dom of Eterual Hemg It assumes the existence 
of God; for it is He who in the beginning creates. 
It asbumes His eternity ; for He is before all things ; 
and bs nothing comes from nothing, Ho himself 
must have always been. It implies His omnipo- 
tence; l or He creates the universe of things. It 
implies His absolute freedom; forjfle begins a new 
course (.faction. It implies His infinite wi«dom; 
for a kosinos, an order of matter and mind, can 
only come frtun a being of absolu e intelligence. 
It implies His essential goodness; for the solo eter- 
nal, almighty, all- wise, and all-sufficient lleing, 
has no reason, no motive, and no capacity for evil; 
it presumes Him to be beyond all limit of time 
and place, as He is before all time and place. — 
Prof. Murphy. 



ADVICE OF A FATHER TO HIS ONLY 
DAUGHTER, 

Written immediately after her marriage. 



BY PATRICK HENRY. 



Tamils IjUaMit^ 



A Father's Farewell to his Daughter. 



My Dear Daughter— You have^just enter- 
«d into that state which is replete with happi 
ctess or misery. The issue depends upon that 
prudent, amiable, uniform conduct, which wis- 
dom and virtue so strongly recommend, on the «' 
one hand, or on that imprudence which a want COME near to me mv «-entle »irl ■ 
of reflection orpassion mayprompt ou the other. r t V , 7 * * ' 

You are allied to a man of honor, of talents, A ^ orae i snare a father's parting sorrow ; 
and of an open, generous disposition. You „ wee P with me those tears today, 
hare, therefore, in your power, all the essen- 
tial ingredients of domestic happiness : it can- 
not be marred, 
.system of contli 
fc'ly to pursue—if you now see clearly, the For another day/and far away, 

Wilt thou be from thy father's blessing. 



.- — ..~v.£/ »Tiwt 11IC IHU3C ll_ril3 LUUtlY, 

Nor thou, nor I, may weep tomorrow. 

•d, if you now reflect upon that *- ome lean once more upon my breast, 
duct which you ought invaria- As when a simple child caressing ; 



viate. Our conduct is often the result of whim 
•r caprice, often sv.J.i hi will give us many a 
pang, unless we see, beforehand, what is al- 
ways tbffciost praiseworthy, and the most es- 
sential tonappiness. 

The first maxim which you should impress 
deeply upon your mind, is, never to attempt 
to control your husband by opposition, by dis- 
pleasure, or any other mark of anger. A man 
of sense, of prudence, of warm feelings, can- 
not, and will not, bear an opposition of any 
kind., which" is attended with an angry look or 
expression. The current of his affections ij 
suddenly stopped ; his attachment is weaken- 
ed ; he begins to feel a mortification the most 
pungent ; fee is belittled even in his own eyes ; 
and be assured, the wife wno once excites 
those sentiments in the breast of a husband, 
will never regain the high ground which she 
might *nd ought to have" retained. When he 
marries her, if he be a good man, he expects 
from her smil«s, not frowns ; he expects to find 
in her one who is not to control him — aot to 
take from him the freedom of acting as his own 7 



The wind blows fairly for the sea — 

The white waves round thy bark are swelling; 
Thy lover sighs, for the morn to rise, 

And make thee a bride, my gentle Ellen : 

Yet closer, closer, round me cling, 

Though another claim thy love tomorrow : 

None, none are here, to reprove the tear, 
That flows today for a father's sorrow. 

Come, gaze on me, thou darling child, 
My fairest, and my fondliest cherish'd, 

That I may trace, in thy pallid face, 
Thy mother's beauty, ere she perish'd. 

And let me hear thy mother's song, 

Yet once more from thy sweet lips swelling; 

And none again shall sing that strain, 
The last song of my gentle Ellen. 



