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rart  jf  |p  Cnmitflnnnral 


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)mTnunicants.  / £~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 0    0    2  5  2  22  0 

Excelsiors 1    1    0  0  10  9  0 


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_. 

vvirh  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  ?" 

—  0  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  ? 
— 0  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? — 

(0  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, 
YTV°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 — 
Bid  ,,     -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  youy! 
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  into1! 
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  0 
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 

hreaintti°vPnCl0Se!yh  ^  Elff C  )Vfire  rUW  '  °"  OcXrl,  1781,  for  a  day  of  thanksgiving. 
be    interwoven   with   our    daily   life.     Now,        March  19  1782.  for  a  d     yoi  fast|      |nd   fayer. 

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  strike1"!'  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. 


<a6l*/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  water,  1252  :  tallow  candles  for  lights,  1290  ;  spectacles  invented  by  an 

6.  Bellamy  died,  1790.  XJV*  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^imtti,,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  which1 
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. 

THTTRSTXAtTsEPTEMBEB    22,  1870. 
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, 
Vere  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.  'l5 


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  of 

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 ; 

0  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  ! 
0  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 

0  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.  \ 

0  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,  0  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,  0  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, 

6lMtll^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 

CS  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 

10Northboro\  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 

BtT^n?NSrtU3DanamNcW  Salem.  North  New  Salem. 

CXnhid1tao»?-  cKt effltl&l  a  m  and  4  p  m.    Due 

aV9rfnctten,2Sn,7KPuUand,  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?Kr9rlew  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- 

ffiOFFtfcl,HOeURS-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,  S5,303,">7.ai 

Number  of  Depositors,  15,333 

Hon   ALEXANDER  H.  BULLOCK,  President 

C.  A.  HAMILTON, Treasurer 

Worcester,  April  15,  1874. 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. 
Bank    open    on    Saturdoy   evenings  for 

the  convenience  of  depositors  only. 

Bank  hours— 9  to  1,5*  to  4.  Saturdays  9  to  1,  0  to  8- 
JOHN  C.  MASON,  President. 

C.  M.  RENT,  Treasurer, 
febll 


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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,  15V2  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 

8t36?  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 

9TW«  Thomas  and  #*g£j*?*gttji 

store    corner  Prospect   and   Summer   street   ana 

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

„tH  Vice's  corner  Belmont  and  Liberty  streets. 
at5?.'  Lincoln  Square,  Salisbury  ^^^^£ 

Co6mpan?&P-Key  'JSSS  «-  "d  WmW 

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

'••MStCoerncr 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 

St5l?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 


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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  8trong  enough  to  maintain  it  against  opposition, 

are  too  extravagant.  \  1°*  if^ZTl^lV  °pinTion  £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,Parcd  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®rtunes,  and  the  equals,  if  they  oan, 
at.  *  ft    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, 

'     |tar«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  sliame 

Thy  pitying  eye  is  on  Thy  cr*ature  still, 

t  4£d  ^hou  ca'1st  roake-  Eternal  Source  and  Goal ! 
a    trYJong  7ears  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. 

0  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. 

0  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,  0  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,  0  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  mJ  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  3rour  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— 0iu  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,  "Howr  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,  0  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," 
0  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,  0  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?bVefS^ad^ie  sood  fortune  to 

Hon.    'l    o  onl/tfi  n    ~H  f  a,ul  a  very  ^wae*  cHaposl- 
extreme  plSBfi^S^g8  hM  WfW  lur 
regret  that  she  was  not  beanfrfni    hit     U  ' 
Plied  that  she  ought  to  too thankYm    h£a7?,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 


/ 


CHRISTMAS  POETR 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; 

"I1  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  r1 

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|pfffi|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?PFy  *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?  mi4ht  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    ForV™esof  »  Newsboy,"  we  rsad  that 

K  newsbovd  S"y  l0f  °Ul'  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  PKse^^''   questioned 

'•™rln'tEi™iyOU'  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        "Wen     xivv     ,,       , 

people   turned,   twisted    and    wrangled    over    say?»  ''   ^  ^  >'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,    neiShbor  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  1IvinS  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,1dg„1eI1t'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   hadL 
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  kind  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  qJ  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  prinCiple  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-  >lon  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 ! 

0  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„0„>.^i  »         ,    ^eacon  bray  to  his    she  concluded  it  must  be  still  hidden  at  The  foot 

TwTr  m    hOUSehold  onthe  evening  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,  but  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  heannS  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  Pa' 

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  •      P1^  and  carrying  in  one  hand  a  long 

se  foo„s„  P„rs  |  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 7ery  welL  l'n  Put  jt  into  my  lantern  to-ni»-ht 
shorter  while  the  rest  were  decidedly  demonstra-  \~„Te0ithf  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  8s  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  every1 
housekeeper  knows.  g 

'Foreordination'  lasted  till  tea  was  ready,  and  I 
even  after  for  the  deacon  was  obliged  to  inter  ' 


— ,  ...„^  „  uviu«iK  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    nll« X    J^      r»_       _       , 


Spice  D&t 

-i1    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   iiM1.npnn/.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    „&"fei,nS  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™ «'  otStVVe'}  vpon-  theWSe1ve«  the  fi!ies  of 
p^hl'  a rCle'  &H  *hi!«  btflers  were  simply 
of  &S LT  aaA  the  like-    But  as  the  spirit 

tL «« f^-'l80    bCgan    t0    eXtCnfI'  a"d   'he    h°™  Of 

c ill P°sJ-r,d«  w«s  more  frequently  heard,  as  fa- 
cilities for  intercourse  Were  increased,  and  men 
received  enlarged  ideas,  their  desire  for  speedy 
}nrUUu\U°n  ,nJcrea,s1ed.  ?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 
«ying8,  and  modestly  christened  their  bantlings 

Exdo  ,i?0P5'?rffhN0teS'  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^aip«ftne^gra^Ca,ae  the  PioneeifEmi- 
Worl  I  Pa,t,hpfinder-  Bordcf  State  and  Western 
i l?n  1*  ««£5  7ere  more  J°n™als  whose  aspi- 
nS  VCThed  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.  ui" verse,  and  the  Universal  £Hcr- 

hrfIfh?**?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?etBTThe  SPirit»«list,  Sweden- 
KS'  TllefHigher  Law,  and  Equalizationist. 
3  h  SeC-tS  all°  had  their  Pecul'a'  organs,  in 
Chfttf  names  of  t,)e  denominations 
JSififtS.  « **"?•  •  As  these  seets 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  tlK  W»  such  a«  theyAK! 
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  anTBiluard 

The  history  of  American  politics  can  be  essilv 
traced  by  newspaper  names.  In  the  the  early 
days,  when  there  were  few  disturbmgquest^ns7 
the  political  complexion  of  a  ncSaner  w£ 
desipnued  by  the  general  name  oT' ffiral It 
Sog.',KeTCrat  and  independent.  Then  to  ! 
S£  ^Sfg?'  NativJ American  andlrien 
£m )> ■    n  x         1nlVhedf-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;m0°^  °l  the  co"vulsion 
Kation,  and  New  ?£  '  W*LTlH^  the  New 
Issue,  and  perhans  shS?!  ««  e  uhave  DOw  a  New 
CotfsoHdatStP  c5nSjr°«  have  a  Dictator, 
archist.  '    Cenfral,zationist,    and   Mon- 

hu?w^^^paeutsyXrat.s,  tbr are  man^ 

are  the  Alligator,  Screech  Ow i  ?wA.m°?K  °ihers 
er,  Rising  Tide    Itinera.^    m  Wojv.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 nPtl0ns.  on  the 

discussion  m  our  art  community,  wheh  win  we 

SSW in  preveiltinS  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 

lenlTSlf'  f0rKSUC,)  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  FWS  °r  U,lk»°wn  artisKf 
J!J,  -  1  ?7B  a  P°,nter  or  sculptor  has  merit  it  is 
no  probable  that  he  will  be  without  fame     The 

SrPs  if,Ln0ttl,e?,acerorthe  works  of  begin- 
ners ,  if  we  are  to  have  works  oi  art  there    thev 

dSped  geenbuCsSt  P1'°dUCtS  °f  ™^  ^  -S 

ic£noVSKe^di8tSC^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 

'  contZrap0n  ^R^'orS  the  European 
continent.    Rogers's  bronze  doors  in  the  capitol 

She  San7r.°n,y  t0  thc1frons  g«tes  which  are 
InrM ory,°/Fl"renTce  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.^H8'  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  ltno<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  tor  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,   wl,ilt-  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   OHITEOH   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 — 
F1      '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  kn5"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       othint 

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 ; 
WTith  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  then1  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  wrait, 
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  welia-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,  «We  loved  once," 
Blasphemers  ?    Is  your  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  wi!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;  ,,,>,,_.. 

2fal  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. 

'"ill15  mE  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?»1hDtre  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^'^  "i6  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  Iight? 
And  when,  as  flowers  kept  too  l0ng  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*fe  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  discrowued  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  many  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  **  >> 

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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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S'B.fi 


'So  ^ 


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  sliare  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\Tew  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 
origina1   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  GcmuS?-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 

mThe  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  0  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\ostVfratnS''nrCsrman»  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  and  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' 0f„  Fr"'kf°rt»  °'  An'  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  iake  whioh  burns  wid  fier  an  brim- 
Blebrated  tragedienne  RacheL      It  represents  a  monu-  N*PleB.  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*«  recently  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  peter,  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  ^^  C01iscienceg5  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  doct0rman.  De  lawyer's  concience  will  'low  him 
he  backed  and  he  forewarded,  and  at  larst  to  strech  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- 

ial**  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  sjtewated  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  midnight  oil,  in  deep  and  laborus  research,  dat  it  must  be 

rHE  main  STREET  railroad  CROSSING  ,  ^  ^  gulf  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,o0ene,  to  tne  de  fire  fl     an,        viousl     arterwards.    Now, 

tIa  in,  of  mv  mediser  '  Who  is  waggon,  to  me  and  to  her  who   answer   to  .  u  J  or  trembfin>  sinners,  wat  noise 

^^^J0"^   ™^uVo  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  plirnfPrence  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  ^  ^  ^^  fomidrto  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  sufierflnd  Qut  aU  ,bout  it<  Dere  was  some  wicked  sailors 'got  so 
mower.  I  have  disappointed  my  custer-nie  to  de  top  0f  de  mountain  where  de\ 'ruption  comes 
mers  who  expect  my  butter,  and  my  hensfrolll  once)  dat  next  day  de  found  dcmselfs  broke  out;  wm 
-ire  all  lain",  the  price  of  egsis  faling,  anda  '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  luulp^ail,  no  matteP  bovv  much  you  '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  cn. 
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  _ 

mJ^^r^aamnowdePrfL3,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,b1y  * '  .  n,      wb  ]et  me  tell  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™Zr  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!"  8aid  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.baii.  • 

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  congregashun  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.  0  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  house  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. 


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'  —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 


y 


y 


> 


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 
iy^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  \fij  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- 
TJ,«?e  ffave  him  tne  Power  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  0  ;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  Becret  of  good  and  bad  luck.  There  are  men, 
aSSTS^iS»/hafflt  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     Fue  wher. 

burnt  up  his  luck  by  his  hot  temper,  which  pro- 


strange  person  coming  into  the  room  is  at  once  fiCe. 


quarter  of  an  hour  every  fly  in  the  room  has  ap-  "uriu  UF .  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  "witn  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    .         •  -«•  ,  tu-    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.        steadilv  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  .-    in(,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-  ^know  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  *wil  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  closing3 
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  dcad  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  0f 
|  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 
handled1 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  a1 
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  oF  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 
assarsin  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  thar.  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<'8f8  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'0'"  '  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'mCe,  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  p1!  ^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  ■TiHi-aiwiii.,  mim  mi'WMmmwrm 


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,cAA^• 


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.Rprivate  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  IIni8    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  atteraptfithe    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  tv  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,  u4*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™°oveetr 
a  reason  why  he  shouldn't  live  twenty  y^™/re*: 
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^ilte' ia  ChiId8's  Publishers'  Circular  gives 
the  following  personal  sketch  of   Mr.  Fletcher 

ofXflrm^f8?^6  aC?°?,nt  cf  th3  earl?  history 
or  tne  firm  of  Harper  ot  Brothers : 

four£eh0^arrr  is  the  y°unS:est  born  of  the 

FaS^  «nVhe  SOkS  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\meraIbf  °/  the  Methodist   Eniscopa 

SJLninflnfi'ft   tfce,  -SOnS  *«M»>re,  and*  a  man 

no^oa  iur  industry  and  integrity. 

x>rari%«*Xohn-  H,arper  were  indentured  ap-  , 
when  thpt  ihe  PrintinS  business  by  their  father  ; 

5Su£fJ-HeK-of  W  a?e'    Jat"e8  *as  **■ ' 
;1°Pni!h,ed,,«.h«yoht£fi)rSi8   great   strength 

Ms  wldlKaryKeildn?nce  in  working  at 
nnMil0^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      rf  ®f   +u„Tr>n  „„<.     *„„,^u„,.  >>„;*  „„j  *i „ 

buildings,  in  a  central  court,  and  is  protect-  J*?0.1'  ?<*  U  P.ut  on  £??£h?r  5ait,  a°?  ^T0^ 
ed  by  a  brick  tower.  The  floors  are  laid  on  brick  out  their  lmes  again>  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  0r  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       .   «TrfVpnfivmiH 

bores  of  this  country,  told  once  a  little  anecdote  Doy  murderer,  tnus  .  i  recently  paid 
of  Mr.  James  Harper.  ''I  asked  the  Mayor,"  a  visit  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."  ment  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 

thThaUs  about  the  way  in.  which  the  labors  of  kind  of  books  do  yOU  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  you  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 vthe  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"'  BHnnk'  ^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^'Upb?i.Onsh0rc  anfl  PlU  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  hiSiX1?airSOf  hands  *  acommaqnd er. 
the   boat -is  dirty  or  out  of  order  the  fault 

U™™lX?h%n0  T  be  ^«2I  there 
quickly  g       (1°' and  make'>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  was  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  Jenkins1,  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  lmrne(  iiatcly  fell  in 
love  with  his  daugh'T,  Lucv>  whom  he  after- 
wards married,  an  to  whom  w<5  ftre  indebted 
for  thi?  ord  of  his  life  His  account  of  the 
I'  nu  '.ng  with  tUc7  Bakewell,  is  naive, 
"  *  and  quite  characteristic. 
it  me  necc'S8arJr  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  "  Pennsylvaiua>  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  FAITHFUL  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  -aave.  At  the  moment  when  Camilla 
had  takrvrt  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,  UOme.  Camilla  followed,  and  confided 
2  im  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 Vfle  young  artist  everywhere.  Dilettanti, 
artists,  everybody  overwhelmed  her  with  praise 
ap,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«eP*  &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  Mtitement,  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.  8Ufbjecte ;  *»*  .Te  are  ^^ 
,  .  ,  .  r rT  ,  n-,  ■  "C1"uuu  BUts  tUiindebted  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  *°  say>  Mrs.  Unwin  and  I  together 

burst  forth  into  immoderate  fits  of  laughter  an1*1.,**  8Uch  lTe* I  k#eP  *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  ffk  she  haAu  ^e  Perfomw*  ** 
•,    •  ,  .  e  „.    '      ,        ■" "however,  with  cheerfulness  hardly  ever  equaled 

it  is  a  sad  commentary  upon  this  to  hear  thMd  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  awrete  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>"ml>a1hy  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  ject  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  ^espr,''(,  '■    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 
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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. 


I1'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  tra  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,VTa 
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  manifested  extraordinar 
existing  in  intensity  and  delicacy,  was  destined  ?  5 ha t  r^kSttS^oS.  or^KS™£S0  f°  doaPflbo  <»  y« 
S^Bftrtt1  ?*  t0  ^ocks  of  severest  sor-  t^lt^^^oJT  *"  *"*  t0  "* 


row.  Th0ugh)  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  for  he  had  invited  a  large  party  of  his  Weimar 
Sir T£v l  ffiw  ^agraVeSt  °i  °Ur  readere  C°?ld  musical  acquaintances  to  make  them  acquainted  with 
?al'v  nn^»^gh  ^V reacher«se.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"Chra  V?™'  ™g  tiil  all  the  guests  wire  assembled  ere  he  showed 
™™  n » EAT  if  Tw^"  1?cllI}e?  toTf"  himself.  Till  that  period  his  son  and  daughter-ia 
Ik-tI  U  '  Wh,at  \siraPleftonttie  law  did  the  duties  of  host  in  the  most  amiable  way., 
K  L 1  f T  i  fT'^  e??teS-IPltt"  A  ceitain  solemnity  was  visible  among  the  guests^ 
Sft  S^f  a*J«  the  fathemness  of  Agestlaus,  ior  to  {he  entramCof  the  rreat  poet>  aifd  even  those, 
Srjl'l?  t»e/n"als..ftSParta  for  Pinty  of  patn-*  ho  stood  onterms  of  intiraacy  with  him  underwent 
oti&m  valor  and  versatility  as  a  military  command-      f    u      of  veneration.    His  slow,  serious  walk,  hiJ 

S£*™^ iom^Tom  thVfe%20+.co^mo»amon2hls  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«<GoJod  evening"  was  addressed  to  all,  but  hel 
penty  ot  his  kingdom,  was  found,  by  a  friend  who  walked       to  Zelter6nrst  and  shook  his  hand  cordiallvl 
had  come  to  visit  him,  amusing  his  son  after  a  homely  Felix  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  ariJ 

cause  it  was  notified  in  the  dispatch  that  the  victory  said  lNow  you  shaU  pla/ us  g0mething."  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  thor0ughly  childish  devotion  and  confidence j 
he  had  seen  until  he  had  children  himself."  £  ^rnat  sha]i  i  piay  ?" 

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  voiee  ;  "  whatever  is  not  too  difficu*! 
sought  an  interview  with  h:m.    The  learned  French-  f0rvou  " 

man  did  not  expect  to  find  the  preceptor  of  Germany      r/0    "     who  knew  what  lbe  boy  could  do,  and 
in  the  nursery,  reading  indeed,  yet  rocking  the  cradle  n0task  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,  chilQhood  and  its  claims,  that  a  lesson  was  conveyed  JJX8  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  Yrtucl,>  amia  many  D00KS'  haa  not  Deen  learned  De-  when  to  ieaVe  off,  and  thus  the  effect  he  produce! 
insane  cashier.    Of  the  $140,000  in  government  Jerf-        ..'-.,         ,        ,,,  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  ais  hands  froia  the  keys  after  a  lou. I 
and  municipal  bonds  ah  were  restored;  of  the  came  a  father,  was  regarded  with  a  love  which  never  finaiei 

$150,000  in  notes  and  bills  receivable,  all  were  re-  lost  its  freshness,  and  often  gushed  forth.  In  a  letter  2eiter  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]ation  was  so  clo&e  that  any  trace  of  reserve  vppn  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  indifference  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  prosecuted  in  cloudy  weather.  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  ciai]y!  Was  full  of  the  warmest  delight.    He  eneoar 
ivith  which  they  were  identified— and  artlessly  sym-  aged  the  iad<  to  whose  childish  features  joy,  pride1 

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>  patting  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  you  must  piay  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,  «  £ut  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  °ver 
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 UAKERS  AND  PURITANS. 
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.  Mary1 
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  and  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  mcf  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  \Tr  Abbott  Lawrence 
was  the  American  minister,  be  constantly  at- 
tended his  church.  He  spoke  rf  Mr  Lawrence 
with  much  affection*  and  ended  t, v  rsavi"g>  that 
until  the  day  of  his  death  he  (Mir  i.)  had  sen, 
him  (Di  C.)  every  year  a  barrel  of  Nevv'ton  piP" 
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  Am011o- 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  twenty-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  tM  Qn  *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  JU 
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  omi4 
to  mention  that  a  general  and  superior  system  of 
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  of 
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 


^10H^lAu,f.riHa!,;lv,sitil^EnS^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?'  baJl 
eSot,ieriU  *»*"**«-*-»  *w  miles   of  jX  «^yS^SSf^-S^. 

°^f qiWU .kh^shchsx.  .  re^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     tlie    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 
HCJSA  and  <Llorioa8  cause  committed  by  Heaven  to  m n?, 
^„arfS/?Ci*i,a-nds'  now  lie  beneath  a  stately  monument 
erected  to  their  memory  near  the  colleges  in  NeTll""e, 
unlv^lSn0^?1^6'  °f  ailti9Ua?ian  &fig?Si    i 


Here  also  hangs  the  double  bridle  used  by  the,    nnd  no  man  sIl0uld  li?htly  uudertak9  such   a 
i-l,  when  at  Penshurst,  m  his  rides  with      vigjt  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  all  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  i8a!Dld  riunicg  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'loP0  oi  tne'r  l'ves, 

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  reqil|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   8ive   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°  UP  often  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  8taJ8  J"081  vital  when  it  seems  to  go 
rites  made  theirs,  and  their  only  ones,  by  any  away  5  and  that  death,  though  it  come  to  such 
thought  or  mention  of  their  names  with  his.  £  a8  J?f»  S0  loved  and  80  ycarned  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  nSht'  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  °UIto  ^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>awill 
sovereignty,  and  her   benignant   power  to  bless  ™  l,he  f°f  and  hls  boastuigs  are  humbled  and  still ! 
her  children,  and  fold  tbem  under  her  brooding™1;6  *welc°me  *°  wounding  and  combat  and  scars 
wings,  to  nourish  and  keep  them,  as  she  only  ,And  the  glory  of  <»**— for  the  Stripes  and  the  Stars ! 
can ,  in  freedom    in  honor    and  in  peace.     And  !Prom  prairiej  0  plowman ,  speed 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  „Uu:.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-   .„jfl,„    ,„       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  0r  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  porwiird ,  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  The  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;trs  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  0  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  inseparable. , 

"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  al1 
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-vn  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  iadies.  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 
War— 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^'??  WT  *}«* Pin"  uP°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= 

Truing  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(>"Pi  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  take  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?  "f8  \h°  hBf  avte,y  form  fof 
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  -    BaUeT    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-genera1.    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 
qirtprp 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  chapters. 

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  ^oraei  snare  a  father's  parting  sorrow  ; 
and  of  an  open,  generous   disposition.      You         „  weeP  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 
expected1?  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  conveniency7 
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 ! 
0  !  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!easui 

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 — 

Tveep  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  Bn  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. 

The1  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  one,  sleeps. 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest; 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon. 
Rest,  rest  on  mother's  breast; 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon. 
Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest; 
Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west 

Under  the  silver  moon; 
Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one,  sleep. 
Alfred  Tennvxnn. 

The  Child  Angel. 

Little  tongues  that  chatter,  chatter- 
Little  feet  that  patter,  patter 
With  a  ceaseless  motion  all  the  day- 
Little  eyes  that  softly  lighten- 
Little  cheeks  that  flush  and  brighten— 
*lttle  voices  singing  at  their  play— 
Tn  my  memory  awaken 
Thoughts  of  one  who  has  been  taken— 
Of  a  little  heart  that  beats  no  more— 
Of  a  little  voice  that's  ringing, 
'Mid  the  angels  sweetly  singing, 
gongs  of  gladness  on  a  distant  shore. 

•  Chambers'  Journal.'" 


When  you  get  tired  of  their  noise,  just  think  whi 
the  change  would  be  should  it  come  to  a  total  silence 
Nature  makes  a  provision  for  strengthening  the  chil 
dren's  lung3  by  exercise.    Babies  cannot  laugh  so  a* 
to  get  much  exercise  in  this  way,  but  we  never  heat: 
of  one  that  could  not  cry.    Crying,  shouting,  screan1: 
ing,  are  nature'*  lung  exercise,  and  if  you  do  not  \v* 
for  it  in  the  parlor,  pray  have  a  place  devoted  to  P 
and  do  not  debar  the  girls  from  it,  with  the  notn? 
that  it  is  improper  for  them  +o  laugh,  jump,  cif 
scieam,  and  run  races  in  the  ope  air.     After  a  whii: 
one  gets  used  to  this  juvenile  music,  and  can  evei 
write  and  think  more  consecutively  with  it  tha; 
without  it,  piovided  it  does  not  run  into  objurgatory 
foims.    We  remember  a  boy  that  used  to  go  to  school 
past  our  study  window,  and  he  generally  made  a  con- 
tinuous stream  of  roar  to  the  school-house  and  back 
again.    We  supposed  at  first  he  had  been  nearly  mur- 
dered by  some  one,  and  had  wasted  considerable  com 
.  passion  on  the  wrongs  of  infant  innocence ;  but,  on  in 
'  quiring  into  his  case,  found  him  in  perfectly  good  con 
dition.    The  truth  was,  that  the  poor  little  fellow  had 
no  mirthfulness  in  his  composition,  therefore  couldn't 
laugh  and  shout,  and  so  nature,  in  her  wise  compen 
sations,  had  given  him  more  largely  the  faculty  of 
roaring.    He  seemed  to  thrive  upon   it,  and  we  be 
lieve  is  still  doing  well.    Laughing  and  hallooing, 
however,  are  to  be  preferred,  unless  a  child  shows  a, 
decided  incapacity  for  those  exercises. 

Our  eye  alights  just  now  upon  the  following  touch- 
ing little  scrap,  written  by  an  English  laborer,  whose 
I  child  had  been  killed  by  the  falling  of  a  beam  : 

"Sweet,  laughing  child  !  the  cottage  door 

Stands  free  and  open  now  ; 
But  oh  !  its  sunshine  gilds  no  more 

The  gladness  of  thy  brow  ! 
Thy  merry  step  h»th  passed  avay, 
Thy  laughing  sport  is  hashed  for  aye. 

"  Thy  mother  by  the  fireside  Bits 

And  listens  for  thy  call ; 
And  slowly, — slowly  as  she  knita, 

Her  quiet  tears  down  fab  ; 
Her  Hide  hindering  thing  is  gone, 
And  undisturbed  she  may  work  on." 

— Religious  Map-azine. 


MY    BACOHTEB, 


SILENT    KiSSES. 


Some  strange,  sweet  chord  of  kindred  feeling 
home  nameless  yearning  softly  stealing, 

Earth  has  no  dearer  tie  than  tliis. 
Heart  to  heart  in  sacred  beating, 
Lips  in  soul-co  i  *ting, 

Does  heaven  sul'ord  is  purer  bliss? 


MOTHER'S    KISSES. 

til-chins  full  of  badness, 
Little  fcces  full  of  sadness, 

Claim  a  mother's  tender  kiss  • 
Every  little  diildish  sorrow 
Finds  a  solace  none  can  borrow, 

In  a  mother's  soft  caress. 


She  U  our  lily  and  our  rose, 
Our  darling  little  blue  eyed  girl; 

Her  golden  hair  falls  round'  her  faoa 
In  many  a  bright  and  glossy  curl; 

And  soft  her  baby  laughter  rings, 

It  is  as  when  a  robin  sings. 

Her  smile  is  like  the  light  itself, 

So  very  pure  and  glad  it  is ; 
I've  seen  the  brow  of  pain  unbend. 

In  answer  to  her  sweet  caress. 
Her  tears  are  like  t fee  early  shower* 
Which  fall  'mid  sunshine  on  the  flowere, 

Ah  me!  how  weary  were  our  home, 
If  aught  should  still  those  dauoiug  feet, 

And  if  she  never  more  should  come, 
Her  lovinsr  father's  step  t»  meet. 

My  God  permit  it  not  to  be, 

For  she  is  life  itself  to  me! 

I'm  watching  o'er  her  as  she  sleeps; 

A  holy  calm  is  all  around; 
Her  breathing  is  so  soft  and  low, 

I  scarce  can  catch  the  srentle  sound. 
With  almost  awe  myiipirit  bows; 
I  "  have  an  angel  in  the  house!" 


C 


The  Three  lAUle  Chair*. 

They  sat  alone  by  the  bright  wood  fire 
The  gray  haired  dame  and  the  aged  sire, 
Dreaming  of  days  gone  by; 

As  each  heart  uttered  a  sigh. 
For  their  sad  and  tearful  eyes  descried 
Three  little  chairs  placed  side  by  side, 

Old-las'n^ed  eS^-eLy  stood, 
Their  seats  of  nag  ami  ******  of  wood, 
With  their  backs  so  straight  and  tall. 

Then  the  sire  shook'his  silyery  head, 
And  with  trembling  voice  he  gently  said- 

"Mother.  those  empty  chairs! 
They  bring  us  such  sad,  sad  thoughts  to-night, 
We'll  put  them  forever  out  of  sight, 
in  the  small,  dark  room  up  stairs." 
But  she  answered,  "Father,  no,  not  yet, 
For  I  look  at  them  and  I  torget 

That  the  children  went  away. 
The  boys  come  back,  and  our  Mary,  too, 
,/ ith  her  apron  on  of  checkered  blue, 

And  sit  here  every  day. 
Johnnv  still  whittles  a  ship's  tall  masts, 
\nd  Willie  his  leaden  bullets  casts, 

While  Mary  her  patchwork  sews: 
At  evening  time  three  childish  prayers 
Go  Up  to  God  from  those  little  chairs, 

So  softly  that  no  one  knows. 
Johnny  comes  back  from  the  billow  deep, 
Willie  wakes  from  his  battle-field  sleep, 

lo  say  a  good-night  to  me; 
Marv's  a  wife  and  mother  no  more. 
But  -  tired  child  whose  play-time  is  o  er, 

And  comes  to  rest  on  my  knee. 
So  let  them'stand  there,  though  empty  now, 
And  every  time  when  alone  we  bow 

At  the  Father's  throne  to  pray. 
We'll  ask  to  meet  the  children  above, 
In  our  Saviour's  home  of  rest  and  love, 

Where  no  child  goeth  away." 
m*  Mrs   H  T.  Perry,  in  Evangelist. 


A  shadow  o'er  our  household  rests,— 

A  void  amid  our  home, 
For  we  miss  the  music  of  little  feet 

That  nevermore  may  come  ;— 
The  winsome  >crace.  the  merry  laugh 

That  cast  I  1  care  aside, 
The  centre  oTour  hope  and  joy.— 

"The  little  boy  that  died." 
Tears  have  ttone  by  and  Summer  oft 

Her  garlands  fair  hath  spread,— 
And  Winter  his  white  mantle  o'er 

The  little  slumberer  laid, 
And  o'er  the  consecrated  spot 

Full  many  an  Autumn  slsrhea,— 
Still,— Mill  we  mourn  our  cherished  one,— 

"The  little  boy  that  died." 
"Suffer  the  little  one  to  come 
To  me,"— the  Saviour  said,— 
And  took  within  his  arms  the  child 

Who  died— but  is  not  dead. 
Died.— bttt  not  dead ;  gone.— with  us  still  ;— 

I,ife  ol  our  lives  a  part, 
Living  in  memories  sad  a-d  sweet, 

Within  each  yearning  he^art. 
Often  amid  a  youthful  throng 

Sporting  in  merry  glee. 
We  seem  to  hear  again  the  voice 

That  now  is  hushed  for  aye ; 
And  when  the  twilight  shadows  fall,— 

As  o'er  the  gloaming  far, 
And  misty  waste  of  bill  and  vale 
Smiles  down  the  vAper  star,— 

Sitting  within  its  pensive  light 

As  oft  in  daysagone, 
A  childish  fact'  with  suimv  brow 

<  >nce  wore  is  pressed  to  mine— 
A  dimpled  hand  earresaingly 

Agaiust  my  chetk  is  laid. 
While  to  my  heart  I  fold  agaia 

"The  little  boy  that  died." 

Only  a  tiny,  silken  curl,— 

Mementoes  tad  and  dear.— 
The  little  ball-worn  garment*  laid 

Aside  with  tearful  care,— 
Only  the  haunting  of  a  tone,— 

The  silence  and  the  pall  ;— 
Only  the  lone,— the  nameless  void,— 

Oh  life  I— can  Out  be  all? 
Ah  no!— for  in  the  bright  Beyond 

Is  a  realm  to  death  unknown, 
W  here  bands  long  parted  clasp  once  more, 

And  severed  ties  are  one;— 
Where  they -the  loved.-tbe  gone  before,- 

For  us.  are  waiting  now. 
And  crowns  immortal  ever  deck 

The  radiant  spirit-brow. 
And  so  we  teach  our  hearts  to  say 
Humbly—  'Thv  will  be  done.'— 
Waiting  beside  the  River  cold 

To  cross  it  one  by  one,^ 
In  God's  own  time  we  too  will  go 

Over  the  silent  tide, 
And  clasp  again  our  angel-chlld,— 
"The  little  boy  that  died." 


THE  AX  GELS  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

Three  pairs  of  dimpled  arms  as  white  as  snow, 

Hold  me  in  soft  embrace ; 
Three  little  cheeks,  lite  velvet  peaches  soft, 

Were  placed  against  my  luce. 

Three  pairs  of  eyes,  so  clear,  so  deep,  so  bright, 

Lo"ked  up  in  mine  this  even:  .,,„ 

Three  pair-  of  lips  kissed  me  a  sweet  "good-night, 
tr    TJ.ree  £ttlc  fovms  ft  om  heaven. 

Ah!  it  is  well  that  litre  one?  should Jow as! 

It  lights  our  faitb  when  dim, 
To  know  that  once  cur  blessed  Saviour  bade  <hem 

Bring  "little  ones"  to  Him. 

Ard  said  He  not  "Of  wich  h  heaven ,"  and  blessed  thorn, 

And  held  them  to  His  breast  f 
Is  it  not  sweet  to  know  ihat  w.nen  they  leave  us, 

'lis.  then  they  go  to  r«st? 

I  And  yet.-ve  tiny  M>£ers  of  my  house, 

i  Three  hearts  encased  in  mine, 

How  'twould  he  shattered  if  the  Lord  should  say : 
"  Those  angeis  are  not  thine  I 


ASLEEP. 


JESSIE. 

Jessie  is  a  little  worker, 

Loves  to  sew  and  knit, 
Rocks  the  baby  in  the  cradle,    ' 

Loves  to  sing  to  it. 

Every  one  may  find  a  helper 

In  her  willing  hand  ; 
Pray  don't  say  you  think  "supply  is 

Greater  than  demand." 

Lovely,  lively,  happy  Jessie, 

Happy  all  the  day, 
Play  may  not  be  work  for  Jessie, 

But  her  work  is  play. 

Idle  hands  are  very  apt  to 

Make  a  weary  heart ; 
But  right  employment  true  enjoyment 

Ever  will  impart. — Little  Pilgrim. 


?J> 


My  little  baby-boy  hath  cried 
Himself  asleep  at  some  light  childish  pain, 
And  on  his  face  its  traces  still  abide, 
Like  shapes  of  cloud  o'er  meadows  flying, 
IjpoD  bis  cheeks  a  tear-drop  lying, 
As  on  a  leaf  a  single  drop  of  rain. 

See !  as  I  bend  above  his  face, 
The  shade  oi  grief  dies  like  the  hurrying  cloud, 
And  like  a  gleam  oi  sunshine  in  its  place, 
The  shadow  yielding  to  the  splendor, 
A  smile  so  sunny  breaks,  and  tender, 
It  seems  the  smile  will  speak  aloud. 

Say!  what  is  passing  in  his  sleep? 
What  are  the  di earns  across  his  vision, driven? 
Hath  one  too  young  to  sow  begun  to  reap? 
Doth  he,  at  one  light  g'ief  repining, 
The  worthlessness  ot  earth  divining, 
Already  dresm  of  sweeter  things  in  heavon? 
—Northern,  Monthly. 

IFT"—™111   '■ '""■" "■"'    '     *    mi-""1  — 

TO  MY  DAUGHTER  OH  HBR  BIRTHDAT. 

Dear  Fanny !  nine  long  years  ago, 
While  yet  the  morning  sun  was  low, 
And  rosy  with  the  eastern  glow 

The  landscape  smiled ; 
"Whilst  lowed  the  newly-wakened  herds— 
Sweet  as  the  early  6ong  of  birds, 
I  heard  those  first,  delightful  words, 

"Thou  hast  a  child!" 

Along  vith  that  uprising  dew 

Tears  glistened  in  my  eyes,  though  few, 

To  ban  a  daw»ing  quite  as  new 

To  me,  as  Time : 
It  was  not  sorrow — not  annoy — 
But  like  a  happy  maid,  though  coy, 
With  grief-like  welcome,  even  joy 

Forestalls  its  prime. 
So  may'st  thou  live,  dear!  many  years, 
In  all  the  bliss  that  life  endears, 
Not  without  smiles,  nor  yet  from  tears 

Too  strictly  kept. 
When  first  thy  infant  littleness 
I  folded  in  my  fond  caress, 
The  greatest  proof  of  happiness 

Was  this— I  wept.  „_  __     . 

[Thomas  Hood. 


u, 


ABOTTT    A    CHILD. 

Mother  !  watch  the  little  feet 
Climbing  o'er  the  garden  wall, 

Bounding  through  the  busy  street, 
Ranging  cellar,  shed,  and  hall. 

Never  count  the  moments  lost ; 

Never  mind  the  time  it  costs  ; 

Little  feet  will  go  astray, 

Guide  them,  mother,  while  you  may. 

Mother!  watch  the  little  hand 

Picking  berries  by  the  way, 
Making  houses  In  the  sand, 

Tossing  up  the  fragrant  hay. 
Never  dare  the  question  ask  : 
"  "Why  to  me  the  weary  task  ?" 
The  same  little  hands  may  prove 
Messengers  of  light  and  love. 

Mother  !  watch  the  little  tongue 
Prattling  eloquent  and  wild  ; 

What  is  said  and  what  is  sung, 
By  the  joyous,  happy  child. 

Catch  the  words  while  yet  unspoken, 

Stop  the  vow  before  'tis  broken ; 

This  same  tongue  may  yet  proclaim 

Blessing  in  a  Savior's  name. 

Mother!  watch  the  little  heart,      y 
Beating  soft  and  warm  for  you  ; 

Wholesome  lessons  now  impart ; 
Keep,  oh  keep  that  young  heart  true. 

Extricating  every  weed, 

Sowing  good  and  precious  seed ; 

Harvest  rich  you  then  may  see, 

Ripen  for  eternity. 


CHILD     AND    CHERUB. 


BY  EDWARD  P.  NOWSLIi, 


Baby  Nora,  peering  out 

Through  the  casement,  gave  a  shout 

So  full  of  glee,— 

Its  melody 
Blending  with  the  thrush's  triB, 
Like  the  breeze  with  rippling  rut,— 
'Twas  a  scene  so  sweet  to  see, 
That  I  gazed  admiringly. 

Passing  by  her  home  next  day, 
All  is  mute,— n»child  at  play, 

No  open  blind, 

No  face  I  find! 
Baby  Nora,  why  so  still, 
Dost  thou  sleep  or  art  thou  ill? 
Hush  I^-givo  ear!  her  spirit  is 
HviKTiinor  hoavouiy  harmonies ! 


BABT     «*OSJ5. 


See!  the  night  is  drawing  on, 

Evening's  purple  car 
Slowly  ariveth  up  the  East, 

Loithe  sunset  star ! 
Twilight  sings  her  lullaby; 

Daylight's  curtains  close; 
Twilight,  gathers  on  thy  face, 

Little  Baby  Rose. 

All  tha  little  playful  wiles 

Half  imprisoned  lie, 
Playing  bo-peep  round  the  mouth, 

In  the  half-closed  eye. 
Bring  the  lights,  stir  up  the  fire; 

While  it  cheerful  glows, 
We  must  dress  thee  tor  thy  bed, 

Little  Baby  Rose! 

See  the  little  outppread  hands, 

Tbe  tiny  dimpled  fret. 
Fashioned  by  Almishty  skill, 

Perfect  aDd  complete 
Ah !  the  warm,  the  living  form! 

Here  all  art  must.  clo»e ; 
Man  could  never  fashion  thee, 

Little  Baby  Rose ! 

Ah !  what  art  thou  gazing  at 

With  those  open  eyps? 
Art  thou  reading  in  the  flames 

Of  life's  mysterie*? 
Solemn  problems,  flickering  joys, 

Wavering  into  woes? 
Time  enough  for  thoughts  like  these, 

Little  Baby  Rose. 

Time  enough ;  yet  this  we  know, 

Thine  the  common  lot 
To  joy  aDd  suffer— earth  hath  none 

Sorrow  fludeth  not; 
He  who  ruleth  earth  and  Heaven, 

All  thy  path-vav  ktio-vs; 
He  must  mark  it  out  for  thee, 

Little  Bab>  Rose 

Lullaby,  sweet  lullaby- 
He  who  never  si' 

Guards  tbe  child rei  ot  His  love, 
Israel  ever  k-  >  ps. 

Lullaby,  sweft  uliabv— 
Son  the  eyelid*  close; 

God  be  with  thee— bless  my  child- 
Little  Baby  Rose! 


Without  tJie  Children. 

O  the  weary  solemn  silence 

Of  a  house  without  the  children, 

O  the  strange,  oppressive  stillness 

Where  the  children  come  no  more; 
Ah.!  the  longing  of  the  Beep' 
For  the  solt  arms  ol  tho  children, 
Ah !  the  longing  lor  the  faces 

Faces  gone  forevermore! 

Peeping  through  the  oponing  door- 
Strange  it  is  to  wake  at  midnight, 
Aim!  net  hear  tiio  ciiildron  breathing, 
Nothing  but  the  old  clock  ticking, 

Ticking,  tioking  by  the  door. 
Strange  to  see  the  little  dresses 
Hanging  up  there  all  tho  morning; 
And  the  gaiters— ah!  their  patter, 

We  will  hear  it  nevermore 

On  our  mirth-forsaken  iloor. 

What  is  home  without  the  children? 
'Tis  the  earth  without  its  verdure, 
And  the  sky  without  its  sunshine; 

Life  is  withered  to  the  cote! 
So  we'll  leave  this  d  rei.ry  desert, 
And  we'll  follow  the  Good  Shepherd 
To  the  greener  pastures  vernal, 
Wbeie  the  lambs  have  "  goto  before 
With  the  Shepherd  evermore! 


THOMAS  STARR   KJXG. 
His  Iiast  Sickncw   and  j>Cath. 

The  San  Francisco  Bi\netia  of  March  4,  the 

toy  of  Stair  King's  de»\th,  gives  an  account  of 

hoars;  a  brief  history  of  his  labors  during 

irj  California,  and  describes  the 

sensation  caused  irt  the  city  by  the  unexpected 

intelligence  of  >  ,j8  death,  and  the  unusual  and 


heartfelt  honors  paid  to  his  memory.    To  all  in   ^eyes  as  calmly  as  though  in  his  pulpit,  his  voice 


California  or  cept  his  most  intimate  friends,  the 
blow  canM>  M  sudden  as  to  his  old  friends  at  the 
East,  and  if  possible  with   more  stunning  force, 
for  there.  hjs  labors  weie  freshest,  his  triumphs 
greater  t,  and  hi:-,  pressnee  most  necessary.    The 
death   of  no  public  man  ever  drew  outin'Saa 
eo  more  tokens  of  respect  and  sorrow. 
Tiif .  flaus  on  all  the  public  buildings  and  churches 
"Vj.ro  bang  at  half  mast,  the  public  offices  were 
C 'losed,  all  the  courts  both  state  and  national,  ad- 
journed, and  there  was  a  partial  cessation  of  busi- 
over  the  city,  the  citizens  gathering  in 
little  knots  to  talk  over  in  subdued  tones  the 
I  calamity  which  had  fallen  upon  them.  The  Bulle- 
!  tin  (lives  the  following  account  of  the  last  sick- 
ness and  death : — 
Ahout  two  weeks  before  his  death  Mr  King  first 
:  complained  of   not  feeling  well,  and  of  some 
j  trouble  with  his  throat.      His  friends  urged  him 
;  to  be  more  careful,  and  not  expose  himself  to  the 
!  air;  but  he  thought  it  was  only  an  ordinary  case 
!  of  sore  throat,  and  declined  to  confine  himself  or 
j  call  in  the  aid  of  a  physician  until  Friday  last. 
'  In  the  evening  he  had  his  regular  reception  and 
between  10  and  11  o'clock -went  down  to  a  social 
gathering  at  the  church,  though  still  suffering. 
On  SaturJay  evening  he  had  invited  a  number  of 
friends  to  supper,  but  when  evening  came  he  was 
unable  to  appear  at  table.     "While  supper  was 
going  on,  however,  a  bridal  party  came  to  be 
I  married.    Mr  King  bad  received  no  previous  inti- 
1  mation  of  such  n  visit,  and  sent  down  asking  to 
be  excused,  saying  that  he  was  sick  and  confined 
.  to  his  bed.     The  party  replied  that  they  had  set 
;  their  hearts  on  being  married  Tjy  Mr  King,  and 
j  would  come  up  to  his  bedside  sooner  than  be  de- 
feated in  their  desire.     With  that  spirit  of  self- 
sacrifice  for  which  he  was  so  remarkable,  he  then 
said    he    wau'd    get    up    and    go     down    in- 
to    the     jm$or.      He     did     so,     and     went 
through    the    ceremony,  "but    though    it    was 
performed  in  a  very  few  minutes,  he  was  so  weak 
at  its  conclusion  that  he  had  to  be  assisted  up  to 
Ins  room.    On  Sr»  lay  morning  his  congregation 
was  alarmed  by  ihe  announcement  that  he  was 
unable  to  preach.    The  attending  physician  pro- 
nounced it  a  serious  case  of  dipthcria,  and  said 
he  should  have  been  c:«Ued  at  least  a  week  sooner 
— it  had  been  too  long  neglected.    The  disease 
gained  Strength,  and  the  patient's  prostration  in- 
creased.   On  Wednesday,  the  2d,  however,  the 
eompkvtut  seemed   under  medical  control,  but  so 
prostrated  was  the  patient  that  for  two  days  it 
had  been  difficult  to  keep  up  his  vital  energies. 
Thursday  he  was  visited  by  an  attack  of  pneu- 
monia, and  experienced  great  difficulty  of  respi- 
ration.   At  6  o'clock  Thursday  evening  the  at- 
tack was  very  severe/arid  Dr  Eckel  feared  that  it 
might  prove    fatal,  but  the    patient  possessed 
wonderful  recuperative  power,  and  seemed  to  re- 
vive, pa=sing  a  very  comfortable  night,  during 
which  light  stimulants  were  administered  him  to 
keep  up  the  vital  forces,  and  he  seemed  getting 
•  along  remarkably  well  until  about  half-past  5  in 
the  morning,  when  a  second  attack  of  pneumo- 
nia set  in. 

This  second  attack  was  not  more  violent  than 
the  first  one,  but  the   patient's  strength  was  so 
expended  that  there  was  little  or  nothing  for 
medicine  to  build  upon.    When  taken  with  the 
first  attack,  .Mr  King  had  remarked  to  some  one 
standing  by:  "I  know  what  this  is;  it  is  a  severe 
attack  of  the  pnenmoniaV"    When  the  second 
j  occurred  he  said  to  the  doctor:  "What  is  this V, 
i  Is  this  pneumonia,  too?"     The  doctor  replied 
that  it  was.    Mr  King  then  asked:  "Can  I  sur- 
vive it?"    The  doctor  told  him  no;  bethought 
he  could  not.    "How  Jong  can  I  live?"  he  asked. 
I  "Xot  a  half  hour."    "Are  you  sure  I  cannot  live 
j  longer  than  that?"    The  doctor  told  him  he  feared 

!he  could  not.  Friends  then  a^ked  him  if  had 
anything  to  say.  He  neplied:  "Yes,  a  groat  deal 
to  say;  I  want  first  to  make  my  will." 
Up  to  this  time,  for  two  or  three  days  he  had 
I  not  been  able  to  speak  above  a  whisper;  but  re- 
sponding to  the  power  of  his  will,  his  voice  now 

1  resumed  its  old  power  and  tone,  and  he  spoke 

nearly  as  loud  as  ever.  A  friend  sat  by  his  bed- 
side, and  he  dictated  the  will— it  was  read  to  him 
afterwards,  and  he  assented  to  its  correctness  by 
saying  "all  right"  at  the  end  of  each  paragraph, 
exclaiming  at  the  close,  "It  is  just  as  I  want  it." 
He  then  hesitated  a  moment,  and  dictated  an 
important  correction.  A  pen  was  given  him  and 
he  signed  it  in  a  handwriting  as  firm  and  bold  as 
he  ever  wrote  in  his  life,  even  punctuating  the 
abbreviation  of  his  name,  and  putting  an  accus- 
tomed flourish  beneath  the  signature.  Then 
came  the  sad  task  of  bidding  his  friends  who 
were  present  good  by.  One  by  one  they 
came   up   to   his   bedside;    in   every   instance 


he  greeted  them  with  a  cneenui  smne, 
as  though  he  were  only  going  on  a  journey 
of  a  day  or  two,  grasping  their  hands  and 
saying  in  that  sweet,  pleasant  voice  of  his: 
Good  tty!  Some  one  asking  how  he  felt,  he  said: 
"HapDy,  resigned,  trustful;"  then  repeated  the 
28d  Psalm  in  a  clear  and  well-modulated  voice. 
At  the  verse:  "Tea,  though  I  walk  through  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil, 
forThou'art  with  me;  Thy  rod  and  Thy  staff 
they  comfort  me;"  he  raised  his  finger  and  his 


as  firm  and  strong  as  ever.  After  this  exertion 
his  streugth  seemed  to  fail  him.  Sinking  back  in 
Taedibe  said:  "It  is  all  right  for  me,  but  she  will 
feel  it" — pointing:  to  his  wife.  Friends  again 
gathered  round  his  bedside  and  he  bade  and  smiled 
them  good-by.  His  little  son  being  brought  in 
Tie«aid:  "Dear  little  fellow — he's  a  beautiful  boy  1" 
kissing  his  hand  to  the  child  as  the  nurse  carried 
it  away  in  her  arms.  This  was  his  last  act  on 
earth.  Calmly  closing  his  eyes,  he  seemed  to  go 
to  sleep.  A  great,  and  good,  and  generous  man 
was  dead. 


Tribute    of   Itespest    to    the    Memory   of 
Ber    T.  Starr  King. 


Extract  from  a  Sermon  delivered  in  East 
Boston,  on  Sunday,  March  Gth,  1864,  by  the 
Rev.  Caleb  Davis  Bradlee,  of  Roxbury, 
Mass. 

Text.— God  is  a  spirit,  and  they  that  worship  him, 
must  worship  him  iu  spirit  and  iu  truth. — St.  John 
iv— 24 

These  words  seem  to  me  peculiarly  appli- 
cable to  the  one  thought  which  pervades  all 
minds  to-day,  and  to  the  one  grief  winch  rests 
upon  all  hearts.  One  whose  life  was  given  to 
the  study  of  spiritual  worship,  and  of  true  ho- 
liness; whose  name,  in  our  branch  of  the 
church,  stood  high,  and  bright,  and  golden, 
and  whose  genius  has  everywhere  been  con- 
ceded, even  by  those  who  were  widely  apart 
from  his  theology ;  one  who  always  rever- 
enced truth,  and  made  his  life  a  consecratiou 
to  its  unfolding ;  this  one  has  lately  gone  from 
our  presence,  has  been  lifted  up  into  glory, 
and  has  left  desolate,  and  sad,  a  large  multi- 
tude of  souls. 

California  mourns  for  the  chaste  scholar, 
the  great  orator,  the  earnest  thinker,  the  strik- 
ing preacher,  the  unshaken  patriot,  the  good 
natured,  and  strong  hearted  and  wonderfully 
gifted  man. 

New  York  feels  that  one  of  her  noblest 
sons  has  vanished,  so  large  a  place  did  he 
hold  in  the  affections  of  the  people  there — 
and  such  a  strong  fellowship  had  he  formed 
And  Massachusetts!  Oh!  what  shall  we 
say  for  Massachusetts,  where  almost  every 
town  has  been  strengthened  by  his  intellect, 
and  enriched  by  his  sweet  and  genial,  pres- 
ence. 

You  know  to  whom  I  now  refer ;  the  wires  y 
brought  the  message  but  a  few  days  ago  from 
that  distant  land ;  a  message  which  caused  a 
chill  to  gather  about  our  hearts.  Oh !  how 
hard  it  is  to  say,  that  Thomas  Starr  King  is 
no  more  a  tenant  of  the  flesh  ;  that  we  shall 
never  again,  here  below,  grasp  his  hand; 
never  again  catch  his  pleasant  smile;  hear 
his  sweet  words;  or  listeti  to  his  burning 
thoughts,  and  be  entranced  by  his  mighty 
genius. 

But  putting  aside  our  personal  loss,  the,: 
country  can  ill  afford  to  loss  such  a  man ;  by 
his  golden  mouth  he  saved  California  to  the 
Union  ;  and  Irow  many  soldiers  will  bless  his 
name,  who  have  found  in  the  sanitary  com- 
mission an  efficient  aid,  through  his  mighty 
efforts  ! 

He  was  a  most  profuse  giver;  hardly  any 
one  went  away  from  his  house  with  an  empty 
hand;  for  he  kept  his  heart  in  his  hand,  and 
his  hand  on  his  purse,  all  the  time. 

In  his  theology,  I  think,  he  'aimed  mainly 
at  spiritual  worship,  rather  than  creed  wor- 
ship; he  saw  good  in  all  sects;  he  looked  at 
Christianity  more  as  a  life,  than  as  a  form. 
When  a  series  of  lectures  was  preached  in 
Boston,  upon  the  different  sects,  the  part  as- 
signed to  him  was  one  adapted  to  his  genius, 
viz:  '-Spiritual  Worship,"  or  "Good  in  all 
Sects;"  and  most  admirably  did  he  make  a 
mosaic  of  the  different  churches,  and  by  his 
attractive  rhetoric  melt  them  into  one. 

Mr.  King  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York 
Dec.  17,  1824;  when  quite  young  he  moved 
with  his  father  to  Charlestown,  Mass. ;  and 
there,  in  his  childhood,  the  marks  of  his  grow- 
ing mind  were  quite  plain.  At  16,  in  one  of 
the  schools,  he  was  made  a  tutor  in  mathe- 
matics ;  and  at  19  he  preached  hi*-  first  ser- 
mon. He  was  at  the  time  a  clerk  in  the 
navy   yard.     A  committee  of    a  neighboring 


church,  whose    pastor  was    sick,  waneu  upon 
him — I  believe  it  was   toward  the  close  of  the 
week — and  asked  him  to  preach  for  this  disa- 
bled minister  the  following  Sabbath.     But,  "I 
never  preached  a  sermon  in  my  life,"  said  the 
young   man.     "Never  mind,"   the  committee 
said;  "we  have  heard  you  address  conference 
meetings,  and  we  wish  you  to  address  us." 
He  consented,    on    the   promise  that  nothing 
should  be  said  to  his  mother  till   the  Sabbath 
day  had  passed.     So  successful  was  he  at  this 
time,  that   almost  every    Sunday    afterwards 
was  he  summoned  to   a   pulpit,  and  when  21 
years  of  age  was  settled  over  the  Universalist 
church,  Charlestown.     Here  he  remained  but 
a  short   time,  when  he  received  a    call  to  be- 
come pastor  of  Hollis  street   church,  Boston, 
where  for  more  than  twelve  years  he  stood  lot    - 
most  among  the  preachers  in  the  city,  and  w; 
considered  one  of  the  most  prominent  lecturers 
in  the  country.     Whilst  at  Hollis  street  he  A 
ceived  several  calls  to  other  churches,  but  th 
ooly  invitation  that  he  felt  inclined  to   nodes 
was  the  one  from  San  Francisco;  he  felt  tha. 
there   he  could   strengthen    his    body,  which 
ha  1  become  weakened   by   over-work;  re-in 
vigorate   his    over-strained    mind,    and   have 
time  to  prepare   a  book    on  a  subject  which 
had  interested  his  thoughts  to   a  considerable 
extent;  all  these  things  were  in  his    mind,  he 
said  to  me  one  day,  in  his  6tudy,  previous  to 
his  leaving  Boston.      He  went  to   California, 
but  not  to  write    his   book;    not    to   rest  his 
mind  and  body;  not  in  any    way  for   recrea- 
tion;    his    work  was    doubled  there;  all  his 
time  was  mortgaged  to  the  public;  and  when 
the  civil  war  broke   out,  he  felt  it  to   be  his 
duty  to  make  all  around   him  loyal;    so   un- 
wearied he  plead  for    his    country,  and  dedi- 
cated all  the  resources  of  his  mind  and  heart 
to    her   service,  till    the    very  moment  that 
death  changed  his  countenance,  and  he  fell 
asleep  in  Jesus. 

Just  previous  to  his  ascent  to  God,  the  ded- 
ication of  his  new  church  took  place,  and  he 
was  quite  animated  by  the  success  of  the 
movement,  and  pleased  to  think  that  the  edi- 
fice was  free  from  debt.  And  now  he  has 
gone  from  this  splendid  cathedral  to  the  high- 
er and  spiritual  cathedral  above. 


? 


'itu  esses. 


Thomas  StarJIKing. — Nobody  can  tell  how 
such  a  man  comes  by  his  learning  and  wisdom. 
He  had  in  an  astonishing  degree  the  most  mysteri- 
ous power  of  genius  of  absorbing  the  best  in 
men,  books,  nature,  society.  Weak  and  envious 
pedants  are  always  accusing  such  minds  of  pla- 
giarism. They  plagiarize  as  the  earth  in  spring 
plagiarizes  from  the  sun  and  wind,  the  rain  and 
dew;  as  man  in  his  higher  states  of  life  may  rev- 
erently be  said  to  plagiarize  from  superior  intel- 
ligences, and  they  in  turn  from  the  Deity.  His 
soul  was  wide  open  to  all  generous  and  profound 
impressions,  and  he  could  not  help  it  if  every 
scholar,  singer,  poett  artist,  statesman,  child  or 
maiden  left  their  best  possessions  in  its  wide 
treasure  house.  He  was  educated  by  hard  work; 
by  experiences  that  to  a  nature  less  joyous  than 
his  would  have  been  stern  and  sad;  by  the  school 
room,  the  navy-yard  and  its  motley  population, 
the  concert  and  the  drama;  by  rare  hours  with 
the  best  men  and  women,  and  solitary  nights  of 
study  as  intense  and  protracted  as  the  mind  could 
endure ;  by  nature,  which  always  ministered  so 
largely  to  his  spirit;  by  a  communion  with  God 
and  a  love  for  man  as  deep  and  childlike  as 
is  often  given  to  any  soul  to  enjoy. 

Rc«   A.  D.  Mayo. 


t 


L 


The  ^VILL  of  T.  Starr  Kikg.—  The  following  is  j 
a  copy  of  the  will  of  the  late  Thomas  Stan-  King, 
made  by  him  upon  his  death-bed,  and  filed  in  the 
probate  court  of  California.  It  is  understood  that 
Mr.  King,  although  most  generous  and  open  hand- 
ed iu  his  mode  ol  life,  was  able  to  leave  a  very  com- 
fortable provision  for  his  family.— Advertiser. 

Feeling  that  the  time  has  come  for  inc  to  he  sum- 
moned iu  the  presence  of  the  Most  High  (Jod,  and 
believing  iu  the  salvation  of  my  soul,  1  hereby  make 
this  my  last  will  and  testament :  I  liercbj  will  and 
bequeath  to  my  dear  wife  Julia,  all  my  real  and 
personal  estate  of  which  I  am  possessed,  and  all 
property  of  every  description  which  belongs  lo  me 
after  my  just  debts  arc  paid,  with  the  exception  of 
the  proceeds  of  the  policies  of  insurance  upon  my 
life,  which  I  wish  shall  be  equally  divided  among 
my  mother  and  the  mother  of  my  dear  wife,  to  re- 
vert to  mv  wile  after  the  death  of  either,  unless  it 
should  be  the  will  of  my  wife  that  it  should  revert 
directlv  for  the  benefit  of  either  or  both  of  her  chil- 
dren. "The  proceeds  of  this  policy  of  insurance  I 
wish  to  be  invested  bv  my  executors  tor  the  benefit 
of  the  above  heirs  thereto  And  1  hereby  name  as 
my  executors  to  this  my  iast  will  and  testament. 
Charles  L.  Low,  William  Norris  and  Hubert  B. 
Swain.  My  desire  is  that  they  shall  give  uo  bonds 
for  the  performance  of  their  duty. 

All  other  wills  are   hereby  revoked,  and  in  the 

Presence  of  these  witnesses  I  desire  this  to  be  my 
ist  will  and  testament.  Th.  Starr  King. 

San  Francisco,  March  3,1861. 
E.  F.  Beale,  1     ,,r;t 

J.N.  Eckel,  j    vv  " 


,woiv»a.x.   jiy.  10,    lsea. 


DE1THOP   EDWARD  EVERETT. 
The  country  will  receive  the  intelligence  of 
the  death   of  Hon.   Edward   Everett  with 
surprise  ami  profound   sorrow.     He   expired 
at  his   residence   in  Boston   at  ha  If -past  four 
o'clock  Sunday  morning,   at   the  age  of  sev- 
enty-one  years.     Only  last   Monday    he  ad- 
dressed   with    his    accustomed  eloquence    a 
large  gathering  at    Faneuil   Hall  in  behalf  of 
the  suffering  people  of  Savannah.     It  was  his 
last  public  appearance,  and  his  last    services 
were  rendered  inconnection  with  this  patriotic 
charity.     To   all   by   whom   Mr.  Everett  was 
admired   the  most  gratifying  thought  in  con- 
nection with  his  death  will  be   that,  almost  to 
the  last  moment  of  his  brilliant  and  illustrious 
life,  he  was  able  actively  to  serve  the  cause  oi 


the  future  against  the  convenience  ot  ttu 
hour.  It  was  his  misfortune  to  fail  out  of  sym- 
pathy with  the  opinions  of  a  majority  of  his 
fellow  citizens  at  a  time  when  experience  and 
wisdom  were  most  wanted  in  the  public  coun- 
sels ;  so  that  with  alibis  natural  gifts,  and  cul- 
tured in  many  ways  beyond  the  lot  of  any  oth- 
er man  of  his  period,  he  contributed  little  to 
^  the  influence  and  character  of  that  states- 
manship which  was  destined  to  guide  the  na- 
tion through  civil  war  and  social  revolution 
'  to  a  new  arid  permanent  glory. 

Mr.  Everett  resigned  his  seat  in  the  United 
/States  senate  in  May,  1854,  and  soon  after  be- 
gan the  peculiar  labors  in  behalf  of  the  Mount 
Vernon  fund,  and,  incidentally,  of  other  pub- 
lic and  charitable  associations,  which  distin- 
guished the  closing  years  of  his  life.  His 
Mount  Vernon  work,  however  much  it  ac- 
comn!isln>(L       failpil      iti       ira       ' 


The  Last  Letter. — Capt.  Wise,  son-in- 
law  of  Mr. Everett,  now  at  the  head  ot  the 
naval  ordnance  bureau  at  Washington,  has 
furnished  the  following  letter  for  publication. 
It  is  a  copy  of  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Wise,  and  the 
last  he  ever  wrote  :  I 

"Boston,  lStli  January,  18G3. — I  have 
yours  of  the  8th.  I  am  just  recovering  from 
a  pretty  severe  attack  of  illness,  which  has 
kept  me  in  bed  most  of  the  time  since  Mon- 
day. 

On  Monday  morning  I  was  at  the  court 
room  two  and  a  half  hours,  testifying.  I  then 
went  to  Faneuil  Hall,  which  was  cold,  and  till 
my  turn  came  I  sat  in  a  draft  of  air.  When 
I  iiad  got  through  — though  I  spoke  but  half  an 
hour— my  bands  and  feet  were  as  ice,  and  my 
lungs  on  fire.  # 

In  this  agreeable  position  I  had  to  go  anc 
pi>-  three  hours  in  the  court  room.  This 
finished  me.  I  came  home,  sent  for  Hay- 
ward,  and  went  regularly  to  work.  I  hardly 
left  my  bed  next  day.  I  have  barely  weather- 
ed an  attack  ot  tmeumonia.  which  wasanoid- 


THE   PERRY   PICTURES.         1685. 


MILAN     CATHEDRAL. 


for    governor    of    Massachusetts,     lie    filled 
this  office  from  1835  to  the  memorable  elec- 
tion of  1839,  when  he  was  defeated  by  Marcus 
Morton  with  a  majority  of  one.     He  was  min- 
ister to  the  court  of  St.  James  trom  1841  to 
1845;   president  of  Harvard  University  from 
1S45  to  1848;   secretary  of  state  during  a  por- 
tion   of  Mr.    Fillmore's    administration;   and 
United  States  senator  in  1853-4,  when  he  re- 
signed on  account  of  impaired  health.     Here 
his  active  an  J  laborious  political  career  ended- 
There  was  little  public  honor  left  for  him  to 
attain,  and  of  that  little  he  was  not  ambitious- 
But  Mr.  Everett  was    not  a  great  statesman. 
Though    com    elled   to     grapple     with     many 
great    questions,    lie    never    identified  him- 
self      witli       any       great       public       policy, 
nor      ventured     upon     ways     where     other 
statesmen   had  not  gone  before.     He  had  no 
faith    in     moral    forces  in   politics.     He  dis- 
trusted   ideas.     He    shrunk    from    collision. 
His  political  philosophy  olten  compelled    him 
to  sacrifice  right  to  expediency,   and  to  stake 


oi  ins  estate  in    ftleUiord    by  constructing  a 
dam  on  xMystic  river. 

On  Tuesday  he  became  affected  with  quite 
a  severe  cold,  but  neither  his  friends  nor  his 
family  deemed  it  serious.  Saturday  evening 
lie  appeared  about  as  well  as  usual,  and  re- 
tired to  bed,  declining  to  trouble  any  one  to 
remain  with  him.  About  three  o'clock  this 
morning  his  housekeeperentered  his  room  and 
too  nd  him  sleeping  naturally.  An  hour  later 
8l»e  was  alarmed  by  hearing  a  heavy  full  in 
his  room,  and  found  him  lying  upon  the  floor, 
breathing  heavily.  A  piiysician  was  prompt- 
ly summoned,  but  before  his  arrival  Mr, 
Everett  died. 

The  event  was  announced  in  nearly  all  the 
churches  at  the  commencement  of  the  morn- 
ing services,  and  created  a  profound  feeling 
of  sadness.  In  the  afternoon  the  church  bells 
of  the  city  and  suburbs  were  tolled. 


in  any  puunc  demonstration  agreeable  tc 
them.  He  also  transmitted  to  the  Massachu- 
setts senators  the  following  dispatch  : 

Boston,  Jan.  15,  1865. 
Hon.  Charles  Sumner,  Hon.  Henry  Wilson 
U.  S.  Senators,  Washington,  D.  C:— Massa- 
chusetts mourns  the  irreparable  loss  of  af 
eminent  citizen  in  the  sudden  death  of  Edwan 
Everett,  which  occurred  this  morning  at  four 
o'clock.  Pieaae  apprise  the  president,  ot 
whom  he  was  an  elector;  Mr.  Seward,  whom 
he  preceded  as  secretary  of  state,  and  the 
Massachusetts  delegation,  who  remember 
him  as  a  former  senator,  representative  and 
governor. 

(Signed)  John  A.  Andrew. 


The  tidings  of  Mr.  Everett's  decease, 
and  the  President's  announcement  were 
received  at  the  consulate  general  of  the 
United  States  in  Egypt  on  Monday,  Feb 
ruary  13.  The  flags  of  the  consulate  gen 
eral,  and  also  of  the  American  shipping  in 
the  harhor,  were  displayed  at  half-mast 
the  next  day. 


THOMAS  STARR.  KJXG. 
His  Ijust  8ickn«8»   nnd  f>cath. 

The  San  Francisco  Br'jietm  of   March  1,  the 
d.'.y  of  Starr  King's  de/  ttU)  n-ivcs  an  account  of 
hours,  a  brief  history  of  his  labors  during 
irj  California,  find  describes  the 
sensation  caused  pa  the  city  by  the  unexpected 
intelligence  of  >tJ*a  death,  ami  the  unusual  r.nd 
heartfelt  hono  rs  paid  to   his  memory.    To  all  in 
California  ear  cept  his  most  intimate  friends,  the 
blow  ramo  as  sudden  as  Jo  his  old  friends  at  the 
East,  and  If  possible  with  more  stunning  force, 
for  there    his  labors  weie  freshest,  his  triumphs 
greater  t,  and  his  presence  most  necessary.    The 
death    of  no  public  man  ever  drew  out  in  Saa 
Lsco  more  tokens  of  respect  and  sowow. 
Thf .  flaas  on  all  the  public  buildings  and  churches 
'Vj.ro  bang  at  half  mast,  the  public  offices  were 
closed,  all  the  courts  both  state  and  national,  ad- 
journed, and  there  was  a  partial  cessation  of  busi- 
11  over  the  city,  the  citizens  gatherin<r  in 


he  greeted  them  with  a  cneertui  smile, 
as  though  he  were  only  going  on  a  journey 
of  a  day  or  two,  grasping  their  hands  and 
saying  in  that  sweet,  pleasant  voice  of  his: 
'Good  by:!  Some  one  asking  how  he  felt,  he  said: 
"HapDy,  resigned,  trustful;"  then  repeated  the 
28d  Psalm  in  a  clear  and  well-modulated  voice. 
At  the  verse:  "Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil, 
for  Thou^art  with  me;  Thy  rod  and  Thy  staff 
they  comfort  me;"  he  raised  his  finger  and  his 
eyes  as  calmly  as  though  in  his  pulpit,  his  voice 
as  firm  and  strong  as  ever.  After  this  exertion 
his  strength  seemed  to  fail  him.  Sinking  back  in 
Taedihe  said:  "It  is  all  right  for  me,  but  she  will 
feel  it" — pointing:  to  his  wife.  Friends  again 
gathered  round  his  bedside  and  he  badeand  smiled 
them  good-by.  His  little  son  being  brought  in 
he  said :  "Dear  little  fellow — he's  a  beautiful  boy !" 
kissing  his  hand  to  the  child  as  the  nurse  carried 
it  away  in  her  arms.  This  was  his  last  act  on 
earth.  Calmly  closing  his  eyes,  he  seemed  to  go 
to  sleep.  A  great,  and  good,  and  generous  man 
was  dead. 


Tribute    of   Itespest    to    the    Memory   of 
Iter    T.  Starr  King. 


church,  whose  pastor  was  sick,  waueu  upon 
him — I  believe  it  was  toward  the  close  of  the 
week — and  asked  him  to  preach  for  this  disa- 
bled minister  the  following  Sabbath.  But,  "I 
never  preached  a  sermon  in  my  life,"  said  the 
young  man.  "Never  mind,"  the  committee 
said;  "we  have  heard  you  address  conference 
meetings,  and  we  wish  you  to  address  us." 
He  consented,  on  the  promise  that  nothing 
should  be  said  to  his  mother  till  the  Sabbath 
day  had  passed.  So  successful  was  he  at  this 
time,  that  almost  every  Sunday  afterwards 
was  he  summoned  to  a  pulpit,  and  when  21 
years  of  age  was  settled  over  the  Universalist 
church,  Cbarlestown.  Here  he  remained  but 
a  short  time,  when  he  received  a  call  to  be- 
come pastor  of  Hollis  street  church,  Boston, 
where  for  more  than  twelve  years  he  stood  fo:  - 
most  among  the  preachers  in  the  city,  and  w;, 
considered  one  of  the  most  prominent  lecturers 
in  the  country.  Whilst  at  Hollis  street  hen. 
ceived  several  calls  to  other  churches,  but  th 
only  invitation  that  he  felt  inclined  to  notice 
was  the  one  from  San  Francisco;  he  felt  thai 
there   he  could    strengthen    his    body,  which 


^ 


; 


expended  tnat  mere  was  muo  m  mninmB  >»> 
medicine  to  build  upon.  When  taken  with  the 
first  attack,  JVIr  King  had  remarked  to  some  one 
standing  by:  "I  know  what  this  is;  it  is  a  severe 
attack  of  the  pneumonia?"  When  the  second 
occurred  he  said  to  the  doctor :  "What  is  this  7, 
Is  this  pneumonia,  too?"  The  doctor  replied 
that  it  was.  Mr  King  then  asked:  "Can  I  sur- 
vive it?"  The  doctor  told  him  no;  bethought 
he  could  not.  "How  long  can  I  live?"  he  asked. 
"Not  a  half  hour."  "Are  you  sure  I  cannot  live 
longer  than  that?"  The  doctor  told  him  he  feared 
he  could  not.  Friends  then  asked  him  if  had 
anything  to  say.  He  ueplied:  "Yes,  a  great  deal 
to  say;  I  want  first  to  make  my  will." 

Up  to  this  time,  for  two  or  three  days  he  had 
not  been  able  to  speak  above  a  whisper;  but  re- 
sponding to  the  power  of  his  will,  his  voice  now 
resumed  its  old  power  and  tone,  and  he  spoke 
nearly  as  loud  as  ever.  A  friend  sat  by  his  bed- 
side, and  he  dictated  the  will— it  was  read  to  him 
afterwards,  and  he  assented  to  its  correctness  by 
saying  "all  ritrht"  at  the  end  of  each  paragraph, 
exclaiming  at  the  close,  "It  is  just  as  I  want  it." 
He  then  hesitated  a  moment,  and  dictated  an 
important  correction.  A  pen  was  given  him  and 
he  signed  it  in  a  handwriting  as  firm  and  bold  as 
he  ever  wrote  in  his  life,  even  punctuating  the 
abbreviation  of  his  name,  and  putting  an  accus- 
tomed flourish  beneath  the  signature.  Then 
came  the  sad  task  of  bidding  his  friends  who 
were  present  good  by.  One  by  one  they 
came   up   to   his   bedside;    in   every   instance 


Union;  and  hbw  many  soldiers  will  bless  his 
name,  who  have  found  in  the  sanitary  com- 
mission an  efficient  aid,  through  his  mighty 
efforts ! 

He  was  a  most  profuse  giver;  hardly  any 
one  went  away  from  his  house  with  an  empty 
hand ;  for  he  kept  his  heart  in  his  hand,  and 
his  hand  on  his  purse,  all  the  time. 

In  his  theology,  1  think,  he  "aimed  mainly 
at  spiritual  worship,  rather  than  creed  wor- 
ship ;  he  saw  good  in  all  sects :  lie  looked  at 
Christianity  more  as  a  life,  than  as  a  form. 
When  a  series  of  lectures  was  preached  in 
Boston,  upon  the  different  sects,  the  part  as- 
signed to  him  was  one  adapted  to  his  genius, 
viz:  "Spiritual  Worship,"  or  "Good  in  all 
Sects ;"  and  mo*t  admirably  did  he  make  a 
mosaic  of  the  diflerent  churches,  and  by  his 
attractive  rhetoric  melt  them  into  one. 

Mr.  King  was  born  in  the  city  of  New  York 
Dec.  17,  1824;  when  quite  young  he  moved 
with  his  father  to  Cbarlestown,  Mass. ;  and 
there,  in  his  childhood,  the  marks  ot  his  grow- 
ing mind  were  quite  plain.  At  16,  in  one  of 
the  schools,  he  was  made  a  tutor  in  mathe- 
matics;  and  at  19  he  preached  hi-  first  ser- 
mon. He  was  at  the  time  a  clerk  in  the 
navy   yard.     A  committee  of    a  neighboring 


San  rraiicisoii,  »i 
E.  F.  Bbale,  )    wi 
J.N.Eckel,/    "* 


Thomas  StarJIKing.— Nobody  can  tell  how 
such  a  man  comes  by  his  learning  and  wisdom. 
He  had  in  an  astonishing  degree  the  most  mysteri- 
ous power  of  genius  of  absorbing  the  best  in 
men,  books,  nature,  society.  Weak  and  envious 
pedants  are  always  accusing  such  minds  of  pla- 
giarism. They  plagiarize  as  the  earth  in  spring 
plagiarizes  from  the  sun  and  wind,  the  rain  and 
dew;  as  man  in  his  higher  states  of  fife  may  rev- 
erently be  6aid  to  plagiarize  from  superior  intel- 
ligences, and  they  in  turn  from  the  Deity.  His 
soul  was  wide  open  to  all  generous  and  profound 
impressions,  and  he  could  not  help  it  if  every 
scholar,  singer,  poet*  artist,  statesman,  child  or 
maiden  left  their  best  possessions  in  its  wide 
treasure  house.  He  was  educated  by  hard  work; 
by  experiences  that  to  a  nature  less  joyous  than 
his  would  have  been  stern  and  sad;  by  the  school 
room,  the  navy-yard  and  its  motley  population, 
the  concert  and  the  drama;  by  rare  hours  with 
the  best  men  and  women,  and  solitary  nights  of 
study  as  intense  and  protracted  as  the  mind  could 
endure;  by  nature,  which  always  ministered  so 
largely  to  his  spirit;  by  a  communion  with  God 
and  a  love  for  man  as  deep  and  childlike  as 
is  often  given  to  any  soul  to  enjoy. 

Rt«    A.  D.  Mayo. 


—  - 


£<&, 


"WOSrDAY.    JAW.    io,     186A. 


DEATH  OF   E1HVAKD  EVERETT. 

The  country  will  receive  the  intelligence  of 
the  death   of  Hon.   EDWARb   Everett  with 
surprise  ami  profound    sorrow.     He   expired 
at  his   residence   in  Boston  at  half-past  four 
o'clock  Sunday  morning,  at   the  age  of  sev- 
enty-one  years.     Only  last  Monday    he  ad- 
dressed   with    his    accustomed  eloquence    a 
large  gathering  at    Faneuil   Hall  in  behalf  of 
the  suffering  people  of  Savannah.     It  was  his 
last  public  appeansnee,  and  his  last    services 
were  rendered  in  connection  with  this  patriotic 
charity.     To   all   by   whom   Mr.  Everett  was 
admired   the  most  gratifying  thought  in  con- 
n-eotmn  with  his  death  will  be   that,  almost  to 
the  last  moment  of  his  biilliant  and  illustrious 
life,  he  was  abie  actively  to  serve  the  cause  of 
the  country  to  which  he  had  given  himself  up 
With  sincere  and  absolute  devotion. 

Mr.  Everett  was  born  in  Dorchester,  April 
11.  1794,  entered   Harvard   college  at  the  age 
of  tiiirteen  years,   and    graduated    in    course 
with  the    highest  honors.     He  was  settled  as 
pastor  over  the  Brattle  street  church,  Boston, 
•at  the  age  of  nineteen  years,  winning  imme- 
diate  fame,  of  which  there  are  many  current 
traditions,  for  the   extent  of  his  reading  and 
the   purity   and  elegance  of    his    discourses. 
He  published  a    year  later    a    work   entitled 
a  "Defence  of  Christianity" — a  work  the  ex- 
ecution of  which  he   subsequently  regretted, 
and  which  he  endeavored  to  recall.     The  same 
year  he  was    invited   to  the  professorship    of 
Greek  literature  m  Harvard  college,   and  af- 
ter spending  four  years  in  study  and  prepara- 
tion abroad,   entered  upon   its  active    duties. 
During  the  five  years  following,  though  still 
young,  he  found  time  outside  of  his  professor- 
ship for   an  amount   of  literary  labor  which 
few  men  even  in  the  maturity    of    life    and 
genius   have    been    able    to   compact  into  so 
brief  a   period.     He  prepared  various  profes- 
sional and  popular  lectures  upon  art  and  liter- 
ature, translated  and  published  text  books  for 
the  study  of  the  Greek  classics,  had  the  entire 
editorial  control  of  the  North  American  Re- 
view, and  delivered  the  first  of  that  series  of 
remarkable  orations  which  afterward  placed 
him  among  the  foremost  of  the  great  orators 
of  his  time. 

Mr.   Everett  was  first  elected  to  congress 
In  1824  by  the  whiga  of  the  old  Middlesex  dis- 
trict.    He   was  now  thirty  years  of  age,  and 
this  was  his  first  experiment  in   political  life. 
He  remained  in    congress    under  successive 
re-elections  for  ten  years,  when  he  declined 
re-nomination  in  order  to  become  a  candidate 
for    governor    of    Massachusetts.     He    filled 
this  office  from  1835  to  the  memorable  elec- 
tion of  1839,  when  he  was  defeated  by  Marcus 
Morton  with  a  majority  of  one.     He  was  min- 
ister to  the  court  of  St.  James  from  1841  to 
1845;  president  of  Harvard  University  from 
1845  to  1848;  secretary  of  state  during  a  por- 
tion   of  Mr.    Fillmore's    administration;   and 
United  States  senator  in  1853-4,  when  he   re- 
signed on  account  of  impaired  health.     Here 
his  active  and  laborious  political  career  ended- 
There  was  little  public  honor  left  for  him  to 
attain,  and  of  that  little  he  was  not  ambitious- 
But  Mr.  Everett  was    not  a  great  statesman. 
Though    com    elled   to    grapple     with     many 
great    questions,    he    never    identified  him- 
self      with       any       great       public       policy, 
nor       ventured     upon     ways     where     oilier 
statesmen  had  not  gone  before,     lie  had  no 
faith    in    moral    forces  in  politics.     He  dis- 
trusted   ideas.     He    e|lrunk    from    colIisio„. 
His  political  philosophy  often  compelled    him 
to  sacrifice  right  to  expediency,   and  to  stake 


the  future  against  the  convenience  ot  ttu 
hour.  It  was  his  misfortune  to  fail  out  of  sym- 
pathy  with  the  opinions  of  a  majority  of  his 
fellow  citizens  at  a  time  when  experience  and 
wisdom  were  most  wanted  in  the  public  coun- 
sels ;  so  that  with  all  his  natural  gifts,  and  cul- 
tured in  many  ways  beyond  the  lot  of  any  oth- 
er man  of  his  period,  he  contributed  little  to 
the  influence  and  character  of  that  states- 
manship which  was  destined  to  guide  the  na- 
tion through  civil  war  and  social  revolution 
'to  a  new  arid  permanent  glory. 

Mr.  Everett  resigned  his  seat  in  the  United 
^States  senate  in  May,  1854,  and  soon  after  be- 
gan the  peculiar  labors  in  behalf  of  the  Mount 
Vernon  fund,  and,  incidentally,  of  other  pub- 
lic and  charitable  associations,    which  distin- 
guished the   closing    years  of    his  life.     His 
Mount    Vernon  work,  however  much  it  ac- 
complished,     failed     in      its     leading     pur- 
pose,     but      through      no      fault      of      his. 
-It     was      not      in      the      power      of      any 
man    living    within    the    last    ten    years    to 
bridge  the  ever-widening  and   deepening  gulf 
•between  the  two  systems  which   6ectionalized 
the  cou   try.     Since  the  war  Mr.  Everett  has 
himself  acknowledged    that  his    expectations 
were   fallacious,   and   his   policy  a   mistake. 
Since  the  war  the  country  has  wanted  no  ser- 
vice  that     he    was    not    willing   to    render. 
His    spotless     personal     integrity,     his     so- 
cial and  political  connections  extending  over 
nearly  the  whole  Union,   and  his   sometimes 
f"  peerless  eloquence,  have  united  to  secure    to 
I    him  a  degree  and  quality  of  influence  such 
as  no  other  citizen  of  the  republic   has    en- 
joyed.    If   he  is    fortunate    in    having   lived 
to    win    the    approbation    of    all    who    love 
their  country,  he   is  more   fortunate   in  hav- 
ing  lived    to    contribute    his    full,    imperial 
/  share  to  Us  safety  and  just  renown.     If  pil. 
grimages    were  still   made  to    the  graves    of 
those  who  in  perilous  times  have  done  most 
|     magnanimous   and  noble  work  for  the  public 
1  shrines  few  would  receive  more  fragrant  and 
/  grateful  tributes  than  the  grave  of  Edward 
Everett. 


The  Last  Letter. — Capt.  Wise,  son-in- 
law  of  Mr.  Everett,  now  at  the  head  ot  the 
naval  ordnance  bureau  at  Washington,  has 
furnished  the  following  letter  for  publication. 
It  is  a  copy  of  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Wise,  and  the 
last  he  ever  wrote  : 

"Boston,  I3»h  January,  -  18G5. — I  have 
yours  of  the  8lh.  I  am  just  recovering  from 
a  pretty  severe  attack  of  illness,  which  bar 
kept  me  in  bed  most  of  the  time  since  Mon 
day. 

On  Monday  morning  I  was  at  the  court 
room  two  and  a  half  hours,  testifying.  I  then 
went  to  Faneuil  Hall,  which  was  cold,  and  till 
my  turn  came  I  sat  in  a  draft  of  air.  When 
I  had  got  through  — though  I  spoke  but  half  an 
hour— my  hands  and  leet  were  as  ice,  and  my 
lungs  on  fire.  m 

In  this  agreeable  position  I  had  to  go  and 
pi'-  three  hours  In  the  court  room.  This 
finished  me.  I  came"  home,  sent  for  Hay- 
ward,  and  went  regularly  to  work.  I  hardly 
left  my  bed  next  day.  I  have  barely  weather- 
ed an  attack  of  pneumonia,  which  was  an  old' 
fashioned  lung  fever. 

Hay  ward  comes  twice  a  day.  I  have  turn 
ed  the  corner,  and  as  soon  as  I  can  get  a  little 
appetite,  shake  off  my  cackling  cough  and  ge 
the  kidneys  to  resume  their  action,  and  sub' 
due  the  numbness  of  my  limbs,  and  get  th. 
better  of  a  sharp  neuralgic  pain  in  the  left 
shoulder,  I  hope  to  do  nicely. 

Everett  behaves  very  well,  in  thesomewha 
abnormal  condition  ol  the  household.  La 
new  sied — the  'Kearsarge,' — behaves^  as  wel 
as  its  namesake. 

The  Arago  has  got  buck  to  New  York,  s. 
that  I  think  we  shall  get  news  from  Sid  to 
night. 

Best  love  to  husband  and  babies. 

Your  ever  affectionate  papa,  e.  e. 


DEATH  OF  EDWARD  EVEEETT. 

Tributes  to  his    Memory    in  Itoxton  antl 
In   Washington. 

Boston,  Jan.  15.— Edward  Everett  died 
this  morning  at  4  o'clock,  at  his  residence, 
Summer  street,  of  apoplexy.  His  age  was  70 
years  and  about  nine  months. 
^  Mr.  Everett  addressed  his  fellow-citizens  in 
Faneuil  Hall,  on  Monday  last,  to  aid  in  send- 
ing  provisions  to  Savannah,  and  during  the 
afternoon  of  that  day  was  present  in  court  in 
reference  to  a  claim  for  damages  against  the 
city  of  Charlestown  for  overflowing  a  portmn 
of  his  estate  in  Medford  by  constructing  a 
dam  on  Mystic  river. 

On  Tuesday  he  became  affected  with  quite 
a  severe  cold,  but  neither  his  friends  nor  his 
family  deemed  it  serious.  Saturday  evening 
he  appeared  about  as  weil  as  usual,  and  re- 
tired to  bed,  declining  to  trouble  any  one  to 
remain  with  him.  About  three  o'clock  this 
morning  his  housekeeper  entered  his  room  and 
fobiftj  him  sleeping  naturally.  An  hour  later 
she  was  alarmed  by  hearing  a  heavy  fall  in 
his  room,  and  found  him  lying  upon  the  floor, 
breathing  heavily.  A  physician  was  prompt- 
ly summoned,  but  before  his  arrival  Mr, 
Everett  died. 

The  event  was  announced  in  nearly  all  the 
churches  at  the  commencement  of  the  morn- 
ing services,  and  created  a  profound  feeling 
of  sadness.  In  the  afternoon  the  church  hells 
of  the  city  and  suburbs  were  toiled. 


TUESDAY.     JAW.    17,     18B»1. 

The  Death  of  Mr.  Everett. — In  memory 
of  Edward  Everett  the  Boston  city  council 
held  a  special  meeting  at  noon,  Monday,  and 
adopted  a  suitable  expression  of  respect  and 
sorrow.  The  mayor  was  instructed  to  call  a 
public  meeting  of  citizens  at  Faneuil  Hall  a' 
noon,  Wednesday,  for  the  purpose  of  making 
a  public  testimony  of  regard  tor  the  memorj 
of  the  deceased.  The  flags  of  all  the  publit 
buildings  in  the  city  were  flying  at  half  mas1 
during  the  day.  Various  public  bodies  ant 
learned  societies  witfi  which  Mr.  Everet 
maintained  an  active  or  honorary  relation, 
are  also  preparing  to  take  part  on  the  funera 
solemnities.  No  public  man  in  the  continen 
falling  at  this  time,  would  be  more  widely  ant 
sincerely  lamented. 

The  legislature  took  appropriate  notice  « 
the  decease  ot  Mr.  Everett,  yesterday,  and 
initiated  measures  for  a  more  formal  and  elab- 
orate commemoration.  Gov.  Andrew  also 
expressed  to  the  family  of  the  deceased  hij 
desire  to  co-operate  on  the  part  of  the  state 
in  any  public  demonstration  agreeable  tc 
them.  He  also  transmitted  to  the  Massachu- 
setts senators  the  following  dispatch  : 

Boston,  Jan.  15,  1865. 
Bon.  Charles  Sumner,  Hon.  Henry  Wilson 
U.  S.  Senators,  Washington,  D.  C—  Massa- 
chusetts mourns  the  irreparable  loss  of  at 
eminent  citizen  in  the  sudden  death  of  Edwan 
Everett,  which  occurred  this  morning  at  four 
o'clock.  Pi  ease  apprise  the  president,  o| 
whom  he  was  an  elector;  Mr.  Seward,  whom 
he  preceded  as  secretary  of  state,  and  the 
-  Massachusetts  delegation,  who  remember 
him  as  a  former  senator,  representative  and 
governor. 

(Signed)  John  A.  Andrew. 


The  tidings  of  Mr.  Everett's  decease, 
and  the  President's  announcement  were 
received  at  the  consulate  general  of  the 
United  States  in  Egypt  on  Monday,  Feb- 
ruary 13.  The  flags  of  the  consulate  gen- 
eral, and  also  of  the  American  shipping  in 
the  harbor,  were  displayed  at  half-mast 
the  next  day. 


I 


DEATH  OF  PBISCB  ALBERT. 


THE  LATE  PRINCE  ALBERT. 

INCIDENTS    AND    COMMENTS 


[Most  of  the  English  papers  received  at  our  office 
by  the  last  foreign  mail  are  printed  with  black  lines  ot, 
mourning,  as  a  tribute  to  the  late  Prince  Albert,.  The 
religious  journals  are  crowded  with  reports  of  sermons 
alluding  to  the  event.    Wc  gather  some  incidents  and 


Pbikck  Albeet  is  dead.    The  news  comes  by  the 

Pcisia.    He  died  of  gastric  fever  on  Sunday,  Decetn- 

; !  ber  lGth  after  a  brief  illness,  which  was  not  thought 

:  ierlouB  until  the  Friday  preceding  his  death.    To.  8 

to  essence  will  create  a  deep  feeling  of  syomathy  in   comments  both  from'the "relfgious 
i  tb  s  country  for  Victoria,  now  a  widow,  whose  good  '— Ens.  L\dkpkkdk.\t.] 

I  neme  and  man?  virtues  are  held  in  hardly  less  esteem  s     The  London  Teh  graph  has  the  following  story  of 

'  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  than  on  the  otaer.  the  courtship  of  the  Prince  and  the  Queen  : 

|       The  Prince  was  born  in   the  Austrian  castle  of,.     "  On  t^c  10th  of  October,  1880,  Prince  Albert  and 

1   Boeenau,  August  26,1819,  In  the  same  year  with  '£»  brother  arrived  in  England  upon  their  second  visits 

„     n  .   ,  '  v     .        .     ,         rr  Ihe  Prince  played  the  part  of  a  royal  lover  with  all 

the  Queen,  befog  three  months  her  junior.    He  re-   the  ^^  pecuiiar  t0  his  house.    ]Ic  ]iever  ->viiiingiy 

,  eeived  bis  eariy  education  from  private  tutors,  and   absented  himself  from  the" Queen's  society  and  pres- 
aftei wards  entered  Bonn  University  for  the  stuiy  of  enco-  nml  lier  every  wish  was  anticipated  with  the 

alacrity  of  an  unfeigned  attachment.     At  length  Her 


jurisprudence.  He  was  not  a  brilliant  but  laborious 
student,  winning  a  reputation  for  methodical  habits 
by  keeping  diligently  to  his  books  ten  hours  a  day. 
A  email  house,  simple  In  aspect,  hidden  by  trees,  and 


Majesty,  having  wholly  made  up  her  mind  as  to  the 
issue  of  this  visit,  tbund  herself  in  some  measure  em- 
barrassed as  to  the  fit  and  proper  means  of  indicating 
her  preference  to  the  Prince.  This  was  a  perplexing 
task,  but  the  Queen  acquitted  herself  of  it  with  equal 
standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  cathedral  of  Bonn,  delicacy  and  tact.  At  one  of  the  Palace  balls  she  took 
is  still  pointed  out  as  the  Prince's  modest  residence  occasion  to  present  her  bouquet  to  the  Prince  at  the 


during  his  university  career. 

A  few  months  before  reaching  his  nineteenth  year, 
he  made  a  visit  to  England  in  the  company  of  the 
King  of  Belgium,  and,  before  returning,  pligh  ed  h  s 
troth  with  the  young  Queen.    The  alliance,  which 


conclusion  of  a  dance,  and  I  he  hint  was  not  lost  upon 
the  polite  and  gallant  German.  His  close  uniform, 
buttoned  up  to  the  throat,  did  not  admit  of  his  placing 
the  Persianlike  gift  where  it  would  be  most  honored  ; 
so  he  immediately  drew  his  penknife,  and  cut  a  slit 
in  his  dress  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  heart,  where  he 
gracefully  deposited  the  happy  omen.  Again,  to  an- 
waa  publicly  celebrated  with  many  festivities  in  1810,  nounce  to  the  Privy  Council  her  intended  union  was 
prcved  to  be  not  only  a  marriage  of  state,  bat,  sr>  far  an.  c"sy  duty  in  comparison  to  that  of  intimating  her 

,,  ._,  ,  .     „    e, ,      /^-A/        wishes  to  the  principal  party  concerned:  and  here, 

as  the  world  knows,  a  marriage  of  love.    /&»/.       too,  it  is  saiu  that  our  sovereign  lady  displayed  unS 

r^  tl  presence  of  mind  and  female  ingenuity.     The 

h  Prince  was  expressing  the  grateful  sense  which  he 

The  Surrey  Chapel  Lectures.— The  following  °ntertained  of  his  reception  in  England,  and  the  delight 
hymn,  composed  for  the  occasion  by  Rev.  Newman  which  he  had  experienced  during  his  stay  from  the 
Hall,  LL.B.,  was  sung  at  the  weekly  meeting  of  the  kill(1  attentions  of  royalty,  when  the  Queen  very 
working-classes,  held  at  Surrey  chapel.  The  im-  ^naturally  and  very  pointedly  put  to  him  the  question 
mense  assembly  joined  with  evident  and  deep  emo-  upon  which  their  future  fates  depended:  'If,  indeed, 
tion  in  the  chorus  of  each  verse.  The  rev.  gentleman  &y«ur  Highness  is  so  much  pleased  with  this  country, 
had  previously  made  an  affecting  allusion  to  the  perhaps  you  would  not  object  to  remaining  in  it  and 
deceased  Prince  as  the  friend  of  the  poor  man  and„inakmS  i(  )'°ur  home  ?'  IS'o  one  can  doubt  the  reply, 
the  patron  of  industry.  He  also  read  extracts  from~Wc  te)1  the  story  as  it  has  been  told  to  us  ;  and  it 
the  leading  articles  of  yesterday's   Star  and  The    certainly  Avears  every  appearance  of  probability ;  for 

thus  it  is,  according  to  the  accounts  which  come  down, 
to  us  from  the  perfumed  atmosphere  of  courts  and 
royal  circles,  that  reigning  Queens  are  wooed,  won,. 
•and  wedded." 

e  "* 

"  HIS  WORKS    DO    FOLLOW    HIM.  ' 

.--Not  pyramids,  not  coiumnated  temples,  not  conquered 
^territories  and  enslaved  peoples ;— no  !  these  monu- 
ments of  regal  pride  and  folly  and  crime  are  not  his. 
With  pure  strong  hand  he  sustained  the  arm  which 
?held  the  weighty  scepter.  With  clear,  calm  under- 
standing, and  equable  temper,,  he  counseled  and  i 
upheld,  where  the  weight  of  an  imperial  crown:  might  I 
well  have  oppressed  if  it  did  not  crush  the  wearer.  1 1 
A  household  in  which  purity  and  affection,  religion 
and  piety,  prevailed,  and  that  a  royal  household,  pre- 
sents a  living  temple,  glorious  beyond  any  that  the 
wealth  of  pillaged  nations  could  raise  to  a  conqueror. 
Neither  iu  formal  legislative  enactments,  nor  in  regal 
decrees,  is  the  monument  of  the  deceased  Prince 
Consort  to  be  seen.  His  has  been  that  great  and 
rarely  estimated  power,  the  power  of  beneficial  influ- 
ence— of  unconscious  and  undesigned  influence,  as 
well  as  the  influence  of  act  and  will..  Take  the  im- 
proved laborer's  cottage,  and  take,  apparently  far 
remote  from  it,  the  Crystal  Palace,,  its  conception  and 
objects — place  between  these  the  means  and  aids  to 
higher  education  which  the  Prince  originated;  and  en 


A  I'll*!.. 

Searching  for  strawberries  ready  to  eat; 
Finding  them  crimson,  and  large,  and  sweet; 
What  do  you  think  I  found  at  my  feet, 
Deep  in  the  green  hill-side  ? 

Pour  brown  sparrows,  the  cunning  things, 
Feathered  on  back,  and  breast,  and  wings, 
Proud  with  the  dignity  plumage  brings, 
Opening  their  four  mouths  wide. 

Stooping  lower  to  scan  my  prize, 
Watching  the  motions  wlth'curious  eyes, 
Dropping  my  berries  in  glad  surprise, 
»      A  plaintive  sound  I  heard. 

And  looking  up  at  the  mournful  call, 
I  spied  on  a  branch  near  the  old  stone  wall, 
Trembling  and  twittering,  ready  to  fall, 
The  poor  little  mother  bird. 

With  grief  and  terror  her  heart  was  wrung, 
And  while  to  the  slender  bough  she  clung, 
She  felt  that  the  lives  of  her  birdUngs  hung 
On  a  still  more  slender  thread. 

"Ah,  birdie !"  I  said,  "If  you  only  knew 
My  heart  was  tender,  and  warm  and  true  I" 
But  the  thought  that  I  loved  her  birdUngs,  too, 
Never  entered  her  small  brown  head. 


Times  in  reference  to  the  great  national  loss 

God  save  our  gracious  Queen  ! 
Long  live  our  noble  Queen ! 

God  save  the  Queen  ! 
Lord,  heather  bleeding  heart, 
Assuage  its  grievous  smart, 
Thy  heavenly  peace  impart, 

God  save  the  Queen ! 

Our  Royal  widow  bless  ! 
God  guard  the  fatherless ! 

God  save  the  Queen  ! 
Shield  them  with  loving  care, 
Their  mighty  grief  we  share, 
Lord,  hear  the  people's  prayer, 

God  sajre  the  Queen  ! 

O  Lord  oar  God  arise  ! 
13  less  Emjl'ud's  enemies ! 

On  Thee  we  call ! 
Let  sorrow  whisper  Peace, 
Bid  wrong  and  anger  cease. 
Let  truth  and  love  increase, 

Make  evil  fall ! 

In  this  our  Nation's  need, 
With  Thee  we  humbly  plead  ! 

God  bless  our  Queen '. 
Her  life-woe  sanctify, 
Her  loss  untold  supply, 
Thyself  be  ever  nigh 

To  save  our  Queen '. 


And  so  through  this  world  of  ours  we  go, 
Bearing  our  burdens  of  needless  woe ; 
Many  a  heart  beating  heavy  and  slow 
Under  its  load  of  care. 

But  oh,  if  we  only,  only  knew 
That  God  was  tender,  warm  and  true. 
And  that  He  loved  us  through  and  through, 
Our  hearts  would  be  lighter  than  air. 


THE  NOBLEST  CALLING 


A  teacher  eat  with  weary  face 
The  Dreeze  her  brown  hair  lifting; 

While  on  the  floor  the  checkered  light 
Through  dusty  pane  was  sifting. 


air. 


Till  G< 


Before  her  stood  a  sunburned  lad, 

Who  lesson  slow  was  reading; 
And,  though  she  heard  each  droning  word, 

She  gave  but  little  heeding. 

Her  hands  fell  idly  on  her  lap. 
The  tears  her  eyes  were  reaching: 

A  weary  life  is  mine,  "  she  thuuir.'it, 
4 '  And  thankless  task  is  teaching. " 

And  now,  with  laughter  and  with  shout, 

Without  the.  last  one  passes; 
When  backward  turn  in  timid  way 

Two  blushing,  sweet-faced  lasses. 

"Teacher" — and  on  the  upturned  face 

Was  just  a  touch  of  sorrow— 
"Teacher,  I'll  surely  try  and  be 

A  better  girl  to- marrow. 

"And  Teacher" — now  this  maiden  w»» 
Of  all  the  least  unruly— 
And  Teacher,  I  came  back  to  say 
I  love  you  very  truly. " 

The  teacher  turned  with  smiling  face, 
O'er  which  the  tears  were  falling: 
"A  hapuy  life  is  mine,"  she  thought, 
' '  And  mine  the  noblest  calling. " 

Laura  Underbill. 


BT"  See 


How  Far  a  Greenback  will  Go.—M.t.  Brown 
Saged  PconsWeV' these7  and"  then  tome  a^proad  kept  boarders.  Around  his  table  sat  Mr.  Brown, 
.  can  be  made  to  an  estimate  of  what  England  owes  t<  Mrs.  Brown,  Mrs.  Andrews,  the  village  milliner ; 
.  Prince  Albert  s  personal  appearance  is  prepossessing  ..  and  of  what  has  been  lost  to  thc  Queen  and  t<Mr.  Black,  the  baker;  Mr.  Jordan,  a  carpen- 
in  the  highest  degree.  He  is  one  of  the  finest  looking  ^ne  nat_ion.  And  it  is  this  which  is  calculated  t<ter ;  and  Mr.  Hadley,  a  flour,  feed  and  lumber 
young  men  I  have  ever  seen.  He  is  tall,  and  posses-  jnspjre  a  deep'and  serious  feeling  when,  the  first  sharj  merchant.  Mr.  Brown  took  out  of  his  pocket- 
ses  great  symmetry  of  form.  His  features  are  s'n2u" .  and  surprising  sorrow  has  passed  away.  But  w<book  a  ten-dollar  note,  and  handed  it  to  Mrs. 
larly  handsome;  and  are  lighted  up  with  an  intelligence  oannot  pUrgUe°this  train  of  thought  and  illustration.  Brown,  saying  :  "Here,  my  dear,  are  ten  dol- 
which  adds  greatly  to  the  pleasing  impression  they  Doubtless  it  is  a  great  blow  lor  the  nation.  Thriars  towards  the  twenty  I  promised  you."  Mrs. 
are  otherwise  calculated  to  produce.  He  has  a  fine  pUrer  the  patriotism  in  the  bosom  of  any  Englishman  Brown  handed  it  to  Mrs.  Andrews,  the  milliner, 
dark  eye,  the  effect  of  which  is  heightened  by  his  beau-  the  more  enlightened  his  views,  the  more  religious  hi  saying:  "That  pays  for  my  new  bonnet." 
tiful  eyebrows.  The  general  expression  of  his  coun-  sentiments,  the  more  distinct  will  be  his  apprehensio  Mrs.  Andrews  said  to  Mr.  Jordan,  as  she 
tenance  is  that  of  a  serene,  an  amiable,  and  intelligent  that  a  great  calamity  has  fallen  upon  Britain.    W  handed  him  the  note:    "That  wili  pay  you  for 

may,  in  the  language  of  that  surpassing,  elevatecyour  work  on  my  counter."  Mr.  Jordan  handed 
and  soul-subduing  Service  for  the  Head,  even  whil  it  to  Mr.  Hadley,  the  flour,  feed  and  lumber 
we  sorrow,  give  thanks  for  the  Prince  and  the  brotlu  merchant,  requesting  his  lumber  bill.  Mr.  Had- 
departed;  and,  amidst  our griofiand sympathy, rejokiey  gave  the  note  back  to  Mr.  Brown,  saying: 
"  in  the  sure  and  certain  hope  %f  a  glorious  resurreu<xhat  pays  ten  dollars   on   my   board."    Mr. 


mind.     His  complexion,  seen  at  a  few  yards' distance 

— which  is  the  distance  at  which  I  have  seen  his  Royal 

Highness — is  clear  and  indicative  of  excellent  health. 

On  hie  upper  lip   he  wears   a  very  small    mustachio, 

which,  even  to  an  English  eye  unaccustomed  to  such 

things,  contributes  to  the   pleasing  expression  of  his  "tion." 

countenance.     He  has  an  ample  well-developed  fore-  J  7     ^he  late  Prince  Albert  once  paid  a  visit  to  a 

head,  which  is  seen  to  greater  advantage  from  the  cir-  h  I  school,  and  heard  the  teacher  make  one  of  the  classes 

cumstance  of  his  beautiful  hair,  which    is   something!   |  go  through  what  is  termed  in  the  phraseology  of  peda- 

between  black  and  auburn,  being   carefully   parted  on  I   i  gogues  an  object  lesson.    "  Now,  can  you  tell  me  any- 

,i      ,    n    -a         u     j  i'ii.      ■•,!_  i_  j        thing   about  heat?"    was  one  of   the   questions.     A 

the  lert  side.     He  dresses  plainly  but  with  much  good  j  briegt  httle  man  held  forth  his  han(}>  as  ^uch  a8  to  say 


He  has  gained.    He  is  blessed 


feH 


taste.     When  not  in  regimentals,  his  favorite  coal  is   a 
'ffreen  surtout. 

*  The  first  sermon  ever  preached  in  Wenham  was  by 
Hugh  Peters,  then  minister  of  Salem,  about  the  year 
1636.  It  was  on  a  small  conical  hill,  on  the  bank  of  the 
l.ond ;  and  the  text  v  as :  "In  Mnon,  near  Salim;  became 
there  was  much  water  there." 


that  he  could.    "  Well,  now,  my  boy,"  said  the  teacher, 

"  what  do  you  know  I"    "  Heat  expands,"  said  the  boy, 

in  a  jerky  style  of  delivery  characteristic  of  his  years. 

"  Heat  expands — cold  contracts."     The  tea  her  looked 

at  the  Prince  for  approval;  the  Prince  bowed  his  head,  [thought  a  ten  dollar  bill  would  go  so  far." 

and  smiled  approbation.     The  teacher,  eager  for  moro 

such  smiles,  went  on.    "Very  good,"  he  said;    "now 

give  me  an  example."     "In   summer  the  days  are 

long;  in  winter  the  days  are  short  " 


Brown  passed  it  to  his  wife,  with  the  remark 
that  that  paid  her  twenty  dollars  he  had  prom- 
ised. She  in  turn  paid  it  to  Mr.  Black,  to  settle 
her  bread  and  pastry  account,  who  handed  it  to 
Mr.  Hadley,  wishing  credit  for  the  amount  on 
his  flour  bill;  he  again  returning  it  to  Mr. 
Brown  with  the  remark  that  it  settled  for  that 
month's  board.  Whereupon  Brown  put  it  back 
into  his  pocket-book  exclaiming  that  he  "never 

'  Thus 
a  ten  dollar  greenback  was  made  to  pay  ninety 
dollars  indebtedness  inside  of  five  minutes.  Who 
says  greenbacks  are  worthless? 


k 


ROBERT    SOlTilK). 

"The  Most  Bookfnl  of  Laureates." 

Wordsworth,  Coleridge  and  Southey  consti- 
tuted \That  is  called  the  Lake  school  of  poets. 
This  name  was  given  to  them,  not  because  01 
anv  common  aim  or  influence,  but  simply  on  ac- 
count of  their  residences  about  the  lakes  in  West- 
moreland county.  These  poets  were  widely  dif- 
ferent in  their  aims  and  pursuits.  \\  ordsWorfcb, 
with  his  eye  steadily  fixed  upon  the  absolute  and 
unchaniicabl",  directed  his  course  to  the  highest 
by  way  of  the  humblest.  Coleridge,  intoxicated 
with  his  genius,  drove  his  winged  Pegasus  some- 
times recklessly  along  the  verge  of  '  unknown 
precipices,  sometimes  sleepily  to  soma  pleasure 
dome  of  Kubla  Khan;  but  all  the  while,  whether 
asleep  or  awake,  the  lavish  rider  would  scatter 
his  wealth  of  golden  words  on  the  chance  passers 
by.  Southcv's  winged  steed  was  a  dray-horse, 
ready  to  work  by  the  hour,  the  day,  or  the  job, 
as  occasion  required.  If  poetry  paid,  he  made 
poetry,  if  not,  he  turned  to  prose. 

Robert  Southey  was  born  in  Bristol  in  1771. 
His  father  was  a  linen  draper.  In  his  early 
childhood  Southey  lived  with  a  maiden  aunt, 
who  was  so  insanely  neat  that  Southey  pro- 
nounced her  case  a  disease  (it  was  certainly  a 
to  him)  and  give  it  the  name  dustopho- 
\  gift  to  the  boy  of  twenty  volumes  of  the 
Giles  Gingerbread  and  Goody-two-shoes  order  of 
books  relieved  the  dreary  monotony  of  the  pain- 
fullv  clean  house,  and  may  have  had  no  little 
influence  in  giving  to  the  boy  that  passionate 
love  for  books  which  characterized  him  through 
life.  From  the  Giles  Gingerbread  sort,  Southey 
soon  passed  to  a  translation  of  Gerusalemme 
Liberata,  and  thence  to  the  Faerie  Queen.  He 
felt  the  truth  and  purity,  the  love  of  the  beauti- 
ful and  good  which  pervades  Spencer's  poetry, 
and  the  author  of  the  Faerie.  Queen  at  once  be- 
came a  favorite.  This  lirst  genuine  love  of  Sou- 
tin  v's  was  lasting.  Shortly  before  his  death, 
writing  to  a  friend,  he  asks:  ilDo  you  love 
Spencer'.-1    I  have  him  in  my  heart  of  hearts." 

Earlv  as  his  tenth  year  Southev  commenced 
his  epic  dreams,  purposing  to  graft  a  story  upon 
the  Orlando  Furioso,  and  even  made  some  pro- 
iriessinit.  Other  juvenile  efforts  of  a  similar 
kind  followed ;  three  heroic  epistles  in  rhyme, 
translations  from  the  Latin  poets,  and  an  attempt 


Scott  with  his  chivalrous  romances,  and  Byron 
with  his  Harolds  and  Juans,  were  kindling  the 
imagination.  Even  Charles  Lamb,  who  could 
hug  the  Latin  works  of  Thomas  Aquinas,  could 
not  tolerate  these  oriental  almighties  of  Sou- 
they's. "I  have  a  timid  imagination,"  he  com- 
plained; "I  can  just  endure  Moore's,  because  of 
their  connection  as  foes  with  Christians,  but 
Abyssinians,  Ethiops,  Denises  and  all  that  tribe  | 
I  hate." 

On  his  teturn  to  England  he  resided  near  Cole- 
ridge and  Wordsworth,  giving  his  entire  time  to 
literature,  writing  for  the  Quarterly  Review  as  a 
sure  means  of.  "making  the  pot  boil,"  and  try- 
ing his  pen  in  the  most  varied  ways.  Volume 
after  volume  rolled  from  his  pen  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. No  wonder  he  thought  he  had  a  "Heli- 
con kind  of  dropsy"  upon  him,  for  he  published 
more  than  Scott,  and  burned  almost  as  much  as 
he  published. 

In  personal  appearance  Southey  was  the  beau 
ideal  of  a  poet.  Byron,  with  his  customary  rail- 
lery, said,  "To  have  that  poet's  head  and  shoul- 
ders, I  would  ahnost  have  written  his  Sapphics." 
His  library  was  his  home.  It  was  his  fancy  to 
have  all  the  books'  of  lesser  value,  that  had  be- 
come ragged  and  dirty,  covered  in  cotton  prints, 
that  they  might  keep  a  respectable  appearance. 
Not  less  than  1200  volumes  were  so  bound,  tilling 
an  entire  room,  which  he  designated  as  the  Cot- 
tonian  library.  His  daughters  would  often  suit 
the  pattern  to  the  contents,  clothing  a  Qaaker 
work  in  drab,  or  a  volume  of  poetry  in  flowery 
designs. 

Southey's  domestic  relations  were  particularly 
happy.  He  found  in  the  atmosphere  of  home 
that  quiet  contentment  and  peaceful  happiness 
which  it  was  his  ambition  to  gain.  That  lie  had 
a  true  idea  of  the  conjugal  relation  is  evident 
from  a  single  remark :  "I  never  wish  people  joy 
of  their  marriage;  that  they  will  find  for  them- 
selves; what  I  wish  them  is— patience."  Through 
the  influence  of  Scott  he  received  the  laureate- 
ship.  The  salary  for  the  same  was  acceptable  to 
Southev;  but  writing  odes  for  the  royal  family 
he  pronounced  oileoui.  After  the  death  of  his 
wife  he  contracted  a  second  marriage  with  Miss 
Caroline  Bowles,  the  poetess.  Paralysis  soon 
prostrated  his  intellect,  ami  he  sank  into  a  state 
of  insensibility.  Southey  was  a  useful  man.  He 
has  saved  less  laborious  scholars  many  a  heavy 
task  of  poring  over   musty,  dusty  books.    As  a 


exhibit  the  story  of    the  Trojan  war  in  a  dra-   *  historian    and    biographer   his  excellence  is  ac 


..latic  form.  These  were  no  idle,  careless  efforts. 
The  boy  was  diligent  in  his  historical  researches, 
and  if  his  labor  was  one  of  love,  it  was  none  the 
less  a  labor.  In  bis  fifteenth  year  he  was  sent  to 
Westminster  school,  but  before  finishing  the 
course  was  expelled,  because  of  a  sarcastic  at- 
tack upon  corporal  punishment,  which  he  had 
published  in  the  school  periodical.  He  then  ap- 
plied at  Christ  church,  but  on  account  of  the  dif- 
tirnitv  at  Westminster,  the  suspicious  youth  was 
refused  admittance,  and  he  entered  BaifOl  col- 
lege. Here  he  pursued  a  course  of  reading  in 
English,  Latin  and  Greek  so  extensive  that  one 
of  his  college  friends  pronounced  him  a  perfect 
"hellus  librorum."  The  French  revolution  was 
now  stirring  all  Europe,  and  Southey  did  not 
escape  the  leverish  enthusiasm.  He  gave  vent 
to  his  feeling-  in  the  explosive  drama  Wat  Tyler. 
The  piece  poem  Joan  of  Arc  soon  followed,  and 
at  once  gave  him  a  reputation,  not  so  much  on 
account  of  i is  ability,  but  because  it  was  seized 
on  by  the  one  party  and  condemned  by  tiie  > 
other. 
Southey's  uncle,    Mr  Hill,    chaplaiu    to   the 


knowledged  to  be  of  the  first  kind,  but  as  a  poet 
he  must  be  content  with  a  place  in  the  third 
rank. — ( 'h ieago  Tim <  *. 


^istoxmxl  Stoles. 


.they  would  enter  the  church ;  but  the  vouth    'gland,  was  dissolved  at  the  union  in  "»°- 

°  .,./.  ;T„i,.r>,.r.,iOI,t  «  thtuW.r   ur.,1    tnn  mm.li  nf  j The.    Komaii    occupation  ot    ureal  Lsi nam. 


Savoy  was  annexed  to  France  in  1792. 
Bonaparte  was  crowned  Emperor  in  1804. 
William  Cowper,  English  poet,  born  1131. 
The  famous    battle    of   Hohenliuden   was 

British  i uctlry  at  Lisbon,  defrayed '  tnVexpenses  ^P1)^ %'£  1S 

of 

South. , 

was  too  independent  a  thinker,  aud   too  much  of  J — The   Kontan    occupation 

i.n  enthusiast  to  settle  in  the  forms  of  the  church,  -jntnenelng  In  the  A.  D.  85,   lasted  nearly  500 

Later  in  life  he  regretted    that    he    did  not  take    i,rs. 

order-,  believing  it    would    best    hate  accorded    j The  Welsh  and  Scottish  historians  give  long 

with  lbs  nature,  "hut,"  said  he,  "I  could  not  get  L  0I  pretended  kings  of  Britain,  commencing 
in  at  the  door."  With  the  purpose  of  modify-  udTeds  of  years  before  the  Christian  era.  King 
ing  the  views  of   his  nephew,    both    in  religion  for  example,  dated  800  B.  C. 

and  politics,  and  more  especially  to  wean  him  p 
from  whai  he  considered  an  imprudent  attach- 
ment, Mr  Hill  proposed  that  Southey  should  ac- 
company him  to  Lisbon.  The  poet  consented, 
but  the  day  fixed  for  their  departure  was  also 
fixed  for  his  wedding  day.  Cottle,  the  publish- 
er, furnished  the  money  for  the  wedding  ring 
and  marriage  fee.  Immediately  after  the  cere- 
mony they 
ring  around 

name,  Edith  Flicker, until  the  report  of  the  mar- 
riage was  circulated.  On  his  return  he  pub- 
lished "Letters  from  Portugal."  His  aunt 
thought  it  was  pretty  well  in  him  to  write  a  book 
about  Poitugal,  when  he  had  not  been  there  six 
months;  for  ner  part,  she  said,  she  had  been  there 
twelve  months,  aud  yet  she  could  not  write  a 
book  about  it 


Maxims  for  Business  Men. 

Make  few  promisee. 

Never  speak  evil  of  any  one. 

Keep  good  company  or  none. 

Live  up  to  your  engagements. 

Be  cautious  and  bold. 

Make  a  bargain  at  once. 

Never  play  at  any  game  of  chance. 

Never  fail  to  take  a  receipt  for  money  ' 
paid,  and  keep  copies  of  your  letters. 

Do  your  business  promptly,  and  bore  not 
a  business  man  with  long  visits. 

Law  is  a  trade  in  which  the  lawyers  eat1 
the  oysters  aud  leave  the  clients  the  shells. 

Caution  is  the  father  of  security. 

He  who  pays  before  band  is  served  be- 
hind-hand. 

If  you  would  know  the  value  of  a  dollar, 
try  to  borrow  one. 

No  man  can  be  successful  wdio  neglects 
his  business. 

Do  not  waste  time  in  useless  regrets  over 
losses. 

Systematize  your  business  and  keep  an 
eye  on  little  expenses.  Small  leaks  sink 
great  ships. 

An  hour  of  triumph  comes  at  Jast  to  those 
who  watch  and  wait. 

Word  by  word  Webster'6  big  Dictionary 
was  made. 

Speak  well  of  your  friends — of  your  ene- 
mies say  nothing. 

If  you  post  your  servants  upon  your, 
affairs  they  will  one  day  rend  you. 

Be  silent  when  a  fool  talks. 

Give  a  foolish  talker  rope  enough  and  lie 
will  hang  himself. 

Never  speak  boastingly  of  your  business. 

Let  the  greatest  order  regulate  the  trans- 
actions of  your  life. 

Study  in  your  course  of  life  to  do  the 
greatest  amount  of  good. 

Deprive  yourself  of  nothing  necessary  to 
your  comfort,  but  live  in  an  honorable 
simplicity. 

Remember  always  that  labor  is  one  of  the 
conditions  of  existance. 

Time  is  gold  ;  throw  not  one  minute  away , 
but  place  each  one  to  an  account. 

Do  unto  all  men  as  ye  would  be  done  by. 

Never  put  off  till  to-morrow  what  you 
can  do  to-day. 

Never  bid  another  do  what  you  can  do 
yourself. 

Never  covet  what  is  not  your  own. 

Never  think  any  matter  so  trifling  as  not 
to  deserve  notice. 

Drink  np  kinds  of  intoxicating  liquors. 

Good  character  is  above  all  things  else. 
Keep  your  own  secrets  if  you  have  any. 

Do  not  marry  until  you  are  able  to  sup- 
port a  wife. 

Keep  yourself  innocent  if  you  would  be 


Gytnbeline,  who  gives  name  to  one  of  Shakes- 
re's  plays,  was  a  monarch  of  great  power  who 
gm  d  for  many  years  at  Camelodunum,  a  town 
ilch  stood  near  Colchester,  England.  Many  lu- 
resting  coins  of  his  reign  are  still  extant. 

The  battle  of  Saratoga,  A;  D.  1777,  In  which 

pa.  Gates  defeated  Gen.  Burgoyne,  and  which 
■y  separated,  Mrs  Southey  wearing  her  !Cided  the  fate  of  the  American  Revolutionists, 
nd  her  neck  and    keeping  her  maiden    L  making  Fiance  their  ally,  and  other  European 

[iwers  friendly  to  them,  is  counted  one  of  the 
[  :isive  events  of  our  history. 

I The  battle  of  Hastings,  A.  I>.  1066,  In  which 

illlam   of  Normandy  was  victorious  over  the 

jglo-Saxon  Harold,  and  the  result  of  which  was 

ie  it  rotation  of  the  Anglo-Norman  nation,  which 

now  dominant  in  the  world,  is  considered  one 

SOu*hev  reluctantly  commenced  the  study  of  ff  the  Important  periods  of  history. 

law.    He  had  no  taste  tor  it,  but  he  could    not  '  The  harp  has  been  the  national  symbol  of 

feed  upon  poetry  alone.    He  did  not  regard  law  Ireland  from  time  ^Immemorial.    The  Harp    of 


as  "heavenly  harmony."     He  called  the  study  of  frara,    owned    by   Brian    Borolmhe,  monarch    of 

it  laborious  indolence  and  said,    "I  commit  will-  irei.)n,i  froin  1001  to  1014,  aud  still  prjsservedin  the 

*ul  murder  on  my  own  intellect  by  drudging  at  mIweuin  oI  Dublin  University, has  been  Immortal- 

*w     Law  craft,  if  not  a  twin  fiend  with   priest  beautiful  melody  of  Thomas  Moore. 

iiSSSSfi.  &"ESBS  FSS  --  -  g*  ■"■  ^SfSaSSSLiS: 

tolen   from    steep  can  De  called    leisure    hours,  past  and  see  Ifals  harbor  o  tape  Cod< n  ait  mom 

/ere  spent  on  poetry.     A  nervous  fever  was  the  lug  of  the  llih  ot  November,  A.  I>.  10..0,    as  dt- 

esult  of  this  iucessant  activity  ,  and  for  his  com-  scribed  to  us  in  the  simple  words  ot  the  pilgrims  : 

)lete   restoration  a  journey  to    Lisbon  was    pre-  >•  a  pleasant  bay    circled  round,  except,  the  en- 

cribed.    The  restless  spirit  of  activity  followed  trance,  which  Is" abourfour  miles  over  from  land 

dm.     He  spent   his   time  in  collecting    material  lo  land,  compassed  about  to  l tie  very  sea  with 

or  a  history   of    Portugal,  and   in   writing    the  oaks  pines,  ju  ipers,  sassafras  and  other  sweet 

teems  of  Thaluba,  Kehatna,  and    Madoc.     These  w  t.'(1's     it  is  a  harbor  wherein  a  thousand  sail  of 

joems  did  not  sell  well.    The  subjects  were   too  *TT    "  ,•  ,v  rkk,  » 


When  you  speak  to  a  person,  look  him 
in  the  face. 

Make  no  haste  to  be  *ich  if  you  would 
prosper. 

Save  when  you  are  young,  to  spend  when 
you  are  old. 

Avoid  temptation  through  fear  you  may 
not  withstand  it. 

Small  and  steady  gains  give  competency 
with  a  tranquil  mind. 

Good  company  and  good  conversation 
are  the  sinews  of  virtue. 

Your  character  cannot  be  essentially  in- 
jured except  by  your  own  acts. 

If  any  one  speak  evil  of  you,  let  your 
life  be  so  that  no  one  will  believe  him. 

When  you  retire  to  bed,  think  over 
what  you  have  done  during  the  day. 

Never  be  idle ;  if  your  hands  can't  be 
employed  usefully,  attend  to  the  cultivation 
of  your  mind. 

Never  have  anything  to  do  with  an  un- 
principled man. 

Large  sales  and  small  profits  will  lead  to 
success. 

Read  over  the  above  maxims  carefully 
and  thoroughly  at  least  once  a  week. 


tm         ****' 


John  Albion  AndfSVrwas,  m  the  best  sense 
of  the  word,  well  born.  He  came  of  that 
good  New  England  stock  in  which  conscience 
seems  to  be  hereditary  as  intelligence*  and  in 
■which  the  fine  cumulative  results  of  the  mor- 
al struggles  and  triumphs  of  many  generations 
of  honest  lives  appear  to  be  transmitted  as  a 
spiritual  inheritance.  Born  in  Windham,  Me., 
on  May  31st,  1318,  at  the  time  Maine  ,was  a 
part  of  Massachusetts,  his  genial  nature  was 
developed  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  singularly 
genial  home.  The  power  of  attaching  others 
to  him  began  in  his  cradle,  and  did  [not  end 
when  all  that  was  mortal  of  him  was  tenderly 
consigned  to  the  grave.  Free  from  envy, 
jealousy,  covetousness,  and  the  otherfvieer,  of 
disposition  which  isolates  the  person  in  him- 
self, his  sympathies  were  not  obstructed  in 
their  natural  outlet,  and  he  early  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  his  comprehensiveness  of  mind  in 
his  comprehensiveness  of  heart. 

Graduating  In  1837  at  Bowdoin  college,  he 
came  to  Boston,  and  in  1840  was  admitted  to 
the  bar.    He  rose  slowly  but  surely  until  he 
gained  the  very  first  rank  in  his  profession.— 
There  are  some  prodigies  of  legal  learning  and 
skill  who   have   not  only  mastered   law,  but 
been    mastered    by    it.     Their  human  nature 
seems  lost  in  their  legal   nature.     But  it  was 
the  law  of  Andrew's  mind   that  his  character 
should  keep  on  a  level  with  his  acquirements, 
and  that  the  man  should  never  be  merged  in 
the  professional  man.     The  freshness,  elastic- 
ity and  independence,  the  joyoushess  and  the 
sturdiness     of  his     individuality,    increased 
with    the    increase    of  his    knowledge    and 
experience,      And     in     passing     from     the 
lawyer    to    the     philanthropist    we   find    no 
no  break  in  the  integrity  of  the   man.     His 
philanthropy  was  born  of  the  two  deepest  ele- 
ments of  his  being,beneficence  and  conscience, 
his  love  of  his  kind,  and   his  sense  of  duty  to 
his  kind;  and  both    had  received   Christian 
baptism.     Andrew's  sentiment  was  ever  thor- 
oughly vital,  and  impelled  his  whole   moral 
force  outward  to  a  palpable  object,  to  secure  a 
practical  good.     I   need  not  refer  to  any  in- 
stances of  his  public  displays  as  a  reformer, 
for  what  was  obloquy  then  is  glory  now.    The 
march  of  American  society  is  so  swift  that  the 
paradox  of  yesterday  becomes   the  truism  ot 
to-day,  and  the  short  course  of  one  life   suffi 
ces^  to   give   a  man   the  distinction   of  being  J^ 
mobbed  by  the  same  generation  by  which  he  is 
crowned.     To  be  slandered  is,  in   this  coun- 
try, to  be  famous,  and  if  you  wish  to  keep  an 
innovator  obscure,  the  only  policy  to  be   fol- 
lowed is  the  policy  of  silence.    Andrew  doubt-  u 
less  enjoyed  his  share  of  the  advantages  of  that  \ 
publicity  which  is    the   direct  result  of  being 
roundly  abused,  but  there   was  one  precious 
element  in  his   beneficence  which  evaded  this 
kind  of  renown.     He  loved  not  only  to  pro- 
mote noble  causes,  but  to  assist,  elevate, coun- 
sel and  'console  individuals.      The  humblest 
offices  of  the  philanthropist  were  dear  to  his 
kindly  heart.     The  same  instinct  of  humanity 
which  impelled  him  to  the  platform,  led  him 
to  the  Sunday  school  and  the  conference  meet- 
ing, to  the  pauper's  sick  bed  and  the  prisoner's 
cell,  to  the  chamber  of  the  stricken  mourner 
and  the  hiding  place  of  the  fugitive  slave. — 
The  lame,  the  halt  and  the  blind,  morally  as 
well  as  physically,  he  did  not  treat  with  the 
insolent  condescension  of   a  superior  being, 
but  with  the  cordial  sympathy  of  a  Christian 
brother.     His  great  human  sympathy  and  his  • 
massive  manly  sense  communicated  to  them 
new  life  and  energy,  touching  and  unsealing 
in  their  breasts  the  springs  of  resolution  and  ? 
self-help,  and  flooding  them  with  cheer — soul- 
cheer. 

But  if  this  sympathy  with  his  kind  was,  on 
its  serious  side,  so  true  and  strong,  it  was  no 
less  humane  on  its  humorous  side.  His  large 
nature  embraced  the  ludicrous  aspects  of  life 
and  character  as  well  as  their  solemn  phase, 
•in©  rousing 

.  i'c  »liil  > 
had  little  of  the  intolerance  so  often  linked 
with  fervid  convictions,  and  in  dealing  with 
.iinan  affairs  he  always  allowed  for  human 
nature. 

His  keen  sense  of  humor,  indeed,  .wa<  the 
most  satisfying  of  all  the  methods  by  which  lie 
obtained  his  wide  knowledge  of  men,  for  it 
gave  him  the  pow?.r  to  see  clear  through 
imperfect  characters  without  despising  them, 
and  saved  his  sagacity  from  that  hard,  cynical 
eontemptnon«ne<=«    which    Is    apt   to    poison 


worldly     shre\ 


in    divorced    f^orn 


But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  his  tender- 


ness or  ins  toleration  maue  mm  compliant  in 
making  him  humane.     Hi*  tenderness  did  riot 
render   him   incapable   of  that-  moral  wrath 
which    is  frecpiently  the   indispensable  condi- 
tion of  moral  might.     Still  less  did  his  toler- 
ation  relax  the  totigh  fibre  of  his  individual 
integrity.     If  Massachusetts  ever  pr.idUcd  a 
.ho  was  thoroughly  incorruptible,  who 
was  insensible  to  bribes  presented  to  vanity, 
prejudice  and  ambition  as  well  as  to  interest, 
and  whom  ail  the  powers   of  the  world  could 
/   not  push  or  persuade  into  a  dishonest  action, 
'   that  man  Was  John  A.  Andrew.     This  integri- 
/   ty  he  prized  beyond  all  earthly  goods  and  all 
earthly  blessings.     It  was  the  rock  on  which 
his  character  was  built,  and  it  could  not  be  un- 
fixed without  bringing  down  the  whole  fabric 
of  his  being  into  cureless  ruin. 

Finally,  Governor  Andrew  had  that  kindling 
and  animating  quality  which  we  call  Sor/L. 
This  pervaded  sentiment,  conscience,  under- 
standing, character,  with  its  subtle  but  potent 
essence^  This  ran,  like  life-blood,  through  all 
"the  veins  of  his  intellectual  frame."  This 
brought  him  into  direct  contact  with  princi- 
ples, and  opened  to  him  the  vital  sources  of  in- 
spiration. This  supplied  to  patience  and  to 
hope  that  great  "Army  of  Reserve"  which  re- 
peated defeats  could  not  exhaust.  This  glori- 
fied the  hardest  as  well  as  t'ae  humblest  toil 
with  a  shining  motive,  and,  to  use  his  own  fa- 
vorite quotation, 

"- made  drudgery  divine: 

Who  sweeps  a  room  as  for  God's  law, 
Makes  that  and  the  action  flue." 

And  this  communicated  to  his  Whole  nature 
that  power  of  mugnetizing  others,  which 
comes  from  no  extent  of  learning,  no  breadth 
of  understanding,  no  heat  of  mere  passion, 
but  is  the  attribute  of  a  commanding  person- 
ality alone.  This  magnetism  made  his  acts  and 
words  efficient  because  it  made  them  con- 
tagious, and  people  caught  from  him,  as  by 
spiritual  infection,  courage  and  wisdom,  patri- 
otism and  philanthrophy,  confidence  in  princi- 
ple and  trust  in  God. 

That  such  "a  man  should  be  made  Governor 
of  Massachusetts  was,  of  course,  an  inevitable 
incident  in  the  logic  of  events.  He  could  not 
have  prevented  it  had  he  tried.  But  the  exact 
time  at  which  he  was  elected  had  in  it  some- 
thing Providential.  Never  did  the  Ship  of 
State  more  need  such  firmness,  wisdom,  fore- 
cast and  energy  at  the. helm. 

And  such  a  pilot  Governor  Andrew  proved 
himself  to  be.  Knowing,  as  he  did,  the  phi- 
losophy of  the  slave  system,  and  knowing, 
also,  the  purposes  of  its  champions,  the  Slave- 
holders' Rebellion  could  not  take  him  by  sur- 
prise. As  early  as  the  middle  of  December,  I 
1860,  he  had  visited  Washington,  conversed  ? 
familiarly  with  the  leading  public  men  of  the 
South,  and  clearly  perceived  that  all  the 
movements  relating  to  compromise  were  but 
scenes  in  a  clumsily  acted  political  farce.  He 
looked  straight  through  all  the  plausibilities 
to  the  realities  of  the  situation,  and  returned 
to  Boston  as  much  convinced  that  the  South 
meant  war,ns  ho  was  on  the  day  when  the  first 
gun  fired  on  Sumpter  woke  everybody  to  the 
fact.  From  his  insight  sprang  his  foresight. 
It  was  mainly  through  his  exertions  that  the 
active  miltia  of  MaSsacausetts  were  placed  on 
a  war  footing,  ready  to  march  at  the  first  word 
of  command.  You  all  remember  with  what 
sagacity  this  was  done,  and  you  all  remember, 
too,  with  what  sneers  and  gibes  his  forecast 
WaS  then  rewarded.  His  general  order  to  the 
militia  was  promulgated  in  ;'.rantiarr,  1861,  and 
the  memorable  12th  of  April,  which  opened 
the  costliest  and  bloodiest  of  civil  wars,  found 
him  all  pre, )  received  his   telegram 

from  Washington,  for  trtiopSj  on  Monday, 
April  15th.  He  was  able  to  say  that  by  nine 
o'clock  on  the  next  Sunday  morning,  "the 
whole  number  of  regiments  demanded  from 
Massachusetts  were  already  in  Washington. 
or  in  Fortress  Monroe,  or  on  their  way  to  the 
defence  of  the  capital;"  It  was  midnight  on 
the  19th  of  April,  after  the  exhausting  labors 
of  the  day,  that  he  wrote,  at  his  own  house, 
the  dispatch  to  the  Mayor  of  Baltimore  which 
has  so  endeared  him  to  the  popular  heart:  "1 
pray  you,"  he  wrote,  "to  cause  the  bodies  of 
our  Massachusetts  soldiers, dead  in  Baltimore, 
to  be  immediately  laid  out,  preserved  with  ice, 
and  tenderly  sent  forward  by  express  to  me." 
His  activity  durina  the  first  month  of  tiie  war 
was  not  more  marked  than  his  mental  self-pos- 
session. The  rush  and  whirl  off.eTcnts  did 
not  hurry  him  from  his  balance,    .. 

This  unwearied  fire  of  soul  burned  steadily 
within  him  during  the  whole  five  years  of  hje- 
roie  effort  and  heroic  toll,  which  made  his  ad- 


ministration such  an  epoch  in  tjhe  history  of 
the  State.  He  knew  that  the  disease  of  which 
he  eventually  died  might  strike"  him  at  any 
moment.  Three  months  before  he  entered  on 
his  glorious  career  as  Governor,  lie  was  warn- 
ed by  his  physician  that  any  over-exertion  of 
brain  would  endanger  his  health  and  probably 
his  life.  He  was  notoriously  as  regardless  of 
the  warning  as  a  brave  soldier  going  to  battle 
would  be  regardless  of  the  admonition  that 
he  might  be  hit  by  a  bullet. 

He  was  a  democrat,  through  and  through, 
feeling  himself  on  an  equality  with  all,  but 
never  utting  on  airs  of  condescension  to  any. 
"  I  si  ■  not,"  he  once  said,  "  what  record  of 
sin  :  its  me  in  the  next  world,  but  this  I 
know,  that  I  was  never  mean  enough  to  de- 
spise a  man  because  he  was  ignorant  or  be- 
cause he  was  black."  Sir  Frederick  Bruce, 
the  British  Minister,  once  called  upon  him  at 
the  State  House,  and  found  the  room  nearly 
filled  with  colored  women  who  had  come  to 
the  Governor  to  obtain  news  of  fathers,  broth- 
ers and  sons,  enlisted  in  the  black  regiments 
-  of  Massachusetts.  Sir  Frederick  waited, 
while  the  Governor,  with  kindly  patience,  lis- 
tened to  complaints,  answered  questions,  gave 
advice,  and  tried  to  infuse  consolation  and 
cheer  into  the  hearts  of  his  humble  friends. 
After  these  interviews  were  all  over,  the  turn 
of  the  British  Minister  came,  and  he  was  a 
man  with  the  nobility  of  soul  to  appreciate 
what  he  had  witnessed.  Clasping  the  Gov- 
ernor by  the  hand,  he  declared,  that  whatever 
might  be  the  advantages  of  a  Republican  gov- 
ernment, he  had  never  believed  that  it  could 
assume  a  paternal  character,  but  what  he  had 
just  seen  proved  to  him  how  much  he  had 
been  mistaken. 

But  his  character  was  not  merely  original,it 
was  originating.  He  belonged  to  that  class  of 
statesmen  of  genius  who  help  to  shape  the 
history  of  their  times,  and  whose  characters 
melt  into  the  current  of  creative  force*  jtich 
determine  events.  He  had  that  wisdom  which 
results  from  the  vital  assimilation  of  large  ex- 
perience, and  which,  in  practical  affaijB,  oper- 
ates with  some  of  the  celerity  of  instinct  and 
some  of  the  certainty  of  intuition.  Do  you 
object  that  he  made  mistakes  ?  Of  course  he 
made  mistakes.  The  age  of  miracles  has  pass- 
ed. But  is  as  true  of  the  statesman  as  of  the 
general,  that  he  is  the  best  who  make 
est,  and  Governor  Andrew's  mistakes  . 
most  forgotten  in  the  throng  of  his  wise  judg- 
ments. In  fine,  it  is  to  the  honor  of  Massa- 
chusetts that  in  such  a  man  the  State  was  felt 
lo  be  individualized ;  and  in  respect  to  the  two 
statues  which  Massachusetts  is  to  place  in  the 
capitol  at  Washington,  it  is  certainly  fit  that 
the  statue  of  the   greatest  of  her  governors 

first. 
It  was  in  th   height   of  i:is  reputation   and 
maturity  of  his  powers,  withdrawn  from 

1  public  office,  but  full  in  the  public  eye,  with 
t  conspicuous  abilities  seemingly  destined  to 
c  be  exercised  in  th€  loftiest  place,  and  with  that 

noble  ambition  which  comes  from  the  con- 
c  sciousness  of  tested  capacity  for  great  affairs, 
r  that  his  career  of  usefulness,  of  duty,  of  glory, 
I  was  suddenly  but  gently  arrested.  There 
e  was  no  lingering  disease ;  there  was  no  slow 
i  decay : 

Sir.  Clarke  continued:  The  first  time  I  saw  John  An- 
drew was  nearly  30  years  ago,  in  1841.  We  had  just  begun 
a  tree  church  here  in  Boston,  and  among  other  nttle  nov- 
elties wc  had  a  large  Sunday  afternoon  biblo-cla 
ducted  by  laymen,  each  man  taking  his  turn.  I  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it  except  to  attend  it,  and  one  day  I  saw 
what  seemed  to  me  to  he  a  little  boy  presiding  over  this 
bible-class— for  he  looked  a  great  deal  younger  than  he  really 
was,-a  curly-headed  youth  with  brighl ,  sparkling  eves.  I 
asked  who  it  was,  and  was  told  that  it  was  a  young  lawyer 
name  d  Andrew,  wiio  was  in  Mr.  llcm-v  Fuller's  office.  1  soon 
became  acquainted  with  him,  and  during  twenty-five  years 
learned  to  know  him  better  and  trust  in  him'more  'fully 
all  the  tire  !.  lie  practised  law  for  twenty  years  in  Boston 
without  freatdeal  being  known  of  him  bv  the  general 
pnbhc,  and  I  tlunk  even  his  near  friends  did  not  know  how 
much  there  was  in  him  at.  that  time.  His  character  was 
well  rounded.  He  was  no  fanatic  in  any  respect.  TIs  " 
r.ot  extravagant  in  any  direction.  Although  a  reform^ 
he  was  not  an  extreme  relormer;  although  a  student  he  was 
not  an  ultra  student.  In  every  direction  his  life  seemed  to 
flow  easily  and  happily,  and  unfold  itself  in  entire  and  por- 
leet  harmony,  v 

.  Seward  said,  "Governor  Andrew,  we 
have  been  contending  for  three  principles:  First,  to  put 
down  the  letellion  by  force;  secondly,  the  abolition  of 
nd  thirdly,  to  restore  the  Onion.  Xo\v,"  said 
Mr.  Seward,  "I  think  we  shall  fail  in  t'aot-To  rim.  H'e 
shall  not  bo  able  to  put  down  the  rebellion  by  force.  We 
shall  noi  be  able  to  abolish  slavery.  But  by  means  of 
some  compromise  with  the  southern  leaders  wo  may  be 
able  to  restore  the  Union."  Said  I,  "What  reply  did'  you 
make  to  him?"  Sai»,  "There  was  nothing  to  be  said  to 
a  man  that  was  in  tVs'  ' 
and  cameawoy.' 


'state  of  mind,  and  I  "took  my  hat 


FRANCE. 


I>ea.ti»  of  Baron  James  Rothschild. 

Pabis,  Monday,  Nov.  16, 
Baron  James  Rothschild,  head  of  the  house 
of  the  Rothschilds,  bankers,  died-  here  yester- 
day.   

-     *• 
With    the    Baron    Jam's*  the    second    generation 
of    this   great   family    of    jsnoney-lenders,  bo  often 
tho     prop     of     tumbling      thrones,      the     ready 
succors     of     exhausted     teaasories,     has     passed 
away.    There  were  five  eons,,  who  were  taken  into 
the    ««  House  of  Eothschi'.d  "  fcpthe  founder  as  fast 
as  they  became  of  age.  These  were  Ansklm,  Solomon 
Natulan  Mayeb,  Chaeles  and  James.     Anselm  i 
h:s  father's  partner  and  .successor  at  Frankfort,;  t 
second  son,  at  first  traveling  arinsr,  and  was  even- 
tually   established    at    Vienna;     Nathan    Mates 
settled  in   London  in  1798,   and  became  the  moot 
prominent,  as  he  was  generally  deemed  the  ablest, 
financier  of  the  family;  Chaele3  settled  at  Naples  in 
1821 ;  and  James,  alter  being  awhile  with  his  brother 
in  Vienna,  established  himself  in  Paris.   Tims,  when 
the  father,  Mates  Ankelm,   died,   his  sons  had  in- 
creased, the  influence  of  the   house,  and  stood  at  the 
head  of  five  immense  establishments,  united  in  a  co- 
partnership  the  moat    wealthy   and    extensive   the 
world  had  ever  seen. 

James  was  born  in  Frankfort  on  tho  5th  of  May, 
1792,    and    took    up    his      residence   in  Paris    in 
- 1812.  A  few  years  later  he  was  appointed  Consul-Gen- 
eral for  Austria  in  France.    During  the  early  years 
of  his  life  in  tSie  French   Empire  he  was  interested 


The  high  officials  belonging  to  the  Daumng  inter- 
est, companies  of  credit,  arid  railways,  were  in  grea« 
numbers,  and  among  tnem  could    be  seen  M.  Hon, 
'  land,  Governor  of  the  Bank  of  France;  the  Marquis 
'  de  Ploeuck  and    M.    Ouvier,    Deputy    Governors 
and    MM.    Pillet-VYill,      Darblay    Jeune,    Durand' 
■  Vassal,    Ackerman    de    Waru     and     Millescamps* 
Regents;     M.      Marsaud,     Secretary-General-     M* 
Cohen,     of    Antwerp;      MM.      Blouat,      Ganneron* 
Viirnes,  Sohapper,  Beaic,  Adolphe  Fould,   D6lessert* 
Licroix-Saint-Pierre,  &c.    All  the  railway  companies 
,  were  represented  by  their  Presidents  and   tne  ma- 
jority  of  the  Directors.    The  whole   of    the  Bo^rd 
of    the    Northern  Company  were    present,    nead- 
ded      by      M.      Delebecque,    the      Vice-President  - 
and,  in  addition,  all  the  employes,    who    could  be 
spared   from    the    service   of    the    line,    attended. 
The    Central    Israelite    Consistory,    of    which  ftU 
Alfhonse  de  Rothschild  is  a  member,  and  that  oi 
Paris  to  which  M.  Gustave   belongs,  were  all  pres- 
ent.   The  Grand  Rabbi  o:  Brussels  had  come  to  join 
those   high    dignitaries     of    the    Hebrew    religion 
around  whom  were  grouped  the   ministers    of   the 
Jewish  worship,  in  order  to  render  a  last  and  special 
homage  to  the  man  who  had  done  so  much   during 
his  life  for  his  faun  and  his  coreligionists. 

The  cortege  did  not  reach  the  Jewish  cemetery  at 
Pere-Lachaise  until  nearly  2  o'clock.  At  the  tomb, 
M.  Ceefbeeb,  President  of  me  Central  Consistory' 
pronounced  a  very  effective  address;  after  which  m! 
Delebecque,  in  the  name  of  his  lellow-directors,* 
bade  a  touching  adieu  to  the  deceased.  The  last 
prayers  were  said  by  the  Rabbi  of  the  German  syna- 
gogue  at  Paris,  who  afterward  drew  an  eloquent  pio- 
ttire  ot  the  manifold  acts  of  charity  in  whtoh  the 
late  Baron  had  taken  a  part;  he  terminated  by  call- 
ing on  the  dead  the  mercy  of  tne  God  of  Israel. 
The  crowd  tnen  slowiy  withdrew,  deeply  moved  by 
the  unpretending  simplicity  ox  the  whole  proceed- 
ings. 


How  Rothschild  Lived.     One  of  the  char- 
i    aeteristics   of  the   late   Baron   Rothschild     and 
railroad  affairs  to  a  great  extent,  and  was  noted    which,  doubtless,  contributed   most  to    his 'great 
•  the  boldness  of  his  epeculationp.    After  the  great    success  in  the  accumulation  of   wealth,  was  sys- 
was  charged  with -  having  caused    tem\    Hisjjfe,  in  its   every  part,  was  marked  by 


much  of  the  suffering  of  that  time  by  his  transac 
tioHs,  and  became  very  unpopular  with  the  people, 
so  that  in  1848,  when  the  revolution  broke  out,  a 
portion  of  his  property,  the  Castle  of  Suresnes, 
was  sacked  by  the  populace.  He  was  married, 
late  in  life,  to  his  niece,  the  daughter  of  his  brother 
Solomon.    He  founSed  several  Jewish  charitable  in- 


special  attention  to  order  and  detail.  He  awoke 
every  morning,  winter  and  summer,  at  six,  when 
„an  official  came  to  his  bedside  with  the  newspa- 
pers. The  latest  reports  from  the  Bourse  and 
from  the  Legislature  were  read  to  the  last  word, 
and  when  he  felt  in  a  good  humor  even  the  cur- 
rent gossip  of  the  day  was  acceptable.  During 
the  reading  of  the  papers  his  valet,  Felix,  dressed 


Biitutions  during  his  fife,   and  gave  large  sums  of    i  •  i"  ,---—,— —~~ 

money  at  ^various  Mm«i \„  ««,»,  f-i      ■     *•  h,m'     lehx  was  a  faithful  servant,  who  had  long 

in  p  rifhl        T  institutions,    been  in  his  employ,  was  very  good   natured   bu! 

deahng .    J^£?r,  T™*"  r**  **"****   ^^  *"™**  «   the  'following  inciden 
;**J  t  CTned   Lead8'  M     Le  preteur  *"   wm  show  :  "  What  sort  of  an  overcoat  is  that 
ww        The  Kings  money-lender."  'Felix  ? "  asked  the  Baron  one  morning.    "  That 

Le  ofBuron  was  received  from  Austria.  The  which  Monsieur  le  Baron  will  put  on  to-day  " 
rian  Emperor  confarred  on  each  of  the  brothers  answered  Felix.  "  But  that  which  I  wore  y  ester- 
tent  of  nobility  with  the  title  oi  Baron  of  the  day  pleases  me  better."  "That  maybe;  but 
on  account  of  tne  promptness  and  courtesy  Monsieur  le  Baron  does  not  know  that  the  weather 
Hetteekioh's  appli-  has  changed."  "  That  does  not  matter — I  would 
rather  have  the  other."  "  But  Monsieur  le  Ba- 
ron will  put  this  on,"  and,  laughing,  M.  Roths 


St.     Patrick.     St.   Patrick  was  a  Scotch, 
man  by  birth  and  a  most  excellent  man,  and  a 
saint   of  a  most   exclusive   "extra"    sanctity. 
He   was  born   so   long    ago,    that  if  he   had 
lived  until  now  he  would  have    been  nearly 
1500  years  old.     He  was  a  saint  of  a  strong 
practical  turn  of  mind,  and  made  fires  of  ice, 
boats    of  stones,  and  fish  of  pork — the  latter 
an  especially    useful    power    in   the   time  of 
Lent,    though    pork  rules   higher   than    fish. 
He  could  convert  mad   dogs  into   stone,   and 
the  way  he  came  down    upon   snakes  is  one 
of  the  best  known  facts  in  his  history.     It   is 
on  record  that  he  "was  a  gentleman,  and  did 
behave  as  sich,"  which  is  more  than  can  be 
said  of  all  the  saints.     Though,  on  the  whole, 
he    was    partial    to     blessing    and   was  emi- 
inently     good-natured,    as   became    an    Irish 
saint,  and  did  many  kindly  things,    he  could 
curse  upon  occasion  with  due  theologic  empha- 
sis.   When  a  youth,  he  was  seized  by  some  ami- 
able gentlemen,  who  wished  to  civilize  and  con- 
vert   him,    and    for  that    purpose  sold  him 
into    slavery,    though    there    is    no   evidence 
that    he   had   either   black    blood   or  woolly- 
hair.     He  was  owned  by  some  one  in  Ireland  ; 
but  some  mariners,  who  didn't  have  a  proper 
sense  of  their  constitutional  obligations,  kid- 
napped him  into  liberty,   and  placed  hin  on 
the  underground  railroad,  on  which  he  trav- 
eled to  Gaul  from  the  gall  and  bitterness  of 
the  house  of  bondage.     It  is  a  vast  pity  that 
he  can't  be  induced  to  revisit  the  glimpses  of 
the  moon,  and  tell  his  experience  in  slavery 
to  his  worshippers   here,    and  prove  to  them 
that  a  fugitive  slave  isn't  necessarily  a  villain. 
After  a  long  and  useful  career,  he  died  a*- 
Down,    where   he  now   lies,    "with  his   toes 
turned  up  to  the  roots  of  the  daisies."     The 
Irish  have  much  reason  to  be  proud  of  their 
holy  patron,  and  we  hope  they'll  everywhere 
have  a  good  time  in  observing  his  day,  which 
they  should  do  without  the  use  of  liquor,  for 
the  worm  of  the    still  is  a  far  more  venom- 
ous  reptile  than    was     any   member   of    the 
crawling  family  banished  by  St.  Patrick  from 
the  blooming  Erin.     Were   St.    Patrick   now 
on  earth,  he   would   devote  all  his  powers  to 
the  advancement  of  the  temperance  cause,  and 
so  well  earn  the  honors  of  canonization. 

Boston  Traveller. 


espec- 


with  which  they  responded  to  Metteekioh's  appli- 
cation for  a  loan  in  1813. 

The  distinctive  characteristic  of  the  funeral 
ot  Baron   James  de  Rothschild  was   precisely  the 
opposite     of      what     the    name     of    the   opotesf 
deceased      seemed      to      promise,     aa      « 
laity    impressed      the      spectators      bv 

contrast    with    the    enormous    nu-n'jer      of      the 
persons  who  attended  to  sav  the  neolasod   a   last 

hnlfnYlrTeCtx   From   10:30  *»  iheiSSSU  the 
hotel  of  the  Rue  Laffltte  was  insufficient  to   accom! 

and  the 
outside. 

Barons 
RoTHSC 

who  haa  c  ^B  0Tar"to  joia  received  th,    c 

t1™™*  *?*«**» j*  *  'arse  «dm  on  toe  crbnnd 


\ 


child   had   to   put  on  the  coat  which'  Felix  had       Garibald*—  Mazzini.  —  Mr.    Marsh,    the 

TeiU  o'clock  he  breakfasted,  then  received  American  minister  at  Turin,    recently  had   a 

his   secretaries,  seven  or  eight   in    number,  and  corr«8pondence  with  Garibaldi,    in  which  he 

after  the  whole   business    correspondence  which  ta°k  occasion    to  thank   him    for  naming  his 

they  brought  had  been  examined,  he   began  his  grandson  for  Mr.  Lincoln.     To  this  the  Ital- 

pnvate  correspondence.     About  half-past  nine  or  •  .  •   .       ,  , ,.  ,.    , 

ten   he  gave  audience  to  dealers  in  antiques  and  lan  pat"0t  and_repubjican  replied  as  follows  : 
paintings,  who  usually  waited  on  him,  as  he  was  !  Caprera,  27  March,  1865. 

varvfnnA  r.e  nvami^-.n^  „~a   i — :.._ -  _■__.         Dear  Mr.  Marsh:  The  name  of  Lincoln 


of  the   numerous   committees   to  which   he  be-  mm  who  have  vpooi*d\ha  c&uMoTlhl amiT* 

Td^celsTd  lanrthrsrorv°abovV'  ^l^ ,  At  0ne  °/clock  he  was  invariab'y  ^und  public  are  like  tu^ass  of  the  table  Zt  kicked 

apanment  converted  into  a  sort  of  akattelle  ardent*    '  ln    ms    bureau»  wlicre  lie    took    dinner  with    his  the  lion,  thinking  him  dead;  but  now    that  they 

0  Hi  which    took    place    the    mni'hi.nr  »«»„ L-.'L        three  sons.     Whiln  (■ntinn'  lie  rllcnncci,,!   >l,«  n«,;-.,    hhr  hnr  rijil  n^niii  in     Mil     h«r    r,.,i,^f^      n,..„    „.:.i 


£dri.m^nhTeit0^  im°  a  80rt  of  ^t>eih  ardent,, 
Kscrtb-d  \X  TP'aCer^  ™*™»  coremonies 
i„t      i  a        y  the  Israe»tish  ritual.    There  was  no 

Ihrfro1nf0T^h°oaramen,ati°n  °'  ^  *»"  « 

Somewhat  after  11  the  coffin  was  oirried  rfnnm 
and  placed  on  a  hearse  drawn  bv  two  h"m  F  X' 
media.telv  after  came  the  servants  o-  the  fa-Any  ,n 
he  deepest  mourning,  about  forty  in  nurab-r  A 
few  paces  henind  were  the  sons  of  the  de  'e^'sed 
3tht,  t*  °ther  member8  ot  the  family  and 
then  seven  mourning  coaches  of  the  ordioary  tind: 
next,  the  general  crowd  o  the  number  oi  about 
hve  thousand,  and  over  one  hundred  private 
carriages.      Within    such     limits     only 


...    ...c    uu4iau,  vyiiuc  iic    iuok    uiuner  wmi    ms  mo  uuu,  muming  mm  ueau;  out  now    that  they 

three  sons.   While  eating  he  discussed  the  affairs  8«e  Qer  riso  "»*«*<«  in  ail   her  majesty,   they  will 

change  their  language.  The  American  question 
in  vital  for  the  liberty  of  the  world,  auu  its  ap- 
pr.iactnng  solution  must  rejoice  the  hearts  of 
honest  men.     With   arfictiouate  emotion  I  kiss 


of  the  house,  and  received  visitors  on  business 
At  three  o'clock  he  went  out  in  his  gig,  or  to 
promenade  along  the  Champs  Elysees.  Return- 
ing in  about  an  hour,  he  again  took  up  his  pri- 
vate correspondence  and  finished  it,  and  coun- 
tersigned the  business  letters  whose  contents  he 
had  indicated  to  his  secretaries  in  the  morning. 
At  about  five  o'clock  he  betook  him  to  his  club, 
where  he  indulged  in  a  social  game  of  whist! 
At  seven  he  had  dinner,  and  concluded  his  even- 


%aM\mrS!^!^^^0f^t^^,^1>^  ^ng  USUally  at  S01,1C  Placo  of  amusement"  retir 

belonged    to  an  >>g  regularly  between   eleven   and   twelve 


classes  of  society,  and  expended  over  a  PnJtt. 
.P?fhi-an  3  m"e-  *>»««".  financial  and  literary 
celebrities,  eminent  nersons  of  every  class  and  tiro, 
ession,  of  every  faith  and  of  all  nations,  walked  in- 
termingled  with  humble  working  men,  whom  a  wS- 
attend  BraUtua0  had  most  P™oably  induced  to 
The  Emperor  was  represented  by  the  Duhe  dh 
CAMBAcotES,  Grand  Master  of  the  CeremonK  s;  m! 
Pmjillet  de  Conches.  Introducer  ot  Ambassadors 

GODS    DE  MOKTKBELLO,  DE  BEVILLE,' DE     LA     M(lf,E0. 

wa,  Fave  and  PAjOL.Aidesde-Camp;  Count  deWieu 


I  weekly  Council,  had  sent  their  secretaries  and  chefs! 
de-service.  Prince  de  Mmxebxich  and  the  staff  of 
his  Embassy  were  present,  as  well  m  Count  dh 
Solms,  (Prussia  )  Djemil  Pacha.  (Turlrlf)  the  Cbl 
vaher  NiOBA.  (Italy,)  M.  Mon,  C#nt  d? -Sbebach, 
service       per80na8es  corulecteJ  WTth  the  diplomatic 


.     He 

could  not  bear  contradiction  in  his  business  rela- 
tions. If  an  opinion  were  expressed  by  anv  one 
of  his  clerks  at  variance  with  his  own  impres- 
sions, he  would  say,  "  I  am  master  here  ;  "  and 
even  were  the  opinion  thus  adversely  expressed 
afterward  found  to  be  correct,  instead  of  ac- 
knowledging his  mistake,  he  would  repeat  the 
assertion,  "  I  am  master  here." 

It  is  related  that  a  person  of  high  rank  once 
entered  his  private  olliee  while  he  was  closely 
engaged  "Take  a  chair,"  said  Rothschild 
without  looking  up.  "  Excuse  me,"  answered 
the  visitor,  a  little  taken  aback,  "  you  have  per- 
haps, not  heard  my  name.     I   am  the  Baron  of 

— ■       "  Good, '  replied  Rothschild,  without 

taking  his  eyes  oil'  the   paper,  "  then    take  two 
chairs.  # 


y  mr  lady's  hand,  and  am  your*. 

G.  Garibaldi 
Mr.    Marsh,    Minister    Plenipotentiary    of  the 

United  States. 

On  the  21st  of  May,  Mazzini  addressed  a 
note  to  the  London  agent  of  the  United  States 
Sanitary  Commission,  asking  for  an  accurate 
primary  history  of  the  American  struggle, 
which  might  be  appropriately  translated  for 
European  reading,  and  adding: 

Your  triumph  is  our  triumph;  the  triumph  of 
all,  I  hope,  who  are  stru^ling  for  the  advent  of 
a  republican  era.  Our  adversaries  were  pointing 
to  the  worst  period  ot  the  old  French  revolution 
as  to  the  inelutable  proof  of  republics  leading  to 
terror,  anarchy,  and  military  despotism.  You 
have  retuted  ah  that.  You  have  done  more  for 
us  in  four  years  than  tilty  years  of  teaching, 
preaching,  ami  writing,  irom  all  your  European 
brothers  have  been  able  to  do.  *  *  *  Above 
American  li;o,  above  European  life,  there  is 
mankind's  life,  mankind's  education,  mankind's 
progress.  That  is  the  common  aim  in  which  we 
are  all  brothers  aud  combatants.  There  is  our 
great  battle — to  which  all  local  battles  are  epis- 
odes—fought on  both  continents  and  every- 
where, between  liberty  and  tyranny,  equality  and 
privilege,  right  and  might,  justne  and  arbitrary 
rule,  good  and  evil,  God  and  the  devil.  By  these 
four  years  of  noble  deeds  and  self-sacrifice,  you 
have  been  enlisted  to  take  a  share  in  it  wherever 
it  is  fought. 


%•■ 


s . 


LETiER  FRO  if  GERMANY. 


An  American  on    the  Manners   mid   Cos- 
touts  of  the  People. 

Correspondence  of  The  Kepublican. 

Gotha,  September  21, 1865. 
As  I  mentioned  in  my  first  letter  from  Gotha, 
here  ooestrikes  primitive  GermaD  custom*  and 
manners,  and  has  an  opportunity  of  studying 
them  at  first  band.  Will  a  letter  on  this  theme 
be  acceptable  to  the  readers  of  the  Springfield 
Republican? 

One  ot  the  first  things  which  we  noticed  on  en- 
tering a  foreign  land  was  the  food  of  the  mh  ib- 
itan*s,  and  the  time  of  the  various  meals.      la 
this  the  Ger  nans  difivr  widely  from  us;  and  a 
parallel  can  hardly  bo  drawn,  between   tbe  two 
nations.    Intheplaieof  our  hearty  (indeed  tco 
h?arty)  breakfast,  the  Germans  take  a  couple  of 
cups  of  coffee  and  a  hake-roll.     This  they  dip  in 
the  coffee  and  eat  without  butter.    The  Germans 
are  early  riseis,  and  coffee  is  taken  between  sis 
and  seven.    Sedentary  persons  take  no  other  re- 
freshment till  th3  dinner  hour,  which  is  almost 
invariably  at  our  good  old-fashioned  hour  of  12 
or  half-past.    Working,  farming  men  and  high 
livers  usually  take  a  luncheon  at  aboat  10  o'clock, 
though  by  no   means  invariably.     Th«  German 
dinner  is  the  great  meal  of  the  day;  no  other  can 
i>e compared  with  it  m  respect  to  the  number 
and  excell°nce  of  the  courses.     A  simple  dinner 
consists  first  of  soup;  then  of"  the  meat  of  which 
the  soup  was  made,  eaten  with  bread  and  mus- 
tard or  bor^e  radish  sauce,  then  a  p  ece  of  roast 
meat  with  vegetables.    From  the  plain  dinner  of 
three  courses,  the  ascent   is  gradual,  and  those 
who  aim  at  a  more  ambitious  stvle  of  living 
have  four,  six  and  even  eight  course?,  including, 
in  additiou  to  tho'-e  already  mentioned,  fish,  fo    1, 
puddiog,  bread  and  chetse  aud  coffee.      Pudding 
does  not  take  the  place  wh'di  we  assign   it,   but 
is  served  midway  in  the  dinner,  just  before  the 
cjoicestioast.    No  stress  is  laid  upon  this  dish; 
the  taste  for  sweet  thing*,  which  has  become  so 
enormously  and  dangerously  developed  with  us, 
does  not  exist  in  Germany,  and  in   many  fam- 
ilies neither  puddinas  nor  cakes,  nor  contectioa- 
ery,  are  things  habitually  known,  even  to  the 
children. 

The  method  of  cooking  the  art:cles  already 
mentioned  differ*  much  from  ours.  The  coffee  of 
Germany  is  always  strong  and  excellent,  being 
made  by  pounng  I  oiling  water  upon  it  wheu 
freshly  ground,  and  being  allowed  to  stand  a  few 
momen's  Ttie  custom  of  boi.mg  it  does 
not  seem  to  t«e  known  here.  Nor  is 
the  use  of  substitutes  common.  Peop'p 
de  not  drnk  the  extract  of  rye,  and  peas  and 
bar'.ev  and  wheat  and  chicory  oere  as  thev  do  so 
freely  iu  Eu.'laud  and  America  Indeed,  I  do  not 
think  these  things  are  known  at  ail.  Tuose  who 
do  not  drink  pure  coffee  at  breakfast  tak3  ">eer 
instead.  The  bread  or  G'rmauy  is  ilways  made 
by  bakers,  and  is  unformly  excellent.  It  comes 
in  little  rolls,  about  as  huge  a*  a  man's  hand. 
There  is  a  baket  at  about  every  thirtich  house, 
for  no  family  t>akes  its  own  bread.  Indeed,  it 
could  not  be  done.  The  rule,  medieval  cooking 
contrivances  of  Germany,  whose  highest  attain- 
ment is  to  try  and  to  boil,  are  unable  to  bike 
anything.  The  baker's  oven  must  do  ail  that  is 
done  in  this  direction.  Hence  pies  are  uok  own 
here;  indeed  nothing  which  is  baked  in  our  flue 
stoves  is  e/itec.  in  Germany,  unless  it  be  what  the 
bakers  can  prepare.  Yet  it  must  be  confessed, 
the  bread  is  excellent;  f  <r  finer  than  the  oakers' 
bread  of  A.mer  ca,  and  even  surpassing;  in  excel- 
lence the  home-made  bread,  which  is  the  pride  of 
our  farmers'  wives  and  daughters.  The  articles 
served  at  dinner,  too,  are  not  prepared  as  with 
us.  The  soup  does  not,  it  is  true,  materially 
differ  from  that  which   mv  readers'  palates  are 


make  up  the  pasty  mes*.  Cabbages  and  cau  mower 
!  form  the  sauce.  Dumplings  are  common,  but  I . 
know  not  what  process  is  adopted  to  nuke  them 
the  savagely  indigestible  and  uneatable  things 
they  are.  Potatoes  are  served  in  salad,  cold,  well 
oiled  and  vinegared,  with  snatches  of  raw  onion 
and  garlic  thrown  iu  to  give  them  a  delicate  flavor. 
The  puddings  are  usually  pancakes,  and  are  not 
invariably  bad. 

Yet,  even  out  of  this  heterogeneous  mass  it  is 
not  impossible  to  extract  a  respectably  good 
meal,  by  keeping  close  to  the  meats  aad  eschew- 
ing the  vegetables.  Tuere  is  such  a  thing  as 
good  meat  in  Geimany,  though  one  may  be  six 
months  in  the  country  without  tasting  it.  Not 
that  it  can  be  com  Dared  with  the  beef  and  the 
mutton  of  England,  for  those  are  incomparable, 
and  we  cm  hardly  rival  them  even  in  our  own 
excellent  markets. 

The  Geimaa  sits  down  to  his  dinner  to  enjoy 
ii.  You  cannot  per»uade  him  to  make  a  *en  min- 
utes affd'r  of  it  It  is  the  one  solid  repast  of  the 
day,  and  deserves  and  must  have  attentive  con- 
sideration. It  must  not  be  hurried,  nor  must 
any  item  be  overlooked.  He  is  a  happy  man 
while  he  takes  this  important  meal;  his  face  is 
bnght,  his  air  is  that  of  one,  now,  at  any  rate,  at 
perfect  ease.  He  tells  his  story,  has  his  joke, 
eats  leisurelv,  then  drinks  his  cup  of  coffee  or 
his  glass  of  beer,  and  so  repairs  to  the  afternoon 
work  in  field  or  in  shop,  wherever  his  avocation 
may  call  him. 

the  tea  is  a  much  more  simph  affair.  A  roli 
of  bread,  a  bit  of  cold  meat  or  sausage,  a  cup  of 
coffee  or  a  glass  of  beer  is  all.  It  is  taken  in  the 
garden,  or  in  some  plea-ant  room,  and  over  this 
meal  the  German  families  sit  long  and  chat  to- 
gether in  friendly  fashion.  Manv  take  a  enp  of 
coffee  at  five  in  the  afternoon;  indeed  so  general 
is  this  custom  that  it  may  tie  called  national. 

The  state  occasion  tor  receiving  guests  is  not 
at  dinner  as  in  England,  nor  at  tea  as  with  us, 
but  ut  supper,  an  exttaneo  <s  meal  which  mikes 
its  appearance  but  now  and  then.  It  differs  from 
the  bar  quets  which  we  give  at  American  "par- 
ties," bails  and  the  like,  by  having  the  formal 
appearauce  of  a  regular  meal.  Bating  its  decid- 
edly dyspeptic  tendency  it  is  a  vety  choice  affair, 
and  those  happy  persons  who  are  never  conscious 
of  having  a  stomich,  are  often  tempted  to  think 
a  German  supper  the  acme  of  the  civiiizitiou 
of  this  old  land.  It  hegius  with  soup,  condnues 
with  warm  fish,  then  with  cold  meats,  preserves, 
then  fried  potatoes,  tea  (flavored  in  the  German 
fashion,  with  ruu;),  and  ends  with  a  -rand  iiowl 
of  punch.  A  bottie  of  Rhine  wine  stands  before 
each  guest,  but  this  temperate  uatioa  seldom 
needs  a  lebuke  for  any  excess  in  this  direction. 
I  do  not  think  it  is  the  abundance  of  pure  wine 
which  preserves  them;  it  does  not  lie  in  the  Ger- 
man nature  to  be  intemperate  in  the  use  of 
liquors. 

6o  lar  as  the  dress  of  this  people  is  concerned, 
it  does  not  vary,  as  a  general  rule,  from  that  of 
our  own  people.  That  is  to  say,  out  of  ten  per- 
sons, men  and  women,  when  you  will  meet  in 
the  street,  eight  or  nine  of  them  will  not  vrry 
materially  from  Americans  of  equal  wealth.  The 
fashions  of  Paris  rule  the  world,  and  even  now 
they  are  beginning  to  have  currency  in  Egypt, 
Syria  and  other  countries  of  tbe  "uuchangable 
East."  They,  therefore,  equalize  all  civilized  na- 
tions in  the  matter  of  dress,  and  in  this  respect, 
if  in  no  other,  they  h  ive  great  value.  Ytt  they 
leave  out  of  recognition  a  great  class,  the  peas- 
antry, with  their  children.  These  everywhere  re- 
tain, almost  unchanged,  the  dress  worn  whole 
generations  ago,  even  if  one  may  not  go  further 
and  say  centuries.  They  date  bjck  to  the  feu- 
dal times,  these  peasant  fashions,  and  so  carry 
the  observer  oack  to  the  days  when  the 
vassals  of  each  petty  lord  were  known  by 
their  garb.  To  describe  the  fanciful  head- 
dresses worn  by  the  peasant  women  would 
transcend  all  my  powers  of  description;  such  a 
medley  of  huge  streamers,  of  >>road,  black  rib- 
bon, loops,  sometinvis  a  foot  in  length,  puffs  and 
projections  as  cannot  be  paralleled  among  the 
fantastic  "horns'"  of  the  Lebanon  Druze  women. 
They  are  neither  like  hat  nor  bonnet,  they  are 


accustomed  to,   out  the  other  dishes  are  widely 

different  from  our  own     Tna  meat  from  which  ;  like  nothing,  in  fact,  that  I  ever  saw;  m  one 

the  soup  is  taken  is  served  as  the  second  course,  \,  w  >rd  they  are  indescribable,  nothing  but  a  pho- 


and  those  who  live  with  the  utmost  simplicity  I 
eat  with  this  a  coarse,  soar  bread,  making  their  I 
ent'te  dinner  out  of  these  two  courses.  When  a 
third  is  served,  as  is  very  generally  the  case,  a 
portion  of  the  same  meat  is  placed  iu  a  stewpan, 
a  thick  gravy  is  made  of  fl  >ur  aud  water  and 
what  natural  juice  of  the  meat  remains,  and 
after  a  half  hour's  cooking  it  is  served  as  the 
"roast."  A  genuine  roast  is  impracticab'e,  'here 
being  no  suitable  stoves  nor  fires  for  the  purpose. 
Boiling  and  seething  are  the  only  modes  of  cook- 
ing known.  Birds  are  fricasseed  or  fried,  and 
ev>  n  goose,  the  pride  of  Germany,  has  no  better 
treatment! 

The  vegetables  are  so  disguised  in  the  prepara- 
tion that  it  is  always  a  hazardous  experiment  to 
guess  what  they  are.  They  are  almost  %ever 
served  in  a  simple  fashiou  as  with  ua;  they  are 
chopped  and  mixed,  and  then  served  |n  a  thick 
paste  of  floui  and  water,  losing  all  thrij 
freshness  as  well  as  their  identity.  Green  peas, 
(seen  even  now,  late  in.  September)  are  generally 
mixed  with  carrots  and  lovage,  and  then,  as  if 
that  were  not  sweet  enough  and  napseating 
enough,  sweetened  with  sugar  and  served  in  a 
paste  of  flour  and  water.  Squash  and  tomatoas 
and  green  corn  are  unknown.  Red  beets  I  have 
not  met  on  the  tames,  though  they  are  seen  in 
the  fields.  Turnips  are  mixed  in  the  most  singu- 
lar  manner,  entirely  detyng  cornf  u  a  ion  as  to 
the  proportions,  and  the  <other  subit  mc  s  which 


tograph  can  give  any  idea  of  their  iudicrous  ap- 
pearance. 

In  other  respects  the  peasan'ry  dress  simply.  The 
gowns  of  the  womeu  extend  not  much  further 
down  than  the  knees,  and  the  long,  blue  woolen 
Blockings,  worn  even  in  the  hottest  days  of  sum- 
mer, aie  fully  seen.  The  old  fashioned  nine 
goods  which  the  "oldest  inhabitants"  of  Spiing- 
ftelrt  can  lemember  as  much  worn  by  our  farm- 
ers' wives  and  daughters  in  New  Eugland,  are 
here  largely  used  by  the*  peasants.  The  men 
wear  blue  deuinj.  frocks,  and  on  Sundays  aod 
otiie*  holidays,  heavy,  high-collaraAi  blue  broad- 
i'clojh  coats-,  like  those  seen  in  cmrold- fashioned 
s,  an  i  not  quite  extinct  in  oir  most  re- 
iore  country towns.  Th  ■  children:  of  the  p*^ 
try  oress  iw  a  ^hairier  prflbsterously  beyond 
r  ytars,  and  lurmPike  mea  and  w«pen  shrunk  M 
tu  quarter  of  tfe$  life  s«|}*'--The  effect  of 
ore  striking  thaa  that  of  the  fanciful 
dresses  of  thijjjeasant  wurafjp 


Student  Life  stt  Heidelberg. 

We  find  the  following  In'tbe  Worcester'  spy, 
from  a  correspondent  of  thatj  paper,  writing  Irona 
Germany : 

At  ovrr  hotel  we  had  a  lively  foung  Germ  a* 
landlord,  who  amused  us  all  at" dinner,  a  party 
of  a  dozen  Americans,  with  his  accounts  of 
student  life.  "Oh,  they  don't  study  at  all," 
said  he;  "bow  can  they?  They  get  up  at  ten  or 
eleven  in  t&e  morning.  After  break-fast  they 
must  have  tfieir  fighting  lesson.  In  ttie  after- 
noon they  corae  here  for  a  good  dinner,  and  in 
the  evening  they  must  be  at  the  beer  garden,  you 
know.  Alter  they  have  spent  a  year  or  two  this 
way,  they  just  pay  the  professor  for  some  papers, 
and  then  say  they  have  graduated  at  Heidelberg 
University."  This- story,  much  the  same  a  s;  the 
Parker  House  waiter  would  give  perhaps  of  Har- 
vard men,we  recognized' as  the  account  of  the  10  per 
cent  of  fast  men  to  be  found  in  every  college.  And' 
we  happened  to  know  of  one  at  least,  fitted  at  Mr. 
Metcalf's  Highland  school^  son '  of  the  Chinese 
Minister  Burlingame,  who  after  an  exemplary 
college  career^  had  recently  graduated  with  very 
high  honor.  But  with  curiosity  excited  about 
the  fighting  lesson,  after  further  inquiry,  he  as- 
sured us  they  do  every  week  fight  in  desperate 
encounters  and  dead  earnest. 

Next  morning  I  chanced  to  learn  with  ocular 
demonstration  that  the  sword  duel  of  the  German 
students  is  no  myth,  or  affair  of  the  past,  of 
rough  play  at  blunt  fencing,  as  I  had  in: 
but  a  horrible  reality  of  to-day,  a  barbarism  be- 
side which  the  roughest  hazing  of  our  colleges  is 
pleasant  pastime.  Of  the  eight  or  nine  huadred 
students,  some  hundred  or  more  form  clubs,  un- 
der the  name  of  corps  students,  distinguished 
from  each  other  and  from  all  the  rest  by  caps  of 
special  color  and  style.  They  lead  a  life* of  luxury 
and  dissipation.  As  we  drove  by  their  club  house, 
halfway  up  the  hill  across  the  river,  among  the 
woods,  and  quite  away  from  the  city,  we  were 
curious  to  go  in.  With  the  help  of  our  student 
friend  we  were  permitted,  with  some  hesitation, 
to  enter  for  a  few  moments ;  for  to  his  own  credit 
I  should  say,  that  our  friend  had  no  personal  ac- 
quaintance among  them,  and  only,  perhaps,  by 
dress  and  manner  -was  recognized  as  a  member  of 
the  university  and  a  fellow  student.  Abundant 
evidence  indicated  the  place  as  a  club  house  of 
beer  and  wine  and  fast  living.  Around  the  door 
were  a  half  dozen  immense  dogs,  of-  bulldog  and 
bloodhound  species,  savage  looking,  but  heavily 
muzzled,  which  we  imagined  to  be  the  students' 
special  pets  and  playfellows.  As  we"  ascended 
the  stairs,  a  porter  coming  down  with  two  pans 
of  water  deeply  dyed  with  blood,  gave  us  unpleas- 
ant suspicions  of  rough  play  going  on.  On  en- 
tering a  room,  much,  like  Brinley  Hall,  divided  in 
two,  rudely  ornamented,  and  with  a  few  rough 
benches,  on  whose  floor  were  blood  stains  of  va- 
rious date,  from  the  many  encounters,  and  along 
the  side  were  the  long,  straight,  slender  swords, 
with  blunted  ends  to  unfit  them  for  thrusting,  but 
with  edges  as  keen  as  a  penknife.  About  forty 
young  men  were  lounging  around,  some  in  half 
"dishabile,  others  richly  dressed,  some  sipping  beer, 
listlessly  lying  at  full  length  on  the  beaches,  or 
gathered  in  little  knots  chatting  carelessly  over 
some  event  of  interest.  Many  faces  were  scarred 
heavily  with  the  hacks  and  gashes  of  former  en- 
counters. There  was  nothing  to  indicate  any  un- 
usual excitement  this  morning,  so  that  in  spite  oi 
my  aroused  suspicions  I  was  half  surprised  to  learn 
that  a  duel  had  just  taken  place.  In  one  corner 
where  a  small  group  was-  gathered,  we  found  a 
student  sitting  in  a  chair^  half  stripped,  having 
his  wounds  sponged  and  sewed  up.  He  had  just 
received  a  ghastly  sword  cut  over  the  left  eye 
some  two  inches  in  length,  and  one  on  top  of  the 
head  still  longer  and  deeper,  the  scars  of  which 
he  will  carry  till  death.  He  wore  spectacles,  was 
pale,  but  keeping  up  good  courage,  and  talking 
very  coolly  about  it.  Another  man,  the  caotre  of 
a  different  group,  I  supposed  to  be  his  antagonist, 
but  soon  found  them  dressing  two  more  for  an- 
other fight.  They  were  heavily  bandaging  the 
arms,  neck  and  breast,  and  covering  the 
eves  with  iron  goggles,  and  the  person  with 
a'  butcher's  shirt.  The  lace  and  head  are 
free  to  be  hacked  and  gashed.  Our  friend  said 
that  formerly  they  admitted  the  dogs,  but  on  one 
occasion,  when  the  end  of  a  nose  was  snipped  off, 
a  dog  seized  aud  swallowed  it,  before  it  could  be 
sewed  on  again ;  so  now  they  are  more  cautious. 
And  what 'Mo  they  fight  for?  Nothing  at  all! 
It  is  good  discipline  for  courage.  Bismarck  was 
a  corps  student.  And  so  were  some  of  the  best 
professors  in  college.  The  different  corps  fight 
each  other,  men  on  the  most  friendly  terms  are 
arrayed  against  each  other.  Generally,  however, 
some  insult  is  purposely  offered  and  passed  to 
provoke  the  challenge.  I  heard  of  their  beautiful 
fights,  and  the  beautiful  cuts  they  give  each 
other.  But  reserving  this  epithet  tor  other  uses, 
I  only  wished  for  the- strong  arm  of  power  to 
arrest  the  whole  set  of  young  barbarians,  who 
outrage  and  disgrace  civilization,  and  send  them 
to  coal  mines  for  some  useful  service  to  mankind. 


THE   *>OLI>H£KV  MOTHER. 

In  one  of  the  fern  glens  of  the  Upper  Al- 
leghanies  standi  a  small  log  house,  which 
once  held  a  large  family  :  John  Riley,  the  fa- 
ther, Susan  Riley,  the  mother,  and  children, 
John,  Susan,  James,  Patrick,  Sedvviek,  and 
little  Bess.  Bred  to  hard  living,  there  was 
not  one  in  all  that  little  hutful  ot  light  souls 
who  would  shrink  to  face  a  catamount,  or  a 
bear,  or  an  Indian,  or  find  fault  with'  hard 
bread  and  cold  quarters. 

At  the  breaking  out  of  the  war,  the  father, 
John,  James,  and  Patrick,  Unlisted,  the  last 
as  drum  ner  boy.  Sedwick  cried  to  go,  but 
■  wa,,  toid,  to  his  great  grief  and  indignation, 
that  he  would  have  to  wait  and  grow,  as  he 
was  only  twelve  years  old,  and  about  three 
*feet,  two.  The  wife  and  mother  had  as  big  a 
heart  as  anybody,  and  there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion but  that  heart  gave  a  sharp  twinge  when 
"old  John"  and  the  boys  left  her;  but  she, 
nevertheless,  declared  that  she  would  have 
gone  herself  if  they  hadn't.  They  might  go, 
.  and  God-speed  to  them,  for  there  was  no  help 
for't:  and  as  for  her,  she  had  not  a  doubt 
whatever  but  that  it  was  decreed  from  the 
foundation  of  the  world  that  she  should  be 
Jeit  to  carry  on  their  business,  which  was 
farming  and  shoemaking,  according  to  the 
season,  all  alone,  just  as  she  was;  and  she 
coul !  do  it,  if  worse  came  to  worst;  she  was 
sure  ot  that. 

So  half  the  Riley  family  went  from  the  log  ' 
house  to  the    war,  and  half  stayed  at  home3.  , 
Susan  took  care  of  what   little   there  was  in-   ' 
doors,  and  the  mother,  according  to  her  state-  i 
ment,  "took  care  of  all   out-doors,"  with  Su- 
san's help   whenever   she   was  off  duty,  and 
<  with    Sedwick's    always.    .  Little    Bess    was 
unanimously  voted  good  for  nothing  yet,  but 
to   keep   bread   and   cheese  from   moulding. 
Mrs.  Biley  plowed  the  glebe  with  the  old  one- 
horse  plow,  with  Sedwick  to  ride.     Mrs.  Ri- 
ley  planted  it   with   corn  and  potatoes,  with 
Sedwick  to  drop  them  for  her,  and  when  hoe- 
ing time  came,  she  and  Susan  hoed  it,  while 
Sedwick   did   the    best   he    could   at  pulling 
weeds,  and  Bess  ran  actively  and   noiselessly 
about,  picking  up  angle   worms  and  iraadiue 
on  the  hills.  ° 

The  season  wore  round  thus,  and  still  the 
. — indefatigable  industry  of  Mrs.  Riley  kept  ap- 
pearances very  much  as  they  were.  The  cow 
shed  had  several  extra  windows,  perhaps,  not 
left  by  the  carpenter,  and  the  cow  herself 
snowed  a  hide  of  hair  that  pointed  several  dif- 
ferent ways,  but  appearances  were,  if  the 
truth  was  known,  not  so  much  against  Mrs. 
Riley's  management  after  all.  Said  cow  and 
cow  shed  had  never  been  kept  in  a  state  of 
perfect  repair.  The  hens  and  turkeys  always 
took  care  of  themselves,  and  of  course  they 
looked  as  well  as  ever.  The-  old  horse,  habit- 
ually light  in  flesh,  may  have  betrayed  his 
ribs  a  trifle  plainer,  and  possibly  the  pig  was  a 
shaving  less  fat;  but  let  nothing  be  said  about 
trifles  where  the  only  wonder  is  that  the  wo- 
man, left  by  her  husband  and  three  sons, 
should  keep  her  familv  together  at  all,  and, 
much  more,  cultivate  her  farm.  When  con- 
senption  goes  through  our  towns  and  cities, 
sleeping  every  able-bodied  man  away,  we 
sua. I  see  how  many  women  there  are  like 
her. 

With  all  this  outdoor  tabor,  Sue  Riley  did 
not  so  far  forget  the  ".-hop"  as  to  justify  the 
taking  down  of  the  old  shingle  : 

'•BuOTS  &  SlICS  MAD  &  MK.VDKD  HEEtt." 

When  customers  came  and  left  work  before 
they  knew  that  John  was  gone,  she  continued 
to  do  it,  and  did  it  so  u-e!i  that  thev  kept  on 
bringing,  and  the  good  woman  had  all  she 
could  do  with  her  cobbling  and  farming  to- 
gether, you  may  be  sine. 

Meantime  she  was  kept  informed  tolerably 
well  of  the  movements  of  her  husband  and 
boys,  f.,r  though  all  of  them  were  but  indiffcr- 
erent  writers,  she  depended  on  Susan  to  de- 
cipher the  h-tiers  when  they  came,  for  not  a 
word  could  she  read  of  good  or  had  writing- 
jet  they  made  up  in  frequency  and  pith  what 
they  lacked  in  penmanship  and  rhetoric. 
I  heir  regiments  did  duty  most  of  the  year  in 
western  Virginia.  The  Riievs  had  enlisted  in 
two  regiments,  the  father  and  youngest  son 
in  one,  and  John  an:!  James  in  the  other,  and 
it  tared  with  them  about  ali 
#  In  October  a  letter  came  from  John,  bear- 
ing in  rustic  but  touching  phrase  bad  news 
mingled    with  good. 

Ca.\ii'Uuknk  Hi  dob,  yep  Twenty. 
Deer  Mother ;— A  Orate  battle's  ben  fit  & 
wev  beat  but  mother  that  aint  all  the  40th  got 
cut  up  wustn  wee  did  &  father's  ded  I  doiino 
nuther  what'U  becum  o  poor  little  pat  fur  they 
say  hess  wounded  tu  but  1  cunt  git  leevetogo 
see  him  &  weer  ordird  to  march    to  morrer  at 


4  oeloek  with  3  days  raslmhs  &  God  boh)  us 
eoodntye  ('11111  mother  to  find  pat  &  leeve'Sue 
'long  with  the  ehiidrttii  o  mother  war's  a  terri- 
ble thing  anyhow  but,  father  dyd  in  the  thick 
of  the  fite  jist  as  I  mubbe  God  bless  ye  mother 
<<  cum  if  ye  can  Jim's  well  and  sends  love.  Your 
-1  Bon  John. 

There  was  enough   of  natural    affection  in 
that  rough  Riley  family  :  deep,  genuine,  down- 
right love.     If  one  member  possessed  it  more 
,    than  any    of  the    rest    it    was    the  mother. 
--   Bluntly    and    coarsely  as  she  always  talked, 
and  ban?  featured  as    she  was    to    look  upon, 
,    no  poetess  ever  had 'a    richer  vein   of  human 
'    sentiment;   than     Mrs.     Riley,    and  Florence 
Nightingale    herself   could  not  handle  a  case 
of  aggravated  distress  more  tenderly  than  she. 
,   The  news  of  her  husband's  death  came  with  a 
-    sudden  stroke    that   almost   felled  her  to  the 
floor.     But  she  bore  up  till  her  work  was  done 
that  day,  and  let  the   younger   eyes  shed  the 
7   tears. 

"Why  don't  you    cry,    mother?"  said  litt'e 
r    Bess,  who    was   sobbing  with  Susan  and  Sed- 
wick over   a  grief  she    could  not  understand; 
but  the  pale,  thin  lips  of  the  mother  did  not 
move. 

In  the  middle  of  that  night,  long  after  sleep 

had  stolen  over  the    children's  sorrow,   Susan 

i    was  awakened  by    a  groan.     She  started  up, 

■    and    found    her    mother   sitting   in    the  bed, 

white,  111  the  harvest  moon  that  shone  throngh 

,    the  one  window,  as  a  shrouded  corpse. 

"Light  a  candle,  Susan,"  she  heard  her 
whisper,  and  then  the  terrified  girl  obeyed 
and  inquired,  hurriedly,  of  her  if  she  should 
bring  the  camphor  or  heat  some  water.  Mrs- 
Riley  shook  her  head  and  said,  faintly,  "Get 
the  Testament  and  read." 

Susan  got  the  book  and  asked  where  she 
should  read. 

"No  matter  much.  Open  somewhere  in  the 
middle." 

And  kneeling  by  the  bed,  with  the  candle  in 
her  hand,  the  younger  daughter  read  with 
trembling  voice  and  simple,  unlearned  em- 
phasis, "Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled;  ye 
beheve  in  God;  believe  •  Iso  in  xMe.  In  my 
lather's  house  are  many  mansions;  if  it  were 
not  so  I  would  have  told  you.  I  go  to  pre- 
pare a  place  for  you." 

A  low,  faint  cry  from  the  bosom  of  the  suf- 
fering woman,  and  the  girl's  voice  was 
drowned  in  the  stormy,  convulsive  sobs  that 
'hook   the    next   instant   through  the  stron 


reseffu  i ?„    7«S     .".  Caase  t0  re^ent  of  I 

ten    ,£  £     She   ll:Ul  g0,it'  'jver  b,u  ei««t  »r 
ten   ot  the    weary  stretch   of    miles  when  an 

army  teamster  overtook  her.  and  gave  her  a 
seat  among  his  powder  kegs.  The  ride,  how- 
ever, was  rather  a  change  of  exercise  than  a 
rest  to  her,  for  the  road  was  frightfully  bad 
iMotn  the  teamster  she  learned  that  the  Fortv- 
ninth  Pennsylvania  was  not  within  twenty  'or 
thirty  nines  of  the  spot  where  it  was  when  her 
son  dated  his  letter,  but  had  moved  to  or  near 
a  place  called  Sullivan's  Pass,  taking  their 
wounded  with  them.  The  communicative 
driver  furthermore  informed  her  that  he  was 
to  stop  eight  miles  short  of  this  hitter  place 
and  he  declared,  after  he  had  heard  Mrs  R  -3 
story,  that  if  he  were  not  in  the  employ  of  the 
government  he  would  see  her  clear  tp  the 
Pass  himself,  free  of  charge.  *> 

The  next  foot  journey  of  the  resolute  wid- 
ow wa*  exhausting  in  the  extreme— rocks 
gullies  marshes,  and,  above  all.  the  inevita- 
ble and  omnipresent  tangle  of  laurel  brush- 
wood lay  aoross  her  path  and  obstructed  her 
feet  at  every  step.  Supporting  herself  by  the 
tuougm  thai  her  boy  had  passed  over  that 
way,  she  persevered  and  struggled  through- 
to  find,  alas,  on  arriving,  worn  out  with  fa- 
"gue,  at  the  place  she  sought,  only  ashes  and 
the  scattered  debris  of  a  departed  army  !  The 
regiment  had  been  gone  two  davs 

But  the  persistent  woman  was"  not  to  bedis. 
couraged  Resting  herself  awhile,  she  set 
about  looking  for  a  team,  imd  after  sometrou. 
blc  she  procured  a  man.  at  a  large  price  to 
take  feer  in  Ins  cart  to  the  regiment  where  her 
boy  belonged  As  they  came  within  the  lines 
they  were  hailed  and  fired  on  by  a  picket,  but 
escap,d  harm,  and  in  due  time  the  flags  and 
white  tents  of  the  forty-ninth  appeared  aVou 
tne  spur  ot  a  mountain. 

Stopped  by  the  sentinel  at  the  camp  line 
jheinqu.r.d  for  Patrick  Riley,  the  drum,"  I 
boy,  and  was  told  that  he  was  not  there.  That 
was  all  toe  soldier  knew  about  it.  Whether 
be  was  dead  or  alive  he  did  not  say.  She  was 
uot  to  be  put  off,  and  a  corporal  of  the  gua 
was  summoned,  who  passed  her  within  the 
camp,  and  she  hastened  forthwith  to  make  in- 
quiries of  the  colonel  himself 
J«  Which  way  did  you  come  j?  *aid  the  col- 

i:By  the  Plummer  road." 

r  ilZV-  paS-'1d  y?,m  b°y  whhln  h*Jf  a  mile 
IlefthwiwHh  all  my  wounded   at    Verrico's 


i 


frame  of  Mrs.  Riley,  as  if  th^Touid  rend  il  Stadon     o  b  "J l^tX^tr 

asunder.                                        '  „,    ,1     ',,,.„,     ,t0  ilamsbuitf  as  soon 

The  deep  waters  were  loosed,  and    hoarded  '  therl  '  lie  wa^ndlv  UunL  &"■!    *"*  **» 

tears  of  half  a  life  time    seemed    now  to  flow  Wit),  all  po    i  0  e  t  u   •!    t  e  4T       , 

forth  in  one  gush  of  irresistible  sorrow.      By  back  the  Flu , 7ml    road  to 'v.tLnft*^'' 

and    by  the    paroxysm    passed,   and   she  rose  A comfmy  of  ZLu ™ £Z J^'^T' 

from  her  face  breathing  long,  deep  breaths,  as  long,  rougfa-looki  11c  £l2f  whth  I*     UDd" 

it  a  sweet  sense  of  relief  had  come  over  her,  and  she  knew        was   Z   h        trf      >'  ""  "i 

■and  lying  down  on  her  pillow,  said  softly,  stopped   the    horl£  W  be   Z  T         gU,iir> 

"Good  Lord,  Thy  will    be    done!     Put  the  the  building  bu    Mrs      ?,'7     .1  tt  S™*?? 

book  by,  Susan,  and  go  to  bed."  fron,  the  &„  .^  *^  '™*%»*  "J* 


The  bulk  of  the  harvest,  however,  was  gath- 
ered in  (as  good  a  yield  as  could  be  expected) 
when  John's  lett.r  came.  And  the  very  next 
day,  leaving  as  good  directions  as  she  could 
to  Susan,  and  charging  the  younger  children 
to  mind  her,  with  a  promise  not  to  be  gone 
very  long,  Mrs.  Riley  was  on  her  way  to 
Green  Ridge,  to  find  her  wounded  drummer 
boy.  The  feelings  of  the  wife  that  had  so 
fiercely  struggled,  well  nigh  to  breaking  her 
heart,  for  her  recent  loss,  were  now  subdued 
and  tranquil,  as  conscious  that  the  old  rela- 
tionship had  passed  away  with  the  husband's 
ebbing  blood,  to  linger  only  in  the  silence  of 
his  grave,  and  all  the  mother  awoke  within 
her  as  she  turned  from  the  dead  to  the  living. 
She  was  some  nearer  to  her  destination 
when  the  cars  left  her  at  Shannon  Dale  Ter- 
minus, a  village  with  seven  houses.  How  to 
get  conveyance  for  the  rest  of  the  way  was 
the  next  question.  Not  even  a  cart  or  oxen 
could  she  find.  At  length  an  ill-looking  negro 
came  along,  to  whom  she  applied  for  informa- 
tion. 

"Can  you  tell  me  where  I'll  find  a  team?" 
"Y  es'm." 
"Where,  then?" 
•Ise  got  one 


"Well,  what  is  it— a  horse,  a  donkey,   or  a      "T.Y 
pair  of  steers?  and  what's   the  wagtn?     Tell     VmnZi 
all  about  it.'1     '■  |  Pf  ™  1 

"Mule  and  Cdn^nmsu^f 

"What'll  ye  ask  to  Green  Ridge?" 

"Fifty  dollars." 

"Stay  to  home  with  yer  ohjt-mule,  ve  wick- 
ed, swindlin'  nigger,  to  take  advantage  of  a 
woman!  Ask  ten  hundred,  why  didn't  ye, 
when  ye  was  at  it?  But  ve  may  make  yer 
money  out  o'  somebody  else.     I'll  go  afoot." 

And  off  she  started,  leaving  the  exorbitant 
African  materially  sobered  of  his  grin,  and 
staring  after  her  with  an  expression  of  semi- 
fierceness,  as  if  he  half  meditated  doing  some- 
thing wickeder  still. 


up  to  the-  very  door  in    spite  of  all  oppositioi 
where,  spnngmg  frolB  till,  ca^  ^    «^      , 
the  sentinel  as  qumk  as  thought,  and  without 
stopping  to  hear   the    epithets    of    "hag"    and 

she  devil'  that  were  shot  after  her  as  she 
passed  m,  she  stood,  in  another  second,  in  the 
very  midst  of  the  wounded  soldiers 

'•Patrick  Riley!"  she  called  out  almost  out 
of  breath,  and  looking  all  about  her  as  if  afraid 
her  senses  would  deceive  her.  There  was  no 
mistaking  the  quick,  downright  tone  of  widow 
Ilfley.  If  the  boy  was  there  he  would  certain- 
ly answer. 

"0,  mother,"  gasped  a  weak  boy's  voice, 
and  a  tumbled  heap  in  one  corner  stirred,  and 
rushing  towards  it,  the  faithful  woman  saw 
her  poor  little  drummer  sitting  up,  but  so 
ch  mged  that  none  but  his  mother  would  have 
known  him. 

••Poor  Pat!  you've  had  a  sorry  time,  that's 
clear."  And  here  the  wonderful  energies  of 
the  mother  which  had  kept  up  so  long  as  her 
child  was  to  be  searched  for,  (God's  angels 
bear  up  with  their  hands  the  strength  of  moth- 
ers in  such  emergencies.)  gave  way  now  that 
her  child  was  found,  and  she  sank  down  al- 
i.most  fainting  upon  the  straw  pallet  before 
'her. 

onfc    up,  mother,    anil  don't  ye  feel  bad. 

ail  right,"   said  the    plucky    little  fellow. 

My  arm's  hurt   so't  I  shan't  drum  no  more, 

but  now  you've  come  I  feel  like  I  could   lick 

all  the  rebels  with  one  hand!" 

Mis.  Riley  soon  recovered,  and  set  about 
wfersing  her  boy. 

She  came  ig  the  nick  of  time,  for  his  arm 
had  just  be«n  amputated,  and  he  was  some- 
what feverish.  Probably  his  mother's  care 
was  the  only  thing  that  saved  him.  In  a  week 
lie  was  able  to  go  home  with  her;  and  just  as 
the  November  winds  began  to  blow,  Pat  took 
his  old  place  by  the  Crackling  Are  in  the  log 
house,  among  the  Upper  Alleghanies,  and 
told  his  brother  and  sisters  his  story  of  the  war- 


> 


J.. 


mm  '"-..* 


6 


FORT  SUHTER"1861-*1865. 


Historical  Sketch  of  the  Bombards.  >ert  and 
Surrender  of  Fort  Sumter  in  April*  11861. 
This  day,  Friday,  April  14,   1865,   will   bf  ever 

memorable  lor  the  formal  restoration  to  Us  leg  iti 


mate  place  of  the  first  United  Slates  flag  oaptured  lS     fffg$ o^Char^LtoD?*™6'1  in,oamsaace  a&™*t 

To  this  the  commissioners  returned  an  answer  fil 


battle  during  our  Ion*,  but  now  happily  closing  civil  ,. 
war.  In  view  of  this  circumstance,  a  brief  sketch  of 
the  main  facts  concerning  the  glorious  old  fort,  her 
defence  and  final  surrender  four  years  ago  will  be 
timely  reading. 

In  December,  1860,  Fort  Sumter  was  one  of  the 
Wrongest  works  is  the  republic.  It  was  erected  at  t£ 
cost  of  over  a  $1,000,0(10  to  the  nation,  and  possessed 
the  united  advantages  of  inaccessible  position  and  the 
superintendence  of  the  best  engineering  skill.  Built 
Upon  an  artificial  island  In  the  harbor  of  which  it  was 
the  prominent  defence,  its  pentagonal  walls  of  brick 
and  compact  concrete,  twelve  feet  of  which  at  the 
base  and  eight  at  the  parapet,  rose  full  sixty  feet 
from  the  level  of  the  sea.  Pierced  for  two  tiers  of 
guns,  and  etoetigthened  for  the  upholding  of  a  third" 
en  barbette,  the  fortress  was  prepared  for  attack 
on  fours  sides,  while  its  fifth,  looking  land- 
ward and  homeward,  was  unprotected  and  entirely 
inoffensive.  Up  to  the  27th  of  December,  1860,  but 
a  small  guard  was  kept  on  duty  at  the  fort,  although 
Maj.  Andeesos,  then  stationed  at  Fort  Moultrie,  had, 
with  the  divination  of  a  watchful  soldier,  foreseen 
the  necessity  of  strengthening  the  works,  so  that,  in 
case  the  nucleus  of  Confederate  discontent  and 
treason  should  grow  to  offensive  proportions,  and 
attempt  attack,  he  might  not  be  wholly  unprepared  \ 
to  repel  it.  60  early  as  the  11th  of  December,  tan 
days  prior  to  the  passage  of  the  ordinance  of  seces- 
sion by  South  Carolina,  Msj.  Anderson  was  dis- 
trustful of  all  approaches  to  Moultrie,  and  no  per- 
son was  granted  admittance  who  was  unprovided 
with  the  guarantee  of  good  faith  from  one  of 
the  garrison  efficers.  Convinced  that  it  would  be 
folly  for  him  to  regain  in  Moultrie,  which  was 
literally  at  the  mercy  of  Fort  Sunr.ter.  Maj.  Ander- 
son, by  a  skillful  endeavor,  transferred  his  force, 
consisting  of  nine  ofHcers,  fifty-five  artillerists,  fif- 
teen musicians  and  thirty  laborers,  constituting  a 
lighting  guard  of  but  one  hundred  and  nine  men  to 
that  fort,  and  on  the  27ih  of  December,  1860,  at  high 
noon,  he  raised  the  garrison  flag,  while  evsry  knee 
was  bent  and  every  head  bowed  in  silent  reverence, 
■after  which  the  band  broke  forth  with  the  inspiring 
strains  of  "  Hail  Columbia,',  and  the  flag  was  saluted 
with  hearty  and  prolonged  huzzas. 

THE   EFFECT   IN  flH»ELBBrOH 

was  electric.  Bsffied  and  outmar.csuvered,  the  rebels. 
who  had  expected  to  quietly  or  ffircluiy  oust  the 
Moultrie  garrison,  and  enter  easily  upon  the  pos- 
session of  Sumter,  found  the  one  beyond  their  reach, 
the  otber  sentineled  by  a  determiued  band,  who 
would,  for  a  time  at  least,  uphold  the  insignia  of  the 
nation's. honor,  anrt  protect,  at  ttie  hezard  of  iffa  it- 
self, the  prestige  of  its  stars  and  strides,  The  rapid 
pace  of  treason  was  doubtless  quickened  by  this 
movement,  while  throughout  the  loyal  Karth  the 
pulse  of  patriotism,  and  of  indignation  at  the  South- 
ern boasts,  beat  high  and  fast.  Events  succeeded 
with  marked  signifioauce.  On  the  very  day  o! 
the  occupation  of  Sumter,  tha  South  C^-rolin* 
troops  were  ordered  out ;  military  assistance  whs 
sought  and  promised  by  Georgia  and.  Al  loam*  ;  tue 
first  vessel  armed,  which  bore  a  traitorous  Aug,  was 
on  that  day  stolen  from  the  United  Spates  by  Capt. 
L.  C.  Coste,  of  the  revenue  cutter  William  Aiken, 
which  lay  in  Charleston  harbor,  But  two  weens 
prior  to  this  act,  Capt.  Costb  had  stated  that  he 
should  resign  in  case  South  Carolina  seceded,  but 
preferlng  to  act  a  double  treachery,  he  broke  his  oath 
as  an  officer  and  violated  his  honor  as  a  citizen,  Sear- 
ing down  the  colors  under  whose  protection  he  bad 
lived,  and  substituting  the  palmetto  standard  of  re- 
volt. 

Mr.  Floyd,  the  Secretary  of  War,  urged  the  Presi- 
dent, Mr.  Buchanan,  to  direct  the  withdrawal  of 
Major  Anderson  and  his  force,  but,  unwilling  to  take 
so  grave  a  responsibility,  the  President  declined,  and 
the  Secretary  resigned.  On  the  20th  of  December, 
Messrs.  R.  W.  Bashwell,  J.  H.  Adams  and  Jambs  L. 
Osr  proceeded  to  Washington  as  coiumUaloueiB 
from  the  State  of  South  Carolina,  and  laia  before 
the  President  their  authorization  uppers,  a  copy  of 
the  ordinance  of  secession,  aiu!  a  request  that  he 
would  withdraw  all  me  United  States  troops  fron* 
■Charleston  Harbor.  The  President  declined  to  meet 
them  save  as  private  gentlemen,  tuf  entered  into 
correspondence  with  them,  closing  his  lattes  of  Deu, 
30, 1860,  as  follows  ; 

•-  It  is  under  all  these  circumstances  that.  I  am 
urled  immediately  to  withdraw  the  troops  from  the 
harbor  of  Charleston,  ami  iim  informed  tnat  without 
this  negotiation  is  ImpTftsioie.  This  I  cannot  do.* 
this  I  will  not  do.  Such  an  idei  w  as  ne'er  thought 
of  by  me,  in  any  possible  cjr.Jingency.  No  such  al- 
lusion has  been  made  lunication  be- 
tween myself  anu    any  hi.mdti  befog.    *    *    *    At 


this  stage  of  writing,  1  offve  1  etvea  information  bv 
telegraph  from  Capt,  Humphreys,  in  command  or  the 
arsenal  at  Cbailesjon.  that  -  it  has  to-day  (Sundav 
the  30tb)  been  taken  by  force  of  arms  "  It  is  esti- 
mated that  the  munitisms  of  war  belonging  to  this 
arsenal  are  worth  luff  a  million  of  dollars.  Com- 
•fter  this  information,   I 


ment  is   needies3.. 


have 


only  to  add,  that  v«e  it  is  my  duty  10  defend  Fort 
bumter,  as  a  portidl  of  the  public  property  of  trie 
HJntted  States,  against  hostile  attacks,  from  what- 
ever quarter  they  may  come,  by  such  means  as  I 
.possess  tor  this  purpose,  I  do  not  perceive  how  sue  u 


Entry  Into 
service. 


R.  Anderson.... Major.. 1st  ArtiHery.July  1. 1828.. Ky. 
S.  W.  Crawford. S&rVn.Mcd.  Staff. ..Mar.  10,1851. .Perm. 
A.  J)oubleday...gapt...lgt  ArtiJlery.July  1,  1842.. N.  Y. 


"4 


with  the  most  extraordinary  statements,  which  werv 
deemed  sufheienny  insulting  to  warrant  the  P-v 
dent  in  returning  it  unnoticed.  The  necessity 
provisioning  and  reinforcing  Sumter  was  as  obvious 
a  duty  as  its  retention.  Probably  the  war  which  has 
followed  cannot  furnish  an  abortion  so  absolute,  an 
attempt  so  absurd,  as  that  evinced  by  the  efforts  of 
the  government  to  supply  Maj.  Anderson  .with  men 
and  rations.  The  Star  of  the  West,  a  well-known 
California  transport,  was  chartered  by  the  govern- 
ment and  loaded  with  provisional  carrying  also  four 
officers  and  two  hundred  men.  On  the  5th  of  Jan- 
uary, 1661,  she  cleared  for  New-Orleans  and  sailed 
for  Sumter— facts  as  well  known  in  Charleston  as  in 
New-Ycrk,  where  they  were  public  rumor.  -On  the 
Oth  she  reached  Charleston  bar,  and  upon  heading 
toward  Sumter,  received  the  fire  from  a  masked  bat- 
tery on  Morris  Island.  Finding  his  quarters  uncom- 
fortably dangerous,  and  convinced  that  further  at- 
tempt to  reach  the  desired  point  was  futile,  Capt 
KcGowan  put  his  ship  about  and  arrived  in 
New-York  on  the  morning  of  the  12th,  to 
•the  great  disgust  of  the  entire  community, 
„,Vvith  hostile  batteries,  thirteen  in  number,  ready  or 
preparing  for  action,  Maj.  Anderson  devoted  the 
energies  of  himself  and  command  to  the  Improvement 
of  the  weaker  points  of  the  fort.  To  Gov.  Pickens' 
demand  for  surrender  he  had  replied  that  he  had  '« no 
power  to  comply  with  such  a  demand,"  and  perceiv- 
ing the  imminent  probability  of  attack.he  determined 
to  send  off  the  women  and  children,  and  on  the  3d  of 
February  they  sailed  for  New- York  in  the  steamer 
$larion.  On  the  1st  ol  March,  Maj.  Anderson  notified 
the  War  Department  that  an  early  attack  might  be 
expected,  and  detailed  the  preparations  made  by  the 
Cliarlestonians  for  thatlnurpose.  Gen.  Beatjbegabd, 
through  the  spies  and  friends  of  the  rebels  at  the 
Jforth,  well  knew  that  the  Government  of  the  United 
States,  under  the  administration  of  President  Lincoln, 
was  considering  the  best  means  of  relieving  Major 
Andebbok,  and  on  the  8th  April,  1861,  he  notified  Mr. 
Ii.  P.  WIikbb,  the  Confederate  Secretary  of  War, 
that  Mr.  Lincoln  had  informed  Gov.  Pickens  of  his 
determlnatioa  to  "  send  provisions  to  Fort  Sumter 
peaceably,'  or  otherwise  by  force."  In  accordance 
with  Instructions  from  the  War  Department,  he  made 
a  formal 

DEMAND  FOE  THE  SURRENDER 
of  the  fort  on  the  11th  day  of  April,  to  which  Maj. 
Anderson  returned  a  refusal,  and  verbally  Intimated 
to  the  messengers  that,  as  he  was  nearly  out  of 
stores,  his  evacuation  was  but  a  question  of  time  and 
endurance.  Gen.  Beapregabd  rejoined  that  he  was 
desirous  of  sparing  the  shedding  of  blood,  and  that. 
If  Maj.  Anderson  would  specify  a  day  on  which  he 
would  evacuate,  he  would  refrain  from  an  attack. 
At  this  time,  unknown  to  the  beleaguered  garrison, 
jrelief  from  the  Nprth  was  in  the  offing.  The  succor- 
log  force  was  as  follows:  Sloop-of-war  Pawnee; 
•loop-of.warPewtefcra;  cutter  Harriet  bane:  steam- 


3 


<i 


era   BMie,   Atlantic    lllinoit ;     steamtugs     Yankee, 

<  Uncle  Ben;    carrying  in    ail     26    guns    and    1,380 

i  men.    Had  Maj.  Anderson   known  of  this,  doubtless 

he  would  have  given  a  different  reply  to  Gen.  Beau- 

eegakd,  whose  aids  received  an  open  answer  stating 

that,  on  the  15th  Inst.,  with'  certain  provisos,  the  fort 

would  be  evacuated.    The  aids  on  the  spot  wrote 

r .  the  following 

NOTIFICATION   OF   BOMBARDMENT. 

Foet  Sumter,  S.  C, ) 
April  12,  1861—3:20  A.  M.     I 
To  Ma,     Anderson : 

Sir:  Lly  authority  of  Brig.-Gen.  Beauregard,  com- 

.  manding     ^e   provisional  forces  of  the  Confederate 

States,  we  u  aye  the  honor  to  inform  you  that  he  will 

open  the  fire  .,pf  his  batteries  on  Fort   Sumter  in  one 

hour  from  this  ^iipe. 

We  have  the  i  '•onor  to  be,  very  respectfully,  your 
obedien;  servants, 

JAityES  GHESNUT,  Jr.,  A.  D.  C, 
S.  L ■•$,  LEE,  Captain  and  A.  D.  C. 
Maj.  Rob.  Andbbso  y,  TJ.  S.  A.,  Fort  Sumter. 
This  notification  fou  'nd  Maj.  Anderson  compara- 
tively helpless.  Of  br'et  4  there  was  not  a  piece,  and 
of  pork,  his  only  ratjpn,  Wi»t  an  insufficient  quantity  ; 
Msajtas  quite  a  supply  Oi  j-^wder,  but  only  seven 
hundred  cartridges,  and  the  ria  sulously  small  num- 
ber of  three  needles  with  which  rto  sew  the  canvas 
bags.  The  best  appointed  garrls  5n  without  provi- 
sions or  cartridges  would  be  of  iiu  gnificant  use,  but 
in  this  case  there  was  not  even  a  moderate  numeri- 
cal force.  Calling  his  officers  and  men  together, 
Maj.  Andeeson  Informed  them  in  the  .early  hours  of 
that  eventful  day,  that  an  immediate  -Attack  was  to 
be  made,  and  than  proceeded  to  dl vide  them  into 
three  reliefs. 


THE  FORCE 

consisted  of  the  following  officers 

N«me».  Rank.       R»glmept. 

•v.Julv  1. 

,1851.. Pen 
.,  1842.. N. 

J  Seymour Capt... 1st  Artillery. July  1, 1846. .VC. 
heo.  Talbot 1st  Lt..lst  Artillery.May  22. 1847..D.  O. 
.  C.  Davis 1st  Lt..lef  Artillery.  June  17,1848.. lnd. 

J-  U.Ha!l 2d  U.lst  ArtiUery.July  1,1859.. N.  Y. 

J.  G.  Fo&ter Capt.  .Engineers...  July  1.  1846. .N.  H. 

G.  W.  Snyder. ..1st  Lt. Engineer?,.. July  1, 1856. .N.  Y. 

R.  K.  Maade 2d  Lt..Engineers...July  1, 1866. .Va. 

and  seventy  men,  of  whom  fifteen  composed  the 
band.  Without  further  preparation,  the  gallant  Com- 
mander awaited  the  bombardment.  At  thirty 
minutes  after  4  O'clock,  when  the  first  grey  panellings 
of  the  coming  sun  were  visible  in  the  Eastern  sky, 
the  hand  of  Edmund  Rujtin,  a  hoary-headed,  hard- 
hearted Virginian,  whose  best  and  worst  days  had 
been  spent  in  tireless  efforts  for  secession,  fired  the 
first  gun  of  Civil  war,  which  discharged  a  well-aimed 
shell  at  the  doomed  fort.  Directly  above  the  in- 
ciosure  burst  the  shell,  wbose  scattering  missiles  did 
no  physical  Injury,  but  whose  moral  effect  it  would 
ke  difficult  to  over-estimate.  The  firing  continued  ; 
the  experiments  of  the  eager  politicians  who  quarrel- 
ed for  the  dishonor  of  the  earlier  discharges,  gave 
place  to  the  actual  bombardment  of  more  experienced 
men  ;  minutes  grew  into  hours,  and  the  clear  glass 
revealed  to  thousands  of  spectators  the  effect 
of  the  one-sided  contest.  Cannon  balls  rat- 
tled upon  parapet  and  embrasure,  shells  burst  with 
rare  beauty  above  the  fortress,  hurling  swift  messen- 
gers of  destruction  down  upon  it,  and  great  shot 
found  easy  access  to  the  very  vitals  of  the  defence. 
The  dirt  flew  firm  the  island,  splinters  sliced  off 
?■  works,  s'oces  and  mortar  parted  company, 
and  dismantled  guns  v.ere  eloquent  of  damage  done, 
yet  no  s'teet  of  flame,  no  sound  of  thunder, 
no  stroke  of  resistance  appeared  from  the  fort.  At 
half  Diiat  six  soundec  the  familiar  tune,  "Peas  upon 
the  Trencher."  and  quietly  ttie  bestormed  garrison 
filed  into  quarters  and  partook  of  their  salt  pork  ra- 
tions. The  fire  had  now  continued  uninterruptedly 
two  hours.  Major  And2eson,  convinced  of  the  re- 
ality of  the  attack,  then  gave  the  order  to  reply,  and 
at  once  the.. 

RETURN   FIRK 

was  begun,  Capt.  Dcusleday,  the  second  in  com- 
mand, firing  the  first  gun,  after  which  the  batteries 
opened  npon  the  attacking  posts  with  vigor.  The 
damage  already  done  to  Fort  Sumter  was  great  and 
disastrous.  But  two  tiers  of  guns  were  used— that 
en  barbette  and  the  lower  range  of  casemates ;  the 
former  being  cf  the  heaviest  calibre,  capable  of 
crushing  the  armor  of  the  iron-plated  batteries,  and 
the  only  ones  from  which  shell  could  be  thrown.  So 
admirably  directed,  however,  was  the  firing  of  the 
insurgent  batteries,  that  almost  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  return  Major  Anderson 
was  compelled  to  abandon  the  upper  tier 
and  rely  alone  upon  the  lowest  and;  least  effec- 
tive battery.  In  attempting,  unbeknown  to  Major 
Anderson,  to  use  the  upper  guns,  several  of  our  men 
who  longed  for  a  good  shot  at  the  rebels,  succeeded 
in  firing  the  large  guns,  with  the  only  apparent  result 
of  dismounting  two  of  them— one  by  recoil  anejt  e  f 
other  in  consequence  of  a  t  IftW  from  the  first.  Tne 
enthusiasm  of  our  t^wps  was  immense;  for  nearly 
three  hours  they  had  remained  quiet,  exposed 
to  a  fearful  fire,  unpermitted  to  retu|a  a*  shot 
or  raise  a  shout,  and  when  at  last,  not 
only  permission  but  the  order  came,  they  sprang 
to  their  woik  with  such  alacrity  that  the  assailants 
are  astonished,  and  doubted  whether  or  no  the  fort 
had  been  reinforced  without  their  knowledge.  But 
even  heroes  are  but  mortar,  and  ineffective  guns  in 
good  hands  are  useless.  Courage  and  skill  on  the 
part  of  the  gallant  band  were  insufficient  to  over- 
come numbers,   position  and  superior  equipments** 

-;equal  contest  was  continued  until 
about  12  o'clock,  when  the  cneering  stgh^ 
of  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  floating  from  the 
masthead  of  the  relieving  ships,  met  the 
eye  of  Maj.  Anderson.  The  salute  was  ex- 
changed and  hopes  were  entertained  that  in  some 
way  the  much  needed  help  might  be  transferred  from 
deck  to  dock.  A  storm  came  up,  scattered  the  fleet, 
threw  the  Baltic  on  a  bar  and  rendered  the  expedi- 
tion futile.  Thus  with  a  fort  broken  in,  guns  dis- 
mountfd,  provisions^;  ~rl?  gone,  the  looked  for  re- 
lief driven  off  by  a  wind  :>  ra  thecloud,  a  determined 
enemy  &!i  about  him,  ana  ■  easonabie  prospect  of  a 
worse  to-morrow,  Maj,  Ai;iu. :  on  closed  the  first  day 
of  the  bombardment. 

All  nisrht  long  at  Irregular  intervals  the  firing  was 
continued,  and  ween  the  dawn  of 

THE  SECOND  DAT 

approiched,  the  storm  had  subsided,  great  clou-is 
were  driving. to  the  soutlifeard,  and  the  sun  bright 
and  glorious  shone  upon*N»  scene  of  contest  Red- 
hot  shot  were  showered  upon  the  fort ;  three  times 
the  quarters  and  barracks  were  on  fire,  but  the  ac- 
tive exertions  of  the  laborers  put  it  out ;  a  fourth 
time  the  flames  appeared,  and  with  renewed  fury. 
They  licked  up  the  barracks  and  approached  the 
magazine.  Men  who  had  stood  bravely  at  their  posts 
amid  a  shower  of  red-hot  shot,  might  well  be 
pardoned  for  shuddering  at  this  new  danger,  but 
history  1b  denied  even  this  small  variation  from  the 


r 


j 


/ 


r 


1 


continuous  heroism  of  tne  troops.  A  Hundred  bar- 
rels or  gunpowder  were  removed  from  the  magazine, 
every  one  at  the  peril  of  life  and  limb,  while  the  hot 
■hot  crashed  among  the  burning  beams,  and  the 
whistling  shells  hissed  aoove  the  parapet.  The  situ- 
ation of  the  garrison,  desperate  from  the  first,  was 
now  near  its  last  extremity.  The  gates  of  the  fort 
were  burned  out ;  the  chassis  of  the  barbette  guns 
were  burned  upon  the  gorge  ;  the  shells  and  fixed 
ammunition  stored  In  the  fort  burst  by  reason  ot  heat, 
carrying  ruin  and  possible  death  with  every  explo- 
sion ;  and  the  heat  of  the  roaring  flame  was  such  as 
to  promise  early  roasting  or  prolonged  suffocation  to 
all  who  should  escape  death  from  the  shot  and  shell. 
The  sun  poured  its  scorching  rays  full  upon  the  in- 
closure  ;  the  smoke  of  the  fire,  combined  with  that 
from  the  discharge,  hung  low  within  the  fort ;  the 
terrors  of  Erebus  seemed  upon  them.Jwhen  a  current 
of  air  disclosed  the  startling  fact  that  the  flag  was 
down.  Up  sprang  a  gallant  musician— Hall— and 
jumping  upon  the  shot-raked  parade  brought  the 
colors  in.  A  temporary  flagstaff  was  rigged,  and 
Peter  Hart,  with  dauntless  heroism,  climbed  up 
and  nailed  the  colors  fast. 

Assuming  to  regard  the   temporary   absence  of 
the  flag  as  an  Indication  of  a  desire  to 

SURRENDER, 
Mr.  "Wigfall,  of  Texas,  made  his  appearance  with 
bis  handkerchief  waving,  and  desired  admission.  It 
was  granted,  but  as  the  national  colors  still  waved 
defiance,  the  tebel  batteries  continued  their  fire. 
After  some  consultation,  Mr.  Wiqfall  displayed  bis 
improvised  ftag-of-truce.  and  uaune  heard  M,aj.  ah- 


Itit if  at  Crtfvifnirff. 

The  following  beautiful  extract  is  from  a  fune- 
ral sermon  preached  in  Maine,  over  a  bntve  young 
volunteer  who  fell  at  Gettysburg : 
"We  esteem  it  an  fronor  that  one  brave,  young 
>m  this  congregation^beeB  yielded  isp  in 
k>  great,  so  holy  a  cause. 

-teem  it  ae  honor  (sore,  snratterable  grief 

se  parents  who  ha  c  been 

rive  ap  theit  first-born,  the  object  of  their 

and'  their  hope  to  God  and  theft  country,  to 

hole  race  whom  Christ  czsmo  to  save! 

at  Gettysburg!  no  pnswdcr  epitaph  need, 

ovet.    Who  of  all  wSo  have  occupied 

-i'S  an<T    tilled    these   fields— T»nilding 

'aping  av>W  returning  to  the  dust  whence 

taken— who  of  torn  ah'  has  earned  a 

nobler  mflmoriaP  Who  ofalfwho  nsw  dwetfhere, 

merit  a  more  affectionate,  honored  reraeru- 

ice,  than  the  young  volunteer  wEso,  from  this 

iiunity.  went  forth*  to  figbt,  and  as  the  eTOnt 

proved,  die  far  his  conn 

Died  at  Gettysburg!    Do    yot    know  what  St 
niean?  ?    It  mBan  chasten  the  'nsoleuc* 

which  had  grown  inordinate  through  a  series  of 
It  means  "  l  led  io  restore  courage 
lOpeto  an  army  saddened   an"4   despondent 
(tinned disaster.""  It  means  "Died 
torrent  of  'nvasion  and  pillage, 
and  wide-s]  station  "    It  means  "  Died 

fear  which  filled  all  hearts  in>  the 
Of  our  'and."    It  7r.eaus  "  Died  that 
light  put  their   children  in  security  to 
;   means  "  Died  that  insur- 
ant! robbery,  conflagration 
and  red-handed  mure  »v  might  n«4  rage  at  will, — 
Fork  and  Boston  alone,  but  in  every 
town,  every  village  in  the   land,"    It 
•  ■>  "Died  that  you    ruight   assemble  in  this 
i  out  tear  that  ?our  homes* will  be  plun- 
1  nrned  in  you-  sbsence— Siat  you  your- 
:!it  fall   by  the- shot  or  '.tab  of  the  as- 

>!1    that   was    experienced  in  New    York 

;nplc  of  wh*t  must,  ins  all  proba- 

en   experienced   throughout   the 

i  the  men  who  died  at  Get^/sburg  fal- 

cJted  by  a  proud,  out- 

icttysburg!    It  means  "Died  that  the 

i  nmeni  on  which  \~i&  sun  ever  shone 

he  bound  and  powerless,  ca-lli'igin  vain 

i  ne — as  our  gov- 

•n,  had  not 

us,  saving  us  by 

■who,  at  Gcttysb  ed  their  breasts 

be  bulwarks  of  bin  the  enemy 

who  thought  to  tread  us  into  the  dust!" 

Died  at  Gettysburg!    It  means  "Died  for-  the 
Ini:' !  died  for  the  opening  of  the  pris- 

on-doors to  them  that  are  unjustly   bound;  died  to 

id,  and  the 
proceed  na- 
Wien  might  still  hope 
vard  to  life  and  liberty,  civil  and 
that  a  lieid  for  missionary  enter- 
pened  in  our  own  land,  more  wide- 
spread and  more  important  than  any  of  which  we 
have  vet  taken  possession;  died  that  Christians 
might  not,  broken-hearted,  retire  from  the  effort 
for  the  world's  conversion :  died  that  God's  king- 
i  might  come,  that  his  will  might  be  done,  on 
earth  as  it  is  lone  in  heav.n. 

That  is  what  It  means— Died  at  Gettysbur  .'" 


Thb  Consecration  of  the  Gettysburg  Cbm- 
ETBitr. — The  President's  party    arrived  Wednes- 
day  evening   and  the   President    and  Secretary 
"Seward  were  serenaded,    and  each   replied  to  the 
/compliment. 

President  Lincoln  said  he  was  happy  to  see  so 
many  of  his  friends  present  to  participate  in  the 
ceremonies,  but  he  would  make  no  speech,  as  he 
had  nothing  particular  to    say.     [Laughter  and 
applause,] 
c    Secretary  Seward  was  loudly   called  for.     He 
said  h»-  was  60  years  ot  age  and  had  been  40  years 
in  public  lif«.     This,  however,  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  dared  to  address  people  residing  upon 
the  borders  of  Maryland.   He  anticipated  40  years 
^go  that  the  battle  of  freedom   would   be  fought 
upon  this  ground,  and  that  slavery  would  die, — 
[Loud  cheering.]     There  had  been  a  great  issue 
between   the  people  of  the  country  noith   and 
1  (south,  and  it  was  now  being  determined   in  this 
contest.    He  had  been  anxious  to  see  slavery  die 
by  peaceable  means,  if  possible,  and  now  he  was 
'destined  to  see  it  die  by   the  fate  of  war.     [Ap- 
plause.]    This  Pennsylvania,  beautiful,  capacious 
^rich  and  fertile  Pennsylvania,  was  an  evidence  oi 
what  the  spirit  of  freedom  had  done  for  the  Union. 
He  would  not  abandon  thu  contest  until  we  had 
ane  hope,  one  country,  one  destiny,  and  one  na- 
tionality,    [Loud  applau»e.] 

The  ceremonies  attending  the  dedication  of  the 
national  cemetery  commenced   Thursday  morn- 
i^ing,  by  a  grand  military  and  civic  display,  under 
—  command  of  Major  General   Couch.     At  a  quar- 
ter past  11  the  head  of  the  procession   arrived  at. 
the  main  stand. 

The  President  end  members  of  the  Cabinet,  to- 
gether with  ihe  chief  military  and  civic  dignita- 
ries, took  places  on  the  stand.  The  President 
seated  himself  between  Mr.  Seward  and  Mr. 
Everett,  after  a  reception,  marked  with  the  re- 
spect and  perfect  Silence  due  the  solemnities  of 
the  occasion,  every  man  in  the  immense  gather- 
ing uncovering  on  his  appearance. 

The  military  then  formed  in  line,  extending 
around  the  stand,  the  area  between  the  stand  and 
military  bein;*  occup.ei  by  civilians,  comprising 
about  16,000  pet  pie,  and  including  men,  women 
and  children.  The  attendance  of  ladies  was  quite 
large.  The  military  escort  comprised  one  division 
of  cavalry,  two  batteries  of  artillery,  and  a  squad 
of  infantry,  which  constituted  the  regular  funeral 
escort  for  the  highest  officer  in  the  service. 