And say, that when between us lie 

Wide lands and many a mountain billow 
judgment shall direct, but who will place such r) m u * •,, . 1 * :, • """<•<"" u"«*w, 
confidence in him, as to believe that his pru- ^ Th ? heart W,1 . J tend to th,ne earliest friend, 

And think i» prayer of his aged pillow. 



dence is his best guide. Littlo things, what in 
reality are mere trifles in themselves, often 
produce bickerings, and even quarrels. Never 
permit them to be a subject of dispute ; yield 
them with pleasure, with a smile of affection. 
JBe assured that >?ie difference outweighs them 
all a thousand, or ten thousand times. A dif- 
ference with your husband ought to be consid- 
ered as the greatest calamity — as one that is to 
be most studiously guarded against ; it is a de- 
mon which must never be permitted to enter a 
habitation where ail should be peace, unim- 
paired confidence, and heartfelt affection.-— 
-.Besides, what can a woman gain by her oppo- 
sition or her indifference 1 Nothing. But she 
loses every thing ; she loses her husband's re- 
spect for her virtues, she loses his love, and 
with that, all respect for her tuture happiness. 
She creates her own misery, and then utters 
idle and silly complaints, but utters them in 
rain. The love of a husband can be retained 
only by the high opinion which he entertains 
of his wife's goodness of heart, of her amiable 
disposition, of the Sweetness of her temper, of 
her prudence, pf her devotion to him. Let 
nothing upon any occasion ever lessen that 
opinion. On the contrary, it should augment 
every day: he should have much more reason 
to admire her for those excellent qualities, 
which will cast a lustre over a virtuous woman, 
When her personal attractions are no more. 

Has your husband staid out longer than you 
expected 1 ? When he returns rec ive him as 
the partner of your heart. Has he disappointed 
you in something you expected, whether of or- 
nament, or furniture, or of any conveniency 7 
Never evince discontent; receive his apology 
'with cheerfulness. Does he, when you are 
house-keeper, invite company without inform- 
ing you of it, or bring home with him a fricndl 
Whatever may be your, repast, however scanty 
it may be, however impossible it may be to add 
to it, receive thi;ra with a pleasing counteu- 
ance, adorn your table with cheerfulness, give 
to your husband and to your company a hearty 
welcome; it will more than compensate for 
•very other deficiency : it will evince love for 
your husband, good sense in yourself, and that 
politeness of manners, which acts as the most 
powerful charm ! It will give to the plainest 
iare a zest superior to all that luxury -an boast j 
of. Never be discontented on any occasion of a 
this nature. z 

In the next place, as your husband's success 
in his profession will depend upon his popular- 
ity, and as the manners of a wife have no little 

influence in extending or lessening the respect A 
and esteem of others for her husband, you ' 
should take care to be affable and polite to the 
poorest as well as the richest. A reserved 
haughtiness is a sure indication of a weak mind 
and an unfeeling heart. 

With respect to your servants, teach them 
to respect and love you, while you expect from 
them a reasonable discharge of their respec- 
tive duties. Never tease yourself, or them, by 
scolding; it has no other effect that to render 
them discontented and impertinent. Admon- 
ish them with a calm firmness. 

Cultivate your mind with the perusal of those 
books which instruct, while they amuse. Do 
not devote much of your time to novels ; there 
are a few which may be useful and improving 
in giving a higher tone to our moral sensibility; 
but they tend to vitiate the taste, and to pro- 
duce a disrelish or substantial intellectual food. 



For my head is white with winter snow 
No earthly sun away may carry, 

Until I come to my waiting home, 
The home where all the aged tarry. 

Then lean once more upon my breast, 
As when a simple child caressing ; 

For another day, and far away, 

Wilt thou be from thy father's blessing. 

Aye, closer, closer, round me cling, 

Though another claim thy love tomorrow 

None, none are here, to reprove the tear, 
That flows today for a father's sorrow. 

Most plays are of the same cas;; mey are "">• 
friendly to the delicacy which is one of the 
ornaments of the female character. History, 
geography, poetry, moral essays, biographv, 
travels, sermons, and other well-written re! J{- 
ioi s productions, will not fail to enlarge your 
understanding, to render you a more agreeable 
companion, and to exalt your virtue. A wo- 
man devoid of rational ideas of religion, has no 
security for her virtue ; it is sacrificed to har 
passions, whose voice, not that of God, is her 
only governing principle. Besides, in those 
hours of calamity to which families must be 
exposed, where will she find support, if it be 
not in herj'ist reflections upon that all-ruling 
Providence which governs the universe, wheth- 
er inanimate or animate. 

Mutual politeness between the most intimate 
friends, is essential to that harmony, which 
should never be once broken or interrupted. 
How important then is it between man and 
wife ! The more warm the attachment, the 
less will either party bear to be slighted, or 
treated with the smallest degree of rudeness 
or inattention. This politeness, then, if it be 
not in itself a virtue, is at least the means of 
giving to real goodness a new lustre ; it is the 
means of preventing discontent, and even 
quarrels ; it is the oil of intercourse, it removes 
asperities, and gives to everything a smooth, 
an even, and a pleasing movement. 

I will only add, that matrimonial happiness 
does not depend upon wealth ; no, it is rot to 
be found in wealth ; but in minds properly 
tempered and united to our respective situa- 
tions. Competency is necessary ; all beyond 
that point, is ideal. Do not suppose, however, 
that! would i»et advise your husband to aug- 
ment his property by all honest and commen- 
dable means, I would wish to sec him actively 
engaged in such a pursuit, because engagement 
in a sedulous employment, in obtaining some 
laudable end, is essential to happiness. In the 
attainment of a fortune,' by honourable means, 
and particularly by professional exertion, a 
man derives particular satisfaction, in self 
applause, as well as from the increasing estima- 
tion in which he is held by those around him. 

In the management o^' your domestic con- 
cerns, let prudence and wise economy pre- 
vail. Let neatness, order, and judgement be 
seen in all your different departments. Unite 
liberality' with a just frugality ; always reserve 
something for a hand of charity ; and never 
letyour door be closed to suffering humanity. 
Your servants, in particular, will have the 
strongest claim upon your charity : let tliem be 
well led, well clothed, nursed in sickness, and 
never let them be unjustly treated. 



MAKE HOME BRIGHT AND PLEASANT. 

More than building showy mansion — 

More than dress and tine array — 
Mure than domes or lofty steeples — 

More than station, power and sway, 
Make your home both neat and tasteful, 

Bright and pleasant, always fair. 
Where each heart shall rest contented, 

Grateful for each beauty there. 
More than lofty, swrlling titles- 
More than fashion's luring glare — 
More than mammon's gilded honors — 

More than thought can well compare, 
See that home is made attractive, 

By surroundings pure and bright, 
Trftes arranged with tastr and order, 

Flowers with all the: wect delight. 
Seek to make your home most lovely, 

Let it be a smiling spot, 
Where, in sweet contentment resting, 

Care and sorrow are forgot ; 
Where the flowers and trees are waving, 

Birds will sing their sweetest songs, 
Where the purest thoughts will linger, 

Confidence and love belongs. 
Make your home a little Eden, 

Imitate her smiling bowers, 
Let a neat and simple cottage 

Stand among bright trees and flowers. 
There, what fragrance and what brightness, 

Will each blooming rose display ! 
Here, a simple vine-clad arbor 

Brightens through each summer day. 
There each heart will rest contented, 

Seldom wishing far to roam, 
Or, if roaming, still will cherish 

Mem'ries of that pleasant home ; 
Such a home makes man the better, 

Pure and lasting its control — 
Home with pure and bright surroundings 

Leaves its impress on the soul. 



PLEASANT CHILDREN. 

Everywhere — everywhere- 
Like the butterfly's silver wings, 

That are seen by all in the summer air— 
We meet with those beautiful things ! 

And the low, sweet lisp of the baby child 
By a thousand hills is heard, 

And the voice of the young heart's laughter wl 
As the voice of a singing-bird. 

The cradle rocks in the peasant's cot, 

As it rocks in the noble's hall ; 
And the brightest gift in the loftiest lot 

Is a gift that is given to all ; 
For the sunny light of childhood's eyes 

Is a boon like the common air, 
And like the sunshine of the skies, 

It falieth everywhere ! 

They tell us that old earth no more 

By angel feet is trod ; 
They bring not now, as they brought of yore, 

The oracles of God. 
O ! each of these young human flowers 

God's own high message bears, 
And we are walking, all our hours, 

With "angels, unawares!" 

By stifling street and breezy bill 

We meet their spirit-mirth ; 
That such bright shapes should linger, till 

They take the stains of earth ! 
! play not those a blessed part 

To whom the boon is given 
To leave their errand with the heart, 

And straight return to heaven ? 