The  services  commenced  with  a  funeral  dirge 
(by  Bergfeld)  by  the  band.  An  impressive  pray- 
er was  delivered  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Stockton.  Af- 
ter the  prayer  an  oration  by  Mr.  Everett  was  de- 
livered, aud  was  listened  to  with  marked  atten- 
tion. 

We  have  room  only  for  an  extract  from  the 
closing  passages  of  Mr.  Everett's  masterly  ad- 
dress:— 

The  people  of  loyal  America  will  never  take  to 
^their  confidence  or  admit  again  to  a  share  in  their 
^government  the  hard-hearted   men,  whose   cruel 
lust  of  power  has  brought  this  desolating   war 
upon  the  land,  but  there  is  no  personal  bitterness 
felt  even  against  them.     They  may  live,   if  they 
can  bear  to  live  after  wantonly  causing  the  death 
of  so  many  thousand  fellow  men  ;  they  may  live, 
in  safe  obscurity  beneath  the  shelter  of  the  gov- 
ernment they  have  sought  to  overthrow,  or  they 
•  may  fly  to  the  protection  of  the  governments  of 
Europe,-  some  of  them  are  already   there,  seek- 
ing, happily  in  vain,  to  obtain  the  aid  of  foieign 
/powers  in- furtherance  of  their  own  treason.  There 
let  them  stay.     The  humblest   dead  soldier  that 
lies  cold  and  Miff  in  his  grave  before  us,  is  an  ob- 
.  ject  of  envy  beneath  the  clods  that  cover  him.  in 
'comparison  with  the  living  man,  who  is  willing  to 
grovel  at  the  foot  of  a  foreign   thione,  for  assist- 
ance in  compassing  the  ruins  of  his  country. 

But  the  hour  is  coming  and  now  is,  when  the 
power  of  the  leaders  of  the  rebellion  to  delude 
and  inflame  must  cease.  There  is  no  bitterness 
on  the  part  of  the  masses.  The  people  of  the 
South  are  not  going  to  wage  an  eternal  war.  for 
the  wretched  pietexts  by  which  this  rebellion  i3 
sought  to  be  justified.  The  bonds  that  unite  us 
as  one  People,  a  substantial  community  6f  origin, 
language,  belief  and  law,  (tne  four  great  ties  that  j 
hold  the  societies  of  man  together,)  common  na-  | 
tional  and  political  interests  ;  a  common  history  ; 
a  common  pride  in  a  glorious  ancestry  ;  a  com- 
mon intorest  in  this  great  heritage  of  blessings; 
the  very  geograpical  features  of  the  country  ;  the 
mighty  river,e  that  cross  the  lines  of  climai 
thus  facilitate  the  interchange  of  natural  and  in- 
dustrial products,  while  the  wonder-working  arm 
of  the  engineer  has  levelled  the  mountain  walls 
which  separate  the  East  and  West  compelling 
your  own  Alleghanies,  my  Maryland  and  Penn- 
sylvania friends,  to  open  wide  their  everlasting 
doors  to  the  chariot  wheels  of  traffic  and  travel , 
these  bonds  of  union  are  of  perennial  force  and 
energy,  while  the  causes  ot  alienation  are  imagi- 
nary, factitious  and  transient.     The  heart  of   the 


101-    I 

the 
ates 

1      IS 


people  JNorth  and  Soutn  is  tor  tne  union,  in 
j  cations,  too  plain  to  be  mistaken,  announce 
fact,  both  in  the  east  and  the  west  of  the  S 
in  rebellion.  In  if  orth  Carolina  and  Aik 
the  fatal  charm  at  length  is  broken.  At  Raleigh  | 
and  Little  Kock  the  lips  of  honest  and  brave  men  | 
are  unsealed,  and  an  independent  press  is  uniun- 
bering  its  artillery.  The  weary  masses  of  the 
people  are  yearning  to  see  the  dear  old  flag  fixat- 
ing again  upon  the  capitols,  and  their  sigh  for  the 
return  of  the  peace,  prosperity  and  happiness 
which  they  enjoyed  under  a  government  whose 
power  was  felt  only  in  its  blessings. 

And  now,  friends,    fellow-citizens  of  Gettys- 
i  burg  and   Pennsylvania,   and  you  from  remoter 
States,  let  me  again  invoke  your  benediction,  as 
we   part,   on  these    honored  graves.     You  feel, 
'  though  the  occasion  is  mournful,  that   it  is  good 
to  be  here.     You  feel  that   it  was  greatly  auspi- 
cious for  the  cause  of  the  country,  that  the  men 
\  of  the  East  and  the  men  of  the  West,  the  men  of 
nineteen  sister  States,  stoed  side   by  side,  on  the 
I    perilous  ridges  of  the  battle.     You   now  feel  it  a 
new  bond  of  union,  that  they  shall  lie  side  by  side, 
till  a-clarion  louder  than  that  which    marshalled 
them  to  the  combat,  shall  awake  their   slumbers. 
God  bless  the  Union  ; — it  is  dearer  to  us  for  the 
blood  of  those  brave  men  shed    in  its  defence. — 
The  spots  on    which    they  stood  and  fell  ;  these 
pleasant  heights  ;  the  fertile  plain  beneath  them  ; 
the  thriving  village    whose  streets  so    lately  rang 
with  the  strange   din  of  war;  the  fields  beyond 
/the  ridge;  where  the  noble  Reynolds  held  the  ad 
vancing  foe  at  b^y,  and  while  he  gave  up  his  own 
j/.life,  assured  by  his  forethought  the  self-sacrifice, 
I    the  triumph  oi  the  two  succeeding  days  ;  the  iit- 
j    tie   streams  which   wind  through   the   hills,  on 
|    whose  banks  in  after  times, the  wondering  plough- 
j    man  will  turn  up   with  the  rude  weapons  of  sav- 
j    age  warfare,  the  fearful  missiles  of  modern  artil- 
|    lery ;    the   Seminary   ridge,    the   peach-orchard, 
j    Cemetery,  Culp,  and  Wolf  Hill,  Round  Top,  lit- 

I  tie  RTound  Top,  humble  names,  henceforward 
dear  and  famous  ;  no  lapse  of  time,  no  distance 
of  space  shall  cause  you  to  be  forgotten.  ''The 
whole  earth,"  said  Pericles,  as  he  stood  over  the 
remains  of  his  fellow-citizens,  who  had  fallen  in 

'the  first  year  of  the  Peloponessian  war*  "the 
whole  earth  is  the  sepulchre  of  illustrious  men." 
All  time,  he  might  have  added,  is  the  millenium 
of  their  glory.  Surely  I  would  do  no  injustice 
to  the  other  nobie  achievements  of  the  war, which 

'have  reflected  such  honor  on  both  arms  of  the  ser- 
vice, and  have  entitled  the  armies  and  navy  of 
the  United  States,  their  officers  and  men— to  the 
warmest  thanks  and  the  richest  rewards  which  a 
grateful  people  can  pay.  But  they,  i  am  sure, 
will  join  us  in  saying,  as  we  bid  farewell  to  the 
dust  of  these  martyr  heroes,  that  wheresover 
throughout  the  civilized  world  the  accounts  of 
this  great  warfare  are  road,  and  down  to  the 
latest  period  of  recorded  time,  in  the  glorious 
annals  of  our  common  country,  there  will  be  no 
brighter  psge,  than  that  which  relates  The  Bat- 
tles of  Gettysburg. 

The  President  then  delivered  the  following  ded- 

ioatory  speech : 

/  M      *»    f 

_  "  Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago  our  fajtb^rs 
brought  forth  upon  this  continent  a  new  nation, 
conceived  in  liberty  'ind  dedicated  to  the  propo- 
sition that  all  men  are  created  equal.  (Applause  ) 
Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing 
whether  that  nation,  or  any  nation  so  conceived 
and  so  dedicated,  can  long  endure.  We  are  met 
on  a  great  battle-field  of  that  war ;  we  are  met 
c  to  dedicate  a  portion  of  it  as  a  final  resting  place 
of  those  who  have  given  their  lives  that  that  na« 
tion  might  live.     It  is  altogether  titling  and  prop- 

I I  er  that  we  should  do  this,  but  in  a  larger  sense 
we  cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot  consecrate,  we 
cannot  hallow  this  ground.  The  brave  men  liv- 
ing and  dead  who  struggled  here  have  consecra- 
ted it  far  above  our  power  to  add  or  detract. — 
(Applause.)  The  world  will  little  note  nor  long 
remember  what  we  say  here  ;  but  they  will  nev- 
er forget  what  they  did  here.     (Applause.) 

It  is  for  us,  the  living,  rather,   to  be  dedicated , 
here  to  the  unfinished  work  that  they  have   thus  ; 
so  far  nobly  carried  on.  (Applause.)    It  is  rather 
for  Ub  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the  great  task  re- 
maining before  us  ;  that  from  these  honored  dead 
we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which 
they  here  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion  ; 
i  that  we  here  highly  resolve  that  the  dead  shall 
not  have  died  in  vain  (applause") ;  that  the  nation  j 
shall,  under  God,  hare  a  new  birth  of  freeuom,  ! 
and  that  the  government  of  the  people  by  the  peo    | 
pie  and  for  the  people  bhall  not  perish  from  the  j 
earth."     (Long  continued  applause.) 

Three  cheers  were  here  givei  for  the  President 
and  the  Governors  of  the  States. 

After  the  delivery  of  this  adiress  the  dirge  and 
the  benediction  closed  the  exercises,  and  the  im-  j 
menso  assemblage  separated  about  2  o'clocs. 


> 


I 


A 


-> 


The  Canard  Line. 

Give  Cunard  his  due.  It's  a  wonderful  line. 
Punctual  as  a  mail  coach— regular  as  an  express 
tram.  For  twenty-seven  years  they  have  met 
their  sailing  days— arriving  in  time,  without 
losing  a  steamer,  a  passenger,  or  a  letter.  Yes, 
Shannon  lost  the  Columbia— and  one  or  two  pas- 
sengers may  have  fallen  overboard,  a  sailor  may 
have  broken  his  leg,  an  engine  snapped  the 
cross  bar,  but  no  mortal  accident  in  twenty-seven 
years.  Boston  was  at  its  zenith  when  they  start- 
ed. Their  great  success  is  said  to  have  arisen 
from  their  taking  their  departure  on  the  Fourth 
of  July!  'Twas  in  1840  they  touched  our  Bos- 
ton wharves.  The  Columbia,  Acadia,  Ba- 
tavia  and  Hibemia  touched  at  Halifax.  This 
was  the  first  quartette.  Then  came  the  second 
edition  of  boats.  The  Cambria,  Niagara, 
America,  Canada  and  Europa.  Then  the  third 
edition  was  launched.  The  Asia,  Africa  and 
Arabia.  All  the  foregoing  were  wooden  boats 
and  side-wheelers.  Then  came  the  fourth  edi- 
tion and  the  age  of  iron.  The  Persia  and  Sco- 
tia were  put  upon  the  race  course.  Then  came 
an  iron  screw — the  Australasian — and  another, 
the  China,  followed  by  the  last  edition,  the  Cuba, 
Java  and  Russia,  all  iron  boats.  No  passage  yet 
made  under  eight  days.  Moody,  however,  ran 
from  Halifax  to  Queenstown  in  six  days  and  fif- 
teen hours  in  the  Java,  but  the  Adriatic,  an 
Americau  boat,  did  the  distance  from  St.  John's 
to  Galway  in  more  than  a  day  less.  What  a 
world  of  history ! 

Twenty-seven  years  of  voyages.  Twenty- 
seven  years  of  bridal  parties,  poker  parties, 
champagne  parties.  Twenty-seven  years  of 
ocean  friendships,  acquaintances,  confidences, 
marrying  and  giving  in  marriage.  How  many 
fortunes  have  been  changed  by  an  ocean  voyage. 
When  the  World's  one  hundred  thousand  read- 
ers see  these  lines,  let  each  recall  his  or  her  first 
voyage  over  the  sea.  Shipboard  is  the  place 
to  read  character.  All  there  is  in  a  man  pops 
out  when  he  is  sea-sick.  Each  Cunard  captain 
has  his  admirers.  Some  like  one,  some  another.  Y 
But  all  have  their  history.  The  captains  in  the 
olden  time  were  kings  in  their  way.  But  the 
old  stagers  are  nearly  all  gone.  Nobody  but  the  |£ 
Commodores  Judkins  and  Lott  left.  The  one 
has  crossed  three  hundred  times,  the  other  three 
hundred  and  fifty.  Think  of  it— all  gone  but 
these  two.  Shannon,  Harrison,  Lang,  Ryrie, 
Miller,— all  dead!  Poor  Harrison,  after  mak- 
ing so  many  ocean  voyages,  goes  down  in  the 
harbor  from  a  sail-boat  bound  to  the  Great  = 
Eastern.  All  the  others  met  a  natural  death. 
Anderson  %x&  now  Sir  James,  with  his  three 
thousand  a  year  for  laying  the  cable.  Moody 
has  married  a  pretty  Pittsfield  girl,  and  got  a 
pretty  English  baby,  and  gone  into  manufactur- 
ing in  Berkshire  county  with  Gen.  Bartlett  of 
Port  Hudson  fame.  Stone,  the  silent,  some- 
times called  the  Grave  Stone,  a  prince  of  fellows, 
ought  to  have  had  the  Russia,  but  Cook  got  her, 
and  Stone,  disgusted,  has  resigned.  So  none  of 
all  the  old  chiefs  remain  but  our  old  friends  H 
Judkins  and  Lott.  Lott,  who  they  say  has  worn 
one  pair  of  blue  trowsers  for  twenty  years,  till 
lately  he  had  them  dyed  black.  Where  are  the 
old  steamers?  The  Cambria  was  sold  for  $6000 
to  the  Fenian  Garibaldi.  The  original  boats 
when  used  up  for  carrying  the  mails,  earned 
freight  from  Havre  to  Liverpool,  and  when  uspf1 
up  for  freight  were  sold  to  the  Sr»}u.Vj,Vi  govt*./ 
ment  for  transports! 

Save  in  size,  one  se<es  uttle  change.  When  Eng- 
land gets  in  the  rtff  of  custom'tis  difficult  to  get 
out.    Twenty-Pjkven  years  ago  they  started  with 
candlesticks  'anci  wai  candles,  and  wax  candles 
and  candlesticks  they  have  got  now.    Twenty- 
eeven  years  ago  they  gave  us  stewed  prunes,  arid 
stewed  prunes  we  had  to-day ;  twenty-seven  years 
ago  theystarted  without  napkins,  and  we  have 
no  napkins  to  this  hour  j  twenty-  .even  years  ago 
the  Sons  of  Temperance  went  up  to  the  larboard 
side  to  get  their  grog,  and  their  grog  was  given 
them  this  morning  out  of  the  same  ladle.    Bos- 
ton crackers  were  on  the  table  in  1840,  and  Bos- 
ton crackers  are  spread  before  us  in  1868.    The 
same  bill  of  fare  on  board  the  first  boat  is  used 
on  board  the  last,    Englishmen  never  change. 
How  long  have  you  been  waiter,  George?  I  asked  j 
at  Felton's  in  St.  James  street.  "Seventeen  years, 
and  my  father  before  me,  sir,"  he  responded  with 
an  air  of  pride.    Twenty-seven  years  ago  the 
eaptains  got  £450  a  year— they  get  the  same  now. 
The  waiters  were  paid  then  £S  a  month— that 
is  all  they  get  now.  The  engineers  €200  then — 
the  same  now.    The  perquisitlos  are  not  gold 
mines  by  any  means.    Even  Judkins  only  gets 
his  dark  state-rooms  and  a  commission  on  specie 
never  to  exceed  £30;  but  even  now  he  is  gray  | 
they  refuse  him  a  pension.    Mclver  and  Cunard  j 
only  exact  the  pound  of  flesh.— G.  F.  Train,  to  , 
N.'Y.  World. 


Stage-Coaching  Bbvjvbd,— The  memory 
of  old  associations  appertaining  to  staging  thirty 
years  ago  in  i\v  "heart  of  the  Commonwealth" 
was  revived  on  Friday  hist,  by  the  appearance  in 
our  streets  of  one  of  the  conveyances  used  by 
Hon.  Ginefy  Twiehell  for  special  occasions  in 
connection  with  his  extensive  lines  radiating 
from  Worcester,  before  railroads  were  fairly  in 
vogue.  {The  stage  coach  was  built  by  Moses  T. 
Brock  of  fforcester,  in  the  most  substantial 
manner,  and  is  to-day  in  as  good  condition  for 
use  as  when  first  dedicated  to  the  public.  No 
repairs  have  been  needed  through  all  these  years 
except  an  occasional  c#at  of  vamish  and  new 
upholstering. 

In  1840,  by  request  of  the  citizens  of  the  town 
of  Barre,  seats  were  added  on  the  top  of  the  ve- 
hicle, so  that  a  party  ol  thirly-two  persons  could 
be  easily  accommodated — twelve  inside  and 
t  wen ty  outside.  The  largest  load  ever  carried  by 
the  ponderous  carriage  was  a  party  of  sixty-two 
young  women  of  Worcester,  who,  uniformly 
dressed,  were  driven  on  a  huckleberry  excursion 
to  the  suburbs,  by  Mr.  Twiehell,  eight  matched 
horses  being  required  on  the  occasion.  The  floor 
and  roof  of  the  coach,  and  also  the  baggage 
rack  under  the  back  perch,  were  necessarily  im- 
provised as  seats  for  the  company,  the  leather 
curtain  in  the  rear  being  drawn  down  so  as  to 
obstruct  their  view  of  surrounding  objects.       : ■-. 

During  the  exciting  presidential  campaign  of 
1840.  the  staunch  vehicle  was  much  used,  for 
conveying  the  sovereigns  to  and  from  political 
gatherings  in  the  towns  surrounding  old  Quin- 
sigamond,  and  there  are  hundreds,  doubtless, 
now  Jiving.jn  all  parts  of  the  state,  who  can  re- 
call  with  pleasure  the  occasion  when  they  ^'ere 
safely  transported  in  it  to  Barre,  or  some  other 
equally  inviting. spot  in  the  summer  season,  on 
their  way  to  recuperate. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  its  distin- 
guished  owner,  twenty-two  years  ago.  the  bridal 
party  were  driven  from  Barre  *o: 'Worcester  in 
this  coach,  drawn  by  a  team  of  beautiful  white 
horses.  This  association  alone,  of  all  others,  will 
doubtless  lead  Mr.  Twiehell  to  preserve  this 
niorinl  of  his  early  lile  as  long  as  possible. 

For  the  past  fifteen  years   the  stage  has  b 

kept  in  Frniuingham,  where  numerous  parties 
have  from  time  to  time  availed  themselves  of  op- 
portunities to  excursionize  with  its  aid.  Friday 
being  the  fifth  birthday  of  MrsTwiehell's  young- 
est son,  was  appropriately  seTeStdSTorXfts  appear- 
ance in  Boston. 

Messrs.  Hoi >art  and  Waller  cf  the  Worcester 
railroad,  on  its  appearance  aj  the  depot,  rook 
possession,  and  drove  to  State  street  about  noon, 
havinsr  as  passengers  Messrs.  Cheney,  Fiske,  and 
Gay,  of  express  fame,  besides,  eijriit  or  ten  con- 
ductors well  known  to  the  traveling  public.  The 
novel  team  attracted  much  attention  as  it  passed 
through  the  streets,  and  the  wish  was  often  ex- 
pressed by  the  friends  of  its  proprietor  that  a 
photograph  might  he  taken  sons  ro  preserve  for- 
ever this  relic  of  times  gone  by.— Boston  Trans- 
cript. /' 
— _ — _ — . 

-      "" 


English  Bicycles. 


lute 
will 

4 


Union  Pacific    Railroad 


High  St. 
Bostt0n 


(Senilis,  Pinch,    Money,  and    the    Union 
Pacific    Railroad. 

The  Genius  to  plan,  the  Pluck  to  undertake 
and  the  Money  to  do  with,  are  the  fhree^rand 
essentials  in  all  great  and  successful  enterprises. 
Each  Is  good  in  its  way,  but  each  is  powerless 
without  the  other.  It  is  but  rarely  that  all  these 
qualifications  are  combined,  either  in  an  indi- 
vidual or  a  company;  but  when  thev  are  diffi- 
culties vanish  and  magnificent  results  are  ob- 
tained. Old  Colonel  Tom  Benton  was  thought 
a  man  of  genius,  yet  he  never  planned  a  railroad 
across  the   Rocky    Mountains,  except  "where 

Sracticable";  but  the  old  hard  money  senator  is 
ead,  and  the  world  aud  its  people  and  its  Ideals 
have  moved  on.  The  Rocky  Mountains  don't 
look  as  high  as  they  did,  and,  like  many  other 
difficulties  which  seemed  insurmountable  in  the 
distance,  they  have  been  got  over  without  unu- 
sual effort.  The  locomotive  will  run  up  to  their 
highest  summit  at  a  grade  of  only  eighty  feet  to 
the  mile,  and  down  again  on  the  other  side  upon 
a  slope  of  but  ninety  feet,  while  the  Baltimore 
and  Ohio  winds  its  climbing  way  over  the  A.lle- 
ghauies  at  an  incline  of  116  feet  to  the  mile,  for 
twenty  miles  together. 

A  few  men  saw  that  a  Pacific  Railroad  must 
be  built.  There  was  no  other  way  to  the  Pacific, 
without  traversing  two  oceans  at  a  great  cost  of 
time  and  money.  The  defiles  of  the  Alps  were 
not  higher  than  Evans  Pass,  and  as  they  were 
being  tunneled  and  traversed,  why  not  the  Rocky 
Mountains?  So  Genius  sent  out  its  topographical 
and  engineering  corps,  and.  after  two  or  three 
years  of  surveying  and  mapping,  it  was  report'  d 
that  a  practical  line  for  the  great  inter-oceanic 
highway  had  been  found.  Genius  further  saw, 
that  when  finished,  for  magnitude  and  amount 
of  traffic  it  would  be  one  of  the  wonders  of  the 
world.  But  Arithmetic  said,  "  nothing  less  than 
a  hundred  millions  of  money  will  create  it." 
Pluck,  nothing  d«ted»at  these  figures,  replied, 
"Lat  us  bring  lq^Ktbggreat  parties  in  interest 
and  do  our  bestlWnWem:"  The  United  States 
government  wanted  it  the  "worst  way."  Uncle 
Sam  had  an  immense  farm  of  millions  of  square 
miles  lying  waste,  of  which  nobody  would  buy 
an  acre  until  he  made  a  railroad  through  it;  and 
then,  nothing  else  would  civilize  those  trouble- 
some Indian  tenants.  Besides,  the  old  gentlemen 
was  pretty  deeply  ia  debt,  and  his  enterprising 
family  were  willing  to  help  him  out,  if  he  would 
only  open  a  way  to  his  great  gold  mines;  and  so 
ho  came  down  with  an  offer  to  lend  fifty  million 
dollars  in  bonds,  and  to  make  a  liberal  donation 
of  land,  if  Pluck  would  go  to  work  and  "put  the 
road  right  through." 

Pluck  accordingly  went  to  work  with  a  will, 
and  Coneress  chartered  the  Union  Pacific  Rail- 
road Company.  Mostot  the  "solid"  men  laughed 
at  him;  others  would  venture  but  a  trifle,  while 
a  few  brave  spirits  pledged  their  fortunes  to  the 
result.  Two  brothers  invested  a  million  dol- 
lars, and  several  other  individuals  half  a  million 
each,  and  the  road  was  begun.  But  Money,  or 
Capital,  was  still  timid,  and  Congress  wisely  gave 
uothing  except  as  each  section  of  the  road  was 
finished.  The  truth  was,  that  if  the  child  lived, 
thrived  and  grew  strong,  Old  Capital  was  very 
willing  to  pat  him  on  the  back,  and  to  lend  him 
a  helping  hand;  but  he  was  to  be  kept  out  in 
the  cold,  to  see  if  he  had  inherent  strength 
enough  to  stand  it.  Then,  if  he  did  not  freeze 
to  death,  he  was  to  be  taken  in  and  adopted  into 
the  Wall-Street  family.  He  did  live;  and,  un- 
der the  name  of  Union  Pacific,  he  became  a 
giant,  and  has  built  and  is  running  a  longer  line 
of  railroad  than  any  other  body  or  company  be- 
sides in  the  country.  Old  Capital  now  runs 
after  him,  and  begs  that  he  will  borrow  his 
money  at  the  lowest  rate,  and  the  public  buy 
Union  Pacific  First  Mortgage  Bonds  faster  than 
■  the  company  can  continue  to  issue  them  at  the 
present  price.  It  is  this  united  and  irresistible 
power  of  Gbnius,  Pluck,  and  Monet  that 
drives  the  work  so  bravely  on,  and  promises  the 
consummation  of  our  material  national  union, 
so  long  and  devoutly  wished  for,  in  1870.  If  all 
the  world's  great  undertakings  could  secure  such 
a  combination,  we  should  hear  little  of  delay 
and  less  of  failure. 


THE   PRIMITIVE    MAX. 

I  hold  it  morally  impossible  for    Goo"  to  have 
created,  in  the  beginning, sweh  men  and  women 
as  wo  find    the  human    race,  in  iheir    physical 
Condition,    no*  lo    be.     Examine  the  book   of 
Genesis,  which  contains  the  earliest   annals  of 
the  human  family.     As  is  commonly    supposed, 
it  comprises  the  first  2,369  years  of  human  his- 
tory.    With  a    child-like  simplicity,  this    book 
describes  the  infancy  of  mankind.     Unlike  mod- 
ern histories,  it  details  the  minutest  circumstan- 
ces  of  sotfial  and  individual    life.     Indeed  ft  is 
rather  a  series  of  biographies  than  a    history. — 
The  false  delicacy  of  modern  times  did  not  for- 
bid ihe  mention  of  whatever  was  done  or  suffer- 
ed.    Anl  yet,  over  all    that  expanse  of  time — 
for  more  than  one-third  part  of  the   duration  of 
ihe  human  race — not  a  single  instance  is  record- 
ed of  a  child    born  blind,  or  deaf,  or   dumb,  or 
idiotic,  or  malformed  in  any  way  !     During  the  / 
whole  period,  not  a  single  case  of  natural  deailv 
in  infancy,  or  childhood,  or  early    manhood,  or 
even  of  middle  manhood,  is  to  be   found.     Not 
one  man  or  woman   died  of  disease.     The  sim- 
ple record  is    and    he  died,' or,  he  died    'in    a 
good  old  age,  and  full  of  years,'  or,  he  was  '  old 
and  full  of  days.*     No  epidemic,  nor    even  en- 
demic disease  prevailed,  showing  that  they  died 
the  natural    death  of  healty   men,   and  not   the  ; 
unnatural  death  of  distempered  ones.     Through 
all  this  time  (except  in  the  single    case  of  Job. 
in  his  age,  and    then  only  for  a  day    or  two  be- 
fore his  death)  it  does  not  appear   that  any  man  '( 
was  ill,  or  that  any  old  lady  or  young  lady  ever 
fainted.     Bodily  pain  from  disease   is  no-where 
mentioned.     No    cholera    infantum,  scarlatina, 
measles,  small  pox — not  even  a  toothache  !     So 
extraordinary  a  thing  was  it  for  a  son  to  die  be- 
fore his  father,  that  an  instance  of  it  is  deemed 
worthy  of  special  notice  ;  and  this   first  case' of 
the  reversal  of  nature's  law  was  2000  years  af- 
ter the  creation  of  -Adam.     See  how  this  rever- 
sal of  nature's  law  has  for  us  become   the  law  ; 
for  how  rare  is  it  now  for  all  the   children  of  a 
family  to  survive   the  parents.     Rachel  died  at 
the  birth  of  Benjamin ;  but  this  is  the  only  case 
of  puerperal  death  mentioned  in  the   first  2,400  ^ 
years  of  the  sacred  history  ;  and  even  this  hap- 
pened during  the  fatigues  of  a  patriarchal    jour- 
ney, when  passengers  "were  not  wafted  along  in 
the  saloons  of  raiicar  or  steamboat.  Had  Adam, 
think  yon,   tuberculous  lungs  ?     Was  Eve  flat  - 
chested,  or  did  she  cultivate  the  serpentine  line 
of  grace  in  a   curved  spine?     Did  Nimrod  get 
up  in  the  morning  with  a  furred  tongue,  or  was 
he  tormented  with   the  dyspepsia?     Had  Esau 
the  gout  or  hepatitis?     Imagine  how  the  tough 
old  Patriarchs  would  have  looked  at  being  ask- 
ed to  subscribe    for  a  lying-in    hospital,  or   an 
asylum  for  lunatics,  or  an  eye  and  ear  infirmary, 
«r  a  school    for  idiots    or    deaf  mutes.     What 
would    their  eagle  vision    and  swift-footecncoa 
have  said  to  the  project  of  a  blind  asylum  or  an 
orthopedic  establisment  !     Did  they    suffer  any 
of  these  revenges  of  nature  against  civilization  ? 
No!     Man  came  from  the   hand  of  God  so  per- 
i  feet  in  his  bodily  organs,  so  defiant  of  cold  and 
heat,  of  drought  and  humidity,  so  surcharged 
(with    vital    force,  that  it  took  more   than   two 
thousand  years  of  the  combined  abominations  of 
appetite  and  ignorance  ;  it  '.ook  successive  ages 
of  outrageous  excess  and  debauchery,  to  drain 
off  his  electric  energies  and  make  him  even  ac- 
cessible to  disease  ;  and  then  it  took  ages  more 
to  '  reed    all  these  vile  distempers  which    n- 
lie,  like  vermin,  in  every   organ  and  fib' 
,ir  bodies ! 


-.„-        Households  cannot  indeed  bo  wound  up 

.  _      _  like  clocks  to    go  sight  daya    at  a   time.    Some 

A  Story  of  the  MicroMope.  thrifty  brain  has  got  to  plan  three  hundred  and 

Some  time  ago,  being  in  company  with   a  sixty-five    dinners    in   the    year   and  patiently 

medical  man,  whom  1  will  call  Mr.  B ,  we  watch  their  manipulation   by  careless  and  clumsy 

fell  into  conversation  on  the  uses  of  the  micro-  Bridgets.    Looking  after  servants,  tending  chii 


scope,  in  the  management  of  which  he  was  an  |dren,  mending  old  clothes,  are  not  matters  of 
adept.  "Now,"  said  he,  "I  will  tell  you  a  story  choice,  but  necessity.  Full  stomachs  and  easy 
of  what  happened  to  myself— one  which,  I  think,  digestion  go  hand  in  han  1  with  good  cheer  and 
well  illustrates  the  importance  of  this  instru-  robii3t  health.  TLa  trap3  in  the  kitchen  are  no 
ment  to  society,  though  I  was  put  in  a  very  un-  mean  part  of  the  sunshine-giving  machinery  of 
pleasant  position,  owing  to  my  acquaintance  a  home.  So  after  all,  the  highest  culture  of 
with  it.  which  woman  is  capable  cannot  wisely  and  safely 

"I  have,  as  you  know,  given  a  good  deal  of  ignore  the  performance  of  the  daily  duties  of 
attention  to  comparative  anatomy,  especially  to  common  life.  She  should  be  taught  how  best  to 
the  structure  of  the  hair  as  it  appears  under  the  do  what  she  must  do;  not  to  shirk,  but  bravely 
microscope.  To  the  unassisted  eye,  indeed,  all  most,  disagreeable  responsibilities.  So,  don't  you 
hair  appears  very  much  alike,  except  as  it  is  see  that  the  best  educated  and  most  refined  wo- 
long  or  short,  dark  or  fair,  straight  or  curly,. men  make  the  most  efficient  and  self  sacrificing 
coarse  or  fine.  Under  the  microscope,  however,  wives  and  mothers?  Sho  who  is  able  to  do  one 
the  case  is  very  different;  the  white  man's  is  thing  well  can  do  another  well.  Sho  who  can  de- 
round,  the  negro's  oval,  the  mouse's  apparently  monstrate  a  geometrical  problem  can  cook  a 
jointed,  the  bat's  jagged,  and  so  on.  Indeed,  good  dinner.  She  who  puts  her  Maker  before 
every  animal  has  hair  of  a  peculiar  character,  fashion  will  train  her  children  as  if.  they  were 
and,  what  is  more,  this  character  varies  ac-  made  in  His  image.  The  more  she  knows  the 
cording  to  the  part  of  the  body  from  which  it  is  more  apt  she  is  to  set  clean  rooms  and  well-cooked 
taken,— an  important  circumstance,  as  will  ap-  dinners   against  her  husband's  furrowed  brow 


! 


pear  from  my  story,  which  is  thus:— 


and  hasty  words;  lomsleeves,  high  necks,  against 


"I  once  received  a  letter  by  post,  containing  a  fevers  and  summer  complaints^  and  influenzas; 
few  hairs,  with  a  request  that  I  would  examine  a  patient,  earnest  watchfulness  over  against  all 
them,  and  adding  that  they  would  be  called  for  he  ills  of  life.  Your  strong-minded  woman  is 
in  a  few  days.  Accordingly,  I  submitted  the  not  she  who  has  gotten  and  gives  much  from 
hairs  to  the  microscope,  when  I  discovered  that  books;  but  rather  she  who,  rich  in  culture,  takes 
they  were  from  the  human  eyebrow,  and  had  with  thankfnlness  and  resignation  all  the  allotted 
been  bruised.  I  made  a  note  to  this  effect,  and  joys  and  ills  of  her  life;  she,  who,  firm  and  self- 
folded  it  up  with  the  hairs  in  an  envelope,  ready  reliant,  makes  the  mo3t  of  every  oppot  tunity,  and 


for  the  person  who  had  sent  them.    In  a  few  meets  with  patient  assiduity,  every  added  burden. 
i  days  a  stranger  called  and  inquired  whether  I 
had  made  the  investigation.    'Oh,  yes,'  I  said 


Your  strong-minded  woman  never  burns  her 
roast  over  a  new  book,  or  forgets  her  baby  on  a 
'there  they  are,  and  you  will  find  them  and  their  charity  mission.  She  never  undertakes  io  de- 
description  in  this  envelope,'  handing  it  to  him  monstrate  that  cotton  hose  are  warmer  than 
at  the  same  time.  He  expressed  himself  as  be-  woolen,  or  that  a  waspish  fisrure  is  accordinz  to 
ing  much  obliged,  and  offered  me  a  fee,  which,  nature.  She  dares  to  be  independent  and  coin- 
however,  I  declined,  telling  him  that  I  could  not  fortable  and  healthy,  with  big  feet  and  a  stout 
think  of  taking  anything  for  so  small  a  matter,  waist.  Her  children  are  plump  and  robust  and 
"It  turned  out,  however,  of  more  consequence  fall  of  animal  life.  They  are  apt  to  be  rough  and 
than  I  had  imagined,  for  within  a  week  I  was  slightly  dingy  as  to  face  and  hands,  but  their  su- 
served  with  a  supcena  to  attend  as  a  witness  on  perabundant  life  is  a  cheerful  thing  to  feel  about 
a  trial  for  murder.  This  was  very  disagreeable,  you 
as  I  have  said,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it  now. 
The  case  was  this :  A  man  had  been  killed  by  a 
blow  from  some  blunt  instrument  on  the  eye- 
brow, and  the  hairs  sent  to  me  for  examination 


For  drying  clothes  and  "spring's  work,"the  two 

functions  usually  applied  to  March  in  Germany, 

the  present  month  has  furnished  first  rate  weather, 

a    rej  oicing  the  hearts  of  all  housewives  and  farmers. 

had  been  taken  from  a  hammer  m  the  posses-     J  a£  t  »e  openitlg  of  the  Reichstag  is  to  the  em- 

sion  of  the  suspected  murderer.    I  was  put  in  .    the  semi-annual  washing  day  to  the  mis- 

*u~    -nritnaaa    V»/v«-    qtiH    mv    tpstimnnv     'that,  tnfl  r *"«•■»  *  _.  ,- ,      .  j,-„„^„ 


the  witness  box,  and  my  testimony,  'that  the 


tress  of  a  German  family.    March  is  a  breezy 


hairs  were  from  the  human  eyebrow,  and  had  month  the  world  over,  and  so  is  one  of  the  periods 
been  bruised,'  was  just  the  link  in  the  chain  ot  gelecte(j  for  t^e  solemnization  of  the  saponaceous 
evidence  which  sufficed  to  convict  the  prisoner.  \  Qf  the  wasb-tub  ana  pounding-barrel.  An 
The  jury,  however,  were  not  easily  satisfied  that  ress  waeon  backs  up  to  the  door,  takes  in  a 
worth  anything;  and  it  re-  b-rpch_bask(ft  of  «dirty  do' 


my  statement  was 


es"  large  enough  to 


quired  the  solemn  assurance  of  the  judge  that  hold  a  dozen  yalstaffs,  and  drives  off  to  some  se 
such  a  conclusion  was  within  the  reach  of  cret  haunt  of  tbe  nymphs  of  the  soap-bubble, 
science  to  convince  them  that  they  might  act  whence  after  many  days  it  returns,  an  ark  of  fine 


upon  it 


linen.    Call  in  our  American  friends  and  we  will 


"One  juryman  in  particular— and  old  farmer  Q0W  ghow  them  how  it  is  that  we  live  six  mon'hs 
—was  very  hard  to  satisfy.  'Does  thee  mean  to  without  a  washing-day.  The  house-frau  proudly 
say,'  said  he,  'that  thee  can  tell  any  hair  of  any  displays  ber  wardrobe,  which,  if  it  is  not  as  ele- 
animal.    I  answered  that  I  would  not  take  upon      £t  aJs  Biancbe  Butler's,  is  certainly  as  extensive. 


out  the  five 
14  dozen  of 


myself  to  assert  positively  that  I  could  do  so,  WUh  an  imperiai  gesture,  she  points 
although  I  believed  I  could.  'Well,  said  he,  ana.twenty  dozen  of  napkins,  the 
Til  prove  thee.'  handkerchiefs,  the  30  chemises,  the  ditto  night 

fc'The  prisoner,  as  I  said,  was  convicted,  and  1  diMo  (an  American  lady  is  reported  to  have  said 
went  home,  and,  in  the  busy  life  of  an  extensive  hftt  th  were  exPXtly  half  as  long  as  the  demo- 
practice,  forgot  all  aboutmy  obstinate  old  farm-  ic  fasnion)  the  25  shirts  for  the  herr  ("and 
er.  About  two  years  afterward,  however,  a  per-  hfi  mugt  uave  some  new  ones"),  the  100  pairs  of 
son,  an  utter  stranger  to  me,  called  on  me  with  women>s  hose,  etc,  etc.  You  see  family  economy 
a  few  hairs  screwed  up  in  a  piece  of  paper,  which  bere  ig  babe)j  on  a  different  plan  from  what  ft  is 
he  asked  me  to  examine  and  report  on.  in  America     Here  a  bride,  even  of  the  middling 

"'Is  this  another  murder  case?  I  inquired;  order  considers  herself  not  "ready  to  be  married" 
'for  if  so,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.    I  ve  unles's  sne  na3  according  to  a  proverb,  "a  bushel 


had  enough  of  that  sort  of  work 


of  stockings"  and  linen  enough  to  run  the  family 


"  'No,  no,'  said  he,  'it  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  &  half  ear  without  washing.  As  for  dresses  and 
It  is  only  a  matter  of  curiosity,  which  I  should  out«iQe  trappings,  she  is  not  so  extravagant,  and 
be  very  much  obliged  if  you  would  solve;  and  as  tQ  crockery  and  furniture,  she  and  her  "mann' 
if  you  will  do  it  I  will  call  or  send  for  the  result  b  in  witu  a  stock  an(j  quality  that  would  be  con- 
of  your  examination  in  a  few  days'  time.  Hav-  sidered  decidedly  shabby  in  rural  New 
ing  received  this  assurance,  I  undertook  the  in-  rngiand,— not  only  begin  so,  but  continue 
vestigation.  ,  s0     perhaps,    all     their    lives,  never  attaining 

"When  he  was  gone  and  I  had  leisure  I  put  th^  iuXUry  0f  a  stuffed  chair,  or  of  a  carpet  big 
the  hairs  under  the  microscope,  and  soon  discov-  enough  f0r  a  kitten  to  lie  on,  much  less  to  cover 
ered  that  they  were  taken  from  the  back  of  a  thc  wbeie  room.  But  even  with  so  full  a  store  of 
Nc  way  rat.  imen,   the  towels  and  the  articles   of  every  day 

"Two  or  three  days  afterward,  as  I  was  sitting  use  are  jjept  jn  service  a  little  longer  than  is 
in  my  consulting  room,  an  old  farmer  looking  pleasant  to  the  delicate  sense  of  the   American 

man  was  ushered  in.      'Wall  '  ooiH  ho     Mms  Hipp   i  !/•_    i  ,.„  «v.»  ..roeliinor  tVi«m    fiiv    rr 

looked  at  them  hairs 
"  'Yes,'  I  answered 
from  the  back  of  a 
claimed  he,  'so  they  are.    Thou  has  forgotten  a£Uj  gne  weather  first  this  year,  a 


Does  thee 


me,  but  I  have  not  forgotten  thee 
recollect  the  trial  for  murder  at  L — 
I  said  1  would  prove  thee,  and  so  I 
them  hairs  come  from  the  back  of  a  rat's  skin 
my  son  sent  me  from  Norway.'    So  the  old  gen- 
tleman was  quite  satisfied  with   the  proof  to 
which  he  had  put  me,  and  I,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose, was  well  pleased  that  my  skill  and  sagaci- 
ty had  stood  such  a  queer  proof  as  this,  and 
more  convinced  than  ever  of  the  value  of  the 


for  when  the   clothes 


„  happy  thing  in  Germany,  f 
assizes?  ^ 'not  wefl,  "Alas,"  sighs  the  wife,  "my  man  is 
have,  for      ;t  true." 

Cherish,  then,  the  little  girls,  dimpled  darhngs, 
who  tear  their  aprons,  mid  cut  the  tabl^bs, 
and  eat  the  sugar,  and  are  themselves  the  sugar 
and  salt  of  life!  Lot  them  dress  and  undress 
their  doll  babies  to  their  heart's  content,  and  don  t 
teh  them  "Tom  Thumb"  and  "lied  Riding  Hood 
are  fiction,  but  leave  then  alone  till  they  find  it 
out,  which  they  will  all  too  soon.  .Answer  all  the 
miry  questions  they  ask,  and  don  t  m»keflmoi 


/baby  theology*,  and  when  you  must .whip 
n,  d6  it  >o  that,  if  you  should  tememberiU 


: 


microscope. 

Here  the  doctor  ended  his'story,  which  I  have 
given  as  nearly  as  possible  in  his  own  words,    ^ 
and  upon   which  I  believe  that  a  thorough  de-jt]icm  u, 

pendente  mav  be   placed.— Journal  of  Micro- 1        ^  not  b,  with  tears,  for  a  great  many  nttie 
scropy.  girls  lose  therr  hold  suddenly  before  the  door 

from  which  they  have  just  escaped  is  shut,  and 
I  find  their  way  back  to  the  angels.  So .be i  ge nut 
I  with  the  dailings,  and  see  what  a  track  of  sun 
shine  will  follow  in  the  wake  of  the  litUe  bobbing 
heads  that  daily  find  a  gicat  many  luid  proi> 
lcm.-  to  solve. 

'ooi'.   fli>n     Mi'1'hiM-smi   '  -  -  '     • 


'/, 


Prom  Harper's  Weekly. 
N  o  t  h  i  ii  k     to    W  car. 

AS  EPISODE  OF  CITY  LIFE, 

Miss  Flora  Ji'Flimsey,  of  Madison  Square, 

Has  made  three  separate  j  urneys  to  Paris, 
And  her  ttfeer  assures  me,  each  time  she  was  there, 

ThatJne  and  her  friend  Mrs.  Harris, 
(Not  me  lady  whose  name  is  so  faaous  in  history, 
Bai  plain  Mrs    H-,  without  romar  ce  or  mystery  j 
Spent  six  consecutive  weeks  without  stopping, 
In  one  continuous  round  of  shopping; 
Shopping  alone,  ani  shopping  together, 
At  all  hours  of  the  day,  and  in  all  sorts  of  weather; 
For  all  manner  of  things  t'aat  a  woman  can  put 
On  th-  crown  of  her  head  or  the  sold  of  her  foot, 
Or  wrap  round  her  shoulders,  or  fit  round  her  waist, 
Or  that  can  lie  sewed  on,  or  pionei  on,  or  laced, 
Or  tied  on  with  .1  string,  or  siitohed  on  with  a  bow, 
In  front  or  behind,  aooie  or  below; 
Fs.r  bonnets,  mantillas,  capes,  collars   and  shawls; 
Dresses  for  breakfasts,  and  dinuers,  and  balls; 
Dresses  to  siiin,  and  stand  in,  and  walk  in, 
Dresses  to  dance  in,  and  flirt  !n,  and  talk  in; 
Dresses  in  which  lo  do  nothing  at  all; 
Dresses  for  winter,  soring,  summer,  and  fall; 
Ail  of  them  different  in  color  and  pattern. 
Silt,  muslin,  and  lace,  crape,  velvet,  and  satin, 
Brocade,  and  broadcloth,  and  other  material, 
Quite  as  expensive  and  much  more  ethereal; 
In  short,  for  all  thiugs  that  could  ever  be  thought  of, 
Or  milliner,  modiste,  or  tradesman  be  bought  of, 

From  ten-thousand  trancs  robes  to  twenty-sous  frills; 
In  all  quarters  of  Paris,  and  to  every  store, 
While  M'Flimsey  in  vain  stormed,  scolded,  ani  swore, 

They  footed  the  streets:  and  he  footed  the  bills.' 

The  last  trip,  the  r  g.iods  shipped  by  the  steamer  Arago, 
Formed,  M'Kiimsey  declares,  the  bulk  of  >  er  cargo. 
Not  to  mention  a  quantity  kept  from  the  rest 
Suffi  dent  to  fid  the  largest  steed  chest, 
Which  did  not  appear  on  the  ship's  manifest, 
But  for  which  the  ladies  themselves  manifested 
Such  particular  interest,  that  they  invested 
Their  own  proper  persons  in  layers  and  row!" 
iif  muslins,  embroideries,  worked  under  Clothe?, 
Gloves,  handkerchiefs,  scarfs,  and  :uch  trifles  as  those; 
Then,  wrapped  in  great  shawis,  lik-  Oircissian  beauties, 
Gave  good-if  to  'he  ship,  and  go  by  to  the  duties, 
Her  relations  at  home  all  marveled  no  doubt, 
Miss  Flora  had  grown  so  enormously  st  ut 

For  an  actual  belle  and  a  possible  rri  e; 
Br.t  the  miracle  ceased  when  she  turned  inside  out, 

And  the  truth  came  to  light,  and  the  dry  goods  beside, 
Whicn,  in  spite  of  Collector  and  Custom- house  sentry, 
Had  entered  the  port  without  any  entry, 

And  yet  though  scarce  thiee  months  hav:  passed  since 

the  day 
The  merchandise  went,  on  twelve  carts,  up  Broadway, 
This  sane  MiM  M'Blimsey,  of  Mad  Hon  Square, 
Tiie  last  time  we  met,  was  In  utter  desptir, 
Because  she  had  nothing  whatever  to  wear  ! 

Nothing  to  wear  !     Now,  as  this  is  a  true  ditty, 
I  do  not  assert — this,  you  know,  is  between  us — 

That  'he's  turn  state  of  absolute  nudity, 

Like  Poor's  Greek  Slave,  or  the  Medici  Venus; 

Bnt  I  do  mean  to  say,  I  have  heard  her  declare, 
When,  at  the  same  moment,  she  had  on  a  dress 
Which  cost  five  hundred  do'dar.'i,  and  not  a  cent  less, 
And  jewelry  worth  ten  times  more,  I  should  guess, 

That  the  had  not  a  thug  in  the  world  to  wear ! 

I  should  mention  just  here,  that  out  of  Miss  Flora's 
Two  hundred  and  ii.'ty  or  :ix:y  a  iorcrs, 
I  had  just  been  selected  as  he  who  should  throw  all 
The  rest  in  trie  shade  by  the  gracii  uj  bestowal 
On  myself,  after  twenty  or  thirty  rejections, 
Of  those  fossil  remains, which  she  called  "her  affections," 
And  that  rather  ticca-  ed,  hut  well  known  work  of  art, 
Which  Miss  i  i  in  gtv^ing  •■her  he  ;rt." 

P.o  we  were  ei  it  plighted*, 

Not  by  mooch  -tat  or  starbeam,  by  fountain  or  grove, 
"utin  a  front  p .-trior,  most  brilliantly  lighted, 
Beneath  the  gas  fixtures  wo  whispered  our  love, 
Without  any  romance  or  rapture,  >r  sighs, 
Without  any  tea  s  in  Miss  Flora's  blue  eyes, 
Or  blushes,  or  transport  1.  or  such  silty  actions, 
ft  was  one  of  the  quietest  business  War  sactions, 
With  a  very  small  sprinkling  of  se  liment,  if  any, 
But  a  very  large  diamond  imp  irked  by  Tiffany, 
On  her  vicgittal  lips  whi.e  I  printed  a  kiss, 
She  exclaimed,  as  a  sort  of  parenthesis, 
And  by  way  fl#pulting  me  quite  at  my  ease, 
"You  know,  I'm  to  polka  as  much  as  1  please, 
And  flirt  when  I  like— now  stop  -don't  you  speak — 
And  yon  must  not  come  here  more  than  twice  in  the  week, 
Or  talk  to  msrtither  at  party  or  ball, 
But  ai-vaysro  riady  to  ccme  when  I  call; 
So  don't  prose  to  roe  about  duty  and  stuff, 
If  we  dou't  break  this  off  there  will  be  time  en-  ugh 
Fit  that  sort  of  a  thing;  but the  barga  n  musi  be, 
That,  as  long  as  I  choose,  I  am  perfectly  free. 
For  this  is  a  sorl  of  engagement,  you  see, 
Which  is  binding  oa  you  but  not  binding  on  me." 

Weli,  having  thus  wooed  Miss  M'Flimsey  and  gained  her, 

With  the  silks,  crinoiii.es,  and  hoops  that  contained  her, 

I  had,  as  I  thought,  a  contingent  remainder, 

At  least  in  ^he  property,  ar.d  the  best  right 

To  appesr  as  its  escort  by  lay  and  by  night; 

And  it  being  the  week  ol  the  Stueket's  grand  ball — 

Their  cards  had  been  out  a  fortnight  or  so, 

And  set  all  the  avenue  on  the  tip-  toe — 
I  considered  it  only  my  duty  to  call, 

And  see  if  Miss  Flora  intended  to  go, 

I  found  her — as  iadies  are  apt  to  be  found, 

When  the  time  intervening  between  the  first  sound 

Of  the  bell  and  the  visitor's  entry  is  shorter 

Than  usual—  J  found;  I  won't  say — I  caught  her — 

Intent  on  the  pier- glass, undoubtedly  meaning 

To  see  if  perhaps  it  didu  t  need  cleaning. 

She  turned  as  I  entered— '-Why,  Harry,  yoi  sinner. 

1  thought  that  you  went  to  the  Flashers'  to  dinner  '" 

*(Bo  I  did,"  I  replied,  "but  the  dinner  is  swallowed, 

And  digested,  I  trust,  for  'tis  now  nine  and  more, 
So  being  relieved  from  that  duly.  I  followed 

Inclination,  which  led  me,  y-  u  see,  to  .your  door. 
And  now  will  your  ladyship  so  conde3cena 
As  just  to  inform  me  if  you  intend 
Your  beauty,  and  graces,  and  presence  to  lend, 
(A.l  which,  when  I  own,  I  hope  no  one  will  borrow) 
To  the  Stuckup'i,  whose  party,  you  know,  is  tomorrow  ?" 


9 


/ 


The  fair  Flora  looked  up  with  a  pitiful  air, 
And  answered  quite  promptly,  "Why  Harry,  mon  cher 
I  sbouh.  hke^bove  all  things  to  go  wUi  you  there; 
But  realljjmd  truly— I've  nothing  to  wear." 

"NothiK  to  wear  \  go  just  as  you  »r<"; 

Wear  the  dress  ydu  have  on,  and  you'll  be  by  far, 

I  engage,  the  most  bright  and  particular  slar 

On  the  Stuckup  horizon"— I  stopped,  tor  her  eye, 
Notwithstanding  this  delicate  onset  ot  flattery, 
Opened  on  me  at  once  a  most  ten  ibie  battery 

Of  scorn  ani  amazement.     She  made  no  reply, 
But  gave  a  slight  turn  to  the  end  of  her  nose 

(That  pure  Grecian  feautu'e),  as  much  as  to  say, 
"How  absurd  lhat  any  sane  man  should  suppose 
That  a  lady  wouid  go  to  a  ball  in  the  clothes, 

No  matter  how  tine,  that  she  wears  every  day  !" 

So  I  ventured  again— "Wear  your  crimson  brocade," 
(.Second  torn  up  of  nose)— "Thac's  too  dark  by  a  shade.' 
"Your  blue  silk"- "That's  too  heavy;"    "Your  pink"— 

'•That's  too  light." 
"Wear  tulle  oversatin"— "I  can't  endure  white." 
"Your  rose  colored,  then,  (he  best  of  the  batch,"— 
"I  havent' a  thread  of  point  lace  to  match." 
"Your  brown  moire  antique'"— "Yes,  and  look  like  a 
__      Quaker;"  Imaker 

"The  pearl  colored"— "I  wou  d,  but  that  plaguey  dress- 
Has  had  it  a  week"— "Then  that  exquisite  lilac, 
In  which  you  would  melt  the  heart  or  a  Bhylock." 
(Here  the  nose  took  again  the  name  elevation) 
"I  wouldn't  wear  that  for  the  whole  of  creaion."         |it 

"Wny  not?  It's  my  fancy,  ther.'s  nothing  could  strike 
As  more  camme  it  faut  — "    "Ye3,  but.dearme,  that  lean 

Sophronia  Stuckup  has  got  one  just  like  it. 
And  I  won't  appear  dressed  like  a  cnit  of  sixteen." 
'•Then  that  splendid  \  urp;e,  that  sweet  Mazarine; 
That  suparb^pini  d'  aigui/'e,  that  imperial  g'een 
Tbatzephyi-iiKe  tajltUn;  th*t  rich  grenadine"— 
"Not  oue  ot  all  »bich  is  tit  to  be  seen," 
Said  the  lady,  becoming  excited  and  flashed. 
"Then  wear,"  I  exclaimed,  iu  a  tone  which  quite  crushed 

Opposition,  -'that  gorgeous  toilette  which  you  sported 
In  Pans  lust  spring,  at  the  gran  J  presentation,  [tion; 
When  Vjjiu  quite  turnej  the  head  of  the  head  of  the  na- 

And  by  all  the  grand  court  were  so  very  muchcoutted." 

The  end  of  the  nose  was  potentiouily  tipped  up, 
And  Oolh  the  brignt  eyes  shot  forth  indit nation, 
As  she  buist  upon  me  with  the  fierce  exclamation, 
"I  have  worn  it  three  Lra.cs  at  Ihe  leaat  calculation, 

And  that  an  i  the  m^st  ol  my  dresses  are  ripped  up!" 
Here  I  r;>//ciTou>Rsoniething,  perhaps  rather  tash, 

Quite  innocent,  though,  bat,  to  use  an  expression, 
More  suiting  than  classic,  it  "settled  my  bash," 

And  proved  very  soen  the  last  act  of  our  session. 
•'•Fiddlesticks,  in  i£,  sir?     I  wonder  the  ceiling 
Doesn't 'ad  down  and  crush  yoa—  oh  you  men  have  no 
You  seifiah,  unnatural,  illiberal  creatures,  [feeling, 

Who  set  yourselves  up  as  patterns  and  preachers. 
Your  siUy  pret;nsc — why  what  a  mere  guess  it  is! 
Pray,  what  do  you  know  of  a  woman's  neoessitiet? 
I  have  told  you  aad  shown  you  I've  nothing  to  wear, 
And  JBpenect1/  plain  you  not  only  den't  care, 
H  u  you^o  iio^beheve  me"  futre  thenosts  went  sUlihigh 
'I  SDpfWse  if  you  dared  y.  a  would  call  me  a  liar.       [erj, 
Our  engagement  is  ended,  air—  yes,  on  the  spot; 
You're  a  brute,  and  a  nutter,  aai— I  don't  know  -what." 
1  mildly  suggettja  the  words— Hottentot, 
Pickpocket,  and  cannibal,  Tartar  aud  thief, 
As  gentle  expletives  wnich  might  give  relief; 
But  this  only  proved  as  spark  tu  (he  powder, 
And  the  storm  I  had  raised  came  faster  and  louder, 
It  blew  and  it  rained,  thundered,  lightened,  and  hailed 
Iuterjec'ions,  verbs,  prouons,  t  il  language  quite  failed 
To  express  the  abusive,  and  then  its  arrears 
Were  brought  up  all  at  once  by  a  torrent  of  tears, 
And  my  last  faint,  desparing  attempt  at  an  obs- 
Ervation  was  lost  in  a  tempist  of  sobs. 

Well,  I  felt  for  the  lady,  and  felt  for  my  h*t,  too, 

Improvised  on  the  crown  ot  the  latter  a  tattoo, 

In  lieu  of  expressing  the  feelings  whiah  lay 

Quite  too  deep  for  words,  as  Wordsworth  would  say, 

Then,  without  going  through  the  form  of  a  bow. 

Found  myself  in  the  entry-  I  hardly  knew  how— 

On  door  step  and  sidewalk,  psst  lamp  post  and  square, 

At  home  and  up  stairs,  in  my  own  easy  chair; 

Poked  my  feet  into  slippers,  my  fire  into  blase, 
And  said  to  myself  as  I  lit  my  cigar. 
Suppon-g  a  man  had  the  wealth  of  the  Czar 

Of  the  llussia-  to  biejAJpr  the  rest  of  his  days, 
On  the  wbole.do  youHnrnk  he  would  have  much  to  spare, 
If  he  married  a  woman  with  nothing  to  wear? 

Since  thai  night  taking  3? ins  that  it  should  not  be  bruited 

Abroad  in  so"iety,  I've  instituted 

A  course  of  inquiry,  extensive  and  thorough, 

On  thin  vital  subject,  and  find  to  oy  horror, 

That  the  fair  Flora's  case  is  by  no  meats  surprising, 

But  that  there  exis's  the  greatest  distress 
In  our  female  community,  solely  arising 

From  this  unsupp'ied  destitution  of  dress, 
•Whose  unfortunate  victims  are  filling  the  air 
With  the  pitiful  wail  of  "Nothing  to  wear." 
Researches  in  some  ot  the  "Upper  Ten"  districts 
Reveal  the  most  painful  nnd  startling  stitistics,, 
Of  which  let  me  mention  only  a  few-. 
In  one  single  house,  on  the  Fifth  Avenue, 
Three  young  ladies  were  found,  a  1  below  twenty-two, 
Who  have  been  three  who  e  weeks  without  any  thing  new 
In  the  way  of  flou  ced  silks,  and  thus  left  in  the  lurch 
Are  unable  to  go  to  ball,  concert,  or  church. 
In  another  large  mansion  near  the  same  place 
Was  found  a  deplorable,  heart  rending  case 
Of  entire  destitution  of  Brussels  point  lace, 
In  a  neighboring  block  there  was  found,  in  three  calls, 
Total  want  long  continued,  of  camels'  hair  shawls; 
And  a  suffering  family,  whose  case  exhibits 
The  most  pressing  ne   J  of  real  ermine  tippels;- 
One  deserving  young  iady  almost  unable 

ive  for  the  want  of  a  new  Russian  sable; 
confined  to  the  house,  «h»n  it's  windier 
rial,  because  he-  shawl  isn't  India 
Ttill  another,  whose  torturei  have  fe£en  most  terrific 

■  sad  loss  of  the  steamer  Pacific, 
In  whfBn  were  ingulfed  not  friend  or  relation, 
"•j^ For  whose  fete  she  perhaps  might  have  found  consolation  , 
Or  borne  it,  at  lease  ,  with  serene  *signation) 
3ut  the  cholfce3t  assortment  of  French  sleeves  and  collars 
Ever  senl  out  from  Paris,  worth  thousands  of  dollars, 
And  all  as  to  style  ino.'t  recherehe  and  rare, 
The  want,  of  whi«l  leaves  her  with  nothing  to  wear, 
And  renders  her  life  so  drear  and  dyspte 
That  she's  quite  a  re  luse,  and  alra.st  a  skeptic, 
for  die  touehingly  says  that  this  3ort  of  grief 


Can  not  find  in  Religion  the  sl'ghtest  relief, 

And  Philosophy  has  not  a  maxim  to  spare, 

For  the  victims  of  such  overwhelming  despair. 

But  the  saddest  by  far  of  all  these  s.td  features, 

Is  the  crutlty  practiced  upon  the  potr  creatures 

By  hu- bands  and  father',  real  Bluebeards  and  Timonn, 

Who  resist  the  rnoittotrhini?  appeals  made  for  diamonds 

By  their  wives  aud   tieir  daughters,  and   l'ave  them   for 

TJusupplied  with  new  jewelry,  fans,  er  boquds,         ldays 

Even  Uuvhat  theirmiierieswheneverthcy  haveachance, 

And  deride  their  demands  as  useless  extravagance! 

One  case  of  a  brde  was  brought  to  my  vie" 

Too  sad  for  belief,  but  ala< !  'twas  too  true,  /■    J 

Whose  husband  refused,  as  savage  as  Charon,      0 

To  permit  her  to  take  more  than  ten  trunksjoi Sharon. 

the  consequence  was,  that  when  she  g,it  there, 

At  the  end  of  three  weeks  she  had  nothing  to  wear, 

And  when  she  proposed  to  finish  the  jeason 

At  Newport,  the  monster  refused  out  and  out, 

For  his  infanou-<  COUduct  alleging  no  reason, 

EscepVthatlhe  waters  were  good  for  hi>.  goat; 

Such  treatment  as  this  vas  too  shocking,  ol  course, 

And  proceedings  are  now  going  on  fur  divorce. 

But  whyAarrow  the  feelings  by  lifting  the  curtain 

From  these  scenes  of  woe?    Enough,  il  is  csrtaiu 

His  bete  been  disclosed  ts  stir  up  the  pity 

Of  every  benevolent  heart  in  Ihe  city, 

And  opur  up  humanity  into  a  canter 

To  rush  and  relieve  these  sad  cases  instanter. 

Won't  eomeb rdy,  moved  by  this  touching  description, 

Come  forward  tomorrow  and  head  a  subicriptio-? 

Won't  some  kind  philanth/Jpist^eeing  that  aid  is 

So  needed  at  or.ee  by  these  indigent  iadies, 

Take  charge  of  the  mattei  ?  or  won't,  Petbb  Coopeb 

The  corner  stone  lay  of  soma  spiendind  super- 

Stiuctu'e.  like  lhat  which  today  links  his  name 

To  the  Union  unending  of  honor  and  fame; 

And  found  a  new  charity  just  lor  the  care 

Of  t!  ese  unhappy  women  with  nothing  to  wear, 

Which,  in  view  of  the  cash  which  would  dii'y  reclaimed, 

The  Laying- out  Hospital  well  mig 

Won't  £t,.wakt,  or  suae  of  our  tify  gooils  importers, 

Take  a  c  mtrael  forc'othiiig  nur*qives  and  our  daughters? 

Or,  to  fnrnish  the  cash  ors  jpniy jMe<t  distresses, 

And  life's  pathway  Str.w  w,th  sbswi",  collars,  an    dresses, 

Ere  tliewantoftbem  makes- it  ru  h rougher  and  thornier, 

Won't soroe  01  e  discover  a  new  California? 

Oh.  ladies,  d^ar  ladies,  the  next  sunnv  day 

Please  truud.e  your  hocps  just  out  of  Broadway, 

F(om  its  whirl  and  it  and  pride, 

And  Uie  temple  1  ol  'i  Jde, 

To  the  all.  «  and  lanes.  „£re  Sui'tu,,,.  and  Quilt 

lneir  ehilfFen  h»ve  gathered,  tli.fr  cities  have  built; 

Wnere  Hunger  an  1  V  ce,  like  twin  beasts  o!  prey; 

r«uve  hunt*!  Iheir  victims  to  gloom  and  d  58  pall  j 

Kaiee  Ihe  rich,  dainty  dress,  and  the  flrje  bro.dered  skirt, 

f  ick  your  delicate  way  through  the  dampness  and  dirt, 

Urope  through  ihe  d,,rk  decs,  climb  the  rieketty  stair 
10  the  garret,  wh  re  wretnhes,  the  young  and  the  oH, 
H 'If  starved  aud  half  naked,  lie  crouched  tr.m  the  cold. 
Bee  those  skeleton  limbs,  those  frost-bitten  fejt, 
AH  bleedmg  aud  bruised  by  the  st  .nes  of  the  street 

swell1"'*'  "y  ^ch'i(iil00d>  tn«  deep  groans  that 

From  the  poor  dying  creature  who  writhes  on  the  floor, 
*i,;  <>Vm  that  sound  like  the  echoes  of  Hell, 

,  and  shudder,  and  fly  fr„m  the  door; 


ien  of  Fashi  n— ycu've  nothing  to  wear  ' 
And  oh.  if  .MWhww  there  should  be  a  sphere, 

!1  is%ade  right  which  so  puzzl-s  us  he-e 
Where  the  glare,  and  t^Mi^S^^in 

Fun*-  iirel  a, a  ;«  iku  ii«i,.  ....     '     ^  ..--.   -/i    aiu 


Fade  and  die  in  the  light  w  thi\'tm 
Whe,  e  the  soul,  diseimhamei  oflR 
iffffsl 


Must  be  clothed  ior  the  life  ant  the  set 
With  parity,  truth,  faith,  meekies"  *Zd  ii? 
Oh,  daughters  ol  Earth  !  foolish-,?'  •       'J 


nee, 


Lest  i«  that  upper  realm  you  han^gKJ % 


LIGHT   TO   YOUTH. 

A  darling  little  infant 

Wns  playing  on  the  floor, 
When  suddenly  a  sunbeam 

Came  through  the  open  door; 
And  striking  on  the  carpet, 

It  made  a  golden  dot: 
The  darling  baby  saw  it, 

And  crept  up  to  the  spot. 

His  little  face  was  beaming 

With  a  smile  of  perfect  joy, 
As  if  an  angel's  presence 

Had  filled  the  little  boy; 
And  with  his  tiny  finger, 

As  in  a  fairy  dream, 
He  touched  the  dot  of  sunshine, 

And  followed  up  the  beam. 

He  lookerpup  to  his  mother, 

hr.re  his  infant  bliss, 
Then  stooped  and  gave  the  sunbeam 
A  pure,  sweet  baby  kiss. 

0  Lord!  our  heavenly  Father, 
In  the  fulness  of  my  joy, 

1  pray  that  child-like  feeling 
.     May  never  leave  the  boy. 


a 


-%c*& 


But  mfthe  days  of  trialg 
I  ^jvtien  sin  allures  the  youth, 
Send  out  the  light  to  guide  him 
The  sunbeams  of  Thy  Truth. 
And  mayehis  heart  be  ever 
i*    To  Thee  an  open  door, 
Through  which  Thy  truths,  as  sunbeam's, 
Make  joy  upon  life's  floor. 


* 


earns, 

^ 


FULTON  FERKY. 

BY    NATHAN    D.     UBNEB. 


Crossing  East  River  at  break  of  day, 
Our  beards  are  wet  with  the  Hying  spray  ; 
For  there  has  been  a  storm  in  the  bay 

All  night,  and  this  morning  the  waves  are  free  ; 
But  the  sun  is.  bright  on  the  steeple-tips, 
On  the  masts  and  rigging  and  sails  of  ships, 
And  red  is  the  foam  on  the  billowy  lips, 

As  the  tide  cornea  in  from  the  sea. 
ii. 
The  passengers  are  cheery  all, 
Men  and  women,  large  and  small ; 
The  sailors  to  each  other  call 

Cheerily  over  the  rushing  tide ; 
The  marketmen  amidships  swear, 
The  horses  tramp  and  snuff  the  air, 
And  the  strong  boat  bears  her  freight  with  care, 

Steadily  from  side  to  side, 
in. 
The  voyage  of  life  is  little  more 
Than  a  ferry  plodding  from  shore  to  shore, 
Each  trip  the  same  that  was  made  before 

By  restless  thousands  hurrying  on. 
Strong  or  fair,  the  varied  throng, 
With  sigh  and  groan  and  shout  and  song, 
Never  quite  happy,  move  along, 

Contented  and  grieving  anon. 

IT. 

The  rudder-chains  clank  in  the  ringing  groves, 

The  laboring  engine  mighty  proves, 

The  Boat  of  Life  from  her  moorings  moves, 

And  stems  the  force  of  the  rushing  stream ; 
Burdens  of  joys,  burdens  o-f  cares, 
In  her  throbbing  bosom  abroad  she  bears ; 
There  are  daily  trips  and  daily  fares, 

And  the  days  ebb  by  in  a  dream. 
v. 
A  dream  of  monotonous  coming  and  going, 
Of  hastening,  hurrying,  backing  and  slowing, 
Of  bridges  creaking  and  water  flowing, 

And  the  yawning  passage  from  shore  to  shore  ; 
Till  the  steam  is  spent  and  the  hulk  is  old, 
Anil  the  bridge-chains  rust  from  their  iron  hold, 
And  the  ferry-bell  at  last  is  tolled 

To  the  bridge  we  quit  no  more. 


THE  TWO  COMETS. , 

BY    JOHN    G.    C.    BRAINARD. 

There  once  dwelt  in  Olympus  some  notable  oddities, 


THE  PUN  AND  THE  ALBUM. 

BY  W.  M.  THBCKABAY. 

<■  I  am  Miss  Catharine',  book,"  (the  Album ■WMteV. 
••  I've  lain  anions  your  tomes,  these  many  weeks, 
I'm  tired  of  their  old  coats  and  yellow  cheeks. 
Ouick,  Pen!  and  write  a  line  wiih  a  good  grace; 
'  uome-!  draw  me  off  a  funny  little  tace; 
And,  prithee,  send  me  back  to  Chesham  Place  " 

PEN. 

I  am  mv  master's  faithful  old  Gold  Pen; 
I've  served  him  three  lone  years,  and  drawn  since  then 
'  Thousands  of  funny  women  and  droll  men. 

O,  Album  !  could  I  tell  you  all  his  ways 

And  thoughts,  since  I  am  his,  these  thousand  days, 

Lord,  how  your  pretty  pages  I'd  amaze  ! 

ALBUM. 

His  ways?  his  thoughts?    Just  whisper  me  a  few; 

Tell  me  a  curious  anecdote  or  two. 

And  write  'em  quickly  off,  good  Mordan,  do  ! 

<; 

'  PEN. 

Since  he  my  faithful  service  did  engage 
To  follow  him  through  his  queer  pilgrimage, 
I've  drawn  and  written  many  a  ln.e  and  page. 

i  Caricatures  I  scribbled  have,  and  rhymes, 
And  dinner-cards,  and  picture  pantomimes, 
And  merry  little  children's  books  at  times. 

'„  I've  writ  the  foolish  fancy  of  0»  brain; 
The  aimless  jest  that,  striking,  hath  caused  pain, 
The  idle  word  that  he'd  wish  back  again.       ^ 

I've  helped  him  to  pen  many  a  line  for  bread, 

To  joke,  with  sorrow  aching  in  his  head. 

And  make  your  laughter  when  his  own  heart  bled. 

I've  spoke  with  men  of  all  degree  and  sort- 
Peers  or  the  land,  and  ladies  of  the  Court, 
U,  but  I've  chrbnicled  a  deal  of  sport ! 

»  Feasts  that  were  ate  a  thousand  days  ago, 

J  Bidd  ngfto  wine  that  ha.h  long  ceased  to  flow, 

2  Gay  meetings  with  good  fellows  long  laid  low; 

Summons  to  bridal,  banquet,  buiial,  ball. 
Tradesman's  p  lite  reminders  of  his  small 
Accountdue  Christmas  last-1've  answered  all. 

Poor  Diddler's  tenth  petition  for  a  half - 
Guinea:  Miss  Bunyan's  lor  an  autograph, 
1S0  1  relate,  accept,  lament,  or  laugh. 
Condole,  congratulate,. invite,  praise,  sc off, 
VJay  alter  day  still  dipping  m  my  trough, 
And  scribbling  pages  after  pages  oft. 

.»     «*v  alter  day  the  labor's  to  bedone, 

^  ind  sure  as  come  the  postman1  and  the  sun, 

The  indefatigable  ink  must  run.  ^ 

*  *  * 

V  Go  back,  my  pretty  little  gilded  tome, 
*  To  a  fair  mistress  and  a  pleasant  home, 

Where  solt  hearts  greet  us  whensoe'er  we  come. 

D.ar.  friendly  eyes,  with  constant  kindness  lit, 
Uowiw  rude  my  verse,  or  poor  my  wit, 
Or  sad  or  gay  my  mood,  you  welcome  ft. 

Kind  ladv '  till  my  Ian  of  lines  is  p;nned, 
Myniastef's  love,  grief,  laughter,  at  an  endj. 
Whene'er  I  write  vour  name,  may  I  write  menu. 
Not  all  are  so  that  were  so  in  past  years; 
■  Voices,  lamiliar  once,  no  more  he  hears! 
Names,  often 'writ,  ate  blotted  out  in  tears. 
So  tie  it- ioys  will  end  and  tears  will  dry—! 
Album '  my  master  bids  me  wish  good-bye, 
He'"  send  you  to  your  mistress  presently. 


For  their  wild  singularities  call'd  gods  and  goddesses,— 
Bet  one  in  particular  beat  'em  all  hollow, 
Whose  name,  style  and  title  was  Ptuxbus  Apollo. 

Now  Phoeb.  was  a  genius— his  hand  he  could  turn 
To  any  thing,;  every  thing  genius  can  learn  : 
""Bright,  sensible,  graceful,  cute,  spirited,  handy, 
Well  bred,  well  behaved— a  celestial  dandy ! 
An  eloquent  god,  though  he  did'nt  say  much  ; 
But  So  drew  a  long  bow,  spoke  Greek,  Latin  and  Dutch; 
A  doctor,  a  poet,  a  soarer,  a  diver, 
And  of  horses  in  harness  an  excellent  driver. 

He  would  tackle  his  steeds  to  the  wheels  of  the  sun, 
And  he  drove  up  the  east  every  morning  but  one  ; 
When  young  Phaeton  begg'd  ol  his  daddy  at  five, 
To  stay  with  Aurora  a  day,  and  he'd  drive. 
So  good  natured  Phoebus  gave  Phaey  the  seat, 
With  his  mittens,  change,  waybill,  and  stage  horn  complete ; 
To  the  breeze  of  the  morning  he  shook  his  bright  locks, 
Blew  the  lamps  of  the  night  out,  and  mounted  the  box. 
The  crack  of  his  whin,  like  the  breaking  ol  day, 
Warm'd  the  wax  in  trie  ears  of  the  leaders,  and  they 
With  a  snort,  like  the  fog  of  the  morning,  clear'd  out 
For  the  west,  as  young  Phaey  meant  to  get  there  about 
Two  hours  before  sunset.      .   ^ 

He  look'd  at  his  "  turnip," 
And  to  make  the  delay  of  the  old  line  concern  up, 
He  gave  'em  the  reins;  and  from  Aries  to  Cancer, 
The  style  of  his  drive  on  the  road  seem'd  to  answer; 
But  at  Leo,  the  ears  of  the  near  wheel-horse  prick'd, 
And  at  Virgo  the  heels  of  the  off  leader  kick'd  ; 
Over  Libra  the  whiffle-tree  broke  in  the  middle, 
And  the  traces  snapp'd  short,  like  the  strings  of  a  fiddle. 
One  wheel  struck  near  Scorpio,  who  gave  it  a  roll, 
And  sent  it  to  buzz,  like  a  top,  round  the  pole  ; 
While  the  other  whizz'd  hack  with  its  linchpin  and  hub, 
Or,  more  learnedly  speaking,  its  nucleus  or  nub; 
And,  whether  in  earnest,  or  whether  in  tun, 
He  carried  away  a  few  locks  of  the  sun. 

The  state  of  poo  •  Phaeton's  coach  was  a  blue  one, 
And  Jupiter  order'd  Apollo  a  new  one  ; 
But  our  driver  felt  rather  too  proud  to.say  "  Whoa," 
Lettins;  horses,  and  harness,  and  evi 
At  their  terrified  pleasure  abroad  ;  land  ihqgntjP   '• 
Says,  they  cut'tothrs  day  jdm  what  caper-,  they  choose  ; 
That  the  eyes  of  the  chargers  as  meteors  shine  forth  ; 
That  their  manes  stream  along  in  the  lights  of  the  north  ; 
That  the  wheels  which  are  missing  are  comets,  that  run 
As  fast  as  they  did  when  they  carried  the  sun  ; 
And  still  pushing  forward,  though  never  arriving, 
Think  the  west  is  before  them,  and  Phaeton  driving. 


And  thus  with  thankful  heart  he  closes  you: 
Blessing  the  happv  hour  when  a  friend  he  knew 
So  gentle,  and  so  generous,  and  bo  true. 
Nor  pass  the  words  as  idle  phrases  by, 
Stranger,  1  never  writ  a  Battery, 
N  or  signed  the  page  that  registered  a  he. 
London  Kcepsak*  J  or  1853. 


The  Doorstep. 

The  conference  meeting  through  at  last, 
We  boys  around  the  vestry  waited 

To  .see  the  girls  come  tripping  past, 
Like  snow-birds  willing  to  be  mated. 

No  braver  he  that  leaps  the  wall 
By  level  musket-flashes  litten, 

Than  I,  who  stepped  before  them  all, 
Who  longed  to  see  me  get  the  mitten. 

But  no,  she  blushed  and  took  my  arm! 

We  let  the  old  folks  have  the  highway, 
And  started  towards  the  Maple  Farm 

Alot'g  a  kind  of  lovers'  byway. 


I  can't  remember  what  we' said, 

'Twaa  nothing  worth  a  song  or  story, 
Yet  that  rv|de  path  by  which  we  sped 

Seeme^  a11  transformed  and  in  a  glory. 

Thp  3rio\ f  was  crtsP  beneath  our  feet, 

Tin-  moon  was  full,    the  fields  were   gleaming; 
By  hood  and  tippet  sheltered  sweet 
Her  face  with  youth  and  Health  was  beaming, 

The  little  hand  outside  her  muff— 
O  sculptor,  if  you  could  but  mould  it! 

So  lightly  touched  my  jacket-cuff, 
To  keep  it  warm  I  had  to  hold  it. 

To  have  her  with  me  there  alone, — 
'Twas  love  and  fear  and  triumph  blended; 

At  last  wo  reached  the  foot-worn  stone 
Where  that  delicious  journey  ended. 

She  shook  her  ringlets  from  her  hood,  '    . 

And  with  a  "Thank   you,  Ncd^'*  dissembled, 
And  yet  I  knew  she  understood 

With  what  a  oaring  wish  I  trembled. 

A  cloud  passed  kindly  overhead,         * 
rhe  moon  was  slyly  peeping  through  it, 

Yet  hid  lis  Bice,  as  it'  it  said, 
"Come,  now  or  never!  do  it!  do  it .'" 

""My  lips  till  then  had  only  known  * 

The  kiss  of  mother  and  of  sister,- 
But  somehow,  lull  upon  her  own 
Sweet,  rosy,  darling  mi  uth—  1  Kissed  her! 

Perhaps  'twas  boyish  loveijfct  still, 

O  listless  woman!  weary* lover! 
To  feel  once  more  that  fresh,  wild  thrill, 

I'd  give — But  who  can  live  youth  over? 
— E.  C.  Stttlman. 


and  swears  ho  will  never  come  back  till  he  nas  sorveu.  me 
mystery  about  the  other  cheek  of  the  moon,  which  is 
never  turned  towards  the  earth.  Her  very  clever  ac- 
count of  the  matter  is  as  follows  : — 

THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  MOON. 

BY    MERCY    MORE. 

There  sails  an  astronomer  yonder 
Through  the  clouds  in  his  silk  balloon. 

Now  where  is  he  bound,  I  wonder? — 
To  the  other  side  of  the  moon. 

He  says  she  has  hung  around  us 
I  In  the  air  for  six  thousand  years, 

And  with  silvery  radiance  crowned  us 
That  a  one-sided  light  appears. 

And  now,  by  the  two-laced  Janus 

He  swears  he  will  soon  find  out 
Howe'er  the  result  may  pain  us, 

■Why  she  keeps  us  in  nightly  doubt — 
Why  she  tells  to  Old  Sol  some  stories 

She  will  never  repeat  to  earth, 
As  if  tee  knew  not  more  of  his  glories 

Than  people  of  lunar  birth. 

But  alas  for  the  luckless  flyer 

Through  the  realms  of  drenching  rain, 
He  will  fall  ere  he  gets  much  higher, 

For  gas  is  as  moonshine  vain. 
And  the  world  will  never  be  wiser 

For  him  or  his  gay  balloon, 
As  to  what  'neath  that  crescent  visor 

Hides  the  other  side  of  the  moon. 

Would  that  were  the  only  mystery  ! 

Would  he  were  the  only  fool  I 
We  all,  with  mortal  history 

Are  babes  newly  sent  to  school ; 
Only  never  like  children,  humble, 
1  And  glad  for  each  little  spark  ; 

'  By  the  flare  of  our  pride  we  stumble, 

Choosing  every  path  that  is  dark. 

t  Down  the  firmament's  cloudy  rafter, 

Down  the  blue  sky's  concave  wall, 

j  How  would  peals  of  sphery  laughter 

With  the  gushing  moonlight  fall ;    , 
Could  the  lunar  people  hear  us 

Heap  scorn  on  the  sweet  daylight, 
Then  groan,  as  if  nought  could  cheer  ub, 
That  the  sunshines  never  at  night. 

When  an  unskilled  touch  is  shaking 

Life's  delicate  nervous  bands, 
When  a  table's  joints  are  quaking 

'Neath  scores  of  mesmeric  hands  , 
They  whisper  of  revelations 

From  the  Unknown,  coming  soon  , 
And  they  may-when  these  mundane  nations 

See.the  other  side  of  thftfnoon. 

One  tells  us  that  good  is  evil ; 
__*  One  explains  just  how  sin  began  ; 

One  argues  that  even  the  devil 
Is  a  rough  sort  of  friend  to  man. 
Shall  we  walk  by  their  smoky  tapers, 

Or  the  light  of  a  cloudless  noon  ? 

Oh,  did.  reasoners  learn  their  capers 

On  the  other  side  of  the  moon? 

.  -»  iHn^ "~ 

JKIt-h  and  Poor. 
BY  RICHARD  M.  MILNES. 

When  Uod  built  up  lh«  dome  of  blue, 

And  portioned  faith's  prolific  Hour, 

The  measure  of  his  wisdom  drew 

A  line  between  the  rich  and  poor; 

And  till  that  vault  of  glory  lull, 

Or  beauteous  earth  be  scarred  with  flame, 

Or  saving  love  be  all  in  all, 

That  rule  of  life  will  rest  the  same. 


We  know  not  why,  we  know  not  how. 
Mankind  are  framed  for  weal  or  woe — 
But  to  the  Eternal  law  we  Now; 
If  such  things  are,  they  must  be  |p. 
Yet,  let  no  cloudy  dreams  destroy 
One  truth  outshining  bright  and  clear, 
That  wealth  abides  in  hope  and  joy, 
And  poverty  in  pain  and  fear. 

Behold  our  children  M  they  play '. 

Blest  creatures  freh  from  nature's  hand; 

The  peasant  boy  as  great  and  gay 
As  the  young  heir  to  gold  and  land; 
Their  various  toys  of  equal  worth, 
1  'Their  little  needs  of  equal  care. 
And  halls  of  maible,  huts  of  earth, 
All  homes  alike  endeared  and  lair. 

'They  knew  no  bettor ! — would  thai  we 
Could  keep  our  knowledge  sale  from  worse; 
So  power  should  find  and  leave  us  free, 
.■so  Pride  be  but  the  ov  uers  corse : 
So,  without  marking  which  was  which. 
Our  hearts  would  tell,  by  instil. el  Mire, 
What  paupers  nie  the  ambitious  rich! 
.     How  wealthy  the  contented  poor! 

Grant  us,  O  uod!  but  health  and  heart, 

And  strength  to  keep  desire  at  liav , 

And  ours  must  be  the  better  part, 
Whatever  else  besets  our  way. 
Each  day  may  bring  sufficient  ill; 
But  we  can  meet  and  light  it  thiough, 
If  bops  sustains  the  hand  ol  will, 
And  conscience  is  our  captain  too. 


.  <:,-,,     McPlmjr 


A  STRING  OF  BEADS. 

Montesquieu  was  discussing  a  question  with  a  counselor  of  the 
Parliament  of  Bordeaux,  who  was  witty  butrather  hot-head^.  The 
latter,  concluding  some  very  fiery  remarks,  said,  "  Mr.  PrtBdent  if 
this  is  not  as  I  tell  you,  I  will  give  you  my  head." 

"1  accept  it"  replied  Montesquieu,  coolly.  " Small  presents 
keep  up  friendship."  ' 

Some  of  the  hosts  of  the  olden  time  were  not  nice  in  the  treatment 
of  their  royal  patrons.  He  was  a  bold  Boniface  of  the  White  Horse 
who  charged  George  IL  a  guinea  for  an  egg,  and  who,  on  being 
asked  by  his  majesty  himself  if  eggs  were  scarce,  dryly  replied  • 
"  No,  sir,  but  kings  are."  jrnjmm.. 

Biddy,  the  Teetotaler— A  contemporary;  referring  to  aspi- 
rants for  political  office  being  brought  out  before  the  public  bv 
means  of  calls,"  numerously  signed,  instead  of  coming  out  flat- 
™°i,,'.in  the  old-fashioned  way,  says  it  reminds  him  of  the  story  of 
O'Mulhgan  and  his  wife.  J 

''Biddy  "  said  O'Mulligan  to  his  wife,  "it's  a  bad  cowld  ye  have. 
A  drop  of  the  craytur  'd  do  ye  no  harrum." 

"Och  honey!"  said  Biddy,  "I've  taken  theplidge;  but  ye  can 
mix  a  drink,  Jimmy,  and  force  me  to  swally  it." 

Dear  Miss  Chibbles  says  even  if  a  woman  had  as  many  locks  upon 
her  heart  as  she  has  upon  her  head,  some  cunning  rogue  would  find 
/lis  Wily  to  it* 

A  gentleman  in  going  out  with  a  lady  on  a  gloomy  day,  asked  if 
she  would  have  her  parasol.  J 

"No,"  said  she,  "  it's  of  no  use,  there's  no  Sol  to  parry." 
•A  Pleasant  Suggestion—A  lover,   who  was  slighted  by  the 
females  very  modestly  asked   a  young   lady  if  she  would  let  him 
spend  the  evening  with  her. 

u  ™'",^he  a,nSrily  reP!ied :  "  that's  what  I  won't." 
Why     replied  he,  "you  needn't  be  so  fussy;  I  didn't  mean  this 
evening,  but  some  stormy  one,  when  I  can't  go  anywhere  else." 

A  poor  man  who  had  been  ill,  having  been  asked  by  a  gentleman 
whether  he  had  taken  any  remedy,  replied,  "  No,  I  ain't  taken  an? 
remedy,  but  I  have  taken  lots  of  physic."  y 

nT.-™"^  exPlains  *]ia*  hi  and  his  wife  fall  out  because  they  are  of 
one  mind :  she  wants  to  be  master,  and  so  does  he  ! 

A  contemporary  suggests  that  a  lady,  on  putting  on  her  corsets 

hiSfa^Wh^r48J?  dr°Wn  hi«  ^ief,  became  in  so-Sg 
herself,  she  is  getting  tight.  * 

w?*hiT*  £P°ils  a  hol|flay  llke  a  Sunday  coat  or  a  new  pair  of 
boots!    To  have  time  set  easy,  your  garments  must  set  the  example. 

Love  v.  Toothache—H  you  put  two  persons  in  the  same  bed- 
room one  of  whom  has  the  toothache,  and  the  other  in  love,  you 
will  find  that  the  person  who  has  the  toothache  will  go  to  sleep  first. 

wy  wfo?mu8ic<!Cal  "^  ^^  m  °ld  lady  if  h<*  grandson  had 
"  Wa'al  "   said  the  old  woman,  "  I  rahly  don't  know  •  won't  von 
just  take  the  candle  and  see  ?"  y 

A  thief  was  lately  caught  breaking  into  a  song.  He  had  alreadv 
got  through  the .  fi»t  two  bars,  when**  policeman  came  up  an  area 
and  hit  him  with  his  baton.    Several  notes  were  found  upon  him 

t>,?2S^rif^DTn,sErict0Y-~A  woman  beinS  enjoined  to  try 
Zlfnl  Va«dneSS  °1.hel  hu?band>  «»d  being  told  that  it  would 
heap  coals  of  fire  on  his  head,  replied  that  she  had  tried  "  bilin' 

SSSiTiSSff-Si^  °f  g°0d-    She  ™  rather  doubtful 

Difference  of  Opinion.— On  a  child  being  told  that  he  must  he 

be0mendOed'r"ad  ***  **  ^^  rei,Hed'  '^iV^t  "better 

WANT    OF    TONGUE. 

Hwh?Tt?ii8.tS.?fictare ;  you'd  think  that  5t  breathes ; 

What  life !  what  expression !  what  spirit ' 
It  wants  but  a  tongue.    "  Alas !"  said  the  spouse, 
lhat  want  is  its  principal  merit." 
He  who  travels  through  life  in  the  hope  of  jumping  into  the  shoes 
of  another,  mostly  goes  on  a  bootless  errand. 

Transported  for  Life—TIio  man  who  marries  happily, 
a  «foot°»tp^Ln^T,'^te,ama?  With  *<>odenlcgs  1*  considered 

tot  SSKSSi  £t,naker  commences  to  make  *  boot> *• 

JuAticeaCoT?0aIltadAlir,UtallV  ?T aulted  his  wife-  was  brought  before 
"  getting  fttice  -Aay'  H*  aml  had  »  *>«d  deal  to  W  about 

no';Jo?eiiCto'hanPgiydS,e:<'VOU  ^  gCt  *  here'    This  court  has 


"  Ah,  Mr.Simpkins,  we  have  not  chairs  enough  for  our  company  '* 
said  a  gay  wife  to  her  frugal  husband. 

"  Plenty  of  chairs,  my  dear,  but  a  little  too  much'  company  "  re^ 
plied  he.  "     ■ 

"  Well,  Tom,"  said  a  blacksmith  to  his  apprentice, "  you  have  been 
with  me  now  three  months,  and  have  seen  all  the  different  points  in 
our  trade.     I  wish  to  give  you  your  choice  of  work  for  awhile  " 

"  Than'ee,  sir." 

"  Well,  now,  what  part  of  the  business  do  you  like  best !" 

"  Shuttin'  up  shop  and  goin'  to  dinner,  sir." 

A  Natural  Result.— A  man  being  asked  the  cause  of  his  father's 
death,  answered  that,  "While  he  was  addressing  a  large  out-door 
assemblage  of  people,  who  were  listening  to  his  remarks  with  the 
deepest  interest,  a  portion  of  the  platform  gave  way  beneath  him 
whereby  he  was  precipitated  several  feet  with  such  violence  as  to 
break  his  neck." 

By  the  ancient  laws  of  Hungary  a  man  convicted  of  bigamy  was 
compelled  to  live  with  both  wives  in  the  same  house.  As  a  conse- 
quence, the  crime  was  exceedingly  rare  in  that  country. 

Foote  praising  the  hospitality  of  the  Irish  after  one  <*f  his  trips  to 
their  country,  a  gentleman  asked  him  whether  he  had  ever  been 
at  Cork. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Foote,  "  but  I  have  seen  many  drawings-  of  it." 

How  to  Choose  a  Wife.— Dr.  Franklin  recommends  a  young  man, 
in  the  choice  of  a  wife,  to  select  her  from  a  bunch,  giving  as  his 
reason  that,  when  there  are  many  daughters,  they  improve  each 
other,  and  from  emulation  acquire  more  accomplishments,  and 
know  more,  and  do  more,  than  a  single  child  spoiled  by  paternal 
fondness.     This  is  a  comfort  to  people  blessed  with  large  families. 

A  gentleman,  having  occasion  to  call  on  an  author,  found  him 
at  home  in  his  study.  He  remarked  the  great  heat  of  the  apart- 
ment, and  said  it  was  "  as  hot  as  an  oven." 

"  So  it  ought  to  be,"  replied  the  author,  "  for  it  is  here  I  make  my 
bread." 

We  rather  think  that  the  most  reluctant  slave  to  vice  that  we  ever 
saw  was  a  poor  fellow  who  had  his  fingers  in  one. 

"Children,"  said  a  considerate  matron  to  her  progeny,  "  you  can 
have  anything  you  want,  but  you  must  not  want  anything  ybu  can't 
have." 

A  writer  says  that  "  fathers,  remembering  their  own  boyhood, 
should  make  some  little  allowance  for  their  children."  But  the^ 
trouble  is  that  many  of  our  children,  after  spending  their  "  allow- 
ance," go  in  debt  for  double  the  amount. 

ThE  Secret  Discovered.— "There  are  tricks  in  all  trades  but  ours  " 
as  the  lawyer  said  to  his  client.  An  honest  rustic  went  into  the' shop 
of  a  Quaker  to  buy  a  hat,  for  which  six  dollars  were  demanded,  fte 
offered  five  dollars. 

"  As  I  live,"  said  the  Quaker,  "I  cannot  afford  to  give  it  thee-  at 
that  price." 

"  As  you  live .'"  exclaimed  the  countryman.  "  Then  live  more 
moderately,  and  be  hanged  to  you  !" 

"Friend,"  said  the  Quaker,  "  thou  shalt  have  the  hat  for  nothing 
I  have  sold  hats  for  twenty  years,  and  my  trick  was  never  found  out 
before." 

The  queen  of  James  II.  asked  of  her  confessor  if  she  might  net 
paint. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  good  man,  "  but  not  to  excess only  one 

cheek. 

Sydney  Smith  being  asked  what  were  his  family  arms,  rerplied 
that  the  Smiths  never  had  any  arms,  and  invariably  sealed  their  let- 
ters with  their  thumbs. 

No  Doubt.— A  man  advertises  for  competent  persons  to  under- 
take the  sale  of  a  new  medicine,  and  adds  "  that  it  will  be  profitable1 
to  the  undertaker." 

Which  is  the  most  wonderful  animal  in  a  farmyard  ? 
A  pig,  because  he  is  killed  first  and  cured  afterward. 

If  brooks  are,  as  poets  call  them,-  the  most  joyous  things  ira 
nature,  what  are  they  always  "  murmuring  "  about? 

Cami'Sslt/s  Favorite  Poem.— It  is  well  known  that  Campbell'* 
own  favorite  poem  of  all  his  compositions  was  his  "Gertrude."  He' 
was  once  heard  to  say,  "  I  never  like  to  see  my  name  before 
'  Pleasures  of  Hope  ;'  why,  I  cannot  tell  you.  unless  it  was  that 
when  young,  I  was  always  greeted  among  my  friends  as  'Mr.  Camp- 
bell, author  of  "  The  Pleasures  of  Hope."  '  '  Good  morning  to  you, 
Mr.  Campbell,  author  of"  The  Pleasures  of  Hope."  '  When  1  got 
married,  I  was  married  as  the  author  of  '  The  Pleasures  of  Hope  •' 
and  when  I  became  a  father,  my  son  was  the  son  of  the  author  off 
'The  Pleasures  of  Hope.'  "  A  kind  of  grim  smile,  ill  subdued,  we 
are  afraid,  stole  over  our  features,  when  standing  beside  the  poet's 
grave,  we  read  the  inscription  on  his  coffin:  "Thomas  Campbell 
LL.D.,  author  of '  The  Pleasures  of  Hope,'  died  June  15,  1844,  Age<3 
67."  The  poet's  dislike  occurred  to  our  memory;  there  was  no 
getting  the  better  of  the  thought.- 


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Put  off  repentance  till  to  morrow,  and  you  have 
a  day  more  to  repent  of,  and  a  day  less  to  repent 

>■>• 

"When  all  Things  are  hereafter  nntied  and  the 
contents  of  various  bundles  disclosed,  it  is  my 
opinion  that  as  many  noble,  self-denying  virtues 
will  be  found  tied  up  with  precise  bow-knots  in 
some  of  those  vertical  rolls  called  old  maids,  as 
in  any  other  that  shall  appear." 
I  . 

A  young  man  in  Harrisburg,  Penn.,  answered^ 
an  advertisement  in  a  New  York  paper,  which 
set  forth  that  "valuable  information  would  be 
forwarded  on  receipt  of.  ten  cents."  The  young 
man  sent  the  ten  centsmid  received  the  follow- 
ing: "Friend,  lor  your  ten  cents,  postage,  etc., 
please  find  enclosed  advice,  which  may  be  of 
great  value  to  you.  As  many  persons  are  injur- 
ed  for  weeks,  months  and  years  by  the  careless 
use  of  a  knife,  therefore,  my  advice  is.  when  you 
use  a  knife  always  whittle  fronayou. 
Men  are  sometimes  accused  of  pride,  merely  be- 
cause their  accusers  would  be  proud  themselves  if 
they  were  in  their  places. 

A  man  in  the  light,  with  God  on  his  side,  is  in 
.the  majority  though  he  be  alone,  for  God  is 
above  all  populations  of  the  earth. 


Knowledge  is  Powef. — A  very  valuable 
UPCket-knife  was  once  dropped  into  a  twenty 
feet  well,  half  lull  of  water.  "How  shall  wo  get 
it  out?  Shall  we  have  to  draw  ihe  water  from 
the  well  ?"  Thf,  writer  proposed  to  use  a  strong 
horse-slioc  magnet,  near  by,  suspended  by  a 
cbrd.  "But  wecau't  »ee  where  to  lower  the  mag- 
net so  as  to  touch  the  knife."  "Throw  the  sun's 
rays<lowu  on  the  bottom  of  the  well  by  a  look- 
iug-glass,"  was  the  second  answer.  It  was  done, 
the  knife  render  visible  from  thj  top  of  the  well, 
the  magnet  came  into  contact,  and  the  knife 
brought  up — all  bainx  accomplished  in  a  minute 
of  time. 


Is  He  Good  or  Bad? — A  certain  character 

is  described  as  follows: 

He  is  an  old  and  experienced  man  in  vice  and 
wickedness  he  is  never  found  in  opposing  the 
workers  of  iniquity  he  takes  great  delight  in  the 
downfall  of  his  neighbors  he  never  rejoices  at 
the  prosperit3r  of  his  fellow  creatures  he  is  always 
pleased  when  the  poor  are  in  distress  he  contrib- 
utes freely  to  the  promotion  of  evil'he  is  opposed 
to  the  gospel  he  lends  his  influence  to  the  Devil 
he  will  not  go  to  Heaven  he  will  go  where  he  will 
receive  a  just  recompense  of  reward. 


In  the  garden  at  the  military  hospital  at 
Chattanooga,  there  were  grown  one  thousand 
and  eighty-eight  varieties  of  flowers  last  year, 
and  lroui  these  floral  beauties  nearly  six  thou- 
sand papers  of  seeds  were  put  up  and  given 
to  the  soldiers  to  send  home. 

Not  that  which  men  do  worthily,  but  that 
which  they  do  successfully,  is  wiiat  history! 
makes  haste  to  recford. 



Don't  hug  that  stove,  oh,  youDg  man  !  We 
\  have  seen  more  warmth,  and  life,  and  animation, 
encircled  in  crinoline  and  mounted  on  a  pair  of 
skates,  than  ever  was  contained  in  all  the  stoves 
of  .Christendom.  To  be  in  proximity  with  one 
of  these- beings  on  a  cold  winter's  day  or  moon- 
light evening,  will  make  the  cheek  glow,  the  heart 
light,  and  keep  yon  warmer  than  if  enjoying  a  ride 
•'  ronnd  the  heater  "  in  June.  If  doubtful,  try  it, 
as  the  patent  medicine  venders  say,  and  we  shall 
be  believed. 

Applause  is  the  spur  of  noble  minds,  the  end 
and  aim  of  weak  ones. 

A  loquacious  female  witness,  whom  the  oppos- 
ing counsel  could  not  silence,  kept  him  at  bay 
until  he  attempted  to  browbeat  her. 


•    *    *    Since  Ulysses'  hand 
!  .'IBM  attain  the  traitors,  heaven  shall  blesg  the  land. 
Mane  now  the  kindred  of  the  unjust  shall  own, 
WVargot  the  slaughtered  brother  and  the  eon. 
WCath  tfature  day  increase  of  wealth  shall  bring, 
Jtalon  the  past  oblivion  stretch  her  wing. 
%M>az  stall  Ulysses  in  his  honors  rest, 
Wis  people  blessing,  by  his  people  blessed. 

JUCT    AI.L,  AJK    PEACE. 

The  Odyssey  of  Homer,  2ith  Hook. 

EXCELSIOR. 

Put  out  thy  talents  to  their  use— 

J.ay  nothing  by  to  rust; 
Give  vulgar  ignorance  thy  scorn, 

And  innocence  thy  trust. 
Rise  to  thy  proper  place  in  life — 

Trample  upon  all  sin, 
But  still  the  gentle  hand  hold  out 

To  help  the  wanderer  iu. 
So  live,  in  faith  and  noble  deed, 

Till  earth  returns  to  earih — 
So  live  tbat  meu  shall  mark  the  timo 

Gnve  such  a  mortal  birth. 


A  Fact  Not  Generallt  Known.— The 
origin  of  the  portrait  lor  the  Gcddess  of  Liberty 
upon  our  coins  is  of  great  interest.  Mr  Spencer, 
the  inventor  of  Spencer's   lathe,  used 


The  largest  circulation  ever  attained  by  an 
American  book  was  tbat  of  "Uucle  Toni's 
Cabin,"  of  which  nearly  400,000  copies  have  been 


by  the 

I  American  Bank-note  company,  was  the  artist 
who  cut  the  first  die  for  our  American  coin.    He  >  gold.    School  books,  however,  must  be  excepted, 

;  cut  an  exact  medallion  of  Mrs  Washington,  the  •  for.  of  "Webster's  Spelling  Book,"  no  less  than 
wife  of  Gen  Washington,  and  the  first  few  coins  j  35J00,000  copies  have  been  sold— the  largest  run 
were  struck  with  her  portrait.  When  Gen  Wash- 
ington saw  them  he  was  displeased,  and  request- 
ed the  figure  to  be  removed.      Mr  Spencer  alter- 
ed the  features  a  little,  and  putting  a  cap  upon  its 

If  future 


35J0( 
Ojnfaii 


ained  anywhere  by  any  book. 


(  head  called  it  the  Goddess  of  Liberty, 
artists  will  bear  this  in  mind,  they  will  always 
take  Mrs  Washington's  portrait  for  their  guide 
_when_wishingto  produce  the  goddess. 

There  is  at  the  "Gothic  Arcade"  a  niche  called 
the  "Saat  of  the  Mummy,"  where  was  found 
some  years  ago  the  body  of  a  female  Indian, 
dressed  in  the  skins  of  wild  animals  and  orna- 
mented with  the  trinkets  usually  worn  by  abo- 
rigines, and  near  her  the  body  of  an  Indian  child. 
I  was  informed  that  these  mummies  were,  at  the  » 


A  miniature  locomotive  and  tender,  made  en 
tirely  of  pure  gold  and  silver,  has  been  exhibitec 
in  Woonsocket.  It  is  twenty-five  inches  in  length 
■  The  base  on  which  it  stands  contains  a  music 
box,  which,  being  wound  up,  carries  the  moving 
parts  of  the  engine  to  a  musical  accompani- 
ment. It  is  said  to  be  a  beautiful  specimen  of 
workmanship,  and  contains  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars  worth  of  the  precious  metals,  and  was 
made  for  presentation  to  George  W.  Perry,  mas- 
ter mechanic  of  the  Philadelphia,  Wilmington 
and  Baltimore  railroad. 


.-ire 
''rffc; 


"The  summer  comes  and  the  summer  goes ; 
Wild  flowers  are  fringing  the  dusty  lanes, 
The  sparrows  go  darting  through  fragrant  rains, 
And,  all  of  a  sudden,— it  snows ! 

"Dear  heart!  our  lives  so  happily  flow, 
So  lightly  we  heed  the  flying  hours, 
We  only  know  winter  is  gone— by  the  flowers, 
We  only  know  winter  is  come— by  the  snow !" 

Pleasant     Thoughts. — The    pleasantc 
things  in  the  world  are  pleasant   thoughts,  an 
the  greatest  art  in  life  is  to   have  as  many 
them  as  possible. 

Never  buy  what  is  useless  because  it  is  cheap  ; 

As  you  sow  in  the    spriDg,  in  the  autumn  you 
reap. 

"He  that  writes, 
Or  makes  a  feast,  more  certainly  invite* 
His  judges  than  his  friends ;  there's  not  a  guest 
But  will  find  something  wanting,  or  ill  drest." 


Tim  Introduction  of  Potatoes  ikto  Ed~- 
roi'k. — A  rich  cftizjjn  of.  Berlin  proposes,  at  an 
time  they  were  found,  sent  to  the  rooms  of  the  —  expense  of  ten  or  tweljje  thousand  dollars,  to 
Antiquarian  Society  in  Worcester. 

A  correspondent' of  the  London  Builder  gives 
this  useful  information:  "About  twenty-five 
years  ago  I  was  annoyed  by  finding  the  backs  of 
several  rows  of  books,  some  in  a  book-case  having 
glazed  doors  which  were  locked,  frequently  mil- 
dewed. Wiping  them  carefully  cleaned  them 
only  for  fr short  time,  for  fresh  crops  of  mildew 
speedily*  flfeirured  them  again.  Remembering 
to  havC#eW  mv  father,  who  always  made  his 
own  ink,  finish  off  by  pouring  a  small  glass  of 


erect  a  monument  to  r-'rWds  Drake,  to  whom 
Europe  is  indebted  /or  the  introduction  of  the 
potato,  and  l^fi  petitioned  the  common  council 
of  that  cicy  to  grans  him  land  in  a  suitable  place 
for  its  construction.  The  first  potatoes  seen  in 
Europe  were  on  the  table  of  the  Great  Elector  of 
I  Brandenburg  in  Berlin,  in  1G-31.  They  had  been 
brought  over  from  Virginia  by  Francis  Drake 
himself.  The  potato  was  first  cultivated  in  Eu- 
rope at  the  Charity  Garden  in  Berlin. 


A  watch  consists  of  992  pieces  :  and  '46  .. 
SlffiKffl *  1»*5S#!3  and  probably  215  persons  are  employed  in  making 
the  backs  and  covers  of  the  books  with  spirits  of  one  ot  these  machines. 

The    dials  of ,  the    English   Parliament 
clocks    are  twenty-two    feet  in    diameter, 


wine,  usin<>-  as  a  brush  the  feather  of  a  goose- 
quill.  I  frequently  saw  the  books  during  the 
next  five  years,  and  I  have  occasionally  seen 
them  since,  and  there  has  not,  so  far  as  I  am 
aware,  been  a  single  spot  of  mildew  on  them 
since  the  spirits  of  wine  were  applied.  I  have 
used  spirits  of  wine  to  prevent  mildew  with 
equally  good  effect  in  other  cases.  J. 


Among  the  beasts 
Of  prey,  not  one  so  vile  as  favor'd  mmi. 
Beasts  kill  for  food;   man  kills  fox  fame  !  taken,  and  if  she  loses  her  count,  she   has  to 

-*  --■- .....ii  i. .,-  ...I.,,-,,  ti,0  ;„   before 


Widow  'Hannah  Cooper  of  Hamden,  over 
70  years  old  and  entirely  blind,  has  knit  dur-c 
ing  the  past  three  years  eight g  eight-pairs  of 
stockings  ior  our  soldiers,  which  she  has  giv- 
en without  any  compensation  whatever.  She 
can  only  knit  oy  counting  every  stitch  as  it  is 


05 

h 

O 

c/) 

■ 

< 


the  well  known  verses  said  to 
have  been  found  in  his  Bible  in  the  Gate-house 
at  Westminster,  entitled ';Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
the  Night  before  his  Death" : 

"Even  such  is  Time,  that  takes  on  trust 
Our  youth,  our  joys,  our  all  we  have, 
And  pays  us  with  but  age  and  dust; 
Who  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave, 
When  we  have  wandered  all  our  ways, 
Shuts  up  the  story  .of  our  days! 
But  from,  this  earth,  this  grave,  this  dust, 
My  God  shall  raise  me  up,  I  trust  !'* 


'  'Nothing  is  lost ;  the  drop  of  dew 

That  trembles  on  the  leaf  or  flower, 
Is  but  exhaled,  to  fall  anew 

In  Summer's  thunder  shower; 
Perchance  to  shine  within  the  bow 

That  fronts  the  sun  at  fall  of  day — 
Perchance  to  sparkle  in'  the  flow 

Of  fountain  far  away. 
"So  our  deeds,  for  good  or  ill, 

They  have  their  power,  scarce  understood; 
Then  let  us  use  our  better  will 

To  make  them  rife  with  good. 
Like  circles  on  a  lake  they  go, 

King  within  ring,  and  never  stay. 
Oh !  that  our  deeds  were  fashioned  so 

That  they  might  bless  away  I" 

"Give  me  a  calm  and  thankful  heart, 

From  every  murmur  free  ; 
The  blessings  of  thy  grace  impart, 
And  make  me  live,  to  thee* 
THK  FATHERHOOD  OF  GOD. 

Wit 


ask  some  one  to  tell  her  where  she  is 
she  can  continue  her  work, 

Hubert  llolcomb  of  New  Hartford  lost  his 
voice  while  serving  as  a  soldier  in  North  Car- 
olina, April  5,  1862,  and  from  that  time  until 
last  Sunday  has  not  been  able  to  speak  a 
word.  Sunday  morning  a  horse  kicked  him, 
winch  injured  his  feelings  so  much  that  he  - 
couldn't  help  expressing  himself,  and  since 
that  time  he  has  been  abb?  to  talk  as  well  as 
anybody. .       ' 


Birth  and  Death  Rate  op  the  World.— 

Statisticians  have  calculated  that  if  the  popula- 
tion of  the  world  amounts  to  between  1,200,000,- 
000  and  1,300,000,000  persons,  the  number  of 
deaths  in  a  year  would  be  about  32,000,000.  As- 
suming the  correctness  of  this  calculation,  the  I  man)  countries. 
deaths  each  day  would  be  nearly  88,000;  3,600 
per  hour,  60  per  minute,  and  thus  every  second 
would  carry  into  eternity  one  human  life  from 
one  parfrof  the  world  to  another.  But  rep  rod  uc- 
lerts  its  superior  power;  for,  on  calculat- 
ing the  probable  annual  births  on  the  globe,  tho 
result  shows  that  whereas  60  persons  die  per 
mii)ute,.70  children  arc  born,  and  thus  the  in- 
crease of  the  population  is  kept  up.— London 
Lancet. 


the  largest  in  the  world.  Every  half  min- 
ute the  point  of  the  minute  hand  moves 
nearly  seven  inches. 

Spices.— Q.  What  are  nutmegs  ? 

A.  The  nutmeg  is  the  kernel  of  a  large 
handsome  nut  like  a  walnut.  It  is  enclosed  in 
the  same  sort  of  spongy  coat  as  the  walnut ; 
the  husk  opens  at  one  end  when  the  fruit  is 
ripe. 

Q.  What  is  mace  ? 

A.  That  which  is  found  between   the  coat  \ 
of  the  nutmeg  and  the  kernel. 

Q.  What  is  cinnamon? 

A.  The  dried  bark  of  a  tree  which  grows  in 
the  East  Indies  and  the  island  of  Ceylon. 

Q.   What  is  pepper:' 

A.  The  prodjke  0t'  a  creeping  plant  wind* 
grows  iu  Java,  Sumatra  and  Malacca. 

Q.  What  is  ginger  ? 

A.  The  root  of  a  plant  which  grows  in  the 
East  Indies. 

Q.  What  are  cloves? 

A.  The  flower  buds  of  a  tree  which  grows 
in  Malacca. 

Q.  What  are  carraway  seeds? 

A.  The   seeds  of  a  plant  growing  wild  in 


A  Rake  Coin.— A  gunflonun  In  this  town  has 
in  his  possession  a  curious  silver  piece.     1 


THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  KAN. 


Proportion  of  Males  and  Females  in  the 
United  States.— According  to  the  D.  S.  census 
of  1860  there  were  at  that  time  about  730,000  more 
males  than  females  in  the  United  States,  a  fact  un- 
precedented in  the  census  of  any  other  civilized 
nation.  In  most  of  the  older  States  there  is  an 
excess  of  fema'es;  in  Massachusetts,  37,600  more 
females  than  males,  while  in  Illinois  there  is  an 

*  excess  of  92,000  males ;  in  Michigan,  40,000  excess 

ofmalcsjin  Texas,  86,000;  in  Wisconsin,  43,000; 

lifornia,  67,000;  and  in  Colorado  there  are  20 

rraales  to  one  female. 


size  of  an  old  fashioned  quarter,  and  bears  upon 
one  side  a  fac  simile  of  Washington,  which  is 
surrounded  by  a  wreath  and  the  words  "He  is  in 
Glory,  the  World  in  Tears."  On  the  reverse  side 
is  a  death's  head  and  cross  bones,  over  and 
.around  which  is  the  following  record: 

"H.  Feb.  n,  17.'12;  Geu.  Am.  Armies  1775." 

"Re.  1781;  Pres,  U.  8.  Am.  89.    R.  96." 

"Gen.  Am.  US  A.<*.  98." 
.     "OB.  D-5,  99." 

This  coin    lias  been  ii    the    possession   of  the 
■Hameireutlemau  over   30   years,  and  is  of  great 


TTulUt 


"II. 


He  that  good  thinketh  good  may  do, 
And  God  may  help  hiin  thereunto  ; 
For  was  never  good  work  wrought 
Without  begining  of  good  thought. 


The  Alphabet.— The   following  verse  con- 
tains all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  and  may  be 
an  exercise  for  young  children  in  tracing 
the  letters : 

"God  gives  the  grazing  ox  his  meat, 

And  quickly  hears  the  sheep's  low  cry, 
But  man,  who  tastes  Ma  finest  wheat, 
.Should  joy  to  lift  his  praises  high." 


Generosity.  It  is  better  to  be  sometimes  im- 
posed upon,  by  giving  to  the  undeserving,  than 
|  never  experience  the  pleasure  of  doing  good. 

Wealth.  The  man  who  has  an  abundance  of 
this  world's  goods,  and  does  not  find  pleasure  in 
giving  must  be  a  poor  devil. 

Bad  Taste.  Living  in  an  elegant  brown 
stone  mansion  .worth  £10,000  to  £20,000,  and  se- 
lecting cheap  meats  from  a  huckster's  wagon  in 
front  of  one's  own  door. 

Poverty  op  Soul.  Living  in  an  elegant 
mansion  worth  £10,000  to  £20,000  and  never 
giving  a  shilling  for  charitable  purposes,  and 
never  visiting  Westminster  Abbey,  as  it  involves 
a  gilt  of  a  sixpence  to  a  guide.  [Sayings  and 
Writings  of  John  Foster. 


Mary  by  the  Cio»«. 
Jews  were  wrought  to  cruel  madness ; 
Christians  fled  iu  fear  and  Badness ; 
Mary  stood  the  cross  be?Ide : 

At  Its  foot  hor  foot  she  planted, 
By  the  dreadful  eeen»  undaunted, 
Till  the  gentle  Sufferer  died. 

Poets  oft  have  sung  her  story. 
Painters  decked  her  brow  with  glory, 
Priests  her  name  have  deified. 

But  no  worship,  song  or  glory 

Touches  like  that  simple  story,— 

Mary  stood  the  cross  beside. 

And  when,  under  fierce  oppression, 
Goodness  suffers  like  transgression, 
Christ  again  is  crucified ; 

But  if  lore  be  there,  true-hearted, 
By  no  grief  or  terror  parted, 
Mary  stands  the  cross  besido. 


Knowing  the  Shepherd's  Voice.  — The 
Eastern  flocks  still  exhioit  the  beautiful  traits 
from  which  our  Lord  drew  one  of  his  most  touch- 
ing illustrations  of  true  discipleship.  Mr.  Hart- 
ley, a  missionary  in  Greece,  gives  a  curious  illus- 
tration of  the  truthfulness  of  one  of  the  touching 
images  of  our  Saviour: 

My  attention  was  called,  said  he,  to  the  words, 
"The  sheep  hear  his  voice,  and  he  callcth  his  own 
sheep  by  their  names."  I  asked  my  guide  if  it 
was  a  custom  in  Greece  to  give  names  to  sheep. 
He  replied  affirmatively,  and  assured  me  that  the 
sheep  would  come  when  the  shepherd  pronounced 
their  name.  The  next* day  I  verified  the  truth  of 
this  statement.  Passing  near  a  flock  I  asked  the 
same  question  of  the  shepherd.  He  replied, 
"Yes."  I  asked  him  to  call  one  of  his  sheep  by 
name.  He  did  so,  and  at  the  moment  he  pro- 
nounced the  name,  a  sheep  left  his  pasture  and 
f  companions  and  came  skipping  along  to  the  hand 
of  his  master,  with  marks  of  obedience  and  glad- 
ness which  I  have  never  seen  in  other  animals. 
It  is  also  true,  here,  that  the  sheep  will  not  follow 
a  stranger,  for  they  know  not  the  voice  of  stran- 
gers. The  shepherd  told  me  that  some  of  his 
flock  were  yet  savages,  and  knew  not  their  names, 
but  that,  in  the  end,  they  would  all  learn  them.' 
Those  which  had  learned  their  names  he  called 
sociable,  or  tame.  • 


SPICE  ISLANDS, 

PASSED  IN  THE  SEA  OF  READING. 


The  Large  Cities.— The  various  states  are 
now  taking  a  census.  The  following  is  a  list  of 
all  the  cities  thus  far  reported  which  have  a  ponu- 
lation  of  10,000  or  upwards :— 

Population  1865 


Boston,  Mass., 
Buffalo,  N   Y., 
Albany,  N.  Y., 
<  leveland,  O., 
Milwaukee,  Wis., 
Providence,  K.  1., 
Koclie.-ter,  JN .  Y., 
Tioy,  N.  Y., 
Lowell,  Mass., 
Worcester,  Maes.,^— 
Utica,  N.  Y., 
Springfield  Mass., 
Lawrence,  Ma;9., 
Salem,  Mass  , 
New  Bedford,  Mass., 
Covington,  Ky., 
Newport,  K.  I  , 
Fond  du  Lac,  Wis., 


192.2G4 
93,0>O 
62,815 
59,556 
55,640 
62,7s7 
51,260 
89,041 
30,757 
30,130 
23,799 
22,250 
21,699 

,  21,197 
2,,862 
20,335 
12,71.1 

n.Oii 


Gain. 
14, 862 
12,0o0 
458 
16,0i  6 
10,844 
2,121 
8,056 


5,^70 
1,270 
7,"51 
4,060 


2,181 

4,468 


Loss. 


194 
6,070 


1,055 


The  census  of  Chicago,  now  in  a  forward  state 
will  not  vary  far  from  170,000,  showing  an  in-    head  of 'Instances  of  Modern  Longevity,' 
crease  m  five  years  of  60,000,  or  55  per  cent.  Thomas    Parr    of    Whuneton     in 

-A -J-iHfiW 


Coiiia<;e  in  Eykiu'  ])av  Life.— Have 
courage  to  do  without  that  which  [you 
do  not  need,  however  much  your  eyes  may 

covet  it.  .  The  greatest  powers  are 

Have  the  courage  to  show  your  respect  ever  tho.se  which  lie  hack  of  the  little  stirs  and 

for  honesty,  in  whatever  guise'  it  appears  ;  commotions  of  nature ;    and   I  verily   believe 

and  your  contempt  for  dishonest  duplicity  that  t,ie  insensible  influences  of  good  men  are 

1  by  whomsoever  exhibited.  *   as  much  more  potent  than  what  1  have  called 

Have    the  courage    to     wear    your  old  t'ie'r  voluntary  aciive,  as  the  great  silent  potv- 

clothes  until  you  can  pay  for  new  ones.        ers  °f  greater  nature  are  of  consequence  than 

r       Have  the  courage    to  obey  your  maker,  ner  l'tl'e  disturbance  and  tumults. — Dr.  Bush-t 

at  the  risk  of  being  ridiculed  by  man.  ne^- 

Man  is  not  to  be  judged  by  flaws  aiid  imper- 
fections, but  by  the  general  tenor  of  his  life.  Hu. 

man  nature  is  weak,  and  the  general  current  of  ! 

a  life  and  not  its  momentary  incidents  is  to  be 

the  basis  of  estimate.    The  past  has  revereuceel 

superiors;  the  democratic  idea  is  a  reverance  for 

inferiors.    Honor  is  due  to  the  faithful  lowly, 

while  the  high  and  mighty  are  to  be  judged  In 

view  of  both  their  acts  and  their  opportunities. 

To  act  well  your  part  in  your  own  sphere  is  all 

that  is  required ;   and  not  to  merely  act  a  part, 

but  see  to  it  that  the  spirit  which  prompts  the 
^  act  is  noble. 

Some  people  may  think 
that  amusement  is  too  small  and  secondary  an 
object  to  be  made  a  matter  of  serious  attention  in 
a  church;  but  when  you  consider  how  large  and 
important  an  element  it  makes  in  the  life  of  man, 
how  legitimate  and  God-given  is  the  desire  for 
amusement,  and  how  dark  and  dreary  would  life 
seem  if  this  element  were  entirely  taken  from  it, 
you  can  see  that  nothing  is  more  disastrous  to 
^tlie  claims  and  influence  of  the  church,  especially 
over  the  young,  than  to  divorce  itself  entirely 
from  the  amusements  of  its  people. 

,  Dr.  Clark    in    his  commentary  on  the 
10th    verse  of  the  90    Psalm,  under  the 


Saturday  pkom  a  Scotch  Point  oe  View. 
—"No  Scotchman,"  says  the  Registrar  General 
of  the  country,  "will  begin  any  kind  of  work 
on  a  Saturday  if  he  can  possibly  avoid  it;  he 
rears  he  should  not  live  to  finish  it.  A  Scotch- 
man will  not  marry  on  a  Saturday;  he  appre- 
hends that  one  or  other  of  the  parties  would  not 
live  out  the  year,  or  that  the  marriage  would  lie 
unfruitful.  Except  when  the  last  day  of  the 
year  (alls  oa  a  Saturday  it  is  the  favorite  mar- 
rying-day  in  Scotland,  but  the  Saturday  super- 
stition prevails  over  the  luck  of  the  end  of-  the 
year."  The  detailed  report  for  1862,  just  issued 
from  the  Scotch  Registrar  General's  office,  shows 
that  full  a  twentieth  of  all  the  marriages  of  the 
year  in  Scotland  are  celebrated  on  the  31st  of 
December;  but,  if  that  be  Saturdav,  they  take 
■  ^place  on  the  thirtieth. 

Excessive  Eating.  Iaaietterto  Lord  Mur- 
ray, Sydney  S1*  >th  says: 

"  Yuu  are,  I  b«*ai\  atteod'rg  more  to  diet  tbao  here- 
tofore It  yen  «n'*H  anything  Jike  tuppitfp*  in  t&e 
t>itb  sot  of  ii»<-,  Vfu  tihouli  pav  mce  fct'eotioo  to  the 
intwr.' yen  mt  aid  drink  Did  I  e**r  tell  you  my 
Cg'cu'stioP  nbout  eatU't'  aT;0  drinking?  Hiving  u<- 
Cer'»'X('rt  Hip  weight  pf  what.  I  oil  hi'tiuoon,  I  foaog 
ti)8f.  t>«-t«>eis  t«*u  at  <i  *wvei/tv  $K«r8  of  nt>e,  I  fial  e»t- 
4>B  sod  d  auk  »o<t}-l'ur  oo*- hor*e  wagon  Io«d<  of 
nces-t  iore  tb&u   wouli  toi^p  pr^nercvd  cne 

i  »i.o  rutn  Tf  e  value  ol  «M»  ro*«8  -if  oo'iri-i'v 
tr.fif*  is  ooi>8j<f«v«>d  »o  he  wartn   £7<)00-J»t«r)iog      It  OO- 

ump  b'jurt'Pd         rhl«    it    a    frightful    c»"culat.n»a, 

tt.ifjUr>h  trnf — and  I  think  cear  Murray,  your 

■stjui  E.tea  acdiiio^al  hoists.'' 


-2 


says, 

Shorpshire,    far  outlived  the  age  of  man. 
^yg _  At  the   age  of  eighty-eight   he    married 


The  Day  Forty-Eight  Hours  ^ 
Lastweek  we  showed  that  the  first  beginning  of  his  first  w lie  by  whom  he  had  two  chi 
tin?  day  is  somewhere  between  America  and  t]ren.  At  the  aire  of  one  hundred  and 
Asia".  The  precise  locality  of  that  somewhere  .  •  f  u  ...  ■  °  .  ,  ^  .  •  »«•!. 
has  not  teen  determined.  If  the  Pacific  ocean  two  h«  lel1  '"  love  with  Catherine  Milton, 
were  thick ij  populated  with  men,  the  place  of  by  whom  he  had  an  illegitimate  child 
the  beginning  Pf  the  day  would  be  a .matter  of  and  for  which  he  did  penance  in  the 
great  consequence,  and  would  probably  be  set-  .  ,  '        t.j        / 

tied  by  statute.  The  clay  would  start  from  a  church.  At  the  age  ol  one  hundred  and 
meridian  line  extending  from  pole  to  pole,  and  twenty  he  married  a  widow  woman,  and 
the  longitude  of  this  day  line  would  be  so  accu-       ,        -.  hundred   and  thirty 

rately  fixed  that  a  man  might  stand  astride  it  w,,en  ne  J**8  onc  ^Mirm  ana  unity, 
and  realize  the  paradox  of  having  one  foot  in  could  perform  any  act  ol  husbandry. 
Monday  and  the  other  in  Tuesday.  Many  of  He  died  at  the  age  of  one  hundred  and 
the  readers  of  this  will  live  long  enough  to  hear 
this  subject  discussed  in  national  councils, 

We  propose  now  to  show  that  Monday  or  any 
ether  week  day  is  48  hours  long;  we  mean  that 
dv^ring  the  whole  of  48  hours,  Monday  is  on  the 
ecrtJi  somewhere  to  be  found.  The  Monday  of 
this  city  is  of  course  24  hours  long,  but  before 
and  after  our  Monday  there  is  Monday  in  some 
other  quarter.  When  Monday  begins  in  New 
York  there  Lave  been  tht-ee  liouwjof  Monday  in 
London,  and  for  three  hours  after  our  Monday 
ends  there  ..will  be  Monday  in  San  Francisco. 
Thus  between  these  place's  Monday  lasts  eighteen 
hours.  Now  if  the  day  line  were*  at  our  antipo- 
des, Monday  would  begin  there  12  hours  before 
ours,  and  end  12  hours  after  ours.  Thus,  tor 
t>2£  space  of  48  hours  the  earth  Is  not  rid  of  Mon- 
day. '  \ 


.lie     uit;u   ai  me  age  ui     i//n      iiuuui  tu    mni 

fifty   two.      He  had  seen  ten  Kings  .and 

Queens  of  England.     *  /      #     / 

t        *      »       "     / 


Truth  fears  nothing  but  concealment. 
The  hypocrite  is  the  deadly-nightshade  of  humanity. 

E**"rThe  greatest  man  is  he  who  chooses  the 
right  with  invincible  resolution  ;  who  resists  the 
sorest  temptations  from  within  and  without ; 
who  bears  the  heaviest  burdens  cheerfully  ;  who 
is  calmest  in  storms  and  most  fearless  under  men- 
ace and  frowns  ;  and  whose  reliance  on  truth,  on 
virtue  and  on  God  is  most  unfaltering. 


£2 
V.  J 

«  =0 


!i 

m 
P  « 

ifi     £ 
CO    Pi 

•—  -Ji 

sis 

^  S3 


Misdirected  Letters.— According  to  the 
Postmaster  General's  report,,  not  less  than  a  mil- 
lion letters  were  mailed  last  year,  without  signa- 
tures, and  misdirected,  or  so  badly  directed  that 
the  address  was  totally  unintelligible.  These  were 
destroyed.  More  than  a  million  and  a  half 
others — 1,611,686— were  restored  to  their  writers 
by  the  care  of  the  dead-letter  office.  Thus  it 
seems  that  at  least  two  and  a  half  million  of 
mistakes  were  made,  in  an  operation  which  one 
—  would  think  likely  to  enlist  the  sufficient  care  of- 
tbe  writer,  the  addressing #f  a  letter.  These 
letters  contained  nearly  $150,000  in  money,  bills 
of  exchange,  deeds,  check/,  &c,  to  the  value  of 
over  $5,000,000,  and  over  49,000  contained  photo- 
graphs,  jewelry,  &c. 

little  by  little  all  tasks  are  done; 

So  are  the  crowns  of  the  faithful  won, 

So  Is  heaven  in  our  hearts  begun. 

With  work  and  with  weeping,  with  laughter  and  play! 

Little  by  little,  the  longest  day 

And  the  longest  life  are  passing  away, 

Passing  without  return— while  so 

The  new  years  come  and  the  old  years  go. 


The  path  of  duty  is  the  only  path  ol 

happiness.  All  the  "  goodness  which  the  Lord 
hath  laid  up  for  them  that  fear  him  "  is  strewn 
along  that  path  ;  all  the  flowers,  which  he  has 
appointed  to  gladden  our  way,  grow  beside  it, 
and  wells  of  living  water  spring  up  allNalong  it ; 
while  the  way  of  selfish  inclination  leads  through 
the  wilderness  and  solitary  way ;  it  is  barren  as 
the  desert ;  owls  hoot  by  it,  and  the  wild  beast 
has  his  lair  there. — Journal  of  Missions. 

A  poetical  pen  furnishes  the  following  fanciful 
ideas:  "Insects  must  generally  lead  a  jovial  life. 
Think  what  it  must  be  to  lodge  in  a  lily!  Im- 
agine a  palace  of  ivory  or  pearl,  with  pillars  of 
silver  and  capitals  of  gold,  ail  exhaling  such  a 
perfume  as  never  arose  from  a  human  censor! 
Fancy,  again,  the  fun  of  tucking  yourself  up  for 
the  night  in  the  tokls  of  a  rose,  rocked  to  sleepj 
by  the  gentle  sigasoi  a  summer  air,  and  nothing; 
to  do  when  you  wake  but  to  wash  yourself  iu  a. 
dew  drop,  and  fall  to  and  eat  your  bedclothes.** 

i^^HBpo  Pain. — Breathe  not  a  sentiment — 
say  no  a  word — give  not  an  expression  of  the 
countenance  that  will  offend  another,  or  send 
a  thrill  of  pain  through  his  bosom.  We  are 
surrounded  by  sensitive  hearts,  which  a  word, 
a  look  even,  might  fill  to  the  brim  with  sorrow. 
If  you  are  careless  of  the  opinion  and  expres- 
sion of  others,  remember  that  they  are  differ- 
ently constituted  from  yourself,  and  never,  by 
a  word  or  sign,  cast  a  shadow  on  a  happy 
heart,  or  throw  aside  the  smiles  of  joy  that 
love  to  linger  on  a  pleasant  countenance. 


In  this  world,  you  know  things  are  going  back- 
ward when  they  are  going  forward.  For  instance, 
If  you  take  a  wheel,  and  roll  it,  that  half  of  it 
which  is  in  front  of  the  centre  will  go  backward, 
in  order  that  the  other  half  may  go  forward.  And 
in  all  things  there  is  a  seeming  retrocession  from 
progress.  In  all  things  tnere  is  a  going  backward 
as  well  as  a  going  forward.  To  sleep  is  as  impor- 
tant as  to  be  wide  awake.  Sleep  is  food  for  wak- 
ing hours.  And  many  defeats  are  good  for  men, 
and  good  for  the  causes  in  which  they  work.  We 
are  not  at  liberty,  therefore,  to  j«dge  of  the  condi- 
tion of  Christ's  work  by  that  fragment  of  it  in 
which  we  are  engaged  and  most  interested. 


2  ^ 
ogo 

fie 


Lace  'and  Feathers.— Dr.  Franklin  wrote 
thus  to  his  daughter  when  she  asked  him,  while 
in  France,  to  send  her  some  French  finery:  "I 
send  all  the  articles  you  desire  that  arc  useful 
and  necessary,  and  omitthe  rest;  for  as  you  say 
you  should  'have  great  pride  in  wearing  anj:- 
thing  I  send,  and  showing  it  as  your  father's 
taste/  I  must  avoid  giving  you  an  opportunity 
of  doing  that  with  erther  lace  or  feathers.  If 
you  wear  your  cambric  ruffles  as  I  do,  and  take 
care  not  to  mend  the  holes,  they  will  come  in 
time  to  be  lace;  and  feathers,  ray  dear  girl,  may 
be  had  in  America  from  every  cock's  tail." 


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.08  LIEUTE^T  GENERAL  AT  THE 


General  Grant's  Character.  Major  E. 
DOsbor^  formerly  of  Rochester,  a  member 
S'SeneVGranfs "staff, .write,  to  a frgnd I  in 
answer  to  a  question  m  regard  to  Grants 
character.     He  says  :  ,,„•,•„,, 

..If  you  could  ^•^"anl^VnU- 

over  beyond  -J™*Jj  *£llml  than  a  gen- 
dren,  lookin^g  more  like  a  en  p  ^  de_ 

oral,  with  that  JJ«l  aiBr9k^Phe  drinks.    He 
scribe,  you  would  no  ■  »£  n         H         3  .    more 
rarely  ever  uses   ^oMcaUn        q^  ^ 
moderate  in  his  habits  a  spotless 

1  other  man  I  ever  saw ■;  more  P^  «n       Pman  t. 
in  his  private  character  th^mo        ^  ^ 

ever  knew,  more  brave    h™  a  *   d  and  abUi. 
iaw;  ^vith  more  power  to  con^  ^  ; 

ty  to  plan  than  any  man  1 .ever  s 
cool  to  excess  when >rt™$»™a  filing  to 

'Thave  known  y-^^r^T- 


./i 


Speech  of  PreHUlent  Lincoln  and  Gen.  ^ 


Grunt 


7/ 


Gb»  Grant's  First  Service  in  the  War. 
The  appointment  of  Col  John  S.  Loomis,  lately 
assistant  adjutant  general  of  Illinois,  as  special 
treasury  agent  in  Virginia,  arives  the  Herald  oc- 
casion to  tell  the  story  of  Gen  Grant's  first  work 
in  this  war,  as  follows  :— 

"When  the  present  lieutenant    general  very 
modestly  tendered    his  services  to  the  United 
States  government,  at  the  commencement  of  Hie 
war  in  any  capacity  in  which  the  governor  of 
T^lino  s  mi4t  think  he  could  render  himself  most 
usS  Centered  the  office  of  Col  Loo  mis  armed 
with  a  letter  of  introduction,  and  stated  that  he 
had  been  educated  at  West  Point  and  served  m 
?he  re-ular  army  fifteen  years,  but  had  resigned 
and  turned  his  attention  to  other  pursuits  latter- 
W     Now/however,  that  his  government  seemed 
Hableto  get  into  difficulty,  he  thought  it  his  duty 
to  fender  his  services.    Gov  Yates  told  him  the 
President  had  called  on  him  for  ten  regiments; 
that  he  did  not  know  experimentally  how  to  or- 
ganize them  and  put  them  into  the  field,  and 
Sat  Captain  Grant  would  render  a  great  service 
If  he  would  assist  Colonel  Loomu  m  the  organ- 
ization of  the  adjutant  generals  office  of  the 
state.  The  captain  went  at  once  to  work.and  abso- 
lutely with  a  pen  ruled  the  first  blanks  used  in  that 
office.    Under  his  guidance  the  Joinery  was 
atWork  in  four  days,  and  the  books  of  tto  office 
have  the  credit  of  being  the  most  perfect  in  the 
*s  country.     Grant  then   established  camps  of  in- 
struction throughout  the  state,  which  were  nu- 
merous and  of  the  most  excellent  character.   Gov 
Yates,  appreciating  his  talents,  unred   him  to  ac- 
cept the  colonelcy  of  the  most  troublesome  regi- 
ment in  the  state,  and  sent  him  to  the  field  since 
which  time  he  has  written  his  own  history  with 
his  sword." 


Mowii  Q The  president  of 

J^^J^X  P-enUrf  to  Me* 
Gen  Grant  his  commission  as  lieutenant  gen- 
end  this  aiternoou.  t 

S£rt#?SSSSi 

I         h  or  devolves    upon  you  also  a  corie- 

j^lln^esponsibili^.    ^Uie-ntry      re- 

^wStnTS^Was  follow.:^ 

Mr^ident  .-I  accept  this  comm.ssiorj 
with   gratitude  for  the  high   ^"^JtaSi  I 

country,  it  will  oe  "v       .  ,  f,  .,i  ,i.e  full 

\  hour  was  spent  in  social  conversation. 


7/ 


Gen.  Grant,  the  Victor  at  Pittsburg 
Landing.— Major  General  Grant,  who  enjoys 
the  classical  prenomen  of  Ulysses,  wbs  born 
at  Point  Pleasant,  in  Clairmont  county,  Ohm. 
April  27,  1822.  He  entered  the  West  Point 
Academy  in  his  17th  year,  and  graduated  with 
honors  in  1843.  lie  served  in  the  Mexican 
war  under  Gen.  Taylor,  at  Palo  Alto,  llesaca 
de  la  Palma,  and  Monterey,  and  was  with 
General  Scott  at  the  capture  of  Mexico,  His 
bravery  had  in  the  meantime  raised  him  from 
the  position  of  siicqnd  lieutenant  lo  that  of 
captain  in  the  fourth  infantry  of  the  regular 
army.  Leaving  the  army  in  1854,  he  settled 
in  Missouri,  but  in  1860  moved  to   Galena,  II- 

ilinois.     At  the  beginning   of  the  present  war 
be  was   appointed   colonel  of  the  twenty  first 
Illinois   volunteers,  and    on  the  27th   day  of 
last   May  promoted  to   a    brigadier    general- 
ship.    He  has   seen  active  service  since  then 
in  Missouri,  and  did  some  service  to  the  state 
by  occupying  Paducah,  and  by  stopping  com- 
municatiops  and  supplies  to  the  rtbels  by  the 
way  of  the  Tennessee  river.     When   Foote 
reduced  Fort  Henry  General  Grant's  division, 
which  had   accompanied  the-fiotilla,  marched 
over  to  invest  Fort  Donelson  ;  and  Grant  was 
the  commanding  general   by  whom  the  victo- 
ry of  Donelson  was   gained,     lie  was    made 
major    general  for   this.     There    were   after- 
wards some  rumors  against  his  character,  but 
he  has  gallantly  set  these  at  rest  by  the  deter- 
mined  and   able   conduct  of    the  battle  near 
Savannah,  where  we    had    great    interests  at 
stake,   and,    as    it   proved,    in  worthy  hands. 
Honor  to  General  Grant.— N.  Y.  Eve.  Post. 


Gen.  Grant  Assumes  Command  of  the 
Armies  of  the  United  States. 

NA8HVIU.B,  March  17.— Gen.  Grant  for- 
mally assumed  the  command  of  the  armies  of 
|  the  United  States  to-day.  The  following  is 
his  order  on  the  subject : 
*  Heauquaktkks  of  the  Armies  of  the 
United  States,  Nashville,  Tens.,  March  " 
17.  1864.— 'General  Orders  No.  20.— In  pur- 
suance of  the  following  order  ot  the  presi- 
dent : 

"Executive  Mansion,  Washington,  March 
10,  1864.— Under  the  authority  of  the  act  of 
congress  to  appoint  the  grade  of  lieutenant 
general  in  the  army,  of  Feb.  29,  1864,  Lieut. 
Gen.  Ulysses  S.  Grant,  U.  S.  A.,  is  appointed 
to  the  command  of  the  armies  of  the  United 
States.  .  Abraham  Lincoln  ;" 

I  assume  command  of  the  armies  of  the 
i  United  States.  Headquarters  will  be  in  the 
field,  and,  until  further  orders,  will  he  with 
the  army  of  the  Potomac.  There  will  be  an 
official  headquarters  in  Washington,  D.  0., 
to  which  all  official  communications  will  be 
sent  except  those  from  the  army  where  the 
headquarters  are  at  the  date  of  their  address. 
U.  S.  Grant,  Lieut.  Gen. 


ntlSlDENT     gkant. 
For  one  year  and  part  of  another  1  had  the  honor  of 
being  a  participator  in  the  councils  of  Gen  Grant's  ad- 
ministration, and  I  desire  to  testify,  and  I  believe  that 
what  I  say  hi  Massachusetts  will  be  accepted  as  fact, 
that  during  the  whole  period  in  which  I  was  in  the 
cabinet  councils  1  never  heard  any  measures  of  the  ad- 
ministration discussed  or  considered  except  with   u 
single  reference  to  the  public  interest.    T  nevel^M 
a  personal  suggestion  in  regard  to  his  infMnce  upon 
one  man  or  another  wan.  but  the  consideration  simply 
was  what  would  be  the  best  for  the  country.      And 
when  I  remember  the  simple,  clear-headed,  practical. 
modest  man,  who  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  there, 
ana  tnen  hear. him  talked  of  by  Mr  Sumner,  I   think 
Mr  Sumner  mutft  be  referring  to  somebod;. 
Judge  Hoar. 


General  Grant'*  Congratulatory  Addre.i 
to   ttie  Army. 

Washington,  June  4.— Gen.  Grant  has  is- 
sued the  following  congratulatory  address  to 
the  armies  :  ,  _ 

Soldiers  of  the  Armies  of  the  United  States  : 
Bv  v.mr  patriotic  devotion  to  your  country  in 
the  hour  i>(  danger  and  alarm,    your  magnifi- 
cent  lighting,    bravery    and   endurance,  you     y 
have  maintained  the  supremacy  of   the  Union 
and  the   constitution,    overthrown  a  1    armed 
opposition  to  the  enforcement  of  the  laws,  and 
of  the  proclamations  forever  abolishing  slave- 
ry-the  cause  and  pretext  of  the   rebellion— 
and  opened  the  way  to  the  rightful  authorities 
.  to  restore  order  and    inaugurate    peace    on  a 
permanent  and  enduring  basis  on  every   toot  . 
of  American  soil.     Your  marches,  sieges  and  | 
battles,  in  distance,   duration    resolution  and 
brilliancy  ot    results,   dim  the    lustre   of  the 
world's  past  military  achievements,   and   will 
be  the  patriot's  precedent  in  defence  of  liber- 
tv  and  right  in  all  time  to    come.     In   obedi- 
ence   to  your    country's    call    you  left  your 
homes  and  families  and  volunteered  in  its  de- 
fence     Victory  has  crowned  your  valor,  and 
secured  tde  purpose  of  your  patriotic  hearts ;  , 
ami  with  ^gratitude    of    your   countrymen 
and  the  highest  honors  a  great  and  free  nation 
can  accord,  you  will  soon  be  permitted  to  re- 
mr,.  to  your  homes  and  families,  conscious  of 
hav  o     discharged  the  highest  duty  of  Ameri- 
can citizens.     To  achieve  these    glorious tn- 
unions  and  secure  to  yourselves,   you.  tellow 
i      countrymen    and    posterity    the  b  ess.ngs of 
free  institutions,    tens    of  thousands    of  your 
gallant  comrades  have  fallen   and  sealed I   the 
priceless  legacy  with  their  lives.     I  he  gi  aves 
of  these  a  grateful  nation  bedews    with  tears 
honors  their  memories,  and  will   ever  cherish 
and  support  their  stricken  families. 

U.  S.  Grant,  Lieutenant  General. 

INTERVIEW    WITH    GEM.    GKANT. 

Visit  to  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 

From  the  New  York  Evening  Post,  5th. 
A   gentleman    of  this    city    returned  home 
this  morning  from  City  Point,  Virginia,  hav- 
ing visited  the  army  of  the   Potomac   to  dis- 
tribute supplies    tor   the  soldiers    which  had 
been  contributed  by  the  congregation  under 
his   charge  in  Thirty-seventh  street.     Afti 
performing  his  duty,  he   made   a   tourjpl 
camps  and  paid  his  respects    to   Gen.   Gi 
Of  this  interview  he  gives  the   tollowin 
teresting  account: 

"I  learned  that  the  headquarters  ot  .be 
-eeneral  were  about  a  quarter  ol  a  mile  from 
uiy  own  stopping  place,  and  immediately  re- 
paired thither.  To  the  person  whom  I  met 
at  the  entrance  I  told  my  business,  stating 
that  I  was  a  member  of  the  commute  appoint 
ed  at  the  Grant  meeting  held  in  New  \ork  r 

June.  ,      ■>•  .       i   j  . 

"•I  think   the  general  will  be  glad  to  s 
you,"  said  he;  'be  is  disengaged;  go  to  hn 
there  under  the  fly.'  . 

"1  went  at  once  and  introduced  myself  to 
him.  His  address  is  remarkable.  He  has  the 
faculty  of  putting  everybody  in  his  company 
immediately  at  ease,  and  at  the  same  time 
never  lowers  himself.  There  is  not  a  trace 
of  the  affectation  that  characterizes  a  man 
who  has  stepped  into  a  rank  which  he  feels  to 
have  added  to  his  importance;  and  is  utterly 
destitute  of  vulgar  familiarity  of  manner,  lie 
is  a  good  representative  of  republican  life  in 
this  country!"^  ftrea  man  may  take  the  place 
which  hhj  taste    and   ability   itidicaie, 

and  yet  be  'a  D    Q  lor  a'  that.' 

"As  soon  as  salutations  had  been  ex- 
changed I  opened  my  business,  referring  to 
the  great  meeting  held  in  Union  Square  in 
June"  where  I  had  the  honor  ot  speaking,  as 
well  as  of  signing  the  address  which  had  been 
prepared  and  transmitted  to  him  by  the  na- 
tional committee. 

•'  The  sentiment  of  that  meeting,  general, 
I  remarked,  'was  to  uphold  the  Union  cause 
and  Gen.  Grant,  even  though  we  that  same 
day  had  heard  of  a  repulse.' 

••  -There  is  no  danger  of  a  permanent 
pulse,'  he  answered.  Though  seemingly  we 
are  taking  a  great  deal  ot  time,  yet  we  are 
using  up  the  rebel  army  faster  than  it  can  be 
replenished,  it  will  take  more  time,  but  I 
am  fully  confident  of  the  result.' 

"  'General,'  I  remarked,  'the  people  of 
New  \'.>rk  now  feci  that  there  is  one  at  the 
head  of  our  armies  in  whom  they  can  re- 
pose the  tullest  confidence.' 

"'Yes,'  be  interrupted,  'there  is  a  man  in 
I  the  west  in  whom  they  can  repose  the  utmost 
confidence,  Gen.  Sherman,  lie  is  an  able, 
upright,  honorable,  unambitious  man.  He 
lost  another  one  of  like  character  a  tew  days 
Ucr,-.  Hon    McPhefRon  ' 


nt- 
;  in 

- 


How  Ci<cii.  Grant    Received    ihc  News  of 
hi»   Election. 

A  dispatch  to  the  Tribune  from  Galena  says: 
"Alter  depositing  his  vote  for  congressional 
and  state  candidates,  Gen.  Grant  went  to  the 
house  of  E.  B.  Washburnc.  where  arrangements 
had  been  made  to  receive  the  telesxapb  returns. 
The  first  report  was  horn  J.  G.  Blaine — 'Maine 
pledged  30,000  majority,  and  she  has  kept  her 
faith  *  The  next  announcement  was  received 
trotn  Wtr..  E.  Chandler,  that  New  Hampshire 
had  gone  republican  by  at  least  5000  majority. 
Soon  reports  came  in  thick  and  fast  from  all 
parts  of  the  country,  but  as  yet  they  are  varying. 
Many  of  the  friends  of  Gen.  Grant  came  in, 
anxious  to  hear  the  news.  Much  sport  v/as 
made  by  the^eneral,  who  had  written  out  an  es- 
timate of  the  majorities  for  either  candidates  in 
the  different  s:ates  several  days  before.  This  he 
allowed  no  oue  to  see  except  as  each  state  was 
compared  with  his  estimate,  and  in  nearly  every 
case  he  proved  a  prophet.  The  two  states  first 
named  gave  exactly  the  majorities  he  had  pre- 
dicted, and  the  presidential  candidate  seemed 
much  more  pleased  at  his  political  sagacity  than 
at  his  success.  Indeed,  during  the  evening  he 
manifested  neither  anxiety  nor  elation,  while 
every  one  else  was  excited  as  the  returns  came 
in.  The 'inevitable  cigar7  was  as  indiepensabic 
as  ever,  and  the  calm  which  he  had  displayed  at 
Vicksbnrg  and  at  Appomattox  was  as  conspicu- 
ous as  if  he  had  still  becu  at  the  head  of  a  mil- 
lion soldiers. 

"Galena,  which  had  almost  always  been  strong- 
ly democratic,  and  had  given  McClellan  a  ma- 
jority of  120  in  1864,  was  announced  as  having 
gone  for  Grant  by  a  majority  of  nine,  at  the  very 
fjnumeut  when  dispatches  came  in  proclaiming  a 
republican  gain  in  Seymour's  own  Deerfield. 
When  Connecticut  was  certain  for  the  Union,  the 
whole  room,  Grant  only  excepted,  applauded, 
but  soon  the  general  was  doomed  to  a  disap- 
pointment. He  had  calculated  on  53,000  ma- 
jority in  Massachusetts,  but  the  old  Bay  State  was 
announced  as  giving  him  75,000  majority,  and 
be  acknowledged  the  error  in  his  calculations. 
As  the  evening  wore  away,  the  success  ot  tne 
republicans  in  Pennsylvania,  Ohio  and  Indiana 
becime  sure.  Messages  from  Grow  and  Colfax 
declared  that  all  doubt  about  these  states  was 
past.  Every  New  Eugland  state  was  now  cer- 
tain. 

•'Michigan  and  California  came  into  line,  the 
Pacific  coast  responding  to  the  Atlantic,  and  the 
Lakis,  and  West  Virginia,  with  an  unexpectedly 
large  majority,  took  her  place,  while  Nevada  and 
Nebraska  reached  across  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
Bailing  the  AHegbanies.  Bands  of  music  sa- 
luted the  victor  from  th.  streets;  fireworks  ilium 
'mated  the  neighborhood,  and  cannon  announced 
the  peaceful  victory  oi  Grant.  But  Grant  was 
st ill  as  calm  and  imperturbable  as  ever.  His  ad- 
herents were  elated,  but  his  cquinamity  was  un- 
disturbed. At  length  word  was  brought  that 
North  Carolina  was  loyal  once  more,  the  first 
southern  state  that  had  voted  since  1860.  The 
room  was  crowded  with  congressmen,  judges, 
town  and  country  politicians,  army  officers,  re 
porters,  all  apparently  more  eager  than  the  man 
on  whose  account  they  had  gathered. 

"While  they  compared  the  returns  and  linger- 
ed to  receive  moie,  a  despatch  arrived  from  Pe- 
troleum V.  Nasby,  who  forwarded  his  resigna-. 
tion  as  postmaster,  and  announced  that  he  had 
gone  into  the  grocery  business.  After  this  the 
torrent  of  news  and  congratulations  was  inces- 
sant, interrupted  only  by  the  comments  of  the 
little  partv,  but  more  than  the  requisite  number 
of  electoral  votes  was  now  secured,  and  by  de- 
grees the  citizens  dropped  away,  and  a  little  af- 
ter midnight  the  President  elect  of  the  Urn  led 
States  retired  from  the  scene  of  his  late  triumph 
as  modestly  as  he  had  left  the  little  house  at  Ap- 
pomattox, where  four  years  ago  he  received  the 
previous  surrender  of  the  enemies  of  his  coun- 
try-"       ^ 

A   dispatch   to  the  Sunday  Herald   says   that 
the  collector  of  customs  of  the   port  of  George- 
town recently  received   a  magnificent   collection 
of  solid   silver  articles    intended  as    presents  for 
President   Grant,    General    Sherman,  ex-Secre- 
tary Seward,  and  Mrs  Lincoln.     They  were  sent 
to    this   country    from    Mexico    in    behalf  of  a  , 
modest   Mexican  who  refused   to  have  his  name 
made  kmown.and  who  said  that  in  his  transport  L 
of  delight    at   the    abolition    of  slavery   he  was  > 
prompted  to  prepare  these  little  tokens  for  some 
of    the   principal   actors   in     that   great   work. 
President  Grant  receives  a   silver  coffee  set  off 
thirtv-six  pieces,  and  some  dressed  leopard  skins  ; 
General    Sherman    an    egg-boiler    and    holder. 
For  ex-Secretary  Sewasd    there  is   an   inkstand 
and     penholder \     most    ingeniously   contrived,' 
besides  a  call-bell.     Mrs  Lincoln's  portion  of  the 
lot  is   a  heavy  card   basket.      Some   idea   may 
be  formed  of  "the  valve  of  these  gifts   from   the 
fact  that   the   duty   on   President   Grant's   was 
$748,  on  General  Sherman's  $164. 


What  Gen  Grant  Says.— The  general's 
neighbors  at  Galena  called  on  him,  on  Wednes- 
day night,  with  their  congratulations,  and  he 
responded  with  this  very  long  speech— for  him : 

Friends  aud  fellow-citizens  of  Galena :  I  thank 
you  for  this  additional  mark  of  your  kindness. 
Sufficient,  I  suppose,  has  now  been  heard  of  the 
result  of  the  late  election  to  show  upon  whom  it 
has  fallen  to  administer  the  affairs  of  the  nation 
for  the  next  four  years.  I  suppose  it  is  no  ego- 
tism in  me  to  say  that  the  choice  has  fallen  on 
me.  The  responsibilities  of  the  position  I  feel, 
but  accept  them  without  fear,  if  I  can  have  the 
same  support  which  has  been  given  me  thus  far. 
I  thank  you  and  all  others  who  have  fought  to- 
gether in  this  contest — a  contest  in  which  you 
are  all  interested  personally  as  much  as,  and 
perhaps  more,  than  I  am.  I  now  take  occasion 
to  bid  you  good-by,  as  I  leave  here  to-day  for 
Washington,  and  shall  probably  see  but  few  of 
you  again  for  some  years  to  come,  although  it 
would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  make  an  annual 
pilgrimage  to  a  place  where  I  have  enjoyed  my- 
self so  much  as  I  have  here  during  the  past  few 
months. 

And  this  is  what  he  telegraphs  to  Washington 
in  response  to  the  plans  for  a  grand  reception  on 
his  arrival  there : — 

I  will  make  no  formal  reply,  but  I  wish  you 
would  say  to  the  gentlemen  in  charge  of  the 
movement,  that  I  would  much  prefer  returning 
quietly  to  my  home,  without  demonstration.  I 
appreciate  their  motives  and  will  take  the  will 
for  the  deed.  I  do  not  know,  either,  what  day 
I  will  be  home.  I  leave  Galena,  on  Thursday 
evening,  and  may  not  stop  on  the  way. 


How  to  Obtain  Information  from  Gen. 
Grant.  A  gentleman  recently  from  the  fron| 
tells  the  following  good  story  of  Generic 
<H  Grant :  A  visitor  to  the  army  called  upon  him 
one  morning,  and  found  the  General  sitting  in 
his  tent,  smoking  and  talking  to  one  of  his 
staff  officers.  The  stranger  approached  the 
chieftain  and  inquired  of  him  as  follows: 
"General,  if  you  Hank  Lee  and  get  between 
him  and  Richmond,  will  you  not  uncover 
Washington  and  leave  it  a  prey  to  the 
enemy  ?" 

-  General  Grant,  discharging  a  cloud  of  smoke 
with  a  "silver   lining,"  from   his  mouth,  in- 
differently replied,  "Yes,  I  reckon  so." 
&      Stranger  encouraged  by  the   reply  he   thus 
received,  propounded  question  number  two  : 

"General,  do  you  not  think  Lee  can  detach 
sufficient  force  from  his  army  to  reinforce 
Beauregard  and  overwhelm  Butler  ?" 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  replied  the  General. 

Stranger,  becoming  fortified  by  his  success, 
propounded  question  number  three,  as  fol- 
lows : — 

"General,  is  there  not  danger  that  Johnston 
may  come  up  and  reinforce  Lee,  so  that  the 
latter  will  swing  around  and  cut  your  com- 
munications and  seize  your  supplies  ?" 

"Very  likely,"  was  the  cool  reply  of  the 
General,  as  he  knocked  the  ashes  from  the  end 
of  his  cigar  with  his  little  finger." 

Stranger  horrified  at  the  awful  fate  about  to 
befall  General  Grant  and  the  army,  made  his 
exit  and  hastened  to  Washington  to  communi- 
cate the  "news."     We  give  him  the  benefit  of 
our  circulation,    and  recommend   him  to    the 
merciful   treatment  of  the   Committee  on    the 
Conduct  of  the  War. —  Washington  Republican. 
His  unvaried  course'of  success  through  fonr  years 
ol  warfare  shows  that  he  is  entitled  to  be  ranked 
in  the  category  of  generals  who  never  lost  a  cam- 
paign or  a  battle,  and  the  easy  simplicity  with 
which  be  did  the   most  extraordinary   things, 
points  strongly  to  the  possession  ot  remarkable 
genius  for  war."         


V 


the  new  cabinet. 
The  Senate,  in  executive  session,  received  and  Im- 
mediately Qoufirmed  the  following  nominations  by 
President  Grant  for  the  officers  of  his  Cabinet : 

For  .Secretary  of  State,  Eliihj  B.  Wabhbuene,  of 
Illinois. 

For  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  Alexandee  T.  Stew- 
art, of  New  York. 

For  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  Adolph  E.  Boeib,  of 
Pennsylvania. 
For  Secretary  of  the  Interior,  Jacob  D.  Cox,  of  Ohio. 
For  Postmaster-General,  John  A.  J.  Ceesswell,  of 
Maryland. 

For  Attorney-General,  E.  Rookwood  Hoab,  of  Mas- 
sachusetts. ^  _  ___^ 

President  Grant  was  requested  to  contrib- 
ute a  centennial  message  to  the  Philadelphia 
Sunday  School  Times,  and  he  sent  the  fol- 
lowing: "Your  favor  of  yesterday,  asking  a 
message  from  me  to  the  children  and  youth 
of  the  United  States,  to  accompany  vour 
s  {^centennial  number,  is  this  moment  received. 
*    My  advice  to  Sunday  schools,  no  matter  what 
ieir  denomination,  is:    "Hold  fast   to   the 
V -Bible  as  the  sheet  anchor  of  your  liberties; 
->\vrite  its  precepts  in  your  hearts,  and  prac- 
tice them  m  your  lives.     To  the  influence  of 
.  'ol:  are  we  indebted  for  all  ih j  progress 
made  in 'rue  civilization,  and    to    this    wo 
must  look  as  our  guide  in  the  future.  'Right-  « 
eousness  exaltetn  a  nation;  but  sin  is  a  re- 
proach  to  any  people.'" 


The  Serenade  to  C3cn  Grant. 

Gen  Grant  was  serenaded,  Friday  evening,  and 
after  the  band  had  played  "Hail  to  the  chief," 
calls  were  made  for  Grant,  when  he  appeared  at 
the  door  of  his  residence,  and  was  greeted  with 
prolonged  cheers.  Representative  Boutwell  of 
Massachusetts,  who  was  standing  at  his  side, 
addressed  him  in  terms  expressive  of  his  gratifi- 
cation at  his  unanimous  nomination  by  the  Chi- 
cago convention,  and  Gen  Grant  said: — 

"Gentlemen:  Being  entirely  unaccustomed  to 
public  speaking,  and  without  the  desire  to  culti- 
vate that  power  (laughter),  it  is  impwssible  for 
me  to  find  appropriate  language  to  thank  you  for 
this  demonstration.  All  that  I  can  say  is,  that 
to  whatever  position  I  may  be  called  by  your 
will,  I  shall  endeavor  to  discharge  its  "duties 
with  fidelity  and  honesty  of  purpose.  Of  my 
rectitude  in  the  peformance  of  public  duties,  you 
will  have  to  judge  for  yourselves  by  my  record 
before  you." 

Three  cheers  were  given  for  Gen  Grant,  and 
hundreds  of  the  crowd  entered  the  house  and 
congratulated  the  general. 

Speaker  Colfax's  Eloquent  Response. 
The  procession  then  moved  to  the  residence  of 
Speaker  Colfax,  and  calls  having  been  made  for 
him,  he  appeared  at  the  door  of  his  residence  in 
company  with   Representative   Pike  of  Maine, 
who,  in  a  few  remarks,  introduced  Mr  Colfax. 
The  latter  said :  "My  friends,  I  thank  you  with 
all  the  emotions  of  a  grateful  heart  for  this  flat- 
tering manifestation  of  your  confidence  and  re- 
gard.     I  congratulate  you  on    the  auspicious 
opening  of  the  eventful  campaign  on  which  wc 
are  entering.    In  the  Chicago  convention,  repre- 
ing     the     entire     continental     area     of    the 
republic,   every    state,   every    territory,    every 
district    and    every   delegate,    from    ocean    to 
ocean,  declared  that  their  first  and  only  choice 
for  president  was  Ulysses  S.  Grant.    (Great  ap- 
plause).   Brave,  and  yet  unassuming,  reticent, 
and  yet  when  necessary,  firm  as  the  eternal  hills, 
(applause),  with  every  thought  and  hope  and 
aspiration  for  his  country,  with  modesty  only 
equalled  by  his  merits,  it  is  not  extravagant  for 
me  to  say  that  he  is,  to-day,  of  all  other  men  in 
the  land,  "first  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  first  in 
the  hearts  of  his  countrymen."  (Great  applause). 
His  name  is  the  very  synonym  of  victory,  and  he 
will  lead  the  Union  hosts  to  triumph  at  the  polls, 
as  he  led    the   Union   armies   to   triumph   in 
the  field.      But  greater  even  than  the  conqueror 
of  Vicksburg  and  the  destroyer  of  the  rebellion, 
is  the  glorious  inspiration  of  our  noble  principles, 
animated  by  the  sublime  truths  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence.     Our  banner  bears  an  in- 
scription more  magnetic  than  the  names  of  its 
standard-bearers,  which  the  whole  world  can  see 
as  it  floats  to  the  breeze — "Liberty  and  loyalty, 
justice  and  public  safety."     Defying  all  preju- 
dices, we  are  for  uplifting  the  lowly  and  protect- 
ing the  oppressed.  History  records,  to  the  immor- 
tal honor  of  our  organization,  that  it  saved  the  na- 
tion and  emancipated  a  race.  We  struck  the  fetter 
from  the  limb  of  the  slave  and  lifted  millions  in- 
to the  glorious  sunlight  of  liberty ;  we  placed  the 
emancipated  slave  upon  his  feet  as  a  man  and  put 
into  his  right  hand  the  ballot  to  protect  his  man- 
hood and  his  rights.    We  staked  our  political  ex- 
istence on  the  reconstruction  of  the  revolted 
states  on  the  sure  and  eternal  corner  stcne  of 
loyalty,  and  we  shall  triumph.    I  know  there  is 
no  holiday  contest  before  us,  but  with  energy 
and     zeal,     with     principles      that     humani- 
ty  will    approve,    and    that     I    believe    God 
will    bless,    we  shall    go    through  the  contest, 
conquering  and  to  conquer,  and  on  the  fourth 
day  of  March  next  the  people's  champion  will  be 
borne  by  the    people's  votes  to  yonder  White 
House,  that  I  regret  to  say  is  now  dishonored  by 
its  unworthy  occupant.    Then,  with  peace  and 
confidence,  we  may  expect  our  beloved  country 
to  enter  upon  a  career  of  prosperity  which  shall 
eclipse  the  most  brilliant  annals  of  our  past.    I 
bid  you  God  speed  in  this  work,  and  now,  good 
night. 

Lee's  Surrender.  A  Washington  corres- 
pondent of  the  Boston  Advertiser  relates  these 
incidents,  which  though  not  new,  as  to  the  ma- 
terial facts,  will  serve  as  a  good  sample  of  con- 
densed history : 

Mr  Clark  Mills  visited  General    Grant   lately 
for  the  purpose  of  getting  from  him  an  authentic 
account  of  the  particulars  attending  the   surren- 
der of  General  Lee,  to  aid  him   in  his  proposed 
work  of  representation  of  the  event  in  has  relief 
for  his  monument.     On  this  point  the  President 
said  : — "Lee   came  in  with  a  flag  of  truce  to  see 
on  what  terms  I  would  receive  his  surrender,  I 
stated  the  terms,  and   Lee   said:  'Please  reduce 
that  to  writing.'     I  took  some    manifold    paper 
and  made  several   copies,    and    handed  one   to 
him  saying  :    'There  I  believe  that  is  about  as  I 
talked.'     Lee  read  it,  signed  it,  and  then  passed 
it  back  to  me,  and  I  signed    it.     The   manifold 
copies  were  then  distributed  to  the  several  gen- 
erals.    The*transaction  took  place   in    front   of 
my  tent,  under  the  tree  with  a   little   pine   table 
between  us."     To  the  remark  of  Mr  Mills  that 
he  had  seen  a  picture  representing  the  surrender 
as  having  taken  place  in  a  room  with  a  carpeted 
floor,  and  in  the   midst  of  staff  officers   of  both 
armies,  General  Grant  replied  that  "that  picture 
was  got  up  to   show   off  the   aids."     The  real 
surrender  took  place  as  above  stated.  ! 


Speeches  of  Gen.  Grant.— We  doubt  if: 
anybody  ever  beard  or  ever  will  bear  General 
Grant  -make  a   fcpeech."     He  is   not  one  of 
tbat  kiud;   but  bis  deeds  speak  for  him.     For  /\ 
some  days  past  be  bus  been  in  St.  Louis  on  a 
Vh.il  to  a    sick    child,  and    though    frequently  / 
bard  pressed  by  the   people  for  a   speech,  he 
invariably    bows    bis    acknowledgments,    and 
apolofftea  for  his  reticence.     On  Friday  eve- 
ning ttie  general  was  honored  by  the  enthusi- 
astic populace  with  a  serenade.     His    appear- 
ance  on  the  balcony  was  greeted  with  the  most 
flattering  cheers.     In   response  to  calls    for  a 
speech,  be  took  off  his  bat,  and  amid  profound  ^ 
silence  said  : — 

"Gentlemen:     I  thank  you  for  this  honor.  / 
I  can  not  make  a  speech.      It  is    something  I  ^ 
have  never  done,  and  never  intend  to  do,  and 
\  beg  you  will  excuse  me." 

Loud  cheers  followed  this  brief  address,  at 
the  conclusion  of  which  the  general  replaced  o 
his  bat,  took  a  cigar  from,  his  pocket,  lit  it, 
and  stood  on  the  balcony  in  the  presence  of 
the  crowd,  purling  bis  Havana,  and  watching  : 
the  rockets  as  they  ascended  and  burst  in  the 
air. 

"Speech!  speech!"  vociferated  the  multi- 
tade,  and  several  gentlemen  near  him  urged 
the  general  to  say  something  to  satisfy  the 
people,  but  lie  declined.  Judge  Lord  of  the 
land  court  appeared  very  enthusiastic,  and, 
placing  bis  band  on  Gen.  Grant's  shoulder, 
said  .— "  fell  them  you  can  fight  for  them,  but 
can't  talk  to  them— do  tell  them  that !" 

'•I  must  get  some  one    else  to   say  tbat  for  ^ 
me,"   replied  the  general;   but  the    multitude 
continuing  to  cry  out  "Speech  !    speech!"  he 
leaned    over    the    railing,   blew  a  wreath    of  \^ 
smoke  from  bis  lips,  and  said  : — 

"Gentlemen  :  Making  speeches  is  not  my 
business.  1  never  did  it  in  my  life,  and  never 
will.  1  thank  you,  however,  for  your  at- 
tendance here,"  and  then   the  general  retired. 

Subsequently  a  grand  dinner  was  given 
the  general,  and  another  effort  made  to  draw 
him  out.  While  the  president  proposed  a 
toast  to  bis  health,  U.  S.  sat  by  bis  side  se- 
renely smoking.  When  he  rose'  and  stood 
upon  the  chair  a  perfect  hurricane  of  applause 
rose  from  every  part  of  the  hall,  and  prevent- 
ed hi  in  from  speaking  till  it  had  subsided.  / 
Quiet  being  restored,  Gen.  Grant  merely  re- 
marked that  be  could  not  find  words  ade- 
quately to  return  thanks  for  the  compliment 
offered  him,  and  would  not  make  the  attempt. 


tog 


-> 


V* 


^ 


Gen.  Grant.— "Burleigh,"  the  well  known 
correspondent  of  the  Boston  Journal,  relates 
the  following  incident  in  a  recent  letter  : 

"Four  years    ago    this    very     month   Mrs. 
Grant  lived  in    her   quiet  home   in    Galena. 
Her    husband    was    Mr.    Grant,    the    leather 
dealer,  a  plain,  modest,  reliable  man,  without 
much  apparent  force,  who  attracted  very  little 
attention  anyway.      The  war  bad  commenced. 
The   flag  had  been    shot  away   from  Sumter, 
and  shot  out  of  a  rebel  cannon  at   MempTTis. 
One  morning  Mr.  Grant  called  on  Congress- 
man Wasbburne,  who  resides  in  Galena.    He 
told  Mr.  W.  'that  be  did  not    feel  right— tbat 
he  could  nor  sleep  nights,  that  he  felt  that  he    ^, 
was   not  doing  bis  duty."     Wasbburne  asked 
him  what  was  the  matter.    Mr.  Grant  replied, 
'I  am  doing  nothing  for  my  country.     1  have 
been  educated   at  the    nation's    expense;  but 
here  I  am  at   home  doing    nothing.     I  don't 
know   what   to    do.     I  am    no    politician.     I 
don't  seem  to  be  wanted  anywhere,  yet  I  feel 
as  if  I  was  fit  for  something  if  I  "could  only 
find    my  place.'     Mr.  Wasbburne  invited  bis 
neighbor    to    accompany    him   to    Springfield 
where  an    important    consultation   was  to    be 
held  at  the   request  of  Gov.  Yates.     On  the 
morning  of  the  fourth  day  Gen.  Grant  called 
at  Mr.  W'ashbume's  rooms,  and  said  to  him — 
'Nobody  knows  me  here — there  is  nothing  tor 
me  to  do — I    am    going   home.'     'Hold  on  a 
day  longer,'  said  Wasbburne.'     The  next  day 
an  important  discussion  was  held  in  the  coun- 
cil  chamber.     At  Mr.    Washburne's    request 
Gen.  Grant  was  called  in.     He  held  an  inter- 
view with  the  state  authorities  for   thirty  min- 
utes and  then  went  out.      As  the  door  closed, 
Gov.  Yates  cried  out,  'G<  od  God,  Washburne, 
who  is  this  man?     I  have  learned  more  about 
troops    in    these    thirty    minutes    than  I  ever 
knew    in    all  my  life.     All  I    tan  do  for  him 
n(,w  is  to  put  him  on  my  stall. '  tffdU  go  home 
and  raise  a  regiment  and  I'll  commission  him 
as  colonel.'     The  thing  was  done.     The   rest 
of  the  story  the  world  knows  by  heart." 


Humorous  Anecdote  of   Gen.   Grant.- 
A  Washington  correspondent  of  the  New  York 
Herald  says  tbat  soon  alter  Gen.  Grant's  return 
from  Galena  to  the  Capital,  a   southern   geutle 
man  not  long  iu  the  city,  happened    to  pass  by 
the  stables  of  the  President  elect,  and   having  a 
curiosity  to  look  in,  faced    toward  the  place  and 
entered.    A  plain  looking  little  man  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  was  sitting  on  an  inverted  "Vater  hucKet, 
quietly  smoking  a  cigar.  To  this  plain  little  man 
wont  the  inquisitive  gentleman,  when  the  follow- 
ing conversation  took  place: 
"Good  day  to  you,"  said  the  gentleman 
'  Good  day,"  responded  the  plain  little  smoker. 
"This  Grant's  stable?" 
"This  is  his  stable." 

"Any  objection  to  looking  at  Hiram  Ulysses' 
horse  flesh  ?" 
"Not  a  bit;  qu'te  welcome  to  look  sir." 
"Heard  so  much  about  the  General's  fast 
beasts  ihat  I  thought  1  would  like  to  view  them. 
By  Jovel  this  is  a  fine  animal,  and  no  mistake 
(looking  at  one  ot  them).  Grant  is  very  fond  of 
his  horses,  isn't  he?" 

"Yes,  he  is  rather  given  that  way,"  answered 
the  little  smoker,  with  an  unaccountable  twina.le 
in  bis  eye. 

"Rather  drive  a  fast  team  any  day  than  get 
serenaded,  1  suppose,  or  hold  a  Cabinet?" 

"That's  rather  a  broad  question,"  replied  the 
little  man,  with  another  curious  twinkle. 

Something  ia  the  twinkle  disconcerted  the 
questioner,  just  at  this  juncture,  and  prompted 
him  to  utter. 

"Oh,  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  I  don't  mean  to  be 
inquisitive." 

"No  occasion  to  beg  pardon  at  all,"  answered 
the  little  man  in  shirt  sleeves. 

This  reassured  the  curious  gentleman,  who  re- 
commenced his  questioning,  while  he  kept  eye- 
ing the  horseflesh. 

"How  does  Grant  take  his  election  now?  Does 
h8  really  take  it  so  coolly  as  the  newspapers  say  ? 
I  have  never  seen  him  you  inow,  and  know 
nothing  of  him" except  by  report." 

"Well,  ves;  the  newspapers  are  about  right 
there  anyhow.  The  General  does  take  the  eiec- 
tion  about  the  same  as  anything  else,"  said  the 
little  man. 

"Well,  now,  he  must  be  a    wonderful    fellow.  » 
By  Jove!  sir,  the  man  who  can  bear  every  honor  / 
so  easily  and  coolly  as  Grant  must  be  something 
above  the  rest  of  mankind."  2 

"Did  you  ever   see   Grant's    likeness?"  dryly  J 
asked  the  little  man. 

"Oh,  yes;   of  course.    They  say   he's  uglier 
than  the  prints  make  him.    I  suppose  you  kuow  j 
him  well  now.    He   talks   to   you,  of  course,  a  - 
great  deal  aDout  his  horses,  and  I  wouldn't  won- 
der if  he  told  you  a  good  deal    more  than  most 
people  about  him." 

"Well,  I  am  supposed  to  know  a  good  deal 
about  Grant;  that's  a  fact.  You  say  you  have 
seen  Grant's  likeness,.and  that  people  say  he  is 
uglier  than  his  pictures.  Now,  what  do  you 
think?  Do  I  look  anything  like  his  pictures? 
A  flood  of  light  overwhelmed  the  curious  gen- 
tleman in  an  instant.  The  little  man  in  shirt 
sleeves  and  smoking  was  Grant  himself. 


Unselfish  Heroism. — One  of  the  most 
tractive  features  of  Gen.  Grant's  career  is 
apparent  seli-forgetfulness  with  which  he  has 
received  the  distinction  forced  upon  him. 
Honors,  which  would  have  turned  the  heads 
of  men  who  have  tilled  a  much  larger  space  in 
the  world's  esteem,  he  has  borne  with  marvel- 
ous unselfishness  and  reserve.  The  only  re- 
corded allusion  to  his  own  merit  has  recently 
come  to  light.  "I  did  not  desire  to  be  placed 
where  I  am,"  he  is  reported  to  have  said  to  a 
friend;  '  it  was  none  of  niy  seeking;  but  the 
task  has  been  put  upon  me,  and  I  believe  God 
has  called  me  to  it— therefore  I  am  confident 
that  I  shall  succeed." 


t  a  t- 
I  the 
i  has 

i 


How  General  Grant  Idves  In  Camp. 

A  military  friend  says  of  General  Grant's  Head- 
quarters, near  Culpepper,  that  he  messes  with  hia 
staff  in  the  village;  and  at  his  table  sits  •  familiarly 
every  member  of  his  mili'ary  family.  The  expen- 
ses of  the  mess  are  divided  among  the  ten,  not  in 
equal  proportions  exactly,  but  in  a  manner  satis- 
factory to  all.  The  crockery  is  scanty  and  of  the 
plainest,  and  the  fare,  though  sufficient,  homely. 
A  chop  with  a  cup  of  coffee  for  breakfast;  a  bit  of 

A  roast  beef,  with  potatoes  and  "hard  tack"  con- 
fronting a  dish  of  pork  and  "greens,"  served  for 

I    the  5  o'clock  dinner,  concluded  without  pastry  on 

!  dessert.  A  cup  of  tea  and  a  bit  of  bread  and  butter 
at  half  past  eight  o'clock  finished  up  the  day.  The 
beds  were  simply  cots,  some  with  and  others  with- 
out mattiessee;  and  all  the  toilet  apparatus  aay- 

^  where  visible  were  a  few  tin  wash  basins,  a  moder- 
ate supply  of  towels,  a  bit  of  looking  glass,  and  a 
horn  comb.  Distilled  liquor  or  wine  is  permitted. 
The  inventory  of  the  General's  baggage  whan  he 
m? de  his  brilliant  campaign  in  the  rear  of  Yicks- 
burg,  it  may  well  be  remembered,  was  a  briar- wood 
telescope  and  tooth  brush.  His  clothes  are  worn 
threadbare,  and  despite  the  steady  brushing  of  his 
servant,  they  will  have  an  untidy  look,  due,  no 
doubt,  to  the  General's  habit  of  going  everywhere 
and  seeing  everything  for  himself.  He  never 
swears.  No  man  in  his  camp  lias  ever  heard  him 
give  utterance  to  profanity.  He  rarely  laughs, 
either,  but  be  has  a  sort  of  grim  humor  which  is 
not  without  its  effect.  ■» 


THE  ARMY  OF   THE,  TENNESSEE. 

"In  the  routine  and  detail  of  duty,  and  in  the  mi- 
nor matters  of  discipline  and  organization,  the 
army  of  the  Potomac  was  undoubtedly  superior 
to  either  of  the  others.  But  in  the  surbordination 
1  of  its  generals,  in  the  promptitude,  zeal  and  en- 
ergy of  its  lower  officers,  in  the  self-reliance, 
earnestness  and  physical  characteristics  of 
the  rank  and  file,  in  short  in  every  moral  military 
quality,  the  army  ot  the  Tennessee  has  never 
been  excelled.  No  general  ever  more  successfully 
impressed  his  own  character  upon  an  army  than 
Gen.  Grant  as  a  Checker-Player.—  -Grant  did  his  upon  the  one  which  grew 
The  Watertown  (N.  Y.)  Daily  Reformer  re-  up  so  silently  under  his  care.  No  army  was  ever 
lates  an  anecdote  of  Gen.  Grant :  "When  the  more  loyal  to  its  chief,  or  more  clearly 
general  was  a  young  lieutenant  he  was  sta-  .embodied  the  spirit  of  the  peop'e  from  which  it 
b  ,'•'".  8  "o  ,  ,,,  i,  ,„u  „  „nA  'sprung.  It  is  a  curious  fact,  too,  not  otherwise 
tioned  for  some  time  at  Sackett  s  harbor,  and  ^ffic£ntly  accounted for,  that  it  is  the  only  army 
in  those  days  paid  frequent  visits  to  our  vif-  organized  Wuh  the  war,  and  continuing  in  exist- 
lage.  He  was  a  famous  checker  player,  and  |ence  until  the  establishment  of  peace,  which,  as 
was  wont  to  spend  many  an  hour  at  the  old  a  wbo'e,  never  suffered  a  defeat.  Its  endurance 
American  hotel  in  this  absorbing  game.  But  i  and  courage  were  unconquerable,  so  much  so  that 
there  was  one  of  our  citizens,  (whose  name  >  before  the  war  had  terminated,  it  came  to  be  a 
"  ,.,,  .  „„,!„„%  lv,„  ,.,.,,1,1  i>oaf  boast  in  its  ranks  that  it  was  sure  to  win  any 
we  are  forbidden  to  mention)  who  could  bea     b&tt]e  tfaat  ]asted  oyer  one  a&^  qo  matter  ^ 

the  lieutenant  at  his  favorite  game.  i5tii  the  odds  or  who  the  enemy.  Officers  and  men 
young  Grant  would  never  give  up,  and  would  seeme(i  to  be  endowed  with  the  gift  ot  Dersisten 
insist  on  his  competitor  playing  with  him  till  cy  to  a  degree  never  surpassed  except  by  their 
he  came  out  ahead,  which  he  would,  at  last,  commander.  As  an  organizer,  Grant's  repuLation 
always  do  To  secure  this  end,  he  sometimes  ,  must  continue  to  increase  the  more  his  perform- 
kept  his  friend  up  nearly  all  night,  and  would  I  ances  in  this  direction  become  known, 


stay  in  town  three  days,  studying  his  long' 
headed  moves,  aud  forcing  his  opponent  to 
play  until  he  beat  him  in  the  end.  If  the 
man  declined  playing  when  he  was  ahead,  the 
lieutenant  was  offended,  and  thought  him  un- 
gentlemanly  in  the  extreme.  Grant  is  now 
playing  checkers  in  the  same  style  with  Lee 
on  the  Virginia  board." 


Cy  The  poets  of  the  past  have  spoken  ia  ad- 
vance of  the  heroes  of  to  day.  Homer  mikes  the 
following  allusion  to  Ulysses  S.  Grant :      • 

Ye  Gods!  whatwonaera  Ids  Ulysses  wraugM, 
"What  fruit*  his  conduct  and  hia  courajre  yield. 
Great  in  the  council,  glorioua  in  the  iiold! 
Generous  he  rises  in  the  State's  defence, 
To  ourb  the  fac'ious  tonpue  of  iuaolonco, 
Such  just  examples  on  offenders  shown, 
Sedition  alienee,  at  d  assert  the  throne. 


"  No  modern  general  except  lionaparte  eve: 
wielded  such  vast  and  pro'onged  power;  and  not 
even  that  great  conqueror  displayed  such  remark- 
able sagacity  in  his  organizations  and  se.cctions 
of  subordinates.  Massena  and  Soult  wore  driven 
from  Spain ;  McDonald  was  overwhelmed  at  Hatz- 
bach  •  Marmont  was  defeated  at  Montmartre,  and 
Napoleon  himself  was  driven  from  Russia,  beaten 
at  Leipsic,  and,  finally,  after  a  series  of  unaccount- 
able blunders,  was  hurled  from  his  throne,  re- 
covering it  again  only  to  repeat  his  blunders  and 
meet  an  ignominious  fate. 

"  But  Grant  knew  that  no  genius,  however  re- 
markable, could  sufficiently  command  the  na- 
tional armies  in  a  war  of  such  magnitude  without 
the  assistance  of  lieutenants  who  could  be  trust- 
ed 4to  make  their  own  orders'  for  the  emergen- 
cies that  were  sure  to  arise.  He  therefore  gave 
more  thought  to  the  proper  organization 
and  direction  of  armies  upon  the  vital  points 
ot  the  enemy's  territory  and  lines,  and 
Ifo  the  selection  ot  men  competent  to  com- 
mand them,  than  to  issuing  the  detailed 
orders  ot  the  battle.  Neither  Sherman  nor 
Sheridan,  nor  Thomas,  nor  Canby  ever  failed 
him,  and  had  circumstances  enabled  him  to  de- 
vote himself  exclus'vely  to  t 'ie  command j>.  the 
army  of  the  Potomac,  he  would  doubt  ess  have 
displayed  as  much  skill  in  the  tactics  ol  battle  as 
ho  did  in  the  strategy  of  campaigns. 


t 


The    Wife. 

BY  JOHN  P,.  WHITTIBR. 

From  school  and  ball  and  rout  she  came, 
The  city- s  fair,  pale  daughter, 

To  drink  the  wine  of  mountain  air 
Beside  the  Rearcamp  Water. 

Her  step  grew  fir.«er  on  the  hills 
That  watch  our  homesteads  over; 

O  i  cheek  and  lip,  from  summer  fields, 
She  caught  the  bloom  ot  clover. 

For  health  comes  sparkling  in  the  streams 

From  cool  Chocorua  stealing 
There's  iron  in  our  northern  winds, 

Our  pines  are  trees  of  healing. 

She  sat  beneath  the  broad-armed  elms 
l  hat  skirt  the  mowing  meadow, 

Ard  watched  the  gentle  west  wind  weave 
The  grass  with  shiue  and  shadow. 

Beside  her,  from  the  summer  heat 
To  share  her  grateful  screening, 

With  forehead  bared,  the  farmer  stood, 
Upon  his  pitchfork  leaning. 

Framed  in  its  damp,  dark  locks,  his  face 
Had  nothing  mean  or  common,— 

Strong,  manly,  true,  the  tenderness 
And  pride  beloved  of  woman. 

She  looked  up,  glowing  with  the  health 
The  country  air  had  brought  her, 

And,  laughing,  said:  "You  lack  a  wife, 
Your  mother  laoks  a  daughter, 

'•To  mend  your  frock  and  bake  your  bread 

You  do  not  need  a  lady: 
Be  sure  among  these  brown  old  homes 

Is  some  one  waiting  ready,— 

"Some  fair,  sweet  girl  with  skillful  hand 
And  cheerful  heart  for  treasure.  . 

Who  uever  played  with  iuory  keys, 
Or  danced  the  polka's  measure." 


you 


He  bent  his  black  brows  to  a  frown, 

He  set  his  white  teeth  tightly. 
'"lis  well,"  :a  said  "for  one  like 

Touhoose  for  me  so  lightly, 

"You  think,  because  my  life  is  rude, 

I  take  no  note  of  sweetness ; 
I  tell  you  love  has  naught  to  do 

With  meetness  or  unmeetness. 

"Itself  its  best  excuse,  it  asks 

No  leave  of  pride  or  fashion 
When  silken  tone  or  homespun  frock 

It  stirs  with  throbs  of  passion. 

"You  think  me  deaf  and  blind ;  you  bring 

Your  winning  graces  hither 
As  freo  as  if  from  cradle-time 

We  two  had  played  together. 

•      "Yon  tempt  me  with  your  laughing  eyes, 
J  our  cheek  of  sundown's  blushes, 
A  motion  as  of  waving  grain, 
A  music  as  of  thrushes. 

'  The  plaything  of  your  summer  sport, 
The  spells  you  weave  around  me. 

You  cannot  at  your  will  undo, 
Nor  leave  me  as  you  found  me. 

"You  go  as  lightly  as  you  oame, 

Your  liie  is  well  without  me; 
What  care  you  that  these  hills  will  close 

Like  prison  walls  about  me? 

"No  mood  is  mine  to  seek  a  wife, 

Or  daughter  for  my  mother; 
Who  lores  you  loses  in  that  love 

All  power  to  love  another! 

"J  dare  your  pity  or  your  scorn, 

VVith  pride  your  own  exceeding; 
I  fling  my  heart  into  your  lap 

Without  a  word  of  pleading." 

She  looked  up  from  the  waving  grass 

So  archly,  yet  so  tender; 
"And  ii  1  give  you  mine,"  she  said, 

"Will  you  forgive  the  lender? 

"Nor  frock  nor  tan  can  hide  the  man ; 

And  see  you  not,  my  larmer, 
How  weak  and  fond  a  woman  waits 

Behind  this  silken  armor? 

"I  love  you :  on  that  love  alone,  * 

And  not  my  worth,  presuming, 
Will  you  not  trust  for  summer  fruit 

Ihe  tree  in  May-day  blooming?" 

Alone  the  hangbird  overhead, 
His  hair-swung  cradle  straining, 
.  Looked  down  to  see  love's  miracle, — 
The  giving  that  is  gaining. 

And  so  the  farmer  found  a  wife, 

His  mother  found  a  daughter; 
There  looks  no  happier  home  than  hers 

On  pleasant  Bearcamp  Water. 

Flowers  spring  to  blossom  where  she  walks 

The  careful  ways  of  duty; 
Our  hard,  stiff  lines  of  life  with  her 

Are  flowing-  curves  of  beauty. 

Thomas    Starr    King. 

BY  JOHN  Q.  WHITTIJCR. 

The  great  work  laid  upon  his  two-score  years 

Is  done,  and  well  done.    If  we  drop  our  tears 

Who  loved  him  as  lew  men  were  ever  loved, 

We  mourn  no  blighted  hope  uor  broken  plan   . 

With  him  whose  life  stands  rounded  and  approved 

In  the  lull  growth  and  stature  ot  a  man. 

Mingle,  O  bells,  along  the  Western  slope. 

With  your  deep  toll  a  sound  or  faith  and  hope' 

Wave  cheerily  still,  O  banner,  half-wav  down, 

From  thousand-masted  bay  and  steepled  town! 

Let  the  strong  organ  with  its  loftiest  swell 

Lift  the  proud  sorrow  of  the  land,  and  tell 

That  the  brave  sower  saw  his  ripened  grain. 

0  Bast  and  West.  O  morn  and  sunset  twain 

No  more  forever!— has  he  lived  iu  vaiu 

Who,  priest  of  Freedom,  made  ye  one,  and  told 

Your  bridal  service  from  his  lips  of  gold? 


To  the  Thirty-Ninth  Congress. 

O  people-chosen !  are  ye  not 
Likewise  the  chosen  of  the  Lord, 
To  do  His  will  and  speak  His  word? 

From  that  loud  thunder-storm  of  war 
Not  man  alone  has  called  ye  forth, 
But  He,  the  God  of  all  the  earth ! 

The  torch  of  vengeance  in  your  hands 
Ho  quenches ;  unto  Him  belongs 
The  solemn  recompense  of  wrongs. 

Enough  of  blood  the  land  has  seen, 
And,  not  by  coil,  or  gallows-stair, 
Shall  yo  the  way  of  God  prepare. 

Say  to  the  pardon-seekers :  Keep 
Your  manhood;  bend  uo  suppliant  knees, 
Nor  palter  wit'i  unworthy  pleas. 

Above  your  voices  sounds  the  wail 
Of  starving  men;  we  shut  in  vain 
Our  eyes  to  Billow's  ghastly  stain. 

What  word*  can  drown  that  bitter  cry? 
What  tears  wash  out  that  stain  of  death  ? 
What  oaths  confirm  your  broken  faith? 

From  you  alone  the  guaranty 
Of  Uiiion,  freedom,  peace,  we  claim: 
We  urge  no  conqueror's -terms  of  shame. 

Alas !  no  victor's  pride  is  ours 

We  bend  above  our  triumphs  won 
Like  David  o'er  his  rebel  son. 

Be  men,  not  beggars.    Cancel  all 
By  one  brave, generous  action;  trust 
lour  better  ijfrttucts,  and  be  just! 

Mike  all  maa  pjers  before  the  law, 
Take  hand;  from  off  taa  negro  throat, 
Givo  biacc  aud  wuite  an  equal  v>>t.n 


Keep  all  your  forfeit  lives  and  land*, 
But  give  the  common  law's  redress 
To  Labor's  utter  naked>»eass. 

Bevive  the  old,  heroic  will, 
Be  ia  the  right  as  brave  and  strong 
As  ye  have  proved  yourselves  in  wrong. 

Defeat  siiall  then  be  victory, 
Your  loss  the  wealth  of  full  amends, 
And  hate  bo  love  and  foes  be  friends. 

Then  buried  be  the  dreadful  past, 
Its  common  slain  be  mourned,  and  let 
It3  memories  soften  to  regret. 

Then  shall  the  Union's  mother-heart 
Her  lost  and  wandering  ones  recall 
Forgiving  and  restoring  all : 

And  Freedom  break  her  marble  trance 
Above  the  Capitolian  dome- 
Stretch  hands  and  bid  ye  welcome  home' 
—John  G.  Wiiittiek.  "  >.  .,  . 

'        — -— -— //fefc' 

TUX    WILL    BE    UOiVE. 

BY  JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


We  see  not,  know  not,  all  our  way 
I*  Bight:  with  Thee  alone  ia  day. 
From  out  tbe  torrent's  troubled  drift, 
Above  the  storm  our  prayer  we  lift, 
Thy  will  be  done! 

The  flesh  may  fail,  the  heart  may  faint, 
But  who  aie  we  to  make  complaint, 
Or  dare  to  plead  in  times  Jike  these 
The  weakness  oi  our  love  of  ease? 
Thy  wili  be  done! 

We  take  with  solemn  thankfulness 
Our  burthen  up,  nor  ask  it  less, 
And  coui.t  it  j»y  that  even  we 
May  suffer,  serve,  or  wait  for  Thee, 
Whose  wi.l  be  done! 

Though  dim  as  yet  in  lint  and  line, 
We  trace  I'hy  picture's  wise  design, 
And  thank  Thee  that  our  age  supplies 
Ihe  dark  relief  of  sacrifice. 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

And  if,  in  our  unworthiness, 
Thy  sacrificial  wine  wo  press. 
If  from  Tby  ordeal's  bvated  bars 
Our  leet  are  seamed  with  crimson  scars, 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

If,  for  the  age  to  come,  this  hour 
Of  trial  hath  vicarious  power, 
And,  blett  by  thee,  our  present  pain 
Be  Liberty 's  eternal  gain, 
Thy  will  be  done ! 

Strike,  Thou,  the  Master,  we  Thy  keys, 
The  anthem  of  the  destinies! 
The  minor  of  Thy  loftier  strain 
Our  hearts  shall  breathe  the  eld  refrain 
Thy  will  be  done! 


Whittier  to  Colfax. 

Coliax !— well  Chosen  to  preside 
O'er  Freedom's  Congress/  rind  to  g»ide, 
As  one  who  holds  the  reins  of 
The  current  of  its  great  debate ; 
Prompted  by  one  too  wise^nd  good, 
And  fair,  withal,  to  be  withstood, 
Here,  from  our  northern  river-banks,     . 
1  send  to  thee  my  hearty  thanks 
For  all  the  latience  which  has  borne" 
The  weary  toot  of  BurtkUm's  horn, 
The  hissing  of  the  Copperhead, 
And  Folly  dropping  words  of  lead! 
Still  wisoly  ready  when  the  scale 
Hangs  poised  to  make  the  right  prevail, 
Still  foremost,  though  secession's  head 
Be  crushed,  with  scornful  heel  to  tread 
The  life  out  from  its  writhing  tail ! 
As  wise,  Arm,  faithful  to  the  end 
God  keep  thee,  prays  thy  sincere  friend, 

John  G.  Whittikr. 


An  Agricultural  Ode. 

Tins  day,  two  hundred  years  ago, 
The  wild  grapes  by  the  river's  side, 

And  tasteless  ground-nut,  trailing  low 
Ihe  table  of  the  woods  supplied. 

U£unoJTn  thc  aPPte's  red  and  gold, 
the  blushing:  tint  of  peach  and  pear: 

Ihe  mirror  of  the  pow-wow  told 
2s o  tale  of  orchards  ripe  and  rare. 

Wild  as  the  fruits  he  scorned  to  till, 
These  vales  thc  idle  Indian  trod: 

Nor  knew  the  glad,  creative  skill, 
Ihe  joy  of  him  who  toils  with  God. 

0,  Painter  of  the  fruits  and  flowers! 

«MVe  'u  ank  Thee  for  Tll-V  wise  design, 
Whereby  these  human  hands  of  ours 

In  nature's  garden  work  with  Thine. 
And  thanks  that  from  our  daily  need 

The  joy  of  simple  faith  is  born, 
That  he  who  smites  the  summer  weed 

May  trust  Thee  for  the  autumn  corn. 

Give  fools  their  gold  and  knaves  their  power- 
Let  fortune's  bubbles  rise  and  fall: 

Who  sows  a  field,  or  trains' a  flower 
Or  plants  a  tree,  is  more  than  all. 

For  he  who  blesses  most  is  blessed; 

And  God  and  man  shall  own  his' worth 
W  ho  toils  io  leave  as  a  bequest 

An  added  beauty  to  the  earth. 

And,  soon  or  late,  to  all  that  sow, 
The  time  of  harvest  shall  be  givf>n  • 

The  flowers  shall  bloom,  the  fruit  shall  crow- 
It  not  on  earth,  at  last  in  heaven. 


J.  G.  Whittier. 


After   Election. 


BY  JOHN  O.  WHITTIKR. 

The  day's  sharp  sirife  is  euded  now, 
Our  work  is  done,  God  knoweth  how ! 
As  on  the  thronged,  unrestful  town 
The  patience  of  the  moon  looks  down, 
I  wait  to  hear,  beside  the  wire, 
The  voices  of  its  tongues  ot  fire. 

Slow,  doubtful,  faint,  they  seem  at  first: 
Be  strong,  my  heart,  to  know  the  worst! 
Hark!— thpre  the  Alleghanies  spoke; 
That  sound  from  lake  and  prairie  broke! 
That  sunset-gun  of  triumph  rent 
The  silence  of  a  continent ! 

That  signal  from  Nebraska  sprung, 

This,  from  Nevada's  mountain  tongue ! 

Is  that  thy  answer,  strong  and  free, 

O  loyal  heart  of  Tennessee ! 

AVhat  strange,  glad  voice  is  that  which  calls 

From  Wagner's  grave  and  Sumter's  walls? 

From  Mississppi's  fountain  head 
A  sound  as  of  the  bison's  tread ! 
There  rustled  Freedom's  Charter  Oak ! 
In  that  wild  burst  the  Ozarks  spoke! 
Cheer  answers  cheer  from  rise  to  set 
Of  sun.    We  have  a  country  yet ! 

The  praise,  O  God,  be  thine  alone! 
Thou  givest  not  for  bread  a  stone ; 
Thou  hast  not  led  us  through  the  night 
To  blind  us  with  returning  light ; 
Not  through  the  furnace  have  we  passed, 
To  perish  at  its  mouth  at  last. 

O  night  of  peace,  thy  flight  restrain ! 
November's  moon,  be  slow  to  wane! 
Shine  on  the  Freedman's  cabin  floor; 
On  brows  of  praver  a  blessing  pour ; 
And  give,  with  full  assurance  blest, 
The  weary  heart  of  Freedom  rest! 

THE    MAYFLOWERS. 


I 


K  B  <  ** 

<£     ^s.    Sj    l» 


SBffe 

*+        Ett?2 
°  r?£  »  2. 


Sad  Mayflower!  watched  by  winter  stars, 

And  nursed  by  winter  gales, 
With  petals  of  the  sleeted  spars, 

And  leaves  of  frozen  sails ! 

What  had  she  in  those  dreary  hours, 

Within  her  ice-rimmed  bay, 
In  common  with  the  wild- wood  flowers 

Ihe  first  sweet  smiles  of  May  ? 

Yet,  "  God  baptised !"  the  Pilgrim  said, 

Who  saw  the  blossoms  peer 
Above  the  brown  leaves,  dry  and  dead. 

"  Behold  our  Mayflower  here ! 

"God  wills  it :  here  onr  rest  shall  be, 
Our  years  of  wandering  o'er, 
•  For  us  the  Mayflower  of  the  Sea 
Shall  spread  her  sails  no  more." 

Oh !  sacred  fl  ower  of  faith  and  hope* 

As  sweetly  now  as  then 
Ye  bloom  on  many  a  birchen  slope, 

In  many  a  pine-dark  glen. 

Behind  the  sea-wall's  nigged  length, 
Unchanged,  your  leaves  unfold, 

Like  love  behind  the  manly  strength 
Of  the  brave  hearts  ot  old. 

^  Ho  live  the  fathers  in  their  sons, 
Their  sturdy  faith  be  ours. 
And  ours  the  love  that  overruns 
Its  rocky  strength  with  flowers. 

.     The  Pilgrim's  wild  andjjintry  day 
Its  shadow  round  us  draws; 
The  Mayflower  of  his  stormy  bay. 
Our  Freedom's  struggling  cause. 

But  warmer  suns  ere  long  shall  bring 

To  life  the  frozen  sod ; 
And,  though  dead  leaves  ot  hope,  shall  spring 

Airesh  the  flowers  ot  God! 

John  G.  Whittieb. 


<*     5  ■£,    '~  ®   ' 


^3  £2 
5  p-rS" 


p  E.'   B 


a*! 


o?2 
Of 

-\R':-  u, 

!zU_  --,  c 
5-   r 

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«*     III 

ft  3>  a. 


I 


THE    PUMPKIN. 

BT  JOH»  O.  WHITTIEB. 

~t>B.\  greenly  and  fair  iu  the  lands  of  the  sun  I 

fete  Tines  of  the  gourd  and  the  rich  melon 
run, 

And  the  rock  and  the  tree  and  the  cottage 
enfold, 

With  broad  leaves  all  greenness  and  blos- 
soms all  gold, 

£j  're    that    which   o'er  Ninevah's  prophet , 
once  grew,  J 

'  Wiile  he  waited  to  know  that  his  warning  *| 
was  true, 

And  longed  for  the  storm-cloud,  and  listened 
t  In  vain 

S"or  the  rush  of  the  whirlwind  and  the  red 
-fire-rain. 


■t/n  the  banks  of  the  Xenil  the  dark  Spanish 

maiden 
Comes  up  with  the  fruit  of  the  tangled  vine 

laden ; 
And  the  Creole  of  Cuba  laughs  out  to  be- 
_         hold 
through  orange-leaves   shining    the   broad 

spheres  of  gold ; 
^Tet  with  dearer  delight  from  his  home  in  the 

North 
On  the  fields  of  his  harvest  the  Yankee  looks 

forth; 
Where  crook-necks  are  coiling  and  yellow- 
fruit  shines, 
And  the  sun  of  September  melts  down  on 

bis  vines. 


I 


hkh !  on  Thanksgiving  Day,  when  from  East 

and  from  West,- 
"  From  North  and  from  South  come  the  pil-  ^ 

grim  and  guest, 
When  the  graj'-haired  Englander  sees  round 

his  board 
tfhe  old  broken  links  of  affection  restored. 
When  the  care-wearied  man  seeks  his  mother 

once  more, 
And  the  worn  matron  smiles  where  the  girl 

smiled  before,; 
What  moistens  the  lip  and  what  brightens 

the  eye? 
What  calls  back  the  past,  likethe  rich  Pump- 
kin Pie? 

t)b  I  fruit  loved  of  boyhood— the  old  days  re- 
calling, 

When  wood-grapes  were  purpling  and  brown 
nuts  were  falling ; 

When  wild,  ugly  faces  we  carved  on  its  skin, 

JBlaring  out  through  the  dark,  with  a  candle 
within ; 

When  we  laughed  round  the  corn-heap,  with 
hearts  all  in  tune, 

Our  chair  a  broad  pumpkin,  our  lantern  the 
moon, 

felling  tales  *f  the  fairy  who  traveled  like 
steam, 

ta  a  pumpkin-shell  coach,  with  two  rata  for 
her  team  1 


Then  thanks  for  tby  present !  none  sweeter 
or  better 

Cer  smoked  from  an  oven -or  circled  a  plat- 
ter! 

fairer  handa  never  wrought  at  a  pastry  more 
fine, 

Brighter  eyes  never  watched  o'er  its  baking 
than  thine! 

And  the  prayer,  which  my  mouth  ifl  too  full 
to  express, 

Swells  my  heart  that  thy  shadow  may  never 

t)6  168S 

Hhftt  the  days  of  thy  lot  may  be  lengthened 

And  the  fame  of  thy  worth  like  a  pumpkin- 
vine  grow, 
And  thy  life  b«  as  sweet,  and  its  last  sunset 


WATCHEKS. 

BY  JOHN  O.  WHITTIKK. 

Beside  a  stricken  field  I  stood ; 

( in  the  torn  turf,  on  grass  and  wood, 

Hung  heavily  the  dew  of  blood. 

Still  in  their  fresh  mounds  lay  the  slain, 
But  all  the  air  was  quick  with  pain 
And  gusty  sighs  and  tearful  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 
And  lips  of  blessing  not  command, 
Leaned,  weeping,  on  her  olive  wand. 

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

"How  long!"— 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 
Or  any  flag  the  winds  unroll. 

What  price  was  Ellsworth's,  young  and  brave  ? 

How  weigh  the  gift  that  Lyon  gave? 

Or  count  the  cost  of  Wintlirop's  grave  ? 

Oh  brother !  if  thine  eye  can  see, 

Tell  how  and  when  tho  end  shall  be. 

What  hope  remains  for  thee  and  me." 

Then  Freedom  sternly  said :  "I  shun 

No  strife  nor  pang  beneath  the  sun 

When  human  rights  are  staked  and  wou. 

I  knelt  with  Ziska's  hunted  flock, 

I  watched  in  Toussaint's  cell  of  rock, 

I  walked  with  Sidney  to  the  block. 

The  moor  of  Marston  felt  my  tread, 

Through  Jersey  snows  the  march  I  led, 

My  voice  Magenta's  charges  sped. 

But  now,  through  weary  day  and  night, 

I  watch  a  vague  and  aimless  fight 

Tor  leave  to  strike  one  blow  aright. 

On  cither  side  my  foe  they  own: 

One  guards  through  love  his  ghastly  throne, 

And  one  through  iear  to  reverence  grown. 

Why  wait  we  longer,  mocked,  betrayed 

By  open  foes  or  those  afraid 

To  speed  thy  coming  through  my  aid  ? 

AVhy  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  longer  wait; 
The  doom  is  near,  the  stake  is  great ; 
God  knoweth  if  it  be  too  late. 

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

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

A  rustling  as  of  wings  in  flight, 

An  upward  gleam  of  lessening  white. 

So  pissed  the  vision,  sound  and  sight. 

But  round  me,  like  a  silver  bell 

Hung  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,     .'         ;c 

But  all  is  possible  with  God!"  ff  * 


The  Reward, 


UY   JOHN   O.    WHITTIEB. 


Golden-tinted  and  fair  as  thy  own  Pumpkin 
Pie! 

WIIITTtER'S  SOSti   OF  THE  FKBE. 


Who,  looking  backward  from  his  manhood's  prime, 
Sees  not  the  spectre  of  his  misspent  time  ? 

And  through  the  shade 
Of  funeral  cypress  planted  thick  behind. 
Hears  no  reproachfr.l  whisper  on  the  wind 

From  his  loved  dead  ? 

Who  bears  no  trace  of  passion's  evil  force  ? 
Who  shuns  thy  stiug,  O  terrible  remorse  7— 

Who  does  not  cast 
On  the  thronged  pages  of  his  memory's  book, 
At  timed,  a  sad  and  half  reluctant  look, 

Regretful  of  the  past  ? 

Alas !  the  evil  which  we  fain  would  shun 
We  do,  and  leave  the  wished-for  good  uudone : 
Our  strength  to-day 


Mettrs.  Editors,— 11  >g  was  writ-/; 

ten  by  the  gifted  poet  Whittier,  twenty-five  yean  agtf,      i8  ul,t,  to-morrow's  weakness,  proue  to  fall ; 
and  as  mo  more  appropriate  national  hymn  lias  been  pro-      poor   blinai  unprofitable  servant  servants  all 
uucedin  the  present  crisis,  it  ought  to  appear  again.      r-    A  '  Are  we  alway. 


SONG  OF  THE  FREE. 

'and! 
al  of  our  fathers! 
Shrink  we  all  craven-like, 

When  the  storm  gathers? 
What  though  the  tempest  be 

Over  us  lowering, 
Where's  the  Sew  Englander 

Shamefully  cowering? 
Grave*  green  and  holy 

Around  us  are  lying, — 
Free  were  the  sleepers  all, 

Living  and  dying! 

Back  with  the  Southerner's 

l'uddocks  and  booh 
tio—  let  him  fetter  down 

Ocean's  tri 
Go— let  him  .siLonce 

Winds,  ch  hob  and  waters — 
w  England's  own 

tree  sons  and  duught 
Free  as  our  rivers  are, 

Ocean- ward  going — 
i  are 

Over  us  blowing. 


Yet  who,  thus  looking  backward  o'er  his  years, 
Feel*  not  hie  eyelids  wet  with  grateful  tears, 

If  he  hath  been 
Permitted,  weak  and  sinful  as  he  was 
To  cheer  and  aid  in  some  ennobling  cause, 

His  fellow  men  ? 

If  he  hath  hidden  the  outcast^  or  let  in    ' 
j  A  ray  of  sunshine  to  the  cell  of  sin- 
It  he  hath  lent 

Strength  to  the  weak,  and  in  the  hour  of  neel, 
J  Over  the  suffering,  mindful  of  his  creed 


Or  home  hath  bent- 
He  hath  not  lived  in  vain.    And  while  he  gives 
The  praise  to  Him,  in  whom  he  moves  and  lives, 

With  thankful  heart; 
He  ga*es  backward,  and  with  hope  hefoie, 
Knowing  that  from  his  works  he  nevermore 

Can  henceforth  part. 


Forefather*'  «>n»  > 

The  following  lettcrof  Whittle!  to  the  meetin 
of  New  England  residents  of  Washington  asse 
bled  to  commemorate  the  landing  of  the  Pilgri 
will  be  read  with  interest: 

Amesbury,  18th  of  the  12th  month.  1868. 

R.  D.  Muzzey,  Esq., — Dear  PYiend ;  I  cannot 
at  such  brief  notice  do  more  than  express  my 
hearty  sympathy  with  your  festival.and  the  hope 
that  you  may  not  only  do  justice  to  the  good  old 
New  England  dishes  on  your  table,  but  to  the 
faith,  courage,  self  sacrilce,  and  reverence  ol  the 
days  when 

" an  honest  grace  would  hold 

Till  the  hot  pudding  grew  dt  heart  a  cold." 

Quaker  as  I  am  by  birth  and  connection,  I 
have  the  heartiest  respect  for  the  sterling  virtues 
of  the  Puritans.  I  used  to  leel  somewhat  hardly 
toward  them  for  their  treatment  of  my  religious 
predecessors,  but  I  have  learned  to  judge  them 
mpre  leniently.  Their  persecution  was  simply  a 
matter  of  logical  sequence.  If  1  really  believed 
as  thev  did,  that  the  precise  dogmas  of  my  creed 
Mere  essential  to  salvation,  and  that  tbe  slightest 
deviation  from  them  meant  nothing  less  than 
eternal  torment,  1  might  be  tempted  from  sheer 
humanity  to  do  es  tney  did.  At  any  rate  the 
i-harge  of  Intolerance  can  scarcely  be  urged 
against  New  England  at  the  present  time.  What- 
ever we  may  have  been  formerly,  vye  are  no 
longer  what  Dr.  Johnson  said  lie  liked— good 
haters.  Calvinism  listens  to  Emerson's  radical- 
ism, to  Park  and  Busb.ti&ll,  and  in  no  case  is  the 
silf-respecting  *ViiiividuaUty  of  the  speaker  a 
cause  ol  complaint.  Neither  politics  nor  theolo- 
gy are  with  us  grounds  lor  personal  animosity. 
A  southern  planter,  who  visited  Boston  just  be- 
fore the  attack  on  Fort  Sumter,  said  to  me:  "I 
thought  you  Yankees  hated  Us  as  bad- 
ly as  we  hate  you,  but  I'll  be  hanged 
if  I  can  see  that  you  hate  us  at  all!"  The 
planter  was  right,  liven  now,  much  as  wo  have 
Miffered  from  the  most  causeless  rebellion  since 
Satan's  revolt  in  Heaven,  clothed  as  so  many  of 
our  homes  are  in  mourning  for  the  slain  of  our 
people,  we  certaiuly  have  no  hatred  for  the  in- 
habitants of  the  south.  On  the  contrary,  we 
are  thankful  for  any  opportunity  of  aiding  them 
in  restoring  their  waste  places,  thave  no  doubt 
butat>his  moment  a  majority  of  our  people 
would  heartily  agree  with  ma  in  supporting  tho 
motion  just  made  by  a  New  England  senator  to 
remove  the  disabilities  of  those  at  present  dis- 
franchised in  the  revolted  states,  and  make  am- 
nesty and  suffrage  universal. 

You  do  well,  then,  to  keen  allva  the  memories 
Of  the  old  home  and  the  old  faith.     Puritanism 
with  all  abatements  for  its  faults,  i§  not  a  thing 
to  be  ashamed   of.    The   trc8  is  known   by  its 
fruits.    Of  it  a  poetical  Bostonian,  the  precursor 
of  Lowell  and  Holtnei  and   Longfellow,  said 
wisely  and  well,  nearly  two  centuries  ago : — 
"At  this  tree's  foot  Astrea  sits  and  sings 
And  waters  it,  whence  upright  Justice  springs ; 
Which  yearly  shoots  forth  laws  and  liberties, 
That  no  man's  will  or  wit  may  tyrannize. 
True  Liberty's  there  ripe,  where  all  confess 
They  may  do  what  they  will  save  wickedness. 
Peace  is  another  fruit  which  that  tree  bears— 
The  chiefest  garland  that  the  country  wears. 
Forsaken  Truth,  Time's  daughter,  groweth  here, 
More  precious  iruit  what  tree  did  ever  bear? 
Whose  pleasant  gifts  aloft  hath  many  fed, 
And  what  falls  down  knocks  Error  on  the  head." 
May  that  goodly  tree  which  the  fathers  plant- 
ed, its  strong  old  stock  engrafted  with  the  liberal 
ideas  of  our  age,  grow  and  overshadow  the  land, 
and  wherever  its  shadow  falls  may  its  leaves  be 
leaves  of  healing.         Very  truly  thy  friend, 
John  (i.  Whittikr. 


THY  WILL  BE  DONE. 

BY  JOUN  G.  WHITTIEU. 

We  see  not,  know  not;  all  our  way 
Is  night;  with  Thee  alone  is  day. 
From  out  the  torrent's  troubled  drift, 

Above  the  storm  our  prayer  we  lift, 
Thy  will  be  done! 

The  flesh  may  fail,  the  heart  may  faint, 
Hut  who  are  we  to  make  oomplaint, 
Or  dale  to  plead  iu  times  like  these 
The  weakness  of  our  love  of  ease.' 
Thy  will  be  done! 

We  take  with  solemn  thankfulness 
Our  burden  up,  nor  ask  it  less. 

And  count  it  joy  thai  even  we 
May  sutler,  serve,  or  die  for  Thee, 
Whose  will  be  done! 

Though  dim  as  yet  in  tint  and  line, 
We  trace   fhVpicture's  wise  design. 

And  thank  Thee  that  our  age  supplies 
The  dark  relief  of  sacrifice. 
Thy  will  be  done! 

And  if.  in  our  anworthiness, 
Thy  sacrilicial  wine  we  press. 
It  from. Thy  ordeal's  heated  bars 
Our  feet  are  seamed  with  crimson  scars, 
Thy  will   be  done! 

If.  for  the  age  to  come,  this  hour 
Of  trial   hath  vicarious  power, 
And.  blest  by  Thee,  our  present  pain 
Be  Liberty's  eternal  gain. 
Thy  will  be  done! 


: 


Farewell  to  the    Year. 


TRANSLATION  FROM  THE    SPANISH  BY  J.  G.  LOCKHAUT. 

Hark  friends,  it  strikes  theyear's  last  hour; 
A  solemn  sound  to  hear — 
/     Come  fill  the  cup  and  let  us  pour 
U    '  Our  blessings  on  the  parting  year. 
The  years  that  were,  the  dim,  the  gray, 
Iteceive  this  night,  with  choral  hymn, 
A  sister  shade  as  lost  as  they. 
And  soon  to  be  sus  gray  and  dim. 
'"    Fill  high— she  brought  us  both  of  weal  and  woe; 
/       And  nearer  lies  the  land  to  which  we  go. 

On,  on,  in  one  unwearied  round 

Old  Time  pursues  his  way;  • 

Groves  bud  and  blossom,  and  the  ground 

Expects  in  peaee  her  yellow  prey  ; 
The  oaks  broad  leaf,  the  ro^es  bloom, 

Together  fall,  together  lie: 
And  undistinguished  in  the  tomb, 

Howe'er  they  lived,  and  all  that  die, 
Gold,  beauty,  knightly  sword  and  royal  crown, 

To  the  ssime  sleep  go  shorn  and  withered  down. 

How  short  the  rapid  months  appear, 

Since  round  this  board  we  met, 
To  welcome  in  the  infant  year, 

Whose  star  has  not  forever  set! 
Alas!  as  round  this  board  I  look, 

I  think  on  more  than  I  behold, 
For  glossy  curls  in  gladness  shook 

That  night,  which  now  are  damp  and  cold. 
*  For  us  no  more  her  lovely  eyes  shall  shine, 
EPeace  to  her  slumbers !  drown  your  tears  in  wine. 

Thank  heaven,  no  seer  uublest  am  1, 

Before  the  time  to  tell, 
When  moons  as  brief  once  more  go  by 

For  whom  this  cup  again  shall  swell. 
The  hoary  mower  strides  apace, 

Nor  crops  alone  the  ripened  ear; 
And  we  may  miss  the  merriest  face 

Among  us,  'gainst  another  year. 
Whoe'er  survive,  be  kind  as  we  have  been, 

And  think  of  friends  that  sieep  beneath  the  green. 
jj     Nay,  droop  not;  being  isnot  breath; 

'lis  fate  that  friends  must  part. 
And  God  will  bless  in  life,  in  death, 

The  noble  soul,  the  gentle  heart- 
So  deeds  be  just  and  words  be  true, 

We  need  not  shrink  from  Nature's  rule; 
The  tomb  so  dark  to  mortal  view 

is  Heaven's  own  blessed  vestibule; 
And  solemn,  but  not  sad,  the  cup  should  flow, 

Though  nearer  lies  the  land  to  which  we  go. 


A  Psalm  For  New  Vcars  Etc. 

A  friend  stands  at  the  door; 

In  either  tight-closed  hand 
Hiding  rich  gifts,  three  hundred  and  threescore; 

Waiting  to  strew  them  daily  o'er  the  land- 
Even  as  the  sower, 

Each  drops  he,  treads  it  in,  and  passes  by; 

It  cannot  be  made  fruitful  till  it  die. 

0  good  New  Year,  we  clasp 

I  his  warm  shut  hand  of  thine, 
Loosing  forever,  with  half  sigh  and  half  gasp, 

That  which  from  ours  falls  like  dead  fingers  twine  j 
Ay,  whether  fierce  its  grasp 

Has  been,  or  gentle,  having  been,  we  know 

That  it  wa3  blessed :  let  the  old  year  go. 

0  New  Year,  teach  us  faith ; 

The  road  of  life  is  hard ; 
When  our  feet  blend,  and  scourging  winds  us  scathe, 

Foint  thou  to  Him  whose  visage  was  more  marred 
Than  any  man's,  who  saith 

"Make  straight  path  lor  your  feet,"  and  to  the  op-, 
pressed, 

"Come  ye  to  me,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

Yet  hang  some  lamp  like  hope 

Above  this  unknown  way, 
Kind  year,  to  give  our  spirits  freer  scope, 

And  our  hands  strength  to  work  while  it  is  day. 
But  if  that  way  must  slope 

Tombward,  o  bring  before  our  fading  eyes 

The  lamp  of  lite,  the  hope  that  never  dies. 

Comfort  our  souls  with  love- 
Love  of  a  11  human  kind ; 

Love  special,  close,  in  which,  liko  sheltered  dove, 
Each  weary  heart  its  own  safe  nest  may  find; 

And  love  that  turns  above 
Adoringly ;  contented  to  resign 
All  loves,  if  need  be,  lor  the  love  divine. 

Friend,  come  thou  like  a  friend, 

And  whether  bright  thy  face. 
Or  dim  with  clouds  wa  cannot  comprehend, 

We'll  hold  out  patient  hands,  each  in  his  place, 
And  trust  thee  to  the  end. 

Knowing  thou  leadest  onward  to  those  spheres 

Where  there    arc  neither  days,  nor  months,  nor 
years. 


NEW    YEAR. 


BY     E.     S.     FULLER. 


The  old  year  closes ;  and  the  new 

Opes  wide  the  welcome  door ; 
But,  though  the  past  is  plain  in  view, 
"  We  cannot  look  before. 

Beyond  the  portal  of  the  year, 

The  future  vista  lies ; 
And  still  unseen,  although  so  near, 

To  unprophetic  eyes. 

Yet,  if  we  make  the  Lord  our  light, 
No  darkness  veils  the  view, 

And  faith,  a  surer  guide  than  sight, 
Shall  lead  us  safely  through. 

With  duty  onr  concern  alone, 
And  hearts  of  Christian  cheer, 

Still  we  may  walk  the  path  unknown 
Of  each  approaching  year. 


«Oy»'«f    JF0JX     IftiUMS,    JVMiV    fJK,Mi 

Hark !  hark  to  the  sound  »f  the  silver  bells 

Its  the  miiinJgtit  still  and  clear; 
Wio«  over  the  land  iheir  music  tells 

The  birth  of  the  glad  New  Year. 

beautiful  Spring, 
,-.'uv  ; 
Summer'?;  flowers, 
Coroeb  the  ftew  Year  jouag  and  gay. 

Not  in  the  Rom  of  the  Autumn's  prii 

^  uh  a  regal  giory  crowned ; 
But  wrappt  d  the  vesture  cold 

Of  the  Winter's  depths  profound. 

AiUcft  and  w  .antie  light, 

Ontnelandfc  I»«dow; 

^"d  "  ft  tne  forest  trees 

Sweeps  ezi-umdy  .u  u.^.z  fro. 


THE    NEW    YEAR. 


O  what  J 


r,— 
:hhp; 

iff.  New  Year' 
htlorrhe?" 


lhft  red  rote  maiden's  br«. 

A: a  her  heart  is  thrilled  to  heat? 

;et  as  now, 
For  tfiis  is  her  btical  vettf. 

Tfc*  merchant  wakea  in  the  midnight  dim, 

:  aold, 

bring  to  him 
Eie  the  Hew  Year  will  grow  old. 


/ 


' 


The< 

Vor  t- 

'Whai 

Who 


psaudieir, 
twh  he,— 
'  y  Lord  this  year, 
2aa  to  much  for  me?'' 


O  ye  to  v.  bora  6u  the  shores  of  Time 
Are' •'  ucles  given, 

Not  unto  s^lf  is  1  he  boon  sublime, 
But  to  woik  the  will  of  heaven. 

So  live  that  when  all  the  years  are  past, 
Which  God  in  his  grace  shall  send, 

Eternity's  joy  shai;  crown  the  last 
With  the  bliss  that  knows  no  end. 


THE  NEW  YEAE. 

Upon  the  breast  of  his  white-robed  mother, 

T  les  the  new-born,  stainless  year. 
Where,  one  moment  since,  his  dying  brother 

Lay  him  weary— death  so  near 
Comes  oft  to  life,  as  oft  the  living  one 
Fills  up  the  place  of  him  whose  work  Is  done 
Joy  In  the  present  dispels  all  sorrow, 

Earth  a  Xew  Year  greets  anew. 
And  clasps  her  hand  with  that  of  the  morrow, 

Whose  light  her  darlln?  fir*t  shall  view 
She  buries  the  Old  Year  quickly  and  well, 
And  changes  to  ringing  the  passing  bell. 
Winter,  who,  by  the  bedside  of  the.  old, 

Wept  white  snowflakes  o'er  the  land. 
Now  stand  with  glittering  smiles  his  robe  to  fold 

'Bout  the  New  Year's  dainty  hand.       * 
Places  upon  his  baby  brow  the  seal 
Of  royal  power  o'er  earth,  through  woe  or  weal, 
Until,  his  twelve  months'  work  all  done,  he  goes 

To  join  'lie  numberless  band 
Of  brother  years,  by  the  river  which  flows 

Away  to  the  shadowy  land 
Which  the  Past  calls  hers,  and  where  Memory  faints 
O'erthe  flowers  which  from  year  to  year  she  paints. 
The  days  glide  on— the  Infant  year  has  grown 

To  boyhood,  and  blooming  Spring 
On  white  clouds  floating,  by  the  west  wind  blown, 

On  his  white  brow  binds  a  ring 
Balmy  with  fragrance,  which  dies  out  as  Time's 
Firm  still  finger  the  fading  wreath  untwines. 
It  falls  from  boyhood's  brow,  and  in  Its  place 

Appears  the  seal  of  manhood. 
Earth  s  <  lies  upon  her  son  with  dimpled  face, 

While  hill,  dale  and  whispering  wood, 
Tell  of  the  glories  of  his  passing  days. 
And  on  the  air  sweet  summer's  spirit  plays 
An  anthem  loud  and  clear  of  past  good  done, 

Of  joys  to  earth  no»v  given, 
Of  promises  of  honored  age  to  come : 

And  floats  away  toward  heaven 
As  days  glide  by,  and  solemn  Autumn  binds 
The  whitening  head  with  purple  hanging  vines, 
And  ties  about  his  throne  the  golden  sheaves ; 

Spreads  around  his  weary  feet 
Ripe  mellow  fruits,  and  wafts  upon  the  breeze 

Perfume  to  his  faint  heart  sweet. 
And  old  age  creeps  on  with  the  falling  leaves,— 
The  gate  Is  near  of  which  Death  holds  the  keys. 
Once  more  Earth  clasps  him  to  her  snowy  breast. 

While  aged  Winter,  weeping, 
Unwinds  his  robe  and  lays  him  down  to  rest; 

Then  turns  from  where  he's  sleeping 
To  greet  a  newborn  year,  who  shall  lie  down 
In  turn,  and  to  a  brother  yield  his  crown. 


It  is  strange  to  write,  for  the  first  time,  at  the 
head  of  one's  letter-sheet,  the  date  of  a  New  Year. 
The  figures  have  an  unwonted  look.  They  con- 
fuse the  eye,  like  the  spelling  of  a  new  word.  But 
all  words  have  a  place  in  the  lexicon  ;  one  knows 
where  to  go  to  find  their  meaning.  So  all  years 
have  a  place  in  history  ;  yet  where  can  one  go,  in 
history,  to  learn  of  these  new  figures  1862  ?  Who 
/  knows  what  they  signify  ?  Who  can  tell  what. 
*  hidden  meaning  they  cover  ?  Where  may  one 
search  for  the  message  they  bring  ? 

It  is  an  arbitrary  decree  that  brings  the  year's 

I     change  in  mid-winter.     The  natural  year  begins 

with  spring.     A  true  calendar  would  make  the 

Year  twin-born  with  Nature.     But  the  new  year,  J 

with  us,  has  birth  in  January,  that  it  may  have 

bleak  winds  for  infant's  wails.     Yet,  withal,  it  has 

its  oheeriness ;  its  blazing  fires  on  old  hearths  ;  its 

social  circles  ;  its  nut-crackings  ;  its  merry  games  ; 

its  blindman's  buff.    In  these  neighborly  cities  of 

ours,  it  has  the  genial  custom  of  friendly  visits  from 

house  to  house,  and  hospitable  welcome  at  every 

door.    It  is  the  end  and  crown  of  the  special  season 

I     of  good  wishes  ;  of  gifts  from  friend  to  friend  ;  of 

~  street*  thronged  with  buyers  ;  of  shop-windows 

aflame  with  purchasable    glories ;   of    that  brief 

gala  day  when  the  purse  flows  freely,  like  a  winter 

brook  under  a  sudden  thaw.    It  is  a  day  when  I 

extra  friends  come  to  one's  table,  and  extra  fatness 

cumbers  the  board.    It  is  a  festival  of  thanksgiving 

;  *  under  another  name. 

We  do  not  give   it  religious    celebration,  like 
Christmas,  or  like  the  Feast  of  the  Pilgrims.     But 
it  brings  Christian  thoughtfulness  even  in  the  midst 
of  its  festivities.     In  some  churches,  it  is  ushered 
in  with  vigils  at  midnight.     We  all  give  it  welcome 
as  Holiday  ;  and  that  once  meant  Holy  Day.     It  is 
the  most  signal  of  the  year's  days.     It  is  the  fit 
season  not  only  for  men's  congratulations,  but  for. 
men's  reflections.     The  New  Year  is  a  Mountain 
Top  :  a  point  for  looking  backward  and  looking , 
forward.   So  this  day  belongs  of  right  to  both  years  ; 
JL  for,  like  a  ripened  seed,  it  bears  in  itself  a  tale  i 
of  two  harvests  ;  of  the  year  gone,  and  of  the  year \ 
to  come. 