"There is nothing sweeter, nothing purer, 
nothing richer on earth, than the absorbed, ad- 
miring, impassioned affection with which a little 
daughter often regards her father. To her he is 
the impersonation of all excellence, and her 
eyes follow him proudly, yearningly, wherever 
he goes; while her plans, hopes, thoughts, all 
centre in and cluster around him. 0, the ex- 
quisite joy of some Christian households beati- 
fied, in this dark and dreary world, by such 
confidence and such attachment!" 



The First Baby and the Tenth.— The first 
child in a family is its poem, — it is a sort of na- 
tivity play, and we bend before the young stran- 
ger with gifts, "gold, frankincense and myrrh." 
But the tenth child in a poor family is prose, and 
gets simply what is due to comfort. There are 
no superfluities, no fripperies, no idealities t 
about the tenth cradle.— Mrs. Stowe. 



00 



© 
00 




I SHAIJt- HE A MAN, 

I shall be a man ! oho ! oho ! 
Do you not see now how fast I grow ? 
My limbs are getting so tall and strong 
I shall not carry this satchel long. 
I shall be a man ! a few years more 
And my school-boy larks will all be o'er; 
Free as the wild bird then I shall be 
In this broad world that lies before me. 
I shall be a man ! hut, stay, let me sea 
What sort of man I may choose to be; 
I will not follow the idle throng, 
And live without aim all my life long I 
I shall be a man'! but 'tis not size 
Can make me good, and free, and wise ; 
My mind, too, m -t grow, e'er I can claim 
A right to bear r. ; e, manly name. 
I shall be a man ! then let me try 
Each moment to improve as it passeth by ; 
faithfully now the seed I must sow, 
Watching ever lest tares with it grow. 



How Soon We t,o»e Our Children. 

Hold diligent converse with thy children ! have them 
Morning and evening round thee, love thou them, 
And win their love in these rare beauteous years; 
For only while the short-lived dream of childhood 
Lasts are they thine, — no longer! When youth comes 
Much passes through their thoughts, — which is not 

thou, 
And much allures their hearts,— which thou ha«t not. 
They gain the knowledge of an older world 
Which tills their souls; and floats before them now 
The Future. And the Present thus is lost. 
Then, with his little traveling-pocket full 
Of indispensables, the boy goes forth. 
Weeping, thou watchest till he disappears, 
And never after is he thine again ! 



Wallace and Jennie. 

Lft us listen to Wallace and Jennie, hia wife, 

So quietly chatting together of life, 

And trust them to pardon our gathering uear, 

To catch the words falling alone for their ear. 

"I have just been reviewing the moments ail flown, 

Since you turned from the many eudearments of 

home, , . 

And counting the seasons, our journey-marks here. 
And find that this evening will close the twelfth 

year. 
"How soon the clouds gathered along our pathway! 
But you, darling Jennie, helped turn them astray, 
And on as we plodded the close of each year 
Found you ever ready to aid ai d to cheer 
As the moment we started, unthankfully told 



He comes back home, — he loves,— he wins a maid,— ^2 C£ 1""° ' 
He lives! They live, and others spring to life ^Tbat care would oringp!ea s ui 

From him, — and now thou hast a man in him, — 
A human being, — but no more a child ! 
Thy daughter, wedded, takes a frequent joy 
In bringing thee her children to thy house ! 
Thou hast the mother, — but the child no morel- 
Hold diligent converse with thy children! have them 
Mttrning and evening round thee, love thou them, 
And win their love, in the'rare, beauteous years! 



" Big black eyes I care not for, 
They say proudly, ' I make war ; 
Eyes I like are soft and blue — 
They say sweetly, < I love you.' " 
What Shall I Do '( 



BY MBS FRANCES DANA GAGE. 

"What shall I do I" My boy don't stand asking ; 

Take hold of something— whatever you can. 
Don't turn aside for the toiling or tasking ; 

Idle, soft hands never yet made a man. 

Grasp with a will whatever needs doing, 
Still standing ready, when one work is done 

Another to seize ; and thus still pursuing 
In duty your course, find the victory won. 