A  year's  history  would  be  a  cyclopedia  too  great 
to  be  written  in  books.     Count  over  the  last  twelve' 
months !     What  have  they  wrought  in  families  h 
The    many-handed    year    has    been  busy,  from' 
the  beginning,  opening   the    gates   of   the  world11 
for  entrance  and  exit  to  all  who  have  had  birth  or" 
death  !     A  soul  comes  into  the  world,  and  a  soulD 
goes  out  of  it,  every  minute  ;  so  says  the  register  of l 
our  mortality.  How  many  children's  cradles  did  the 
last  year  stop  rocking?    How  many  graves  did 
it  cover  with  leaves  ?    How   varied,  for  the  full 
'  twelvemonth,  has  been  the  great  round  of  common 
life  !    The  year  has  crumbled  down  one  man's  for- 
tunes and  built  up  another's  from  the  fragments !  It 
has  sundered  one  man's  friendships,  and  healed  an- 
*  other's   enmities  !    It  has  kept  full  record  of  the 
cunning  duplicities  of  selfish  men,  and  of  the  pure 
thoughts  of  the  upright  in  heart.   It  has  attended, 
unbidden,  many  a  wedding-feast,  and  has  watched,  I 
unseen,  by  many  a  sick-bed.  It  has  carried,  day  and  [ 
night,  prayers  to  heaven  from  many  a  mother's 
heart,  storing  the  future  so  full  of  God's  answers 
that  many  coming  years  will  be  too  narrow  to  con- 
tain the  blessirfgs  that  shall  follow  from  one  faith- 
ful mother's  prayers. 

Then,  what  a  history  a  year  makes  in  Nature? 
The  four  seasons  widened  the  girth  of  the  young 
Oak,  a*id  rotted  the  trunk  of  the  old ;  painted  the 
frapes  purple,  and  straightway  spoiled  their  leaves 
with  rust ;  dropped  blood  on  all  the  maples,  till 
they  blushed  at  their  beauty,  and  then  in  their  pride 
were  made  desolate ;  laid  their  fingers  upon  the 
grain-fields,  like  Midas,  touching  them  into  gold ; 
filled  barns  so  near  to  bursting,  that  the  long  winter 
cannot  make  them  empty  or  bare. 


y 


Then,  too,  what  a  rummager  and  ransacker  is  j 
Time  !     How  eagerly  it  seeks  after  every  beautiful  j 
thing,  to  gnaw  at  it,  and  taste  of  it!     How  it  inter- 
meddles with  Art !     It  touches  and  retouches  the 
tvorks  of  all  the  masters  !     It  is  rubbing  out  colors 
from   Titian,  and  will  one  day  ruin  him.     It  is    I 
making  chicks  in  St.    Peter's,  and   means  some 
time  to  destroy  if.  /L 

Kow  busy  are  the  years  among  the  nations— 
/breeding  wars  and  rumors  of  wars  !  What  a 
|struggle  in  this  land  the  old  year  left  unended  ! 
i What  a  battle  the  new  year  finds  waging!  Who 
lean  recount  the  wonderful  history  of  a  year  ?  Does 
lit  pass  as  a  tale  that  is  told  ?  It  passes  also  as  a 
^5  that  cannot  be  told  ! 

What  of  this  new  comer  among  the  years  ?  In 
some  respects  it  will  have  a  like  history  with  the 
last.     It  will  lead  forth  a  like  train  of  seasons ; 


V 


of  death,  shall  yet  outlive  time.  This  is  a  day, 
therefore,  for  the  Christian  to  remember  the  warn- 
ing of  Job,  "  When  a  few  years  are  come,  I  shall  <r0 
the  icay  whence  I  shall  not  return."  May  every 
New  Year  be  happy,  until  that  Unmeasured 
>*»r  that  follows  these  shall  be  happiest  of  all. 


A  UEW-YEAE'S  WISH 
During  the  past  few   days   how  often  have 
the  words,  "A    happy  new  year,"  been  utter- 
ed  by    the   lips   of  hundreds   and   thousands 
I  among  us !     the   gleeful   shout  of   the    little 
child,  as  the  bright  sun  of  the  opening  year 
gilded  his  whole  future  with  its  rays  of  golden  ' 
light,  and  the  calmer,  yet  still  joyous  greet- 
ing, as  friend  met  friend,  in  the  home-circle,  ~ 
*j  the  street,  or  the  mart  of  business. 


jeed-time  and  harvest ;  heats  and  frosts.     It  will  y      To  some,    the   words   struck   those   deeper 

«j  chords  of  feeling  and  sad  remembrance,  whose 


larry  on  the  same  great  mysteries  of  life  and  death. 
It  will  visit  equal  perplexities  upon  the  nations  of 
the  earth.  It  will  keep  men  in  suspense  between 
hope  and  fear.  It  will  be  inscrutable  to  their  most 
anxious  wish  to  know  events  before  time  is  ready 
for  the  disclosure. 

It  is  a  happy  thing  that  the  history  of  to-morrow 

ts  never  yet  been  written.  Part  of  the  Curse  was 
Withheld  from  man  when  God  mercifully  restrained 
trim  from  knowing  the  future.  Who  would  feel 
comfortable  to  know,  all  his  lifetime,  the  day  of  his 
leath  ?    Who  would  feel  grateful  to  read  to-day  that 

i-morrow  at  noon  he  will  fall  and  bnfck  his  arm  ? 

Tho  would  like  to  see  so  far  ahead  as  to  know  that, 
with  the  next  midsummer,  his  little  child  is  to  sicken 
md  die  ?    They  who  seek  so  eagerly  and  so  vainly 
for  glimpses  of  the  future,  forget  what  bitterness  f 
would  be  in  their  knowledge,  if  they  could  only    ] 
fnow. 

But  if  we  cannot  have  knowledge  of  the  New 
fear,  Ave  can  have  wishes  for  it.  So,  in  case  our 
wishes  should  be  held  to  have  any  virtue,  we  waft 
;o  every  human  creature,  by  breath  of  mouth  and 

ord  of  pen,  the  cheerful  accost  of  a  Happy  New    I 
irear ! 

We  wish  it,  first,  to  all  to  whom  the  old  year  was 
inhappy  ;  to  the  poor,  that  they  may  be  clothed 

id  housed  against  the  winter's  wind  ;  to  the  beg-  i 
in  the  street,  that  now  they  may  have  plentiful 
Dasket  and  store  ;  to  all  honest  men  who  have  had 
oad  luck,  thatthey  now  may  have  better.  We  wish  it 
;o  all  the  brave  men  who  are  watching,  these  win- 
,ry  nights,  around  camp-fires,  thinking  of  battle  and 
if  home  ;  we  wish  it  to  the  sailor  in  foreign  seas,  that 
fair  w  inds  may  speed  his  good  ship  back  ;  we  wish 
:t  to  the  thrifty  farmer,  that  the  seed  may  yield  the 
sheaf ;  we  wish  it  to  the  toiling  mechanic  who,  after 
o-day's  holiday,  will  go  back  to-morrow  to  his  bench 
ind  tools — to  whom  may  a  good  day's  work  bring  a 
good  day's  wages.  We  wish  it  to  all  who  are  strug- 
gling against  any  enemy  within  themselves,  and  seek- 
ing after  abetter  life  ;  may  they  have  victory  by  God's 
grace.  We  wish  it  to  all  God's  ministers  in  Chris- 
ian  pulpits,  that  the  year  may  bring  a  harvest  of 
many  souls.  We  wish  it  to  all  missionaries  in  for- 
eign lands,  that  their  heroic  labors  may  have  divine 
rewards.  We  wish  it,  to  all  who  bear  the  burden 
of  any  grief,  that  they  may  have  the  oil  of 
joy  for  mourning.  We  wish  it  to  all  who  are 
siok  and  in  prison,  that  they  may  be  visited  and 
comforted.  We  wish  it  to  every  sorrowing  slave 
in  his  bondage,  that  the  New  Year,  with  shadowy- 
hands,  may  unbind  his  chains,  and  set  him  free. 
To  these,  and  to  all,  may  the  coming  days  bring 
cheer,  and  plenty,  and  liberty,  and  the  peace  of  God  ! 

A  year  goes,  and  a  year  comes  ;  both  are  &Kod 
with  soft  sandals  ;  neither  makes  noise  in  coming 
or  going.  The  clock  in  the  church-towor,  keeping 
even  race  with  both,  gives  unheeded  warning  at 
what  rate  they  run.  Men  look  at  their  watches  to 
remember  the  flight  of  the  hours,  but  forget  the 
flight,  of  the  days.  So  the  years  pass  away  almost 
unawares.  We  all  say,  Time  is  short.  But  though 
lime  is  short,  it  outlives  the  longest  life  ;  not,  how- 
ever, by  great  measure  ;    for  life,  after  its  respite 


only  response  was  tears,  as  the  desolate  home, 
(  the  vacant  seat,  the  silent  voice,  whispered  of  6 
bereaved  affection  and  hopes  whose  earthlv  * 
light  was  quenched  in  darkness.  To  others, 
the  greeting  was  full  of  bright  anticipation 
and  human  joy,  with  no  shading  cloud  to  dim 
the  glowing  future.  But  again  and  again  ut- 
tered, repeated  and  echoed  through  all  our 
homes,  how  few  have  realized  their  deep  si«-- 
nificai.oe,  and  from  how  few  Upj  was  th«  ut- 
terance a  true  expression  of  the  soul's  deep 
wish  and  prayer ! 

We  use  these  common  expressions  of  our 
daily  life, — we  meet  and  part,  and  call  our- 
selves true  and  sincere, — but  how  much  of  all 
this  intercourse  is  merely  outward,  the  forms 
of  a  common  politeness,  the  greetings  of  for- 
mal friendships,  hiding  the  deeper  soul-life,  or  I 
blinding  us  to  its  great  realities !  Were  our 
common  words  and  daily  intercourse  the  sim- 
ple utterences  of  the  heart,  too  pure  to  need  ! 
the  gloss  of  mere  civilities,  too  real  to  seek 
the  mask  of  cold  conventionalities,  how  much 
truer,  higher,  more  Chirst-like,  would  be  our 
lives. 

"A    happy  new-year!"   but  not  necessari- 
ly a  year  all  cloudless,  serene  and  joyful,  free 
from  sorrow,  care,  sickness  and  anxiety  ; — not  j 
such  is  our  wish  here  and  to-day.     We  wish  j 
you,  indeed,   a  happy  year,  yet  should  God  | 
take    from  you   the    health   that   now   pulses  I 
through  your  veins  and   animates  you  with  life  j 
and  vigor,   laying  you  on  the  couch  of  weari-  j 
ness  and  pain,   it   will  be  because  in  his  per- 
fect wisdom  He  knows  that  sickness  may  con- 
duce to  your  soul's  truer  life,  and  lead  you  near- 
er   to    Him   than   days   of  painless  joy   and 


ease. 

We  wish  you  a  happy  year,  yet  should  sor- 
row cloud  your  sky,  and  anxiety  fill  your 
heart,  and  the  touch  of  God's  chastening  hand 
rest  heavily  on  you,  we  know  that  through  sor- 
row, rightly  met,  the  soul  is  made  more 
strong,  Christ-like,  and  enduring ;  and  so  we  \ 
dare  not  ask  to  have  the  cup  all  pass  from 
you. 

We  wish  you  a  happy  year,  yet  should  rich- 
es fade,  and  anxieties  for  the  means  of  daily 
/  subsistance  press  heavily  upon  you,  and  many 
sources  of  outward  enjoyment  and  ease  be 
taken  awa?,  yet  through  the  fading  of  the 
earthly  treasure  may  be  revealed  the  heaven- 
ly riches. 

Happy,  through  a  closer  walk  with  God, — the 
Father's  love  overshadowing  your  daily  path, 
and  his  hand  recognized  in  all  the  daily  duties 
and  joys  of  each  passing  day.  Happy — through 
*  a  deeper  soul-life,  conscious*<of  the  indwelling 
Spirit,  and  realizing  more  aid  more  fully  the 
deep  meaniag  of  the  promise,  "We  will  come 
and  make  our  abode  with  him."       * 


LINES  TO  THE  OLD  YEAE, 

Farewell,  departin  ■  year • 
iny  waning  shadow  liners  on  the  hill 
And  through  the  dim  woods,  desolate  and  still 

Thy  dying  voice  to  hear. 

Storms  ushered  in  thv  birth  ■ 
Yetthy  brieT reign  hath  brought  us  Spring-,  8Weet  flow 
Summer's  ripe  fruits,  and  her  Ray  .J^  J££f 

lhat  gladden  the  green  earth. 

And  Autumn,  led  by  thee 
Came  with  her  waving  fields  of  golden  grain, 
Her  laden  orchard  boughs-her  harvest's  strain 

Her  liberal  hand  and  free. 

And  now  thy  course  is  run  • 
The  wintry  winds,  with  wild  and  eddying  blast 
Thy  requiem  sing,  and  withered  chapiets  cast  ' 

Thy  cold  bleak  grave  upon. 

Ah  I  light  is  the  farewell 
Breathed  forth  by  thoughtless  hearts  to  thee  Old  Year 
From  midst  the  festive  throng,-while  in  their  ear 

Low  sounds  thy  passing  knell  • 

•  Mindless  that  thou  dost  bear, 
On  thy  still  wings,  a  record  dread  to  heaven 
Of  wasted  thoughts,  of  high  affections  given 
To  trifles  light  as  air. 

Precious  are  thy  lost  hours; 
And  we  may  weep,  sadly,  but,  ah !  in  vain 
To  win  them  back.-yearnlng  yet  once  again 

To  call  those  treasures  ours. 

Yet  not  with  gloom  we  speed 
Thy  parting  flight-but  solemn  thought  we  blend 
With  our  farewell,  as  tea  dying  friend, 

Who  warns  us  in  our  need. 

For  thou  to  some  must  bound 
Their  being's  term  upon  this  changeful  earth  - 
And  thousands  ne'er  who  hail  the  New  Year's  birth 

May  tread  its  circling  round. 

Therefore  these  musings  sad 
Blend  with  our  gayer  thoughts  their  sombre  hue 
And  with  a  kind  and  gentle  power  subdue 

Hopes  that  were  else  too  glad. 

Thus,  then.  Old  Year,  we  part,— 
Grateful  for  all  the  mercies  by  thee  brought, 
And  for  thy  chastenings.  which  were  kindly  fraught, 

With  blessings  to  the  heart.  B.  I,  0 


A  strange,  non-descript  time  is  the  interval  be- 
tween the  24th  of  December  and  the  2d  ot 
January.  It  is  the  bridge  between  the 
Old  and  the  New,  where  every  traveller 
would  fain  lean  over  the  parapet  and 
muse  a  little  upon  the  stream  that  rushes  be- 
neath ;  or,  wearying  of  this,  lift  his  face  to  the 

I 


star  so  far  off  and  yet  so  near.  But  in  a  great  city 


the  human  tide  rushes  too  fast;  the  present  is 
too  full,  the  future  too  importunate,  and  whether 
he  will  or  not,  he  is  hurried  forward.    Work 
thrusts  aside  reflection,  gaiety  leaves  no  room  for 
retrospection;  and  yet  the  most  worldly  feel  a 
touch  of  sentiment  as  the  old  year  with  all  its 
experiences  slips  away  to  be  numbered  v.itii 
those  that  were  but  are  not.    It  is  a  haunted 
time,  and  even  the  busiest  caftnot  quite  exorcise ) 
the  phantoms,  nor  is  it  well  that  we  should.    It 
is  better  that  we  find  a  quiet  hour  and  give  them  ■ 
hospitable  entertainment.    Let  the  long-buried  ' 
joys  and  sorrows  be  recalled  while  we  reverently 
question  their  significance;  let  the  friends  that 
have  left  us  return ;  let  us  look  again  into  eyes 
that  were  once  dear  to  us,  and  question  ourselves 
of  the  whither  of  our  footsteps  since  their  lights 
were  withdrawn.    Let  the  dead  friend  once  more 
Sit  beside  us,  and  the  friend  that  is  estranged 
lay  his  hand  in  ours;  for  in  that  presence  our 
failures  and  wrong-doings  will  be  revealed;  the 
bitterness  will  fade  out  of  our  hearts,  and  the 
enemy     that     had     wronged     us     will      be 
remembered     with     pity     rather    than    with 
resentment.       Now,    if    at     any    time    dur- 
ing the  year,  our  good  angels  are  on  duty,  do- 
ing their  utmost  to  soften  the  hard  heart,  to  up- 
lift the  grovelling  and  selfish  nature,  to  remind 
us  of  our  allegiance  to  God  and  our  kinship 
witli  humanity:    Let  us  yield  ourselves  to  these 
goptle  influences,  and  in  this  holy  time  between 
the  years,  pause  and  commune  in  silence  with 
our  own  souls. 


I 


A  Vhaitksgiring. 

For  tro  wealth  of  pathless  forests 

W hereon  no  axe  may  fall, 
Kor  tlio  winds  that  haunt  the  branches— 

The  birdling's  timid  eall; 
For  the  red  leaves  dropped  like  rubies 

Upon  the  dark  green  sod — 
For  the  waving  of  the  forests, 

I  thank  thee,  oh,  my  «od! 

For  the  souud  of  waters,  pushing 

In  bubbling  beads  oi  light: 
For  the  fleets  of  snow-white  lilies— 

Firm  anchored  out  of  sight; 
For  the  reed3  among  the  eddies— 

The  crystal  on  the  clod; 
For  the  flowing  ot  the  rivers, 

I  thank  thee,  oh,  my  God! 

For  the  buds  that  throng  to  gladden 

Th?  toiler's  plodding  way ; 
For  the  bursting  of  fresh  roses 

With  every  new-born  day; 
For  She  bare  twigs,  that  in  summer 

Bloom  like  the  prophet's  rod; 
For  the  bUssoming  of  flowers, 

I  thank  thee,  uh,  my  Ged! 

For  the  lifting  up  of  mountains 

In  brightness  and  in  dread; 
For  the  peaks  where  snow  and  sunshine 

Alone  have  dared  to  tread; 
For  the  dirk  of  silent  gorges 

Whence  giant  cedars  nod; 
For  tiie  majesty  of  mountains, 

I  thank  tnee,  oh,  my  Clod! 

For  the  splendor  of  the  sunsets 

Vast  mirrored  on  the  sea; 
For  the  gold-fringed  clouds  that  curtains 

Of  heav&u's  blue  windows  be; 
For  the  burning  bars  of  twilight 

Where  thought  leans,  glad,  yet  awed; 
For  theglfrry  ol  the  sunsets 

I  thank  thee,  oh,  niy  God! 

For  the  earth,  and  all  its  beauty — 

The  sky,  with  all  its  light ; 
For  the  dim  and  soothing  shadows 

That  rest  the  dazzled  sight; 
For  unfading  iields  aud  prairies 

Where  sense  in  vain  has  trod; 
For  the  world's  exhaustless  beauty 

1  thank  thee,  oh,  my  God ! 

For  an  eye  of  inward  seeipg — 

A  soul  to  know  and  love; 
For  these  common  aspirations 

Which  our  high  heirship  prove; 
For  the  hearts  that  bless  each  other 

Beneath  thy  smile,  thy  rod; 
For  the  amaranth,  saved  irom  Eden, 

I  thank  thee,  «h,  my  God! 

For  the  hidden. scroll  o'er  written 

With  one  dear  Name  adored ; 
For  the  Heavenly  in  the  Human— 

The  Spirit  in  the  Word; 
For  the  tokens  of  thy  presence 

Wi thin,  above,  abroad; 
For  thine  own  great  gift  of  Being 
.  I  thank  thee,  oh,  my  God ! 


Thanksgiving  day  !  the  joyful  sound  ! 
Time  honored.     In  its  annual  round, 
Still  with  the  Pilgrim  son  is  found, 

As  with  the  sire, 
A  day  of  recollection  sweet, 
When  dearest  friends  again  do  meet 
The  absent  Ion?,  —  once  more  to  greet, 

And  kindle  higher, 
The.  sacred  flame  of  holy  love, 
For  kindred  and  for  God  above,  — 

Let  as  Ctire  Thank*. 


The  true  New  England  heart  to  move 

With  patriot  fire. 
Sons  of  the  brave !  sons  of  the  free ! 
New  England's  sons  !  where'er  ye  be, 
At  home,  abroad,  on  land  or  sea, 

Your  voices  raise ; 
And  echo  through  our  broad-spread  land 
Thanksgivings  to  the  bounteous  hard. 
Which  guided  well  the  Pilgrim  band 

Of  other  days." 


/ 


A  Hymn  of  ThanJcsgiving. 

Oh  join  all  je  people! 
To  the  Ancient,  of  Day« 
A  hymn  of  tbaeksgiving 
Unitedly  raise. 

Thanksgiving  (or  life, 
Thanksgiving  for  health, 
Thanksgiving  tor  freedom, 
Thanksgiving  fcr  wealth, 
Thanksgiving  t'oi  sunshine, 
Thanksgiving  for  rain, 
Thanksgiving  for  harvest 
Returning  again. 

Oh  join  all  yo  people  1 
To  the  Ilea,  only  King 
A  hvinn  of  thanksgiving 
Unitedly  sing. 

Thanksgiving  for  heroea 
Both  living  and  dead; 
Thanksgiving  for  all  who 
For  country  have  bled; 
Thanksgiving  that  men 
Proved  true  to  their  trust 
And  feared  not  to  fight 
I  "or  the  cause  that  is  just. 

Oh  join  all  ye  people  1 
And  si-yg  to  the  Lord 
A  hymn  of  thanksgiving 
In  onofutl  accord 

Kemembor  the  poor 
And  turn  not  away 
The  widow,  the  orphan, 
And  those  far  away; 
Remember  the  soldiers 
On  land  and  on  sea, 
Our  brothers,  the  soldiers, 
Wherever  they  be. 

Oh  join  all  ye  people! 
Give  thanks  to  the  Lord 
Who  richly  bestows 
His  blessings  abroad, 


Let  us  give  thanks!  the  day  is  breaking, 

The  tide  of  life  is  in  our  hearts, 
And  blessings  of  our  Father's  making 

Gather  around,  aud  care  departs. 

Let  us  give  thanks  to  Him  who  renders 
The  highlands  beautiful  with  bloom; 

Gives  music  to  the  brook  that  wanders 
Amid  the  forests'  wondrous  gloom. 

Let  us  give  thanks  to  Him  who  streweth 
With  dazzling  snow  these  blooming  banks. 

And  when  the  wild  wind  loudly  bloweth 
And  the  storms  rage— let  us  give  thanks. 

He  in  whose  hands  thy  Fate  is  holden, 
Ha  to  whose  throne  thy  prayers  arise, 

Hath  made  thy  life  a  pathway  golden 
With  rainbows  set  amid  the  skies. 

Oh,  when  around  thy  flashing  ingle 
Gather  at  uight  thy  household  band, 

Let  gratitude  with  gladness  mingle, 
Let  prayer  and  peace  go  hand  in  hand. 

Let  us  give  thanks !    So  full  of  blessings 

Has  been  this  pilgrimage  of  ours, 
So  shadowless  have  been  the  heavens, 

Our  upward  path  is  bright  with  flowers. 


A  CALL  TO  THANKSGIVING. 


Coiae  home  to  Thanksgiving!  dear   children  come 
home 
From  the  north  aud  the  south,  from  the  west  and  the 
eatt, 
Where'er  you  are  resting,  wherever  you  roam, 
Come  back  to  the  sacred  and  annual  feast. 

What  though  the  wild  wind  of  November  doth  roar, 
Like  a  trumpet  blast,  loud  o'er  the  country  so  drear. 

And  the  cold  rain  of  autumn  unceasingly  pour, 
In  this  cloudiest,  gloomiest  mouth  ot  the  year. 

We  heed  not,  nor  hear  it,  with  fires  burning  bright 
On  the  ample  old  hearths  where  you  sported  of  yore. 

Ye  will  know  the  glad  faces  revealed  by  their  light, 
And  fond  hearts  will  welcome  you  e'en  at  the  door. 

Your  father  ts  here,  and  your  mother,  whose  love, 
Thoinrh  homely  and  plain,  is  more  precious  than 
gold. 

And  your  shy  little  sister,  with  eye.s  like  a  dove, 
And  your  mother,  so  tall  and  so  sturdy  and  bold. 

And  when  you  shall  miss  from  your  circle  a  face, 
Which  for  many  a  year  was  like  light  to  your  view, 

Do  not  mourn  for  the  aged !  tor  oh !  m  her  place 
A  glorious  angel  is  waiting  for  you. 

Come  home  to  Thanksgiving !  we  pray  you  come  home. 

From  the  north  and  the  south,  from  the  west  and 
east, 
Yv'here'or  you  are  resting,  wherever  you  roam. 

Come  back  to  our  sacred  and  annual  feast. 

Our  ripe  fruits  are  gathered,  our  corn  in  the  barn, 
All  ready  for  "husking"  and  brisk  '•'apple-bees." 

And  Mary  is  knitting  her  snowiest  yarn 
Into  mittens  lor  fear  that  your,  fingers  would  freeze. 

The  chestnuts,  alas!  are  all  gone  from  the  lea, 
But  our  walnuts  and  butternuts  always  are  fine; 

They  were  carefully  culled  from  each  favorite  tree, 
And  our  elder  (speak  softly)  is  sparkling  as  wine. 

The  turkeys,  entirely  resigned  to  their  fate;- 
Stalk  quietly  around,  with  a  gobble  or  ss— 

And  the  chickens  their  doomsday  in  silence  await, 
Asking  not&rag  but  plenty  to  eat  as  they  go! 

Cur  pumpkins  ass  golden  as  golden  can  he, 

All  ready  to  mtfflfsto  JMicata  pie, 
With  a  tempting  erost  white  as  the  loam  of  the  sea, 

And  light  as  the  snowy  ffeke  wandering  by. 

Come  home  to  Thasksgiving-r-  But  oh,  if  you  cor>e, 
Bring  back  the  warm  heart  of  your  earlier  yout ; ; 

Let  it  shed  its  old  light  on  the- afar  of  home, 
Untainted  in  feeling— lindiumed  in  its  truth. 

Cast  away  from  your  s**>»l  all  tii^tooss  of  the  world, 
And;  worship  with  us  ss  you  d5d>  when  a  child, 

In  onr  solemn  old  churcit,  with  yo-ar  golden  locks  cur?8; 
And  your  rougisn  eyes  glancing  dfomnre  and  mild. 

Let  us  thank  God  together  for  honwand  for  health— 
Bfor  the  iriends  he  hath  lint'  its  and  tSese  that  are  gone. 

Fop  His  fatherly  bounty  in  giving  us  *vealth, 
Or  His  merciiul  justice  wMea  wealthis  withdrawn. 

And  oh,  1st  us  pray  that  whoa  Hie  shall  $e  o'er, 
And  the  last  earthly  rites  unto*  us  havffbeen  given, 

We  may  meet  those  we  love  areternity'sshore, 
And  keep  a  more  joyful  Thanifegiving  iu  Heaven. 


TH4BKSGIVIWa, 

AND  WHAT  IT  MEA.NS. 

K  Thakksgivims  is  coming  p  exclaimed  IHfle  Mary, 
in  whose  imagination  roast- turkey  arid  plum-pudding 
figured  largely,—  '  Thanksgiving  is  coming ;  then  we 
*ill  go  to  grandfather'*.  Aunt  Aftnie  will  he  there 
to  tell  us  s  odes,  aod  Cbaaln  Alice  wil.  go,  and  Frank, 
baby  ;  end  oil.  we  wid  nave  eucti  a  nice  t  ms 
plajufg  hide  and-seek  and  bimdman's  buff— won't 
we,  father  r" 

AM  JitUe  Mary's  eyes  sparkled,  and  her  pretty 
noshed  face,  peeping  through  her  tangled  curia,  told 
how  much  Interest  she  felt  in  the  coming  Tha-nks- 
\  l;i*ing. 

Her  falber  locked  down  upon  his  little  girl  as  she 
tat  npon  bia  kr.ee,  and  sunled  to  8?e  her  innocent 
happiness ;  then  h«  asked,  "  What,  does  my  little 
daughter  mtan  by  Thanksgiving?'' 

Here  was  a  poser,  for  Mary,  bke  a  great  many 
other  little  girls,  never  had  a  r,oo>igh'  a^ou*;  it,  beyond 
the  good  things  and  good  ti?n»s  *h*  alway*  had  at 
grandma's ;  so  no  wonder  she  looked  puzaled  whan 
a' If  d  the  meaning  of  Thanksgiving ! 

Ber  father,  seeing  her  perplex,  u  look,  said,  «  Shall 
I  tfli  Mary  a  etory  7" 

The  nappy  look  stole  baok  to  her* sweet  face,  as 
fcheeaid,  "Oh  yes." 

"A  great  many  years  ago,"  bsgan  her  ftf,h*r. 
"when  this  country  fust  begaa  to  be  settled,  i  her* 
was  a  little  settlement  formed  a?  Pivmo-rh  The 
people  were  good,  pious  Porit  «s,  and  ev«ry  moving 
and  evening  asked  G<ni  to  Mess  chem  in  ?heir  n^w 
borne  They  bad  n->t  t*en  hns  settled  brforn  tnetr 
stores  began  to  give  out  and  man?  sartVed  f  ,r  srie 
want  of  bif-ad.    This  was  very  early  *n  to*}  spring. 

"  Jn  April  they  ilanted  ton,  corn,  and  it  sprang  up,  ' 
glvir-g  premise  of  a  plentiful  harvest,  and  they  begaa 
to  feel  er.conraged  re  at  they  yet  should  he  happy  is 
thfir  fcon.e  in  the  wilderness.  B  it  Q  ;d  w^  going  ■-> 
try  thei<  fai?h  Jd  htmaeif ;  and  soon  me  ea-»tb  h-gi-? 
to  ire  dry  and  pnrched.  tne  prontsing  er^m  drooped, 
fcfrd  hioked  as  if  if.  wa*  gf>in|j  t.-i  die  ;  six- wees*  went, 
by,  eirf  6ii]|  no  rain.  The  Pnrirar>s  resolved  m  a  p.ynnif 
a  <?«y  on  wroch  all  ebouki  assernole  and  pray  to  Sad 
ro  b*vd  fnero  ratn. 

•»  The  day  came,  a  fair,  beautiful  day,  not  a  cloud/ 
dimmed  the  eky,  yet  sadder  hearts  never  rxiat  than  on 
that  brifeht  day.  Nine  hoars  passed  in  wnitfi  ihev^ 
pr«jed  uneeasingly,  yet  brightly  the  sun  shoue  on,  and 
■h«-  air  was  close  ac<i  sultry ;  still  they  prayed  with 
lerewer  fervor,  and  toward  eveuingehmds  overspread 
the  sky,  and  rain,  cool,  refreshing  rain,  fell  in  aband-* 
ar  ce  from  the  windows  of  heaven.  The  dry  arsd 
withered  planfs  lifted  uj  tb»-i/  droopiug  heads,  as  if 
to  thank  God  for  the  cooling  draught;  and  from  the 
pnyeifuj  faith  of  those  pious  Puritans  a  plentiful  har- 
vest was  reaped.  Ar,d  in  remembrance  of  G^d's 
j>o«  cness  to  them,  they  appointed  a  dayofTnaaks- 
yivjeg — the  day  which  my  little  Mary  baa  so  earnestly 
btm  wishing  for ;  and  I  hope  when  it  comes  she  will 
?  o>  forget  to  thank  her  heavenly  Father  for  all  his 
blessings  to  ber." 

Mary  thanked  her  father  for  the  story,  then  kissed 
hm  "  good-night,"  and  went  to  rest  with  more  solemn 
thoughts  of  Thanksgiving  than  she  ever  had  before. 

May  my  little  readers  likewise  remember  that 
Thanksgiving  is  appointed  for  the  purpose  of  return- 
ing thanks  to  God  for  his  goodness  to  us,  and  aot 
alone  for  the  purpose  of  meeting  those  we  love,  and 
eating  roast-turkey  and  plum-pudding.        Ecdora. 


-"""■-■  ---^-— "—- - — --*  -■  ■-"-^Tr"-' TrTfflTTTwnrnr 


ONE   HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

~  One  hundred  and  ten  years  ago  there  was  not  a  single  white  man  in  Ken- 
tucky, Ohio,  Indiana  and  Illinois.    Then,  what  is  now  the  most  flourishing 

'part  of  America  was  as  little  known  as  the  country  around  the  mysterious 
mountains  of  the  moon.  It  was  not  until  1776,  that  Boone  left  his  home  in 
North  Carolina  to  become  the  first  settler  in  Kantucky. 

A  hundred  years  ago  Cahada  belonged  to  France,  and  the  population  did 
not  exceed  a  million  and  a-half  of  people.  A  hundred  years  ago  the  great 
Frederick  of  Prussia  was  performing  those  grand  exploits  which  have  made 
him  immortal  in  military  annals,  and  with  his  little  monarchy  was  sustaining  a 
single-handed  contest  with  Russia,  Austria  and  France,  the  three  great  powers 
Europe  combined.  Washington  was  a  modest  Virginia  colonel,  and  the 
great  event  of  history  in  the  two  worlda+in  which  these  great  but  dissimilar 
men  took  leading  parts  were  then  scarcely  foreshadowed.  The  I  nited  States 
were  then  the  most  loyal  part  of  the  British  Empire,  and  on  tne  political 
horizon  no  speck  indicated  the  struggle  which  within  a  score  of  years  there- 
after established  the  great  republic  of  the  world.  A  hundred  years  ago  there 
were  but  four  newspapers  in  America,  steam  engines  had  not  been  imagined, 
and  railroads  and  telegraphs  had  not  entered  the  mind  of  man. 


WORCESTER: 

THURSO  AY,  KOVEM  BEB  »6.  ISMHt. 

No  paper  will  be  issued  from  this  office 
to-morrow. 

Tn«iiksgiviug. 

"The  bricks  are  fallen  down,  but  we  will  build 
With  hewn  stone*;  the  sycamores  have  been  eut 
down,  but  we  will  change  them  into  cedars."  — 
J*riaA9:  10. 

The  president  this  yeur  unites  with  the  gov- 
ernors of  many  of  the   states  in  giving  a  na- 
tional sanction  to  the  secular   Sabbath  of  the 
Puritans.     It  is  the  crowning  of  a  year  of  sac- 
rifices more  than   compensated    by  triumphs, 
and  is   worthy  to    be  welcomed  with  the  out-,, 
pouring  of  all   grateful    hearts.     If  the   pro- 
phet   himself  could   now  look  down  from  that 
higher  light  in  which  he  is  rejoicing,  and  ap- 
ply his  inspired  dialectics  to  our  strife  of  dis- 
pensations, he  would  have  scarcely  less  cause  - 
tor  prophetic  joy  and  exalted  thanksgiving 
'•To  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us — 
Who  made  and  loveth  all," 

than  when  he  foresaw  the  true  Christ  coming, 
and  foretold  his  own  people's  redemption. 
'Providence  is  no  respecter  of  times  or  peo- 
ples, and  to  those  whoVork  for  right  and  duty 
and  justice  and  truth,  it  comes  as  near,  this 
late  November  morning,  as  it.  ever  came  to 
seer  or  prophet  in  the  ancient  days.  Now,  as 
then,  there  is  preparation  to  be  made  for  the 
new  dispensation  just  beginning  to  streak  the 
east  with  fair  morning  light;  and  now,  as 
then,  there  is  grateful  and  beneficent  work 
waiting  for  those  who  are  worthy  of  the  re- 
ward of  faithful  service  to  country  and  man- 
kind. 


TO  WHOM  SHALL  WE  GIVE  THANKS? 

A  little  boy  had  sought  the  pump 

From  whence  the  sparkling  water  burst, 
And  drank  with  eager  joy  the  draught 

That  kindly  quenched  his  raging  thirst  ; 
Then  gracefully  he  touched  his  cap— 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Pump,"  he  said, 
«'  For  this  nice  drink  you've  given  me  I  " 

(This  little  hoy  had  been  well  bred.) 

Then  said  the  Pump :  "  My  little  man, 

You're  welcome  to  what  I  have  done; 
But  I  am  not  the  one  to  thank — 

I  only  help  the  water  run." 
"  O.  then,"  the  little  fellow  said, 

(Polite  he  always  meant  to  be,) 
"  Cold  Water,  please  accept  my  thanks, 

You  have  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"  Ah!  "  said  Cold  Water,  "  don't  thank  me ; 

Far  up  the  hillside  lives  the  Spring 
That  sends  me  forth  with  generous  hand 

To  gladden  every  living  thing." 
"  1*11  thank  the  Spring,  then,"  said  the  boy, 

And  gracefully  he  bowed  his  head. 
"  O,  don't  thank  me,  my  little  man," 

The  Spring  with  silvery  accents  said, 

"  O,  don't  thank  me— for  what  am  I 

Without  the  Dew  and  summer  Bain? 
Without,  their  aid  I  ne'er  could  quench 

Your  thirst,  my  little  boy,  again." 
"  O,  well,  then,"  said  the  little  boy, 

"  I'll  gladly  thank  the  Kain  and  Dew." 
"  Pray,  don't,  thank  us— without  the  Sun 

We  could  not  fill  one  cup  for  you." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Sun,  ten  thousand  thanks 

For  all  that  you  have  done  for  me." 
"  Stop!  "  said  the  Sun,  with  blushing  face, 

"  My  little  fellow,  don't  thank  me; 
'Twas  from  the  Ocean's  mighty  stores 

1  drew  the  draught  I  gave  to  thee." 
"0,  Ocean.  lien  said  the  boy. 

It  echoed  'into  me — 

"  Not  unto  me,  but  unto  Him 

Who  formed  the  depths  in  which  I  lie, 
Go,  give  thy  thanks,  my  little  boy, 

To  Him  who  will  thy  wants  supply." 
The  boy  took  off  his  cap,  and  said, 

In  tones  so  gentle  and  subdued, 
"  O  God,  I  thank  Thee  for  this  gift, 

Thou  art  the  Giver  of  all  good." 

—  Christian  Radical. 


The  President's    Hymn. 

Sir— Inclosed  you  will  find  a  hymn  written  by 
our  beloved  and  revered  fellow  citi/en,  Dr.  Muhlen- 
berg, founder  of  St.  Luke's  hospital,  and  writer  ot 
the  immortal  hymn,  '-I  would  not  live  alway  " 
Will  you  not  give  it  a  place  in  your  columns,  and 
use  your  editorial  influence  to  induce  our  people 
throughout  the  loya!  states  to  sing  it  iu  the  churches 
on  the  approaching  thanksgiving,  as  "The  Profi- 
cient's Hymn.", 

It  has  a  right  to  that  designation.  It  is,  as  a  com- 
parison of  the  two  will  prove,  a  metrical  version  of 
the  president's  proclamation,  which  this  yeur,  for 
the  lirst  time,  made  our  -'Harvest  Home"  a  national 
festival — a  significant  and  blessed  augury  of  that 
'•more  perfect  Union,"  with  which  with  God's  bless- 
ing, the  war  shall  leave  us  as  a  people. 

Solicitious  to  have  the  highest  authority  given 
to  the  use  of  this  national  hymn,  I  obtained  the  re- 
luctant consent  of  its  writer  (author  also  of  the  mu- 
sic to  which  it  is  set)  to  ask  our  chief  magistrate's 
permission  to  style  it  "  i'he  1'iesident's  Hymn." 
l'hc  secretary  of  state,  through  whom  tho  applica- 
tion was  made,  telegraphed  me  a  tew  hours  after- 
ward the  president's  leave,  in  the  decisive  style 
which  has  now  become  so  familiar  to  our  people — 
"Let  it  be  so  called." 

May  we  not  hope  that  millions  of  our  people  will, 
on  November  2j,  be  found  uniting  in  this  National 
Psalm  of  National  Thanksgiving,  and  that  "The 
President's  Hymn"  will  be  the  household  aud  the 
temple  song  of  that  solemn  and  joyful  day  ?  It  will 
help  to  join  our  hearts  as  citizens,  thus  to  blend  our 
voices  as  worshippers;  and  the  blessings  of  Union, 
liberty  and  peace  will  sooner  descend  far  a  people 
that  can  thus  unite  in  its  praise  and  hosnnnahs. 
Respectfully  yours, 

Hknuy  \V.  Bellows. 

New  York,  Nov.  17, 1863. 

GIVE  THANKS,  ALL  YE  PEOPLE. 
Give  thanks,  all  ve  people,  give  thanks  to  the  Lord, 
Alleluias  of  freedom,  with  joyful  accord: 
Let  the  East  and  the   West,  North  and  South  roll 

along, 
Sea,  mountain  and  prairie,  one  thanksgiving  song. 

CIIOKUS    A.FTKII    LACU    VERSE: 

Give  thanks,  all  ye  people,  gi.  e  thanks  to  the  Lord, 
Alleluias  of  freedom,  with  joyful  accord. 

For  the  sunshine  and  rainfall,  enriching  again 
Our  acres  in  myriads,  with  treasures  of  grain; 
For  the  Earth  still  unloading  her  manifold  wealth, 
For  the  Skies  beaming  vigor,  the  Winds  breathing 
health: 

Give  thanks — 
For  the  Nation's  wide  table,  o'erflowingly  spread. 
Where  the  many  have  feasted,  and   all   have  been 

fed, 
With  no  bondage,  their  God-given  rights  to    en- 
thrall, 
But  Liberty  guarded  by  Justice  for  all: 
Give  thanks — 

In  the  realms  of  the  Anvil,   the  Loom,  and  the 

Flow, 
Where  the  mines  and  the  fields,  to   Him  gratefully 

bow: 
His  the  flocks  and  the  herds,  sing  ye  hill-sides  and 

vales; 
On  His  Ocean  domains  chant  His  name  with  the 


Give  thanks —     v 

Of  commerce  and  traffic,  ye  princes,  behold 
Your  riches  from  Him  whose  the  silver  and  gold, 
Happier  children  of  Labor,  true  lords  of  the  soil, 
Bless  the  Great  Master   Workman,   who  blesseth 
your  toil. 

Give  thanks — 

Brave  men  of  our  forces.  Life-guard  of  our  coasts, 

To  your  leader  be  loyal,  Jehovah  of  Hosts; 

Glow  the  Stripos  and  the   Stars   aye   with  victory 

bright, 
Reflecting  His  glory,— He  crowneth  the  Bight. 
Give  thanks — 

Nor  shall  ye  through  our  borders,  ye  stricken  of 

heart, 
Onlv  wailing  your  dead,  in  the  joy  have  no  part; 
God's  solace  be  yours,  and  for  you  there  shall  flow 
All  that  honor  and  sympathy's  gifts  can  bestow.     ' 

Give  thanks — 
In  the  Domes' of  Messiah— ye  worshiping  throngs. 
Solemn  litanies  mingle  with  jubilant  songs; 
The  Ruler  of  Nations  beseeching  to  spare, 
Aud  our  Empire  still  keep  the  Elect  of  His  care. 

Give  thanks — 
Our  guilt  and  transgressions  remember  no  more! 
Peace,  Lord!  righteous  1'eaSo,  of  Thy  gift  we  im- 
plore; 
And  the  Banner  of  Union,  restored   by  Thy  Hand; 
Be  thebauaer  of  Freedom  <>'«r  All  in  the  Land. 
And  the  Banner  of  Union,  &C 
Give  thanks— 


THE  OLDEN  TIMK 

A  Thanksgiving  Proclamation  One  I"i 
rtrcd  acid  Fifty  Years  Ago 

We  copy   from  the  Providence  Journal,  for 
which   Dr   Parsons   dug    it  up,  the  following 
proclamation  for  a  Thanksgiving  in  the  province 
of  Massachusetts   Bay,   one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago,  which  we  reproduce  with  as  much  ac- 
curacy as  our  modern  types  will  a'dow : — 
[English  Coat  of  Arms.] 
By  HIS  EXCELLENCY, 
SAMUEL  SHUTE,  E-:q.; 

Captain  General  and  Governour  in  Chief  in  and 
over  His  Majesty's  Province  of  the  Massachusetts- 
Bay  in  New -England,  &c. 

A  Proclamation  for  a  General 
THANKSGIVING. 
"CiORASMUCH  as  amidst  the  various  awfal  Re- 
■*-    bukes  of  Heaven,  with  which  we  are  right- 
eously sfrl'cted,  in   the  Contagious  and  Mortal 
Sickness  among  us,    especially  in  the  Town  of 
Boston;  The  long  and  immoderate  Rains,  which 
have  been  so  hurtful  to  the  Husbandry  and  Fish- 
ery; And  the  threatening  Aspect  of  Affairs  with 
Respect  to  our  Frontiers :    We  are  still  under  the 
highest  and  most  indispensible  Obligations  of 
Gratitude  for  the  many  Instances  of  the  divine 
Goodr  ess  in  the  Favours  vouchsafed  to  us  in  the 
course  of  the  Year  past;  Particularly,  For  the 
LIFE  of  our  Gracious  Sovereign  Lord  the  KING, 
Their  Royal  Highnesses  the  Prince  and  Princess 
of  Wales  and  their  Issue,  and  the  increase  of  the 
Royal  Family;  The  Preservation  of  His  Majesty's 
Kingdoms  and  Dominions  from  the  terrible  and 
desolating  Pestilence  which  hath  for  so  long  a  Time 
been  wasting  the  Kingdom  of  France;  And  the 
happy  success  of  his  Majesty's  Wise  Counsils  for 
Restoring  and  Confirming  the  Peace  of  Europe; 
For  the  Continuance  of  our  valuable  Privileges, 
both   Civil   a'od    Ecclesiastical;  and  the   divine 
Blessing  upon  this  Government  in  their  Adminis- 
trations; Particularly,  In  succeeding  the  Methods 
taken  to  prevent  the  Insults  of  the  Eastern  In- 
dia>is;  For  giving  so  great  a. Measure  of  Health 
within  this  Province,  and  Moderating  the  mor- 
tality of  the  Small  Pox,  so  that  a  great  Number 
of  Persons  are  Recovered  from  that  Distemper; 
and  for  granting  us  so  comfortable  a  former  har- 
vest, and  so  hopeful  a  Prospect  of  the  latter  :— 
I  have  therefore  thought  Jit  vitk  the  Advice  of 
IBs  Mxjesty's  Coumil.  10   Order  and  A 
Thursday \  the Twentv-sixth  of  October  next,  to  be 
Observed  as  a  Day  of  Public);  THANKSGIVING 
throughout  this  Province,  strictly  forbidding  all 
Servile  Labour  thereon.,  and  Exhorting  both  Minis.* 
ters  and  People  in  their  respective  Assemblies  on 
the  said  Day,  to  offer  up   humble,   and 
THANKS  to  Almighty  GOD  for  his  many  Fa- 
vours, as  aforesaid,  and  formally  ^other  B' 
bestowed  on,  a  Sinful  I'eople. 
Given  at  Boston,  .the  Eighteenth  Day  of  Septem- 
ber, 1721.    And  in  the  Eighth  Year  of   the 
Reign  of  Our  Sovereign  Lord  GEORGE,  by  the 
Grace  of  GOD,  of  Great  Britain,  France  and 
Ireland.  KING.  Defender  of  the  Faith,  fee. 
By  Order  of  the  Governor, 
with  advice  of  the  Council, 
Jcsiah  Willard,  Seer.  S.  SHUTE 

GOD  Save  the  King. 


Ho 


Tlianksgh 
^preeminently  a  domestic  feast,  and  sacred 
the  hearth  stone.  It  is  planted  in  the  fruitful 
soil  of  home-bred  affections  and  fireside  joys- 
In  the  old  world,  they  chant  'IV  Drums  at  the 
birth  of  princes  and  at  the  coronation  of  kings, 
but  this  is  the  American  people's  festival,  to  ren- 
der thanks  to  the  Almighty  King  for  all  religious, 
civil,  domestic  and  material  blessings.  It  much 
resemble,-  the  Hebrew  feast  of  Tabernacle-  0T«f 
the  Ingathering.    Their  genial    .skies    permitted 


All  hail,  Thanksgiving  day!     Ltt   the  church 
bells  ring,  and  the    parsons    p  ilicati- 

theins  sound,  and  the  turkeys  sputter,  and   die 
mince  pies  sntokc!    Let   ii    gather    to   ;•.  - 
fragrant,  and  pleasant  memories! 
iag  go  forth  with  joy,  and   let   it   lead  if  the 
night  with  peace! 

An  English  cook  recently  lost  an  opportu- 
nity to  enter  a  good  place  by  saying,  "Oh, 
by  the  way,  ma'am,  there  is  one  thing  I  for- 
got to  mention;  I  boDO  there  will  be  no  ob- 
jection to  the  family's  diuing  early  twice  a 
week,  aa  on  Tuesdays  and  Tnurstiays  I  take 
dancing  lessons  in  the  evenine."  The  lady, 
far  from  being  grateful  that  the  le 
were  only  «ak?n  twice  instead  of  thnca  a 
week,  with  the  usual  selfish  arroaranoc  of 
employers,  declined  to  make  the  sluhs  con- 
cession asked,  and  the  cook  went  on,  her  way 
indignant  at  the  unreasonableness  of  "mis- 
suses." 


„    them  to  go  abroad  in  the  open  air  and  celebrate 


the  harvest  festival  in  booths.  But  like  our 
Thanksgiving,  it  was  also  sacred,  to  Ciniily  re- 
unions, to  abounding  hospitalities,  and  to  the 
outgoings  of  friendliness  toward  the  stranger, 
the  widows  and  the  fatherless.  It  brought  with 
i  interchange  of  kindly  offices,  aud  was 
.  I'|(cri\c  in  promoting  a  common  patriotism. 
So  our  Thanksgiving  powerfully  tends  to 
strengthen  the  sentiment  of  nationality.  Ii  Audi 
the  people  of  different  states  In   the  amity  that 

results  from  the  wide  ingathering  of  family   con 
neetions.    Reuniting  in  closest  congeniality  the 
many  hearts  scattered  by  tho   separate  interests  ] 
of  life,  and  kindling  to  a  friendly  glow  all  affec- 
nenatc  sympathies,  i:    gives  plaj  to  the  no 
:11;,1  rnpet  refining  sentiments.    t\  '.■  jo<  oi  d 
the  innocent  glee  and  mirthful   prattle  of  happy 
children  aud  radiant  with  the  serene  satisfaction 
of  delighted  Old  age.     Celebrated  and  enjoy.nl  in 
the  humblest  homes,  it  lifts  up  the  poorest  citizen 
to  a  higher  level  of  self-respect   and  the  .litinity 
■  that  be  and  bis  a  v    ntitled  to.  ^r 


"GOOD  BYE!" 

Farewell!  farewell!   is  often  heard 

From  the  lips  of  those  who  part; 
'Tis  a  whispered  tone — 'tis  a  gentle  word, 

But  it  springs  not  from  the  heart. 
It  may  serve  for  the  lover's  closing  lay, 

To  be  sung  'neath  a  summer's  sky; 
But  give  me  the  lips  that  say 

The  honest  words — "Good  bye  !" 

Adieu  !  adieu  !  may  greet  the  ear, 

In  the  guise  of  courtly  speech; 
But  when  we  leave  the  kind  and  dear, 

'Tis  not  what  (he  soul  would  teach. 
When'er  we  grasp  the  hands  of  those 

We  would  have  for  ever  nigh  ; 
The  flame  of  Friendship  bursts  and  glows 

In  the  warm  frank   words — "Good  bye  !" 

The  mother,  sending  forth  her  child 

To  meet  with  cares  and  strife, 
Breathes  thro'  her  tears,  her  doubts,  and  fears, 

For  the  loved  one's  future  life. 
No  cold  "adieu,"  no  "farewell"  lives 

Within  her  choking  sigh  ; 
But  the  deepest  sob  of  anguish  gives — 

"God  bless  thee,  boy!  good  bye  !" 

Go,  watch  the  pale  and  dying  one, 

When  the  glance  has  lost  its  beam — 
When  the  brow  is  cold  as  the  marble  stone, 

And  the  world  a  passing  dream  : 
And  the  latest  pressure  of  the  hand, 

The  look  of  the  closing  eye, 
Yield  what  the  heart  must  understand, 

A  long — a  last  "Good  bye  !" 


Good-Bye. — Fervently,  falteringly,  tearfully,how 
many  times  it  has  been  said,  since  they  went  out 
of  Egypt,  of  old.  There  is  a  tone  in  the  word,  like 
the  tone  of  an  evening  bell,  a  great  way  off, 
very  sweet  but  very  sad.  "  Farewell"  may  do  as 
a  harmony  for  "  knell"  and  "tell ;"  there  may  be 
something  a  little  grander  about  it,  but  then  "good- 
bye" is  a  dear,  homely  word,  that  we  must  keep  in 
the  homestead,  for  so  it  is  ordained,  but  only  used 
in  its  full  significance  three  or  four  times  in  the 
course  of  a  life.  And  all  it  means  is  a  good  going, 
a  single  Saxon  wish ;  but  what  more  can  wo  say, 
or  what  matter  if  we  could.  Were  "adieu"  only 
our  tongue;  if  only  we  had  heard  it  when  we  were 
young ;  if  our  dear  old  mothers  had  said  it,  and 
knew  precisely  what  it  meant,  "adieu"  would 
be  the  word ;  for  in  its  to  God  is  comprised  every- 
thing we  can  do,  whose  arms  of  love  cannot  encir- 
cle the  world. 


CQOd  Night  and  Good  Morning* 

(A  Child's  Sonar.) 

A  fair  little  girl  sat  under  a  tree, 

Sewing  as  long  as  Ler  eyes  could  see; 

Ti  eu  smoothed  her  work,  and  toldcd  it  right. 

And  said,  "Dear  woik!  Good  night,  good  night!" 

Such  a  number  of  rooks  came  over  her  heid, 
Crying  "Caw!  Caw!"  on  their  way  to  bed; 
She  ;-aid,  as  she  watched  their  cunons  flight, 
"Little  black  things,  good  night!  good  night! 

The  horses  neigbed,  and  the  oxen  lowed ; 
The  sheep's  "Bleat!  bleat!"  came  over  the  road, 
All  seeming  to  say,  with  a  quiet  delight, 
"Good  little  girl,  good  night!  good  nijht!" 

Shs  did  not  say  to  the  fun  "good  night!" 
Though  fhe  saw  him  there,  like  a  ball  of  light; 
For  the  Inew  he  had  God's  time  to  keep 
All  over  the  world,  and  never  cooid  sleep. 

The  tall  pink  foxglove  bowed  his  head— 
The  violets  curfried,  and  went  to  bed ; 
And  good  little  Lucy  tied  up  her  hair, 
And  said,  oa  her  knees,  her  favorite  prayer. 

And  while  on  her  pillow  she  softly  lay, 
.  She  knew  nothing  more  till  again  it  was  day; 
And  ail  things  said  to  the  beautiful  sun, 
"Good  morning!  cood  morning!  our  work  is  begun!" 
—Richard  Monition  Milms  {Lord  Broughton.) 


J 


GOOD  NIGHT. 

BY   KORNER. 

Good  night ! 
To  each  weary  toil  worn  wight ; 
Now  the  day  so  sweetly  closes, 
Every  aching  brow  reposes 
Peacefully  ibis  morning  light, 
Good  night ! 

Home  to  rest ! 
Close  the  eye  and  calm  the  breast ; 
Stillness  through  the  streets  is  stealing, 
And  the  watchman's  horn  is  pealing. 
And  the  night  calls  softly,  "  haste  !     ' 
Home  to  rest!" 

Sweetly  sleep ! 
Eden's  breezes  round  ve  sweep  : 
O'er  the  peace  forsaken  lover 
Let  the  darling  image  hover, 
As  he  lies  in  transport  deep, 
Sweetly  sleep ! 

So  good  night ! 

Slumber  on  till  morning  light ! 

Slumber  till  another  morrow 

Brings  its  stores  of  joy  and  sorrow  ; 

Fearless,  in  the  Father's  sight, 

Slumber  on.     Good  night ! 

SABBATH  MOBNING. 
Hush !  'tis  the  call  to  prayer; 

Oh  come  away  ; 
For  a  brief  hour  from  caro 

Gather  to  pray  : 
Like  as  a  land-breeze  sweet 

Unto  the  homeward  bound ; 
So  is  this  call  to  meet 

Where  God  is  found. 

Aged,  with  locks  of  snow, 

Weary  and  worn  ; 
Youth  with  the  glorious  brow, 

Manhood  so  stern  ; 
Life  hath  enough  of  caro 

In  store  for  all, 
Ye  need  this  hour  of  prayer — 

List  to  its  call. 

Ye  from  your  happy  homes, 

Cheerful  and  glad  ; 
Ye  that  all  homeless  roam, 

Desolate,  sad  ; 
Ye  with  hard  hands  of  toil, 

Turn  for  an  hour. 
From  life's  harsh  turmoil, 

Its  feverish  power. 

Great  Father  •  glad  we  come 

Thy  name  to  bless  ; 
Bend  to  us  from  thy  throne 

Of  holiness  ; 
Break  from  each  heart  the  chain 

Sin  bindeth  fast ;  ■' 

Let  us  all  meet  again 


► 

HE  £ 

c  £  5 

I  J  * 

«    3  V   ■ 

»»s 

r*  *3  a 

—  >i  — 

»    B  B 

?*  <6  r* 


E veiling  Prayer, 

I  come  to  Thee,  to-ni^ht, 
In  my  lone  closet  where  no  eyes  can  see, 
And  dare  to  crave  an  interview  with  Thee, 

Father  of  love  and  light! 

Softly  the  moonbeams  shine, 
Oa  the  still  branches  of  the  shadowy  trees, 
"While  all  sweet  sounds  of  the  evening  nreeee 

Steal  through  the  slumbering  vine. 

Thou  gav'st  the  calm  repose 
That  rests  on  all — the  air,  the  birds,  the  flowere. 
The  human  spirit  in  its  weary  hour, 

Now  at  the  bright  day's  close. 

Tis  nature's  time  for  prayer; 
The  silent  praise  of  the  glorious  sky, 
The  earth's  orisons  profound  and  high, 

To  heaven  their  blessings  bear. 

With  them  my  soul  would  bend 
In  humble  reverence  at  Thy  holy  throne. 
Trusting  the  merits  of  the  Son  alone 

Thy  scepter  to  extend. 

If  I  this  day  have  striven 
With  Thy  blest  Spirit,  or  have  bowed  the  fcnte 
To  aught  of  earth,  in  weak  idolatry, 

I  pray  to  be  forgiven. 

If  in  my  heart  has  been 
An  unforgiving  thought,  or  word,  or  look, 
'Though  deep  tne  nialice  which  I  scarce  eoidd  r  „  3  3 

Wash  me  from  the  dark  sin.  (*cook,  &  g"  g  8 

If  I  have  turned  away 
From  grief  or  suffering  which  I  might  relieve, 
■Careless  the  cup  of  water  e'en  to  give, 

Forgive  me,  Lord,  I  pray, 

And  teach  me  how  to  feel 
My  sinful  wanderings,  with  a  deeper  smart, 
And  more  of  mercy  and  grace  impart, 

My  sinfulness  to  heal. 

Father !  my  soul  would  be 
Pure  as  the  drops  of  eve's  unsullied  dew : 
And  as  the  stars  whose  nightly  course  is  true, 

So  would  I  be  to  Thee. 

Not  for  myself  alone 
Would  I  these  blessings  of  Thy  love  implore, 
But  for  each  penitent  the  wide  world  o'er, 

Whom  Thou  hast  called  Thine  own. 


go  is 

a    *    "> 


"" 


And  for  my  heart's  best  friends, 

Whose  steadfast  kindness  o'er  my  painful  years,  cs  |  > 

Has  watched  to  soothe  afflictions,  grief  said  tears,  %  „  % 

My  warmest  prayer  ascends.  »  5  j 

Should  o'er  their  path  decline  j?  «  § 

The  light  of  gladness,  or  ojfhope  or  health,  ~  S  j~ 

Be  Thou  their  solace,  and  their  joy  and  wealth,  ;?<?•* 

As  they  have  long  been  mine.  g  §,  S 

And  now,  0  Father,  take  '  S,  " 
The  heart  cast  with  humble  faith  on  Thee, 
And  cleanse  its  depths  from  each  impurity, 

For  my  Redeemer's  sake. 

Hymns  of  Ages.  % 


In  heaven  at  last. 


Athbrtcw. 


Night  and  darkness  cover  all 
Heaven  and  earth  with  cloudy  pall. 
But  the  light  comes  in,  an.i,  lo, 
All  the  sky  is  in  a  "low  !— 
Christ  has  come,  the  Star  of  day  : 
Night  and  darkness  liee  away  ! 


MOtUMTG  PU.t  J'MSMt, 

-    For  the  dear  love  that  kept  us  through  the  night  • 
And  gave  our  senses  to  sleep's  gentle  sway ; 
For  the  new  miracle  of  dawning  light 
Flushing  the  East  with  prophecies  of  day, 
We  thank  Thee,  oh  our  God ! 

For  the  fresh  life  that  through  our  being  flows 
With  its  full  tide,  to  strengthen  and  to  bless ; 
For  calm,  sweet  thoughts,  up-springing  from  repose, 
To  bear  to  Thee  their  eong  of  thankfulness, 
We  praise  Thee,  oh  our  God ! 

Day  uttereth  speech  to  day,  and  night  to  night 
Tells  of  Thy  power  and  glory !  so  would  we, 

Thy  children,  duly,  with  the  morning  light, 
And  at  still  eve,  upon  the  bended  knee, 
Adore  Thee,  oh  our  God ! 

Thou  know'st  our  needs— Thy  fullness  will  supply; 

Our  blindness— let  Thy  hand  still  lead  us  on, 
Till,  viiited  by  the  dayspring  from  on  high, 

One  prayer— one  only—"  Let  Thy  will  be  done,'" 
We  breathe  to  Thee,  oh  God! 


MORNING. 


3)    Cloven  by  the  piercing  gleam 

2>    Of  the  day-  star's  rising  bear*, 

^    Earth's  long  gloom  is  rent ;  and,  lo, 

All  creation  is  aglow, 
Qn  J  With  the  colors  hither  borne 
O  i  Fiom  the  radiant  lamp  of  morn! 

g    Thee,  0  Christ,  alone  we  know  ; 
jSf)    Other  suns  are  none  below  ; 

SA11  the  night  to  thee  we  cry, 
Hear  our  tears,  our  song,  our  sigh  ; 
Watch  a.uV  senses  through  the  night, 
Keep  us  till  the  morning  light. 

Night's  hues  thickly  round  us  lie, 
Blotting  earth,  and  sea,  and  sky. 
Star  of  morning,  send  thy  light, 
Purge  these  deep-dyed  stains  of  night ; 
Show  thy  face,  and,  with  its  ray, 
Shine  these  shadows  into  dav  ! 


The  morning  breaks, 
And  earth  in  her  Makers  smile  awakes  ; 
His  light  is  on  all,  below  and  above, 
The  light  of  gladness,  and  life,  and  love. ' 

[Henry  Ware,  Jr. 


Night-Song  in  I, cm. 

Mournful  night  is  dark  around  me, 
Hush'd  the  world's  conflicting  din#> 

All  is  still  and  all  is  tranquil — 
But.this  restless  heart  within  I 

Wakeful  still  I  press  my  pillow, 
Watch  the  stars  that  float  above, 

Think  ol  One— for  me  who  suffered—    i 
Think  and  weep  for  grief  and  love  I 

Flow  ye  tears  I  though  in  your  streaming 
Oft  yon  stars  of  His  grow  dim  I 

Hallowed  is  the  grief  He  wakens, 
Bleat  the  tears  that  flow  for  Him  ? 

Biehard  Storrs  WilUa 


BJ*JEJrMJr»  MM  OV  It  8. 

The  human  heart  has  hidden  treasures 

In  secret  kept,  in  silence  sealed ; 
The  thoughts,  the  hopes,  the  dreams,  the  pleasure*, 

Whose  charms  were  broken  if  revealed. 
And  days  may  pass  in  dull  confusion, 

And  nights  in  noisy  routs  may  fly, 
While,  lost  in  fame's  or  wealth's  illusion, 

The  memory  of  the  past  may  die. 

But  there  are  hours  of  lonely  musing, 

Such  as  in  evening  silence  came, 
When  solt  as  birds  their  pinions  closing, 

The  heart's  best  feelings  gather  home. 
Then,  in  our  souls  there  seems  to  languish 

A  tender  grief  that  is  not  woe; 
And  thoughts  that  once  wrung  groans  of  angaish, 

Now  cause  some  gentle  tears  to  flow. 

And  feelings  once  a!  sfrong  as  passions, 

Float  softly  back— a  faded  dream; 
Our  own  sharp  griefs  and  wild  sensations 

The  taste  of  others'  suffering  seem ; 
O !  when  the  heart  is  freshly  bleeding, 

How  it  longs  for  that  time  to  be,  . 

When  through  the  mists  of  years  reoeding, 

Its  woes  live  but  in  reverie ! 

And  it  can  dwell  on  moonlight  glimmer, 

On  evening  shades  and  loneliness, 
And  while  the  sky  grows  dim  and  dimmer, 

Heed  no  unmeasured  woe's  distress — 
Only  a  deeper  impress  given 

By  lonely  hour  and  darkened  room, 
To  solemn  thoughts  that  soar  to  heaven, 

Seeking  a  life  and  world  to  come. 

—Charlotte  Bronte. 

KYENIK6  SONO  FOK  THE  WEABY. 

BV  MBB.  HBMAN9. 


Father  of  heaven  and  earth! 

I  bless  thee  lor  the  ni^ht, 

The  soft,  still  night ! 
The  holy  pause  of  care  and  mirth, 

01  sound  and  light ! 

Now  far  in  glade  and  dell, 

FTower-cup,  and  bud,  and  hell 
Have  shut  around  the  sleeping  wood-lark's  nest; 

The  bee's  long  murmuring  toils  are  done, 

And  I,  the  o'er- wearied  one, 
1  ►'er-wearied  and  o'er-wrought  one, 

Bless  tlife,  O  God ;  O  Father  of  the  oppressed, 
With  ray  last  waking  thought, 

In  the  still  night! 

Yes,  ere  I  sink  to  ve4. 

By  the  fire's  dying  light, 

Thou  Lord  of  Karth  and  Heaven. 

I  bless  thee,  who  ha*  given 

Unto  life's  Minting  travellers  the  night — 

The  t-oit,  still,  holy  night! 


An  Old  Sermon  ivith  a  New  Text, 


SEASONABLE    WORDS. 

BY  ASTLHY  H.    BALDWTJT. 

'And  a  word  spoken  in  season,  how  good  it  is." 

i. 
A  gentle  to  the  little  child 

In  kindly  accents  given,  • 

Lest  we  with  angry  words  should  blight 

The  lily  buds  of  heaven. 

ir. 
A  loving  to  the  bri;rhtrhaired  boy, 

Upon  whose  sunny  lace 
A  brave  and  noble  beauty  seta 

Its  purest  seal  of  grace. 

m. 

A  tender  to  the  blue-eyed  bride, 

Who  from  the  mother  nest 
Flies  to  the  dream-land  of  a  love, 

Warm  fluttering  at  her  breast. 

rv. 

A  patient  to  the  wayward  youth; 

The  barque  by  tempests  tossed 
Oft  ccmes  to  harbor,  whilst  the  ship 

Less  tempest-tried  be  lost. 

v. 

A  cheery  for  the  white-haired  man ; 

The  frost  upon  his  brow 
May  hide  as  warm  a  heart  as  thine, 

Though  winter  crowns  it  now. 

VI. 

A  timely  to  tho  wearied  soul, 

Beneath  life's  noonday  sun ; 
That  fainting  sinks  Upon  its  way 

Ere  yet  the  fight  be  won. 

VII. 

Good  words,  true  words,  good  deeds,  kind  degds, 

Oh !  'tis  a  glorious  part 
T»  shed  upon  our  lelJow-man 

The  sunshine  of  the  heart. 

vin. 
Then,  though  the  chain  thut  binds  us  here 

By  Death  awbile  be  riven, 

Its  golden  links  shall  join  again 

God— beautified  in  heaven. 

—Churchman's  Magazine,  London, 


Pa 


r2 


BORROWING   AND   LENDING. 

Borrow  and  lend  in  ceaseless  strife, 

In  every  land  and  every  clime  : 
The  shuttle  moves,  and  works  of  life 

Are  woven  in  the  loom  of  time. 
We  borrow  health  where  nature  stands 

Dispensing  from  her  ample  store, 
We  take  the  blessings  at  her  hand, 

And  reason  can  demand  no  more. 
But  when  disease  the  debt  demands 

For  broken  laws  of  heart  or  head, 
We  trust  that  prayer  or  physic  stands 

To  save  us  from  the  foe  we  dread. 
Our  borrowed  azote  from  the  trees 

Supplies  the  greatest  want  we  know, 
Our  breath  is  scattered  on  the  breeze 

With  carbon  for  the  trees  to  grow. 
To  generous  Earth  we  lend  the  seed 

In  payment  for  our  borrowed  grain, 
As  nature  prompts  us  to  the  deed, 

We  thank  her  for  the  sun  and  rain. 
We  gather  fruits  our  fathers  sow, 

And  gtateful  for  the  rich  bequest, 
We  drop  our  seed  for  those  we  owe, 

Ami  nature  will  perform  the  rest. 

Our  net  is  thrown  to  gather  wealth, 

That  floats  unguarded  in  the  stream, 
We  lend  in  payment  broken  health, 

While  dotage  fondles  o'er  the  dream. 
We  borrow  learning  for  the  power 

To  wrestle  for  the  meed  of  fame, 
We  lend  to  Earth  each  passing  hour, 

To  grasp  the  record  of  a  name. 
We  roam  the  Earth  for  pleasures  rare, 

That  often  are  too  dearly  bought, 
While  mental  powers  are  left  to  share 
The  conflict  in  tho  realm  of  thought. 
We  borrow  hope,  to  .stem  the  tide 

That  bears  us  forward  to  the  grave, 
We  find  no  aid  in  human  pride, 

Though  wrestling  with  the  fates  to  save. 
Prom  Holy  Writ  wo  borrow  light 

To  guide  us  o'er  the  earthly  way, 

We  lend  our  faith  without  the  sight, 

In  trust  to  find  the  brighter  day. 

All  life  is  borrowed  from  above — 
The  mortal  pays  beneath  the  sod. 

We  borrow  spirit-life  of  love, 
And  leave  a  sinful  heart  to  God. 


My  wife  contrived  a  fleecy  thing 

Her  husband  to  infold, 
For  'tis  a  joy  to  woman  true 

To  cover  trom  tho  cold : 
My  daughter  made  it  a  new  text 

For  a  sermon  very  old. 

The  child  came  trotting  to  her  side, 

Kcady  with  bootle.-s  aid. 
"Lily  will  make  one  for  papa," 

The  liny  woman  said. 
Her  mother  gave  the  needful  things, 

And  a  knot  upon  the  throad. 

But,  ala9 !  the  knot  would  not  come  through, 
•■Mamma!  mamma!"  she  cried.  /^ 

Her  mother  cut  away  the  knot, 
And  she  was  satisfied, 

And  pulled  the  thread  right  through  and  through, 
Working  in  joy  and  piide. 

Her  mother  told  mo  this ;  and  I 

Straightway  spied  somethmg  more : 
Great  meanings  often  hide  themselves 

With  small  words  en  the  door; 
And  I  biood<  d  over  this  my  text, 

Till  the  seed  a  sermon  bore. 

K antrie,  to  you  I  preach  it  now— 

A  little  sermon,  low: 
Is  it  not  thus  a  thousand  times 

As  through  the  world  we  go? 
Do  we  not  pull,  and  fret,  and  say, 

Instead  of  "Yes,  Lord,"  "No?" 

Yet  all  the  rough  things  that  we  meet, 

That  will  not  move  a  jot— 
The  b'udrances  to  hcatt  and  feet— 

The  crock  in  every  lot— 
What  mean  they,  but  that  every  thread 

Has  at  the  end  a  knot? 

AH  men  must  make  a  kind  of  clothes 

To-  shield  their  hearts  from  frost ; 
And  circumstance  is  G  od's  great  web' 

To  c.othe  the  trembling  host; 
Shall  we,  because  our  thread  is  fast, 

Think  all  our  labor  lost? 

If  He  should  cut  away  the  knot, 

And  «rant  each  fancy  wild, 
The.  bidden  life  within  our  hearts— 

Sis  life,  the  undeflled— 
Would  fare  as  ill  as  I  should  fare 

From  the  needle  of  my  child, 

For  as  the  lines  that  hold  the  sail; 

As,  m  my  verse,  the  rhyme; 
As  mountains  on  the  low  green  earth, 

So  fair,  so  hard  to  climb ; 
A  4  call  of  striking  clock,  amid 

The  quiet  flow  of  time; 

As  blows  of  sculptor's  mallet,  struck 

Upon  the  marble's  face; 
Such  are  God's  yea  and  nay  upon 

The  spirit's  growing  grace;  ... 
Bo  work  His  making  hands  with  what 

Does  and  does  not  take  place. 

VTe  know  no  more  the  things  we  need 

Than  child  to  choose  his  food ; 
We  know  not  what  we  shall  be  yet, 

So  know  not  present  good ; 
For  God's  Ideal,  who  but  God 

Hath  ever  understood! 

This  is  my  sermon.   It  is  preached 

Against  all  useless  strife. 
Strive  not  with  any  thing— to  wien 

To  cut  it  with  thy  knite ; 
Thou  art  but  pulling  at  the  knot 

That  holdeth  fast  thy  life. 

—London  Good  Words,  for  June. 


DRINK,  AND  AWAY. 

[There  is  a  beautiful  rill  in  Barbary.  received  into  a  larg 
basin,  which  bears  a  name  signifying  "  Drink,  and  away !"  fror 
the  great  danger  of  meeting  with  rogues  and  assassins.— J 
Shaw.) 

Up,  pilgrim  and  rover ! 

Redouble  thy  haste, 
Nor  rest  thee  till  over 

Life's  wearisome  waste : 
Ere  the  wild  forest  ranger 

Thy  footsteps  betray 
To  trouble  and  danger, 

Oh,  drink  and  away  ! 

Here  lurks  the  daTk  savage 

By  night  and  by  day, 
To  rob  and  to  ravage, 

Nor  scruples  to  stay  ! 
He  waits  for  tbe  slaughter ; 

The  blood  of  his  prey 
Shall  stain  the  still  waters ; 

Then  drink,  and  away  ! 

With  toil  though  thou  languish, 

The  mandate  obey  : 
Spur  on,  though  in  anguish : 

There's  death  in  de>ay. 
No  bloodhound,  want-wasted, 

Is  fiercer  than  tbey  ; 
Pass  by  it  untasted, 

Or  drink,  and  away  ! 

Though  sore  be  the  trial, 

Thy  God  is  thy  stay  ; 
Though  deep  the  denial, 

Yield  not  in  dismay  ; 
But,  rapt  in  high  vision, 

Look  on  10  the  day 
When  fountains  elysian 

Thy  thirst  shall  allay. 

Then  shalt  thou  for  ever 

Enjoy  thy  repose, 
Where  life's  gentle  river 

Eternally  flows. 
Yea,  there  shalt  thou  rest  thee 

For  ever  and  aye, 
With  none  to  molest  thee  : 

Then  drink,  and  away  1 

—Dr.  Croswcll. 


TSSH    SO.TG     OIF    VISE    MtrllJT. 


G.  A. 


Lo!  the  long,  slender  spears,  how  they  quiver  and 
flash, 
Where  the  clouds  send  their  cavalry  down ; 
Rank  and  file,  by  the  million,  the  raiu'iancers  tlasu 

Over  mountain  and  river  and  town ; 
Thick  the  battle  drops  fall— but  they  drip  not  in 

blood; 
Tho  trophy  of  war  is  tho  green,  fresh  bud ; 
Of  the  ram,  the  plontif  ul  rain ! 

The  pastures  lie  baked,  and  the  furrow  is  bare, 

The  wells  they  yawn  empty  and  dry  ; 
But  a  rushing  of  waters  is  heard  in  the  air, 

1  ainhow  leaps  out  in  the  sky. 
Hark!  the  heavy  drops  pelting  the  sycamore  leaves, 
How  they  wash  the  wide  pavement  and  sweep  from 
the"' ; 

Of  the  rain,  the  plentiful  rain  t 

See,  the  Weaver  throws  wide  his  one  swinging  pane, 

The  kind  drcps  dance  on  the  floor; 
And  his  wife  brings  her  flower-pots  to  drink  the 
sweet  rain, 
On  the  step  by  the  half-open  door; 
At  the  time  on  tho  skylight,  far  over  his  head, 
tho  poor  cripple  lad  on  tho  hospital  bed; 
l  Of  tho  rain,  the  plentiful  rain ! 

And  away,  far  from  men,  where  high  mountains 
tower 
And  little  green  mosses  rejoice, 
And  th<  Ddsto  the  shower, 

And  the  !  roice; 

Ana  the  flight 

Of  the  rain,  as  their  ihousand  points  dart  up  in  light; 
Of  the  rain,  the  plentiful  raiu ! 

And  deep  in  tho  fir  wood  bolow,  near  theplain, 

A  siiiKl"  thrush  pipes  full  and  sweet; 
How  days  of  clear  shining  will  come  after  rain, 

Waving  meadows  and  thick  growing  wheat! 
So  the  voice  of  hope  sings  in  the  heart  of  our  fear.i, 
Of  the  harvest  that  springs  from  a  great  nation's 

'Of  the  rain,  the  plentiful  rain ! 
—Dwelling,  in  L  U<  r~. 


*      MY   2LESSLNG. 

I  iay  my  hand  upon  thy  head, 
And  bow  my  own  above,  and  shed 
A  tear  or  two  thereon,  instead 

Of  love's  caressing; 
A  kiss  hath  not  so  tender  touch; 
Snnjes  say  of  kindness  ne'er  so  much; 
What  is  the  import,  then,  of  such 

A  heart-full  blessing  ?. 

Not  a  light  wish  of  loving  mood 
To  compass  only  worldly  good, 
My  heart  would  not  be  understood 

In  want  so  shallow ; 
Not  what  is  termed  a  life  of  ease, 
Perpetual  sunshine,  changeless  peace, 
Nor,  whatsoe'er  the  charm,  a  bliss 

Heaven  doth  not  halloWc 


I  bless  thee  with  a  quiet  mind, 
Obedient,  steadfast,  and  resigned, 
That  scorns  in  trifling  things  to  find 

Its  fullest  measure ; 
I  bless  thee  with  a  generous  heart, 
That  will  not  shrink  from  care  or  era 
So  to  enlarge  or  to  impart 

Its  choicest  treasure. 


I  bless — oh,  friend,  forgive  the  strain, 
Since  loss  is  often  richest  gain, 
And  joy  is  sweetest  after  pain — 

Thy  life  with  sorrow ; 
Some  clouded  days,  some  nights  of  tcar^ 
Some  sacrifices,  conflicts,  fears, 
Showers  where  the  how  of  hope  appear! 

For  God's  to-morrow. 

I  bless  thee  with  a  work  to  do, 
h    A  holy  purpose  to  pursue, 
A  faith  to  keep  and  to  renew 

By  lore  and  duty; 
With  strength  to  climb  a  toilsome  hill, 
With  patience  for  thy  Father's  will, 
Or  the  stern  strokes  that  polish  still 

The  gem  to  beauty. 

I  bless  thee  with  a  constant  ray 
Far  down  the  future's  donbtful  day, 
And  hcavcn-llghts  all  along  the  way 

For  gu'de  and  warning; 
And  when  earth's  sun  shall  sink  to-night, 
I  bless  thee  with  the  promise  bright, 
M  At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light," 
And  heaven  at  morning. 

I  bless  thee  thus  in  wish  and  prayer^ 
Content  if  thou  the  portion   hare 
Thy  Father  sees  thee  fit  to  bear: 

And,  so  confessing, 
To  Him  would  I  commend  thy  youth, 
Thy  life  and  lovo,  sorrow,  joy,  and  trutn— 
All  to  all-perfect  Love ;  in  sooth 

This  Is  my  blessing. 

--Sabbath  at  Horn*. 


Tha  Scriptures  have  been  translated  into  148 
languages  and  dialects,  of  which  121  had,  prior 
to  the  formation  of  the  British  Foreign  Bible 
Society,  never  appeared.  And  25  of  these  lan- 
guages existed  without  an  alphabet,  in  an  oral 
form.  Upward  of  43,000,000  of  those  copies  of 
God's  word  are  circulated  among  not  less  than 
1300,000,000  of  people. 

The  first  division  of  the  Divine  orders  into 
chapters  and  verse.-:  is  attributed  to  Stephen^ 
Langton,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  in  the 
reign  of  King  John,  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
twelfth  centurv,  or  the  beginning  of  the  thir- 
teenth. Cardinal  Hugo,  in  the  middle  of  the  ' 
thirteenth  century,  divided  the  Old  Testament 
into  chapters,  as  thev  stand  in  our  translation. 
In  1601,  Athias,  a  Jew  of  Amsterdam,  divided 
the  secnons  of  Huio  into  verses— a  French 
printer  had  previously  (1561 )  divided  the  New 
Testament  into  verses  as  they  are  at  present. 

The  entire  Bible  contains  66  books,  1,188  chap- 
ters, 31,185  verses,  774,692  words,  3,566,480 
letters.    The  name  of  Jehovah,  or  Lo£d,  occurs 


THE  BIBLE. 
When  the  celebrated  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  was 
asked  why  so  many  literary  men  were  infidels, 
his  reply  was,  "Because  they  are  ignorant  of  the 
Bible."  If  tbe  question  be  asked  why  the  lovers 
of  general  reading  so  often  fail  to  acquaint  them- 
selves with  the  sacred  volume,  one  reason  which 


THE  FATE  OF  THE  APOSTLES. 

The  following  brief  history  of  the 
Apostles  we  have  never  seen  in  popular 
print  until  a  day  or  two  ago.  It  may  be 
new  to  those  whose  reading  has  not  been 
exangelical,  to  know  that 

St.  Mathew   is  supposed    to    have  suf- 
may  be  assigned,  doubtless,  is  they  are  not  aware  of  fered  martrydom,    or   was    slain   with    at 
its  interesting  variety.     This  feature  of  the  Bible   sword  at  the  city  of  Ethiopia, 
is  well  illustrated  by  Mrs.  Ellis,  in  the  following        St.    Mark    was   dragged    through    ftie 
eloquent  extract  from  her  recent  work,  entitled   streets  of   Alexandria,    in  Egypt,   till  he 
the  "Poetry  of  Life."  expired. 

"With  our  established  ideas  of  beauty,  grace,  "      St.  Luke  was    hanged    upon    an  olive 
.,  air    -l       •,.  i  j  •     ,,      tree  in  Greece. 

pathos  and  sublimity,  either  concentrated  in  the        ,,       ,    . 

.....  /     ,   .  .    ..  St.  John    was  put    into  a  cauldron  of 

minutest  point  or  extended  to  the  widest  range,    boi|i         j,  at  Rom'e  and  e<J  d    «fc  , 

we  can  derive  from  the  Scripture  a  fund  of  grat-    He  afterwards   died   a    natural    death  at 
ification  not  to  be  found  in  any  other  memorial    Ephesus  in  Asia. 


SSS^  FT*  time'     Fr°m  th°  W°rm  tLat\  St  ?ameSt1je6^f    was  beheaded  at 

*™„f  oh  Kino-sand  Isaiab  86  are  the  same.    In      grovels  in  the  duet  beneath  our  feet,  to  the  track    Jerusalem. 


verse  i 

ter  of  2d  Kings  and  Isaiah  86  are  the  same. 
the  21st  verse  of  the  7th  chapter  of  Ezra  are  all 
the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  1  and  J  being  consid- 
ered as  one. 

The  Apocrypha  (not  inspired,  but  sometimes 
bound  between  the  Old  Testament  and  the  New)£-< 
contains  14  books,  183  chapters,  15,081  verses, 
152  185  words.  There  is  a  bible  in  the  library  of 
the'  University  of  Gottingen,  written  on  5,476 
palm  leaves. 

A  day's  journey  was  83  1-5  miles.    A  Sabbath, 
day's  journey  was  about  an  English  mile.    Eze-^ 
kial's'reed  was  eleven  feet,  nearly*    A  cubit  is*-1 
twenty-two  inches,  nearly.    A  hand's  breadth  is 
equal  to  three  and  five-eights  inches.    A  fingers 
bieadth  is  equal  to  one  inch.    A  shekel  of  silver  0 


grovels  in  the  duet  beneath  our  feet,  to  the  track    Jerusalem 

of  the  leviathan  in  the  foaming  deep — from  the        St.  James  the  Less  was  thrown  from  a 

moth  that  corrupts  the  secret  treasure,  to  the  ea-    pinnacle,    or  wing   of  the    temple,   and 

gle  that  soars  above  his  eyry  in  the  clouds— from? then  beaten  to  death  with  a  fuller's  club. 

the  wild  ass  in  the  desert,  to  the  lamb  within        ?!:  Pnilli.P  was  hanged  against  a  pillar, 

the  shepherd's  fold — from  the  consuming  locust 

to  the  cattle  upon  a  thousand  hills — from   the 

rose  of  Sharon  to  the  cedar  of  Lebanon — from  the 

crystal  stream,  gushing  forth  out  of  the  flinty 

rock,  to  the  wide  waters  of  the  delugo — from  the 


at  Hierapolis,  a  city  of  Phrygia. 

St.  Bartholomew  was  flayed  alive,  by 
the  command  of  a  barbarous  king. 

St  Andrew  was  bound  to  a  cross, 
whence  he  preached  to  the  people  until 
he  expired 


o 


lonely  path  of  the  wanderer,  to  the  gathering  of/      St.  Thomas  was  run  through  tb<=  'body  y 

that  falls  in    with  a  lance  at  Coromaridei,  i"    tne  East/ 


wae   shot  to    death    with  ar 
rows. 

St.  Simon  Zealot  was  crucified  in 
mourner  clothed  in  sackcloth,  to  the  prince  in     .  1Jt-  ^t"*"1 

Sip 


er- 


was  about  fifty  cents.    A  shekel  ol  gold  was        mighty  multitude— from  the  tear 

$8.09.    A  talent  of  silver  was  S516.32.    A  talent  b    v 

of  gold  was  $13,809.    A  piece  of  silver  or  a  pen--^  secret,  to  the  din  of  battle  and  the  shout  of  a  tn-/  tucueb 

nywas  thirteen  cents.    A  farthing  was  three  1  umphant  host— from  tho  solitary  in  the  wilder-        St.  Jude 

cents.    A  gerah  was  one  cent.    A  mite  was  one   j        *  •» 

and  a  half  cents.    A  homer  contains  sevenryVj  nees,   to  the  satrap   on   the   throne  —  trora   the 

five  gallons  and  five  pints.    A  hin  was  one  gal-   \  mour 

Jon  and  two  pints.    A  firkin  was  seven  pints. 

purple  robes-from  the  gnawings  of  the  worm.       gt    MatheW  was  first   stoned  and  then 

that  dieth  not,  to  the  seraphic  visions  of  the  blestf  beheaded. 

— from  the  still,  small  voice,  to  the  thunders  of        gt    Barnabas  wag    stoned    to  death  by 

omnipotence— from  the  depths  of  hell  to  the  tg-j  the  Jf,vs  at  Salina. 

gions  of  eternal  glory  — there  is  no  degree  of]      F>-  Paul  was   beheaded    at   Rome,  by 

beauty  or  deformity,  no  tendency  to  good  or  evil,    ^e  tyrant  Nero, 

no  shade  of  darkness  or  gleam  of  light,  which 

does  not  come  within  the  cognizance  of  the  Holy 


An  omer  Mas  six  pints.    A  cab  was  three  pints. 
A  dog  was  one-half  pint. 
The  divisions  of  the  Old  Testament  are  four: 

1.  The  Pentateuch,  or  the  five  books  of  Moses. 

2.  The  historical  books,  comprising  Joshua  to 
Esther,  inclusive.  3.  Poetical  or  doctrinal  books, 
from  Job  to  Songs  of  Solomon,  inclusive.  4. 
Prophethical  boo  ;s,  from  Isaiah  to  Malachi,  in- 
clusive. 

The  New  Testament  is  usually  divided  into 
three  parts:— 1.  Historical,  containing  the  four 
Gospels  and  Acts.  2.  Doctrinal,  comprising  all^ 
the  epistles  from  Romans  to  Jude.  3.  Prophet^ 
cal.  being  the  book  of  the  Revelations  of  ScJ 
John. 

The  commemorative  ordinances  of  the  Jews  - 
were: — Circumcision,  the  seal  ot  the  covenant 
with  Abraham.    The  Passover,  to  commemorate 
the  protection  of  the  Israelites,  when  all  the 
first-born  of  the  Egyptians  were  destroyed.   Tbe 
Feast  of  tbe  Tabernacles,  instituted  to  perpetuy 
ate  the  sojourning  of   the   Israelites  for  forty ,^. 
years  in  the  wilderness.    The  Feast  of  Penticost,  ' 
which  was  appointed  fifty  years  after  the  Pass- 
over, to  commemorate  tbe  delivery  pf  the  Lawi  J__ 

from  Mt.  Sinai.    Feast  of  Purim,  kept  in  mwj      curious  remarks  on  the  biblk,  uy    n    wiuow 
ory  of  the  deliverance  of  the  Jews  frpn?  the  at  65,  who  had  nothing  to  do,  and  could  not  sleep, 
wicked  machinations  of  Hainan,  The   J3jh]e   contains    3,566,439    letters,    810,697 

fal272,itwonMbaTB^£»|a  ****** ■*&  w ordSi   31  l73   verseSf    1,189   chap'ers,   66   books., 
years  ol  labor  to  purchase  a  Bible,  as  <       »•  »      '     .„00_v  ur      ,  „ 

vonld.be  onlyH  pence  per  |gy,  while  The  word  "and"   occurs  46,227  times;    "Lord" 


thirteen 

his  pay  won 

the  vnc^of  a  Bible  was  twenty  pounds. 


Scriptures;  and  therefore  there  is  no  expression  '^B.  ^"""X^SE^^* 
or  conception  of  the  mind  that  may  not  find  a   tbe  precoos  fruit  oftbe  earth,  and  hath  long  patien 
r  .  for  It,  until  be  rewlve  the  early  and  latter  rain.    ' 

corresponding  picture;  no  thirst  for  excellence  t  yeal«o  patient;  etabligh  your  hearts:  lor  the  oomi 
iL    •.  i.  t.       uu    •*„  f  II  „„„„i„  .  a„A  «n    °f  the  Lord  draweta  nij?h."— Jamea,  v.,  7,  8. 

that  may  not  meet  with  its  lull  Bupply  ;  and  no        ^  #.    *  * 

condition  of  humanity  necessarily  excluded  horn'      How  passing  beautiful  come  home  to .  ns  the 

,.    ..   j  p    a     4.  ♦•  a  „f  «™™      oft-ouoted  words  of  the  Psalmist,  and  with  how 

the  unlimited  scope  of  adaptation  and  of  sympa-    ™  ^J^  g.     ificance  iri  the  light  of  modern 

thy  comprehended  in  the  language  or  tnc  spirit    astronomy  . 

^e  •  "When  I  consider  thy  heavens  the  work  of  thy  fingers  ;  the 

moon  and  the  stars  which  thou  hast  ordained  ;  what  is  man 
that  thou  art  mindful  of  him,  and   the  sou  of  man  that  thou  I 
visitest  him  V 

But  at  once  up— ataet  in  the  breast  those 
ravishing  words  : 

"Thou  hast  made  him  a  little  lower  than  the  angels,  and 
hast  crowned  him  with  glory  and  honor." 

And  we  implore, 

"Search  me,  O  Uod,  and  know  my  heart ;  try  me  and  know 
my  thoughts  ;  and  see  if  there  be  any  wicked  way  in  me,  and 
lead  me  in  the  life  everlasting." 


THE  SAILORS  CHART. 

The  following  lines  are  supposed  to 
have  been  written  by  a  Sailor  on  a 
blank  leaf  of  his  Bible. 


'While  down  the  stream  of  life  I  sail 
Christ  be  my  ship,  and  grace  my  gale, 
Hope  be  my  anchor,  while  I  ride,        *g 
This  Book  my  compass  o'er  the  tide.    |2 


,  1,854;  "Reverend"  only  once,  and  that  in  the 
111th  psalm.  ,'"The  27ih  verse  of  the  7th  chapter  of 
Ezra  contains  ihe  alphabet.  The  19th  chapter  of 
c  the  2d  book  of  Kings  and  the  37th  chapter  ol 
Isaiah  are  alike.  The  first  man  recorded  as  buried 
in  a  coffin    was  Joseph,  50th   chapier  of  Genesi: 

iand  26th  verse.  No  where  but  in  the  1st  chapter," 
2d  Timothy,  is  the  name  "  grandmother "  mention- 
ed. Two  particularly  fine  chapters  to  read  you 
will  find  are  the  2d  of  Joel  and  the  26th  of  Acts.- 
There  is  no  name  or  word  of  more  than  six  sylla- 
bles in  the  Holy  Bitle. — English  Paper. 


The  texts  relied  upon  in  defence  of  sla- 
very, in*the  New  Testament  are,  Matt.  18: 
S%-30.       1  Cor.    7:  21.     Eph.   6:   5—9. 
^C5ll.3:22—25.      1    Timothy   6:1,2.     1 
Peter  2:  18.     Titus  2:  9.     Philomon  1- 

"Prayer  is  the  soul's  sincere  desire 
Uttered  or  unexpressed, 
The  motion  of  a  hidden  fire 
That  trembles  in  the  breast. 


THE   LORD'S   PRAYER. 

Our  heavenly  Father,  hear  out^rayer, 

Thy  Name  be  hallowed  everywhere, 

Thy  kingdom  come.     Thy  perfect  will 

In  earth  as  heaven  let  all  fulfil.  ^ 

Give  this  clay's  bread  that  we  may  live; 

Forgive  our  sins  as  we  forgive ; 

Help  us  temptation  to  withstand, 

From  evil  shield  us  by  thy  hand. 

Now  and  for  ever  unto  thee 

The  kingdom,  power,  and  glory  be.     Amen. 


'Prayer  is  the  burthen  of  a  sigh, 
The  falling  of  a  tear, 
The  upward  glancing  of  an  eye, 
When  none  but  God  is  near." 


«  /"\OME   unt»  me   all  ye   that  are   weary  and  I  will  give  you 

Vy*    rest  ;  take  my  yoke  upon  you  and   learn  of  me,  for  I   will 

give  you  rest." 


WASHINGTON 


The  Crowning  Musical  Triumph  of  the 
1  car.—  The  Abhe  Liszt  has  addressed  to  the  Messrs  Ohiclt- 
erlng  the  following  letter,  the  only  testimonial  in  lavar  of  a 
piano-forte  maker  which  he  has  ever  given  in  Europe  or 
America  :— 

[Translation.] 

Messrs  Chickering :— It  is  very  agreeable  to  me  to  add  my 
came  to  the  concert  ol  praises  of  which  your  pianos  are  the 
object. 

To  be  Just,  1  must  declare  them  perfect,  and  perfeclisslmc 
(superlatively  perfect.) 

There  is  no  quality  which  is  loreign  to  them.    Your  instru> 
ments  possess  in  the  supreme  degree  nobility  and  power 
tone,  elasticity  and  security  ot  touch,  harmony,  brilliancy,  so 
lidity,  charms  and  prestige  ;  and  tnus  offer  a  harmonious  en 
semble  ol  perfections  to  the  exclusion  of  all  detects. 

Piauists  of  the  least  pretensions  will  find  means  of  drawing 
from  Ihem  agreeable  effects;  an<t  in  face  of  such  Droducts— 
which  truly  do  honor  to  the  art  of  the  conatruction'of  instru- 
ments— the  role  of  the  critic  is  as  simple  as  that  of  the  public 
tte  one  has  but  to  apolaud  them  conscientiously  and  with  en- 
tire satisfaction,  and  the  other  but  to  procure  them  in  the  same 
manner. 

In  congratulating  you  sincerely  upon  the  great  and  decisive 
success  obtained  at  the  Exposition  at  Paris,  I  am  pleased  to 
amtlcipate  the  happy  continuation  of  the  same  in  all  places 
where  ytur  pianos  will  be  heard,  and  I  beg  tnat  you  accept, 
gentlenoeD,  the  expression  of  my  most  distiuguished  sentiments 
of  esteem  and  consideration. 

(Signed)  F.  LISZT. 

Rome,  December,  26, 1867. 

The  Punos.—  Conclusive  Proof  of  the  Highest  Award  to 
Chiclcering  &  Sons.—lhe  tollowins  letters  have  lust  been  re- 
ceived from  Paris  oy  Messrs  Chickering  &  Sons,  which  clearly 
ar.d  very  plainly  prove  that  the  Gold  .Medals  at  the  Paris  Ex- 
hibition were  all  alike  and  of  equal  value,  and  that  the 
Cross  of  the  "  Legion  of  Honor  was  awarded  by  a  higher  power 
than  the  Juries,  viz :  by  the  Emperor,  as  a  "  Superior  Award" 
over  Medals  for  the  superior  merit  of  the  Chickering  Pianos: 
Copy  of  a  letter  ftom  Monsieur  Fetis,  Member  and  Reporter  of 

the  Jury  ot  the  10th  Class  of  the  Exposition  Universale, 

Paris,  1867 : 

[Translation.] 

Brctssils,  Nov.  19, 1667. 
Mr  Chickering: 

Sir— I  cannot  refuse  to  declare,  as  memoer  of  the  Jury  of  the 
ICth  Class,  that  which  is  undeniably  established  by  the  Moni- 
teur  of  July  2a,  1867,  viz : 

That  there  is  one  single  class  of  Gold  Medals  for  the  Exhib- 
itors; that  the  Decoration  of  the  Legion  of  Ilonor  constitutes 
a  recompense  ot  a  superior  order,  and  that  it  has  been  accorded 
to  you  by  the  Emperor  tor  the  merit  ot  your  instruments. 

Accept  my  salutations. 

(Slgued)  FKTIS. 

Member  ot  the  Jury  of  the  loth  Class  of  the  Exposition  Uni- 

verselle,  Paris,  1867. 

Copy  of  letters  from  Ambrolse  Thomas  and  F,  A.  Gavaert, 

members  ot  the  Jury : 

Gentlemen :— I  must  tell  you  tha  t  whatever  may  be  the  order 
in  which  the  names  have  been  inscribed  in  each  kind  ol  recom- 
pease  awarded  in  the  10th  Class,  the  Gold  Medal— to  speak  of 
this  one— is  the  First  Medal.  There  are  not  two  classes  ol  Gold 
Medals  * 

Receive  my  salutations. 

(Signed)  AMBROISE  THOMAS. 

I  am  completely  of  the  opinion  of  my  conlrera Thomas. 

(S'gned)  F.  GAVA8RT. 

Entirely  in  accordance  with  my  confrere.  M.  M.  Thomas  & 
Gavaert,  I  declare  that  there  Is  but  one  class  ot  Gold  Medals, 
which  are  all  Prize  Medals.  Any  Exnibitor  honored  with  this 
distinction,  has  theretore  the  right  to  announce  that  he  has  re- 
ceived the  First  Medal. 

(Signed)  GEORGES  KASTNER. 

Paris,  Oct.  22d,  1867. 


c 


^ 


PIANO-FORTE 


When  th;<  celebrated  Haydn  was  asked  how   all  his 
*Ecredroufic  w»s  to  cheeriul,  ihe  ;m'at  c  impo  < 
plied : — "1  cannot  make  it    otherwise.    I    wi -. 

ingtotue  thoughts  I  feel;  when  I  think  upon 
God,  my  h*nrt  j'6  so  lull  <!anoe 

ard  leap  as  it  were  from  my  pen;  and  since  God  has 
eiv(-n  me  a  cheerful  heart,  it  will  be  pardoned  in  ma 
that  1  t.-rvo  faim  with  a  cheerful  spirit." 

There  is  no  languagelhat  can  toll 
Of  mysteries  which  in  music  dwell, 

The  soul  to  charm  and  bless; 
It  is  a  gift  of  love  divine, 
A  flower,  wlioae  heavenly  tendrils  twino 

In  perfect  loveliness. 


The  Dead  Letters. — Of  all  the  official  work 
clone  at  Washington,  none  is  regarded  with  more 
interest  by  the  transient  visitor  tban  the  deatj 
letter  office.  Here  sit  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
men— for  it  is  a  fact  disgraceful  to  humanity 
that  women  cannot  be  employed,  so  many  ob- 
scene letters  poison  the  mails — continually  en- 
gaged in  opening  the  four  or  five  millions  of 
letters  that  annually  find  their  way  there.  More 
than  15,000  letters  are  daily  emptied  on  their 
desks,  asking  to  be  opened.  When  the  letter  is 
found  to  have  valuable  contents,  those  contents 
are  indorsed  upon  it,  and  the  letter  returned  to 
the  envelope.  A  record  is  made  of  all  such  letters, 
and  they  are  at  once  returned  to  their  writers, 
without  return  postage.  So  perfect  are  the  ar- 
rangements that  it.  is  hardly  possible  that  a 
valuable  dead  letter,  which  has  once  reached  the 
office,  should  fail  of  revisiting  the  writer,  if  it  is 
in  the  power  of  the  department  to  discover  him. 

During  the  past  year  35,000  letters,  inclosing 
$142,234,  were  received  at  this  office,  and  near- 
ly 29,000  of  them,  containing  $130,620,  were  re- 
stored to  their  owners.  But  besides  these  money 
letters,  there  were  21,000  dead  letters,  containing 
bills  of  exchange  and  other  valuable  matter,  ap- 
praised at  over  $5,000,000,;  over  49,000  contain- 
ing photographs,  jewelry,  &c;  and  97,000  con- 
taining stamps  and  articles  of  small  value;  near- 
ly all  of  them  were  returned  to  the  original 
writers,  and  the  reason  why  any  of  these  letters 
fail  of  being  returned  is  not  the  fault  of  the  de- 
partment, but  of  the  writers,  who  either  send  an 
unsigned  letter,  or  who  will  subscribe  herself 
"your  loving  Susie,"  or  "your  affectionate  Adie;" 
and  as  erovernment  knows  no  first  names,  all 
such  letters  are  consigned  to  the  chopping  box 
and  theu  to  the  paper  mill  to  reappear  as  white 
paper. 

Since  writing  thus  far,  I  have  once  more  vis- 
ited the  dead  letter  office — a  visit  that  always 
gives  pleasure  and  gratifies  curiosity.  Here  I 
saw  clerks  taking  about  $500  a  day  out  of  the 
letters  so  profusely  scattered  over  their  desks, 
and  among  the  various  articles  recently  taken 
out  of  their  envelopes,  I  noticed  the  following : 
slippers,  valentines,  a  duck's  head,  thermome- 
ters, false  teeth,  pistols,  mittens,  fern  leaves, 
false  hair,  laces,  paper  collars,  epaulets,  horns, 
pipes,  watch-cases,  hoops,  albums,  dolls,  (one 
of  them  two  feet  high;  it  must  have  required 
a  monster  envelope!)  butterflies,  ma.ts,  medi- 
cines, silver  goblets  of  full  size,  ear-rings, 
butter  knives,  spoons,  gold  and  silver  watches 
(very  little  gold  or  silver  about  them  however), 
shells,  purses,  soap,  sugar,  tea,  coffee,  bows  and 
arrows,  books,  pictures,  a  box  of  cigars,  a  bottle 
of  Jamaica  ginger,  a  squirrel's  tail,  prisms, 
combs,  boxes,  &c. — Hours  at  Home. 


India  Rubber.— The  first  accounts  Ave  have 
of  this  important  product  date  back  to  the  year 
1735,  when  some  French  astronomers,  who  had 
been  sent  oxit  to  Brazil  to  make  observations, 
returned  to  Europe  with  some  of  the  gum.  The 
article  attracted  but  little  attention,  however, 
and  as  late  as  1770  it  was  only  to  be  obtained  in 
one  obscure  place— a  little  shop  in  Loudon— its 
|  use  at  that  time  being  confined  to  the  simple 
purpose  of  erasing  or  rubbing  out  pencil  marks, 
and  hence  its  name,  India  rubber.  About  the 
year  1820,  experiments  began  to  be  made  with 
India  rubber.  It  was  first  used  as  an  ingredient 
in  blacking  and  varnish,  its  elasticity  subse- 
quently suggesting  its  availability  in  the  manu- 
facture of  suspenders.  The  next  important  step 
was  taken  by  a  Scotchman  named  Mackintosh. 
He  spread  the  rubber,  dissolved  in  coal  oil,  on 
pieces  of  cloth,  which  were  placed  together,  and 
passed  between  rollers,  thus  forming  the  materi- 
al from  whi<2h  the  celebrated  water  proof  Mack- 1 
intosh  coats  were  made.  It  was  not  till  a  later 
period  that  the  material  engaged  the  attention  of, 
inventors  and  manufacturers  in  this  country. 
The  grand  obstacle  to  its  general  use  was  its  -'- 
susceptibility  to  heat  and  cold,  by  which  it  was 
either  melted  or  made  rigid.  It  was  to  obviate 
this  peculiarity  and  render  it  indifferent  to  all 
ordinary  temperatures  tfaat  Charles  Goodyear  de- 
voted so  much  time  and  money  and  labor,  and 
finally  with  such  complete  success  in  the  inven- 
tion of  vulcanized  rubber,  which  now  enters  into 
the  composition  of  a  thousand  different  articles. 
He  accomplished  this  great  result  by  uniting 
sulphur  with  the  rubber  while  it  was  in  a  state 
of  fusion — an  idea  which  had  its  origin  with  Na- 
thaniel Hayward  of  Boston,  but  was  carried  out 
to  a  successful  issue  only  by  the  patentgenius  of 
Goodyear. 

The  tree  from  which  rubber  is  obtained  grows 
to  a  height  of  80  or  100  feet,  some  fifty  of 
these  being  without  branches,  the  top  spreading 
dtit  like  an  umbrella,  with  thick,  glossy  foliage. 
On  tapping  the  trunk,  a  yellowish  liquid,  resem- 
bling cream,  flows  out,  which  is  caught  in  small 
clay  cups,  fastened  to  the  tree.  The  contents  are 
then  emptied  in  large  earthern  jars,  in  which  the 
liqued  congeals,  and  is  kept  until  wanted  for 
use.  Sometimes  a  tree  is  cut  from  the  bottom  to 
the  top,  the  incisions  being  made  about  a  foot 
apart;  and  from  all  these  wounds  the  milk  will 
flow.  The  tree  will  bear  this  operation  once  a 
fortnight.  It  is  tapped  in  the  morning,  and  at 
each  cutting  runs  about  a  gill  of  rubber  or  gum 
a  day,  which  is  fit  for  use  as  soon  as  collected. 
The  gum  can  be  gathered  during  the  entire  year, 
but  is  best  in  the  dry  season,  during  May,  June, 
July  and  August. 


The  Central  Food  Markets  of  Paris.  — 
The  recent  disastrous  fire  in  the  butter,  cheese  and 
egg  vaults  of  the  great  central  market  of  Paris, 
has  called  public  attention  to  those  enormous 
structures,  and  to  the  almost  incredible  amounts 
of  food  heaped  up  within  them  daily.  By  the  fire 
alluded  to,  about  160,000  pounds  of  butter  were 
turned  into  a  lake  of  boiling  grease  on  the  stone 
pavement  of  one  of  these  vaults. 

The  Holies  Centrales,  or  Central  Markets  of 
Paris,  are  enormous  structures,  commenced  in 
1851  and  not  yet  completed.  The  plan  embraces 
fourteen  pavilions,  with  a  boulevard  between 
them.  Ten  of  them  are  completed,  six  on  one 
side  of  the  boulevard  and  four  on  the  other.  They 
are  all  covered  by  an  immense  zinc  roof,  support- 
ed by  iron  pillars,  and  are  separated  by  streets. 
They  occupy  more  than  60,000  feet  of  land. 

Under  thece  pavilions  are  immense  vaults  where 
are  stored  and  prepared  for  market  the  butter, 
eggs,  cheese,  vegetables,  &c,  &c.,  which  are  re. 
tailed  above.  These  vaults  are  of  stone  and  iron, 
and  abundantly  furnished  with  water  and  gas,  - 
and  provided  with  every  convenience  required  by  r 
the  market  men. 

About  6000  carts  are  daily  employed  in  bringing 
provisions  to  this  market,  and  the  quantity  of 
edibles  brought  may  be  estimated  by  the  returns 
of  1866,  when  22  millions  of  pounds  of  butter 
were  sold,  and  nearly  3  millions  of  pounds  of 
cheese,  and  232  millions  of  eggs;  600,000  of  which 
have  daily  to  be  inspected  in  these  vaults.  Here 
too  all  the  vegetables  are  prepared  for  market; 
and  when  we  are  told  that  Paris  requires  during 
their  season,  30  million  quarts  of  peas  alone,  it 
may  be  supposed  that  this  labor  is  not  light.  All 
the  butter  is  here  worked  over  at  immense  marble 
tables,  furnished  with  water  in  abundance,  and 
with  the  needful  implements  and  preparations  for 
giving  the  butter  the  proper  color  and  taste. 

The  poultry  is  here  picked  and  prepared  for  sale, 
and  the  fish  are  kept  alive  in  reservoirs  supplied  £ 
with  running  water.    Water  cresses  are  an  impor-  — 
tant  article  of  trade  carried  on  in  these  vaults, 
mm*.  12  million  bunches  being    annually  jjold  / 

One  peculia^  of  tbis  market  **,  the  sale  of 
remnants  of  food  £«  carried  on-  Th<*  are 
gathered  from  the  hotels,  re3urants'  and  S»JJd 
houses  of  the  city  every  night,  then  Care™Uy 
sorted  out,  arranged  on  plates,  and  sold  for  a  few 
cents  a  plate.  There  are  seventeen  sellers  of  this 
food  in  this  market;  and  the  demand  for  their 
articles  is  so  great,  that  several  of  them  have  be- 
come independently  rich  by  the  trafflc. 

-V^  .  . 

The  following  table  will  be  found  very 
valuable  to  many  of  our  readers :— 

A  box  24  by  16  inches  square  and  28  inches 
deep,  will  contain  a  barrel  (Ave  bushels). 

A  box  21  by  16  inches  square,  and  14  inches 
deep,  will  contain  half  a  barrel. 

A  box  26  by  15J  inches  square,  and  8  inches 
deep,  will  contain  one  bushel. 

A  box  12  by  1H  inches  square,  and  8  inches 
deep,  will  contain  half  a  bushel. 

A  box  8  by  8£  inches  square,  and  8  inches 
deep,  will  contain  one  peck. 

A  box  8  by  8  inches  square,  and  4J  inches 
deep,  will  contain  one  gallon. 

A  box  7  by  8  inches  square,  and  4\  inches 
deep,  will  contain  half  a  gallon. 

A  box  4  by  4  inches  square,  and  U  inches 
deep,  will  contain  one  quart. 


Population  and  Age  of  the  World.— Ac- 
cording to  the  calculations  of  Professor  Caralia  de 
Faudence,  the  present  population  of  the  world  is 
1  300  000,000.  Allowing  for  increase  in  population 
at  an' annual  rate  of  1,292,  it  i9  shown  that  the 
present  population  would  be  reached  in  5,863  yearg. 
This  is  putiing  the  increaso  at  a  low  rate.  In 
France  it  is  1,227  annually.  Calculated  on  the 
latter  basis,  the  present  number  would  bo  reached 
m  4,207  years  from  Noah,  allowing  that  he  left  the 
ark  with  three  sons  and  three  daughters.  Thus 
another  proof  is  added  to  the  chronological  accu- 
racy of  the  Scriptural  record  and  the  foundation 
laid  for  a  successful  argument  against  one  of  the 
many  infidel  theories  respecting  the  antiquity  of 
the  human  race. 


The  Wat  They  Go.— The  Newburyport  Her- 
ald reminds  us  of  facts  calculated  to  diminish  in- 
dividual consequence.  A  thousand  millions  of 
people,  averaging  only  the  age  of  thirty  years,  re- 
quires 91,000  to  die  every  day,  or  one  ia  every  sec- 
ond of  time,  and  as  many  to  be  bom  to  keep  the 
number  good.  Half  of  those  born  disappear  be- 
fore the  seventeenth  year,  or  before  they  come  tt> 
maturity,  as  half  the  blossoms  on  a  tree  will  fall 
worthless  to  the  ground ;  but  six  in  a  hundred  live 
to  be  sixty  years  old;  but  one  in  500  reaches 
eighty,  and  but  one  in  1000  one  hundred. 


_- 


/  /' 

./)  .    The  follow- 

ing is  the  hymn  written  for  the  Festival  by  Dr.  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes,  and  which  will  be  sung  in  unison,  to 
the  music  of  Keller's  "American  Hymn:" 


CO 


CO 


CO 


Angel  of  Peace,  thou  hast  wandered  too  long! 

Spread  thy  white  wings  to  the  sunshine  of  love! 
Come  while  our  voices  are  blended  in  song,— 

Fly  to  our  ark  like  the  storm-beaten  dove! 
Fly  to  our  ark  on  the  wings  of  the  dove,— 

Speed  o'er  the  far-sounding  billows  of  song, 
Crowned  with  thine  olive-leaf  garland  of  love.— 

Angel  of  Peace,  thou  hast  waited  too  long! 

Brothers  we  meet,  on  this  altar  of  thine 

Mingling  the  gifts  we  have  gathered  for  thee, 
sweet  with  the  odors  of  myrtle  and  pine, 

Breeze  of  the  prairie  and  breath  ot  the  sea,— ' 
Meadow  and  mountain,  and  forest  and  sea  ! 

Sweet  is  the  fragrance  of  myrtle  and  pine. 
Sweeter  the  incense  we  offer  to  thee, 

Brothers  once  more  round  this  altar  of  thine  I 

Angels  of  Bethlehem,  answer  the  strain ! 

Hark!  a  ntw  birth-song  is  filling  the  sky!— 
jLoud  as  the  storm-wind  that  tumbles  the  main. 

Bid  the  full  breath  of  the  organ  reply  — 
p^et  the  loud  tempest  ot  voices  reply,—    ' 
•  Boll  its  long  surge  like  the  earth-shaking  main ! 
fowell  the  vast  song  till  it  mounts  to  the  sky  !— 
An£els  of  Bethlehem,  echo  the  strain !     " 


TOTA6H  0«*  TEE  GOOD  SHIP  VlYXOJff. 

BY  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


fTi8  midnight:  through  my  troubled  dream 

Loud  wads  the  tempest's  cry; 
Before  the  gale,  with  tattered  sail, 

A  ship  goes  plunging  by. 
What  name?  Where  bound?  -The  rocks  around 

Kepeat  the  loud  halloo. 
—The good  ship  Union,  Southward  bound: 

God  help  her  and  her  crew! 

And  is  the  old  flag  flying  still 

That  o'er  your  lathers  flew, 
With  bands  of  white  and  rosy  light, 

And  fields  of  starry  blue? 
— Ay  !  look  aloft!  its  folds  full  oft 

Have  braved  tho  roaring  blast, 
And  still  shall  fly  when  irom  the  sky 

This  black  typhoon  has  past! 

Speak,  pilot  of  the  etorin-tost  bark ! 

May  1  thy  peril  share? 
— O  landsmaS,  these  are  fearful  seas 

The  brave  alone  may  dare ! 
—Kay,  ruler  oi  the  rebel  deep, 

What  matters  wind  or  wave? 
The  rocks  that  wreck  your  reeling  deck 

Will  leave  me  nought  to  save! 

0  landsman  art  thou  false  or  true? 

What  sign  hast  thou  to  show? 
—The  crimson  etains  from  loyal  vefns 

That  hold  my  heartrblood's  flow! 
—Enough !  what  more  shall  honor  olaim? 

I  know  the  sacred  sign ; 
Above  thy  head  our  flag  shall  spread, 

Our  ocean  path  be  thine ! 

The  bark  sails  on;  the  Pilgrim's  Cape 

Lies  low  along  her  lee, 
Whose  headland  crooks  its  anchor  flukes 

io  lock  the-ahore  and  sea. 
So  treason  heix:!  it  cost  too  dear 

To  win  this  barren  realm! 
And  true  and  free  the  hands  must  be 

That  held  the  whaler's  helm! 

Still  on!  Manhattan's  narrowing  bay 

No  Rebel  cruiser  scars; 
Her  waters  feel  no  pirate's  keel 

That  flaunts  the  falling  stars! 
—But  watch  the  light  on  yonder  height,— 
„  Ay,  pilot,  have  a  care! 
Some  lingering  crowd  in  mist  may  shruud 

The  capes, oi  Delaware! 

Say,  pilot,  what  this  fort  may  be, 

Whoso  sentinels  look  down 

n0m  moated  walls  that  show  the  sea 

Iheir  deep  embrasures'  frown? 
The  Rebel  host  claims  all  the  coast, 

But  these  are  friends,  we  know, 
Whose  footprints  fpoi!  the  "sacred  soil," 

And  this  is? Fort  Monroe! 

The  breakers  roar,— how  bears  the  shore? 

— Ihe  traitorous  wrecfier's  hands 
Have  quenched  the  blaze  that  poured  its  rayi 

Along  the  Hatteras  sands. 
—Ha!  say  not  so!  1  see  its  glow! 

Again  the  shoals  display 
The  beacon  light  that  shines  by  night, 

The  Union  Stars  by  day ! 

The  good  ship  flies  to  milder  skies, 

Ihe  wave  more  gently  flows, 
Ihe  softening  breeze  wafts  o'er  the  seas 

Ihe  breath  of  Beaufort's  rose. 
W  hat  fold  is  this  the  sweet  winds  kiss, 

It  air-striped  and  many-starred, 
Whose  shadow  palls  the  orphaned  walla. 

The  twins  of  Beauregard? 

What!  heard  you  not  Port  Royal's  doom? 

How  the  black  war-ships  came 
And  turned  the  Beaufort  roses'  bloom 

To  redder  wreaths  of  flame? 
How  from  Rebellion's  broken  reed 

We  saw  his  emblem  fall, 
A6  soon  his  cursed  poison-weed 

Shall  drop  from  Sumter's  wall? 

On !  On !  Pulaski's  iron  hail 

Falls  harmless  on  Tybee! 
Her  topsails  feel  the  freshening  gale. 

She  strikes  the  open  sea ; 
fehr  rounds  the  point,  she  threads  the  keys 

That  guard  tho  land  of  flowers 
And  rides  at  last  where  firm  and  fast 

Her  own  Gibraltar  towers ! 
The  good  ship  Union's  voyage  is  o'er, 

At  anchor  safe  she  swings, 
And  loud  and  clear  with  ch^er  on  cheer 

tier  joyous  welcome  rings; 
Hun  ah!  Hurrah!  it  shakes  the  wave. 

It  thunders  on  the  shore,— 
One  flag,  one  land,  one  heart,  one  hand 
One  Nation,  eyermore!  ' 


PARTING  HYMN. 

»T  OUTBB  WBWDBLL  HOLKE8. 

"Dundee." 

Father  of  Mercies,  Heavenly  Friend 
We  seek  Thy  gracious  throne ;        ' 

To  Thee  our  faltering  prayers  ascend, 
Our  fainting  hearts  are  known ! 

,  From  blasts  that  chill,  from  suns  that  smite, 
,     From  every  plague  that  harms ;  ' 

-  in  camp  and  march,  in  siege  and  flirht 
Protect  our  men-at-arms !  ' 

*  T  W  from  onr  darkened  lives  they  take 
What  makes  our  life  most  dear 
Weyield  them  for  their  country's  sake 
With  no  relenting  tear. 

Our  blood  their  flowing  veins  will  shed, 
Iheir  wounds  our  breasts  will  share; 

Uh,  gave  us  from  the  woes  we  dread, 
Or  grant  us  strength  to  bear! 

Let  each  unhallowed  cause  that  brings 

The  stern  destroyer  cease, 
Thy  flaming  angel  fold  his  wings, 

And  seraphs  whisper  Peace ! 

Thine  are  the  sceptre  and  the  sword. 

Stretch  forth  Thy  mighty  hand,— 
Ke^,gn  T£?n  our  kingless  nation's  Lord, 

Rule  Thou  our  throneless  land ! 


/ 


A'ow  or  iVever. 
BY  OLIVER   WENDELL  U"LME8. 

Listen,  young  heroes!  your  country  is  calling' 
lime  strikes  the  hour  for  the  brave  and  the  true' 
■-"',', w      '  the  '""'cmost  are  fighting  and  Jailing 
I'll   up  the  ranks  that  have  opened  for  you! 

You  whom  the  fathers  made  lice  and  defeuded 
.  Staiu  not  the  scroll  that  emblazons  their  lame' 
}  ei  whose  fair  heritage  spotless  descended, 

Leave  not  your  children  a  biithiight  of  shame! 

Stay  not  for  questions  while  Freedom  stands  gasp- 
ing! * 
Wait  not  till  Honor  lies  wrapped  in  his  pall! 
Briei-The  lips'  meeting   be,  swilt  the  hand's  clasp- 
ing,— 
"Off  lor  the  wars"  is  enough  lor  them  all! 

Break  from  the  aims  that  would  fondly  caress  yen' 

Hark!  'tte  the  bugle-blast!  sabres  are  drawn:" 
Mothers  shall  piny'  lor  you,   fathers  shall  blessyou, 

Maidens  shall  weep  for  you  when  you  are  gone! 
Never  or  now!  cries  the  blood  of  a  nation 
Loured  on  the  turf  wheie  the  red   rose  should 
r  bloom; 

£  Now  is  the  day  and  the  hour  of  salvation; 
Never  or  now!  peals  the  trumpet  ol  doom! 

f  Never  or  now!  roais  the  hoarse-throated  cannon 

s      1  hrougn  the  black  capony  blotting  the  skies ; 
Never  or  now!  flaps  the  shell-blasted  pennon 

O'er  the  deep  ooze  where  the  Cumberland  lies! 
From  the  foul  dens  where  our  brothers  are  dying 

Aliens  and  Joes  in  the  land  ot  their  birth,    " 
liiom  the  rank  swamps  where   our   martyrs  are  ly- 
ing, J  J 
•  ^      Pleading  in  vain  for  a  handful  of  earth  ; 

From  the   hot  plains   where  they   perish   outnum- 
bered, 
Furrowed    and    ridged     with     the     battle-field's 
<-  plough. 

Comes  the  loud  summons;  too  long  you  have  slum- 
bered, 
Hear  the  last  angel-trump— Never  or  Now! 

'  The  fol- 
lowing timely  and  spirited  war  lyric,  by  Drv 
Holmes,  will  be  read  with  interest: — 

THU    LAST  CHAjtpE. 
Now,  men  of  the  Hiorih!  will  you  join   in  the  strife 
For  country,  for  freedom,  for  honor,  for  life .' 
The  giant  grows  blind  in  his  fury  and  spite — 
One  blow  on  his  forehead  will  settle  the  fight !    ■ 

Flash  full  in  Ids  eyes  the  blue  lightning  of  steel, 
And  stun  him  with  cannon-bolts,  peal  upon  peal! 
Mount,  trooperg,  and  lollow  your  game  to  its  lair, 
As  the  hound  tracks  the  wolf  and  the  beagle  the. 
hare! 

Blow,   trumpets,    your   summons,     till    sluggards 

awake! 
Beat,  drums,  till  the  roofs  of   the    faint-hearted 

shake! 
Vet,  yet,  ere  the  signet  is  stamped  on  the  scroll. 
Their  names  may  he  traced  on  the  blood-sprinkled 

roll! 

Trust  not  the  false  herald  that  painted   your  shield  ; 
True  honor  to-day  must  be  sought  on  the  field! 
Her  scutcheon  shows  white,  with  a  blazon  of  red, — 
The  life  drops  of  crimson  for  liberty  shed  ! 

The  hour  is  at  hand,  and  the  moment  draws  nigh, 
The  dog  star  of  Ireedom  grows  dim  in  the  sky. 
Shine    forth   from    the  battle-cloud,    light  of  the 

morn — 
Call  back  the  bright  hour  when   the  Nation  was 

born! 

The  rivers  of  peace  through  our  valleys  shall  rnn, 

As  the  glaciers  ot  tyranny  melt  in  the  sun ; 

Smite,  smite  the   proud    parricide    down  from  his 

throne, — 
His  sceptre  once  broken,  the  world  is  our  own! 


POEM  BY  OLIVER   WENDELL  HOLMES. 

t£?W""?  we  may  not  reach 
Through  the  veil  of  alien  speech, 

w^i  ^  llp_s  ln  vain  woul(1  spell- 
words  that  hearts  can  understand. 
Brothers  from  the  Flowery  Land  I 

will  ♦? e  eA'?1ni°«'s  latest  bom, 
Han  Ore  children  of  the  mornl 
nJSl?, IS  n?w  creation's  birth, 
S  tbc  lords  of  ancient  earth 
w»™ilne,r  ftorted  walls  and  towers 
Wandering  to  these  tents  of  ours ! 

£a.?d  °f  wonders,  fair  Cathay, 
Hi^id0^  ha*t  shunned  the  staring  day 
ft"  mJ9ts  of  Popts'  dreams       8     7' 
f£  i?<,yfEluet.an,d  yellow  streams- 
tw£  th}"  shaaowe<i  form  behold- 
Teach  us  as  thou  didst  of  old. 

wJ!^d,re  lwe,118  with  'ength  of  days : 
i\,-^om. walks  ,n  ancient  w-ays ; 
inme  the  compass  that  could  guide 
A  nation  o'er  the  stormy  tide 

SSSl!„l!y>,%^lon8-t10ubt8  and  fea«- 

£afe  through  thrice  a  thousand  years ! 
Looking  from  thy  turrets  gray 

TwAa8t  se!n  tb-e  world's  decay- 
•Kfypt  drowning  in  her  sands- 
A*hens  rent  by  robbers'  hands- 
t  rlme*  *?e  wlld  °a;barian's  prey. 
-UKe  a  storm-cloud  swept  away : 
Looking  from  thy  turrets  gray 
Still  we  see  thee.    Where  are  they  f 

Aittl°-La^ew"li0,rn  nation  ^Hs. 
S5JSP*2*  the  golden  gates  ' 

i  hat  ghtter  by  the  sunset  sea— 
waits  with  outspread  arms  for  thee ! 
£»efn  wWe,  ye  gates  of  gold 
Jto  the  Dragon's  banner-fold'! 
Builders  of  the  mighty  wall, 
Bid  your  mountain  barriers  fall ! 
So  may  the  girdle  of  the  sun 
Jimd  the  East  and  West  in  one, 
Till  Nevada'!  breezes  fan 
The  snowy <  peaks  of  Tc*8ieue- Shan- 
Ullbne  blends  its  waters  blue 
W)thtJie  waves  of  Tung-Ting- ffu- 
JMl  deep  Missouri  lends  Us  flow 
To  swell  tne  rushing  Hoang-Hot 

Our  Olrieat  Friend. 

iir  O.  W.    HOLMBS. 

Read  to  "The  Boys  of  '29,"  Jan.  5,  1865. 

TEt'linri11}'6  Hty1  of  the  oldest  friend 
i™  Bh?rt  of  eternity,  earth  can  lend  - 

ThWti?.0  faiUlful  a'"'  trled  a»('  *™e 

That  nothing  can  ..  ean  him  from  mo  and  you. 

Of  th?  2llnX^Mfd  ln  the  8UfWen  »*»*• 
V    I     ""H'Kht  s  Winding  and  blasting  rays 
And  gulped  at  the  gaseoSs,  groggy  air 
This  old,  old  friend  stood  waiting  there. 
And  when,  with  a  kind  of  mortal  strife 
w J\ ^'V'^aspeti  and  choked  into  breati  ing  lift 
He  watched  by  the  cradle,  day  and  nigh" 
And  held  our  hands  till  we  stood  upright 

From  gristle  and  pulp  our  frames  haro  grown 
to  »"ngy  muscle  and  solid  bone: 
KS  were  chtnging,  he  altered  not; 
we  might  forget,  but  ho  never  forgot. 

He  came  with  us  to  the  college  cla^s  -  / 

Little  cared  he  for  the  steward's  pasLf   *  .- 

All  the  rest  must  pay  their  fee 

But  the  grim  old  dead-head  entered  free. 

He  stayed  with  us  while  wt  counted  o'er 

Four  times  each  ot  the  seasons  four- 

And  with  every  season,  from  year  to  year 

the  dear  name  Classmate  he  made  more  dear. 

He  never  leaves  us,— he  never  will, 

lilt  our  hands  are  cold  and  our  heart*  are  still  • 

On  birthdays,  and  Christinas,  and  New  Y ear's  to» 

He  alwax  s  remembers  both  me  and  y0U.  ' 

Every  year  this  faithful  friend 

His  llttlo  present  is  sure  to  send; 

Jvvery  year,  wheresoe'er  we  be 

He  wants  a  keepsake  from  you  and  me. 

How  he  loves  us!  he  pats  our  heads, 

aUh'w  th,ey  are  Seaming  with  silver  thread*; 

Tin  «nr  8al?'a-V3  ,)eS»i!1S  one  lo«k  .f  hair,         ' 

i-HI  our  saining  crowns  have  nothing  to  we«r. 

At  length  he  will  tell  us,  one  by  one, 

My  child,  your  la  >or  on  earth  Is  doiie  ■ 
And  now  you  must  journey  afar  to  se»' 
My  elder  brother,— Kternity!" 

And  so,  when  long,  long  years  have  passed 
Some  dear  old  fellow  will  bo  the  last  - 
Never  a  boy  alive  but  he     - 
Of  all  our  goodly  company ! 

^,h.eln<  hSX?a  d,wn-  but  not  till  then, 
£, u'klni  Class- Angel  will  drop  the  pen 

n^nr?*8  '"  the  ^-^  kept  abovi 
Our  lifelong  record  of  faith  and  iovs. 

So  here's  a  health  in  homely  rhyme 
to  our  oldest  classmate,  rather  Time  ! 
*    I our  last  survivor  live  to  be 
As  bald,  but  as  wise  and  tough  as  he ! 
-[Atlantic  Monthly  for  March.] 


/ 


'J 


M 


noimes,  as  follows : 


w'ords  by  Professor 


O  fhouof  soul  and  sense  and  breath, 

'ihe  ever  present  Giver, 
Unto  Ihy  mighty  Angel,  Death, 

All  flesh  Thou  dost  deliver; 
\V  hat  most  we  cherish  we  resign. 
For  life  and  death  alike  are  thine, 

Who  reiggest  Lord  forever! 

Our  hearts  lie  buried  in  the  dust 
With  Him,  so  true  and  tender, 

Thejatriot's  stay,  the  people's  trust. 
The  shield  of  the  offender; 

Yet  every  murmuring  voice  is  still, 

As,  bowing  to  'ihy  sovereign  will, 
Our  best  loved  we  surrender. 

Dear  Lord,  with  pitying  eye  behold 

.™  .TJ1*P18rtyrgeneration, 

Which  Thou,  through  trials  manifold, 

Art  shewing  Thy  salvation ! 
O  let  the  blood  by  murder  spilt 
Wash  out  Thy  stricken  children's  guilt 

And  sanctify  our  nation  I 

Be  Thou  Thy  orphaned  Israel's  friend, 
Forsake  Ihy  people  never, 

In  One  our  broken  Many  blend, 
That  none  again  mav  sever  ? 

Hear  ns,  O  Father,  while  we  raise 

"    A,t£°.mb!i",?,Il!,s  our  soriS  of  praise/ 
And  bless  Thy  name  forlverl 


r 


TUE  ORGAN  BLOWER. 

Devoutest  of  mv  Sanday  fiends, 

The  patient  or^an-blower  beads; 

I  see  his  figure  sink  and  rise, 

(Forgive  me,  Heaven,  my  wandering  eyes!) 

A  moment  lost,  the  next  half  seen, 

His  head  above  the  scanty  screen, 

Still  measuring  out  his  deep  salatns 

Through  quavering  hymns  and  panting  psams. 

No  priest  that  prays  iD  gilded  stole, 

To  save  a  rich  man's  mortgaged  soul; 

No^sister,  fresh  from  holy  vows,— 

So  humbly  Jtoops,  so  meekly  bows; 

His  large  obeisance  puts  to  shama 

The  proudest  genuflecting  dame, 

Whose  Easter  bonnet  low  descends 

With  all  the  grace  devotion  lends. 

0  brother  with  the  eupplo  spine, 

How  much  we  owe  those  bows  of  thine! 

Without  thine  arm  to  lend  the  breeze, 

How  vain  the  finger  on  the  keys ! 

Though  all  unmatched  the  player's  skill, 

Those  thousand  throats  were  dumb  and  still. 

Another's  art  mav  shape  the  tone, 

The  breath  that  fills  it  is  thine  own. 

Six  days  the  silent  Memnon  waits 
Behind  his  temple's  folded  gates; 
But  when  the  seventh  day's  sunshine  falls 
Through  rainbowed  windows  on  the  walls, 
He  breathes,  he  sighs,  he  shouts,  he  fills 
The  quivering  air  with  rapturous  thrills; 
The  roof  resounds,  the  pillars  shake. 
And  all  the  slumbering  echoes  wake! 

The  preacher  from  the  Bible-text 
With  weary  words  my  soul  ha?  vex3d; 
(Some  stranger,  tumbling  far  astray 
To  find  the  lesson  for  thaday;) 
He  tells  us  truths  too  plainly  true. 
And  reads  the  service  ail  askew,— 
Why— why  the— mischief— can't  he  look 
Beforehand  in  the  service  book? 

But  thou,  with  decent  mien  and  face, 
Art  always  ready  in  thy  place; 
Thy  strenuous  blast,  whate'er  the  tune, 
As  steady  as  the  strong  monsoon; 
Thy  only  dread  a  leathery  creak, 
Or  small  residual  extra  eqieak, 
To  send  along  the  shadowy  aisles 
A  sunlit  wave  of  dimpled  smiles. 

Not  all  the  preaching,  0  my  friend. 
Comes  from  the  church's  pulpit  end! 
Not  all  that  bend  the  frnee  and  bow 
Yield  service  half  so  true  a3  thou! 
Oue  simple  task  performed  aright, 
With  slender  skili,  but  all  thy  might, 
Where  honest  Jaoor  does  its  best. 
And  leaves  the  player  all  the  rest. 

This  many-di&pasoned  maze, 

Through  which  the  breath  of  being  strays, 

Whose  music  makes  our  earth  divine, 

Has  work  for  mortal  hands  like  mine. 

My  duty  lies  b3fai»e  me.    Lo, 

Tae  lever  there !    Take  hold  and  blow ! 

And  Hj  whose  hand  is  on  the  keys 

Will  olav  the  tune  as  He  shall  please! 

0.  W.  Holmes  in  Old  and  New  for  January. 


THE    CROOKED    FOOT-PATH. 


Ab !  here  it  is,  the  sliding  rail, 
That  marks  the  old-remembored  spot — 

The  gap  that  struck  our  school-boy  trail; 
The  crooked  path  across  tho  lot. 

It  left  the  road  by  school  and  church, 
A  pencilled  shadow,  nothing  more. 

That  parted  from  the  silver  birch, 
And  ended  at  the  farm-house  door. 

No  line  or  compass  traced  it*  plan; 

With  frequent  bends  to  left  or  right, 
In  aimip?s,  wayward  curves  it  ran. 

But  always  kept  the  door  In  sight. 

The  gabled  porch,  the  woodbine  green— 
The  broken  mill- stone  at  th«  mill— 

Though  many  a  road  may  stictch  between, 
The  truant  child  can  see  them  still. 

No  rocks  across  tho  pathway  lie— 
No  fallen  trunk  is  o'er  it  thrown— 

And  yet  it  winds,  we  know  not  why, 
And  turns  as  if  lor  tree  or  atone. 

Perhaps  some  lover  trod  the  way, 
With  shakiDg  knee  or  leaping  heart— 

And  so,  it  often  runs  astray ; 
With  sinuous  sweep  or  sudden  start, 

Or  one,  perchance,  with  clouded  brain, 
From  some  unholy  banquet  reeled ; 

And  since  our  devious  steps  maintain 
His  track  across  the  trodden  Held. 

Nay,  deem  not  thus— no  earth-born  will 
Could  ever  trace  a  faultless  line; 

Our  truest  steps  arj  human  still- 
To  walk  unswerving  were  divine. 

Truants  lrom  love,  we  d»oam  of  wrath ; 

O.  father  let  us  trust  the  more ; 
Through  ail  the  wanderings  of  the  path 

We  still  can  see  our  Father's  door.  W. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


{From  tht  Atlantic  Monthly  for  November.] 
THE    FLOWER    OF    LIBERTY. 

8Y  OLIVES  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

What  flower  is  this  that  greets  the  morn, 

Its  hues  tUtta  heaven  so  freshly  born? 

With  burning  star  and  flaming  band 

It  kindles  all  the  sunset  land  ;— 

O,  tell  us  what  its  name  may  be ! 

Is  this  the  Flower  of  Liberty  t 
It  is  the  banner  of  the  freo, 
The  starry  Flower  of  liberty  * 

In  savage  Nature's  far  abode 

Its  tender  seed  our  fathers  sowed ; 

The  storm-winds  rocked  its  swelling  bud, 

Its  opening  leaves  were  streaked  with  blood, 

Till,  lo '.  earth's  tyrants  shook  to  see 

The  full-blown  Flower  of  Liberty ! 

Then  hail  the  banner  of  tho  free, 
The  starry  Flower  of  Liberty! 

Behold  its  streaming  rays  unite 

One  mingling  flood  of  braiaed  light,— 

The  red  that  flres  the  Southern  rose, 

With  spotless  white  from  Northern  snows, 

And,  spangled  o'er  its  azure,  see 

The  sister  Stars  of  Liberty ! 

Then  hail  the  banner  of  the  free, 
The  starry  Flower  of  Liberty! 

The  blades  of  heroes  fence  it  round ; 

Wrhere'er  it  springs  is  holy  ground; 

From  tower  and  dome  its  glories  spread ; 

It  waves  where  lonely  sentries  tread ; 

It  makes  the  land  as  ocean  free, 

And  plants  an  empire  on  the  sea ! 

Then  hail  the  banner  of  the  free, 
The  starry  Flower  of  Liberty ! 

Thy  sacred  leaves,  fair  Freedom's  flower, 
Shall  evor  float  on  dome  and  tower, 
To  all  their  heavenly  colors  true, 
In  blackoning  frost  or  crimson  dew,— 
And  God  love  us  as  we  love  thee, 
Thrice  holy  Flower  of  Liberty ! 

Then  hail  the  banner  of  the  free, 
The  starrj-  Flower  of  Liberty! 


I  From  the  Atlantic   Monthly  tor  March  ] 
THE  HOUR  OP  VICTORY. 


BT  O.  W.  llOLMEfl. 


The  Organ-Blower. 


BT  OLIVER   WENDELL  HOLMHS. 

Devoutest  of  my  Sunday  friends, 

The  patient  Organ-blower  bends; 

I  see  his  figure  sink  and  rise, 

(Forgive  me  Heaven,  my  wandering  eyes !) 

A  moment  lost,  the  next  half  seen, 

His  head  above  the  scanty  screen, 

Still  measuring  out  his  deep  salaams 

Through  quavering  hymns  and  panting  psalms. 

No  priest  that  prays  in  gilded  stole, 
To  save  a  rich  man's  mortgaged  soul ; 
No  sister,  fresh  from  holy  vows,— 
So  humbly  stoops,  so  meekly  bows ; 
His  large  obeisance  puts  to  shame 
The  proudest  genuflecting  dame, 
Whose  Easter  bonnet  low  descends 
With  all  the  grace  devotion  lends. 

O  brother  with  the  supple  spine, 
How  much  we  owe  those  bows  of  thine ! 
Without  thine  arm  to  lend  the  breeze, 
How  vain  the  finger  on  the  keys  1 
Though  all  unmatched  the  player*-'  skill, 
Those  thousand  throats  were  duTub  and  still. 
Another's  art  may  shape  the  tone, 
The  breath  that  fills  it  is  thine  own. 

Six  days  the  silent  Memnon  waits 
Behind  his  temple's  folded  gates, 
But  when  the  seventh  day's  sunshine  falls 
Through  rainbowed  windows  on  the  walls, 
He  breaths,  he  sings,  he  shouts,  he  fills 
The  quivering  air  with  raptuous  thrills; 
The  roof  resounds,  the  pillars  shake, 
And  all  the  slumbering  echoes  wake ! 

The  Preacher  lrom  the  Bible-text 
With  weary  words  my  soul  has  vexed; 
(Some  stranger,  fumbling  far  astray 
Te  find  the  lesson  for  the  day ;) 
He  tells  me  truths  too  plainly  true, 
And  reads  the  service  all  askew,— 
Why— why  the— mischief— can't  he  look 
Beforehand  in  the  service  book  ? 

But  thou,  with  decent  mein  and  face, 
Art  always  ready  in  thy  place ; 
Thy  strenuous  blast,  whate'er  the  tune, 
As  steady  as  the  strong  monsoon ; 
Thy  only  dread  a  leathery  creak, 
Or  small  residual  extra  squeak, 
To  send  along  the  shadowy  aisles 
A  sunlit  wave  of  dimpled  smiles. 

Not  all  tfee  preaching,  O  my  friend, 
Comes  from  the  church's  pulDit  end  I 
Not  all  that  bend  the  knee  and  bow 
Yield  service  half  so  true  as  thou  I 
One  simple  task  performed  aright, 
With  Blender  skill,  but  all  thy  might, 
Where  honest  labor  does  its  best, 
And  leaves  the  player  all  the  rest. 

This  many-diapasoned  maze,  . 

Through  which  the  breath  of  being  strays, 
Whose  music  makes  our  earth  divine, 
Has  work  for  mortal  hands  like  mine. 
My  duty  lies  before  me.    Lo, 
The  lever  there ;  Take  hold  and  blow  1 
And  He  whose  hand  is  on  the  b«ys. 
Will  play  the  tune  as  He  shall  please ! 

— From  Old  and  ifeto  for  January. 


Meridian  momenta !  grandly  given 
To  cheer  the  warrior's  soul  from  heaven ! 
God's  ancient  boon,  vouchsafed  to  those 
Who  battle  long  with  Freedom's  ioes, — 
Oh,  what  in  life  can  claim  the  power 
To  mutch  with  that  dirine.-t  hour? 

I  see  the  avenging  angel  wave 
His  banner  o'er  tbe  embattled  brave ; 
I  bear  above  Hate's  trumpet  blare 
The  shout  that  rends  the  ?m  .king  air, 
And  i  hoo  I  know  at  whose  command 
The  victor  sweeps  the  Rebel  land ! 

Endnring  Valor  lifts  bis  head 
To  count  the  flying  and  the  dead; 
Returning  Virtue  still  maintains 
Trie  right  to  break  unhallowed  c 'tains; 
While  sacred  Justice  born  of  God. 
Walks  reg-ant  o'er  the  bleeding  sod. 


POEM   FOR  THE    JUBILEE. 


BT    O.  W.  HOLMES. 


The  following  Hymn,  written  for  the  Jubilee  at  Mu- 
sic Hall,  on  Saturday  night,  by  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes,  was  sung  to  the  tune  of  "Old  Hundao, 
the  congregation  rising  and  joining  in  the  mel 

Giver  of  all  that  crowns  our  days, 
With  grateful  hearts  we  slug  thy  praise ! 
Through  deep  and  desert  led  by  Thee 
Our  Canaan's  promised  iand  we  see. 

Ruler  of  Nations,  judge  our  cause!   » 
If  we  have  kept  thy  holy  laws, 
The  sons  of  Belial  curse  in  vain 
The 'day  that  rends  the  captive's  chain. 

Ihou  God  of  vengeance !    Israel's  Lord ! 
Break  m  their  grasp  the  shield  and  sword; 
And  make  thy  righteous  judgments  known 
Till  all  thy  foes  are  overthrown ! 

Then,  Father,  lay  Tby  healing  hand 
In  mercy  on  our  stricken  land; 
Lead  all  its  wanderers  to  the  fold, 
•And  be  their  Shepherd  as  of  old ! 

So  shall  one  Nation's  song  ascend 
To  Thee,  our  Ruler,  Father,  Friend; 
W  bile  Heaven's  wide  arch  resounds  again 
With  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men  ! 


THE  PURITANS.       . 


BY  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


When  the  Puritans  came  over, 

Oar  hills  and  swamps  to  clear, 
The  woods  were  full  of  catamounts, 

And  Indians  rod  as  deer, 
With  tomahawks  and  scalping  knives, 

That  made  folks'  heads  look  queer;— 
O  the  Jhip  from  England  U3ed  to  bring 

A  hundred  wigs  a  year! . 

The  crows  came  cawing  through  the  air 

To  pluck  the  Pilgrims'  corn. 
The  bears  came  snuffing  round  the  door 

Whene'er  a  babe  w»a  born. 
The  rattlesnakes  were  bigger  round 

Than  the  butot  the  old  ram's  horn, 
The  deacon  h;w  at  meeting  time 

On  every  "Sabbath"  morn. 

But  soon  they  knocked  the  wis  warns  down, 

And  piue  tree  truuk  and  limb 
Pi-Stan  to  sprout  among  the  leaves 

In  shapes  oi'  steeples  slim ; 
Atid  out  the  little  whnrve-;  was  stretched 

Alon?  the  ocean's  run, 
A"d  up  the  little  e choolhcuse  shot 

To  keep  the  boys  in  trim. 

And  when  at  length  the  college  ro«e, 
The  sachem  cocked  his  eye 

At  every  tutor's  meagre  libs 
W  hose  coat  tails  whistled  by : 

But  when  the  Greek  and  Hebrew  word- 
Came  t"n,bling  from  their  j;> 

Ihe  copper-colored  children  ml 
Baa  screaming  to  the  squaws. 

Th^y  had  not  then  the  dainty  ti 

That  commons  now  afl'ord, 
But  succotash  a.'.d  /wintry 

Weie  smoking  on  the  b 
Ihev  did  •■ 

Or  dash  in  long-tall  t>iues, 
Hut  always  on  Comment- 

Ihe  tutors  blacked  their 

God  bless  the  undent  Puritans! 

Their  lot  was  hard  enough ; 
But  honest  heart*  make  iron  as  in*, 

And  tender  maids  are  tough ; 
So  love  and  faith  have  formed  and  fed 

Our  true-rom  Yankee,  stuff, 
And  kf-cp  the  kernel  in  the  shell 

The  British  found  so  rough ! 


Trade  in  Dry  GS-0  ocls. 


Crand    JRc-Opening    at 
West. 


the    South    and 


HISTORY 


OF   THE  HOUSE 
LIN  &  CO. 


OF  H.  B.  CLAF- 


[From  the  Washington  Republican.] 


and  most  unerring  evidence  of  the  enormous 
business  transacted  by  ihem,  namely  the  sum  of 
over  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  I 
-3  The  natural  question  arises  in  the  mind  of  all 
who  read  this  brief  yet  wonderful  history  of  the 
power  and  magnitude  of  a  single  mercantile 
house  iu  the  great  commercial  capital,  "who  is 
the  master-spirit  of  this  gigantic  and  princely 
establishment?"    We  can  answer  this  question 


New  York,  Sept.  26,  1865.— In  1834,  all  the.  /no  better,  perhaps,   without  doing  injustice  to 
dry  goods  .trade  in  New  York  city  was  concen-  '  his  able  partners,  than  by  saying  that  II.  B.  QW- 

lin,  the  principal  of  the  firm,  is  that  man.  He 
gives  his  personal  attention,  each  day,  to  the 
general  supervision  of  the  business  of  the  house. 
He  is  a  man  of  great  energy  and  industry.    At 


tratcd in  Pearl  street,  and  ths  two  houses  that 
then  did  the  largest  amount  of  jobbing  business 
were  Green  way  "&  Co.  and  Silas  Brown  &  Co.  It 
is  estimated  that  probably  those  two  houses,  at 
that  time,  did  by  tar  a  larger  trade  than  any  oth- 
er two  or  three  houses  in  that  street.  Singular 
a  iv  now  appear,  the  two  hous&named  did 
not  sell  during  the  whole  year  of  1834  as  many 
goods  as  the  single  house  of  Claflin  &  Co.  fre- 
quently sold  in  a  single  day  during  the  fast  year 
ending  May,  1865,  and  the  whole  dry  goods  job- 
bing business  of  New  York  city  in  1834  did  not 
equal  that  now  done  by  Claflin  &  Co.  In  a  single 
year! 

***** 
Some  idea  can  be  formed  of  the  magnitude  of 
the  business  of  this  house,  without  entering 
largely  into  the  details  of  its  internal  working, 
when  the  facts  are  known  that  the  building  oc- 
cupied, by  Claflin  &  Co.  covers  sixteen  ordinary 
building  lots,  which  is  one  hundred  by  four  hun- 
dred feet.  It  fronts  on  Church  and  Worth 
streets  and  We:  t  Broadway.  It  is  five  stories 
high,  with  a  basement  aud  sub-cellar,  and  is  as 
beautiful  in  its  architectural  design  and  exqui- 
site finish  as  it  is  spacious,  substantial  and  use- 
ful. This  structure  not  being  sufficiently  large 
even  to  accommodate  the  house  at  present,  they 
have  purchased  a  large  estate  on  Thomas  str.  et, 
adjoining  the  present  building,  and  are  making 
the  necessary  additions.  During  the  year 
ending  May,  1865,  the  trade  of  Claflin  &  Co. 
r mounted  to  forty-two  a%d  a  half  millions  of 
dollars.  The  increase  this  y  ear  will  be  over  twen- 
ty-five per  cent.  This  is  not  owing,  however,  al- 
together to  the  demand  from  the  south  conse- 
quent upon  the  fall  of  the  rebellion.  A  portion 
of  it  is  directly  attributable  to  such  cause.  But 
it  is  a  fact  that  the  demand  for  goods  is  great 
from  every  part  of  the  country,  this  spring,  in 


that  the  entire  country  is  at  this  time  highly  pros- 
perous, and  also  because  there  is  positive  no  sur- 
plus of  goods  in  the  western  country,  and  none 
whatever  in  the  south.  Traders  here  understand 
and  are  acting  upon  the  fact,  that  while  the  re- 
bellion leaves  the  south  poor  in  certain  localities, 
it  i»,  as  a  whole,  reasonably  wealthy,  there  being 
between  one  and  a  half  and  two  million  bales  of 
cotton  remaining  in  possession  of  the  leading 
traders  and  planters  of  the  south,  which  at  pres- 
ent prices  is  equal  in  value  to  six  million  bales 
before  the  rebellion !  This,  it  is  believed,  will 
give  the  south  a  large  margin  with  which  to  pay 
off  old  debts  and  procure  new  supplies.  If  the 
south  will  reconstruct  their  system  of  labor  in 
good  faith,  doing  justice  to  the  freedmen  upon 
the  basis  indicated  and  sincerely  hoped  for  by 
Pre  iidents  Lincoln  and  Johnson,it  is  estimated  by 
those  who  are  good  judges  in  such  matters  that 
in  ten  years  they  will  be  worth  more  than  they 
were  before  the  war,  and  with  a  much  brighter 
prospect  ahead  Shrewd  business  men  here  argue 
that,  as  the  war  forced  a  wonderful  and  unex- 
pected development  of  resources  in  the  rebellious 
states,  as  surprising  to  the  southern  people  them- 
selves as  to  any  others,  that  they  will  heed  tiie 
lesson  administered,  and  turn  it  to  good  account 
in  the  future.  They  have  been  forced  to  learn 
that  they  can  produce  something  besides  cotton 
and  tobacco,  and  that  they  can  produce  it  them- 
selves, if  necessary,  without  the  aid  of  slaves. 
****** 
This  house  is  probably  more  familiar,  by  the 
nature  of  its  organization,  with  the  trade  and 
wants  of  the  south  than  any  other  in  the  north. 
This  is  shown,  in  one  view,  by  the  fact  of  the 
enormous  debt  due  them  when  the  rebellion 
broke  out,  (upwards  of  one  million  dollars,)  and 
the  honorable  record  in  favor  of  the  south,  as 
manifested  towards  Claflin  &  Co.,  that  75  per 
cent,  of  that  debt  has  been  realized  within  the 
last  Tew  months.  The  house  of  Claflin  &  Co. 
support  about  two  thousand  persons,  which  in- 
cludes, of  course,  the  families  of  all  its  employees 
at  houieund  abroad—  agents,  salesmen,  cashiers, 
clerks,  workmen,  &.c.  The  tax  paid  to  the  gov- 
ernment last  year  by  Claflin  &  Co.  is  the  best 


one  moment  we  have  seen  him  at  his  desk,  ex- 
amining half  a  cord  of  checks,  notes,  drafts,  bin? 
pof  lading,  &c,  making  memorandums,  reading 
aud  answering  letters,  consulting  with  traders, 
and  instructing  cashiers  or  salesmen.    At  anoth- 
£  er,  he  would    be  away  down  in  the  sub-cellar, 
Y  looking  after  the  arrival  of  some  new  article 
which  he  proposed  to  precipitate  on  the  market 
that  lay;  or  else  we  behold  him  on  the  first  floor 
minting  among  his  salesmen,  the  humblest-ap- 
pearing among  them  all,  chatting  with  country 
merchants,  up  to  his  waistbands  iu  dress  goods; 
or  else  on  the  second  floor  inspecting  "Yankee 
notions"  and  examining  a  new  lot  of  laces;  or 
upon  the  floors  still  above,  explaining  to  some 
southern  trader  the  difference  between  calfskin 
and  cowhide,  or  between  a  pegged  boot  and  a 
sewed  one. 
Mr.  Claflin  was  born  iu  Milford,  Worcester 
/  county,  Massachusetts.    He  comes  of  the  origi- 
nal Pilgrim  stock.    He  is  a  compact  made  man 
of  medium  size,  about   five    feet  six  inches  in 
I  height,  of  light  complexion,  a  sharp,  quick  mov- 
ing, expressive  eye,  of  the  hazel  and  blue  mix- 
ture.   He  has  reached  the  age  of  fifty-two.    His 
^  hair  has  begun   to  turn   grey.    Iu    dress  he  is 
rather  a  model  of  neatness  than  fashion.    Ho 
discards  the  new  style  of  collar  and  scarf,  and 
adheres  to  the  old-fashioned  stand-up  di  key  and 
plain  black  neck  handkerchief,  which  is  always 
tied  neatly  in  front.    A  plain  vest,  with  rolling 
collar,  displays  a  neat  linen  bosom,  adjusted  with 
a  small  diamond  pin,  evidently  worn  more  for 
use  than  for  ornament.    Add  a  black  sack  coat 
and  black  pants  and  a  neat,  soft  telt  or  Kossuth 
hat,  stone  color  or  black,  and  you  have  the  full 


CHARLES   DICK 


INS. 


part,  no  doubt  from  the  generally  conceded  fact   Z  costume  and  general  appearance  of  the  "master/ 


spirit"  of  the  house  of  Claflin  &  Co-,  with  the 
exception  that  not  unfrequently  he  appears  in 
an  entire  business  suit  ot  gray  or  stone  color, 
looking  not  unlike  a  Quaker  farmer.  He  is  very 
regular  in  his  habits.  He  is  at  his  desk  every 
morning  at  eight  o'clock.  He  sees  the  business 
of  each  day  closed  before  he  leaves.  He  never 
allows  the  accumulated  business  of  one  day  to  lap 
on  the  business  of  the  next.  He  has  evidently 
been  a  devoted  student  of  human  nature.  He 
'  understands  men  and  things,  analyzes  both  with 
the  greatest  ease  and  accuracy,  showing  in  this 
respect,  as  in  all  his  other  business  transactions, 
that  he  possesses  remarkably  quick  perceptive 
faculties.  He  will  write  a  letter  and  answer 
twenty  questions  in  twenty  minutes  on  as  many 
different  .^injects  about  his  business*.  He  is  al- 
ways cordial,  and  never  seems  irritated  or  an- 
noyed at  an  interruption  in  the  midst  of  his 
most  important  business  dispatches.  Such  are 
some  of  the  characteristics  of  the  principal  man 
of  by  far  the  foremost  mercantile  house  on  the 
American  continent.  He  is  a  model  of  that  pe- 
culiar type  of  men  which  goes  to  make  up  Amer- 
ican enterprise,  American  worth,  American 
courage  aud,  as  a  Whole,  American  greatness. 

New  York.  Stock  Exchange  vault.— The 
largest  vault  in  the  world  is  in  the  Stock  Ex- 
change budding.  It  is  in  the  basement,  with  a 
granite  foundation,  which  rests  "upon  the  cen- 
tre of  gravity."  The  room  is  100  feet  long  by  20 
wide,  and  contains  408  safes,  each  one  foot  and 
a  half  square.  There  are  204  safes  on  each  side 
of  the  room,  and  down  the  centre  of  it  a  row  of 
marble  columns.  From  the  iron  ceiling  there  is 
a  row  of  gas  lights.  A  passageway,  lunning  en- 
tirely round  the  outside  of  the  vault,  is  patroled 
niglit  and  day  by  a  special  police.  These  safes 
are  rented  to  members  of  the  board  and  other 
well  known  individuals  for  $100  per  annum,  or 
more,  as  places  of  deposit  for  their  valuables. 
People  going  to  Europe  sond  their  wills,  bonds 
and  other  valuable  papers  hese  for  safe  keeping. 
It  is  estimated  that  something  like  $200,000,000 
are  upon  deposit  here.  The  vault  is  heated  by 
steam,  and  in  thin  way  kept  perfectly  dry.  The 
doors  which  open  into  it  might  weigh  more  than 
two  tons  each. — New  York  Gazette. 


FAKEWKI.i,  SPEECH  IN  NEW  VOISK 

A  GRACEFUL  AND   CHABMINO  ADIEU. 

New  Yokk,  April  21.-Charle8  Dickens  read  for 
the  last  time  in  America,  at  Steinway  Hall,  last  even- 
ing. At  the  conclusion  of  his  reading,  he  said, 
"Ladies  and  gentlemen:  The  shadow  of  one  word 
has  impended  over  me  all  this  evening,  and  the  time 
has  come,  at  last,  when  the  shadow  must  fall.  It  is 
but  a  very  short  one,  but  the  weight  of  such  things  Is 
not  measured  by  their  length,  and  two  much  shorter 
words  express  the  whole  of  our  human  existence. 
When  I  was  reading  'David  Copperfleld,'  here  last 
Thursday  night,  I  felt  that  there  was  more  than  the 
usual  significance  for  me  in  Mr  Peggotty's  declara- 
tion,'my  future  life  lies  over  the  sea;*  and  when  I 
closed  this  book  just  now,  1  lelt  keenly  that  I  was 
shortly  to  establish  such  an  alibi  as  would  have  satis- 
fled  even  the  elder  MrWeller  himself.  (Laughter.) 
The  relations  that  have  been  set  up  between  us  in  this 
place,  relations  sustained,  on  my  side,  at  least,  by 
most  earnest  devotion  of  myself  to  my  task,  sustained 
by  yourselves  on  your  side  by  the  readiest  sympathy 
and  kindliest  acknowledgment,  must  now  be  broken 
forever.  But  I  entreat  you  to  believe  that  in  passing 
from  sight,  you  will  not  pass  from  my  memory.  I  shall 
often,  often  recall  you  as  I  see  you  now,  equally  by 
my  winter  fire,  and  in  the  green  English  summer 
weather.  I  shall  never  recall  you  as  a  mere  public 
audience,  but  rather  as  a  host  of  personal  friends,  and 
ever  with  the  greatest  gratitude,  tenderness,  and  con- 
sideration. Ladies  *<]  gentleman,  I  beg  to  bid  you 
farewell,  and  I  pray  God  bless  you,  and  God  bless 
the  land  in  which  I  have  met  you."  (Great  applause,) 
the  audience  rising  and  with  waving  handkerchiefs 
and  loud  voices,  cheering  the  distinguished  reader, 
until  he  had  passed  from  the  room. 

On  the  4th  inst.  Mr  George  Wilkes  sent  a  letter 
to  Mr  Dolby,  who  was  then  in  Boston,  suggesting 
that  Mr  Dickens  give  a  reading  for  the  benefit  of 
the  dramatic  ftmd  association  of  New  York. 
Mr  Dolby  replied,  saying  that  Mr  Dickens 
regretted  ids  inability  to  favor  the  suggestion,' 
oving  to  the  fact  that  he  had,  foi*«bur  months, 
contended  against  severe  catarrh,  which  rendered  it' 
very  difficult  for  him  to  complete  the  engagements  h«' 
had  already  made.  Mr  Dickens,  howeVer,  colitribu.' 
ted  $150  and  Mr  Dolby  $103  toward  the  fund  of  the 
association. 

Mr  Dickens  sails  from  New  York  for  Liverpool,  to- 
morrow, in  the  Cunard  steamer  Russia. 


■4 

© 

T 


From  present  appearances  the  number  "of 
immigrants  landing  at  New  York  in  the  first  six 
months  of  1869  will  not  be  less  than  145,000,  of 
whom  about  two-fifths  are  Germans,  about  one- 
fourth  Irish,  one-sixth  English,  and  one-seventh 
Scandinavians,  chiefly  from  Sweden.  The  Irish 
immigration  is  numericaUy  greater  than  last 
year,  but  relatively  less,  and  the  same  is  true  of 
the  Germans;  while  the  English  immigrants 
have  doubled,  and  those  from  Scandinavia  more 
than  doubled.  The  total  increase  over  last  year 
at  this  one  port  is  nearly  thirty  per  cent.  The 
immigration  from  France  and  Switzerland  has 
fallen  off  this  year,  and  will  not  much  exceed 
S000  from  both  countries  for  the  six  months 
ending  July  1.  In  proportion  to  the  population 
the  Irish  emigration  is  nearly  a  hundred  times 
as  great  as  that  from  France. 

New  York,  July  26.— The  Anglo-American 
telegraph  company  announce  their  gross  receipts 
from  the  Atlantic  cables  since  the  landing  of  the 
first  one,  July  27, 1866,  at  upwards  of  £645,000 
sterling.  The  number  of  messages  has  steadily 
increased  from  a  daily  average  of  29,  under  the 
twenty  pound  tariff,  to  230,  during  last  month, 
the  fi  -st  of  the  two  pound  tariff,  while  the  daily 
average  of  dispatches  in  June,  1869,  is  more 
than  double  that  of  June,  1868,  under  a  five 
pound  five  shilling  tariff,  and  the  daily  average 
of  receipts  shows  by  the  same  comparison,  an 
increase  from  £447  in  June,  1868,  to  £521  in 
June,  1869. 


The  Banquet  to  Prof.  Morse. 

New  Yokk,  Dec.  SO.— The  following  was  sent 
to  the  Morse  banquet  last  night  bv  Gov.  Bullock 
0/  Massachusetts: 
Cyrus  W.  Field  and   others,  Committee  /or 
the  Morse  Banquet : 

I  regret  my  inability  to  accept  your  invita- 
tion. Massachusetts  honors  ber  two  sons, 
Franklin  and  Morse.  (Loud  applause.)  The 
one  conducted  the  lighlning  safely  from  the  sky, 
the  other  conducts  it  beneath  the  ocean  from 
continent  to  continent,  (applause);  the  one 
tamed  the  lightning,  the  other  makes  it  minister 
to  the  wants  of  human  progress. 

Alex.  H.  Bullock. 
Minister  Thornton  responded  to  the  toast,  "To 
the  Queen  of  England."  In  the  course  of  his 
remarks  ho  said:  "I  am  confident  that  there  is 
no  one  in  England  that  is  more  anxious  than  the 
Queen  for  the  maintenance  and  improvement  of 
tne  harmony  and  good  understanding  which 
ought  to  exist  between  the  two  nations,  (ap- 
plause,) and  which  are  of  such  vital  importance 
to  both  of  them.  Justice  should  be  done  to  so 
great  a  benefactor  of  the  human  race  as  the  dis- 
tinguished professor,  to  show  our  high  apprecia- 
tion of  whose  character  we  have  assemblad  in 
this  place.  I  am  unwilling,  however,  to  fall  into 
what  seems  to  me  the  error  of  talking  too  much 
about  peace.  A  good  deal  has  been  said  upon 
this  subject,  both  in  this  county  and  in  Europe, 
more  perhaps  than  is  either  absolutely  necessary 
or  useful.  (Applause.)  Peace  is  not  always  pur- 
chased by  talking  about  it." 

Professor  Morse?  in  his  speech  referred  to  the 
early  days  of  telegraphing,  and  made  extended 
remarks  relative  to  his  endeavors  then  to  have 
government  adopt  it  as  a  part  of  the  postal  de- 
partment, proviug  his  siucerty  by  offering  his 
i  vention  to  the  Government  for  its  exclusive  use 
for  the  sum  of  $100,000.  He  had  no  doubt  if 
the  government  now  appreciated  his  original 
proposition  Congress  would  deal  justly  in  the 
matter  so  far  as  the  public  and  others  interested 
were  concerned.  The  Prolessor  closed  his  inter- 
esting remarks  as  follows:  "I  have  claimed  for 
America  the  origination  of  the  modern  tele- 
graph system  of  the  world.  Impartial  history,  I 
think,  will  support  tltat  claim.  Don't  misunder- 
stand me  as  disregarding  or  disparaging  the  la- 
bors and  ingenious  modifications  of  others  in  va- 
rious countries  employed  in  the  same  field  of  in- 
vention. Gladly,  did  time  permit,  would 
I  descant  on  their  great  and  varied  mer  ts. 
Yet  in  tracing  the  birth  and  pedigree  of  the 
modern  telegraph,  American  is  not  the  highest 
term  of  the  series  that  connects  the  past  with 
the  pr  sent;  there  is  at  least  one  higher  term, 
the  highest  of  all,  which  cannot  and  must  not  be 
ignored :  "If  not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground 
without  a  definite  purpose  in  the  plans  of  infi- 
nite wisdom,  can  the  creation  of  an  instrumen- 
tality so  vitally  affecting  the  interests  of  the 
whole  human  race  have  an  origin  less  humble 
than  the  Giver  of  'every  good  and  perfect  gift?' 
I  am  sure  I  have  the  sympathy  of  such  an  as- 
sembly as  is  here  gathered,  if  in  all  humility  and 
in  the  sincerity  of  a  grateful  heart  I  use  the 
words  of  inspiration  in  ascribing  honor  and 
praise  to  Him  to  whom  first  of  all  it  is  pre-emi- 
nently due.  'Not  unto  us,  not  unto  us,  but  to 
God  be  all  the  glory.  Not  what  hath  man,  but 
what  hath  God  wrought.'  " 


Ujtaw 


THE  PLOT  TO  BURN  NEW  YORK. 


Martial  Orders   from  Gen.   Dix. 


New  York,  Nov.  2G.— Gen.  Dix  has  issued 
the  following  order: 

A  nefarious  attempt  was  made  last  night  to 
set  file  to  the  principal  hotels  and  other  places  ; 
of  public  resort  in  this  city.  If  this  attempt 
had  succeeded  it  would  have  resulted  in  a 
frightful  sacrifice  of  property  and  life.  The  ^ 
existence  of  au  extensive  combination  has 
been  disclosed  to-day,  and  it  is  shown  to  have 
been  tliti  work  of  rebel  emissaries  and  agents.  /, 

New  Yoke,  Nov.  27. — The   investigations 
into  the  incendiarisms  on  last  Friday  night  are  ^ 
still  going  on   by  the  authorities.     Fires  were 
discovered  in  twelve  hotels,  besides   the  Mu- 
seum and  softie  of   the   vessels  at    the  wharf. 
The  woman  who  was    arrested  has   been  dis-    / 
charged.     She  gives  a  satisfactory  explanation    ' 
of  her  movements. 

Thus  far  four  of  the  principal  parties  have 
b  en  arrested,  and  with  them  so  much  of  the 
means  that  bad  been  provided  to  carry  on  the 
work  as  had  not  yet  been  expended.  The 
money  was  in  gold,  and  was  found  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  treasurer  of  the  organization,  ' 
who  is  now  under  arrest. 


New  York  Surnames.    The  New  York  Di- 
rectory contains  the  names  of  !)2lt  Browns,  521 
Joneses,  252  Robinsons.    The  volume  also  cer- 
tifies that  the  city  has  ;?4  Barbers,  and  only  13 
Beards;  27K  Bakers,  no  Bread  and  1    Cake;  90 
Carters,  and  no  Cart;  5  Carvers,  11  Fish  and  1 
Fowl:  38  Dyers,  and  no  Clothes;  123  Masons, 
and  no   Bricks;  738  Millers,  and  only  1  Grain;- 
115  Porters,  and  no  Loads;  'J9  Hunters,  and  no  ■ 
Game;  3  Lawyers,  and  27  Cases;  3  Widows, and 
3   Husbands:    1  Lover,    and   no   Mistress;  2038 1 
Smiths,  and   no  Forge.     In  addition   to   these 
there  are  7333  "Mc.N." 


\ 


The  New-Yokk  Timks  has  for  years  been  the 
beet  printed  daily  p;ipir  in  the  United  States ;  but 
in  its  new  dress,  it  excels  its  former  issues,  and  pre- 
i  ■  ptionable  appearance.  The  typo  has 
a  clear,  bold  face,  and  the  press-work  and  paper  is  of 
;.•  Its  many  Mends  throughout  the 
country  mtinned   prosperity. 

r  tho  paper,  it  has  just  re- 
modeled and    publishing    depart- 
now,    bo- 
mOet  expensive  and  complete 

•  rint    both    sides  of 

I  he  press  prints  and 

from  a  reel  that  contains 

mi  sheets  from 

i-nt  cyl- 
inders ami    tin!    t  ui :  i :  •;    <  .1  at    the    rate    of    one 
ml    feet    per  mi'. ute.     ;'  "Bui- 

furnish    the    motive    power.     To 
le      accidents      tho      en- 
t,    and     can     be    run    sop- 
or together.    The  heavy  expenses  at  which  \C 
remodeling  has  been  accomplished   shows  the 
profit  attending  tho  publication  of  the  lai 
papers   in    OUT  leading  eilies.     Tb  ablish- 

nient,  originally  established  on  tho  basis  of  $100,Cf0Q. 
"* '  not  now  be  bought  I  ir  $2,000,0X0. 


MOtfBAY.    SOV.     38     1SC4. 

tetter  from  if  ew  York. " 

New  York,  March  81,  1888. 
diU/r  of  The  Boston  Journal . 
SMUGGLING. 
Mr.  Sehenck,  the  Government  auctioneer  of  this  city > 
sold  yc,teiday  a  large  quantity  of  valuable  goods  recent- 
ly :  taken  from  the  persons  of  travelers  returned  from 
Europe.  Watches,  diamond",  rings,  chains  and  bracelet^ 
were  among  the  goods  sold.    It  is  easy  to  see  how  such 
valuables  can  be  secreted.    But  other  things  seized  were 
a  mystery.    Forty  bags  of  coffee  were  brought  on  shore 
and  evidently  could  not  have  been  put  in  any  one's  ^ 
pocket.     A   thousand  boxes  of  cigars,  and  silver  foil  y 
enough  to  gild  Broadway.    This  matter  of  smuggling  is 
reduced  to  a  science,  but  is  watched  by  the  keenest  of   I 
detectives  when  they  choose  to  be  keen.    The  searches 
are  made  ven  rigidly,  and  silks  and  satins  no   longer 
pase  i  lie  Custom  House  free  because  run  into  breadths. 
As  a  punishment  the  clothes  in  which  diamonds  and 
e  sewed  up  are  token  off  of  the  wearer  and  sold 
under  the  hammer. 

VALUABLE  PHOTOGRAPH. 
The  other  dav  Marshal  Murray  went  to  the  Post  Office  u 
and  took  a  letter  directs  to  a  gentleman  in  this  city. 
He  took  it  to  his  office  and  addressed  ti  note  to  that  gen- 
tleman, requesting  him  to  call  on  liim  at  a  certain  hour 
named.    He  came.    The  Marshal  handed  him  the  letter  p 
and  the  gentleman  put  it  in  his  pocket  as  it  was  ad- 
dressed to  him.    "I  would  like  to  have  you  open  that 
letter,"  the  Marshal  said.    The  man  demurred ;  he  pre- 
ferred fo  open  it  at  home.    Finding  resistance  useless  l 
the  envelope  was  reluctantly  broken,    it  held  nothing 
but  a  photograph,  and  quite  an  ordinary  one  at  that. 
There  was  not  a  scrap  of  writing  in  the  envelope,  nor  I 
am-  intimation  from  whence  the  photograph  came,  f 
The  only  thing  about  it  which  attracted  attention  was  V 
its  thickness.    It  was  stout  and  iirm,  unnecessarily  so 
for  transmission  through  the  mails.    After  examining 
it  careiullv  the  Marshal  took  Ids  knife  and  separated  ( 
the  parts."  1'n  the  centre  was  ingeniously  inserted  a  thtii 
laver  ot  Hie  finest  kind  of  velvet  cork.    The  cork   was  \ 
tiidded  with  diamonds,  about  seventy  ,,,  number.    The  , 

al  placed  the  photograplv'in "his  safe ail<1  ,h 
tlemaii  retired. 

8HKEWJP  BIDING  PL 
The  other  day  a  gentleman  stepped  ashore  from  one 
of  the  Cunarders,  and  as  soon  as  he  landed  anc 
from  the  Marshal's  office  asked  him  to  accompany  him  - 
t»  a  carriage.    Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  the  int 
citizen,  whose  trunk*  were  taken  possession  of  by  the 
revenue  officers.    The  gruff  official  whistled  a  low" tunc 
and  drummed  on  toe  window-pane  of  the  eoacfa 

•  I  up  ISroadwav .  On  reaching  the  Marshal's  of- 
fice the  indignant  gentleman  demauded  the  cati'.e  of 
the  rude  treatment  Be  had  received.  The  Marshal  po- 
litely requested  him  to  take  off  Ids  right  boot,  which  he 
did  with  some  hesitation.  The  heel  was  struck  off,  and 
found  to  be  hollow,  and  in   i<   snugly  au<l 

were  diamonds  to  the  value  of  8>8000. 
umot  get  used  to  thy  speed  of  looo- 
:  I  hoy  got  ready  to  move  it  U  too  late. 
.  ai«d  smugglers  have  not  vet  {rot  used  to  the  At- 
lantic cable.  .Stiff,  ran  t-toads  of  ctoffoo  and  like  mate- 
in  o\  bo  smuggled  ashore  without  the  connivance 
After  Mi.  the  extent  of  smuggling  is  per- 
mow.  ;j«a, 


New  Yokk,  May  13.— The  American  nunc 
Society  held  its  ril'tv-third  anniversary  to-day  at 
the  Reformed  Church,  Lafayette  place.  Norman 
White  presided.  The  annual  reports  show: 
receipts  $781,700;  total  amount  of  books  printed 
during  the  year  in  tho  Bible  House,  1,081,820; 
in  foreign  lands,  262,000;  entire  circulation 
1,386,611  volumes;  books  sold,  92:1,000;  gratuit- 
ous distributions  and  appropriations  amount  in 
value,  to  $181,881,  of  which  $72,912  were  for 
foreign  lands.  The  restoration  of  the  Bible  So- 
ciety in  the  southern,  spates  has  been  accom- 
plished. rreediiK'ii  have  received  constant  atten- 
tion. The  rc-supply  of  the  whole  country  with 
Bibles  has  been  conducted  with  success;  during 
the  past  three  years  1,800,000  families  were 
visited,  and  157,600  Bibles  distributed. 


The  Assistant  Treasury. 

From  Harper's  Weekly,  Sept.  30. 
The  leading  financial  institution  in  the  United 
States,  is  the  United  States  Assistant  Treasury 
at  New  York.  Though  it  is  only  an  assistant 
treasury,  and  the  treasury  properis  at  Washing- 
ton, yet  the  transactions  of  the  former  are  so 
vastly  greater  in  volume  than  those  of  the  latter, 
that  the  chief  work  of  the  Washington  office  »8 
keeping  record  of  the  business  done  by  its  New 
York  branch.  Nineteen-tweutieths  of  the  public 
creditors  are  paid  here;  nearly  all  the  public 
loans  are  disposed  of  here;  by  far  the  greater 
part  ot  the  revenue  from  taxes  and  customs  is 
received  here;  and  here  is  paid,  on  the  days 
fixed  by  law,  the  interest  on  $2,000,000,000  of 
United'States  securities.  A  business  of  from 
$3,000,000  to  $10,000,000  daily  is  done  here- 
done  quickly,  quietly,  and  without  errors  or  dis- 
putes. No  institution  in  the  city  is  better  worth 
inspection  than  the  sub-treasury;  and  be  it  said, 
in  simple  justice,  no  man  is.more  willing  to  have 
it  inspected  than  Mr.  Van  Uyck,  the  sub-treas- 
urer. 

The  vaults  are  a  sight  which  cannot  be  wit- 
nessed elsewhere  in  this  country.  There,  are  two 
of  them;  but  one  is  comparatively  empty,. as  it 
only  holds  some  $10,000,000.  The  other  con- 
tains over  $00,000,000,  one-half  in  coin,  the  other 
half  in  paper,  flow  many  readers  have  ever 
seen  $l,000,OOTjTn  paper  or  in  gold?  We  re- 
member one  of  the  oldest  of  our  judges,  a  man 
of  large  experience  and  profound  wisdom,  inter- 
rupting a  party  of  talkers  who  were  chattering 
about  millions*  of  gold,  with  the  naive  questions : 
"How  big  is  a  million  of  gold?  Would  it  rest 
on  this  table?  Would  it  go  under  this  chair? 
How  many  men  would  it  take  to  carry  it?  What 
does  it  look  like?" 

His  honor  might  have  gratified  his  curiosity 
bv  a  visit  to  the  sub-treasury.    There  $30,000,- 
000  of  gold  lie  dormant,  awaiting  the  resurrection 
of  specie   payments.    They  are  put  up  in  bags 
containing  $^>00  each,  and  weighing  say  forty- 
five  pounds.    These  bags  are  piled  one  upon  an- 
other in  closets,  which  fine  the  inner  wall  of  the 
vault;  a   hundred  bags  filled  a  closet.      When 
filled  the  door  is  closed,  locked  and  sealed  with 
the  cashier's  seal;   a  ticket  attached  specifies  that 
in  that  dark  and  narrow  hole  $500,000  iu  gold  lie 
hidden.    Fiftv  or  more  such  closets  may  be  seen, 
duly  closed,   locked    and  scaled.    But   in    that 
vault,  whose  wealth  far  outshines  the  wildest  fa- 
bles of  Oriental  story,  bags  of  gold  lie  around  in 
every  corner.    You  kick  one  as  you  enter.    Oth- 
ers rest  on  trucks  waiting  sepulture  in  the  closets. 
They  are  so  plentiful,  and  so  seemingly  despised 
by  the  officials  who  handle  them,  that  insensibly 
the  spectator  loses  his  respect  for  them,  and  for- 
gets  that  the  possession  of  a  few  such  bags  would 
realize  his  life-long  dream  of  material  prosperity. 
These  bags  are  the  products  of  cus^)m  duties. 
Every  day,  between  between  3  and  4  o'clock,  a 
little  hand-cart,  ark-shaped,  painted  red,  covered 
over  ond  locked,  may  be  seen  travelling  up  Wall 
street,  propelled  by  two  stout  men,  and  jwending 
its  way  from  the  custom  house  to  the  sub-treas- 
ury.  Where  are  but  two  men  ostensibly  engaged 
in  pushing  the  little  red  cart,  but  a  careful  ob- 
server may  discover    two   other  men,  likewise 
stout  and  very  watchful,  who  lounge  up  the  side- 
walk in  a  parallel  line.    They  look  as    if   they 
carried  revolvers.    In  these  days,  when   the  cus- 
tom duties  are  heavy,  the  little  red  ark  some- 
times contains  $750,000— a  prize  worth  the  atten- 
tion of  robbers.   But  it  is  never  attacked.  Vv  hen 
it  leaches  the  sub-treasury  it  is  unlocked,  and 
the  bags  handed  in.    Bach  bag  is  then   counted 
by  the  sub-treasurer's  clerks.    They  count  with 
both  hands,  and  with  a  rapidity  and  accuracy 
truly  wonderful.    They  seem  to  possess  a  sort  of 
instinct— the  product  of  long  experience,  which 
enables  them  to  discover  a  false  coin  at  a  glance. 
Pieces  which  have  been   split  open,   the    inside 
filed  out,  the  cavity  filled  with  iridium,   the  two 
halves  soldered  together,   and   reinilled   on    the 
edges,  are   so    like  genuine  coins  that  the  best 
judges  are  often  deceived  by  them.    They  weigh 
precisely  the  same  as  genuine  coins.    They  have 
the  ring  of  pure  gold.     Their  external  surface 
tin  on  'bout  is  gold.     Vet  these  counterfeits  are 
detected  at  a  glance  by  the  experienced  clerks  of 
the  treasury.     It  used  to   be  said   of  Mr.  E.  H. 
Birdsale,  the  present  cashier,  that  when  he  was  a 
clerk  lie  could,  in  emptying  a  $5,000  bag,   at  the 
first  dip  of  his  hands   into   the   glittering  mass, 
pick  out  all  the  spurious  coins. 

There  is  a  quantity  of  silver  in  the  sub-treas- 
ury, in  bags  and  kegs,  but  after  one  has  been 
handling  millions  of  gold,  it  seems  a  poor  sort 
of  metal.  A  silver  closet  holds  §40,000;  there 
are  a  lew  dozen  of  them  full  to  repletion.  With- 
in a  short  time  considerable  amounts  ol  silver 
have  arrived  here  from  New  Orleans— the  pro- 
duct of  duties  or  of  the.  confiscation  act  Many 
of  the  coins  are  rusty  and  dingy,  and  it  is 
Shrewdly  suspected  that,  during  the  dark  days 
of  rebel  supremacy,  these  pieces  slept  the.  sleep 
of  the  just  in  damp  underground  holes.  One  ot 
the  New  Orleans  banks  is  known  to  have  buried 
its  coin  when  confederate  shinplasters  made 
their  appearance,  and  the  plan  was  doubtless 
adopted  bjiinanv  private  individuals. 

Of  paper  money  the  sub-treasury  in  New 
York  holds  some  forty  millions.  Of  this  over 
eighteen  millions  are  in  tives,  tens  and  twenties, 
and  are  piled  on  a  shelf  in  the  vault.  As  nearly 
U  we  could  calculate  by  the  eye,  there  is  about.  - 
a  cord  and  a  half  of  this  money.     U  might  nil  a 

two-horse  hay-cart.     Wheira  k*yto«f  «*„«*" 

with  a  draft,  the  clerks  give  him  a  trunkfullor  ay 


>*/ 


Bushel  basket,  i'he  notes  arc  legal  tenders  and 
national  bank  notes  inixe  I  indiscriminately — 
some  old  and  worn,  .showing  evidence  of  long 
service,  others  new  and  crisp. 

The  larger  notes,    $100s,   $500s    and  $l,000s 
have  the  lionor  of  closet  room.    There  is  a  closet 
there  which  contains  half  a  dozen  millions.    Ly- 
ing on  the  top  of  a  mountain  of  these  notes  was 
a  package  which  we  examined.    It  could  easily- 
have  been  put  in  the  coat  packet  and  carried 
away  without  inconvenience.     It  contained  one 
thousand  .$000  legal  tenders,  and   was,  therefore, 
worth  just  half  a  million.    But  for  the  contempt  i 
for  money  which   the  inspection  of  these  enor-  | 
mous  sums  is  apt  for  the  moment  to  inspire,  one  | 
might  have  coveted  this  little  package.    How 
many  able  and  successful  men  toil   for  a  lifetime 
in  the  hope  of  acquiring  just  such  a  parcel! 

But,  if  you  are  going  to  steal,  gentle  reader, 
let  us  recommend  coupons  as  the  most  conven- 
ient article  to  "  convey/'  Seven-Thirty  coupons 
are  so  small  that  yon  can  easily  put  $50,000  in 
your  waistcoat  pocket,aud  as  to  Ten-Forty  coup- 
ous,  a  pinch  of  them,  between  linger  and  thumb, 
is  a  small  fortune:  These  little  bits  of  paper,  no 
bigger  than  apothecary's  labels,  or  half  the  size 
ot  a  live  cent  in  fractional  currency,  represent 
sums  varying  from  $25  in  gold  to  $365  in  cur- 
rency. As  interest-day  comes  round  they  pour 
in  from  ail  quarters— from  the  far  West  and  the 
lately  rebellious  South;  from  Germany  and  Hoi- 
land;  from  crowned  heads  in  Europe  and  from 
industrious  washer-women  in  this  country.  To 
examine  and  sort  these  little  bits  oi!  paper  is  no 
slight  task.  One  of  the  richest  men  in  New 
York  is  said  to  keep  iiis  daughters,  married  and 
single,  busy  cutting  off  coupons  lor  a  whole  af- 
ternoon and  evening  before  interest-day  :  when 
the  cutrmg  is  dona  the  eldest  daughter  herself 
sweeps  out  the  room  to  intercept  waifs  and  cs- 
trays. 

The  vaults  of  the  sub-treasury  may  really  be 
said  to  defy  burglars.     In  the  first  place  they  are  : 
built  mi  thirty -live  feet  of  solid  masonry,  so  that  j 
digging  hnderthcin  and  working  by  a  tunnel  to  ; 
the  dour  would  be  impracticable.    Then,   they  j 
stand  in  the  main  hall  oi  the  treasury  building,  in  j 
which  a  watch  is  always  kept,  and  into  which  it 
would  require  no  small  labor  to  intrude  after  j 
nightfall.    The  vaults  themselves  are  iron  cham- 
bers, wilh  iron  floors,  roofs  and  walls.  The  latter 
are  two  feet  thick,  and  hollow;  the  hollow  being 
filled  with   musket-ball.-,   which 'defy   the  bur- 
glar's drill.    Lour  doors,  of  massive  iron,  close 
the  entrance  to  the  vault;  each  door  is  locked 
with  two  locks,  so  that  eight  different  keys  of 
peculiar  mechanism  are  required  to  open  sesame. 
Uncle  Samuel,  poor  fellow!  is  not  likely  to  be 
robbed  at  this  office,  however  he  may  fare  else- 
where. 

\Vre  remember  the  sub-treasury  when  Mr.  Cis- 
co was  first  appointed  its  chief,  in  two  rooms  of 
the  assay  building — a  quiet,    retired  establish- 
ment, iu  which  nobody  spoke  above  a  whisper, 
and  a  few  clerks   leisurely  counted    their  gold, 
and  demurely  paid  the  salary  of  the   President  < 
and    other  public  functionaries.     People  went 
there  to  chat  with   the  sub-ireasurer— a  n 
leisure  and  considerable  information— andrqBfcfJ 
a  year  called  to  collect  their  hiterest.    It  Avas  so 
slow  and  so  old-fogy  an   institution,  that  even 
the  small  Wall  street  bankers  used  to  laugh  -at  it. , 

In  these  days  the  sub-treasurer  at  JS'ew  York  ' 
has  his  grip  on  the  throat  of  nearly  all  the  bank- 
ers in  the  country,  and  we  notice  that  none  of 
them  are  disposed  even  to  smile  when  the  name./ 
of  Mr.  Van  Dyck  is  mentioned. 


NEW  YOEK. 


THE  CENTRAL  PARK  OF  NEW  YORK. 


NEW   YORK 

.oages"    ~ 


The  Central  Park  is  bounded  on  the  south  by    Up  to  this  hour  there  have  been  more'  carnages 
Fifty-ninth  Street;  on  the  north  by  One  Hun-    than  pedestrians  in  the  Park ;  and  thus  three  or 


dred  and  Tenth  Street;  on  the  east  by  Fifth 
Avenue  ;  on  the  west  by  Eighth  Avenue.  Its 
lower  end  is  4J  miles  from  the  Battery  ;  its  up- 
per end  5J  miles  from  Spuyten  Duyvel  Creek. 
It  lies  almost  exactly  midway  between  the  East 
and  North  rivers,  and  thus  occupies  nearly  the 
geographical  centre  of  the  island.  Its  form  is 
a  rectangle,  the  longer  sides  being  nearly  2f 
miles  (13,50S  feet) ;  the  shorter  sides  something 


A  First-Class  Funekal.— Margaret  Killo- 
a  dry-goods  peddler  of  New  York,  who  had 
accumulated  some  property,  died  in  that  city 
lately,  and  on  her  death-bed,  being  fearful  that 
her  relatives  would  not  give  her  so  fine  a  funeral 
as  she  desired,  sent  for  the  undertaker  and  ar- 
ranged the  details  herself.  Her  instructions  were 
faithfully  carried  out,  and  the  undertaker  pre- 
1  seated  his  bill,  $1395.  The  executor  refused  to 
pay,  and  was  sued  by  the  undertaker,  who 
made  out  a  very  good  case  and  of  course 
got  his  money.  As  it  is  not  often  one  can  get  at 
the  details  of  a  first-class  funeral,  though  every- 
body knows  in  a  general  way  that  they  are  ex- 
pensive, we  give  the  bill  in  this  case  entire  :— 
To  one  extra  size  casket,  locks   and  hinges, 

manufactured  to  order  expressly,)  $350.00 

Two  silver-plated  plates,  engraved,  18.00 

Black  cloth  covering,  75  00 

Silver  head-mounting,  plated,  75.00 

Silver-plated  diamon  j  mounting,  25.00 

f-atin  upholstering  and  trimmings',  90.00 

Eigbt  silver-plated  handles,  22.60 

one  lead  casket,  80  00 

One  French  plate,  oval   bent,    full   leagth 

glass  too,  specially  to  order  225.00 

Mourning  decorations  for  hrose,  52.66 

Preserving  body  on  ice,  18.00 

I  One  lady's  robe,  65.00 

1  One  wreath,  and  loose  natural  flowers,  22.50 

\  Nine  linen  scarts,  72.00 

\   Fifteen  pairs  black  kid  gloves  30.00 

J'  Serving  fourteen  notices  by  hand,  7  00 

Interment  iu  vault,  7.00 

'    Sealing  vault,  5.O0 

Four-horse  oval  hearse,  plumes  and  blankets,       35.00 

Eij;ht  coaches,  52.0C 

Use  of  wagon  with  lid  of  lead  casket,  3.5U 

Seven  porters  to  cemetery,  42.0C 

Gloves  for  porters,  2.4J 

Box  caudles,  45( 

Ferriage  on  21  coaches  and  2  wagons,.  11. (X 

One  man  to  solder  lid  of  casket,  ^^        5.0( 


I 


Total  amount, 


*1,395.U 


four  times  as  many  persons  have  entered  in  ve- 
hicles than  on  foot.  From  10  to  11,  43,000; 
11  to  12,  38,000 ;  1  to  2, 56,000 ;  2  to  3, 120,000 ; 
3  to  4,  212,000.  The  next  two  hours  arc  the 
great  driving  time  :  From  4  to  5,  301,000 ;  5  to 
6,  305,000.  Then  the  carriages  fall  off  rapidly : 
From  6  to  7,  171,000 ;  7  to  8,  90,000 ;  8  to  9, 
25,000  ;  9  to  10,  7000;  10  toll.  2000. 
The  Fifth  Avenue  is  the  favorite  approach 


more  than  half  a  mile  (2718  feet).     It  covers  to  the  Park  for  vehicles  and  equestrians.     More 

862  acres,  of  which  the  New  Croton  Reservoir  than  one-half  of  these  (716,000  carriages  and 

occupies  107  acres,  the  Old  Reservoir  35  acres ;  56,000  equestrians)  passed  through  the  entrance 

ornamental  waters  take  up  44  acres,  the  princi-  on  Fifty-ninth  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue.     In  all, 

pal  being  the  Lake  20  acres,  Harlem  Lake  13  not  less  than  two  and  a  half  millions  of  visits 

acres,  the  Pond  5  acres :  in  all,  151  acres  of  wa-  were  made  through  this  one  entrance. 


tei\  Of  the  711  acres  of  land,  115  are  occupied 
by  roads  and  walks,  24  by  rock,  524  are  laid  out 
in  trees,  shrubbery,  and  lawns.  There  are  25  £- 
miles  of  walks,  9^  of  carnage  road,  5i  of  bridle 
road  ;  or  40£-  miles  of  roads  and  paths.  There 
are  43  bridges  and  archways  of  various  forms 
and  materials,  wood,  brick,  stone,  and  iron. 

A  series  of  tables  in  this  Report  furnishes 
some  curious  statistics  as  to  the  visitors  to  the 
Park.  Four  persons  come  in  carriages  for  three 
who  come  on  foot.  There  is  one  equestrian  for 
every  thirty-four  pedestrians.  The  average  num- 
ber of  visitors  for  every  day,  fair  and  foul,  is  a 
little  more  than  20,000.  The  largest  number 
was  on  the  4th  of  July,  when  there  were  75,000 
pedestrians;  on  that  day  there  were  probably 
not  less  than  120,000  visitors.  The  smallest 
number  was  the  stormy  21st  of  November,  when 
there  were  but  74  pedestrians;  but  about  100 
sleighs  ventured  out,  so  that  there  were  about 
400  people  in  the  Park.  The  largest  number 
of  pedestrians  in  any  one  month  was  in  January, 
when  there  were  658,000.  The  greater  part  of 
these  were  attracted  by  the  skating,  the  ball 
being  up  almost  every  day.  In  January,  1863, 
there  were  but  two  days  skating,  and  only  51,000 
pedestrians  entered.  The  largest  number  of 
visitors  on  foot,  in  carriages,  and  on  horseback, 
was  in  August,  when  there  were  050,000.  Then 
come  July,  914,000;  January,  891,000;  Sep-, 
tember,  890,000.  The  smallest  number  in  any 
month  was  December,  282,000;  in  this  month, 
the  carriage  people  outnumbered  the  foot  folks, 
more  than  three  to  one.  More  than  one-third 
of  the  pedestrians  come  on  Sundays,  the  Sunday, 
average  being  nearly  four  times  that  of  any  week- 
day except  Saturday.  The  Sunday  attendance 
of  carriages  and  equestrians  is  considerably  above 
the  week-day  average.  The  entire  number  of 
Sunday  visitors  of  all  classes  is  about  twice  the 
week-day  average. 

No  account  is  kept  of  visitors  between  11  at 
night  and  5  in  the  morning.  Hardly  a  person 
enters  between  these  hours.  From  5  to  6,  dur- 
ing nine  months  of  the  year,  from  October  till 
June,  only  two  pedestrians  appeared ;  during 
the  other  three  months  2000  pedestrians,  500 
equestrians,  and  5000  people  in  carriages  came. 
From  6  to  7  the  equestrians  come  out  to  the 
number  of  10,000,  almost  as  many  as  during  any- 
other  hour  of  the  day.  They  keep  up  this  num- 
ber till  9,  when  there  is  a  sudden  falling  off  of 
half  or  two-thirds,  which  lasts  until  3,  when 
they  again  begin  to  appear  in  force,  reaching 
13,000  between  4  and  5.  The  horsemen  thus 
are  men  of  business,  mainly  engaged  from  9 
till  3. 

The  pedestrians,  during  the  year,  increase 
from  hour  to  hour,  thus:  From  G  to  7,  10,000; 

7  to  8.  22,000;  8  to  9,  41,000;  9  to  10,  79,000 ; 
10  to  11,  113,000;  11  to  12,  140,000;  12  to  1, 
165,000,  1  to  2,  267,000;  2  to  3,  479,000 ;  3  to 
4,  586,000.  Here  it  reaches  its  maximum,  and 
begins  to  decrease  thus :  From  4  to  5,  501,000  ; 
5  to  6,  290,000 ;  6  to  7, 135,000  ;  7  to  8, 107,000; 

8  to  9,  60,000 ;  9  to  10,  16,000  ;  10  to  11,  3000. 
The  largest  number  during  a  single  hour  in  any 
month  was  112,000,  between  2  and  3,  in  Jan- 
uary. 

The 'rush  of  vehicles  comes  on  later.  They 
increase  thus :  From  5  to  6,  2000 ;  6  to  7,  12,000*; 
7  to  8,  22,000 ;  8  to  9,  30,000  ;  9  to  10,  38,000. 


All  told,  the  Park  has,  up  to  January  1,  1866, 
cost  the  city  a  little  more  than  nine  and  three- 
quarter  millions  of  dollars ;  five  millions  for  the 
ground  itself,  and  four  and  three-quarter  millions 
for  construction. *  Never,  even  in  a  mere  pecun- 
iary point  of  view,  was  money  more  profitably  ex- 
pended. The  interest  paid  on  the  bonds  issued 
to  defray  this  cost  amounts  to  $581,400;  the 
maintenance  of  the  Park  cost  last  year  $221 ,1 66 : 
the  entire  annual  expense  of  the  Park  is  there- 
fore $802,566 ;  say,  in  round  numbers,  eight 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  The  assessed  value 
of  the  property  of  the  three  wards  which  im- 
mediately surround  the  Park  was,  in  1S5G, 
$26,400,000;  in  1865,  $61,000,000:  an  increase 
of  $34, 600,000.  The  taxes  paid  to  the  city  upon 
this  increased  valuation  amount  to  $1,034,000. 


*  Ninth  Annual  Report  of  the  Board  of  l  ommissioners 
of  the  Central  Park,  for  the  Year  eliding  with  December 
31,  1865. 

t  The  pedestrians  and  equestrians  are  counted  individ- 
ually; the  vehicles  are  counted,  and  an  average  of  three 
persons  is  allowed  to  each.  The  following  is  the  exact 
number  of  visits  to  the  Park,  as  thus  made  out : 

Pedestrians,  individually  counted 3,210,056 

Equestrians,  individually  counted 08,360 

Vehicles,  1,425,241,  three  persons  to  each. .  4,275,723 

Total  visits  in  1S65 7,503,13 J 

But  we  think  the  estimate  of  three  persons  to  a  vehicle 
is  too  low.  We  should  give  the  average  at  fully  four.  On 
the  other  hand,  as  we  shall  have  occasion  to  notice,  about 
400,000  vehicles  passed  into  the  Park  at  its  lower  en- 
trances, went  through  aud  beyond  it,  and  again  re-enter- 
ed, and  so  were  counted  twice.  Many  persons  also  came 
into  the  Park  outside  of  the  regular  entrances.  The  inci- 
dental errors  on  one  side  will  about  balance  those  on  the 
other;  so  that  we  may  safely  say  that  during  the  year 
1805  there  were  between  seven  and  eight  millions— nearer 
eight  than  seven — visits  to  the  Cantral  Park. 

1  New  York,  June  11.— The  unveiling  of  the 
Morse  statue  in  the  Central  Park  yesterday  af- 
'  ternoon  was  one  of  the  memorable  events  in  the 
i  history  of  this  city  in  commemoration  of  the 
I  achievements  of  science.  The  statue  cost  $12,- 
000,  and  was  purchased  by  the  subscriptions  of 
the  telegraphers,  varying  in  amount  from  twen- 
ty-five cents  to  twenty-five  dollars,  although  the 
greater  number  were  of  sums  less  than  five  dol- 
lars. The  pedestal  is  the  gift  of  a  few  private 
citizens.  The  statue  is  of  heroic  size,  and  was 
modelled  by  Byron  M.  Pickett,  am  cast  at  the 
National  Fine  Art  foundry,  by  Maurice  I.  Pow- 
er. The  face  is  a  striking  likeness  of  Mr.  Morse. 
The  beard  is  made  quite  full,  and  the  stiffness 
of  modern  dress  is  (relieved  by  a  cloak  with  a 
heavy  fur  collar.  This  cloak,  falling  from  the 
left  side,  is  held  up  by  the  left  hand,  which  also 
holds  a  telegraphic  dispatch.  The  right  hand 
rests  upon  a  small  telegraphic  instrument  upon 
a  column.  The  attitude  is  easy  and  natural. 
Prof.  Morse  had  received  in  this  country  up  to 
the  time  when  this  statue  was  suggested  by  the 
telegraphers,  no  public  recognition  of  his  emi- 
nent services  beyond  that  of  a  complimentary 
dinner,  although  he  had  had  at  the  hands  of 
European  sovereigns  honors  of  the  most  marked 
character,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  subjoined  list: 

1.  By  the  sultan  of  Turkey,  the  ".Nishan  If tichan," 
or  Order  of  Glory. 

2.  From  France,  the  Cross  of  a  Chevalier  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.    .  ^_  ■ 

3.  From  Italy,  the  Cross  of  a  Chevalier  of  the 
Order  of  St.  Maurice  and  Lazarus. 

4.  From  Portugal,  the  Cross  of  a  Chevalier  of  the 
Order  of  the  Tower  and  Sword. 

6.  From  Spain,  the  Cross  of  a  Knight  Com- 
mander (de  numero)  of  the  Order  of  Isabella  the 
Catholic.  „  .».„_*«.' 

6.  From  Denmark,  the  Cross  of  a  Chevalier  of  the 
Order  of  the  Dannebroge,  also  to  be  a  Knight  Com- 
mander in  the  same  order,  of  the  iirst-class. 

7.  Austria,  Prussia  and  Wurtemberg  conferred  on 
him  the  scientific  gold  medal  of  their  respective 
nations.  _\ 

8.  A  special  oongress  of  ten  European  nations,  in 
1858,  voted  Professor  Morse  an  honorary  gratuity  of 
400,000  francs. 


• 


• 


A 
A 

0 

H 


7A 


Harper  s 
Bazar  states  the  numbers  and  wages  of  needle- 
women in  New  York  city,  and  at  the  same  time 
gives  an  account  of  the  great  American  bazar 
of  Messrs.  A.  T.  Stewart  and  Co.,  of  New  York, 
in  which  every  branch  of  needle-work  is  extens- 
ively carried  on : 

"Here  we  found,"  says  the  writer,  "at  least  S00 
young  ladies  engaged  in  making  every  thing  that  is 
worn  by  humanity  except  boots  and  shoes.  In  the 
'  Ladies'  and  Children's  Department,'  to  which  an  en- 
tire floor  is  devoted,  and  in  which  are  made  full  suits 
for  females  of  all  ages,  and  embracing  every  thing 
from  under-linen  to  bonnets  (not  forgetting  the  mono- 
gram of  the  customer  if  desired),  regular  employment 
is  given  the  year  round  to  about  400  women,  who  make 
on  an  average  $8  per  week.  Cutters  and  forewomen 
are  paid  from  $12  to  $15  per  week ;  these  have  their 
assistants,  who  receive  from  $10  to  $12  per  week;  the 
operatives  are  paid  by  the  '  piece,'  and  receive,  accord- 
ing to  their  industry  and  intelligence,  from  $6  50  to 
$12  per  week.  In  the  '  Cloak  Department'  are  about 
200  girls,  who  get  about  the  same  as  the  operative  in 
the  '  Ladies'  Department.'  In  the  '  Shawl  Department' 
various  descriptions  of  shawls  are  made  and  repaired ; 
and  there  we  saw  dextrous  and  nimble  fingers  repair 
splendid  India  shawls  which  had  been  worn  thread- 
bare at  the  folds  in  such  a  manner  that  the  seam  and 
patch  could  not  be  detected.  The  same  fairy-like  art- 
isans removed  from  the  same  costly  fabrics  dark  and 
unattractive  shades  and  replaced  them  by  colors  which 
were  iu  demand  in  the  market,  and  that  in  such  a  way 
as  to  really  improve  the  shawls.  Here  about  25  wo- 
men are  employed  at  about  $S  per  week  each.  Nearly 
as  many  find  equally  remunerative  labor  in  the  '  Skirt 
Department.'  In  the  '  Boys'  Department'  for  the  man- 
ufacture of  youths'  clothing  the  operatives  to  the  num- 
ber of  T5  are  paid  by  the  week  at  an  average  of  $9. 
About  GO  women  are  constantly  at  work  in  the  'Up- 
holstery Department'  in  making  curtains,  mattresses, 
sheets,  pillow-cases,  napkins,  towels— in  short,  all  the 
furnishing  goods  for  house,  hotel,  steamer,  and  sleep- 
ing-car. They  get  from  $6  to  $9  per  week.  In  the 
'Fur  Department'  as  many  as  70  persons  are  employed 
in  the  busy  season  at  wages  averaging  $S,  but  as  the 
winter  is  just  over  we  found  only  half  a  dozen  em- 
ployed in  taking  care  of  the  stock.  In  the  carpet  room 
about  GO  girls  are  employed,  and  make  about  $7  50  per 
week.  On  this  floor,  but  intended  for  the  benefit  of 
other  departments,  we  were  surprised  to  come  across 
about  35  washer-women,  irouers,  and  fluters,  engaged 
in  making  up  and  preparing  for  customers,  and  for 
display  in  the  store,  all  sorts  of  linen  and  other  goods. 
These  are  paid  by  the  week  at  $7  50.  This  establish- 
ment at  times  employs  as  many  as  1606  women,  a  good  -^ 
proportion  of  whom  do  not  work  in  the  building  but 
at  their  own  residences.  Besides  those  enumerated 
above  there  are  also  to  be  found  a  few  saleswomen, 
and  young  women  with  good  figures  who  '  try  on'  the 
patterns  of  cloaks,  etc.,  etc.,  while  neat  and  pleasant- 
booking  telegraphic  operators  of  the  gentle  sex  are  en- 
gaged constantly  in  communicating  between  the  retail 
and  the  wholesale  establishments." 


At  precisely  four  o'clock  the  ceremonies  began. 
Governor  Hoffman  presided.  After  an  overture 
by  the  band  of  Fort  Columbus,  Governor  Hoff- 
man made  the  introductory  address,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  which  the  statue  was  unveiled  by  Gov- 
ernor Claflin  of  Massachusetts  and  Mr.  Win.  Or- 
ton.  This  was  followed  by  music  by  the  band, 
and  this  in  turn  by  the  speeches  of  the  occasion, 
delivered  by  William  Cullen  Bryant,  and  Mayor 
Hall.  Mr.  Bryant,  in  closing,  said:  "But  long 
may  it  be,  ray  friends— very  long — before  any 
such  resemblance  of  our  illustrious  friend  shall 
be  needed  by  those  who  have  the  advantage  of 
his  acquaintance^  refersh  the  image  of  his  form 
and  bearing  as  it  exists  in  their  minds.  Long 
may  we  keep  with  us  what  is  better  than  the 
statue — the  noble  original— long  may  it  remain 
among  us  in  a  healthful  and  serene  old  age — 
late,  very  late,  may  He  who  gave  the  mind  to 
which  we  owe  the  grand  discovery  to-day  com- 
memorated, recall  it  to  his  more  immediate  pres- 
ence that  it  may  be  employed  in  a  higher  sphere 
and  in  a  still  more  beneficial  activity."  Mayor 
Hall  closed  as  follows:  "The  city  of  New  York 
pledges  herself  to  the  donors  who  make  her 
their  trustee,  to  guard  with  pride  this  statue  of 
her  honored  citizen ;  of  him  who  achieved  in- 
deed eminence  among  her  artists,  and  won  re- 
spect and  love  in  her  social  life  before  he  was 
awarded  those  special  honors  which  the  civil- 
ized world  now  render  him,  and  which  this  day's 
ceremonies  so  appropriately  emphasize." 

The  meeting  at  the  Academy  of  Music  last 
evening  took  the  form  of  a  public  reception  or 
levee  of  the  distinguished  guest.  An  evening's 
entertainment  of  the  most  attractive  kind 
had  been  prepared,  and  a  memorable ,_  feature  of 
it  was  the  transmission  of  a  dispatch'to  all  the 
principal  stations  in  the  world  taking  leave  of  the 
profession,  by  Prof.  Morse  himself.  On  the 
platform  was  seated  Prof.  Morse  in  the  centre, 
flanked  by  Cyrus  W.  Field,  Wilson  G.  Hunt,  Pe- 
ter Cooper,  William  C.  Bryant,  Horace  Greeley, 
Samuel  Sinclair,  Gov.  Claflin  and  star*',  Hon.  N". 
P.  Banks,  Dr.  George  B.Loring,  William  Orton, 
Henrv  Ward  Beecher,  C.  F.  MacDermott  of  San 
Francisco,  Gov.  Hoffman,  Ben.  P.  Butler,  and 
Gens.  Lefferta,  E.  s.  San  ford,  Jr.,  W. 
K.  Applcbough  and  several  assistants  were  the 
committee  of  arrangements.  Horace  Greeley 
came  in  late,  and  when  he  made  his  appearance 
he  was  greeted  with  great  applause  as  he  took  his 

Speeches  were  made  by  W.  Orton,  Dr.  Loring, 
unil  President  Sampson  of  Colombia  college, 

Washington.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  latter's 
address,  Miss  Sadie  E.  Cornwall  was  led  to  a  tel- 
egraphic instrument  on  the  platform,  when  she 


New  York,  Nov.  25th,  1860. 

Life  in  the  city— and,  for  that  matter,  life 
everywhere— exhibits  a  ncrpetual  tragedy;  and 
a  perpetual  comedy,  as  wclL  Half  a  doftea 
lines,  or  less,  in  the  morning  paper,  read  care- 
lessly and  without  a  thought  by  thousands 
have  that  in  them  which  turns  to  darkness  the 
light  of  a  once  happy  home,  and  lays  a  life- 
burden  of  sorrow  upon  many  hearts;  or,  even 
worse  than  this,  may  link  a  name  once  honored 
to  enduring  infamy,  and  show  us  how  bitterer 
than  the  tears  which  are  given  to  the  dead  are 
those  which  are  often  shed  for  the  living.  The 
thought  is  suggested  by  a  hasty  absorption  of 
the  contents  of  the  daily  journal  before  me. 
Here  arc  records  of  casualties — deaths  from  ac- 
cidents—deaths from  criminal  carelessness— 
from  violence  —  from  utter  destitution  —  of 
crimss— of  shames— of  despairs,— and  all  that 
these  involve— every  fact  of  which  represents  suff- 
ering and  sorrow  too  deep  and  terrible  for  human 
language  to  portray.  Here,  for  instance,  is  the 
story  of  a  whole  family  consumed  in  the  flames 
of  their  burning  home;  here,  an  account  of  the 
murder  of  a  husband  and  father,  in  a  quarrel 
instigated  by  whiskey;  and  here,  the  record  of 
a  trust  betrayed,  of  a  name  blighted,  of  shauio, 
of  ruin  and  of  infamy.  To  the  casual  reader 
they  are  simply  items  of  news;  but  to  many 
they  are  the  doom-word  that  changes  the  as- 
pect of  the  whole  world,  and  casts  over  the 
future  the  shadow  of  a  great  darffness. 

This  is  the  tragedy  of  life.  Its  comedy  I  find 
also  in  my  morning  journal.  Not  only  in 
amusing  blunders,  ludicrous  complications, 
laughable  incidents,  humorous  narratives,  jokes, 
bon  mots,  anecdotes,  &c.,  but  in  much  that  doesn't 
aim  to  be  the  least  bit  funny — grave  speeches, 
heavy  with  their  want  of  thought;  disquisitions 
Chat  aim  to  be  philosophical  and  arc  simply; 
nonsensical;  criticisms  on  art  or  literature  that 
demonstrate  that  the  writer  knows  nothing  of 
cither;  and  "sensational"  reports  of  ordinary 
matters  that  exhibit  a  very  pronounced  dispro- 
portion between  words  and  things.    The  most 


comic  passages  in  a  newspaper  are  not  tnose 
Which  are  intended  to  be  so;  but  not  uufrc- 
quently  the  gravest  utterance  of  some  titled  and 
dogmatic  ass  is  far  more  provocative  of  laughter. 
I  have  sandwiched  these  thoughts  between  my 
morning  paper  and  my  cup  of  coffee;  and  as  I 
i  empty  the  latter,  and  throw  the  fonner  upon  a 
pile  of  its  fellows,  "Such  is  lite!"  is  my  brief 
comment  upon  all  that  I  have  read. 

New  York  City. — One  realizes  from  Mayor 
Hall's  late  message  what  a  great  city  New  York 
is.  Its  debt  in  round  numbers  is  $127,000,000, 
twice  as  much  as  that  of  Philadelphia,  and  more 
than  that  of  the  nation  before  the  war.  Its  tax 
levy  for  the  current  year  is  $30,437,523.01,  and 
its  tax  rate  $2.78.  The  population  is  now  nearly 
1,000,000,  the  area  of  the  city  twenty-four  square 
miles,  and  the  water  frontage  twenty-nine  miles. 
It  has  300  miles  ot  paved  and  160  miles  of  un- 
saved streets.  Twenty  thousand  gas-lights  night- 
ly burn  in  the  streets  and  public  places,  at  a 
public  expense  of  $43  per  year  for  each  lamp. 
There  are  350  miles  of  Crbton  water  pipes,  and 
277  miles  of  sewers.  One  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  miles  of  sewers  are  yet  to  be  made.  There 
are  over  2000  men  on  the  police  force,  and  600 
firemen,  whose  salaries  together  amount  to  a 
round  sum  of  $3,000,000.  An  average  number 
of  3000  workmen  are  employed  each  day  of  the 
year  upon  public  works.  The  city  contributed 
to  the  support  during  the  past  year  of  51,466 
criminals.  It  alleviated  during  the  same  time, 
by  out-door  and  institutional  charity,  the  suffer- 
ings of  195,334  of  the  poor  and  the  sick.  It  con- 
tributes to  the  support,  under  private  auspices, 
of  50,000  children  in  the  private  schools  of 
various  denominations.  It  expends  $250,000  for 
salaries  of  judges  and  court  attaches.  More 
than  two  millions  of  dollars  are  expended  for 
educational  purposes,  and  a  hundred  thousand 
children  attend  school  every  day. 


,W//    - 

III    !      ■■ 


JOSEPH      GILLOTT'S 

CELEBRATED 

STEEL      PENS 

Sold  by  all  dealers  throughout  the  world. 


ry  Packet  bears  the  Fac-Simile 
of  his  Signature. 


Manufacturer's  Warehouse,  91  JOHN  STREET,  New  York. 

JOSEPH    GILLOTT   &    SONS. 


sent  the  following  message  from  the  venerable 
Professor  Morse:  "Greeting  and  thanks  to  the 
telegraphic  fraternity.  Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest,  peace  on  earth  and  good  will  to  man." 
As  the  young  lady  concluded  this,  Prof.  Morse 
was  escorted  to  the  instrument  by  Mayor  Hall, 
and  manipulated  the  key,  sending  his  signature 
with  a  firmness  that  was  not  expected  by  those 
who  knew  how  tremulous  Ins  fingers  are 
at  this  time  of  excitement.  As  the  father  of  tel- 
egraphy arose  the  whole  audience  greeted  him 
by  rising  en  masse,  cheering,  applauding  and 
waving  bandkerchicls  for  full  five  minutes.  The 
old  gentleman  seemed  quite  overcome,  and  cov- 
ering his  face  with  his  hands  evidently  consid- 
ered that  this  was  at  least  nearly  the  last  time 
he  would  be  called  upon  to  sign  his  name  by  a 
telesrraphic  key.    The  dispatch  was  sent  to  vari- 


ous~parts  of  the  world,  and  several  responses 
were  received  during  the  evening.  Hon.  N.  P. 
Banks  was  here  introduced  and  delivered  a  forc- 
ible address  upon  the  telegraph  as  a  national  de- 
fence. It  was  received  with  frequent  manifesta- 
tions of  applause.    Other  speeches  followed. 

Among  the  responses  to  Prof.  Morse  s  dis- 
patch was  a  reply  from  the  president  at  Long 
Branch.  A  large  number  of  dispatches  from 
San  Francisco,  Cincinnati,  Halifax,  Bombay, 
St.  Louis,  New  Orleans,  Boston,  and  nearly 
every  other  city  in  the  Union,  congratulating 
Prof.  Morse  upon  his  proud  position  as  lather 
of  the  telegraph,  were  also  read.  The  assembly 
dispersed  at  a  late  hour,  the  telegraphers  step- 
ping forward  and  shaking  hands  with  the  pro- 


^<" 


t 


V 


John  K.  OonshN  Silver  Wedding. 

The  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  the  marriage 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  13.  Gough,  was  celebrated 
at  their  residence  at  Boylston,  yesterday,  by  a 
large  gathering  of  friends  and  arqaintances.  It 
was  the  intention  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gough  to 
celebrate  the  anniversary  without  publicity,  but 
their  friends  casually  learning  the  fact  insisted 
on  a  change  of  programme,  and  taking  the  mat- 
ter into  their  own  hands  brought  the  affair  to  a 
happy  consummation.  Preparations  for  the 
event  were  put  in  train  some  weeks  since,  Rev. 
J.  0.  Peck  and  Messrs.  P.  L.  Moen,  Henry  Cha- 
pin  and  Eiward  Earle  acting  as  a  committee  of 
the  citizens  of  this  vicinity  in  making  the  neces- 
sary arrangments,  issuing  cards  of  invitation, 
&e. 

The  invitations  received  prompt  and  favorable 
responses  from  all  quarters,  and  the  weather  be- 
ing favorable  yesterday,  the  affair  was  consum- 
mated under  favorable  circumstances.  A  large 
number  of  our  citizens  paid  their  respects  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gough  during  the  day,  and  offered 
their  congratulations.  The  more  formal  exer- 
cises were  allotted  to  the  evening,  and  the  am- 
ple residence  at  "Hillside"  was  crowded  with 
guests  at  an  early  hour,  including  besides  many 
of  our  most  substantial  citizens,  large  delega- 
tions from  Boston,  New  York,  and  other  cities. 
Ample  entertainment  was  furnished  by  the  gen- 
erous hosts,  and  there  was  aslKtle  as  possible  of 
formality  during  the  evening. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  guests,  to  the  number  of 
two  or  three  hundred,  were  assembled  in  the 
gymnasium,  and  the  gifts  being  arranged  on  a 
large  table  and  covered  from  sight,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Gough  and  the  members  of  their"  family 
were  cobdncted  thither.  Rev.  J  0.  Peck,  of  ^ 
this  city,  in  Behalf  of  the  committee,  briefly  ad- 
dressed them,  offering  the  congratulations  of 
their  frieuds,  present  and  absent.  He  referred  .- 
to  the  record  of  the  past  quarter  of  a  century, 
and  to  the  love  which  Mr.  Gough  has  won  in 
both  continents,  represented  on  this  occasion 
by  their  gifts  and  written  congratulations,  and 
by  the  thoughts  and  prayers  of  thousands  more. 
Rev.  Horace  James,  of  Lowell,  offered  a  fervent 
prayer,  and  an  original  hymn  by  Rev.  William 
Phipps,  of  Paxton,  was  sung;  after  which  the  for- 
formal  presentation  of  gifts  took  place. 

The  most  prominent  among  the  gifts  were  a  i 
massive  solid  silver   centre    piece,  designed  to  "2 
hold  either  fruit  or  flowers,  and  an  ice  cream 
set  of  fourteen  pieces,  silver,  lined  with  gold, 
the  offering  of  the  neighbors  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gough  in  Worcester  and  vicinity,  and  friends 
who  had  sent  their  donations  in  money  to  the 
committee.    The  centre  piece  is  about  24  inches 
in    height,   the    pedestal    being    a    statue  off 
an    Indian     chief*    standing     upon     a     base  F 
ornamented    with    Indian    figures   in   various 
attitudes,  chased  in  the  silver.    Upon  the  head 
of  the  chief  rests  a  basket,  which  with  his  up- 
raised hands  supports  a  large  basin  or  plate,  18 
inches  in  diameter,  lined    with  gold.    The  ice 
cream  set  was  of  solid  silver,  lined  with  gold. 
The  value  of  both  the  above  was  $1,000.    Each 
bore  the  inscription  "John  B.    and   Mary   E. 
Gough,  Worcester,  Nov.  24th,  1868;  from  neigh- 
bors and  friends." 

These  were  presented  by  Hon.  Henry  Chapin 
of  this  city,  in  behalf  of  the  donors,  accompa- 
nied by  the  following  letter: 

Worcester,  Nov.  24, 1868. 
John  B.  Gough,  Esq.: 

Dear  Sir — Allow  us,  your  friends,  and  most  of 
us  your  neighbors,  to  congratulate  you  upon  the 
auspicious  circumstances  of  the  twenty-fifth  an- 
niversary of  your  wedding.  It  is  with  no  ordi- 
nary emotions  that  we  refer  to  the  history  of 
the  last  twenty -five  years,  during  which  you  and 
your  noble  and  true  hearted  wife  have 
"Clam  the  hill  thegither." 

Beginniug  in  weakness  you  have  grown  in 
strength:  beginning  with  small  means  you  have 
arrived  at  affluence;  beginning  in  comparative 
obscurity  you  have  won  a  world-wide  fame;  be- 
ginning with  a  voice  feeble  and  tremulous  you 
have  made  that  voice  heard  in  tones  of  resistless 
eloquence  throughout  the  civilized  world;  be- 
ginning modest  and  distrustful  of  your  ability 
to  influence  others,  you  have  marked  your  course 
with  words  of  love  and  power,  which  have  dried 
the  tear  Of  the  child  worse  than  orphaned,  and 
caused  the  heart  of  the  wife  of  the  reformed  in- 
ebriate   to  leap   for  joy;  beginning  with   faint 


hopes  ot  success  and  Boounarag  rears  ui  reiiure 

you  have  proved  yourself  one  of  the  world's  ben- 
efactors, and  iaade  your  name  known  and  hon- 
ored wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken 

More  than  this:  "He  that  ruleth  his  own  spirit 
is  better  than  he  who  taketh  a  city."  In  the 
midst  of  temptations  which  once  obtained  over 
you  such  fearful  mastery,  and  with  a  tempera- 
ment strangely  ardent  and  impulsive,  you  have 
been  enabled,  by  the  grace  of  God  and  the  sweet 
aids  and  the  angelic  influences  of  your  home,  to 
stand  erect  and  sure,  diffusing  around  you  the 
light  and  joy  of  a  truly  Christian  example. 
You  have  not  only  been  what  you  professed 
when  the  eyes  of  admiring  multitudes  have  been 
fixed  upon  you,  but  in  those  quiet  moments 
which  are  the  trial-hours  of  the  soul,  we  are 
proud  to  believe  and  to  say  that  you  have  bien 
simple,  artless,  earnest  and  pure,  a  true  friend,  a 
kind  husband,  a  Christian  gentleman  and  an 
honest  man. 

It  gives  us  sincere  pleasure  to  ask  you  and 
Mrs.  Gough  to  accept  this  silver  ice  cream  ser- 
vice and  this  silver  centre  piece,  as  slight  testi- 
monials of  our  respect  and  affection. 

Yours  sincerely. 
Siened  by  the  committee  of  arrangements  and 

one  hundred  aud  fourteen  others. 

A  number  of  Boston  friends  presented  an  ele- 
gant and  costly  bronze  clock  of  exquisite  taste 
in  design  and  finish,  accompanying  their  gift 
with  a  memorial,  a  remarkable  specimen  of  pen- 
manship, bearing  the  autographs  of  fifty-two  of 
the  most  prominent  Boston  merchants,  clergy- 
men and  others.  Thie  memorial  is  in  itself  an 
interesting  and  valuable  gift,  and  to  the  recipi- 
ents will  probably  contribute  l&s  much  perma- 
nent pleasure  as  any  of  the  gifts  of  the  evening. 
The  memorial  was  in  the  following  words: 

Boston,  Nov.  24, 1868. 

To  John  B.  Gough :  The  undersigned  desire, 
on  this,  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  your 
marriage,  to  express  their  high  appreciation  of 
your  eminent  services,  not  only  in  the  cause  of 
temperance,  but  of  true  morality.  Your  field  of 
labor  has  extended  from  ocean  to  ocean,  and 
thousand/  and  ten  times  ten  thousand  men  and 
women  in  all  the  variefl  walks  of  life  have  been 
strengthened  and  sustained  by  your  noble  utter- 
ances. Young  men  just  entering  upon  active 
life,  and  exposed  to  temptations  of  almost  every 
name,  have  been  checked  in  tendencies  to  evil, 
and  have  been  incited  to  lofty  endeavor  and  to 
high  and  holy  purposes.  God  has  in  His  provi- 
dence endowed  you  with  the  power  to  sway  vast 
assemblies  of  people— to  provoke  to  laughter  and 
to  melt  to  tears,  and  we  thank  the  Author  of  all 
good  that  in  your  public  efforts  you  have  never  al- 
lowed the  standard  of  morality  or  religion  to 
trail  in  the  dust;  and  it  is  our  prayer  that  you 
may  be  spared  for  many  years  to  come  to  assist 
in  lifting  up  those  who  have  fallen,  and  to  cheer 
and  encourage  all  in  bearing  the  burdens  of  life. 

Accept  then,  on  this  anniversary  day,  for  your- 
self and  for  her  who  has  been  for  these  many  years 
the  light  and  joy  of  your  household  and  the  com- 
fort and  support  of  your  heart,  our  hearty  con- 
gratulations, and  our  best  wishes  for  your  pros-  Sipmxgs  from  "Punch."-.!  Point  Unsettled 
perity.  in  History. — Lucy  (to  her  elder  sister,  who  has 

Signed  by  Wm.  Claflin  and  over  fifty  others.  jUBt  been  relating  a  thrilling  episode  in  the  life 

In  presenting  the  clock  and  the  memorial,  Mr,  of  William  Tell):  "And  was  the  little  boy  al- 
B.  W.  Williams  of  Boston  indulged  in  some  lowed  to  eat  the  apple  afterwards?" 
reminiscences  of  Mr.  Gough's  early-  career  as  a      Leap-  Year  Reading  of  an  Old  Proverb— La 
speaker,  when  he  was  engaged  to  speak  at  eight  femme  propose,  Dieu  dispose. 
dollars  per  night  and   pay  his  own  expenses,      Fairly  Walked  off  his  Feet.— Mm.  Malaprop 
which  were  evidently  relished  by  the  audience,  writes  to  sympathize  with  poor  Payson  Weston 

Another  prominent  gift  in  value  was  an  ele-  on  his  great  walking  feet  having  come  off!    She 
gant  gold  watch,  from  fri3nds  in  Chicago.    It  doesn't   wonder  at   it,   considering   the    awful 

amount  of  work  they  have  had ! 


The  lecture  committee  of  the  YouDg  Men's 
Christian  Association  of  Philadelphia  sent  an  el- 
egant silver  fruit  dish,  lined  with  gold;  the 
Shrewsbury  Monumental  Association  sent  a  fine 
silver  nut" dish,  the  Sunday  School  in  Berlin  sent 
a  pair  of  choice  silver  vases,  and  individuals 
from  Boston,  New  York,  New  Bedford,  Dubuque, 
Iowa;  Ypsilanti,  Michigan;  Rochester  and  Hud- 
son, New  York;  Cincinnati,  Ohio,  and  other 
places,  also  remembered  the  occasion  by  valuable 
gifts  of  silver,  elegant  and  costly  pictures, 
flowers,  &c,  most  of  which  were  accompanied 
by  letters  of  congratulation.  The  chairman  said 
he  had  over  eighty  of  these  in  his  hand,  but  pro- 
posed to  hand  them  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gough 
without  reading  them  to  the  audience.  Among 
them  wejjB  letters  from  Mr.  Gough's  father  and 
George  Cruikshank,  0f  England,  and  many 
prominent  Americans.  All  the  gifts  were  of 
sterling  metal,  and  were  very  costly,  the  whole 
amounting  to  over  $3,000. 

In  response  to  the  several  addresses  ITr. 
Gough  spoke  briefly,  feelingly  expressing  his 
thanks  and  appreciation  for  the  unexpected 
manifestations  of  favor,  and  referring  briefly  to 
his  own  experiences  during  the  years  since  his 
marriage.  He  spoke  in  the  highest  terms  of  his 
wife,  and  said  that  to  her  is  largely  due  the  credit 
of  whatever  he  has  been  able  to  accomplish.  He 
alluded  to  the  confidence  which  his  Worcester 
friends  have  always  reposed  in  him,  and  to  their 
steady  good  will  and  kindness,  in  grateful  terms, 
and  in  closing,  again  expressed  his  obligations 
to  his  many  friends  for  their  kind  remembrance?. 
At  the  close  of  his  remarks  the  assembly  re- 
turned to  the  house,  and  many,  who  w#re  oblig- 
_  ed  to  take  the  late  trains,  hastened  to  the  city 
while  a  large  party  remained  to  enjoy  still  further 
the  hospitality  of  their  host.  The  occasion  was 
a  worthy  tribute  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gough,  and  un- 
der the  efficient  management  of  the  committee' 
the  anniversary  was  celebrated*  jn  a  creditable 
and  highly  satisfactory  manner. 
« The  gifts  which  were  presented  will  be  display- 
ed for  a  few  days  in  the  windows  of  Blake  & 
Robinson,  corner  of  Main  and  Foster  streets, 
from  which  house  the  gifts  of  the  friends  and 
neighbors  of  Worcester  were  purchased 


was  accompanied  by  the  following  pithy  letter: 
Chicago,  Nov.  20, 1868. 

J.  B.  Gough,  Esq.,  Worcester  Mass :  Dear 
Sir— A  few  of  your  Chicago  friends,  learning 
that  you  were  to  have  a  good  time,  decided  to 
l,  watchyou.  A  minute  record  would  show  on  its 
/I  face  that  in  your  day  you  have  already  enjoyed 
twenty-four  hours  of  this  kind,  and' judging 
from  the  invitation  you  are  now  determined  to 
make  a  night  of  it. 