Do your best for to-day, trust God for to-morrow ; 

Don't be afraid of a jest or a sneer ; 
Be cheerful and hopeful, and no trouble borrow ; 

Keep the heart true, and the head cool and 
clear. 
If you can climb to the top without falling, 

Do it. If not, go as high as you can. 
Man is not honored by business or calling, 

Business and calling are honored by man. 
Herald of Health. 



Man's Duty to Woman — Let no' man prac- 
tice on woman perpetually the shameless false- 
hood of pretending admiration and acdng coo- 
tempt. Let them not exhaust their kindness in 
adorning her person, and ask in ieturn the humil- 
iation of her soul. Let them not ascent to her 
very high opinion as if she was not strong enough 
to maintain it against opposition, nor yet manu- 
facture opinion for her and force it on her lips by 
dictation. Let them not crucify her motives, nor 
ridicule ber frailty, nor crush her individuality, 
nor insult her independence, nor play mean jests 
upon honor or convivial companies, nor bandy 
unclean doubts of her, as a wretched substitute 
for wit; nor whisper vulgar suspicions of her pur- 
ity, which, as- compared with their own, is like the 
immaculate whiteness of angels. Let them mul- 
tiply her social advantages, enhance her dignity, 
minister to her intelligence, and by maDly gentle- 
ness, be the champions of her genius, the frknds 
of her fortunes, and the equals, if they can, of her 
heart — Rev F. D. Huntington. 



'Till life in continually varying phrase 

Seems flowing with music to mingle thy praise, 

y ' Twas riches at starting seemed fullest in view, 
And none the less certain for greeting so few; 
But dreams appear truest that soonest are flown, 
And 1 suppose, Jennie, we may as well own 
We are poor, as the world goes, and would be, I 
__ ween, 

If wealth were the garniture spread to be seen, 
But we have got Willie and two little girl3 
More precious to us than the treasures of worlds. 

"The cottage is truly a snug little one 

Which yields us a shelter from tempest and sun, 

That inward has lacking those touches of skill 

Which follow in beauty the artizau's will, 

While much is found wanting, when once we begiu 

Where luxury s out, but love is within, 

And hours of contentment enfold in their flight 

The measure of duty, and labor is light." 



J~ 



f 



:eet thine husband with a smile. 



BT MBS. S. TAYLOR 6BISW0LD. 



Meet thine husband with a smile, 

Anxious wife and tearful ; 
Let thy sorrows rest awhile, 

Let his home be cheerful ; 
Out amid the busy world 

Cares have hotly prest him, 
Let his spirit's wing be furled 

Where thy love has blest him. 

Tell him not how borrowed ills 

Poison all thy gladness; 
Fancy's phantoms pleasure kills, 

Shrouding it with sadness. 
Wreathe with smiles the knitted brow, 

As when skies were sunny ; 
From the bitter Marah bough 

Thou canst gather honey. 

With the love of early days 

Greet the weary comer ; 
Let him feel Affection's rays 

On his heart like summer. 
Shadows from a little tomb, 

On the hearth-stone lying, 
Give to brows sepulchral gloom, 

Lips the breath of sighing. 

For thy many blessings left 

Chant a glad thanksgiving, 
Though of one dear hope bereft, 

Dying is but living; 
Thou canst meet thy buried one 

With this blest assurance, 
Till life's work is nobly done, 

Bear with meek endurance. 

God hath never been unkind — 

T veep this truth before thee, 
Lo ! yon cloud is silver-lined, 

Though it frowneth o'er thee. 
Meet thine husband with a smile — 

Calm amid thy sorrows, 
So shalt thou the sting beguile 

From Grief's poisoned arrows. 



Wife. — There is no combination of letter in the 

(\ English language which excites more pleasing 

associations in the mind of man than wife. There 

is magic in this word. It presents to the mind's 



"In truth," answered Jennie, " 'tis well we may say * 
That the fortune is humble which gladdens our way, J 
But vou, noble Wallace, 'tis you that have brought _ 
The uumberles-3 comforts which brighten our lot, 
Whilst I have kept busy I scarcely know how 
But catching your song as you guided the plow, 
And striving' to lighten the but den you bear 
So smilingly hopeful, unaltered by care. 

"And often 1 wonder that you are so kind 
And cause for- repining soeui never to find, 
But shadow or sunlight, good fortune or ill, 
The Wallace I wedded seems wooing me still, 
'And the words that half spoken his love better told 
"Now ripen in kindness as lite is unrolled." 
A kiss from the fullness of purity drawn 
Gave Welcome to slumber uubrokeu'till morn. 

■But Phoebus scarce sent a bright herald along 
Ere hillock and meadow swelled \S allace's song, 
And Jennie was tripping about the sunny cot 
O'erjoyed with the husband who feil to her lot, 
Aud mingling with song and the duties of day 
A query if others were happy as they ; 
And stooping anon, as the cradle she passed. 
To kiss the wee cheek that his father kissed last. 

•And Wallace, in plowing his warm, mellow tield. 
At the end of each furrow, to temptiiigs would 
vield, 



eye a cheerful companion, disinterested adviser, a 7 And glance at his cot, seeming never so fair 




ZJ who cheerfully undertakes to contribute to your 
happiness, to partake with yon the cup, whether 
of weal or woe, which destiny may offer. Tbia 
word wife, is synonymous with the earthly bless-/ 
ing; and we pity the unfortunate man who is con- 
demned by fate's severe decree to trudge along 
through life's dull pilgrimage without one.— Pitts- i 
bury Mail. 



Tbe JFiislieriMUii'* Wife. 

It was summer-time, and the dawning day 
Shone bright on the cliffs of our lonely bay, 
Aud my man went out in his boat to sea, 
To win the bread for his house and me. 

The day went on— I remember it well — 

Ihe rooms were filled with the salt sea smell ; 



open stood. 



Cheerfulness in a Wife.— A woman mav T, nd the sunlight came like B n angel good, 

. . . . ' through the doors ana the windows that op 

be of great assistance to her husband in busi- , , ,,„,-• , 

P . . „ , . I sang and worked with joy in mv heart, 

less, by wearing a cheerful smile continually for I hold that a wife should do her part 

■m hpr rniintPimnrp A mnn'c nnn,U»;t; nc ~„A To clean and brighten the house within, 

>n ner countenance. A man s perplexities and Fraying the Lord to keep her from sin. 
rloominess are increased a hundred fold when x had flnlFlied> and , U8t sat down t0 reat| 
ns better half moves about with a continual When I saw a cloud rise up In the west, 

. A _i „„„„ u„_ U. n ... a „i » » u c i And the moan of tlie sea grew loud on the rocks, 

cowl upon her brow. A pleasant, cheerful And the gulls flew landward in shrieking flocks, 
vife is a rainbow set in the sky, when her hus- soon the wind blew loud from the hollow skies, 
land's mind is tossed with storms and tempests And l watched the waves with frightened eyes, 
... „ j:^„«.:^c„j i r .r- i c • ,i i !• As they struggled and sprang at the cloud's black 

>ut a dissatisfied and fretful wife in the hour of frown, 

rouble, is like one of those fiends who delight And clutching their broad wings swept them down. 

o torture lost spirits. 



£. 



J 



THE HATTY HUSBAND. 

BY 8. T. COLEKIDOB. 

Oft, oft methinks, the while with thee 
I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear 
And dedicated name, I hear 

A promise and a mystery, 
A pledge of more than passing life, 
Yea, in that very name of wife! 

A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep! 

A feeling that upbraids the heart 

With happiness beyond desert, 
That gladness half requests to weep! 

Nor bless I not the keener sense 

And unalarming turbulence 

01 transient joys, that ask no sting 
From jealous tears, or coy denying; 
Lut born beneath love's brooding wing, 

And into tenderness soon d^ing, 
Wheel out their giddy moment, then 
ltesign the soul to love again. 

A more precipitated vein 
Of notes, that eddy in the flow 
Of smoothest song, they come, they go, 

And leave their sweeter understrain 
Its own sweet self— a love of thee 
That seems, yet cannot greater be ! 



Then I hurried out to the old pier-head, 

Through the yard of the church where slept the 

dead: 
And I wished that my man and I had died, 
And were quietly sleeping there, side by side. 

'f was an evil wish — I rebuked it, too ; 
But one heart is weak where there should be two, 
And one voice alone grows weak in prayer, 
When it misses another so often there. 