While  it  is  stated  astronomically  that  the  west 
is  behind  time,  we  desise  not  to  be  slow  in  ex- 
pressing our  thanks  for  the  benefits  we  have  re- 
ceived, and  the  pleasure  we  have  enjoyed  from 
your  visits  to  our  city. 

Although  this  token  is  of  western  manufac- 
ture, it  is,  like  your  own  efforts,  not  sectional 
but  national,  and  its  reputation,  like  your 
genius,  is  reflecting  honor  on  our  country. 

The  occasion  is  a  silver  one  to  you.  but  gives' 
us  a  golden  opportunity  of  testifying  our  warm 
friendship  for  you  and  your  ;  work.  Permit  us 
also,  with  this  timely  memento,  to  express  the 
hope,  when  life's  hours  are  passed,  of  spending 
the  day  of  eternity  with  you  in  our  Father's 
Kingdom,  through  the  grace  and  mercy  of  our 
Lord  and  Savior,  Jesus  Christ. 

Very  truly  yours, 
Signed  by  D.  L.  Moody  and  twelve  others. 

The  faculty  and  students  of  Phillips  Academy, 
Andover,  sent  a  fine  four  volume  copy  of  tbe 
"Wickliffite  Versions  of  the  Holy  Bible,"  Ox- 
ford University  Press,  a  rare  and  valuable  work. 


A  sailor's  wife  had  just  received  intelligence 
that  her  husband  had  perished  at  sea.  She  was 
visited  by  a  neighbor  who  sympathized  with  her 
on  her  loss,  and  expressed  a  fear  that  she  would 
be  poorly  off.  "'Deed  will  I, '>  said  the  widow; 
k  "but  he  did  all  he  could  for  me — he's  saved  me 
the  expense  of  his  burying." 

I  think  if  thou  couldst  know, 
O  soul  that  wilt  complain, 
What  lies  concealed  below 

Our  burden  and  our  pain, — 
How  just  our  anguish  brings 
Nearer  those  longed-for  things 
We  seek  for  now  in  vain, — 
I  think  thou  wouldst  rejoice,  and  not  complain 
Adelaide  A.  Procter. 


I 


r 


A    CHICKEN   STORY, 

WHICH    TURNED  OUT   TO   BE   ABOUT   A 


young  duck.     So  he  squeezed  down  his  voice  in 


"  Susy,"  said  George,  "let's  go  and  tell  stories." 
"  Well,"  said  Susy. 

So  George  and  Susy  went  down  the  garden 
and  through  the  barn-yard,  and  climbed  up  by  arai] 
fence  to  the  roof  of  a  shed  that  was  built  against 
the  west  fide  of  the  bam.  This  was  the  place 
where  they  often  went  to  tell  stories.  They  liked 
it  because  they  were  sure  to  be  free  from  interrup- 
tion mounted  up  so  high,  and  also  because  it  com- 
manded a  very  pleasant  view.  They  could  see., 
fron  here  the  great  poultry-yard,  and  the  rounds 
poid  that  bordered  one  side  of  it,  and,  across  the 
poid,  the  woods  which  edged  its  further  bank. 

'  What  kind  of  stories  shall  we  tell  ?"  said  Susy, 
"when  ihey  were  comfortably  seated  on  the  shed. 
''  We  will  tell  chicken  stories,"  replied  George, 
dewn  on  the  clucking,  squawking  throng  in 
the  pouh -y-yard. 
"  Weil,"  said  his  sister,  "  you  begin." 
George  looked  all  round  among  the  chickens,  and 
ducks,  and  turkeys,  to  find  a  proper  subject  for  his' 
story.     Finallv  he  began  thus  : 

"  Early  one  spring  morning,  an  old  duck  that  had 
a  nest  in  the  bushes  on  the  very  edge  of  the  pond, 
hatched  all  her  ducklings.     As  soon  as  they  were 
fairly  out  of  the  shell  she  gave  them  some  break- 
fast, and  then  made  them  go  to  sleep  in  the  nest. 
V'ou  see,  Susy,"  said  George,  going  back  a  little, 
•'  that  the  nest  was  not  in  our  poultry-yard,  but  on 
the  other  side  of  the  pond,  near  the  woods.    She 
,  m.  de  her  nest  over  there  to  be  quiet.     Well,  when 
\<he  ducklings  were  all  asleep,  as  she  was  very  tired 
lof  sitting  still,  and  as  it  was  a  warm  morning,  she 
thought  she  would  just  take  a  swim.    So  away  into 
the  water  she  went,  clear  out  to  the  middle  of  the 
,pond .  As  she  was  ducking,  and  diving,  and  splashing 
there,  what  should  come  out  of  the  woods  but  a 
most  dreadfully  hungry,  savage  fox,  hunting  for 
his  breakfast !     He  smelt  out  the  nest,  and  spied 
the  fat  old  duck,  swimming  about  just  beyond  his, 
reach  in  the  water.    Now,  you  know,  Susy,  the  fox ' 
did  not  care  to  eat  the  ducklings,  because  when' 
they  are  just  hatched  they  are  not  much  else  but 
bills  and  legs— though,  I  suppose,  if  he  had  chosen, 
he  could  have  gobbled  them,  bills  and  all,  at  a 
mouthful;  but  he  was  determined  to  have  the  old 
due*.     He  was  afraid  to  venture  into  the  water 
alter  her,  for  he  w?«  as  mean  a  coward  as  he  was 
x  thief ;  and  so  he  set  all  his  wits  at  work  devisin^ 
l  plan  to  make  her  come  on  shore."    Here  Geor°e 
.topped  a  little,  and  began  to  set  his  own  wits  ati 
work.  1 

'Well,"  said  Susy,  much  interested,  "what  did 
the  fox  do  ?" 


DUCK.  make  it  as  thin  as  possible  ;  but  when  he  had  doi      "  He  isn't  a  rebel,  is  he  f»  asked  pm 

Jus  very  best,  it  sounded  most  like  Bozzy  whinir  solemnly.                            '  a  l  hlnny>  S^U 

tones."        at  V(Ourehamhftr-^nAi.  in   iha  ry,««.,;„~   _..i "  v«   «r„ ,     


at  your  chamber-door  in  the  morning,  only  a  gre      "  No<  of  course  he  isn't  •  hnt  th»n  ™ 

deal  more  shrill  and  hoar*,:  »„,1  «,0«m  aIIvI  pretend  to  h„  n' m ?"_ . '  but.thenyou  see  he  had  t 


-  ---  —  „.,„    xwinn,.,    O.UU  mo  urn    UUCK  lOC.^  w  uc'  ur  UKe    enOUfih    tllPV  vrnnM    »,„.        t. 

.notice  of  it  than  she  would  of  the  wind  (h,m-  and  he  is  afiaid  he  shah  lose h7s ™t      ?  hu* 
birds.     The  fox  was  terribly  enraged  ;  h,"  «  **>"  rolled  Creeper  °arg°  °f  su-a ! 

tood  snarling  to  himself  in  his  anger,  a     "  fell,  I  know  I  wouldn't  be  a  rebel  and  I  wortl  *3 
mftht  camp  infn   no  ™r;„i™,i  „i.i  i — j       iirsivlwa«iru„  t. .,     ...     "'^wi.aauiwnuu,) 


no  more  notice  nf  it  ih*n  oh-  ^„tj  „<•  *i :„  ,        ..  nnri  h*  ,•=  -r„ ^  , 

J  the  cat-bird 
as  he  stood 
I  ugly  thought  came  into  his  wioked'oldTeadT'If  ***  T  was  when  f  wasn't  i7mev7id'  ?Si 
can  t  cry  like  the  ducklings,'  he  growled, < I'll  maiP}u>y  stoutly ;  «  would  you,  Anna  ?"  ™  never  wll 
the  ducklings  cry  for  me.'  He  went  down  to  ttent,reIy  Positive  until  he  had  his  sister' ,  n  E,  J  *' 
nest,  that  was  built  on  a  mass  of  dead  leaves  an  "  *  d°n't  think,"  mildly  returned  a™*  « 
sticks  lodged  round  the  roots  of  the  old  tree  th,|eI]  certainly  what  we.  should  do if  we  \vpZ\TJ. 
hangs  over  the  water,  and  put  his  great,  rou2Jad,y  lightened.  You  know  Peter  wasVI,  ™3 
paws  right  among  the  little  soft  ducklings,  rolUbot  he  said  once  he  wasn't  one;  nf  Cr,ris'V?,?u™  !° 
up  asleep."  when  ho  was,  because  he  was  afraw  Tf  L ♦SSTl 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Susy.  trouble."  of  6etfanS  lnt<; 

"Yes,"  said  George,  "and  the  young  due  Phinny  looked  thoughtful.  "  You  kn».„  ».,„•,  J 
waked  up  terribly  frightened  to  see  such  a  horr"Peter  cried  when  he  came  to  think  oveL  ah™t  -t 
monster  glaring  at  them.  They  screamed  loiand  didn,t  pretend  it  was  right  for  him  to  teu  tZ  i3 
enough,  you  may  be  sure.  Their  mother  fleand  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Beecher  would  have  Hi  I£ 
toward  them  ;  but  when  she  saw  the  fox,  she  beg  any  way-" 

to  scream  too.  She  went  as  near  the  nest  as  s  . "  J  teU  *ou  Uncle  Torn  had  to  talk  that  way  to  finl&j 
dared,  and  there  she  fluttered  and  screamed.  Itwhls  fading  and  come  off,"  said  Creeper  decidedly, 
not  of  any  use  for  her  to  scream,  for  it  was  so  ve"  and  he  c°nWn't  but  just  get  here  then,  because  they 
early  in  the  morning  that  no  one  was  about  b f,new  he  was  a  Northerner.  He  wouldn't  have  etaid 
John,  and  he  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  baj  ,e  so  lonS  if  he  had  known  what  a  bad  time  he! 
feeding  the  pigs,  and  could  not  hear  her.  I  belie  should  have  of  it,  and  lose  his  sugar,  too,  like  enough  " 
the  fox  would  have  killed  the  little  ducks,  a  "Well,"  said  Anna,  "we  can't  be  sure  what  we' 
caught  the  mother,  too,  if  something  very  luc  !  Id  do'  aDd  *  §uess  'lt  is  safer  for  us  to  keep  away 
had  not  happened."  from  temptation.    But  mother  says  wp  mightn't  to 

"  What  was  it  ?"  said  Susy.  tel1  a  Iie  ev€n  to  save  our  life>  and  the  Bible  says  so 

"Why,  you  see,  the  sticks  and  leaves  on  whi too/L  „    __. 

the  nest  was  made  had  accumulated  in  a  sort  lhere  now,  the  Bible  says  so!"  exclaimed  Pninny 
platform  right  over  the'  water.  This  platform  w  triumphantly,  delighted  to  find  Anna  on  his  side  after' 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  duck  and  her  ducklin>al]'  "  "Do  you  exf,ect  Daniel  would  have  said  he  w*l 
but  the  fox's  great  heavy  fore-paws  comin"  on'^  '<?eesl0nist  to  keeP  out  of  the  ,ion's  den?  At4 
were  such  a  weight  that  suddenly  down  went  t        '  do  you  think  Paul  wouW  have  done  abou^ 

nest,  and  the  ducklings,  and  the  fox  all  into  tuV  .Why'  motheT  told  me  Sunday  that  every  one  olj 
water!     The  cowardly  fox  was  so  frightened  I  jostles,  excepting  John,  was  killed  just 

i  that  as  soon  as  he  could  contrive.  sDlasbecause  they  Youldn,t  «ive  UP  to  what  they  thought 


the  souse  that  as  soon  as  he  could  contrive,  splas 

ing  and  dashing,  to  scramble  up  the  bank,  he  ruTaS  ^0Dg,'J  ,,  suPPose  they  m,'ght  be  ^^  now  if 
off  shaking  his  wet  sides,  and  barking  and  nowli,th?(y^  *&?*■  ab«ut  " !", 
till  the  wood  rang.  "  Wny,  Phmeas  Greenwood,  what  a  story!    Of 

"Good"'  said  Susy  course  they  couldn't  be  alive  now!     That  would 

"And  the  duck,"  continued  Geor-e,  "-atherITke  ^  „older  than  Methusel*h.  But  you  see 
her  ducklings  together,  and  brought  them  home  th°8e  °ld  feJlo.ws  would  have  died  ever  so  long  ag* 
our  poultry-yard;  and  I  hope  after  that  she  kiu^JZ^Str  ™        ™.a?  difference  abo( 

enough  not  to  make  her  nest  in  the  ■ woods  a  ttSIH^f  C^^«  m  ft,  "at!f  ^  tonel 
meadows,  where  nobody  could  take  care  of  her     k.     ^      n  seera,  really  P«hte  to  Anna  to  contain 
is  a  wonder  the  fox  had  not  eaten  her  it Twee  ^"TJL  ^ePf's  Unde  Tom,  w  she  began  talking 
before.»  y  wee  about  the  blueberries.    But  she  thought  to  hersel 

"  George,"  said  Susv  "was  that  th^  fnv  +w™that  as  everybody  must  die  sometime,  a  few  year 
^t^r^n^al^^^^1^^^  or  less  wouldn't  make  so  much  difference 


caught  in  our  trap  last  night  ? 

"  Yes,"  said  George  ;  "  and  I  am  going  to  have 
pair  of  mittens  made  out  of  his  skin." 


doing  right. 

Creeper,  however,  was  too  full  of  Uncle  Tom's  cor. 
ing  home  and  all  he  had  heard  him  say,  to  forget  tl 
subject,  and  by  the  time  the  tin  pails  were  half  full  < 
blueberries,  and  the  little  red  mouths  and  white  teet 
pretty  well  stained  black,  he  began  again  i 

"  Uncle  Tom  says  the  rebels  tell  dreadful  lies  about 
us  at  the  North,  and  about  the  fighting.    They  always' 
There  were  footsteps  in  the  kitchen,  evidently  mai  pretend  their  side  beats  every  time,  and  when  th« 

Greenwotnews  came  of  that  big  battle,  and  how  the  Union  mer 


DID   UNCLE  TOM  DO  RIGHT? 

BY  FBAffCES  LEE. 


First, '  continued  George,"he  hid  himself  behind-]  " t-  —  »»  ~» 

some  bushes,  for  fear  the  duck  should  see  him,  and   by  a  small  boy  in  stout  boots.     Mrs.  Greenwot news  came  of  that  big  battle,  and  how  the  Union  me: 

et  up  such  a  squawking  as  would  bring  somebody  looked  up  from  pouring  the  coffee  as  the  breakfasrfln.  Uncle  Tom  had  to  wear  a  secession  cockad 

down  to  the  pond  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  And.,  room  door  opened,  and  said,  "  Oh,  it  is  Creeper  Ganand  have  an  illumination  in  his  room  at  the  hotel  t< 

It  happened,   Good  morning,  Creeper." 
ind  here  so       "MorniDg,"  answered  the  boy. 
,  ~u  had  some-..     «<  Holloa  nrepnpr  "  «niH  vmLx,  pm.nnrA^  ™„ says  ne  Knows  mere  are  lots  ot  folks  there  feel  just 
irnes  come  very  early  to  feed  the  chickens;  and  he,  !n    "  „  £,  ZS»l\    V       v    J  GreenWOod' Peehe  did,  but  it  wouldn't  answer  for  them  to  do  a, 
ht  he  knew  just  the  way  you  always  call^'ng  °leT  *j*  m"g  of  water"    He  was  ans*vered  on  other  way,  and  they  all  make  believe  they  think  Li 
them  :  '  chick,'  '  chick.'  '  chick.'     Hr>.  ™«  L  *r«7\  by  a  oroad  smile. 

Your  Uncle    Thomas    came    home    from   Ne 


coin  is  a  dreadful  wicked  man. 
I  wouldn't  wear    a    'Cession 


iully  conceited  fellow,  who  thought  himself  so        "Your  Uncle    Thomas    came    home    from   Ne     "I  wouldn't  wear   a    'Cession  cockade  if  the 
•l' -ver  and  cunning  that  he  could  do  anything,  and^  Orleans  last  night,  didn't  he  ?"  asked  Mr.  Greenwoo roasted  me,  I  know  I  wouldn't!"  exclaimed  Phinn 
he  concluded  that  he  could  make  the  call  just  as^     Creeper  nodded  as  a  horse  might  do  if  he  want<ind'gnantly. 
you  did.     ^o  this  was  the  plan  he  formed,  that  he    more  length  of  c.hfi^.rAin  '     "  You  mi 


d  call— chick,  chick,  chick;  and  when  the 
kin s  you  had  come  to  feed  the  fowls,1 
flings  over  to  breakfast  in  the 

.y-yard,  he  would  spring  upon  her  from  be- 
hind the  bushes,  and  carry  her  off  to  his  den  to 

ur  her.  He  was  so  pleased  with  this  thought 
that  lie  waved  his  bushy  tail  to  and  fro,  and  his 
mouth  watered,  and  he  licked  his  jaws  with  his 
tongue. 

"Well,  his  plan  was  all  very  good  ;  but  when  he 
tried  lo  work  it,  don't  you  see?  he  could  no  more 
call  '  chick,"  x  chick,'  than  you  can  sing  like  the 
canary.  '  Cr-r-ock,  cr-r-ock,'  he  barked,  and  it 
sounded  so  much  like  his  own  natural  voice  that 
she  duck  fluttered  in  the  water,  quite  alarmed,  and 
zlanccd  fearfully  around;  but  as  she  saw  no  fox, 
die  soon  went  on  again  with  her  dashing  and 
livin  ~ 


inquired  Mr.  Greenwood. 
"Don't  know,"  was  the  reply. 
Now  he  didn't  mean  he  leally  did  not  know,  on 


ght  change  your  mind  when  you  came  ir 
.sight  of  the  fire,"  returned  his  more  experience 


"What  does  he  say  about  things  down  South 'slght  of  ,he  nre'"  ret"™ed  his  more  experience 
cmired  Mr.  Greenwood  sister.     "  Don't  you  remember  what  a  fuss  you  mad 


when  you  burnt  your  hand  in  the  tea  kettle  steam  last 
week  ?" 
"That's  nothing,"  Phinny  answered,  "I  \ 


—     _ —  .„_„_,    „....  _v  „.„„„,  „„         -  j. riot  o    miming,        j.  uiuuy     oilswerBU,    "1     WdSI 

this  was  the  way  Creeper  had  a  habit  of  answering  being  burnt  for  anything  I  had  said  then.  Now  the 
and  that  wasn't  really  his  name,  either — he  w  are  ever  so  many  pictures  in  my  grandmother's  gret 
named  Thomas,  for  his  uncle,  only  everybody  call*  martyr  book  of  people  burning  to  death  for  their  rel 
him  Cieeper.  gi°n.  and  grandmother  said  some  of  them  could  hav 

Pretty  soon  he  said,  "  I  want  to  know  if  Phlm  saved  ^^  Uves  by  Just  making  a  cross  on  their  for 
can  go  blueberrying  in  the  hill  pasture  along  wi hea''8  and  bowir,g>  and  they  wouldn't  do  it." 
me  "  Creeper  began  to  have  misgivings,  but  he  wa> 

anxious  to  defend  his  uncle,  and  after  thinking  awhile 
he  said,  "It  was  different  about  the  martyrs.    Uncle 


He  meant  Anna,  though  he  said  Phinny— but  th< 


it  made  no  difference,  for  Phinny  never  went  anbesaid'  "  It  was  different  about  the  martyrs.  Unci 
where  without  Anna,  if  he  could  help  it.  Phin  Tom  didn't  deny  his  religion,  and  I  don't  expect  h 
spoke  up  directly,  "  Yes,  we'll  go  as  soon  as  we  fini  would  do  that." 

-   u~3im,s  o„u    breakfast,  can't  we,  mother?"    Mother  had  no  objd     "Well,"  returned    Phinny  sturdily,   "my  graud- 

Y"l":      xV   ,  .  .     ,      ,  J  tion,  so  in  time  the  children  started,  each  with  a  tl  mother  says  there  can't  anything  make  it  right  to  te 

When  the  fox  saw  his  plan  had  failed,  he  almost  '  pail,  in  high  spirits,  and  then  Creeper  Gant's  bashfo  a  lie-" 

Creeper  could  think  of  nothing  to  say  to  this,  for  h. 

h  was  troubled  by  what  the  children  had  said,  and  ye 

•f  veiv  g'ad  Uncle  Tom  was  safely  home  again.    So  he 

made  no  reply,  but  turned  with  great  havoc  upon  a 

blueberry  bush  at  some  distance,  while  Anna  went  o 

•es.  jl  awa"ulng  her  Pai]'  arid  silently  wondering  in  her  mind 

anyhow  if  he  hadn't  talked  all  the  time  on  the  side  rCreeper's  Uncle  Tom  had  never  heard  this  saying  of 

the  South  and  made  tfllm  believe  he  thought  just  aveiy  wise  and  rich  king,  "  And  a  poor  man  is  bett 

they  did,"  sagely  returned  the  namesake  of  Uncie  romt,nan  a  liar." 


rjrowled  out  loud  with  disappointment,  but  was 
ifraid  to  make  a  noise  because  he  did  not  want  the 

set  himself  to  think- 


ness  all  left  him  and  his  power  of  speech  returned. 

"  Uncle  Tom  didn't  bring  me  a  single  thing  th 
time,"  he  said  ;  "  he  couldn't,  he  had  such  an  aw 
bad  time  getting  away." 

"Did  he?"  said  Phinny  solemnly 
Oh  yes.  I  don't  suppose  he  could  have  come  aw 


not    . 

made  us  for  acting  under  a  great  variety  of  cir- 
cumstances, and  in  infinite  wisdom  and  benevo- 
lence has  given  to  man  a  mechanism  of  wonder- 
ful adaptability,  by  which  he  can  live  health- 
fully on  land  or  sea;  in  the  valley  or  on  the 
mountain  top;  in  the  tropics  or  at  the  poles;  on 
the  barren  rock  or  in  the  rich  savannas.    Oar 


Ittis^llanejjus 


Living  by  Rule  — As  if  a  Medo-Persian  law, 
inflexible,  is  very  unwise,  especially  if  a  person 
is  in  reasonable  health.  We  have  given  a  great 
multitude  of  counsels  on  the  subject  of  health 
and  disease,  and  in  connection  with  the  state- 
ment that  we  have  not  lost  an  hour  from  our  of- 
fice, on  account  of  sickness  in  a  quarter  of  a 
century  and  more,  many  have  inquired  with  a 
good  deal  of  interest  "Do  you  live  up  to  the 
rules  you  give  others."  Certainly  not;  man  is 
not  a  machine,  that  must  be  turned  in  a  certain 

direction  or  it  will  be  destroyed ;  nor  like  a  loco-  ,  iall    9o6a  after  a  heari     mcal    h  -      .^  -j 

motive  winch  must  run  on  one  fixed   track ,  or      g  di,e/tive  orgaoS)  and  .&*  of  t'ho  food; ^1 
t    run   at   all.    The  Architect  of  all  worlds  ^  ^  QQ  the  g^f  „in  ot-  the  My>  near  the'h™£. 

bone,  compresses  it,  ani  aires  t*  the  flow  of  the 
blood  more  or  less.  If  the  arrest  is  partial  the 
sleep  is-  disturbed,  and  there  are  unpleasant 
dreams.  If  the  meal  has  been  recent  and  hearty 
the  arrest  is  more  decided ;  and  the  various  sensa- 
tions, such  as  falling  over  a  precipice,  or  the  pnr- 


Posjtion.in  &LEEWSG-  It  is.  better  to  go  to 
sleep  on  the  right  side,  for  then  the  stomach  is 
very  much  in  the  position  of  a  botde  turned  up- 
side Cown,  anibthe  c&ntents  of  it  are  aided  in 
passing  out  by  gravitation.  If  one  goes  to  sleep 
on  the  left  side  the  operation  of  emptying  the 
*  stomach  of  its  contents  is  more  like  drawing  wa- 
ter from  a  well.  After  eoing  to  sleep  let  the  body 
take  its  own  position.    If  you  sleep  on  your  tack, 


i  suit  of  a  wild  beast,  or  other  impending  danger.  \ 
modes  of  life   must    be   adapted   to    our   age   J  aad  thft  desDexate  fffort  t0  get  rid  of  it,  arolses  ! 
oar     occupation     and     the     peculiarities     of  -  U8  and  Mndli  on  the  gtagnati ng  blood :  and  we  i 
our   constitution.      There  are  certain  general     wake  ia  ft  frighti  or  trembling  or  perspiration,  or 
principles  which   are  applicable  to  all.    Every  /  fee]i       exhaustion,  according  to  the  degree  of 
man  should  be  regular  m  his  habits  of  eating;  (  9tagD|tion  and  the  iength  j^  strength  of  the 
should  have  all    the   sound  sleep  which  nature     efforts  made  to  escape  the  danger.    BuF,  whenw^ 
will  take;  should  be   in  the  open  air  an  hour  or     ainiU)t  aWe  t0  escape  the  danger— when  we  do 

fall  o-ver  the  precipice — when  the  tumbling  buiM- 
ing  crushes  us— what  then?  That  is  death  t 
That  is  the  death  of  those  of  whom  it  is  said, 
whe»  found  lifeless  in  the  morning — "That  they 
were  as  well  as  they  ever  were  the  day  before;" 
and  often  it  is  added,  "and  ate  heartier  than  corn- 


two  every  day,  when  practicable,  and  should 
have  a  pleasurable  and  encouragingly  remuner- 
ative occupation,  which  keeps  him  a  little  push- 
ed, and  they  are  happiest  who  are  in  this  last 
category;  at  the  same  time,  if  a  man  accustoms 
himself  to  go  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock,  he  need  not 
break  his  neck  or  get  into  a  stew  if  circumstan- 
ces occur  to  keep  him  up  an  hour  or  tvvo  later, 
now  and  then;  and  so  with  eating,  exercise  and 
many  other  things.   No  one  ought  to  make  him 


monl"  This  last,  as  a  frequent  cause  of  death  to 
those  who  have  gone  to  bed  to  wake  no  more,  we 
give  merely  as  a  private  opinion.  The  possibility 
A  of  its  truth  is  enouah  to  deter  any  rational  man 


self  a  galley  slave  to  any  observance;  occasional;-  from  a  late  and  hearty  meal>    This  we  do  k 


deviations  from  all  habits  are  actually  beneficial; 
»tney  impart  a  pliability  to  the  constitution,  give 
it  a  greater  range  of  healthful  action.  Don't  go 
into  a  fit  if  dinner  is  not  ready  at  the  instant. 
Deliver  us  from  a  machine  man,  a  routinist, 
"for  which  we  ever  pray." — Hall's  Journal  os 
Health. 

Two  Meals  a  Day. — If  any  man  or  woman 
of  forty-five  or  over,  not  engaged  in  hard  natur- 
al labor,  especially  the  studious,  sedentery  and 
indoor  livers,  would  take  but  two  meals  a  day 
for  one  month,  the  second  being  not  later 
than  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  absolutely 
nothing  afterwards,  except  it  might  be  in  some 
cases  an  orange  or  lemon,  or  cup  of  warm  drink, 
such  as  tea,  broma,  sugar-water,  or  ice  cream, 
there  would  be  such  a  change  for  the  better  in  7 
the  way  of  sounder  sleep,  a  feeling  on  waking  of 
having  rested,  an  appetite  lor  breakfast,  a  buoy- 
ance  of  disposition  during  the  day,  with  a  genial- 
ity of  temper  and  manner  that  few,  except  the 
animal  and  the  glutton,  would  be  willing  to  go 
back  to  'he  flesh  p  ts  of  Egypt 


win  certainty,  that  waking  np  in  the  night  with 
painful  diarrhoea,  or  cholera,  or  bilious  cholic, 
ending  in  death  in  a  very  short  time,  is  properly 
traceable  to  a  late  large  meal.  The  truly  wise 
will  take  the  safe  side.  For  persons  who  eat 
three  times  a  day,  it  is  amply  sufficient  to  make 
the  last  meal  of  cold  bread  and  butter  and  a  cup 
of  some  warm  drink.  No  one  can  starve  on  it; 
while  a  perseverance  in  the  habit  soon  begets  a 
vigorous  appetite  f«r  breakfast,  so  promising  of  a 
day  of  comfort. — Hall's  Journal  of  Health. 


Importance  of  Presence  of  Mind. — 1.  If 
a  man  faints  place  him  flat  on  his  back  and  let 
him  alone. 

2.  If  any  poison  is  swallowed,  drink  instantly 
half  a  glass  of  cool  water,  with  a  heaping  tea- 
spoonful  each  of  common  salt  and  ground  mus-  k 
tard  stirred  into  it;  this  vomits  as  soon  as  it 
reaches  the  stomach;  but  for  fearsome  of  the 
poison  might  remain,  swallow  the  whites  of  one 


.  X  or  two  raw  eggs,  or  drink  a  cup  of  strong  coffee, 
♦♦Ben  Wade;    as  he  is  familiarly  called,  one  of  5  theso  two  being  antidotes  for  a  greater  number 
the  political  lions  of  the  west,  has  taken  but  two    '0f  poisons  than  any  dozen  other  a  tides  known, 
meals  a  day  for  twenty  years;  and  if  all  seden-     Wjtll  tD0  advantage  of  their  always   being  at 


tary  persons,  those  who  are  in-doors  a  greater 
part  of  their  time,  wou  d,  after  the  age  of  forty- 
five,  observe  the  same  inflexible  rule,  there  can 
be  no  doubr,  other  things  being  equal,  that  long 
years  of  happy  exemption  from  the  ordinary  ills 
of  life  wou!d  be  the  result.  The  reason  is  that 
the  stomach  would  have  time  to  rest;  for  recu- 
peration, and  would  thus  be  able  to  perform  its 
part  more  thoroughly,  making  purer  blood,  giv- 
ing better  sleep  and  securing  a  go  id  appetite  for 
breakfast.  Let  any  man  try  it  lor  ten  days,  tak- 
ing the  second  meal  seven  hours  after  the  first, 
aud  abandon  the  practice  if  he  can.— Hall's 
Journal  of  Health. 


hand;  if  not,  a  pint  of  sweet  oil,  or  lamp  oil,  or 
"drippings,"  or  melted  butter,  or  lard,  are  good 
substitutes,  especially  if  they  vomit  quickly. 

3.  The  best  thing  to  stop  the  bleeding  of  a 
>  moderate  cut  instantly,  is  to  cover  it  profusely 

with  cob-web,  flour  and  salt,  half  and  half. 

4.  If  the  blood  comes  from  a  wound  by  jets  or 
spirts,  be  spry,  or  the  man  will  die  in  a  few  min- 
utes, because  an  artery  is  severed;  tie  a  hand- 
kerchief loosely  around,  near  the  part  between 
the  wound  and  the  heart;  put  a  stick  between 
the  handkerchief  and  the  skin  and  twist  it 
around  until  the  blood  ceases  to  flow;  keep  it 
there  until  the  doctor  comes;  if  in  a  position 
where  the  handkerchief  cannot  be  used,  press 
the  thumb  on  a  spot  near  the  wound,  between 

— the  wound  and  the  heart;    increase  the  pressure  ' 

^Causes  of  Sudden  Deaths—  Verv  few  of>  until  the  bleeding  ceases,  but  do  not  lessen  the 
the  sudden  deaths  which  are  said  to  arise  from  "'pressure  for  an  instant  before  the  physician  ar- 
diseases  of  the  heart  do  really  arise  from  that  /-rives,  so  as  to  glue  up  the  wound  by  coagulation 
cause.  To  ascertain  the  real  origin  of  sudden  J/ or  cooling  of  the  hardening  blood, 
death,  an  experiment  has  been  tried  in  Europe,  ~  5-  It  your  clothing  takes  fire  slide  the  hands 
on  I  rcoorted  to  a  scientific  congress  held  at  down  the  dress,  keeping  them  as  close  to  the 
Strasbourg.    Sixty-six  cases  of  sudden  deaths     body  as  possible,  at  the  same  time  sinking  to  the 


vere  found  who  died  of  disease  of  the  0i  f ea  neauway  gotten,  t.e  a. 
leart.  Nine  out  of  the  sixty-six  had  died  ?a,ul  r0  1  om*  aml  ,over;  J?*,1 
torn  apoplexv,  while  there  were  forty-six  'yourself  in  a  carpet,  rug,  bed-c 
uses    of    of  "congestion   of    the    lungs-that    mcn<  vou  can   get   hold   of,  al 


he 
from 

cases    of    of    con 

is,  the  lungs  were  so  full  of  blood  they 
could  not  work,  there  not  being  room  enough 
for  a  sufficient  quantity  of  air  to  enter  to 
support  life.  The  causes  that  produce  conges- 
tion of  the  lungs  are  cold  feet,  tight  clothing, 
costive  bowels,  sitting  still  until  chilled  after  be- 
ing wanned  with  labor  or  a  rapid  walk,  going 
too  suddenly  from  a  close,  heated  room,  into  the 

cold  air,  especially  after  speaking,  and  sudden    '«?>««  ieaf  I01'  V.l"y:8lV,wSJ  memiV 
depressing  news  operating  on  the°blood.    These    ^ink  largely  of  cold  water  Qr  hot  teas   and  ex- 
causes  of  sudden  death  being  known,  an  avoid-    *^^  *fc^^Jf^  *°  «JSJ*  ?L*  R^ 

save 
1*ne  l3  myriads  of  lives  every  year"  both  in  the  city  and 


better,    envelope 
cloth,  or  any  gar- 
ways  preferring 
woolen, 

C.  If  the  body  Is  .tired,  rest;  if  the  brain  is 
tired,  sleep. 

7.  If  the  bowels  are  loose,  lie  die  down  in  a 
warm  bed,  remain  there  and  eat  nothing  until 
you  arc  well. 

8.  If  the  action  of  the  bowels  does  not  occur 
at  the  usual  hour,  eat  not  an  atom  until  they  do 
act,  at  least  for  tbirty-sixjiours;  meanwhile. 


ance  of  them  may  serve  to  lengthen  many  valua-  P.crspiration;  and  keep  this  up  until  things 
buflives,  which i  would  otherwise  be  lost  under  S^tedj  !lnfr!"S?cstl°^,/_P,ra(:llcPd^ou.,.d 
the  verdict  of  heart  complaint 


supposed  to  be  inevitable,  hence  many  may  not  counni7:  ..       ,     .        ,.  .        ...  ., 

take  the pains  they  ought  to  avoid  sudden  death  ,  9-  1  be  three  best  medicines  in  the  world   are 
if  they  knew  it  lay  in  their  power.  ^/feS«*  ^  rc^se~HaUs  Jour' 


nal  of  Health. 


Uses  of  Ice  —To  drink  any  ice-cold  liquid  at 
meals  retards  digestion,  chills  "the  body,  aud  has 
been  known  to  induce  the  most  dangerous  inter- 
nal congestions.  On  the  other  hand,  ice  itself 
may  be  taken  as  freely  as  possible,  not  only  with- 
out injury  but  with  the  most  striking  advantage 
in  dangerous  forms  of  disease.  If  broken  in  sizes 
of  a  pea  or  bean,  and  swallowed  as  freely  as  prac- 
ticable, without  much  chewing  or  crushing  be- 
tween the  teeth,  it  will  often  be  efficient  in  check- 
ing various  kinds  of  diarrhoea,  and  has  cured 
violent  cases  of  Asiatic  cholera.  A  kind  of  cushr 
ion  of  powdered  ice  kept  to  the  entire  scalp,  has 
allayed  violent  inflammations  of  the  brain,  and 
arrested  fearful  convulsions  induced  by  too  much 
blood  there.  Water,  as  cold  as  ice  can  make  it, 
applied  freely  to  the  throat,  neck  and  chest,  with 
a  sponge  or  cloth,  very  often  affords  an  almost 
miraculous  relief,  and  if  this  be  followed  by  drink- 
ing copiously  of  the  same  ice-cold  element,  the 
wetted  parts  wiped  dry,  and  the  child  be  wrapped 
up  well  in  the  bsd-clothes,  it  falls  into  a  delightful 
aud  life-giving  slumber.  All  inflammations,  in- 
ternal or  external,  are  promptly  subdued  by  the 
application  of  ice  or  ice  water,  because  it  is  con- 
verted into  steam  and  rapidly  conveys  away  the 
extra  heat,  and  also  diminishes  the  quantity  of 
blood  in  the  vessels  of  the  part.  A  piece  of  ice 
laid  on  the  wrist  will  often  arrest  violent  bleeding 
of  the  nose.— Hull's  Journal  of  Health. 

Summer  Excursions  —Get  in  the  first  place 
the  requisite  funds,  alter  having  paid  the  news- 
man, the  milkman,  the  butcher,  the  grocer,  the 
tailor,  and  the  dress-maker  the  very  last  cent  due; 
for  summer  is  a  hard  time  for  them  all,  by  reason 
of  the  .general  decrease  of  business,  and  how 
could  you  enjoy  anything  justly  with  money 
which  belongs  to  them?  Our  wives  and  daugh- 
ters lose  three  fourths  of  the  pleasures  of  summer 
travel  by  the  inexcusable,  the  execrable  perversion 
of  true  taste  and  common  sense,  in  dressing  for  a 
rail  car  or  a  steamboat  as  if  they  were  going  to  a 
ccurt  reception.  It  does  not  seem  that  they  have 
any  more  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  than  idiots. 
Cannot  some  few  gentlemen  have  their  own  way 
for  once,  and  thereby  set  the  fashion  by  dressing 
in  the  families  for  a  summer  travel  in  plain,  sub- 
stantial garments,  allowing  no  member  anything 
beyond  what  a  small  carpet-bag  would  contain, 
and  which  should  be  the  sole  article  which  each 
one  was  to  take  care  of.  Let  us  all  "put  ourselves 
upon  our  behavior,"  and  not  on  our  dress.  To 
children  and  young  people,  spending  the  summer 
in  the  country  may  be  made  highly  advantageous  ; 
but  it  is  questionable  whether  those  who  have 
passed  forty-five  are  not  better  off  in  their  own 
homes  in  the  city,  enjoying  their  undisturbed  rou- 
tine, and  the  quiet  comfort  which  attaches  to 
sameness  at  the  change  to  the  down  hill  of  life. 
To  such,  an  excursion  for  a  day  or  two  has  its 
advantages;  but  beyond  that,"  it  is  for  the  most 
part,  ordinarily,  a  penance  and  a  bore,  unless  in 
the  few  cases  where  a  'home"  in  town  can  be  ex- 
changed for  a  "home"  in  the  country. 

Hall's  Journal  of  Health. 

During  the  damp  and  cold  season  defficient 
dress  of  the  teet  and  legs  is  a  fruitful  source 
of  disease.  The  head,  throat,  aud  liver,  are 
perhaps  the  most  frequent  sufferers. 

The  U-gs  and  feet  are  far  from  the  central 
part  of  the  body.  They  are  not  in  great 
mass,  like  the  trunk,  but  extended  and  envel- 
oped by  the  atmosphere.  Besides,  they  are 
near  the  damp,  cold  earth. 

For  these  and  other  reasons,  they  require 
extra  covering.     It  we  would  secure  the  high-" 
est   physiological    conditions,    we  must  give 
our  extremities   more   dress    than    the    body. 
We  men  wear   upon  our  lungs,  in  the  coldest; 
season,  but  two  thicknesses    of  cloth.     The 
body  has   at  least  six.     Women  put  on  them 
four  thicknesses  under  the  shawl,  which,  with'' 
its  various  doubling,  furnishes  several  more — 
then  over  all  thick,  padded  furs;   while  their 
legs  have  one  thickness  of  cotton  under  a  bal mo- 
ral.    They  constantly  come  to  me  about  their 
headache,  palpitation  oi  the  heart,  and  conges- 
tion of  the  liver.     Yesterday,  one  said  to  me, 
"All  my  blood  is  in  my  head  and  chest.  My  head  - 
goes  bumpety-buuip,  my  heart  goes  bumpety- 
bump."      I    asked,  "How    are    your    feet?" 
"Chunks  of  ice,"  she  replied.     I  said   to  her,  - 
"If  you  so  dre:-s  your  feet  and    legs    thai    the 
blood  can't  get  dowi  into  them,  where    can  it 
go!     It  can't  go  out  visiting.     It  mi; 
the  system  somewhere.     Of  course,  tin"   iu.uJ 
and  chest  must  have   an  excessive    q>i,u 
So  they  go  'bumpety-bump.'and  so  they  must 
go,  until  you  dress  your  legs  and  (in  1  in  such 
a  way  that  they   shall  get  their   share    of  the  ! 
blood.     In  the  coldest  season    of  the  year,  1 
leave  Boston  for  a  bit  of  a  tour  before  the  iy- 
ceums — going    as    far  as     Philadelphia,    and  = 
riding  much  in  the  night  without  an  overcoat ; 
but  1  give  my  legs    two    or   tnree  times  their 
usual    dress.     During    the    coldest    weather, 
men    may    wear,   in    addition   to   their    usual 
drawers,  i  pair  of   chain. ■>>  skin  drawers  with 
great  advantage.     When  we   ride  in  a  sleigh, 
or  in  the  ears,  where  d  1    we    sutler?     In   our 
legs,    of    course.       Give    1110  warm   legs    and 
feet,  and  I'll  hardly  thank  you   for   an    over- 
coat. 


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Ventilation  and  Consumption.— A  phys- 
ician of  lone:  practice  writes  respecting  pulmona- 
ry affections: 

The  lungs  are  made  to  breathe  cokl  as  well  as 
warm  air— indeed,  air  of  any  temperature  from 
zero  to  one  hundred  degrees  Fahrenheit,  just  as 
the  face  is  made  to  bear  exposure  to  the  exter- 
nal atmosphere.  How  could  the  lungs  be  pro- 
tected? if  they  require  protection,  which  they  do 
not.  Domestic  animals  that  live  out  in  theopen 
air  winter  and  summer  are  freer  from  colds 
than  those  that  live  in  warm  stables,  and  men 
who  are  much  exposed,  and  constantly  breathe 
air  at  low  temperature,  are  less  liable  to  colds 
and  influenza  than  those  who  live  constantly  in 
warm  rooms.  All  who  have  horses  .ire  aware 
that  to  keep  a  stable  warm  is  the  surest  wav  for 
the  inmates  to  suffer  from  constant  colds. 

1  may  utontion  two  facts  that  aptly  illustrate 
the  evils  of  defective  ventilation.  Some  years 
ago  lwas  riding  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland 
with  a  local  proprietor,  when  we  came  upon  a 
village  of  well  built  stone  houses  with  slated 
roofs,  which  strongly  contrasted  with  the  miser- 
able shanties  or  hovels  generally  met  with.  On 
my  complimenting  him  on  his  rebuiltjvillage,  he 
told  me  that  he  had  acted  for  the  best  in  erecting 
these  good  weather-proof  houses  for  his  tenants, 
but  that,  singular  to  relate,  they  had  proved 
more  unhealthy  than  the  miserable  dwellings 
which  their  occupants  previously  inhabited.  Fe- 
ver and  other  diseases  had  proved  rife  among 
the  latter.  On  examination  I  found  that  the  win- 
dows were  fastened  and  never  opened;  and  I 
have  no  doubt  that  their  comparative  un healthi- 
ness was  in  reality  owing  to  their  being  quite 
weather-tight,  and  consequently  unventilated. 
In  the  miserable  hovels  they  previously  inhabit- 
ed, if  the  rain  of  heaven  came  in,  so  did  the  pure 
air. 

The  other  fact  is  narrated  by  Professor  Hind 
in  a  recent  interesting  work  on  Labrador.  Con- 
sumption appears  to  be  all  but  unknown  to  the 
natives  living  wild  in  the  fastnesses  of  this  des- 
olate region,  in  tents  made  of  spruce  branches 
imperfectly  lined  with  skins,  and  more  or  less 
exposed  on  all  sides  to  the  external  air,  although 
they  are  exposed  to  famine  and  every  species  °of 
hardship.  But  when  these  same  natives  come 
down  to  the  St,  Lawrence  to  take  a  part  in  the 
fisheries,  occupy  well-built  houses,  and,  being 
well  paid,  live  iu  comparative  luxury,  most  of 
them  in  the  course  of  a  year  or  two  become  con- 
sumptive  and  die  miserably,  I  am  fullv  impress- 
ed with  the  idea  that  the  development  of  the  dis- 
ease under  these  circumstances  is  the  result  of 
their  living  in  close  houses  in  a  vitiated  atmos- 
phere, as  it  no  doubt  is  in  our  own  towns, 


Treatment  of  Sunstroke.  As  we  have 
again  reached  the  season  wiien  many  deaths 
are  occurring  from  excessive  heat,  the  follow- 
ing suggestions  of  an  intelligent  and  experi- 
enced  physician  of  Philadelphia  in  regard  to 
the  treatment  of  cases  of  sunstroke  are  worth 
preserving : 
Jn  every  instance  where  a  person  is  found 

Kwfi  m  tbe  8treei  onall<>t  day,  the  first 
thing  Is  to  remove  the  person  to  as  cool  and 
»h<sdy  a  place  as  can  be  found,  and,  it  possi- 
pie,  to  where  a  draugnt  ot  air  is  blowing  at 
the  time.  Bystanders  and  naere#nrious  idlers 
Simula  og  kept  trom  crowding  around.  The 
next  is  to  send  m  all  directions  lor  a  doctor  or  * 
a  skilled  apothecary.  But  as  it  frequently  ~ 
happens  that  neither  a  doctor  nor  an  apothe- 
cary can  be  had  in  time,  those  who  take  charge 
ofthetmffererer  snould  know  how  to  act  fjr 
they  may  save  life.  For  their  information 
the.  following  treatment  is  suggested  : 

They  should  understand  that  there  are  two 
morbid ,  condition*,  resulting  from  excessive 
neat.  Thtse  differ  somewhat  in  thei'  symp- 
toms, and  require  a  somewhat  different  treat- 
ment. The  nrst  ot  these  occur  during  hot 
weather,  alter  undue  exerton  on  the 
part  01  the  person  thus  affected.  The 
man  is  iamt,  perhaps  unable  to  move, 
though  be  can  generally  be  roused-  he 
has  a  tteble  pulse  and  a  cool  and  moist  nk\n. 
Here  there  is  simply  a  loss  of  nervous  power 
and  reuef  is  promptly  afforded  oy  removing 
him  to  a  cool,  shady  place,  applying  cold  wa- 
ter or  ice  to  th«  nead,  and  administering  iced 
brandy  and  water,  iced  wine  and  water,  or 
other  btiaiuiant.  Iu  the  other  and  more  fatal 
form  of  this  affeeti  on,  a  different  set  of  symn. 
toms  show  themselves.  Here  the  patient  sud- 
denly tails  to  the  ground,  completely  uncon- 
scious.  his  skin  is  pungently  botaud  dry  his 
breathing  hurried,  convulsions  are  not  un- 
common,  and  it  proper  treatment  be  not 
promptly  resorted  to,  oeatli  hoou  takes  place 
in  this  oase,  also,  the  patient  should  he 
promptly  remove  I  to  a  cool  and  shady  spot, 
perfect  y  private,  so  that  the  crowd  may  be 
keptoff.  His  clolhmg  should  be  stripped  off 
and  his  wfcole  body  should  be  rubbed  with 
ice  from  bead  to  foot,  and  pieces  ot  ice  should 
be  kept  under  the  armpits.  This  should  be 
steadily  persevered  with  until  tne  patient  is 
restored,  or  until  a  doctor  arriees,  or  until  it 
:s  plam  that  the  case  is  bevoad  lecoverv 
This  ticatmeut  has  been  founi  to  be  so  <»mi- 
nently  successlul  by  one  ot  our  best  physi- 
i;lac8  ,h:  justified  i,i  saymir.  trorjj 

his  own  knowledge  ana  observation,  tint  it 
ai  plied  promptly  iecover>   ia  aloiost  certain. 


/? 


An  East  Chair.— A  delightfully  easy  sewing 
chair  can  be  made  in  a  few  hours  from  an  old 
cane  seat  chair,  from  which  the  canes  have  been 
broken  away,  by  sawing  off  the  front  legs  about 
two  inches,  the  back  ones  three  or  four;  tack  a 
bit  of  old  strong  carpeting,  canvas,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind  across  the  seat;  make  a  cur- 
tain of  an  old  small-figured  dress  or  of  pretty 
print,  fasten  it  to  fall  around  the  sides  of  the 
chair,  fit  a  cushion  to  the  back  and  one  to  the 
seat,  cover  it  with  the  same,  and  yon  will  have 
a  comfortable  and  pretty  chair  in  which  you 
can  rest  while  you  work.  This  fashion  of  chair 
—in  the  particular  of  having  the  seat  slope 
backwards  a  little  was  the  invention  of  a  friend 
of  mine  suffering  from  a  prolonged  illness.  Rock- 
ing chairs  did  not  suit;  she  grew  tired  of  them 
even  faster  than  in  an  ordinary  chair,  and 
lounges  were  no  better,  while  in  this  chair,  man- 
ufactured ander  her  superintendence,  by  a  broth- 
er, she  found  just  what  she  desired.  Chairs  and 
rocking-chairs,  as  ordinarily  made,  give  no  sup- 
port *o  the  back  below  the  shoulders,  and  thereby 
tend  to  make  a  person  round-shouldered  by 
throwing  them  forward;  a  chair  made  in  this 
way,  on  tbe  contrary,  allows  a  person  to  sit, 
giving  support  to  the  small  of  the  back,  in  which 
case  the  shoulders  will  look  out  for  themselves.and 
instead  of  being  placed  in  an  unnatural  position 
with  the  support  in  the  wroag  p'ace  entirely,  you 
will  find  yourself  just  right  in  all  respects,  and 
will  rest  in  your  chair  almost  as  well  as  in  lying 
down. 


Checking  Perspiration—  Facts  which  Ev- 
erybody Ought  to  Uaow. 
Edward  Everett  became  overheated  in  testify- 
ing in  a  court-room,  went  to  Faneuil  Hall,  which 
was  cold,  sat  in  a .draught  of  air  until  his  turn 
cam- to  speak:  "But  my  hauls  and  feet  were 
ice,  my  lungs  on  fire.  In  this  condition  I  ha  1  to 
go  and  spend  three  hours  in  fc'oa  court-room." 
He  died  in  less  than  a  week  from  thus  checkin / 
the  perspiration.  •  It  was  enough  to  kill  any 
man. 

Professor  Mitchell,  while  in  a  state  of  perspira- 
tion in  yellow  (ever,  the  eriainsign  of  recovery, 
left  his  bed,  went  into  another  room,  became 
chilled  in  a  moment,  and  died  the  same  night. 
If  while  perspiring,  or  while  warmer  than  usual 
from  exercise  or  heated  room,  there  is  a  sudden 
exposure  to  still,  cold  airy  to  raw  damp  atmos- 
phere, or  to  a  draught,  waetaer  at  an  open  win- 
dow or  door,  or  street  corner,  the  inevitable  re- 
sult is  a  violent  and  instantaneous  closing  of  the 
>;' the  skin,  by  which  waste  and  Impure 
t,  which  were  making  their  way  out  of  the 
system,  aiv  compelled  to  seek  an  exit  through 
some  weaker  part.  The  idea  is  presented  by 
saj  in;;  that  the  cold  had  settled  in  that  part.  To 
illustrate: 

ly  was  about  getting  into  a  small  boat  to 

cr  '  ■  ■  the  Delaware;  but  wishing  first  to  get  an 

at  a  fruit-stand,  she  ran  up  the  banks  of 

•  the  river,  and  on  her  return   to  the  boat  found 

herself  much  heated.  for.  it  was  summer;  but 

a  little  wind  on  the  water  and  her 

clothes    soon    felt    cold,    which    settled  on  her 

1  n  s,  and  within  the  year  she  died  of  consump- 

A  Boston  ship-owner,  while  on  the  deck  of  one 
of  his  resscls,  thou  ;ht  he  would  lend  a  h  \m\  in 
some  em  srgency,  and  pullis  r  offhiscoat  worked 
with  a  will,  until  he  perspired  freely,  when  he 
sat  to  r  enjoying  the  delicious  breesse 

from  the  sea.  On  attempting  to  rise  b 
himself  unable,  and  was  so  stiff  in  his  joints  that 
he  had  to  be  carried  home  and  put  to  be  1,  which 
he  did  not  leave  until  the  end  of  two  months, 
whan  he  was  barely  able  to  hobble  down  to  the 
wharf  on  crnthes. 

A  lady,  after  being  unusually  busy  all  day, 
found  h  ;  •  tif  b  m.  •  i  and  tired  towards  sundown 
ot"  a  summer's  day.  She  concluded  to  take  a 
drive'  to  town  in  an  open  vehicle.  The  ride 
male  her  uncomfortably  cool,  but  she  warmed 
herself  up  by  an  how's  Bhopplng,  when  she 
turned  homeward;  it  being  late  in  the  evening 
she  (band  herself  lly  chilly  than  be- 

fore. At  midnight  she  had  pneumonia  (incarna- 
tion of  the  lungs)  and  iu  three  months  she  had 
the  ordinary  .symptoms  of  confirmed  consump- 
tion. 

A  la  ly  of  great  energy  of  character  lost  her 
cook,  and -had  to  take    her  place  for  four  days; 
the  kitchen  was  warm  and  there  was  a  draught 
of  air   through    it.     When  the    work  was  done, 
Ac,  warm  and  weary,  went  to  her  chamber,  and 
laid  down  on  the  bed  to  is. 
peated  several  tim  s.    On  the  tilth  day  she  had 
an  attack  oflungfever;  al  the  end  oJ  six  months 
she  was  barely  able  to   leave  her  chamber,  only 
to  and  herself  suffering  with  all  the  prominent 
symptoms  of   confirmed  consumption,    such  as 
quick   pulse,  night  and  morning  cough,   night 
sweats,  debility,  short  breath,  and  fading  away, 
of  women  loscneai'tn'anfi  me'everv 
year,  in  one  or  more  ways,  WBsying  themselves 
in  a  warm  kitchen  until  weary,  and  then  throw- 
on  a  bed  or  sola,  without  cover- 
i  perhaps  in  a  room  without  fire;  or by 
reinoi  ing  the  outer  clothing,  and  perhaps  change 
the  dr ess  for  a  common  one,  as  soon  as  they  en- 
tered the  house  alter  a  walk  or  a  shopping.    The, 
rule  should  be  invariably  to  go   at  once  into  a 
warm  room  and  keep  on  all  the  clothe.;  for  at  least 
five  or  ten  minutes,  until  the  forehei 
dry.     In  all  weathers,  if  you   have  lo  walk  and 
ride  on  any  occasion,  do  the  riding  first. — Hull's 
Journal. 


h  <2f  ♦*«  BEDCHAMBERs.-There  is  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  more  cases  of  dangerous  and  fatal  dis- 
eases are  gradually  engendered  annually  by  the 
habit  of  sleeping  in  small  unventilated  rooms 
than  have  occurred  from  a  cholera  atmosphere  in 

JffiEf   vnCe  "  made  its  aPPearauce  in  this 
country.    Very  many  persons  sleep  in  eight-by- 
ten  rooms;    that  is,  in  rooms  the    length  and 
breadth  of  which  multiplied  again  by  ten  for  the 
height  of  the  chamber  would  make  just  eio-ht 
hundred  cubic  feet,  while  the  cubic  feet  for  each 
bed,  according  to  the  English  apportionment  for 
hospitals,  is  twenty-one  hundred  feet.    Bat  more 
in  order  "to  give  the  air  in  a  sick  room  the  highest 
degree  of  freshness."  the  French  hospitals  "con- 
tract for  the  complete  renewal  of  the  air  of  a 
room  every  hour,  while  the  English  assert  that 
double  the  amount,  or  over  four  thousand  feet  an 
hour,  is  required.    Four  thousand  feet  of  air  an 
hour!  and  yet  there  are  multitudes  who  sleep 
with  closed  doors  and  windows  in  rooms  which 
do  not  contain  a  thousand  cubic  feet  of  space 
and  that  thousand  feet  is  to  last  all  night,  at  least 
eight  hours,  except  such  scanty  supplies  as  may 
be  obtained  of  any  fresh  air  that  may  insinuate 
itself  through  little  crevices  by  door  or  window. 
Multitudes  thus  perish  prematurely  and  infan 
|  children  will  away  like  Sower?  without  water. 
Night   Air   Not   Injurious.— There   is   a 
popular  prejudice  concerning  the  evil  effects  of 
night  air,  about  which  a  word  mm  t  be  said.    In 
her  admirable  writings  on    hviriene    and    the 
management  of  the  sick,  Miss  Nightingale  has 
done  much   to  correct    this    mistake.   '  It  was 
formerly  the  universal  belief  that  the  air  of  nio-ht 
was  very  inj  urious.    But  the  fact  is,  that,  except 
under  certain  circumstances,  it  is  as  healthful 
or  even  more  so,  than  that  of  the  day-time.    The 
night  air  of  large  cities  such  as  London,  when 
the  bustle  and  commotion,  which  cause  it  to  be 
loaded  with  dust    particles,  is    comparatively 
quelled,  and  the  numerous  fires  which  contami- 
nate it  with  their  smoke  are  mostly  extinguished 
is  purer  than  that  of  the  day.    Nothing  conduces 
more  to  healthy  sleep  than  good  ventilation,  and 
no  mode  of  ventilation  surpasses  that  obtained 
by  opening  a  window  at  the  top,  by  which  the 
influence  ot  draught  is  avoided,  while  the  upper 
stratum  of  air,  to  which  impurities  ascend,  is 
constantly  renewed.    But  there  is  still  another 
reason  for  at  times    adopting   night,  even    in 
preference  to  day,  ventilation.    In  sultry  weather 
it  is  a  common  .mistake  to  open  the  windows 
instead  of  keeping  them  altogether  closed,  as  is 
the  case  in  very  hot  climates.    But  a  little  reflec- 
tion will  show  that  since  the  hitfit  of  the  ther- 
mometer in  the  sun  always  jrreatly  exceeds   that 
shown  at  the  same  time  by  another  thermometer 
placed  in  the  shade,  by  opening  the  windows  we 
admit  air  much  heated  into  our  rooms.    The 
propet  time  under  such  circumstances  for  ventila- 
tion is  during  the  nisht,  when  the  external  at- 
mosphere has  cooled  down.     By  adopting  this 
plan  in  hot  weather,  the  temperature  of  a  "room 
may  always  be  kept  several  degrees  lower  than 
ll  the  opposite  course  is  pursued. 

Maxim*  Cftr-  Toan«  readies.  ~'"> 

Never  make  your  appearance  in  the  morning 
without  having  first  bathed;ffonly  with*  a  sponge 
and  a  quart  of  water,  brushed;  and  arranged'  voir 
hair,  and  dressed  yourself  neatly  and  completely 

Keep  your .  clothing,  especially  your  under- 
clothing, ,p .perfcefcorder;    Never  let  pins  do£ 

Mnds  '0r8tRngStafee'  ihe  Place  o£'P*>Per 
Examine  every  garment  when  it  comes  from 

prcSn  aH'ij,ii!!  ncecledi  mcnd  it  with  neatness 
Do  not  sew.up  the  holes  in  your  stockings,  as 

we  have  seen  some  -careless,  untidy  girls  do:  but 

SimJ\brQ£d  m^in  :U'ound  Hie  boie;  be  it 
small  or  large,  with  a  fine  darning-needle  and 
dannng-cottr.Q.and  oovw  the  fraettue  with  an 
interlaced  stitch  so  olo#e  as  to  be  as  stroag  as  the 
body  of  the  stocking,. and  fine  enough  to  be  orna- 
mental. Stockings  manded  in  this  way  need 
darning  bat.  a -very  few  times  in  tin  course  of 
their  existence. 

»  Never  curry  coarse  embroidered  or  laced  hand- 
like  U°  PlaiU!  *I1CS  ar°  much'more  lady- 

Avoid  open-worked;  stockings  and' vrry  fancy 
slippers,  tine,  plaiHi  white  hose,  ead  black  kid 
suppers,  with  only  aiataip  or  rosette  imfront,  are 
more  becoming.  ' 

Tram  .yourself  to.aame  useful  ocoanation.  Eta 
niemoer  it  is.  wiefcad  to  waste  time,  and  nothing 
gives  ny)}  an  Lmnnassion  of  vanity  and  absolute 
silliness,  as  .a  haJnt  <o(  idling  and<  never  havin" 
anything  to  do.  ¥ 

K  yon  are  in  paorfatber'a  hor^e, .take  some  dev 
pai  ment.of  bauacbold  labor  upamyoursolf,  and 
a  pi-tot,  the  i)Ur  bosiwae 

to  ii.tepd  to,  it.     'Xmot  let  a  e?J]  from  thia  idle 
g  ''•  ''?  "»  that,  or  an,  invitation  from 

thc.other,  lntarferw  with  the  performance  o*.  your 

Let  ,yonrr  pleawures  come  fatf  the  recre^aon. 
ipt  as  the  buMteess  of  your  lifeu 

If  you -warn:  t<j  many,  do  iwt-eourt  or  try  to  at- 
tract the i  ottMiilaon  of  gentl  ,aum.  a  little  whole- 
some imbtterewe,  real  or  afsomed,  will  he  much 
nun' likely  tenccompHsi,  ft*  object.  Coupler, 
■  <W.„ that  it  is  better  ri,  be  a  woman,  than  a 
w  !'.Ua  *  ,  *  Pot  degradftyonr  sex  by  making 
\  our  wvjle  existence  tunj,va  the  pivot  of  matn- 

I  If  vojr.  earn,  cultivate  tw>  perfection  some  art  by 
»°*CAyem  can  gain  a»  independent,  livelihood, 
•uoij,,  ^aether  there  is  a  necessity  for  it  ®r  not. 
yo  -pietly,  if  you  m:j.«,  but  do  it.  There  is  no 
'-when,  or  undeir  what  circumstances,  you 
"'  -y  i\ced  it 


R 


EAD!— IT  WILL  TAKE  YOU  BUT  A 
MOMENT. 


Eat  Bread. 

When  beef  is  worth  twenty-five  to  thirty  cents 
per  pound,  potatoes  two  dollars  a  bushel,  and 
other  articles  of  food  in  proportion,  it  becomes  , 

important  to  know  what  possesses  the  most  nutri-  'healthy  blood.     Do  not    be  afraid  ot  out-door 
Xnent,  and  is  at  the  same  time  the  most  economical,    air,  day  or   night.     Do  not  be  afraid  of  sudden 
Without  doubt  that  article  is  bread,  as  the  experi-  changes  of  weather  ;  let  no  change,  hot  or  cold , 
fnce  of  all  who  live  to  man's  estate  abundantly 
"proves.    It  is  the  first  and  almost  the  only  food 
tnown  to  childish  appetites,  and  of  which  children 
©fa  larger  growth  seldom  tire.    A  stronger  argu- 
ment in  favor  of  bread  could  not  be  given,  than 
that  natural,  unsatisfied  longing  for  it — which,  as 
the  horse  craves  oats,  shows  it  to  be  nature's  main 
BHpport. 

As  to  its  nourishing  properties,  it  is  asserted  that 
it  contains  three  times  as  much  meat  as  roast 
beef.  Five  hundred  pounds  of  flour  give  to  the 
body  thirty  pounds  of  the  substance  that  makes 
bones,  while  the  same  quantity  of  bran  gives  one 
hundred  and  twenty  pounds  This  bony  substance 
is  one  of  the  indispensable  elements  of  the  human  you  step  out  of  a  warm  room  into  the  cold  air, 
body,  and  which  is  thought  to  be  imparted  by  and  keep  them  shut  until  you  have  walked 
bread  in  a  greater  degree  than  by  any  other  food,  briskly  a  few  ro  :1s,  and  quickened  the  circula- 
rs to  its  economy,  flour  is  hardly  ever  so  expen-  tion  a  little  .  waik  fast  enough  tr  keep  off  a 
give,  relatively,  as  meat.  Even  at  the  present  time,  f  ,.  f  ohnlne3S,  and  taking  cold  will  be  im- 
ihe  price  of  one  pound  of  meat  would  bay  three-  ..■»  „r,  t  '  ..  *•„.„  nf  tha  „„<,- ; 
pounds  of  flour,  orbread,  and  those  three  pounds  PO«ible.  What  are  the  tacts  of  the  case  , 
of  bread  furnish  as  much  nourishment  to  the  eater  Look  at  a  railway  conductor  going  out  ot  hot , 
as  nine  pounds  of  good  roast  beef.    In  dollars  and  iereiag    coll  of  winter,   and  in  , 

cents,  three  pounds  of  bread  are  worth   about     again,  every  five  or   ten  minutes,  and  yet  they 
twenty-five  cents,  and  nine  pounds  of  beef  are 
worth  two  dollars  and  twenty-five  cents— leaving  a 
balance  of  two  dollars  in  favor  of  the  bread. 

A  person  once  tried  the  experiment,  to  see  how 


Advice  to  Consumptive  Persons.  Eat  all 
ou  can  digest,  and  exercise  a  great  deal  in  the 
pen  air,  to   convert  what   you  eat  into    pure 


.keep  you  in-doors.     If  it  is  rainy  weather,  the 
more  need  of  you  going  out,  because  you  eat  as  ' 
much  on  a  rainy  day  a*  upon  a  clear  day  ;  and  ■ 
if  you  exercise  less,  that  much  more  remains  in  ! 
the  system  of  what  ought  to  be  thrown  off  by  | 
exercise,  and  some  ill  result,  some  consequent 
symptom  or   ill  feeling  is  the  certain  issue.    If 
it  is  cold  out  of  doors,  do  not  muffle  your  nose, 
eyes,  and  mouth  in  furs,  veil,  woolen  comfort- 
ers,   and   the  like;  nature  has    supplied  you 
with  the    best  muffler,  with  the  best  inhaling 
regulator  ;  that  is,  two  lips  :  shut  them  before 


do  not  take  cold  oftener  than  others  ;  you  will 
scarcely  find  a  consumptive  person  in  a  thous- 
and of  them.     It  is  wonderful  how  afraid  con- 


v  a  person  once  tnea  tne  experiment,  to  see  now  ■  le  are  of  cold  air    the  verv  thing 

cheaply  he  could  live  for  a  cerUm  length  of  time,  ;      "F       ,\     *     ,.    m     ,ho  n„i„  nh«t»..i<.  m  « 
and  from  which  food  he  derived  the  most  benefit  ' -nat  would  cure  them,  the  only  obstacle  t< 

at  the  least  cost.    The  result  was — he  lived  for 
thirteen  weeks,  and  ate  three  meals  a  day,  at  a  cost 


of  only  fifty  cents  a  week,  or  six  dollars  and  fifty 
cents  for  the  whole  time,  and  bread  was  his  prin- 
cipal article  of  food.  His  health  was  remarkably 
good  during  that  period,  and  his  fate  was  not  like 
the  horse  that  died  when  his  food  was  reduced  to 
one  oat  per  day.  It  is  but  just  to  state  that  the 
above  experiment  was  made  at  a  time  when  flour 
Was  much  cheaper  than  at  present,  although  the 
relative  difference  in  the  cost  of  articles  now  would 
make  the  test  equally  fair.  The  kind  of  bread 
used  is  not  so  essential,  although  a  certain  portion 
of  meal  mixed  with  the  fine  flour  and  a  little  of 
the  bran  from  which  the  Graham  crackers  are 
made,  added  to  it,  probably  makes  a  more  whole- 
some bread.  The  subject  is  worthy  of  serious 
attention  at  this  or  any  other  time,  as  well  for  the 
benefit  of  health  as  that  of  our  over-taxed  pocket- 
books. 


cure  being  that  they  do  not   get  enough  of  it, 
especially  if  it  is  cold,    when  it  is  known  that 
the  colder  the  purer    it  must  be  ;  yet  if  people 
cannot  go  to   a  hotter  climate,  they  will  make 
an   artificial  one,    and  imprison   themselves  a 
whole  winter  in  a   room,  with  a  temperature 
not  varying  ten  degrees  in  six  months  ;  all  such 
people  die,  and  yet  we  follow  in  their  footsteps. 
If  I  were  seriously  ill  of  consumption  I  would 
live  out  of  doors  day  and  night,  except  it  were 
raining  or  mid-winter :  then   I  would  sleep  in 
an  unplastered    log-house.     My    consumptive 
friends,   you  want  air,    not  physic  ;  you  want 
pure  air,    not  medicated  air ;  you  want  nutri- 
tion,  such  as  plenty   of  meat   and  bread  will 
give,  and   they  alone  ;  physic    has  no  nutri- 
ment ;  gaspings  for    air  cannot  cure  you  ;  and  , 
stimulants  cannot  cure  you.     If   you  want    to 
get  well  go  in  for  beef  and  out-door  air,  and  do 
c  not   be  deluded  into  the  grave  by    advertise- 
ments and  unreliable  certificates. — Dr  Hall. 


Fire  on  the  Hearth.— "A  hard  coayke,  burning 
fiercely,  flat  on  the  hearth  on  a  level  with  the  floor, 
warming  the  feet  delightfully,  with  an  oblong  fire- 
place, nearly  two  feet  acros?,  with  no  blower,  m  dost, 
and  absolutely  no  gas ;  the  ashes  neodlremovmg  but 
once  a  year,  while  by  the  extra  ^eat*  T^re  air  direct 
from  out-dcors,  is  conveyed  to  a  upper  room  without 
the  possibility  of  meeting  with  any  red-hot  metallic 
surface,  or  with  any  corrupting  3urface  whatever— it  i3 
simply  pure  air  warmed.  A  correspondent  who  has 
used  one  of  these  low-down  grates  in  a  room  18  feet 
square,  tor  six  years,  says :  'I  have  never  known  a  day 
that  a  fire  was  made  in  the  morning  was  not  equal  to 
the  day,  no  matter  what  the  temperature  was  outside.' 
To  those  who  dislike  furnace  heat,  and  who  wish  to 
have  at  least  one  room  in  the  house  where  there  are  ab- 
solutely all  the  advantages  of  a  wood  fire— the  oxygen 
which  supplies  the  fire  being  supplied  from  the  cellar, 
and  not  from  the  room  itself— this  open,  low-down, 
easily-regulated  grate,  or  rather  fire-place,  with  its 
large,  broad  bed  of  burning  coals,  or  flaming,  Kentucky 
or  Liverpool  canuel,  will  be  a  great  desideratum.  No 
one  who  has  a  wise  regard  for  the  comfort,  cheerful- 
!  ness  and  health  of  a  family  of  children,  should  be  with- 
out one  for  a  single  day.  This  Patent  Parlor  Grate 
consumes  about  the  same  amount  of  coal  as  would  a 
common  grate,  giving  out,  however,  as  is  supposed, 
near  orfe  third  more  heat— the  soft,  delicious  heat  of  an 
old-fashioned  wood  fire  (the  oxygen  being  supplied 
from  without.)  It  is  equally  adapted  to  burning  soft 
coal,  hard  coal  or  wood."— Hall's  Journal  of  Health. 

This  improved  Grate  and  Walter  Bryant's  Patent 
Furnace  manufactured  by  Ballou  &  Co.,  112  Port- 
land, near  Chardon  street,  Boston. 


Colds  and  How  to  Treat  Them.— When 
you  are  attacked  again  with  a  hard  cold  treat  it 
as  follows:  Eat  no  supper.  On  going  to  bed 
drink  two  tumblers  of  |cold  water.  On  rising  in 
the  morning  drink  freely  of  cold  water.  For 
breakfast  eat  a  piece  of  dry  bread  as  large  as 
your  hand.  Go  out  freely  during  the  morning. 
For  dinner  eat  about  the  same  as  you  ate  at 
breakfast.  During  the  afternoon  take  a  sharp 
walk,  or  engage  in  some  active  exercise  which  f 
shall 'produce  a  little  perspiration.  Go  without 
your  supper  and  retire  early,  drinking,  before 
you  jump  into  bed,  as  much  cold  water  as  you 
can  swallow.    The  next  morning  you  are  nearly 


HOW  PEOPLE   TAKE    COLD. 

Not  by  tumffling  into  the  river  and  dragging 
home  wet  as  a  drowned  rat ;  not  by  being 
pitched  into  the  mudk  or  spilled  out  in  the  Know 
in  sleighing  time}  not  by  Walking  fbf  hours 
over  shoe-top  in  mud  ;  not  by  soaking  in  the 
rain,  without  an  umbrella;  not  by  scrubbing 
^oor  until  the  unnameable  sticks  to  you  I 
wet  rag;  not  by  hoeing  potatoes  until  pj 
you  are  in  a  lather  of  sweat ;  these  are  not  the 
things  which  give  people  *  colds  ;  and  yet  they 
are  'all  the  time  telling  us  how  they  "caught 
their  death-cold  by  exposure." 

The  time  for  taking  cold  is  after  your  exer- 
cise ;  the  place  is  in  your  own  house,  or  office, 
or  counting-house.  It  is  riot  the  act  of  exer- 
cise which  gives  the  cold,  but  it  is  the  getting 
cool  too  quick  after  exercising.  For  example, 
you  walk  very  fast  to  get  to  the  railroad  sta- 
tion, or  to  the  ferry,  or  to  catch  an  omnibus, 
or  to  make  time  for  an  appointment ;  your  mind 
being  ahead  of  you,  the  body  makes  an  exf/a 
effort  to  keep  up  with  it,  and  when  you  get  to 
the  desired  spot,  you  raise  your  hat  and  find 
yourself  in  a  perspiration  ;  you  take  a  seat,  and, 
feeling  quite  comfortable  as  to  temperature, 
you  begin-  tD  talk  with  a  friend,  or  if  a  New 
Yorker,  to  read  a  newspaper,  and,  before  you 
are  aware  of  it,  you  experience  a  sensation  of 
chilliness,  and  the  thing  is  done;  you  look 
around  to  see  where  the  cold  comes  from  and 
find  an  open  window  near  y«u.  or  a  door,  or 
that  you  have  taken  a  seat  at  the  forward  part  of 
the  car,  and  it  moving  against  the  wind,  a  strong 
draft  is  made  through  the  crevices. 

After  any  kind  of  exercise,  do  not  stand  a 
moment  at  a  street-corner,  for  anybody  or  any- 
thing ;  nor  at  an  open  door  or  window.  When 
you  have  been  exercising  in  any  way  whatever, 
winter  or  summer,  go  home  at  once,  or  to  some 
sheltered  place ;  and,  however  warm  the  room 
may  seem  to  be,  do  not  at  once  pull  off  your 
hat  and  cloak,  but  wait  awhile— some  five  min- 
utes or  more,  and  lay  aside  one  at  a  time;  thus 
acting,  a  cold  is  impossible.  Notice  a  moment : 
When  you  return  from  a  brisk  walk  and  enter 
a  warm  room,  raise  your  hat  and  your  forehead 
will  be  moist ;  let  the  hat  remain  a  few  mo- 
ments and  feel  the  forehead  again,  and  it  w;J! 
be  dry,  showing  that  the  room  is  actually  cooler 
than  your  body,  and  that,  with  your  out-door 
clothing  on,  you  have  really  cooled  off  full  soon 
enough.  Many  of  the  severest  colds  I  have- 
ever  known  men  to  take,  were  the  result  o 
ting  down  to  a  warm  meal  in  a  cool  room  after 
a  long  walk  ;  or  being  engaged  in  writing,  nave 
let  the  lire  go  out,  and  their  first  admoniti 
it  was  that  creeping  chilliness,  which  is  the  or- 
dinary forerunner  of  a  severe  cold.  Perse/us 
have  "often  lost  their  lives  by  writing  or  reading 
in  a  room  where  there  was  no  fire,  although  the 
weather  outside  was  rather  comfortable.  Sleep- 
ing in  rooms  long  unused,  has  destroyed  the 
life  of  many  a  visitor  and  friend.  Our  splendid 
parlors  and  our  nice  "spare  room"  help  to  en 


well.    If,  instead,  you  feed  the  cold,  it  will  stay     ^  many  a  doct0r.— HalVs  Journal  of  Health. 
week   or    ten    days,  and  wind   up   with   a 


or  . 
hard  cough  and  expectoration.  A  cold  is 
not  as  many  think,  the  result  alone  of  ex- 
posure to  a  sudden  change  in  the  atmos- 
phere It  is  the  product  of  two  factors :  one  is  a 
certain  condition  of  the  within,  and  the  other  is- 

a  certain  condition  of  the  without.  The  only  p  Blot  When  Not  t0  Eat.— When 
soil  in  which  this  plant  can  grow  is  a  cerraan  , 

condition  of  the  system,  the  prominent  feature  one  is  exhausted  by  severe  exertion  of  any  kind 
of  which  is  a  deranged  stomach.  Those  who  at  any  season;  it  is  not  well  to  eat  heartily  until 
SSSSl  ^J^TSSiS^^oSSSmSl  the  body  has  somewhat  recuperated  its  strength, 
in'eood  condition?  in  other  words,  you  must  Broth,  either  cold  or  warm,  may  be  taken  in  a 
keep  yourself  in  high  health.    There  are  some  quantity ;  or  a  cup  of  chocolate,  or  even 

habits  which  give  a  general  tendency  to  colds.  ■„  ,  e  , 

For  example,  the  use  of  hot  drinks,  which,  in  a  little  milk  or  sugar;  lumps  of  sugar  may  be 
addition  to  flooding  and  weakening  the  stomach,  dipped  jn  Water  and  eaten  with  a  little  bread. 
?oP  tne in^uejree^  Sffi  cSgfs  *%£*%>*  **  body  should  rest  for  an  hour  after  partak- 


~V; 


The  use 
of  warm  baths,  especially  warm  foot  baths. 
I  Sleeping  in  close,  nnventilated  rooms.  Weanng 
I  the  same  flannels  during  the  night  that  have 

been  worn  during  the  day.  Using  fat  meats  and 
pastry,  thereby  deranging  the  stomach  and  liver. 
Br  DioLeiois. 


2 


v 


IU 


-Directions  for  Falnting.-Never  faint  vvhen  you  arc  ^      fore]ieaa  ;   water 
alone.    Alwavs  select  some  good  opportunity.    T»«m°re  wiv.  > 

persons  there*  are.  about  you    the  more  successful  wiH  be  .j       spooufui. 

vourflt.     Never  faint  more  than  once  In  the  same  tv  r      '     

lnK<  as  there  may  be  a  falling  off  in  the  7"^^  '_>' v  .  ',c 
socond  experiment.  A  woman  should  not  only  la 1  t  w  U 
bntbV above  suspicion.  Be  very  careful  therefore, uevel 
to  risk  a  faint  unless  you  have  some  object  in  view. 


ing  of  this  slight  nourishment;  the  system  will 
then  be  able  to  bear  a  full  meal.  Coffee  or  tea 
should  never  be  drank  when  there  has  been  ex- 
cessive fatigue.  So  one  should  abstain  from 
drinking  long  draughts  of  cold  water  when 
much  heated ;  ice-cold  water  is  quite  tantaliz- 
ing to  a  parched  tongue,  but  a  little  strength  of 
mind  and  exercise  of  reason  will  restrain  the 
indulgence.  It  is  better  to  moisten  the  wrists 
with  cold  water,  and  then  apply  a  wet  towel  to 
then  may  be  sipped  by  the 


How  Dkath  May  hi:    Indicated.     Great 

efforts  hiive  been  made  by  scientific  men  to  dis- 
cover  some  rule  by  which  death  may  be  infallibly 
indicated.  For  years  the  French  government 
has  held  out  a  standing  reward  of  a  large  amount 
bf  money  to  any  one  who  would  discover  and 
communicate  a  satisfactory  test,  other  than  that 
of  actual  decomposition,  indicated  by  the  skin 
turning  to  be  black  and  blue  and  greeri,  which  is 
conclusive  on  the  subject ;  but  in  cold  weather 
this  may  not  take  place  in  many  weeks,  and  to 
keep  the  body  so  long  would  be  inconvenient 
and  objectionable  on  several  accounts.  A 
method  has  recently  been  given  to  the  French 
government  which  will  probably  take  the  prize. 
Hold  a  lighted  candle  to  any  portion  of  a  body 
and  a  blister  will  soon  rise;  if  on  puncture  it 
yives  out  a  fluid  substance,  denth  has  not  taken 
place;  if  it  emits  aironly,  it  is  perfectly  certain 
that  life  has  become  entirely  extinct,  lor  which 
we  offer  but  one  reason  among  others  :  In  case 
of  actual  death  the  blood  is  congealed — in  a 
sense,  there  is  no  moisture,  simply  a  little  air: 
this  beitijj:  rarified  under  a  flame,  raises  up  the 
skin  ;  if  there  is  life,  the  flame  causes  inflamma- 
tion, and  nature,  in  her  alarm,  sends  increased 
material  there  for  repairs,  a  kind  of  glairy  fluid, 
and  this,  being  sent  there  in  excess,  causes  the 
skin  to  rise.  Inability  to  feel  the  pulse  or  heart 
heat,  cold  skin,  or  dew  on  a  bit  of  glass,  none 
of  these  are  conclusive,  as  ^iere  has  been  life 
when  none  of  these  were  observed. — Hall's 
Journal  of  Health. 


Hygienic  Rules. 


wait 


Never  eat  when  much  fatigued; 
until  rested. 

Never  eat  just  before  you  expect  to  en- 
gage in  any  severe  mental  or  physical  ex- 
ercise. 

Never  eat  while  in  a  passion,  or  when 
under  any  great  mental  excitement,  de- 
pressing or  elevating. 

Never  e"at  just  before  taking  a  bath  of 
any  kind,  or  just  before  retiring  at  night, 

Never  eai  between  regular  meal?,  i 


<J 


i 


Those  Head  Colds.— Everybody  has  a  cold 
now  and  wonders  how  he  got  it,  when  the  ther- 
mometer hasn't  been  below  80  decrees  for  a 
month,  and  cool  draughts  have  been  unheard  of. 
The  extraordinary  number  of  colds  probably  cor- 
responds to  the  unusually  hot,  moist  air  prevail- 
ing for  a  nVmber  of  days,  which  prevents  the 
change  of  perspiration  into  vapor,  or  cooling  off. 
The  moist  and  heated  air,  a  good  conductor,  al- 
lows the  electricity  to  pass  from  the  body,  leav- 
ing a  "most  gone,"  debilitated  feeling,  the  pores 
of  the  skin  are  all  open  and  a  trifling  change  in 
temperature  produces  a  cold.  If  the  air  was  just 
as  hot  but  not  moist,  the  perspiration  would 
evaporate  too  fast  for  much  danger.  Now,  an 
ounce  of  pretention  is  offered.  Change  damp 
clothes  when  exercise  is  through,  or  if  inconven- 
ient, keep  the  heat  in  the  body  by  a  woolen  coat, 
or  shawl,  until  perspiration  has  ceased.  Probably 
more  of  these  colds  are  taken  at  night  than  by  day, 
because  the  ; bedclothes  that  were  insupportable 
before  midnight,  become  insufficient  soon  after. 
An  easy  and  efficient  remedy  is  a  loose,  woolen 
robe,  worn  over  the  ordinary  night  clothes, 
which  will  prevent  too  sudden  change  of  tempe- 
rature. 


The  following  simple  method  for  venti- 
lating ordinary  sleeping  rooms  and  dwell- 
ing rooms  is  recommended  by  Mr.  Ilinton 
in  his  "Physiology  for  Practical  EJse:"  A 
piece  of  wood  three  inches  high  and  ex- 
actly as  long  as  the  breadth  of  the  win- 
dow, is  to  be  prepared.  Let  tin;  sash  be 
now  raised,  the  slip  of  wood  placed  on  the 
sill,  and  the  sash  drawn  closely  upon  it. 
If  the  slip  has  been  well  lilted,  there  will 
be  no  draft  in  consequence  of  this  dis- 
placement of  the  sash  at  its  lower  part: 
but  the  top  of  the  lower  sash  will  overlap 
the  bottom  of  the  upper  one,  and  between 
the  two  bars  perpendicular  currents  ot 
air,  not  felt  as  draft,  will  enter  and  leave 
the  room. 


Ten  Commandments  of  the  Body. — 1.  Se- 
cure, if  possible,  a  vicorous  constitution 

2.  Eat  a  good  supply  of  the  best  food. 

3.  Take  a  proper  amount  of  physical  exercise 
daily. 

4.  Use  pure  water  to  drink. 

5.  Secure  abundance  of  pure  air  for  the  lungs. 

6.  Take  eight  hours  of  good  sleep  out  of  every 
twenty-four. 

7.  Observe  cleanliness. 

8.  Observe  regularity  in  all  your  habits. 

9.  Take  wise  but  not  excessive  recreation. 

10.  "Work  at  some  useful  and  congenial  em- 
ployment.— Herald  of  Health. 


lVilA  v  to  Do  IJ3WIE8. — If  a    .eison 

f:JU  in  a  fit,  aj^d  begin*  to  swore  loud K,  with 
v.i  rv  red  face,  it  is  apoplexy.  Let  him  h*  .seated 
jo.  as  to  favor  the  blood  going  downward!,  away 
from  the  head,  app  iths  to  the  ftead,  or 

cushions  of  eqnal  quantities  of  snow  o»  pounded 
ice  and  comrvon  salt.  Tf  the  person  ;.-.. perfectly 
still,  face  pale,  and  there  is  no  perceptive  breath- 
ing, it  is  a  ii  of  fainting.  Do  not  teach  Max, 
except  to  loosen  the  clptlujog;  .hen  Veep  off  ftyc 
ot  ten  feet  Jistunt,  so  as  to  allow  th  ,  air  to  come 
iu:  make  so  noise  and  there  will  » 
calm,  <;uivt  return  to  c-ivnsciousne^  and  : 
it  is  only  a  momentary  cessation  <,i  the  rireula- 
tion  of  the  blood  to  the  head.  llvjt  suppoi 
is  a  very  violent  motion  of  the  hands  and  feet, 
and  all  sorts  of  bodily  contortion,  it  ip  epilepsy. 
Let  tlie  man  Contort  until  he  &  tired,--  you  can't 
hold  him  still;  all  your  efforts  only  tend  to  ag-. 
graxate  the  trouble  and  to  exhaust  the  strength; 
all  that  ought  to  be  done  ip  to  keep  the  unfor- 
tunate from  hurting  himself.  There  is  no  felt 
suffering,  for  as  soon  as  ne  comes  to  he  will  tell 
you  that  he  remembers  'nothing  whatexe*  of  what 
has  passed,  appears  to  be  the,  only  cahu  and  solf- 
posses.-ed  person  in  the  whale  crowd,  and  is 
apparently  as  perfectly  well  as  before  the  occur- 
rence. Dizziness  often  comes  instantaneously, 
and  we  begin  to  reel  before  we  know  it.  Shut 
the  eyes,  whether  you  arc  walking  along  the 
street,  looking  over  a  precipice,  ascending  a  lad- 
der, or  climbing  to  a  ship's  mast-head;  the  fear 
or  dizziness  disappears  instantly  if  you  look 
1    upward.— Hull's  Journal  of  Health. 

Dr  Bowditeh  is  not  a  teetotaller,  he 
belivestbat  after  tbe  age  thirty  or  forty  years, 
moderate  nso  ot  alcohol  is  a  prophylactic 
against  consumption,  and  counsels  sherry  or 
beer.  He  does  not,  however,  believe  in  alco- 
holic beverages  for  j  oung  people,  llecrea- 
ti(r>,  vacations,  whether  for  young  or  old,  he 
deems  one  of  the  most  efficicmt  preven- 
tions ot  consumption.  In  regard  to  cxercDe, 
Dr  Bowditch,  like  every  other  author- 
ity, sets  walking  first.  Fast  running  is  bad; 
danciDg  at  proper  times  and  under  unexciting 
circumstances  is  very  beneficial,  otherwise, 
ubcrwisc.  Horse  back  riding  is  high'.y  com- 
mended for  consumptives,  and  an  easy  pacer 
orgalkpcr  ia~ -.jJKifbo  preferred  to  a  trotter. 
Kowing  is  bigWly  commended.  The  resi- 
dence of  the  patient  should  be  high,  dry, 
.sunny,  and  open  to  the  south  and  west. 

Air  ti;ht  stoves  are 
declared  inventions  of  the  devil,  and  Dr  Bow- 
ditch  declares  he  would  not  prescribe  for  a 
consumptive  who  refused  to  give  them  up 
and  adopt  the  open  fire  of  coal  or  wood. 
Where  open  fires  cannot  be  used,  the  win- 
dews  should  be  left  open  enough  to  secure 
ventilation,  a  en  vice,  at  least  being  left  all 
niiiht. 


HEALTH. 

How  the  presence  of  sickness  changes  the  com- 
plexion of  a  home.  Health  i3  a  synonym  for 
happiness.  A  mind  housed  in  a  healthy  body 
has  no  business  to  get  i angled  and  out  of  tune. 
1  have  no  patience  with  fretting  health. 
Though  your  fare  be  of  the  humblest,  if  you 
hunger  after  it,  you  have  no  cause  to  envy  your 
neighbor  his  spiced  banquets.  Though  your 
house  be  built  of  logs,  if  you  dwell  in  God's 
world  and  not  by  its  narrow  hearth,  your  lot  is 
more  to  be  desired  than  that  of  the  rich  man 
with  flaccid  muscles  and  feeble  nerves.  What  is 
tbe  reason  we  cannot  all  cf  U3  be  strong  and 
hearty  and  happy,  instead  of  being  the  puny, 
sickly,  nervous  race  that  we  are?  Our  bodies  are 
fearfully  and  wcnhrully  made,  all  interwoven, 
nndeilaid  end  overshot  with  delicate  ti;suei  and 
veins  and  fioers;  but  they  are  most  easily  kept  in 
tune  if  rightly  and  tenderly  managed.  What 
people,  especially  women,  lack  is,  a  knowledge  of 
the  laws  of  their  being.  Physiology  should  lie 
next  to  the  Bible  upon  the  nureery  table.  People 
need  to  be  told,  not  in  Latin,  but  in  crisp  English, 
how  their  bodies  are  put  together;  that  they  last 
and  grow  with  use,  rust  through  laziness  and  de- 
cay with  abuse.  They  need  to  be  told  how  gorg- 
ing corrupts  the  blood,  puff's  the  heart  and  pal- 
sies the  brain;  how  lack  of  sleep  and  excess  of 
pleasure  weaken  the  nerves  and  eneivate  the  will; 
how  exposure  and  imprudence  of  any  kiu  i  tell  in 
some  depletion  of  vital  power;  how  every  ag- 
gression upou  nature  is  revenged  by  some  physi- 
cal or  mental  weakness.  When  I  loo*  about  me 
and  see  how  flesh  is  mangled  and  maltreated  I 
wonder  that  it  is  as  silent  and  patient  as  it  is, 
that  it  does  not  oftener  rebel  against  its  abases. 
Scholars  boast  to  me  of  how  little  sleep  they  take 
»nd  need;  public  men  of  the  ease  with  which  they 
recuperate  from  the  wear  of  their  exciting  lite; 
■feshionable  women  of  the  impunity  with  which 
they  invert  nature's  laws.  I  hear  them  in  silence, 
for  I  behold  lying  in  wait  for  their  future  years, 
sure  and  painful  retribution.  It  may  be  that 
Jfeey  will  forget  to  set  their  palsied  and  rheumatic 
limbs,  their  dim  eyes,  wrinkles  and  gray  hairs 
over  against  their  late  suppers  and  mental  over- 
work. 


1 


How   Loxo   to   Sleep.     There  has  been    a 
great  deal  of  trash  written    and  labelled    "Hygi- 
enic ;"  bat  the   following    (we  are   sorry  we   do? 
not  know  who  wrate  it)  so  entirely  accords  with 
our  ownexperience,  both   as    a  working   farmer 
and  a  working  oditor,  that  we  commend  it  to  the 
readers  of  the  Rural  New  Yorker  as  sensible  :— 
"The  fact  is,  that   as  life  becomes    concentrated, 
and  its  pursuits  more  eager,  short  sleep  and  early 
rising  becomes  impossible.     We  take 'more  sleep 
than    our  ancestors,  and    we  take  more    because 
we. want   more.     Six  hours'    sleep  will  do    very 
well  for  a   plowman  or   bricklayer,  or  any   other' 
man  who  has  no    exhaustion  but  that   produced' 
by  manual  labor,  and  the  sooner  he  takes  it  after; 
his    labor  is  over,  the    better.     But    for    a    man 
whose  labor  is   mental,  the  stress  of   work  is   on 
his  brain  and  nervous  system,  and  for    him  who 
is  tired  in  the  evening,  with  a  day  of    mental  ap- 
plication, neither  early  to  bed  nor  early  to  rise  is^i 
wholesome.     He  needs  letting  down  to  the  level' 
of  repose.     The  longer  the    interval  between  the] 
active  use  of  the  brain  and  his  retirement  to  bed,* 
the  better  his   chance  of  sleep  and    refreshment.! 
To  him  an    hour  after   midnight  is  probably   as 
good  as  two    hours  before   it,  and  even  then    his 
sleep    will  not   so   completely   and    quickly    re 
store  him  as    it  will  his   neighbor  who  is   physi- 
cally tirexl.     He  must  not   only  go  to  bed    later, 
but  lie  longer.     His  best   sleep    probably  lies    in 
the  early  morning    hours,  when   all  the    nervous 
excitement  has  passed    away,  and  he  is    in  abso- 
lute rest." 


Visiting  the  Sick.— Do  not  visit  the 
sick  when  you  are  fatigued,  or  when  in  a 
state  of  perspiration,  or  with  the  stomach 
empty,  for  In  such  conditions  you  are  lia- 
ble to  take;  the  infection.  When  the  dis- 
ease is  very  contagious,  take  the  side  of 
the  patient  which  is  next  the  window. 
When  you  come  away,  take  some  food, 
change  your  clothing,  and  expose  it  to  the 
air. 


HOW  TO  BE  HAPPY. 

A  LAY  SERMON. 

My  text  is  the  twenty-seventh  Psalm,  espec-  f 
ially  the  last  verse.     My  discourse  will  be  di- 
vided into  a  preamble,  six  heads  and  a  few  re- 
marks on  what  has  been  said. 

We  all  want  to  be  happy ;  in  early  youth 
we  all  expect  to  be,  as  a  matter  of  course.  / 
We  look  forward  into  the  future  with  eager, 
confident  eyes,  so  impatient,  we  can  hardly 
wait,  for  that  vague  but  glorious  something  we 
feel  sure  awaits  us  there.  The  days,  the 
months,  the  years  slip  away  and  we  find  our- 
selves living  common,  prosy,  work-a-day  lives 
like  everyone  else,;  we  are  constrained, hemmed 
in  by  circumstances  against  which  we  are  help- 
less ;  we  find  we  must  give  up  the  plan,  the 
hope  in  which  our  heart,  our  very  life  is  bound 
up ;  the  thing  that  is  most  distasteful  and  dread- 
ful to  us  happens  to  us  nevertheless,  and 
death  takes  the  dear  friends  so  much  a  part  of 
ourselves  it  never  occurred  to  us  to  imagine 
life  without  them.  And  this  is  the  realization 
of  that  splendid  future  we  so  longed  for !  One 
of  the  most  critical  as  well  as  bitterest  moments 
of  existence  is  when  the  heavy  burden  of  life 
first  falls  consciously  on  the  careless,  happy 
heart  of  youth,  merrily  dancing  down  the 
"long  path."  Scales'  seem  to  fall  from  our 
eyes.  Suddenly  we  notice  how  few  people 
look  happy,  how  every  middle-aged  face  bears 
deep  lines,  how  the  light  and  sparkle  has  faded 
out  of  the  eye,  how  often  the  voice  has  a  com- 
plaining, at  best,  a  resigned  tone.  These 
faces  were  all  young,  bright,  expectant,  once. 
—  Thoreau  says,  "The  man  builds  a  wood-shed 
from  the  material  the  youth  collected  for  a  gold- 
^  en  bridge  to  the  moon."  Is  it  all  really  true 
then  that  we  have  read  in  poetry  with  a  half- 
sad,  half-sentimental  pleasure  ?  Is  life  a  "fleet- 
ing dream,  for  man's  delusion  given  ?"  Is  all 
its  song  "endure  and  die?"  Is  "man  made  to 
mourn?"  Is  that  miserable  saying  of  some- 
body really  true — "Youth  is  a  blunder,  man- 
I  hood  a  struggle,  old  age  a  regret?"  And 
what  shall  we  do  under  this  new  aspect  of  life  ? 
Shall  we  grow  bitter,  sneering,  cynical  ?  Shall 
we  rush  from  one  excitement  to  another  in  the 
mad  pursuit  of  happiness  ?  Or  shall  we  sit 
down  despondently,  fold  our  hands,  and  wait 
for  the  end,  not  far  off  at  the  longest  ? 

The  answer  we  give  to  these  questions  is  a 
turning-point  in  life.  For  my  part,  believing 
fully  in  the  possibility  of  happiness  even  in 
this  "vale  of  tears"  if  so  we  must  call  it,  I 
shall  proceed  to  give  my  recipe  therefor. 

Firstly,  if  possible,  be  well,  and  have  a  good 
appetite.  If  these  conditions  are  yours,  the 
battle  is  already  half  gained.  Many  soul  and 
heart  troubles  are  really  located  in  the  stom- 
ach, unromantic  as  it  sounds.  Ill  health  causes 
the  blues,- and  the  blues  cause  ill  health,  so  we 
should  cultivate  the  body's  health  for  the  spir- 
it's, and  equally  vice  versa. 

Secondly,  be  busy.  Fill  the  hours  so  full  of 
useful  and  interesting  work  that  there  shall  be 
no  time  for  dwelling  on  your  troubles,  that 
"the  day  shall  dawn  full  of  expectation,  the 
night  fall  full  of  repose."  Make  interests  for 
yourself  in  life.  Realize  that  you  are  a  living 
soul,  with  responsibilities,  glorious  opportu- 
nities now  and  eternity  hereafter,  and  be 
ashamed  to  find  life  vacant,  tiresome. 

Thirdly,  forget  yourself.  People  cannot  be 
happy  who  are  constantly  dwelling  in  thought 
upon  themselves,  their  own  perfections,  their 
own  short-comings,  what  people  think  of  them, 
and  so  en.  The  heaviest  burden  of  life  is 
often  ourselves, — self-disgust.  From  every- 
thing else  we  can  escape  ;  but  there  is  no  get- 


ting away  from  ourselves.  It  is,  too,  a  bur- 
den we  must  bear  alone.  To  keep  ourselves  to 
ourselves  is  a  lesson  we  learn  early  in  life. 
The  only  way  to  attain  peace  is,  having  done 
our  best,  whether  the  result  be  a  success  or  a 
failure,  forget  it,  think  no  more  about  it.  Noth- 
ing more  surely  produces  a  morbid,  diseased 
tone  of  mind  than  the  habit  of  constant  self- 
contemplation. 

Fourthly,  expect  little.  Expect  little  of  life, 
not  too  much  of  your  friends.  Living  solely 
in  to-day,  not  venturesomely  intermeddling 
with  the  future,  any  pleasure  it  has  for  us  will 
come  wearing  the  added  charm  of  surprise, 
and  we  shall  have  to  mourn  no  "might-have- 
beens,"  ruins  of  air-castles  we  have  built  only 
to  crush  us  in  their  fall. 

Fifthly,  be  determined  to  be  happy.  Make 
the  most  of  every  happiness  that  comes  to  you. 
^  Look  on  the  bright  side  of  everything.  Cheer- 
fulness is  not  always  spontaneous  ;  it  is  greatly 
a  matter  of  habit,  and  bears  cultivation.  One 
who  can  contrive  to  bear  a  smiling  face  through 
a  world  where  there  are  so  many  troubled 
hearts,  may  unconsciously  be  a  public  benefac- 
tor; for  the  "merry  heart  doeth  good  like 
medicine,"  not  alone  to  its  possessor. 

Lastly, — and  herein,  after  all,  lies  the  great 
secret  of  happiness, — trust  in  God.  Believe 
that  God  is,  that  He  really  knows  what  is  best 
for  you;  believe  this  truly,  and  the  bitterness 
is  gone  from  life.  Half  our  troubles  we  make 
ourselves  by  resisting,  rebelling  against  our 
misfortunes.  As  soon  as  we  can  accept  them, 
can  say  and  believe  they  are  for  the  best,  their 
sting  is  gone.  Trusting  in  God,  we  shall  not 
iancy  we  should  be  happy  were  we  only  some- 
where else,  had  we  only  that  something  else 
which  seems  to  us  wanting  in  our  lives.  We 
shall  feel  that  God  put  us  exactly  where  we  are, 
sent  or  withheld  whatever  was  right,  and  our 
part  is  only  to  do  the  best  we  can  with  the 
"talents"  He  has  lent  us,  be  they  ten,  five,  or 
only  one.  I  notice  Christ  did  not  say,  "If  any 
will  come  after  me,  let  him  take  up  a  cros3 
and  follow  me  ;"  no,  it  is,  "Let  him  take  up  his 
cross,"  that  thing  which  is  most  disagreeable, 
painful  to  us ;  that  thing  whose  shadow  dark- 
ens all  our  lives,  that  is  the  very  thing  we  are 


Tnc  Storm  or  Life,— Life  bears  on  like  the 
stream  of  a  mighty  riv^r.  Oar  boat  glides  swiftly 
down  the  narrow  channel,  tln'outrh  the  playful 
mtirmurings  of  the  little  broo!r,  and  winding  along; 
its  glsssy  botders,  the  trees  shed  tV,ir  blossoms 
over  our  jourjg  hands;  we  are  in  hope,  and  we 
grasp  esgerly  at  the  beauties  around  us,  but  ths 
stream  hurries  us  on,  and  still  our  hands  are 
empty. 

Our  course  in  jouth  and  mauhood  is  along  a 
wider  and  deeper  flood,  and  amid  objects  mire 
striking  and  magnificent.  We  are  auimated  by 
the  moving  picture  of  enjoyment  and  industry 
that  is  ]>??sirg  before  us;  w<?.  are  excited  by  short- 
lived success,  or  depressed  ai  ;  miserable 
by  some  sborf-Hved  disappointment,  But  on* 
ergy  jmi <'ep'  ndecec  a>e bet  .^ain 
beui  I  our  joys  anrl  griefs  behiad  us. 
We  may  be  shipwrecked,  but  we.  cannot  aochor; 
our  voyage  may  be  hastened,  bat  we  cannot  be 
'delayer;  whethtr  rough  or  bmootb,  the  rive.: 
hastens  towards  its  home:  the  roarin<  of  the 
waves  is  beneath  our  keel,  and  the  land  lessees 
from  our  view;  ths  floods  are  lifred  up  aroan 
a;.i  we  U  leave  of  evrth  and  is  iahib- 
taints  no  wit- 
ness but  tat:  lnfliiita  and  the  eternal. — Bishop  Us- 
her. 


Life's  Atjttjmn. — Like  the  leaf,  life  has  its  fad- 
ing. We  speak  and  tbink  of  it  with  sadness,  just 
as  we  think  of  the  Autumn  season.  But  there 
should  be  no  sadness  at  the  fading  of  a  life  that 
lias  done  well  its  work.  If  we  rejoice  at  the  advent 
of  a  new  life,  if  we  welcome  the  coming  of  a  new 
pilgrim  to  the  uncertainties  of  this  world's  way, 
why  should  there  be  so  much  gloom  when  all 
these  uncertainties  are  passed,  and  life  at  its  wan- 
ing wears  the  glory  of  a  completed  task?    Beauti- 

'  ful  as  is  childhood  in  its  freshness  and  innocence, 
its  beauty  is  that  of  untried  life.  It  is  the  beauty 
of  promise,  of  Spring,  of  the  bud.  A  holier  and 
rarer  beauty  is  the  beauty  which  the  waning  life  of 
faith  and  duty  wears. J 

It  is  the  beauty  of  a  thing  completed;  and  as 
men  come  together  to  congratulate  each  other 
when  some  great  work  has  been  achieved,  and  see 

■  in  its  concluding  nething  but  gladness,  so  ought 
we  to  feel  when  the  setting  sun  flings  back  its 
beams  upon  a  life  that  has  answered  well  life's 
purpose.  When  the  bud  drops  blighted,  and  the 
mildew  blasts  the  early  grain,  and  there  goes  all 
hope  of  the  harvest,  one  may  well  be  sad;  bat 
when  tie  ripened  year  sinks  amid  its  garniture  of 
Autumn  flowers  and  leaves,  why  should  we  regret 
or  murmur?  And  so  a  life  that  is  ready  and  wait- 
ing for  the  "well  done"  of  God,  whose  latest  vir- 
tues and  charities  are  its  noblest,  should  be  given 
back  to  God  in  uncomplaining  reverence,  we  re- 
joicing that  earth  is  capable  of  so  much  goodness, 
and  is  permitted  such  virtue.— J.  F.  W.  Ware. 

DUTIES    OF   DAILY   LIFE, 


Life  is  not  entirely  made  up  of  great  evils  or  heavy 

tiifck  ;  but  the  perpetual  recurrence  of  petty  evils  and 

email  trials  is  the  ordinary  and  appointed  exercise  of 

asked  to  bear,  and  to  bear  not  complainingly,   the  Christian  graces.     To  bear  with  the  failings  of 

~~*  „*.„'„„n.,  v.,,*  +„.,„*: i„    „„a     -e  ~~„„-ki„     those  about   us — with  their    infirmities,  their  ba< 

not  stoically,  but  trustingly,  and,  if  possible,   jrtgmeat>  tlieir  ffl.breedingf  their  perverse  tempers 

cheerfully.     The  soul  that  "waits"  on  God,  —to  endure  neglect  when  we  feel  we  deserved  atten- « 

believing  firmly  whatever  comes  to  it  from  Him  tiou,  and  ingratitude  where  we  expected  thanks— to 

.  ,•.    .,    .       ,,       ,     .  ,  .c  j       .,         .,  beai  with  the  company  of  disagreeable  people  whom 

is  right,  that  walks  straightforward  on  the  path  Pf0vi(_ence  ha8  plaWin  our  way,  and  whom  he  has 

of  life  with  no  backward  glances  at  yesterday's   piovided  or  purposed  for  the  trial  of  our  virtue — 
stumbles  and  wanderings,  at  peace  with  itself,    these  are  the  best  exercises  of  patience  and  self- 
.,,-,.,  _"  i  ,    denial,  and  the  better  because  not  chosen  by  ourselves, 

at  peace  with  God,  knows  a  happiness  beyond  To  ^  wilh  vexation  in  business,  with  disappoint- 
the  disturbing  power  of  all  the  outward  acci-   ment  in  our  expectations,  with  interruptions  of  our 

retirement,  with  folly,  intrusion,  disturbance— -in 
short,  with  whatever  opposes  our  will,  or  contradicts 
our  humor — this  habitual  acquiescence  appears  to  be 
more  of  the  essence  of  self-denial  than  any  little 
rigors  or  afflictions  of  our  own  imposing.  These 
constant,  inevitable,  but  inferior  evils  properly  im- 
proved, furnish  a  good  moral  discipline,  and  mighty 
in  the  davs  of  ignoranee,  have  superseded  pilgrimage 
and  penance. — Hannah  More. 


dents  and  changes  of  life. 

So  ends  my  sermon.     If  practising  were  only 
as  easy  as  preaching !  P.  Thorxe. 


■  IIUUliirT  IIIMT'M  IKI'IIII       ' 


LIFE. 


Strcgglk  not  wiih  thy  life  !— <*he  heavy  doom 

Resist  not,  it  will  bow  thee  like  a  slave  : 
Strive  not !  thou  shalt  not  conquer ;  to  thy  teinh 
_____  Thou  ahalt  go  crushed,  and  gr*und,  though  ne'er 

,.,  T  .  ,1        .        if  so  brave. 

;     Would  you  die  happy?     Live  well.     A  self- 
ish in  an     and  the   man  of  pleasure,    are   neverConiplain  not  of  thy  life  !--for  what  art  thou 
prepared   for  death,  and  never  would  be  if    life     More   than   thy  fellows,  that  thou  shouldet  not 
'were  lengthened  out  a  thousand  yesw.     A  l«ttleB„_e  fh™ehpfg  still  ,odge  teneath  a  farrowed  brow, 
^nore  sport — a  few  more  dollars — is  their  cry—    An(i  tbe  way.wearied  have  the  sweetest  sleep, 
and  thus  it   would   be  continually;— wisdom  is 

crowded  out  of  life  and  thev  hnrrv   on,  till  in  a  Marvel  not  at  thy  hfe '-patience ^ehall  see 
crovvueu  uui  <ji  me  _>  The  perfect  work  of  wiedom  to  her  given ; 

moment  unexpected,  the  icy  hand  is  upon  in«m-Hold  fastthy  soul  through  this  high  mystery, 
To  die  well,  we  must  live    well.     Nothing  will     ^nd  _{  ,__}  lead  thee  to  the  gates  of  heare-: 
bring  more  peace  to  a  dying-  bed  than  the  leflec-  —Francis  Anne  Kemblt 

lion  of  a  well-spent,  useful  life.  •-         —  j 


S55H 


HOW  TO  1>0  IT. 
Wherever  Christianity  has   been    preached 
with  real  and  faith  it  has  gained  important  vic- 
tories and  established   itself  in  the  hearts  of 
men.     We  have  an    illustration  of  this  in  the 
origin  and  growth   of  the    African    Methodist 
Episcopal  Church.     Fifty  years  since  it  began 
in  a  loft  over  a  blacksmith's  shop,  with  only  a 
dozen  for  a   congregation.     With   the  energy 
of  men  who  have  positive  religious  convictions, 
this  handful  continued  their  meetings.     With 
the   simplicity  of  Christian  consecration,   the 
Word  was  preached.     In  a  half  century   this 
congregation  of  a  dozen  has  grown  to  five  hun- 
dred  churches,    embracing   a   membership    of 
about  two   hundred  thousand  5  over  one  hun- 
dred   thousand   in    the   former    slave-holding 
States.     These  churches  are  scattered   over  a 
vast  extent  of  country,  as  may  be  seen  by  the 
following  named  conferences:  New  England, 
New  York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  Ohio,  In- 
diana,   Missouri,    Louisiana,   Virginia,   South 
Carolina,  Georgia,  Florida  and  California  An- 
nual Conferences.     To  this  must  be  added  one 
million  of  persons  comprised  in   their  congre- 


A    RATIONAL,    CHEERFUL,    INSPIRING    FAITH    FOR 
THE  MASSES. 

Give  to  these  multitudes  a  rational,  cheerful, 
genial,  inspiring  faith— make  them  to  know  that 
the  Christian  religion  has  no  necessary  relation 
to,  or  connection  with,  the  old  theological  sys- 
tems of  the  past,  and  that  of  all  the  monstrous  as- 
sumptions or  errors  of  churchmen,  that  is  one  of 
the  most  absurd  and  groundless  which  holds  that 
only  Calvinism  can  best  enshrine  the  pieties  and 
sanctities  that  are  so  acceptable  to  God— teach 
them  that,  however  they  may  have  hopelessly 
surrendered  the  inherited  beliefs  of  their  early 
life,  or  the  antiquated  dogmas  of  Orthodoxy,  they 
have  not  therefore  parted  with  the  saving  truth 
and  grace  of  God— but  that  something  better  than 
what  they  have  had  may  still  be  theirs,  and  theirs 
forever— present  to  them  the  nobler  type  of  Chris- 
tianity in  alt  its  ample  breadth,  inspiring  power, 
and  winning  beauty,  and  there  will  indeed  be  a 
spiritual  revival,  and  the  church  will  at  last  claim 
and  have  its  own. 

The  age,  the  country,  in  which  we  live,  de- 
mands of  the  Christian  church  that  it  shall  pro- 
claim a  God  of  infinite  love,  everywhere  and  al- 
ways present  in  nature,  and  forever  immanent  in 
the  souls  of  men.  It  must  declare  the  sacred  dig- 
nity and  inestimable  worth  of  every  child  of  the 
Father,  and  must  emphasize  the  value  of  the 
'■-■'"---    gthe  soul  as  well  as 


Morse  the  Pioneer. 

Samuel  Morse,  who  invented  the  tele- 
graph, would  indeed  be  amazed  if  he  could 
see  to-day  to  what  his  great  idea  has  grown. 
His  first  line  from  Washington  to  Baltimore 
has  become  more  than  one  and  a  half  mil- 
lion miles  of  telegraph  in  the  United  States 
alone.  Cables  under  the  ocean  connect  all 
continents,  and  the  newest  and  greatest  mar- 
vel of  all,  radio,  springs  directly  from 
Morse  s  invention.  Morse  was  a  poor  man,  a 
struggling  portrait  painter.  He  labored  for 
years  in  perfecting  his  invention,  being  de- 
termined not  to  place  it  before  the  public 
until  it  was  as  good  as  he  could  make  it. 
\vhen  confronted  with  new  difficulties,  he  al- 
ways prayed  for  more  light.  The  first  mes- 
sage which  he  sent  over  the  first  telegraph- 
line  was  typical  of  the  man  ;  it  was,  "What 
hath   God  wrought  !'' 


have  been  powerfully  excited  by  their  music 
and  the  scenes  of  the  evening  conference. 
Thfcir  religious  ideas,  at  best,  are  very  scanty 
and  crude.  Their  emotions  flame  and  burn  in 
conserpuence  of  their  intense  heat.  Their  fer- 
ror  often  is  fed  by  the  coarse  excitement  of 
animal  passions.  Still,  underneath  all  this 
will  be  found  the  fresh  and  cooling  streams  of 
a  better  piety.  Few  can  pray  with  a  more  fer- 
vent unction.  Their  devotions  are  a  talk  with 
God.  Their  confidence  is  unfaltering  that  the 
Infinite  Father  will  lead  their  race  out  of  igno- 
rance and  slavery  into  intelligence  and  freedom. 
They  believe  with  an  equal  fervency  and  trust 
that  his  divine  spirit  is  always  present  to  them 
to  quicken  and  regenerate.  The  primary  ele- 
ments of  piety  are  received  by  them  without  a 
doubt ;  and  with  God  as  a  co-worker  in  their 
souls,  they  are  filled  with  the  assurance  that 
Christianity  will  yet  win  greater  triumphs  in 
the,  individual  and  the  world.  Thus  have  they 
a  vitality  which  sends  the  blood  currents  through 
their  religious  organizations.  God  aids  such 
by  the  power  of  his  spirit. 