Well.JI watched for hours in that beat and blow, 
Till all the light from the sky did go. 
Then 1 turned heart-sick from the fling of the foam, 
And wrestled my way to my vacant home. 

There the breath of the storm blew under the door, 

Audi felt it whisper along the floor; 

And the clothes of my man, as they hung on the 

stand, 
Swung as if touched by a spirit hand. 

The 1 lights I put in the window small, 
Were blown into darkness one and all ; 
And I heard as the whirling storm went by, 
Shneks as of souls about to die. 

[ I dropt to thegrouiul with my hands on my face, 
Fori (eared to see some sight In the place; 
And I prayed the Liord my soul to keep, 
And He heard my prayer, and gave me sleep. 

I leapt up at last ; 'twas early dawn : 
1 ran to the door— the storm was gone; 
The morning star shone bright o'er the sea: 
And my man came home to his house and me. 

[ Chambers Journal. 



A CHILD'S WISDOM. 

When the cares of day are ended, 

And 1 take my evening rest, 
Of the windows ot my chamber 

This is that 1 love the bost; 
This one facing to the hill-tons 

And the orchards of the west. 

All the woodlands, dim and dusky, 
All the fields of waving grain, 

All the valleys sprinkled over 
With the drops of sunlit rain— 

I can seo them through the twilight, 
Sitting here beside my pane. 

1 can see the hilly places, 

With the sheep-paths trod across [ 
See tho fountains by the way-sides, 

Each one in her house of mosa 
Holding up the mist above her 

Like a skein of silken floss. 

Garden corners bright with roses, 
Garden borders set with mint, 

Garden beds, wherein the maide*! 
Sow their seeds, as love doth hint. 

To seme rhyme of mystic charmiag 
That shall come back all in print. 

Ah ! with what a world of Washes 
Then they read it through and through. 

Weeding out the tangled sentence 
From the commas of the dew : 

Little ladies, choose yo wisely, 
Lest some day the choice ye rue. 

I can see a troop of children — 
Merry-hearted boys and girls — 

Eyes of light and eyes of darkness, 
Feet of coral, legs of pearls, 

Kacing toward the morning school-house 
Haifa head before their curls. 



Without the Children* 

O the weary solemn silence 

Of a house without the children, 

O the strange, oppressive stillness 

Whore the children come no more ; 
Ah! the longing of the s eepless 
For the soft arms of the children, 
Ah ! the longing lor tho faces 

Faces <g one forevermore ! 

l'eeping through the opening door— 

Strange it is to wake at midnight, 
Anr' not hear the children breathing, 
KothiTjg but the old clock ticking, 

Ticking, ticking by the door. 
Strange to 3ee the little dresses 
Hanging up there all the morning; 
And the gaiters— ah! their patter, 
L Wc will hear it nevermore 

On our mirth-forsaken floor. 

What is home without the children? 
'Tia the earth without its verdure, 
And the sky without its sunshine; 

Life is withered to the core! 
So we'll leave this dreary desert, 
And we'll follow the Good Shepherd 
To the prefr.er pastures vernal, 
Whore the lambs have "gono before" 
With the Shepherd evermore! 



CHILDREN'S KISSES. 



Scattered from among the roses, 
Where a budding wealth reposes, 

Little dimpled lips invite ; 
Springing from the heart's deep treasure. 
With a never-failing measure, 

Given with a pure delight. 



ROGUISH KISSES. 



Muffled footsteps softly tripping 
Up behind, and gently slipping 

Hound your near familiar arms ; 
Though warm hearts may touch unbidden. 
Where you keep your kisses hidden, 

Shelter them ftoni rude alarms. 



—Harper's Magazine. 



Aliob Cakbt. 



J 



r 



Mother. 

No earthly friend can fill a mother's place, 
When the dear one is with us here no more ; 
K" smile so sweet, so loving to tho core, 

As those which Deamed upon that faithful face, 

E( fleeting every meek, angelic grace; 
No words so Kind, so potent to restore, 
Joy to the soul, wh«;re sadness ruled before, 

As hers, who he'd us in her warm embrace; 

But when rh 
Has worn away, to pet the spirit free, 

Then we behold those looks of lc /e and light 
In fadeless lines impressed on memory, 

And feel thit but one mother e'er is given 

To guard us here below, or guide the way to Heaven 



_■■•■ T '■ Only a Bibr Small 

^§§1 Only a baby small, 
^'jr^ Dropt from the skins; 
*^ Only a laughing face, 
Two sunny eyes ; 
5$ Only two cherry lips, 
f^l'jsJ Oae chubby nose ; 
^^^?S Only two little hands, 

f^iuM Ten little tops; 

^jf>¥$, Only a golden head, 
f^claS Curly and soft; 
^-/^, Only a tongue that wags, 
(T^jM Loudly and oft : 
^2fl Only p little brain, 
■(^cJ& Empty of thought; 
fei^ only a little heart, 



€3< 



Troubled with naught ; 
Only a tender flower, 

sent us to rear; 
Only a life to love, 

While we are hero. 



BABY SOLDIER 

Another little private 
1 Mustered in 
t The army of temptatioii 
And of sin. 

Another soldier arming 
For the strife, 
. To fight the toilsome battles 
Of a life. 

Another little sentry, 

Who will stand 
On guard, while evils prowl 

On every hand. 



Lord, our little darling 

Guide and save, 
'Mid the perils of the ma 

To the grave ! 



- 



TROUBLESOME CHILDREN. 



Baby Ida. 



OUR BABY. 

Two little feet with sinless tread 

Como pattering across the floor; 
A little face of innocenco 

Peeps in at the open door ; 
Two little hands, with baby touch, 

Meet mine with soft caressings, 
And, in my soul, a new, great love 

Springs up with its waves of blessings. 

Two little lips of purity 

Whisper " mamma," with love; 
A little heart of tenderness, 

Eyes like the blue above. 
0, God, who gave this darling one, 

This dove unto our breast, 
Help us to guide its flight to Thee 

And regions of the blest. 

Help us to lead those little feet 

Away from sins and strife ; 
Help us to keep that little face 

Pure with a spotless life. 
Dear Father, shape those baby hands 

For works of noble usefulness ; 
O, make them patient, faithful hands, 

That earth's children will love and bless. 



And when those lips are marble cold — 

Marble forevermore — 
The precious heart in slumber still, 

Her faithful life-years o'er, 
0, Father, take unto Thy breast 

Our bird to realms above, 
And clasp it safe, forever safe,. 

Within thine arms of love. 

S. 



A. K. 



MY BCY. 



A lock of golden hair, 
Titd witn a silken thread; 

A tiny shoe;ec l\iug there; 
A euovv-white curiaiuou bed; 

A little broken toy ; 

A hook ali toiler and lorn; 
A jaunty vi hot cup my boy 
lias often, often worn — 

Alas, is all that's left! 

(such is iIk- Fattier'a will.) 
His joyous laughter sounds no more; 

Lie iittie heai i. is still. 



Little baby, just beginning 
Life's old problem, sad and sweet, 

You don't know the hearts you're winning 
With your tiny hands and Jeet, 

With your little mouth and chin, 

And your dainty rcse-leaf skin, 

And your wondrous violet eyes 

When their dreamy lids uprise. 

All your tender helplessness 

Waking Loyb's most sw«et excess, 

Happy little one! to be 

ftestrfed closo to hearts that love you; 
And I wonder if you see 

Tour young mother's eyes above yo*! 
While each da> new life in bringing, 
Do you hear her Bweet voice singing? 
Do you know her hands' fond touch? 
Oh, bo foi>d, she loves so much! 
Do you look up in her face, 
And instinctive leel its grace? 

Almost four weeks o'd, they say— 

Ah, dear baby ! Li& is long; 
You'll not knew, for ninny a day, 

How hearts sadden growing strong. 
Baby's feet are soft and white, 

And they need not travel yet; 
Baby's eyes are blue and bright, 

Sceii'g nothing to regret. 
As the flowers get nun and dew, 
So your life shall come to yon. 
Trust on, sleep on, without fear. 
Angels iuara you, baby dear! 

AuauSTA Bell. 

fiiiiiafoy. 

Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea, 
Low, low, breathe and blow, 

Wind of the western sea! 
Over the rolling waters go; 
Come from the dying moon, and blow, 

Blow him again to me; 
While my little one, while my pretty on