P 

o 


God  in  History.— The  prayer  of  the  patriarch, 
when  he  desired  to  behold  tho  Divinity  face  to 
fare,  was  cenied;  but  he  was  able  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  Jrhovah,  after  he  had  passed  by;  and 
so  it  tare  s  with  our  search  for  him  in  the  wreatlingl 
of  tbe  world.  It,  is  when  the  hour  of  coalict  Is 
over,  that  history  comes  to  a  right  undersrannMog 
of  the  strife,  and  is  ready  to  exclaim ;  "Li!  Gxl 
is  here  and  we  k  new  it  not."  Ac  tbe  foot  of  every 
page  in  the  annals  of  nations  may  be  written, 


pro- 


God  reigns."  Events  as  they  pass  away 
claim  their  original;"  and  if  you  will  but  listen 
reverently,  yon  may  bear  tbe  receding  centuries, 
ss  they  roll  Into  the  dim  distance  of  deparce  I  tun* 
perpetually  chanting  "  Pe  D*tjm  L.uroAHt;s," 
with  all  tbe  choral  voices  of  the  countless  con- 
gregation of  the  age.— Bancroft's  History  Dis- 
courses. 


:>1e  lights  and  helps 
Hit  must  read  the 
8»he  precious  pages 
;jBj|volume  of  the  out- 
f  unfolding  book  of 
^fully,  joyfully  rec- 
I  ifery  pure  sentiment, 
Xjry  noble  thought, 
■t  set  forth  that  the 
Diin  having  the  mind 
Ijthe  spirit  is  greater 
&&e  than  creed — prac- 
j^jservice  better  than 
He  the  enfranchise- 
He,  inculcate  the  doc- 
Hfood  of  the  race,  and 
Home  to  all  who  will 
H>ve.  Insisting  that 
gjjc  sin,  even  more  than 
error,  is  the  one  intolerable  yoke  and  cruel  burden 
of  the  soul,  and  that  the  most  solemn  and 
imperative  duty  that  devolves  upon  the  disciples 
of  Jesus  is  to  lift  the  world  up  out  of  its 
woes  and  wrongs— the  church  must  hereafter 
lead  and  not  be  led,  in  serving  the  great  moral  en- 
terprises and  reforms  of  society — waging  still  a 
relentless  war  of  extermination  against  every  law 
or  custom  that  authorizes  or  tolerates  the  enslave- 
ment of  human  beings— seeking  to  remove  the 
legal  disabilities  and  popular  prejudices  that  re- 
strict the  right  and  sphere  of  woman,  and  to 
give  her  a  full  share  of  the  opportunities  and 
privileges  of  the  age— redeeming  our  towns  and 
cities  from  the  terrible  vices  of  drunkenness  and  li- 
centiousness, and  from  the  evils  of  reckless  hab- 
its and  fashionable  excesses— befriending  every 
class  of  earth's  unfortunates,  the  poor,  the  sick, 
the  bereaved,  the  tempted,  the  fallen,  the  im- 
prisoned and  the  outcast,  and  raising  them  all  up 
to  some  tetter  and  happier  condition— silencing 
the  atheistic  cry  that  religion  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  secular  v,  orld,  by  entering  boldly  and  with 
more  than  imperial  authority  into  all  the  affairs 
and  relations  of  human  society  wherever  sin  has 
gone  before  it,  no  longer  to  fight  abstractions  and 
contend  against  shadows,  but  to  give  deadly  bat- 
tle to  the  enemy  of  all  good  in  whatever  form 
or  guise  he  may  appear,  and  make  disloyal  or 
corrupted  politicians  and  Presidents  to  under- 
stand that  they  too  are  terribly  held  to  the  stern 
and  instant  requirement  of  repentance  andprft. 
stration  before  God.  And,  finally,  it  must  ever 
be  kept  in  view  that  whatever  may  be  the 
sorrows  and  evils  of  the  earthly  state,  they  all 
have  a  disciplinary  and  gracious  mission  to  fulfil, 
and  that  in  the  ultimate  consummation  of  things, 
good,  and  good  alone,  shall  befall  the  great  family 
of  the  infinite  Father. 


OF    THE    OtEN  SKY. 

"  It  is  a  strange  thing  how  little,  in  general, 
people  know  about  the  sky.  It  is  the  part  of 
creation  in  which  nature  has  done  more  for 
the  sake  of  pleasing  man — more  for  the  sole 
and  evident  purpose  of  talking  to  him,  and 
teaching  him,  than  in  any  other  of  her  works  ; 
and  it  is  just  the  part  in  which  we  least  at- 
tend to  her.  There  are  not  many  of  her 
other  works  in  which  some  more  material  or 
essential  purpose  than  the  mere  pleasing  of 
men,  is  not  answered  by  every  part  of  their 
,  organization  :  but  every  essential  purpose  of 
the  sky  might,  so  far  as  we  know,  be  answered, 
if,  once  in  three  days  or  thereabouts,  a  great 

'  ugly  black  rain  cloud  were  brought  up  over 
tbe  blue,  and  everything  well  watered,  and  so 
all  left  blue  again  till  next  time,  with  per- 
haps a  film  of  morning  and  evening  mist  for 
dew.  And,  instead  of  this,  there  is  not,  a  mo- 
ment of  any  day  of  our  lives  when  nature  is 
not  producing  scene  after  scene,  picture  after 
picture,  glory  after  glory,  and  working  still 
upon  such  exquisite  and  constant  principles 
of  the  most  perfect  beauty,  that  it  is  quite 
certain  that  it" is  all  done  for  us,  and  intend- 
ed for  our  perpetual  pleasure.  And  .very 
man,  wherever  placed,  however  far  from  other 
sources  of  interest  or  of  beauty,  has  this,  do- 
ing for  him  constantly.  The  noblest  scenes 
of  the  earth  can  be  seen  and  known  but  by 
few ;  it  is  not  intended  that  man  should  live 
always  in  the  midst  of  them ;  he  injures  them 
by  his  presence,  he  ceases  to  feel  them,  if  he 
be  always  with  them  ;   but  the  sky  is  for  all : 

«  bright  as  it  is,  it  is  not  '  too  bright  nor  good 
for  human  nature's  daily  food.'  Sometimes 
gentle,  sometimes  capricoue,  sometimes  awful ; 
never  the  same  for  two  moments  together; 
almost  human  in  its  passions— spiritual  in  its 
tenderness— almost  divine  in  its  infinity,  its 
appeal  to  what  is  immortal  In  us  as  distinct  as 
its  ministry  of  chastisement  or  of  blessing  to 
what  is  mortal  is  essential.  And  yet  we  never 
attend  to  it,  we  never  make  it  a  subject  of_ 
thought,  but  as  it  has  to  do  with  our  animal" 
sensations;  we  look  upon  all  by  which  it 
speaksto  us  more  clearly  than  to  brutes,  upon 
all  which  bears  witness  to  the  intention  of  the 
Supreme,  that  wo  are  to  receive  more  from 
the  covering  vault  than  the  light  and  the  dew 
which  we  share  with  the  weed  and  the  worm, 

C  only  as  a  succession  of  meaningless  and  mono- 
tonous accident,  too  common  and  too  painful 
to  be  worthy  of  a  moment  of  watchfulness,  or 

7  a  glanoe  of  admiration." 

NOTHING  IS  LOST. 
The  drop  that  mingles  with  the  flood,  the 
sand  dropped  on  the  sea-shore,  the  word  you 
have  spoken  will  not  be  lost.  Each  will  have 
its  influence,  and  be  left  till  time  shall  be  no 
more.  Have  you  ever  thought  of  the  effect 
that  might  be  produced  by  a  single  word? 
Drop  it  pleasantly  among  a  group,  and  it  will 
make  a  dozen  happy  who  return  to  their  homes 
and  produce  the  same  effect  on  a  hundred/ 
more,  perhaps.  A  bad  word  may  arouse  'the 
indignation  of  a  neighborhood  ;  it  may  spread 
like  wildfire,  to  produce  disastrous  effect 
As  no  word  is  lost,  be  careful  how  you  speak 
speak  right,  speak  kindly.  The  influence  you 
may  exert  by  a  life  of  kindness — by  words 
dropped  among  the  young  and  the  old — is  in- 
calculable. It  will  not  cease  when  your  bodies 
lie  in  the  grave,  but  will  be  fell  wider  and  still 
wider,  as  year  after  year  passes  away.  Who, 
then,  will  not  exert  himself  for  the  welfare  of 
millions  ? — Selected. 


But  suppose  wc  have  nothing  to  give.  Sap- 
pose  that  prior  claims  such  as  lie  in  our  family 
relations,  and  a  prudent  regard  for  future  contin- 
gencies, leave  no  margin  for  either  giving  or  lend- 
ing, what  then?  It  is  still,  "Give  to  him  that 
asketb  of  thee."  Money  may  be  only  one  of  the 
things,  perhaps  tho  least  thing,  that  he  nwdo. 
He  may  be  perishing  for  want  of  sympathy— the 
"fellow  feeling"  which  not  only  makes  us  won- 
drous kind,  but  divinely  helpful.  There  are  bet- 
ter tilings  than  money— honest  work,  fair  play, 
good  advice,  and,  best  of  all,  yourself. 

"Not  what  we  Rive,  but  what  we  share; 
The  gilt  vrithout  the  giver  is  bare." 

But  these  thoughts  should  keep  nobody's  money 
In  his  pocket  and  out  of  the  hands  of  the  needy. 
Wc  should  give  when  wc  can,  and  wc  should  do  it 
Ik  artily,  and  as  unto  the  Lord— not  as  patrons  ol' 
Christ,  but  as  privileged  to  minister  to  His  poor 


I 
I 

I 


/. 


/ 


HOW  TO  BE  HAPPY. 

A  LAY  SERMON. 

My  text  is  the  twenty-seventh  Psalm,  espec- 
ially the  last  verse.  My  discourse  will  be  di- 
vided into  a  preamble,  six  heads  and  a  few  re- 
marks on  what  has  been  said. 

We  all  want  to  be  happy ;  in  early  youth 
we  all  expect  to  be,  as  a  matter  of  course. 
We  look  forward  into  the  future  with  eager, 
confident  eyes,  so  impatient,  we  can  hardly 
wait,  for  that  vague  but  glorious  something  we 
feel  sure  awaits  us  there.  The  days,  the 
months,  the  years  slip  away  and  we  find  our- 
selves living  common,  prosy,  work-a-day  lives 
like  everyone  else,;  we  are  constrained, hemmed 
in  by  circumstances  against  which  we  are  help- 
less ;  we  find  we  must  give  up  the  plan,  the 
hope  in  which  our  heart,  our  very  life  is  bound 
up  ;  the  thing  that  is  most  distasteful  and  dread- 
ful to  us  happens  to  us  nevertheless,  and 
death  takes  the  dear  friends  so  much  a  part  of  ^ 
ourselves  it  never  occurred  to  us  to  imagine 
life  without  them.  And  this  is  the  realization 
of  that  splendid  future  we  so  longed  for !  One 
of  the  most  critical  as  well  as  bitterest  moments 
of  existence  is  when  the  heavy  burden  of  life 
first  falls  consciously  on  the  careless,  happy 
heart  of  youth,  mei'rily  dancing  down  the 
"long  path."  Scales'  seem  to  fall  from  our 
eyes.  Suddenly  we  notice  how  few  people 
look  happy,  how  every  middle-aged  face  bears 
deep  lines,  how  the  light  and  sparkle  has  faded 
out  of  the  eye,  how  often  the  voice  has  a  com- 
plaining, at  best,  a  resigned  tone.  These 
faces  were  all  young,  bright,  expectant,  once. 
—  Thoreau  says,  "The  man  builds  a  wood-shed 
from  the  material  the  youth  collected  for  a  gold- 
en  bridge  to  the  moon."  Is  it  all  really  true 
then  that  we  have  read  in  poetry  with  a  half- 
sad,  half-sentimental  pleasure  ?  Is  life  a  "fleet- 
ing dream,  for  man's  delusion  given  ?"  Is  all 
its  song  "endure  and  die?"  Is  "man  made  to 
|  mourn?"  Is  that  miserable  saying  of  some- 
;  body  really  true — "Youth  is  a  blunder,  man- 
hood a  struggle,  old  age  a  regret?"  And 
J  what  shall  we  do  under  this  new  aspect  of  life  ? 
Shall  we  grow  bitter,  sneering,  cynical?  Shall 
we  rush  from  one  excitement  to  another  in  the 
i  mad  pursuit  of  happiness  ?  Or  shall  we  sit 
down  despondently,  fold  our  hands,  and  wait 
for  the  end,  not  far  off  at  the  longest  ? 

The  answer  we  give  to  these  questions  is  a 
turning-point  in  life.  For  my  part,  believing 
fully  in  the  possibility  of  happiness  even  in 
this  "vale  of  tears"  if  so  we  must  call  it,  I 
shall  proceed  to  give  my  recipe  therefor. 

Firstly,  if  possible,  be  well,  and  have  a  good 
appetite.  If  these  conditions  are  yours,  the 
battle  is  already  half  gained.  Many  soul  and 
heart  troubles  are  really  located  in  the  stom- 
ach, unromantic  as  it  sounds.  Ill  health  causes 
the  blues,- and  the  blues  cause  ill  health,  so  we 
should  cultivate  the  body's  health  for  the  spir- 
it's, and  equally  vice  versa. 

Secondly,  be  busy.  Fill  the  hours  so  full  of 
useful  and  interesting  work  that  there  shall  be 
no  time  for  dwelling  on  your  troubles,  that 
"the  day  shall  dawn  full  of  expectation,  the 
night  fall  full  of  repose."  Make  interests  for 
yourself  in  life.  Realize  that  you  are  a  living 
soul,  with  responsibilities,  glorious  opportu- 
nities now  and  eternity  hereafter,  and  be 
ashamed  to  find  life  vacant,  tiresome. 


ting  away  from  ourselves.  It  is,  too,  a  bur- 
den we  must  bear  alone.  To  keep  ourselves  to 
ourselves  is  a  lesson  we  learn  early  in  life. 
The  only  way  to  attain  peace  is,  having  done 
our  best,  whether  the  result  be  a  success  or  a 
failure,  forget  it,  think  no  more  about  it.  Noth- 
ing more  surely  produces  a  morbid,  diseased 
tone  of  mind  than  the  habit  of  constant  self- 


contemplation. 

Fourthly,  expect  little.  Expect  little  of  life, 
not  too  much  of  your  friends.  Living  solely 
in  to-day,  not  venturesomely  intermeddling 
with  the  future,  any  pleasure  it  has  for  us  will 
come  wearing  the  added  charm  of  surprise, 
and  we  shall  have  to  mourn  no  "might-have- 
beens,"  ruins  of  air-castles  we  have  built  only 
to  crush  us  in  their  fall. 

Fifthly,  be  determined  to  be  happy.  Make 
the  most  of  every  happiness  that  comes  to  you. 
^-j  Look  on  the  bright  side  of  everything.  Cheer- 
fulness is  not  always  spontaneous  ;  it  is  greatly 
a  matter  of  habit,  and  bears  cultivation.  One 
who  can  contrive  to  bear  a  smiling  face  through 
a  world  where  there  are  so  many  troubled 
hearts,  may  unconsciously  be  a  public  benefac- 
tor; for  the  "merry  heart  docth  good  like 
medicine,"  not  alone  to  its  possessor. 

Lastly, — and  ' ' 

secret  of  happS 
that  God  is,  ths?! 
for  you ;  belieAjflS 
is  gone  from  liff& 
ourselves  by  rl 
misfortunes.     A;  - 
can  say  and  beli  -  . 
sting  is  gone.     '.'..; 
fancy  we  should?! 
where  else,  had  \ 
which  seems  to  u&# 
shall  feel  that  Go 
sent  or  withheld 
part   is  only  to  I 
"talents"  He  has  I 
only  one.     I  notii 
will  come  after  m 

and  follow  me  ;"  n_, .,     ^o  mm  uiko  up/m- 

cross,"  that  thing  which  is  most  disagreeable, 
painful  to  us ;  that  thing  whose  shadow  dark- 
ens all  our  lives,  that  is  the  very  thing  we  are 


happy  who  are  constantly  dwelling  in  thought 
upon  themselves,  their  own  perfections,  their 
own  short-comings,  what  people  think  of  them, 
and  so  en.  The  heaviest  burden  of  life  is 
often  ourselves, — self-disgust.  From  every- 
thing else  we  can  escape  ;  but  there  is  no  get- 


nrnE  Storm  of  Life,— Life  bears  on  like  the 
stream  of  a  mighty  iiv'„r.  Oar  boat  glides  swiftly 
down  tbe  narrow  channel,  through  the  playful 
-.imrmurings  of  tbe  little  brook,  j,nd  winding  along 
its  glassy  ootders,  the  trees  s'  dessoras 

^>vcr  our  young  hands;  we  are  in  hope,  and  we 
grasp  esgerly  at  the  beauties  around  us;  but  tht 
stream  hurries  us  on,  and  still  our  hand*  are 
empty. 

Our  course  in  youth  and  mauhood  U  along  a 
wider  and  deeper  flood,  and  amid  objects  mire 
striking  and  magnificent.    We  are  animated  by 
the  moving  picture  of  enjoyment  and  industry 
that  is  jussiPg  before  us;  we.  ar-3  excited  by  short- 
lived success,  or  depressed  anil  i  iserable 
by  sortie  sborf-Hved  disappointment,     Bui 
ergy  sni  cop'  ndecec  n'c  both  ia  rail      Tb 
bears  us  en,  and  our  joys  and  griefs  bebiad  us. 
"VVfi  rosy  be  shipwrecked,  but  we  cannot  aochor; 
^ottr  TOj'sge  may  be  hastened,  bus  we  cannot  be 
*delayec;    whether   rough    or  smooth,  the  river 
hastens    fow«rc!s    it3  home:    tha  roaring  of  the 
mares  is  beneath  our  keel,  and  the  lam. 
frcm  cur  view;  th?  floods  are  lifred  up  arono  i  ttj, 
-.  ka  cur  last  leave  of  e  i  iahsb- 
itants,                    ■firure  voyage,  there  is  no  wit- 
■  the  infinite  and  hop  He- 
her. 


Life's  Autumn  —  Like  the  leaf,  life  has  its  fad- 
ing. We  speak  and  think  of  it  with  sadness,  just 
as  we  think  of  the  Autumn  season.  But  there 
should  be  no  sadness  at  the  fading  of  a  life  that 
has  done  weinta  ■"f"b'    r*  —  - 


DUTIES    OF   DAILY   LIFE, 


Live  is  not  entirely  made  up  of  great  evUs  or  heavy 
trie!*  ;  but  the  perpetual  recurrence  of  petty  evils  and 
f  msiii  trials  is  the  oidinary  and  appointed  exercise  of 
asked  to  bear,  and  to  bear  not  complainingly,   the  Christian  graces.     To  bear  with  the  failings  of 

not  stoically,  but  trustingly,  and,  if  possible,  U'fe  ab,ou*   «B-^th  their   infomities,  their  W 

•"  BJ'         >       r  >  j ntigmfefct,  their  ill-breeding,  their  perverse  tempers 

cheerfully.     The  soul  that  "waits"  on  God,  —to  endure  neglect  when  we  feel  we  deserved  atten- * 

believing  firmly  whatever  comes  to  it  from  Him  tiou,  and  ingratitude  where  we  expected  thanks— to 

is  ripht   that  walks  straightforward  on  the  nath    bear  wilh  tne  comPany  of  disagreeable  people  whom 
is  right,  that  walks  straightlorwaid  on  the  path   Provi(ieflce  ha8  placed  in  our  way?  aud  whom  he  has 

of  life  with  no  backward  glances  at  yesterday's  provided  or  purposed  for  the  trial  of  our  virtue — 

stumbles  and  wanderings,  at  peace  with  itself,  these  are  the  best  exercises  of  patience  and  self- 

.,   *    ,    ,  ,        .  ,  ,  denial,  and  the  better  because  not  chosen  by  ourselves. 

at  peace  with  God,  knows  a  happiness  beyond  To  bear  with  Tfexation  iu  bu8ine8B,  with  disappoint-' 

the  disturbing  power  of  all  the  outward  acci-  ment  in  our  expectations,  with  interruptions  of  our 

retirement,  with  folly,  intrusion,  disturbance — in 
short,  with  whatever  opposes  our  will,  or  contradicts 
our  humor — this  habitual  acquiescence  appears  to  be 
more  of  the  essence  of  self-denial  than  any  little 
rigors  or  afflictions  of  our  own  imposing.  These 
constant,  inevitable,  hut  inferier  evils  properly  im- 
proved, furnish  a  good  moral  discipline,  and  might,! 
in  the  days  of ignoranse,  have  superseded  pilgrimage 
and  penance. — Hannah  More. 


dents  and  changes  of  life. 

So  ends  my  sermon.     If  practising  were  only 
as  easy  as  preaching !  P.  Thorne. 


LIFE. 

Stkcgglb  not  with  thy  life  !— «*he  heavy  doom 
Resist  act,  it  will  bow  thee  like  a  slave  : 

Strive  not !  thou  shalt  not  conquer ;  to  thy  temb 
Thou  ahalt  go  crushed,  and  ground,  though  ne'er 
so  brave. 


t     Would  you  die  happy?     Live  well.     A  self- 
ish man,    and  the   man  of  pleasure,    are    never  Complain  not  of  thy  life  !— for  what  art  thoa 
prepared  for  death,  and  never  would  be  if    life    More   than  thy  fellows,  that  thou-  shouldet  n 
'were  lengthened  out  a  thousand  years      A  littleBrave  thoughts  still  lodge  beneath  a  furrowed  bn* 
Thirdly,  forget  yourself.     People  cannot  before  Sp0rt — a  few  more  dollars — is  their  cry—    And  the  way.wearied"have  the  sweetest  sleep. 

and  thus  it   would   be  continually; — wisdom  is 

crowded  out  of  life  and  thev  hurrv   on,  till  in  aMa^el  not  at  thy  life  !-patience  shall  see 
uuvvucuuiui                                            i                    The  perfect  work  of  wisdom  to  her  given ; 
moment  unexpected,  tbe  icy  hand  is .upon  tnern       w  fftstthy  BOul  thrmigh  thig  h5gh  mystery, 
To  die  well,  we  must   live    well.     Nothing  will     And  ^  Bba]j  jea<i  faee  to  tbe  gates  of  heaven 
bring  more  peace  to  a  dying-  bed  than  the  ?eflec-                                           —Franris  Anne  Kemble. 
lion  of  a  well-spent,  useful  life.  **- —  j 


HOW  TO  DO  IT. 
Wherever  Christianity  has   been    preached 
with  real  and  faith  it  has  gained  important  vic- 
tories   and  established   itself  in  the  hearts  of 
men.     We  have  an    illustration  of  this  in  the 
origin  and   growth   of  the    African    Methodist 
Episcopal  Church.     Fifty  years  since  it  began 
in  a  loft  over  a  blacksmith's  shop,  with  only  a 
dozen  for  a   congregation.     With   the  energy 
of  men  who  have  positive  religious  convictions, 
this  handful  continued  their  meetings.     With 
the   simplicity  of  Christian   consecration,   the 
Word  was  preached.     In  a  half  century   this 
congregation  of  a  dozen  has  grown  to  five  hun- 
dred  churches,    embracing   a   membership    of 
about  two   hundred  thousand ;  over  one  hun- 
dred   thousand   in   the   former    slave-holding 
States.     These  churches  are  scattered   over  a 
vast  extent  of  country,  as  may  be  seen  by  the 
following  named  conferences:  New  England, 
New  York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  Ohio,  In- 
diana,   Missouri,    Louisiana,   Virginia,   South 
Carolina,  Georgia,  Florida  and  California  An- 
nual Conferences.     To  this  must  be  added  one 
million  of  persons  comprised  in  their  congre- 
gations.    For  the  past  four  years  they  have 
sustained   seventy-four    missions    among    the 
freedmen,  supported  sixty  schools,  and  co-op- 
erated with  the  Freedmen's   Aid  Commission 
and  other  associations  at  work  in  the  South. 
Forty  thousand  children  are  in  their  Sunday- 
schools,  and  as  many  books  are  in  their  libra- 
ries.    They  collected  for  church  and  kindred 
purposes  from  the  colored  people  alone  during 
the  last  fiscal  year  more  than  one  hundred  and 
thirty  thousand  dollars,  and  arc  now  engaging 
in  more  enlarged  plans  for  the  education  and 
evangelization  of  the  colored  people. 

Here  is  an  encouraging  record.  With  no 
wealth  or  luxuries,  and  a  great  majority  of  them 
with  only  enough  for  scanty  clothing  and  the 
coarsest  food,  these  hare  given  of  their  earn- 
ings with  a  munificent  hand.  When  we  exam- 
ine their  religion  we  see  many  defects.  They 
have  been  powerfully  excited  by  their  music 
and  the  scenes  of  the  evening  conference. 
Their  religious  ideas,  at  best,  are  very  scanty 
and  crude.  Their  emotions  flame  and  burn  in 
consequence  of  their  intense  heat.  Their  fer- 
vor often  is  fed  by  the  eoarse  excitement  of 
animal  passions.  Still,  underneath  all  this 
will  be  found  the  fresh  and  cooling  streams  of 
a  better  piety.  Few  can  pray  with  a  more  fer- 
vent unction.  Their  devotions  are  a  talk  with 
God.  Their  confidence  is  unfaltering  that  the 
Infinite  Father  will  lead  their  race  out  of  igno- 
rance and  slavery  into  intelligence  and  freedom. 
They  believe  with  an  equal  fervency  and  trust 
that  his  divine  spirit  is  always  present  to  them 
to  quicken  and  regenerate.  The  primary  ele- 
ments of  piety  are  received  by  them  without  a 
doubt ;  and  with  God  as  a  co-worker  in  their 
eouls,  they  are  filled  with  the  assurance  that 
Christianity  will  yet  win  greater  triumphs  in 
the  individual  and  the  world.  Thus  have  they 
a  vitality  which  sends  the  blood  currents  through 
their  religious  organizations.  God  aids  such 
by  the  power  of  his  spirit. 

God  in  History.— The  prayer  of  the  pitriarch, 
when  he  desired  to  behold  tbo  Diriuiiy  face  to 
face,  was  oenied;  but  he  was  able  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  Jrhovah,  after  he  had  passed  by;  and 
so  it  tan  s  with  our  search  for  him  in  the  wrestlings 
of  the  world.  It.  is  when  the  hour  of  coafiict  Is 
over,  that  history  comes  to  a  right  understanding 
of  the  strife,  and  is  ready  to  exclaim ;  "  L  > !  G xl 
is  here  and  we  k  new  it  not."  At  too  foot  of  every 
riaee  in  the  annals  of  nations  may  be  written, 
"  God  reigns."  Events  as  they  pass  away  "  pro- 
cl»im  their  original;"  and  if  you  will  but  listen 
reverently,  you  may  bear  the  receding  centuries, 
as  they  roll  into  the  dim  distance  of  deparce  I  tinm 
perpetually  chanting  "  Te  Deiim  LAr/DAMUS.'' 
with  all  the  choral  voices  of  the  coantless  con- 
gregation of  the  age.— Bancroft's  rrtetoru  Bit- 
courses. 


r. 


A    RATIONAL,    CHEERFUL,    INSPIRING    FAITH    FOR 
THE  MASSES. 

Give  to  these  multitudes  a  rational,  cheerful, 
genial,  inspiring  faith — make  them  to  know  that 
the  Christian  religion  has  no  necessary  relation 
to,  or  connection  with,  the  old  theological  sys- 
tems of  the  past,  and  that  of  all  the  monstrous  as- 
sumptions or  errors  of  churchmen,  that  is  one  of 
the  most  absurd  and  groundless  which  holds  that 
only  Calvinism  can  best  enshrine  the  pieties  and 
sanctities  that  are  so  acceptable  to  God— teach 
them  that,  however  they  may  have  hopelessly 
surrendered  the  inherited  beliefs  of  their  early 
life,  or  the  antiquated  dogmas  of  Orthodoxy,  they 
have  not  therefore  parted  with  the  saving  truth 
and  grace  of  God— but  that  something  better  than 
what  they  have  had  may  still  be  theirs,  and  theirs 
forever— present  to  them  the  nobler  type  of  Chris- 
tianity in  all  its  ample  breadth,  inspiring  power, 
and  winning  beauty,  and  there  will  indeed  be  a 
spiritual  revival,  and  the  church  will  at  last  claim 
and  have  its  own. 

The  age,  the  country,  in  which  we  live,  de- 
mands of  the  Christian  church  that  it  shall  pro- 
claim a  God  of  infinite  love,  everywhere  and  al- 
ways present  in  nature,  and  forever  immanent  in 
the  souls  of  men.  It  must  declare  the  sacred  dig- 
nity and  inestimable  worth  of  every  child  of  the 
Father,  and  must  emphasize  the  value  of  the 
deep  instincts  and  intuitions  of  the  soul  as  well  as 
the  importance  and  need  of  the  lights  and  helps 
of  history  and  experience.  It  must  read  the 
Scriptures  of  God  not  only  in  the  precious  pages 
of  the  Bible,  but  in  the  ample  volume  of  the  out- 
ward universe  and  in  the  ever  unfolding  book  of 
human  life,  while  it  must  gratefully,  joyfully  rec- 
ognize and  adopt,  as  it  own,  every  pure  sentiment, 
every  devout  aspiration,  every  noble  thought, 
every  beautiful  deed.  It  mnst  set  forth  that  the 
Christian  faith  and  life  consist  in  having  the  mind 
of  Jesus,  and  must  teach  that  the  spirit  is  greater 
than  the  letter— character  more  than  creed— prac- 
tice nobler  than  profession— service  better  than 
ceremony.  It  must  announce  the  enfranchise- 
ment of  man's  spiritual  nature,  inculcate  the  doc- 
trine of  the  divine  brotherhood  of  the  race,  and 
open  wide  the  doors  of  welcome  to  all  who  will 
faithfully  work  and  truly  love.  Insisting  that 
not  the  religion  of  Christ,  but  sin,  even  more  than 
error,  is  the  one  intolerable  yoke  and  cruel  burden 
of  the  soul,  and  that  the  most  solemn  and 
imperative  duty  that  devolves  upon  the  disciples 
of  Jesus  is  to  lift  the  world  up  out  of  its 
woes  and  wrongs— the  church  must  hereafter 
lead  and  not  be  led,  in  serving  the  great  moral  en- 
terprises and  reforms  of  society— waging  still  a 
relentless  war  of  extermination  against  every  law 
or  custom  that  authorizes  or  tolerates  the  enslave- 
ment of  human  beings— seeking  to  remove  the 
legal  disabilities  and  popular  prejudices  that  re- 
strict the  right  and  sphere  of  woman,  and  to 
give  her  a  full  share  of  the  opportunities  and 
privileges  of  the  age— redeeming  our  towns  and 
cities  from  the  terrible  vices  of  drunkenness  and  li- 
centiousness, and  from  the  evils  of  reckless  hab- 
its and  fashionable  excesses— befriending  every 
class  of  earth's  unfortunates,  the  poor,  the  sick, 
the  bereaved,  the  tempted,  the  fallen,  the  im- 
prisoned and  the  outcast,  and  raising  them  all  up 
to  some  better  and  happier  condition— silencing 
the  atheistic  cry  that  religion  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  secular  world,  by  entering  boldly  and  with 
more  than  imperial  authority  into  all  the  affairs 
and  relations  of  human  society  wherever  sin  has 
gone  before  it,  no  longer  to  fight  abstractions  and 
contend  against  shadows,  but  to  give  deadly  bat- 
tle to  the  enemy  of  all  good  in  whatever  form 
or  guise  he  may  appear,  and  make  disloyal  or 
corrupted  politicians  and  Presidents  to  under- 
stand chat  they  too  are  terribly  held  to  the  stern 
and  instant  requirement  of  repentance  andpro- 
stration  before  God.  And,  finally,  it  must  ever 
be  kept  in  view  that  whatever  may  be  the 
sorrows  and  evils  of  the  earthly  state,  they  all 
have  a  disciplinary  and  gracious  mission  to  fulfil, 
and  that  in  the  ultimate  consummation  of  things, 
good,  and  good  alone,  shall  befall  the  great  family 
of  the  infinite  Father. 


OF    THE   Ol'EN  SKY. 

'■  ft  is  a  strange  thing  how  little,  in  general, 
people  know  about  the  sky.  It  is  the  part  of 
creation  in  which  nature  has  done  more  for 
the  sake  of  pleasing  man — more  for  the  sole 
and  evident  purpose  of  talking  to  him,  and 
teaching  him,  than  in  any  other  of  her  works  ; 
and  it  is  just  the  part  in  which  we  least  at- 
tend to  her.  There  are  not  many  of  her 
other  works  in  which  gome  more  material  or 
essential  purpose  than  the  mere  pleasing  of 
men,  is  not  answered  by  every  part  of  their 

j  organization  ;  but  every  essential  purpose  of 
the  sky  might,  so  far  as  we  know,  he  answered, 
if,  once  in  three  days  or  thereabouts,  a  great 
ugly  black  rain  cloud  were  brought  up  over 
the  blue,  and  everything  well  watered,  and  so 
all  left  Hue  again  till  next  time,  with  per- 
haps a  film  of  morning  and  evening  mist  for 
dew.  And,  instead  of  this,  there  is  not  a  mo- 
ment of  aDy  day  of  our  lives  when  nature  is 
not  producing  scene  after  scene,  picture  after 
picture,  glory  after  glory,  and  working  still 
upon  such  exquisite  and  constant  principles 
of  the  most  perfect  beauty,  that  it  in  quite 
certain  that  it"  is  all  done  for  us,  and  intend- 
ed for  our  perpetual  pleasure.  And  every 
man,  wherever  placed,  however  far  from  other 
sources  of  interest  or  of  beauty,  has  this  do- 
ing for  him  constantly.  The  noblest  scenes 
of  the  earth  can  be  seen  and  known  but  by 
few ;  it  is  not  intended  that  man  should  live 
always  in  the  midst  of  them ;  he  injures  them 
by  his  presence,  he  ceases  to  feel  them,  if  he 
be  always  with  them  ;   but  the  sky  is  for  all : 

«  bright  as  it  is,  it  is  not  '  too  bright  nor  good 
for  human  nature's  daily  food.'  Sometimes 
gentle,  sometimes  capricoue,  sometimes  awful ; 
never  the  same  for  two  moments  together; 
almost  human  in  its  passions— spiritual  in  itd 
tenderness— almost  divine  in  its  infinity,  its 
appeal  to  what  is  immortal  in  us  as  distinct  as 
its  ministry  of  chastisement  or  of  blessing  to 
what  is  mortal  is  essential.  And  yet  we  never 
attend  to  it,  we  never  make  it  a  subject  of_ 

-  thought,  but  as  it  has  to  do  with  our  animal- 
sensations;  we  look  upon  all  by  which  it 
speaksto  us  more  clearly  than  to  brutes,  upon 
all  which  bears  witness  to  the  intention  of  the 
Supreme,  that  wo  are  to  receive  more  from 
the  covering  vault  than  the  light  and  the  dew 
which  we  share  with  the  weed  and  the  worm, 

c  only  as  a  succession  of  meaningless  and  mono- 
tonous accident,  too  common  and  too  painful 
to  be  worthy  of  a  moment  of  watchfulness,  or 

7  a  glance  of  admiration." 

NOTHING  IS  LOST. 
The   drop  that  mingles  with  the  flood,  the 
sand  dropped  on  the  sea-shore,  the  word  you 
have  spoken  will  not  be  lost.     Each  will  have   . 
its  influence,  and  be  left   till  time  shall   be  no 
more.     Have  you  ever  thought  of  the  effect 
that  might  be  produced   by  a  single  word? 
Drop  it  pleasantly  among  a  group,  and  it  will 
make  a  dozen  happy  who  return  to  their  homes 
and  produce   the   same  effect  on   a  hundred? 
more,  perhaps.     A  bad  word  may  arouse  'the 
indignation  of  a  neighborhood  ;  it  may  spread 
like  wildfire,   to   produce    disastrous    effect 
As  no  word  is  lost,  be  careful  how  you  speak 
speak  right,  speak  kindly.     The  influence  you 
may   exert   by  a  life   of  kindness — by   words 
dropped  among  the  young  and   the  old— is  in- 
calculable.    It  will  not  cease  when  your  bodies 
lie  in  the  grave,  but  will  be  felt  wider  and  still 
wider,  as  year  after  year  passes  away.     Who, 
then,  will  not  exert  himself  for  the  welfare  of 
millions? — Selected. 


ia 

)U 


But  suppose  we  have  nothing  to  give.  Sap- 
pose  that  prior  claims  such  as  lie  in  our  f.nnily 
relations,  and  a  prudent  regard  for  future  contin- 
gencies, leave  no  margin  for  either  giving  or  lend- 
ing, what  then?  It  is  still,  "Give  to  him  thai 
asketb  of  thee."  Money  may  be  only  one  of  the 
things,  perhaps  the  least  thing,  that  he 
He  may  be  perishing  for  want  of  sympathy— the 
"fellow  feeling"  which  not  only  makes  us  won- 
drous kind,  but  divinely  helpful.  There  are  bet- 
ter things  than  money— honest  work,  fair  plav, 
good  advice,  and,  bc.it  of  all,  yourself. 

"Not  what  wo  rivo,  but  what  we  share; 
The  yi/t  mthoul  the  giver  is  b 

I5ut  these  thoughts  should  keep  nobody's  money 
in  bis  pocket  and  out  of  the  bauds  of  the  needy. 
We  should  give  when  we  can,  and  wo  should  do  it 
heartily,  and  as  unto  the  Lord— not  as  patrons  of 
<  In  1st,  but  as  privileged  to  minister  to  His  poor. 


I 


— "13ut,  mamma,  what  must  we  say  to  the  pa- 

\  MOTHER'S  TALK  WITH  IIE1I  CHIL-  tatoes  rottins in  the  eround'  and  the  h*?  &n 

\\\)VV  spoiled?"  said  an  older  and  wiser  member  of 

the  home  circle. 

BY  COUSIN  KATE.  ,irk  ,  ,       .  .„ 

"U,  my  dear,  plenty  more  will  grow  again ; 

A  Imppy,  pleasant  group  of  children  were  the  quant;ty  wdi  not  be  materially  shortened, 
seated  around  a  table,  pleasantly  lit  by  gas,  as  otber  crops  will  be  gathered  in,  hastened  on 
in  a  simple,  pretty  cottage-parlor,  all  intent  upon  hy  thege  very  cop;OU8  rajn8  .  and  wben  tbe  sun 
a  promised  talk  with  their  mother  before  bed-,  again  shows  bia  facC)  the  whole  land  wjjj  be 
time,  Precious  are  the  moments,  eager  the. teeming  with  plenty,  and  the  merry  harvest- 
attention,  for  fear  of  losing  a  single  word  from  ers  wi]1  sing  for  joy>  Those  who  have  had  a 
mamma's  li»B  |  and  great  the  wonderment  as  gorry  tjme  at  their  favorite  haunts  of  recrea- 
to  the  subject  of  the  present  conversation.  tion,  with  but  little  sunshine  to  enjoy  them- 

"My  own  darlings,"  began  the  busy  mother,  ge_lveg  ^  wiU  be  recompensed  }n  a  magnificent 
"I  want  you  all  to  understand  what  I  am  go-  autUmn,  with  clear  skies,  a  bracing,  pleasant 
ing  to  talk  about,  and  also  to  feel  it  truly  in  atmosphere,  and  the  glorious  ending  of  a  beau- 
the  very  dcftlis  of  your  souls  ;  for  without  the!  ti{ui  year>  go  ]jke  the  doge  o(  g  good  Hfe> 
treasure  of  which  I  am  going  to  speak,  none  after  the  storms  and  adverse  weather  the  most 
of  you  can  ever  be  happy."  patient  are  called  upon  to  endure.     The  great 

"I  have  to-day  seen  several  clouded  brows,  Fatber  5g  eyer  watcb;ng  over  us>  bringing  good 
and  heard  many  utterings  of  impatience  at  the  out  of  evjI .  ^  aiway8  be  contenied  in  every 
stormy  skyss,  all  reflected  in  your  faces,  be-  lpt  and  condition  t0  whjch  ue  can3  you .  for 
cause,  forsooth,  you  could  not  get  out  to  play.  true  contentment  is  a  thank-offering  to  God, 
Now,  why  couldn't  you  be  satisfied  with  the  and>  though  gQ  gmall  a  ylrUt0t  will  8Urely  as. 
pleasures  of  home  for  a  day  or  two,  and  recol-'  cend  t0  hcaven>  evokjng  its  choicest  blessings, 
lect  that  in  the  domestic  circle  as  many  hearty  *An  binnble  p03i,jOI1)  contentedly  filled,  has  as 
pleasures  can  be  gleaned  as  in  a  whole  sum-  man y  deiigbtg  and  enjoyments  as  the  highest 
mer's  day  ramble.  While  the  rain  is  pouring^ and  seerning]v  most  prosperous;  and  I  trust 
from  the  skies— seeming  as  if  the  very  foun-  my  darijngs  win  aiwav8  remember  this  when 
tains  of  heaven  were  unsealed,— you  can  rest  4  they  COmpare  their  own  home  with  those  of 
your  limbs  for  a  season,  do  up  a  lot  of  little  ,heir  more  weabhy  companions.  Never  envy 
chores  so  often  put  off  till  that  favorite  time,  L  the  Io(.  of  othergj  nor  lbil)k  yonp  0W|,  UQ  m;8er. 
•by-and-bye' ;  read  pleasant  stories,  play  pretty^- ab,Gj   &Q  meR^   or  unjnviting,  for  your  own 


games,  keep  house,  write  letters,  and,  in  fact, 
bless  the  rainy  day  that  gives  you  so  much 
time  for  everything  in-doors  that  is  too  often 
neglected  in  the  gorgeous  sheen  of  a  summer's 
day.  Do  not  be  discontented,  no  matter  what 
befalls  you  ;  whether  the  confinement  of  a  rainy 
day.  or  the  disappointment  of  some  favorite 
plan  or  promised  visit ;  for  all  things  work  to- 
gether for  good  ;  and  our  Heavenly  Father  is 


happy  spirit  can  make  it  the  very  abode  of 
peace,  and  your  discontent  may  turn  it  into  a 
very  den  of  demons.  Be  contented  with  Utile 
things,  with  simple  pleasures,  and  love  Nature's 
ever-changing  beauties,  rather  than  the  artifi- 
cial excitements  of  social  life.  By  them  the 
very  sap  cf  contentment  is  dried  up,  as  there 
is  such  a  strain  to  emulate  others,  such  an  ex- 
hausted energy  after  the  foolish  exactions  of 


preparing  to  balance  everything  justly  in  the  f  fashionable  m  fie  contentcd  wkh  a  litlle  in 
scales  of  his  eternal  mercy  and  foresight.  'a  qujet,  simple  home,  and  debts  will  be  few, 
While  you  are  murmur.ng,  just  think  of  the   ^^  h       ineM  Uy  distributed  over  tbe 

poor  hackman's  radiant   smiles  and  positive  ^and>  am,  cjm  ^  b  independent, 

gains.  Think  of  all  the  wells  and  cisterns 
611ed  up,  instead  of  the  terrors  of  drought, 
the  dry,  dusty  roads,  the  parched  fields,  and 
all  creation  panting  for  moisture  in  cool,  re- 
freshing showers,  and  all  their  consequent 
blessings.  Recollect  the  terrible  pest  of  chol- 
era kept  at  bay  by  the  thorough  washing  of 
the  streets,  and,  still  better,  by  the  entire 
cleansing  of  the  sewers  underneath  the  busy 
crowds,  breeding  a  most  pestiferous  atmosphere 
and  engendering  the  very  seeds  of  infection 
and  death  among  our  crowded  population. 
And  now,  my  good,  attentive  little  listeners, 
tell  me  for  what  else  you  should  be  grateful  and 
contented  on  this  sultry,  rainy  day  ?" 

"Why,"  said  a  bright  little  boy  of  the  num- 
ber, "that  my  garden  will  grow  so  beautifully, 

and  that  my  evergreen,  just  planted,  will  take 

nice  root  and  ^rjw  fast,  and  soon  make  a  beau-] 

tiful  curtain  to  cover  our  house." 

"Then  my  ivy  and  roses  will  grow,  too,  in 

the   pots   in   which   I  have  just   transplanted 

them,  and  we  shall  have  something  pretty  for 
"the  bay-window  next  winter,"  said  another. 
"And  I  like  the  rain,   too,"  said  the  little 

one  of  lour  years  and  a  half,  "because  it  will 

make  me  grow  when  I  run  out,   and  help  curl 

my  hair,  and  I  can  wash  my  dolly's  clothes  so 

nice." 

All  laughed  at  her  perfect  contentment  and 

very  novel  application  of  the  text,  and  wanted 

to  kiss  her  for  her  cunning  remarks  and  extra- 
ordinary sagacity. 

"Then,"  said  the  little  boy  again,  "the  rain 

will  swell  the  rivers  and  make  the  ocean  larger, 

besides  all  the  earth's  being  greener  with  the 

thick  grass." 


courageous  example,  help  to  install  this  cheer- 
ful divinity  in  every  homestead.  Be  little  apos- 
tles while  you  are  young,  and  your  influence 
will  be  tenfold  when  you  are  grown-up  men 
and  women." 

"Can  we  be  apostles  ?"  said  the  children,  al- 
most simultaneously  ;  "well,  I  should  like  that ; 
only  tell  us  what  we  must  do." 

"Do,  my  dears?  well,  if  you  understand  all 
I  have  said,  or  even  only  one-half,  be  cheerful 
at  your  work  and  in  your  play,  because  you 
know  your  Heavenly  Father  loves  you,  your 
earthly  parents  care  for  you.  Therefore,  what- 
ever happens  to  you  as  ordained  by  Him,  and 
i  belonging  to  your  especial  condition  in  life,  is 
the  very  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  you ; 
the  very  lot  most  suited  to  your  capacities  for 
usefulness  and  enjoyment.  Be  contented,  be 
happy,  be  grateful,  and  you  will  smooth  the 
hardest  road  and  make  the  most  painful  condi- 
tion bearable. 


THE  BOY  AND  THE  TIGER. 
The  following  account  is  by  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Lacroix,  an  excellent  missionary  at  Calcut- 
ta: 

Bees  are  very  numerous  in  India  ;  but  they 
are  not  kept  there  as  they  are  here,  in  hives  ; 
for  they  store  u  p  their  honey  in  hollow  trees 
in  the  forests  and  jungles.     But  although  it 
is  difficult  to  enter  these  wooded  places,  and 
those  who  do  so  are  in  great  danger  from  ser-    ^  # 
pents  and  savage  beasts,  there  are  many  poor  f^~ 
men  who  get  their  living  by  gathering  and 
selling  the  wild  honey.     Now,  a  few  months 
before  Mr.  Lacroix  wrote  his  letter,  four  of 
these  men,  and  a  boy  eleven  years  old,  went 
from  oneof  the  stations  of  the  London  Mission- 
ary Society,  for  this  purpose.  They  got  into  a 
boat,  and  rowed  into  an  inlet  of  a  river,  where 
the  banks  on  both  sides  were  grown  all  over 
with  high  trees  and  thick  shrubs,  which  formed 
a  part  of  what   is  called  in  India  a  jungle. 
When  they  came  to  the  place  where  they  in- 
tended to  land,  the  men  jumped  on  shore,  and 
left  the  boy  to  take  care  of  the  boat  while  they 
were  gone  after  the  honey.  As  the  tide  was  run- 
ning then  out  of  the  creek,  in  a  little  while 
the  boat  was  left  dry   upon  a  bank  of  deep 
mud.     The  sun  was  hot  and  the  place  was 
very  silent,  as  the  boy  sat  quietly  in  the  boat, 
looking  about  him  and  wishing  that  the  men 
would  come  back  ;  when  lo  !  all  at  once  the 
poor  little  fellow  stared  as  he  saw  a  very 
large    tiger    standing   upon    the   bank    just 
above  the  boat  looking  right  down  upon  him 
with  his  great  glaring  eyes !     You  may  fan- 
cy how  he  felt  as  he  beheld  the  savage  beast 
first  fix  his  fierce  look  upon   him,  and  then 
crouch  and  crawl  along  the  ground,  prepar- 
ing to  spring  and  make  him  his  prey. 

The  boy  was  very  much  frightened,  as  you 
may  suppose,  but  he  had  his  wits  about  him  ; 
and,  therefore,  without  losing  a  moment,  he 
crept  under  the  deck  of  the  boat,  for  fortu- 
nately the  boat  had  a  deck.     But  no  sooner 
!  had  he  entered  his  hiding-place,  than  down 
came  the  tiger  at  one  great  leap  ;  and  such 
I  was  the  force  with  which  he  sprang,   that 
J  one  of  his  legs  went  right  through  the  deck, 
and  got  jammed  in  between  the  planks,  just 
over  the  place  where  the  boy  lay. 

Without  loss  of  time,  and  with  wonderful 
1  presence  of  mind,  the  little  fellow  snatched 
hold  of  a  rope  which  was  lying  near  him, 
and  twisting  it  quickly  around  the  tiger's 
leg,  he  tied  it  firm,  and  held  it  fast.     Not 
i  understanding  this  treatment,  and  never  hav- 
!  ing  been  trained,  like  a  dog,  to  give  his  paw 
'  to  boy  or  man,  the  ferocious  creature  groaned 
i  and  tugged,  and  tried  in  every  way  to  get 
i  his  leg  out ;  but  the  boy  knew  well  that  the 
j  only  chance  of  saving  his  own  life  was  to 
keep  the  rope  firm,  and  therefore  he  held  it 
as  fast  as  he  could.  After  twisting,  and  turn- 
1  ing,  and  pulling  for  a  long    time,  without 
'  getting  away   from  the   boy,  the   tiger  was 
1  Suite  cowed,  and  laid  himself  quietly  down 
on  the  deck.     Now  you  may    suppose  how 
the  poor  bov  must  have  felt,  as  he  peeped  up 
i  through  the  broken  deck,  and  saw  the  red 
j  eyes  and  the  great  jaws  of  this  fierce  mon- 
ster. 

But  at  last,  the  honey-gatherers,    having 
1  finished  their  work  in  the  jungle,  made  their 
!  appearance  upon  the  bank.     Seeing  the  tiger 
i  lying  upon  the  deck  of  their  boat,  they  at 
once  concluded  that  he  had  killed  and  gob- 
bled up  the  boy,  and  that  he  was  now  get- 
A  ting  a  quiet    nap    after    his  dinner.     They 
therefore    raised    a    great    shout,    which  so 
frightened  the  beast,  that  he  made  one  more        . 
desperate  tug  ;  and  as  the  boy  this  time  was  -U 
not  quite  so  watchful  as  he  had  been  before, 
the  tiger  jerked  out  his  leg  from  the  hole,        . 
and  leaped  clean  off  the  boat.     Fortunately,      <L 
he  jumped  right  into  the  deep  mud  ;  and  as 
I  he  was  floundering  about  and   trying  to  get 
out  of  it,  the  four  men  rushed  dow^  upon 
him,  and  with  great  sticks  which  they  hap- 
pened to  have  in  their  hands,  they  labored 
1  away  with  all  their  might  at  his  head,  till 
they  first  stunned  and  then  killed  him. 

How  glad  they  were  when  they  saw  the 
b0y    who  they  thought  had  been  killed  and   j 
eaten    by   the    tiger,    quietly   creeping   out 
from  under  the  deck,  safe  and   sound,  you   , 
may  easily  suppose ;  for  he  was  the  son  ot  | 
one  of  the  men,  and  the  nephew  of  another. 


■Bfc* 


my  nose  smashed  as  ins  is.  lor  it  iooks  just  as 
iny  mother's  big  vquash  did  after  the  crow  bit  a 
chunk  out  of  it;  but  I  should  like  to  have  nice 
curly  hair,  nice  clothes,  and  lots  of  money  and 
/  a  cane,  aud  have  people  look  at  me  when  I 
7  walked  down  street  and  say  that's  him,  and 
don't  care  who  knows  it,  for  I  don't  want  to  be 


^  a  map  toiler  like  Uncle  John,  nor  a  tanner  like  f^  t0  inake  thcm  s0-    Sometimes  you  act  like  a 


Uncle  Hiram,  and  all  the  good  people  I  know  of 

arc  soap  boilers  or  tanners,  except  Mr.  Stebins, 

and  he's  a  school  teacher  and  that's  worse  than 

d  I'm  afraidl  s  oither>  for  he  has  aboard  round  the  neighbors, 

table  when 


What  a  Little  Boy  Thought  About  Thing* 

I  am  a  little  boy  about  so  many  years  old ;  I 
don't  know  whether  I'm  a  good  little  bo*,  but  I'm 
afraid  not,  for  I  sometimes  do  wicked  things,  and 
once  I  cut  sister's  kitten's  tail  off  with  the  chop- 
pin'  knife  and  told  her  a  big  dog  came  along  and 
bit  it  off.  and  swallowed  It  down  before  kitty 
could  say  Jack  Robinson,  and  sister  said  she  was 
Borry  and  it  must  have  been  a  very  naughty  dog, 
but  my  mother  didn't  believe  me  and  said  she 
was  afraid  I  had 

tent  to  aiSTsaW  y^s-tbat 'they"  wen't""toNew  r/ lie's  at  the  house.    Iheard  Miss  Spriggins  tell 
York  and  wrote  for  the  newspapers;  she  said  no  ,   .Am,t  Pol|y  so>  tDC>'  wai»*  tiH  he  s  gone   to  spel  - 
-they  went  to  the  bad  place  where  was  nuthiu  L-'nK  *cnpol  or  to  see  the  minister's  wife  and  talk 
but  a  lake  of  fire  and  brimstone,  and  she  asked  «-about  rhcumata  and  red  flannel  aud  hot  poul- 
me  if  I  would  like  to  go  there  and  I  said  no,  for  I  \J}™*  for  sorJ  chests,  and  after   he  s    gone  they 
didn't   think  there'd  be  much  skatin'  or  slidin'  &>,ins:  out  the  nice  things  and  eat  them  by  them- 
on  that  lake,  and  the  boys  couldn't  snow-ball  pelves,  with  lots  of  pickles.    He  don  t  get  any- 
each  other  on   shore,  and  she  said  it  was  more  i    thing  but  bread  and  cookm     butter,    and    stale 
than  that.jast  as  though  that  wasn't  bad  enough,  :    doughnuts  that    are  left  over  from  Saturday  s 
for  I  don't  t'dnk  they  can  play  base  ball  nuth'er.  ;vbakin';_ob,  1  know  bow  things  are  done;  but 
Then  she  asked  me  if  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  a  nau- 
gel  and  have  a  harp,  and  I  said  no,  I'd  rather  be 
a  stage  driver  and  haveabig  drum,  for  I  couldn't 
play  on  t'other  thing.    So  I  shouldn't  like  to  be 


not  relate  to  yourself,  you  have  come  to  regard 
yourself  as  the  world's  pivotal  centre.  It  does  not 
occur  to  you  at  all  that  the  kind  people  around 
you  can  have  any  interests  or  plans  of  their  own 
to  look  after.  All  the  fish  must  come  to  your  net, 
or  you  are  unhappy ;  and  if  those  around  you  are 
not  made  unhappy,  it  is  not  because  you  do  not 


'^there's  Bob  callia' me,  and   we're   goin'   birds 


a  nangel,  for  their  wings   must  be  in  the   way 
when  they  go  swimmin'  and  play  tag  and   leap 
frog,  and  besides  it  must  be  hard  to  fly  when  one 
ain't  used  to  it.    But  it  would  be  jolly  to  be  a 
stage  driver  and  have  a  long  whip  and  touch  up 
the  leaders,  and  say  "g'lang  there,  what  are  ye 
doin'  on!"    I  should  like   that  much  better'ri 
flyin' ;  and  tben  mother  said  there  was  a  dread- 
ful stage  of  sin,  and  Bob  hollered  and  said  that 
he  "guessed  I  was  on  it,"  and  then  she  whipped 
ns   and   sent  us  to   bed   without   any  supper, 
but  I  didn't  care  for  any  supper,  for  they  hadn't 
nothin'    but    bread    and    butter  and    tea,  and 
Bob  and  I  got  up  and  be  lifted  me  in  at  the  pan- 
try window,  and  we  got  a  mince  pie  and  a  whole 
bat  full  of  doughnuts  and  they  thought  it  was 
the  cook  stole  'em,  and  sent  her  aw  iy  the  next 
day,  and  Bob  said  be  was  ylad  of  it,  for  she  did 
net  make  good  pies,  and  the  doughnuts  wasn't 
fried  enough^and  sometimes  I  do  swear,  for  I 
Baid  by  goly  the  other  day,  and  sister  heard  me, 
an  !  she  told  mother,    and  mother  said  I  was  a 
bad  boy  and  w  uld  bring  her  gray  hairs  to  the 
grave,  and  she  whipped  me,  but  1  don't  think  it 
did  her  gray  hairs  any  good,  and  it  hurt  me.and 
when  I  got  up  stairs  I  said  goff  darn   it,  but  I 
said  it  so  she  didn't  hear  me,  and  when  she  asked 
me  if  I  didn't  think  I  was  very  wicked,  I  said  I 
was  afraid  I  was,  and  I  was*  sorry  for  it.  and 
wouldn't  do  eo  any  more,  and  then  she  said  I  was 
a  good  little  boy,  and  told  me  about  George 
Washington  who  cut  down  the  apple  tiee,  and 
was  caught  at  it,  and  said  he  did  it  with  his 
little  hatchet,  just  as  though  I  hadn't  beard  all 
about  it  belore,  and  didn't  always  think  he  was 
a  big  stupid  for  cutting  wood  when  they  had  a 
hired  man  about  the  house,  and  dullin'  his  little 
hatchet,  and  besides  it  wou'd  have  been  a  great 
deal  jollier  to  let  the  trees  be  so  he  could  nave 
stole  apples  off  in  the  fall.    I  don't  care  if  he 
was  the  fa'her  of  his  country,  he  wasn't  smart, 
and  I'l  bet  you  the  boys  in  our  schools   would 
cheat  him  out  of  his  eye  t  eth  swoppin'  jack- 
knives-,  and  Icoulu  lick  him  and  hardly  try,  and 
1  don't  think  he  was  \ery  healthy  eitacrfor-  1 
sever  see  a  good  litt'e  boy  that  wasn't  always 
sick  and  had  the  mumps  and  measeis,  aud  the 
scarlet  tever,  and  wasn't  a  coughing  all  the  w  hlle, 
and  badn't  to  take  castor  oil,  and  tar-water, 
and  couldn't  eat  cherries,  and  didn't  have  to 
have  his  head  patted  till  the  hair  was  rubbed 
on    oy    every oocty    tnat    came    to   nis  motn- 
er's,    and    be    asked    how    old   he   was,  and 
who  died  to  save  sinners,  and  what  he  had  been 
!  studyiu'   at   school,  and  how  far  he'd  got,  and 
lots  of  other  conundrums,  and  have  to  say  his 
catechism,  no,  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  a  good  little 
boy,  I'd  just  as  lief  be  a  nangel  and  be  done  with 
i  it,  I  don't  think  I  ever  shall  be  a  good  little  boy, 
and  other  people  don't  think  so  too,  for  I  wazn't 
never  called  a  good  little  boy  but  once,  and  that 
was  wheD  Uncle  Johr  asked  me  where  I  stood  in 
my  class,  and  I  told  him  it  was  next  to  the  bead, 
and  he  said  that  was  right  and    he  gave  me  a 
quarter,  and  when  he  asked  me  how  many  boys 
1  there  were  in  the  class,   and  I  said   there  was 
only  two,  myself  and  a   little  girl,  and  then  he 
wanted  me  to  give  him  back  the  quarter  and  I 
wouldn't,  and  he  ran  niter  me  aud  stumbled  over 
a  chair,  and  he  broke  his  cane,  and  hurt  himself, 
and  he  ■  been  lame  ever  since,  and  I'm  glad  of 
it,  fo"  he  isn't  my  father,  and  hasn't  any  right 
to  lick  me,  for  1  get  enough  of  that  home;  aud 
'he  quaiter  wasn't  a  good  one  either.    I  don't 
like  Uncle  John,  and  I  guess  he  knows  it,  for  he 
bays  I  ain't  like  any  of  the  family,  and  he  says 
— :  he  expects  I'll  go  to  sea  and  be  a  pirate  instead 
o'  a  respectable  member  of  society,  and  I  should 
not  wonder,  for  I'd    rather  be   a  pirate  than  a 
soap-boiler  like  him,  and    I  don't   care  if  he  is 
rich,  it's  a  nasty  business;    and  1  shan't  have  to 
be  a  pirate  either,  for  one  can  make  lots  of  mon. 
cy  without  that;  and  they  arc  always  talking  to 
me  about  belns  rich  and* respectable,  aud  going 
to  Congress,  and  being  Presidont,   and  all  that 
sort  o'  thing,  but  I  don't  want  to  be  President; 
there's  Liucoln  he  wa*  President,  and  I  guess 
he's  sorry  for  It  now,  and  there's  Andy  John- 
son, I  guess  be  don't  like  it  much   either;  and  a 
fellow  doesn't  have  t  >  be  respectable  to  be  a  Con- 
gressman, for  there's  John  Morrissey,  he's  made 
money  and   he's   gone   to  Congress,   and  he 
has  got  nice  curly  hair  and  nice  clothes,  and  he 
don't  do  any  work  either;  I  shouldn't  like  to  be 
a  (filter  like  he  is.  for  I  shouldn't  want  to  have 


nestin',  fur  I  know  where  there's  a  yaller  bird's 
nest  chuck  full  of  eggs;  mother  says  its  cruel 

^and  the  birds  don't  like  it,  that  I  wouldn't  like  to 
have  ray  eggs  stole  if  I  was  a  bird,  and  I  don't 
think  I  should,  but  I  ain't  a  bird,  vou  know,  and 

^that  makes  a  difference,  and  i'  v<>n  want  to  print 

-^this  you  can,  for  next  to  being  a  stige  driver  and 
a  pirate  I'd  like  to  be  an  editor,  for  you  fellows 
don't  have  to  tell  the  truth,  and  you  can  go  to 

<<  ileuses  without  payin'.  John  Paul. 


MR^.  ROYAL 


miserable  spoiled  baby,  and  then,  under  the  spur 
of  jealousy,  you  act  like  an  infuriated  brute.    The 
tendency  to  this  shameful  selfishness  is  natural  and 
irresistible  in  all  who  devote  themselves,  as  you 
have  done,  to  the  care  and  exhibition  of  their  per- 
sons.   Others  may  cover  it  from  sight  more  than 
you  do,  by  a  more  cunning  art,  but  it  is  there.    It 
cannot  be  otherwise,  and  I  cannot  conceive  of  a 
type  of  selfishness  more  nearly  perfect  than  that 
which  the  character  of  almost  any  fashionable  wo- 
man illustrates. 
/    As  I  writ },  there  comes  to  my  memory  the  per- 
—  son  of  a  woman  whom  everybody  loved  and  ad- 
mired— the  most  thoroughly  popular  woman  I  ever 
knew.    She  was  welcomed  alike  in  fashionable  and 
refined  society,  and  behaved  herself  alike  in  both. 
She  was  not  beautiful,  but  she  was  charming.  She 
never  ornamented  her  person,  but  she  was  always 
well  dressed.    A  simple,  well-fitted  gown,  and  hair 
tastefully  disposed,  were  all  one  could  see  of  any 
effort   to   make  her  person  pleasing,  and   these 
seemed  to  be  forgotten,  and,  I  believe,  were  for- 
gotten, the  moment  she  entered  society.    When 
[    friends  were  around  her  she  had  no  thought  but  of 
i    them — no  desire  but  to  give  and  receive  pleasure. 
If  she  was  asked  to  sing,  she  sang,  and,  if  it  minis- 
•    tered  to  the  pleasure  of  others,  she  sang  patiently, 
even  to  weariness.    She  was  as   intelligent  and 
stimulating  in  sober  conversation  as  she  was  play- 
wamMmmammmmmmmmmxammammm  ful  in  spirit,  and  though  she  loved  general  society, 
"~  and  mingled  freely  in  it,  not  a  breath  of  slander 
PTT"RPf.F.     .T  YNT!Pl      ever  sullied  her  name,  and  not  an  emotion  was 
xuiw.  uu     u  jujjv,  i  ever  excite(i  by  her  that  did  not  do   her  honor. 
I  Every  man  admired  and  honored  her,  and  every 
woman — a  much  greater  marvel — spoke   in  her 
praise.   Many  a  belle,    dressed  at   the  height  of 
fashion,  entered  her  presence  only  to  become  in- 
significant.   Diamonds  were  forgotten  and  splen- 
did dress  was  unmentionod,  while  her  sweet  pres^ 


f 


BT  TIMOTHY  TITCOMB 


You,  madam,  and  all  your  associates,  have,  in 
your  devotion  to  the  dressing  and  bedizening  of 
your  persons,  degraded  yourselves  pitifully.    The  ±  ence,  her  seif-forgetfuY  devotion  to  the  pleasure  of 


whole  number  of  fashionabie  female  souls  are  but 
slaves  to  the  fading  bodies  in  which  they  live. 
When  I  look  in  upon  a  fashionable  watering  place, 
and  see  how  dress  and  personal  adornment  abso- 
lutely monopolize  the  time  and  the  thought  of  the 
fashionable  women  assembled  there — when  I  wit- 
ness the  rivalry  among  them — the  attempts  to  out- 
shine each  other  in  diamonds  and  all  the  tributa- 
ries to  costly  dress — when  I  see  their  jealousies, 
and  hear  their  ill-natured  criticisms  of  each  other, 
and  then  realize  that  these  women  are  mothers 
and  those  of  whom  mothers  will  be  made,  I  have 
opened  to  me  a  gulf  of  barbarous  selfishness — a 
scene  of  gilded  meanness  and  misery — from  which 
I  sink  back  heart-sick    and    disgusted.     Good 


others,  and  her  gentle  manners,  were  recalled  and 
dwelt  upon  with  unalloyed  delight. 

Madam,  I  have  been  painting  from  life.  I  have 
painted  you  from  life,  and  I  have  painted  this 
Mend  from  fife— a  friend  so  modest  and  so  uncon- 
scious of  her  charms  that  she  would  weep  with 
"her  sense  of  un worthiness  if  she  were  told  that  I 
had  attempted  to  paint  her.  How  does  the  con- 
trast strike  you?  Do  you  not  see  that  you  are  a 
slave  and  that  she  is  a  free  woman  ?  Do  you  not 
see  that  she  has  entered  into  the  eternal  realities  of 
things,  and  that  you  are  engrossed  in  ephemeral 
nothingnesses?  Do  you  not  see  that  she  is  a  ro- 
utined woman  and  that  you  are  a  coarse  one?    Do 


you  not  see  that  her  unselfish  devotion  to  the  hap- 
Heaven,  madam!  what  and  who  are  you?  Are  *piness  of  others  is  beautiful,  that  her  unconscious- 
you  all  body  and  no  soul?    Is  it  decent  business    "ness  of  her  charms  is  beautiful,  that  her  simplicity  is 


for  a  decent  soul  to  be  constantly  engaged— ab- 
sorbingly occupied — in  ornamenting  and  showing 
off  for  the  gratification  of  personal  vanity  the 
body  it  inhabits  ?  Do  you  realize  how  low  you 
are  fallen  ?  Do  you  realize  that  you  are  come  to 
the  small  and  indecent  business  of  getting  up 
your  person  to  be  looked  at,  admired,  praised, — 
that  the  most  grateful  satisfactions  of  your  life  are 
found  in  this  business,  and  that  the  business  itself 
is  but  a  single  moral  remove  from  prostitution  ? 

Perhaps  you  will  follow  me  into  a  contemplation 
of  a  few  of  the  natural  consequences  of  your  in- 
fatuation upon  your  character  and  happiness.  Will 
you  look  among  your  fashionable  female  acquaint- 
an<  e3,  and  find  one  who  is  making  any  intellectual 
progress.  The  thing  is  impossible.  There  is 
nothing  more  conducive  to  mental  growth  aud  de- 
velopment in  devotion  to  the  keeping  and  dressing 
of  the  person  of  a  woman,  than  there  is  in  the 
keeping  and  the  grooming  and  harnessing  of  a  pet 
horse.  Look  at  a  man  who  devotes  himself  to  a 
horse.  He  may  be  a  very  pleasant  fellow,  and  or- 
dinarily intelligent,  but  if  he  is  enamored  of  his 
animal,  and  gives  himself  up  to  his  care  and  exhi- 
bition, becoming  what  is  known  as  a  "horse  man," 
that  ends  his  intellectual  development.  When 
horse  gets  highest  in  any  man's  mind,  culture 
ceases  Now,  madam,  it  would  make  no  differ- 
ence, practically,  whether  you  were  devoted  to  the 
person  of  a  horse  or  the  person  of  a  pet  dog,  or  the 
person  of  Mrs.  Royal  Purple  Jones.  The  mind  that 
engages  in  no  higher  business,  or  that  finds  its 
highest  delight  in  no  higher  pursuit  than  that  of 
grooming  and  displaying  a  beautiful  body,  can 
make  no  progress  into  a  nobler  life.  Practically 
you  will  find  this  the  case  everywhere.  You  will 
find  that  your  fashionable  friends  do  not  grow  at 
all.    They  move  along  in  the  same  old  ruts,  prate 


* 


beautiful,  and  that  your  selfishness  and  your  de- 
votion to  dress  and  your  jealousy  and  your  rival 
ries  are  all  vulgar  and  ugly  and  hateful? 

It  is  complained  of  by  many  of  your  sex  that 
men  regard  woman  as  only  a  plaything  —  a  crea- 
ture to  be  honored  and  petted  and  controlled,  and 
indulged  in  as  a  troublesome  luxury.  It  is  com- 
plained of  that  woman  does  not  have  her  place  as 
man's  equal — as  his  friend,  companion  and  part-  • 
ner.  Arc  men  entirely  in  the  blame  for  this 
opinion,  to  the  limited  extent  in  which  it  is  held? 
Suppose  men  are  to  take  you  and  such  as  are  like 
you  as  the  subjects  of  their  study :  what  would  be 
their  conclusions?  Suppose  they  were  thoroughly 
to  comprehend  your  devotion  to  your  own  person 
— to  realize  the  absolute  absorption  of  all  your  en- 
ergies and  all  your  time  by  the  frivolous  and  mean 
objects  that  it 'thrall  you— what  would  be  their  de- 
cision? What  does  your  husband  think  about  it? 
Excuse  me  for  mentioning  him,  madam.  I  am 
aware  that  he  occupies  a  very  small  share  of  your 
attention,  but,  really,  the  man  who  finds  you  in 
money  has  a  right  to  an  opinion  upon  this  point. 
You  do  not  care  what  his  opinion  is  ?  I  thought 
so.  You  have  ceased  to  love  him,  and  he  has 
ceased  to  oppose?  you.  It  is  impossible  for  your 
husband  to  love  you.  It  is  impossible  for  any  man 
either  to  love  or  to  honor  a  woman  so  selfish  as 
youaie;  and  your  sex  may  blame  you  and  those 
who  are  like  you  for  all  the  contempt  which  a  cer- 
tain class  of  men  feel  for  women.  You  degrade 
yourself  to  the  position  of  a  showy  creature,  good 
for  nothing  but  to  spend  money.    You  teach  men  ? 

contempt  for  your  sex,  audit  is  only  the  modest  , 

and  intelligent  women  whom  you  despise  that  re- 
deem it  to  admiration  and  love. 

I  admire  a  well  dressed  woman.    I  admire  a 
beautiful  woman,  and  I  thoroughly  approve  all 


£. 


of  the  same  old  vanities,  go  the  same  old  roundsof  -S^^Vfforls'to^nder ttep^on  boTh  o  m^n 
fnvobtv.  arid  onlv  become  less  snrnrhtlv  and  arrre.p.-        le^iiuuiuv-  w>  i    ^     ,,  *"    r, ?i  . 


frivolity,  and  only  become  less  sprightly  and  agree 
able  as  the  years  pass  by.  Just  what  you  see  in 
these  people,  madam,  I  see  in  you. 

There  is  another  vgry  sad  result  which  comes 
naturally  from  this  devotion  to  your  own  person. 
You  are  already  grown  supremely  selfish.  You 
have  permitted  your  personal  vanity  to  control 
you  so  long,  that  you  can  really  see  nothing  in  the 
universe  but  yourself.  It  seems  proper  arid  right 
that' everybody  should  servo  you.  Any  labor  that 
would  soil  or  enlarge  your  small  white  hands — any 
toil  that  would  tax  the  powers  of  your  petted  body 
—  any  service  for  others  that  would  draw  you  away 
from  service  of  your  own  person — is  shunned. 
Your  mother,  your  sisters,  your  friends,  are  all 
laid  under  tribute  to  you ,  and  your  petulauce  un- 
der denial  has  made  them  your  slaves.  Absorbed 
by  these  thoughts  of  yourself,  devoted  to  nothing 
but  yourself,  makinir  room  for  no  plans  which  do 


aud  woman  agreeable.  Men  and  women  owe  it  to 
their  own  dignity  to  drape  their  persons  becoming- 
ly and  well,  and  they  can  do  this  without  an  ab- 
sorbing passion  for  dress,  or  giving  any  more  than 
the  necessary  amount  of  thought  and  time  to  it. 
The  fact  is  that  a  woman  who  is  what  a  woman 
should  be  has  no  need  of  elaborate  personal  orna- 
ment to  make  her  attractive.  A  pure,  true  heart, 
••self-forgetful  spirit,  an  innocent  delight  in  inno- 
[ecnt  society,  a  wish  and  an  effort  to  please,  ready 
ministry  to  the  wants  of  others,  graceful  accom- 
plishments willingly  used,  sprighfiiness  and  intelli- 
gence,—these  arc  passports  to  personal  power. 
Relying  upon  these,  there  is  no  woman  whose 
person  is  simply  and  becomingly  dressed  who  is 
not  well  dressed.  With  any  or  all  of  these,  the 
person  becomes  pleasing—  SpHngJield  Republican. 


/ 


>. 


- 


M  Who  Shall  Roll  away  the  Stone  from 
the  Door  of  the  sepulchre  ?" 

*  Yes,  who  ?  There  it  lies — hard,  cold, 
inexorable  ;  the  stone  of  silence — the  stone 
of  utter  hopeless  separation.  Since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  world  there  it  has  been — no 
tears  have  melted  it — no  prayers  pierced  it 
— the  children  of  men,  surging  and  com- 
plaining in  their  anguish  of  bereavements, 
have  dashed  against  it  only  to  melt  hope- 
lessly backward,  as  a  wave  falls  and  goes 
back  into  the  ocean. 

Nothing  about  the  doom  of  death  is  so 
dreadful  as  this  dead  inflexible  silence. — 
Could  there  be  after  the  passage  of  the  riv- 
er, one  backward  signal — one  last  word,the 
heart  would  be  appeased.  There  is  always 
something  left  unsaid  even  when  death  has 
come  deliberately,  and  given  full  warning. 
How  much  more  when  it  has  fallen  like 
the  lightning  and  the  beloved  has  been 
wrenched  from  life  without  a  parting  look 
or  word  ! 

Walter  Scott  after  the  death  of  his  wife, 
wrote,  *  What  shall  I, do  with  that  por- 
tion of  my  thoughts  that  I  have  always  been 
in  the  habit  of  telling  only  to  her?'  And 
after  death,  for  many  and  many  a  weary 
day,  the  heart  throbs  and  aches  with  things 
unsaid — and  which  can  be  said  to  no  other 
— for  each  friend  takes  away  a  portion  of 
ourselves.  There  was  some  part  of  our 
being  related  to  him  as  to  no  other  and  we 
had  things  to  say  to  him  which  no  other 
would  understand  or  appreciate.  A  por- 
tion of  our  thoughts  has  become  useless  and 
burdensome — and  again  and  again,  with  un- 
voluntary  yearning  we  turn  to  the  stone  at 
the  sepulchre.  We  lean  against  the  cold 
silent  marble — but  there  is  no  answer — no 
voice — neither  any  that  regardeth. 

There  are  those  who  would  have  us  think 
that  in  our  day  this  doom  is  reversed — that 
there  are  means  which  have  the  power  to 
restore  us  to  the  communion  of  our  lost  ones. 
How  many  a  heart,  wrung  and  tortuted 
with  the  anguish  of  this  fearful  silence,  has 
throbbed  with  strange,  vague  hopes  at  the 
suggestion !  When  we  hear,  sometimes, 
ef  persons  of  the  strongest  and  clearest 
minds  becoming  credulous  votaries  of  cer- 
tain spiritualistic  circles,  let  us  not  wonder. 
!  It  we  inquire,  we  shall  most  always  find 
that  the  belief  has  followed  some  stroke  of 
death.it  is  only  an  indication  of  the  desper- 
ation of  that  heart-hunger  which  in  part  it 
appeases. 

Ah  were  it  true  !  were  it  indeed  so,  that 
the  spiritual  and  material  is  growing  thin, 
and  a  new  dispensation  germinating,  in 
which  communion  with  the  departed  blest 
shall  be  among  the  privileges  and  possibili- 
ties of  this  our  mortal  state  !  Ah,  were  it 
so  that  when  we  go  forth  weeping  in  the 
gay  dawn,  bearing  spices  and  odors  which 
we  long  to  pour  forth  to  the  beloved  dead, 
we  should  indeed  find  the  stone  rolled 
away,  and  an  angel  sitting  on  it. 


But  for  us,  the  stone  mu3t  be  rolled  away 
by  an  unquestionable  angel,  whose  counte- 
nance is  as  the  lightning,  who  executes  no 
doubtful  juggle,  by  pa'e  moonlight  or  star- 
light, but  rolls  back  the  stone  in  fair,  open 
morning  and  sits  on  it.  Then  we  could 
bless  God  for  his  mighty  gift,  and  with 
love  and  awe  and  reverence  take  up  that 
blessed  fellowship  with  another  life,  and 
weave  it  reverently  and  trustingly  into  the 
web  of  our  daily  course. 

But  no  such  angel  have  we  .seen.     No 
such  sublime,  unquestionable  glorious  man- 
ifestations.    And  when  we  look  at  what  is 
offered  us,  ah,    who    that  had   a    friend  in 
heaven  could  wish  them  to  return   in  such 
wise  as  this  ?     The  very  insect  of  a  sacred 
sorrow  seems  to  forbid   that   our  beautiful, 
our  glorified  ones  should   stoop  lower  than 
even  to  the  medium  of  their  cast  off  bodies 
to  juggle,  and  rap  and  squeak,  and  perform 
mountebank  tricks  with  tables  and  chairs, 
to  recite  over  in  weary  sameness,  and  harm- 
//  less  truisms  which  we  were  wise  enough  to 
say  for  ourselves,  to   trifle  and  banter  and 
jest,  or  lead  us  through  endless   moonshiny 
mazes, — sadly  and   soberly  we  say,  if  this 
be  communion  with  the  dead  we  had  rath- 
er be  without  it.     We  want   something  in 
advance  of  our  present  life,  and  not    below 
it.     We  have    read  with  some   attention, 
weary  pages    of  spiritual    communication, 
professing  to  come    from  Bacon,  Sweden- 
borg,  and    others,  and    long  accounts  from 
divers  spirits,  of  things  seen    in  the  spirit 
land,  and  we  can  conceive  of  no  more  ap- 
palling prospect  than  to  have  them  true. 

If  the  future  life  is  so  weary,  stale,  flat 
and  unprofitable  as  we  might  infer  from 
these  readings,  one  would  have  reason  to 
deplore  an  immortality  from  which  no  sui- 
cide gives  an  outlet.  To  be  condemned  to 
such  eternal  prosing  would  be  worse  than 
annihilation. 

Is  there,  then,   no  satisfaction   for   this 

craving  of  the  soul !     There   is  one  who 

^  says,  '  I  am  He   that  liveth  and    was  dead, 


grave  of  Lazarus,  is  He  who  has  the  key  of 
hell  and  death.  If  we  cannot  commune 
with  our  friends,  we  can  at  least  commune 
with  Him,  to  whom  they  are  present,  who 
is  intimately  with  them  as  with  us.  He  is 
the  true  bond  of  union  between  the  spirit  < 
world  and  our  souls  ;  and  one  blest  hour  of 
prayer,  when  we  draw  near  to  Him,  and 
feel  the  breadth  and  length  and  depth  and 
height  of  that  love  of  His,  that  passeth 
knowledge,  is  better  than  all  those  incohe. 
rent,  vain,  dreary  glimpses  with  which 
longing  hearts  arc  cheated. 

They  who  have  disbelieved  all  spiritual 
truth,  who  have  been  Sadduceic  doubters 
of  either  angels  or  spirit,  may  find  in  mod- 
ern spiritualism  a  great  advance.  But  can 
one  who  has  ever  really  had  communion 
with  Christ,  who  said  with  John,  « Truly, 
our  Fellowship  is  with  the  Father  and  Son/ 
can  such  an  one  be  satisfied  with  what  is 
found  in  the  modern  circle  ? 

For  Christians  who  have  strayed  into 
those  enclosuies,  we  cannot  recommend  the 
homely  but  apt  quotation  of  old  John  New- 
ton : 

*  What  think  you  of  Christ  ?  is  the  test. 
To  try  both  your  state  and  your  scheme.' 

In  these  so-called  revelations,  have  there 
pome  any  echoes  of  the  new  song  which  no 
nlan  save  the  redeemed  of  earth  could  learn 
— any  unfoldings  of  that  love  that  passeth 
knowledge — anything,  in  short,  such  as 
spirits  might  utter  to  whom  was  unveiled, 
that  which  *  the  eye  hath'  not  seen,  nor  ear 
heard,  neither  has  it  entered  the  heart  of 
man  to  conceive  V  We  must  confess  that 
1  all  the  spirits  that  ye  have  spoken  appear 
to  be  living  in  quite  another  sphere  from 
John  or  Paul. 

Let  us,  then,  who  long  for  communion 
with  spirits,  seek  nearness  to  him  who  has 
promised  to  speak  and  commune,  leaving 
forever  this  word  to  His  church  :  *  I  will 
not  leave  you  comfortless,  I  will  come  to 

you.'  H.  B.  8. 


.  and  behold  I  am  alive  for  evermore,  and  I 
^have  the  keys  of  hell  and  death;'   and  this 
<^same  being  said  once  before,  *  He  that  lov- 
eth  me  shall  be  loved  by  my  Father,  and  I 
will  love  him,  and  will  manifest  myself  un- 
to him.'     This  is  a  promise  direct  and  per- 
sonal ;  not  confined   to  the   first  Apostles, 
but  stated  in   the   most  general    way,  as  at- 
tainable by  any  one  who  loves  and  does  the 
will  of  Jesus.     It  seems  given  to  us  as  some 
comfort  for  the  unavoidable  heart-breaking 
separations  of  death,  that  there  shall  be,  in 
that  dead  unknown,one  all-powerful  Friend, 
with  whom  it  is  possible  to  commune  and 
from  whose  Spirit   there  may    come  a    re- 
pose to  us.     Our  Elder  Brother,    the   pat- 
taker  of  our  nature,  is  not  only  in  the  spirit- 
•    land,  but  is  all  powerful    there.     It  is  He 
that  shutteth    and    no    man    openeth,  and 
openeth  and  no  man  shutteth.     He  whom 
wc  have  seen  in  the  flesh*  weeping  over  the 


Familiar  Songs_  and    Hymns. 

Why  do  we  find  prefixed  to  almost  every 
volume  of  poetry  some  a<  count  of  the  au- 
thor r  Are  we  not  more  interested  in  any 
work,  by  knowing  something  of  the  writer, 
and  the  circumstances  in  which  it  was  writ- 
ten ?  And  does  not  the  same  reasoning  apply 
to  the  words  we  sing  ? 

No  attempt  will  here  be  made  to  give  au- 
thorities, as  these  items  have  been  gathered 
from  various  sources,  and  at  different  times. 

Perhaps  Yankee  Doodle,  our  National  Song, 
should  first  claim  our  attention.  We  have 
seen  this  account  of  its  origin  : 

In  the  month  of  June,  1775,  while  the 
British  army  under  Abercrombie  were  en- 
camped on  the  east  bank  of  the  Hudson,  a 
little  south  of  Albany,  they  were  re-enforced 
by  Yankee  recruits.  As  they  poured  into 
camp,  their  peculiar  dress  and  equipments  ex- 
cited the  mirth  of  their  English  friends.  One 
Dr  Shacksburg,  an  English  surgeon,  composed 
the  tune  Yankee  Doodle,  and  arranged  it  to 
words  dedicated  to  raw  recruits.  The  joke 
took,  and,  like  the  name  Puritan,  which  was 
at  first  given  in  derision,  it  was  accepted  and 
became  our  National  Song.  We  know  it  has 
been  said  that  the  tune  existed  before  this 
time,  in  England  ;  but  it  matters  not, — the 
words  and  the  tune  have  become  one,  and  will 
be  whistled,  sung  and  played,  while  our  na- 
tion lives. 


u 


<a 


9 


Uj thick  grass. 


The  Star-Spangled  Banner,  which  has  been 
so  popular  during  the  present  war,  was  writ- 
ten by  Francis  S.  Key,  at  Baltimore,  while 
that  city  was  being  attacked  by  the  British 
fleet,  in  1814.  Mr  Key  having  gone  on  board 
one  of  the  British  vessels  upon  some  important 
errand,  was  detained  there  during  the  battle. 
Anxiously  he  strained  his  eyes  as  the  morning 
light  appeared,  to  see  if  our  flag  was  there,  and 
when  he  caught  sight  of  the  banner  floating 
from  the  walls  of  Fort  McHenry,  he  is  said 
to  have  taken  an  envelope  from  his  pocket,  in 
the  absence  of  better  material,  and  scribbled 
the  thoughts  expressed  in  this  hymn. 

The  words  of  America,  "My  Country,  'tis 
of  Thee,"  &c,  were  written  by  Rev.  S.  F. 
Smith,  a  Baptist  clergyman  residing  in  New- 
ton, Mass.  He  is  also  the  author  of  that 
beautiful  missionary  hymn,  commencing, 
"Yes,  my  native  land,  1  love  thee."  Sure, 
he  would  have  accomplished  a  noble  work, 
if  these  two  hymns  were  all,  which  is  not  the 
case. 

"Auld  lang  syne,"  and  "Scots  wha  hae," 
as  is  well  known,  were  written  by  the  poet 
Buns,  whose  life  is  too  familiar  to  need  re- 
cording here. 

Rouget  de  Lisle,  it  is  said,  composed  the 
Marseilles  Hymn,  in  the  night,  when  intoxi- 
cated. 

Heber  (afterwards  Bishop)  went    on  Satur- 
day to  preach  for    his  father-in-law  the   next  I 
day.     It  was  in  North  Wales,  and  this  was  to  I 
be  the  first   sermon   preached  for    the  Church  ^ 
Missionary  Society.     As  they  sat    conversing 
in  the  evening,  the  Dean   said  to    him,    "Now 
as  you  are  a  poet,    suppose  you    write  a  hymn 
for  the  service  to-morrow    morning."     He  set 
himself  to  the  work,  and  produced  the   mis- 
sionary hymn, 

"From  Greenland's  icy  mountains,"  &c. 
He  read  it,    and  asked,    "Will  that  do  ?"     He     I 
replied  "Ay,"    and  said    they  would  have   it     j 
printed  and  circulated  in  the   pews,  that    the     j 

peo[  'o  might  sing  a— it    seems    they  had  con-     ■ 
gregational  singing.  #  "But,"    said  Heber,  "to  j 
what  hine  will  it  go  r"     "Oh,"  he  replied,  "it  |  | 
will  go  to, 

•'  'Twas  when  the  seas  were  roaring." 
And  so  he  wrote  those  words  at  the  top  of  the 
page.     The  hymn  was  printed  and  sung  ac- 
cordingly. 

iThe  author  of  those  sweet  words  that  have 
encouraged  so  many  desponding  hearts, 
"Just  as  I  am,"  &c, 
was  Miss  Charlotte  Elliot,  who  resides  near 
Portsmouth,  England.  She  has  published 
two  small  volumes,  "Hours  of  Sorrow,"  and 
"Hymns  for  a  Week,"  besides  other  short 
poems. 

"I  love  to  steal  awhile  away,"  Ac, 
-  was  written  by  Mrs  Phebe  H.  Brown,  of  Mon- 
son,  Mass.,  mother  of  the  Rev.  S.  R.  Brown, 
so  long  a  missionary  teacher  in  China,  and 
now  missionary  of  the  Reformed  Protestant 
Dutch  Church,  in  Japan. 

Dr.  Watts,  complaining  of  a  want  of  suit- 
able church  psalmody,  was  requested  to  write 
something  better,  and  commenced  his  valuable 
services  in  that  direction  by  writing  the  hymn 
commencing, 

"Behold  the  glories  of  the  Lamb." 
Is  this  the  reason  why  this  is  the  first  hymn 
in  many  of  our  hymn  books? 

Cowper,  in  one  of  his  fits  of  derangement, 
thought  it  the  will  of  God  that  he  should 
drown  himself.  He  accordingly  hired  a  coach- 
man  to  take  him  to  the  liver  Ouse  for  that 
purpose.  But  a  mistake  was  made  in  regard 
to  the  way— the  spell  was  broken,  and  he  ac- 
knowledged the  providence  of  God  by  writing 
the  beautiful  hymn  : 

"God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way,"  &c 
The  author  of 

"Blest  be  the  tie  that  binds 

Our  souls  in  Christian  love,"  &c., 
was   Dr.   John   Fawcet,    an     excellent    . 
While  young,  he  had  a  call  to  a   large   society  | 
in    London,    and     accepted    it.     His     people  i 
begged  him  to  remain,   but    the   wagons    were  i 
packed.     At  length  his  wife   exclaimed,— "O,  ! 
John,  John,  I  know  not  how  to   go."     "Nor 
I  either,"  said  he,  "nor  will  we   go.     Unload  j 
the  wagons,  and  put  everything  in  its  place  as  I 
it  was  before."     The  people  wept  for  joy.  The 
hymn  mentioned  was  written  on  this  occasion. 
He  labored  among  them    till    his    death,    on  a 
salary  of  less  than  two  hundred  dollars. 
Rev.  Robert  Robinson  wrote 

"Come  thou  fount  of  every  blessing,"  Ac. 
Afterwards  he  became   a    backslider.     Riding 
in  a  coach  at  one  time,  a   lady    spoke  of  that 
hymn,  saying   she  had   derived    much   benefit 
vfrom  it.     He  burst  into    tears,  acknowledging  IW 
^himself  the  author,  and  saying  he    would  give  \*f' 


worlds,  if  he  had  them,  to   enjoy    the   feelings 
he  then  had. 

A  Presbyterian    minister   in    New    Orleans 
went  to  visit  a  dying  man  who  refused  to  con- 
verse on  religious  subjects.     Feeling    discour 
aged,    the 


A 


v 


SATCKDAY,   MAY    30,    18G8. 


The  Patriot   Dead. 

^  "A  sacred  cause, 

They  take  their  sleep  together,  while  the  year 
inister    walked     to   the    window,  l/fcome*  with  its  early  flowers  to  deck  their  graves. 


singing  half  unconsciously 

"Jerusalem,  my  happy  home.". 

The  dying  man  listened.  "My  mother  used 
to  sing  that,"  he  said.  The  fountains  of  his 
heart  were  broken  up,  and  he  began  to  prepare 
for  that  happy  home.  The  hymn  was  written 
by  Rev.  David  Dickinson. 

Well  has  the  poet  said  of  the  reading  of 
beautiful  poems  : 

"Some  songs  have  power  to  quiet 

The  restless  pulse  of  care, 
And  come  like  the  benediction 

That  follows  after  prayer." 

And  so  the  voice  of  singing  shall  be  heard 
from  the  time 


"When  the  fawn  and  the  spotted  leopard, 
The  wolf  and  the  young  gazelle, 

Came  close  to  the  sound  ofthe  singing, 
As  Eve's  voice  rose  and  fell," 

till  we  join  the  great  chorus   in   our   Father's 
house  above. 


vA\ 


A 


Xfs 


tiini-H  «n  1, ('firing  Europe. 

BT  If.   V.   WILLIS. 

Bright  flag  at  yonder  tanering  mast, 
Flnip  out  your  field  of  azure  blue; 

Let  star  and  stripe  be  westward  cast. 
And  point  as  Freedom's  eagle  flew! 

Strain  home!  O  lithe  and  quivering  spars! 

Point  home,  my  country's  flag  oi  stars ! 

The  wind  blows  fair,  the  vessal|teels 

The  pressure  of  the  rising  breeze, 
And,  swiltest  of  a  thousand  keels, 

She  leaps  to  the  careering  sens ! 
0,  fair,  fair  cloud  of  snowy  sail, 

In  whose  white  breast  I  seem  to  lie. 
How  oft,  when  blew  this  eastern  gale, 

I've  seen  your  semblance  in  the  sky, 
And  long'd,  with  breaking  heart,  to  flee 
On  such  white  pinions  o'er  the  sea! 

Adien,  0  lands  of  fame  and  eld! 

I  turn  to  watch  otir  foamy  track, 
And  thoughts  with  which  1*  first  beheld 

Yon  clouded  lime,  come  hurrying  back: 
My  lips  sre  dry  with  vague  desire, 

My  cheok  orice  more  is  hot  with  joy  ; 
My  pulse,  my  hrain,  mv  soul  on  lire! 

O,  what  has'changed  that  trnveler-bov ! 
As  leaves  the  ship  this  dying  foam, 
His  virions  fade  behind,  his  weary  heart  speeds  home. 

Adieu,  0  solt  and  southern  shore, 

Where  dwelt  the  stars  long  miss'd  in  heaven; 
Those  forms  of  beauty,  socn  no  more, 

Yet  once  to  Art's  rapt  vision  given ! 
0,  still  the  enamour'd  sun  dolays, 

And  pries  through  fount,  and  crumbling  fane, 
To  win  to  his  adoring  gaze 

Those  children  of  the  sky  again  ! 
Irradiate  beauty,  such  as  never 

That  light  on  "other  earth  hath  shone, 
Hath  made  thin  land  her  home  forever; 

And,  could  I  live  for  this  alone, 
Were  not  my  birthright  brighter  t'nr 

Than  such  voluptuous  slave's  can  te; 
Held  not  the  West  one  glorious  star, 

New-born  and  blazing  for  the  free, 
Soar'd  not  to  heaven  our  eagle  yet. 
Rome, with  her  helot  sons,  should  teach  me  to  forget 

Adieu,  oh  faderland!  1  see 

Vour  white  clifta  on  the  horizon's  rim, 
And,  though  to  freer  skies  I  flee. 

My  heart  swell?,  and  my  eyes  are  dim ! 
As  knews  the  dove  the  task  you  give  her, 

When  loosed npon  a  foreign  shore; 
As  spreads  the  rain  dropoii  the  river 

In  which  it  may  have  flowed  before  — 
To  England,  over  vale  and  mountain, 

My  fancy  flew  from  clime  more  fair, 
My  blood,  that  knew  its  parent  fountain, 

Ban  warm  at  last  in  England's  air. 

My  mother!  in  thy  prayer  to-uight 

There  eome  new  words  and  warmer  tears! 
On  long,  long  darkness  breaks  the  light, 

Come*  home  the  loved,  the  lost  for  years! 
Sleep  sale,  O  wave-worn  mariner, 

Four  not  to-night,  or  storm  or  pen  ! 
The  ear  of  Heaven  bends  low  to  her! 

He  comes  to  shore  who  sails  with  me! 
The  wind-tossed  spidor  needs  no  token 

How  stands  the  tree  when  lightning!  blue! 
And  by  a  throad  from  heaven  unbroken 

I  know  my  mother  lives  and  prays. 

Dear  mother!  when  onr  lips  can  speak, 

When  first  our  tears  will  let  us  see. 
When  I  can  gaze  upon  thy  oheck. 

And  thou,  with  thy  dear  cyef,  on  me — 
'Twill  be  a  pastime  littlo  sad 

To  traee  what  weight  lime's  heavy  fingers 
Upon  ep.rti  other's  forma  have  had: 

For  nil  may  Ita-,  so  leeling  lingers! 
But  there's  a  change,  beloved  mother ; 

To  stir  tar  deeper  thoughts  of  thine ; 
I  ooins — but  with  me  comes  another, 

To  share  the  heart  once  only  mine ! 
Thou,  on  whose  thoughts,  when  sad  and  lonely, 

One  star  arose  in  memory's  heaven ; 
Thou,  who  hast  wateh'd  one  treasure  only, 

Water'd  one  flower  with  tears  at  oven  : 
Room  in  thy  heart!    The  hearth  she  lelt 

Is  darken'd  to  make  light  to  ours ! 
There  are  bright  flowers  of  care  bereft, 

And  hearts  that  languish  more  than  flowers; 
She  was  their  light,  their  veiy  air  - 
Room,  mother,  in  thy  heart!  place  for  her  in  thy 
prayer ! 


A 


s*  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— hero  let  us  strew  the  sod 
AVith  the  first  flowers  of  spring." 

^     This  day  is  set  apart  for  a  special  commemora. 

jtion  ofthe  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  flowers. 

^This  thirtieth  of  May,  the  first  fruits  of  the  floral 

/"  season  are  to  ba  gathered,  not  for  the  boudoir  or 
/  the  ball  room,  not  to  adorn  lovely  woman's  brow 
r  or  bosom,  but  to  deck  those  grassy  mounds  bc- 

/  neath  which   lie  the  true-hearted  whose  mem- 

^  ories  shall  forever 

jj»*  Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust. 

Tbey  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  tho  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  lo 
death  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  our  souls  bow  down  and  reverence  these 
consecrated  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. 

Some  died  on  the  stricken  field,  and  some  in 
the  dreadful  prison.  Some  fell  at  the  cannon's 
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 
malarial  camps.  But  however  or  wherever, 
in  battle  or  in  bed,  each  one  gave  his  life  for 
our  country.  And  no  less  heroic  was  the  death 
by  disease  than  was  that  by  the  weapon  of  war. 
And  so,  of  this  day's  commemoration,  all,  all 
must  be  accounted  worthy. 

Wide  as  our  country  will  be  the  theatre  of  this 
floral  solemuity.  Not  battle  fields  and  national 
cemeteries  alone,  but  every  village  churchyard 
will  witness  to  the  beautiful  rites.  With  tender 
scrutiny  will  each  obscurest  grave  be  searched 
out,  that  none  may  fail  of  its  votive  flowers. 
And  if  no  name  can  be  pronounced  it  will  yet  be 
enough  if  only  it  can  be  said  ofthe  nameless 
eath,  "He  died  for  his  country." 
t  the  soldiers  of  the  Grand  Army  will 
lead  in  this  commemorative  service.  But  do  not 
our  hearts  bid  us  all  join  with  them  ?  Let  ns  then 
go  forth  this  day  with  flowers  of  red  and  WtUfo 
and  blue,  with  crosses  and  chaplets  and  un- 
wrought  wildings,  and  deck  the  graves  ot  our 
patriot  dead.  And  as  flic  fragrant  offerings  fall, 
5  moie  fragrant  still   will    rise  the  memory  of  the 


A 

jf  sleeper  bene 

yy  Of  right 

S  i i  :„    «i.:„ 


V    y  great  sacrifice  they  commemorate 


How  sleep  the  brave  who  siuk  to  rest, 
By  all  their  country's  wishes  blest? 
When  Spring  with  dewy  fingers  cold 
Returns  to  deck  their  hallowed  mould. 
J>  M  She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod 

Than  Fancy's  feet  have  ever  trod. 

/    y  By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung; 

'/  By  lorms  unseen  their  dirge  is  song. 

j  There  Honor  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 

/X  To  bless  i'ie  tor f  that  wraps  their  clay! 

And  Freedom  shall  awhile  repair 
To  dwell,  a  weeping  hermit,  there." 


siderinir.' 




(From  Chambers*  Journal.) 
Curious  Wills. 

u      Some,  who  in  life  would  not  have  given  a  cup 
of  water  to  a  begjajar,  by  their  wills  leave  enor- 
mous sums  to  charities,  to  secure  for  themselves 
a  kind  of  posthumous   admiration.    Others  al- 
low not  their  resentments  to  sleep  with  them  in 
in  their  graves,  but  leave  behind  them  wills  which 
excite    the   bitterest    feelings   and    animosities 
o:  a»ong  their  surviving  relatives.    Some  wills  are 
•  remarkable  for  their  conciseness  and  perspicuity; 
6  others  for  their  unprecedented  shapes  and  cu- 
te rious  contents.    One  man  provides  for  a  college, 
another  for  a  cat;  one  gives  a  legacy  to  provide' 
—  bread- and  herrings  to  the  poor  in  Lent,  and  kid 
gloves  to  the  minister;  while  others  provide  for 
P  bull-baiting,  the  welfare  of  maid  servants,  and 
}j  the  promotion  of  matrimony.    John  Hodge  has 
kept  his  name  ont  of  oblivion  by  giving  twenty 
k  shillings  a  year  to  a  poor  man  to  go  about  the 
,  parish  church  of  Trysail  during  sermon  time  to 
D  keep  people  awake  and  dogs  out  of  the  church. 
Henry  Greene  of  Melbourne,  Derbyshire,  gave 
his  property  for  providing  green  waistcoats  for"" 
d  four  poor  women  every  year,  such  waistcoats  to 
,.  be  lined  with  green  galloon  lace. 
*>     In  the  same  neighborhood,  and  inspired  by  a 
_  similar  feeling,    Thomas    Gray    provided  gray 

waistcoats  and  gray  coats, 
h     John  Nicholson,  stationer,  of  London,  was  so 

attached  to  his  family  name  that  the  bulk  of  hrs/ 
s  property  was  given  in  charity  for  the  support 
_  anrl  maintenance  of  such  poor  persons  in  Eng- 
land as  should  appear  to  be  of  the  name  of  m-f 
I  cholson.  ' 

David  Martinett  of  Calcutta,  while  giving  di- 
t  rections  to  his  executor,  says:  "As  to  this  ful- 
some  carcass,  having  already  seen  enough  of 
this  worldly  pomp,  I  desire  nothing  relative  to  it 
C  to  be  done  only  its  being  stowed  away  in  my  old 
green    chest  to    save    expenses."    He  then  be- 
queathed to  one  man  all  the  debts  he  owed,  and 
to  another  his  sincerity. 
A  Lancashire  gentleman,  in  'the  last  century, 
t  having  given  his  body  to  the  worms  of  the  rami- -* 
.  ly  vault,  bequeathed  an  ounce  of  modesty  to  the 
i  authors  of  the  London  Journal  and  Free  Briton, 
giving  as  his  reasons  for  the  smalluess  of  the  leg- 
'  acy,  that  he  was  "convinced  that  an  ounce  will 
,  be  found  more  than  they'll  ever  make  use  of." 
Another  testator,  after  having  stated  at  great 
1  length  in  his  will  the  number  of  obligations  he  e 

was  under,   bequeathed  to  his  benefactor  ten 
'  thousand — here  the  leave  turned  over,  and  the 
legatee  turning  to  the  other  side,  found  the  lega- 
cy was  ten  thousand  thanks. 

A  testator,  who  evidently  intended  to  thwart 
his  relations,  and  be  a  benefactor  to  the  lawyers, 
gave  to  certain  persons  "as  many  acres  of  land 
as  shall  be  found  equal  to  the  area  enclosed  by 
the  centre  of  oscillation  of  the  earth  in  a  revolu- 
tion round  the  sun,  supposing  the  mean  dis- 
tance of  the  sun  21,600  simi-diameters  of  the 
earth  from  it." 

An  uncle  left  in  his  will  eleven  silver  spoons 
to  his  nephew,  adding:  "If  I  have  not  left  him 
the  dozen,  he  knows  the  reason."  The  fact  was, 
the  nephew  had  some  little  time  before  stolen 
the  twelfth  spoon  from  his  relative. 

Sir  Joseph  Jekyll  left  his  fortune  to  pay  the 
antional  debt.  When  Lord  Mansfield  heard  of 
this, he  said:  "Sir  Joseph  was  a  very  good  man/ 
and  a  good  lawyer,  but  his  bequest  was  a  very 
foolish  one;  he  might  as  well  have  attempted  to 
stop  the  middle  arch  of  Blackfriars  Bridge  with 
his  full-bottomed  wig!" 

Lord  Pembroke  gave  "nothing  to  Lord  Say, 
which  legacy  I  gave  him  because  I  know  he  will  i 
bestow  it  on  the  poor;"  and  then  after  giving  ^ 
equally  peculiar  legacies,  he  finished  with  "Item 
I  give  up  the  ghost." 

Dean  Swift's  character  is  exemplified  in  his  / 
will.    Among  other  things  he  bequeathed  to  Mr. 
John  Grattan  of  Clommethan,  a  silver  box  "in 
which  I  desire  the  said  John  to  keep  the  tobacco 
he  usually  chewcth  called  pigtail." 

The  celebrated  Sarah,Duchess  of  Marlborough, 
left  Pitt  £10,000  for  "the  noble  defence  he  had 
made  for  the  support  of  the  laws  of  England, 
and  to  prevent  »iic  ruin  of  the  country ."  A 
similar  bequest  was  not  long  ago  made  to  Mr. 
Disraeli. 

Bacon  left  a  will  appointing  six  executors,but 
no  property  except  his  name  and  memory, which 
he  bequeathed  to  "men's  charitable  speeches,  to 
foreign  nations  and  the  next  ages."  J 

Lord  Clarendon  had  nothing  t^>  leave  his 
daughter  but  his  executor's  kindness,  and  Lord 
Nelson  left  neither  a  will  of  real  nor  personal 
estate  behind  him,  although  he  bequeathed  his 
adopted  daughter  to  the  beneficence  of  his  coun- 
try. 

Milton  s  will  was  nuncupative — that  is,  by 
word  of  mouth — he  being  blind  at  the  time  he 
made  it.  Shakspcare's  was  made  in  regular 
form ;  so  was  Byron's. 

Chatterton's  will  was  a  strange  one,  consist- 
ing of  a  mixture  of  levity,  bitter  satire  and  ac- 
tual despair,  announcing  a  purpose  of  self-de- 
struction. 

Others  wrote  their  wills  in  verse,  and  as  a  spe- 
cimen, we  will  give  that  of  William  Jacket  of 
the  parish  of  Islington,  which  was  proved  in 
1787,  when  no  witnesses  were  required  to  a  will 
of  personal  estate : 


I  give  and  bequeath, 
When  I'm  laid  underneath, 
To  my  two  loving  sisters  so  dear, 

The  whole  of  my  store, 
Which  God's  goodness  has  granted  me  bore. 
And  that  none  may  prevent, 
This  my  will  and  intent, 
Or  occasion  the  least  of  a  law  racket, 
With  a  solemn  appeal, 
I  confirm,  sign  and  seal, 
This,  the  act  and  deed  of  Will  Jacket. 
Some  wills  contain  a  kind  of  autobiography  of 
the  testator,  as  well  as  his  thoughts  and  opin- 
ions.   Such  was   the  will  of  Napoleon,  which 
gave  a  handsome  legacy  to  the  wretch  Chantil- 
lon,  "who  had  as  much  right  to  assassinate  that 
oligarchist,  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  as  the  lat- 
ter had  to  send  me  to  perish  on  the  rock  at  St. 
Helena." 

Such  also  was  Sir  William  Petty's,  which 
states,  with  a  certain  amount  of  self-pride,  that 
"at  the  full  age  of  fifteen,  I  had  obtained  the 
Latin,  French  and  Greek  tongues,"  and  at  twen- 
ty years  of  age,  "  had  gotten  up  three  score 
pounds  with  as  much  mathematics  as  any  of  my 
age  were  known  to  have." 


Dear  Drawer, — In  early  life  I  was  elected  to 
the  office  of  Inspector  of  Common  Schools  in  a  town 
not  a  thousand  miles  from  the  head  of  Cayuga  Lake. 
In  the  discharge  of  my  official  duties  I  was  once 
visiting  a  school  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  said  to 
be  superior  to  all  others  in  my  jurisdiction,  when, 
bestowing  my  attention  upon  the  specimens  of  pen- 
manship submitted  to  me,  I  saw  one  the  copy  of 
which  was  this : 

"  Whatever  is  is  right,  says  the  Pope." 
Writing  was  taught  in  those  days  by  the  teacher 
writing  in  a  fair  hand  and  with  his  best  grace  some 
short  sentence  like  the  above,  excepting  the  last 
three  words.  This  short  sentence  was  called  the  ' 
copy,  and  this  the  pupil  was  to  imitate,  or  write 
after,  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  How  often  has  my 
writing-book  had  "Many  men  of  many  minds,"  or 
"  Command  you  may  your  mind  from  plajr,"  or  some 
other  profound  proposition,  with  each  word  arrayed 

upon  a  page  in  martial  order,  and  in  exact  rank 
and  file  arrangement,  as  copies  ! 

"Well,  Mr.  Editor,  in  this  instance,  anxious  to 
do  my  dutyr,  I  whispered  to  the  man  with  the  birch 
and  ferule  my  profound  conviction  that  the  copy 
was  calculated  to  implant  in  the  mind  of  the  hope- 
ful yToung  scholar  an  untruth  not  warranted  in  his- 
tory, and  the  idea  thence  shooting  forth  would  be 
erroneous,  and  perhaps  an  exposition  of  ignorance 
damaging  both  him  and  his  teacher,  for,  whatever 
might  be  the  opinion  of  the  world  in  regard  to  the 
ethics  of  the  question,  I  doubted  that  the  Pope  had 
ever  said  any  thing  of  the  kind. 

"  What,  Mr.  Inspector,  du  you  go  for  tu  say  the 
Pope — him  as  burnt  John  Rogers  at  the  stake — 
didn't  say  that  are?" 

"Yes,  I  say  it." 

"  Wa'al,  now,  I  can  prove  it  to  your  eyes." 

"  Do  so." 

I  saw  victory  and  triumph  in  every  feature. 
"Now,  Mr.  Inspector,  you  jest  be  generous  and 
just.  You  wouldn't  give  me  a  certiiikit  to  teach 
this  'ere  school  last  fall  jest  'cause  I  miss'd  a  single 
question ;  now  if  I  am  right  in  this  'ere,  and  can 
prove  it  in  a  book,  will  you  give  me  one  ?" 

"  I  will,  indeed." 

"Honor  bright?" 

"  Honor  bright." 

"Malvina  Ann  Terry,  come  right  here  tu  onst 
and  bring  yer  English  Reader  with  ye.  I  s'pose 
the  English  Reader  is  good  enough  proof,  ain't  it  ?" 

"Any  book  will  do." 

Malvina  Ann  Terry  was  duly  informed  of  the 
dispute,  and  bidden  to  open  it  at  an  extract  from 
Pope's  Essay  on  Man,  and  there  I  read : 

"In  spite  of  pride,  in  erring  reason's  spite, 
One  truth  is  clear,  whatever  is  is  right." 
Pope. 

"Will  ye  give  it  up  now — will  yc  give  it  up  now, 
Mr.  Inspector?  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Oh,  I  was  sartin 
I  had  ye.  You  college-larnt  folks  don't  know  ev- 
ery thing  yet.  I'll  jest  drop  in  to-night,  and  you 
be  sure  to  have  my  certiiikit  ready ;  and  jest  look 
here,  I  say  ;  don't  you  tell  I  couldn't  git  a  certiiikit 
of  ye,  and  I  won't  tell  a  single  word  nor  nothin'  else 
about  your  mistake  here  to-day.  Nor  Malvina  Ann 
won't  tell  neither,  'cause  she's  a  little  sweet  on  me, 
and  I'm  a  little  mite  sweet  on  her.  You're  a  rising 
young  doctor,  and  I'm  a  rising  young  schoolmaster, 
and  so,  you  see,  we  can  be  friends." 

What  could  I  do  but  say  nothing  ?  Nine-tenths 
of  that  community  would  have  believed  me  van- 
quished by  the  schoolmaster.  By-the-by,  I  found 
before  a  day  had  passed  that  Malvina  Ann  Terry 
was  very  "  sweet"  on  the  schoolmaster,  for  I  heard 
her  telling  her  mother  (I  had  a  room  at  her  father's) 
that  the  schoolmaster  had  proved  to  her  entire  sat- 
isfaction, out  of  her  English  Reader,  that  the  Doc- 
tor was  a  veryr  ignorant,  pretentious  person  —  in 
fact,  no  better  than  he  should  be. 


"HER  LAST  HALF-CROWST" 

Hugh  Miller,  the  geologist,  journalist,  and  man  of 
genius,  was  sitting  in  his  newspaper  office  late  one 
dieaiy  winter  night.  The  clerks  had  all  left,  and  he 
wa  preparing  to  go,  when  a  quick  rap  came  to  the 
door.  He  said  "Come  in,"  and  looking  toward  the 
entrance  saw  a  little  ragged  child  all  wet  with  sleet. 
"  Are  ye  Hugh  Miller '?"  "  Yes."  "  Mary  Duff  wants 
yer."  "What  does  she  want?"  "She's  deeing." 
Seme  misty  recollection  of  the  name  made  him  at  once 
set  out,  and  with  bis  well-known  plaid  and  stick  he  was 
soon  striding  after  the  child,  who  trotted  through  the 
now  deserted  High  street  into  the  Canongate.  By  the 
time  he  got  to  the  Old  Playhouse  close,  Hugh  had  re- 
vived his  memory  of  Mary  Duff— a  lively  girl  who  had 
been  bred  up  beside  him  in  Cromarty.  The  last  time 
he  had  seen  her  was  at  a  brother  mason's  marriage, 
where  Mary  was  "  best  maid,"  and  he  "  best  man." 
He  seemed  still  to  see  her  bright  young  careless  face, 
her  tidy  short-gown,  and  her  dark  eyes,  and  to  hear 
her  bantering,  merry  tongue. 

Down  the  close  went  the  ragged  little  woman,  and 
up  an  outside  stair,  Hugh  keeping  near  her  with  dif-  ' 
ficulty ;  in  the  passage  she  held  out  her  hand  and 
touched  him  ;  taking  it  in  his  great  palm,  he  felt  that 
she  wanted  a  thumb.    Finding  her  way  like  a  cat  - 
through  the  darkness,  she  opened  a  door,  and  saying 
"  That's  her !"  vanished.    By  the  light  of  a  dying  fire  , 
_  he  saw  lying  in  the  corner  of  the  large  empty  room  [ 
something  like  a  woman's  clothes,  and  on  drawing  i 
nearer  became  aware  of  a  thin  pale  face  and  two  dark  ' 
eyes  looking  keenly  but  helplessly  at  him.    The  eyes 
were  plainly  Mary  Duff's,  though  he  could  recognize 
no  other  feature.    She  wept  silently,  gazing  steadily 
at  him.    '•  Are  you  Mary  Duff?"    "  It's  a'  that's  o' 
me,  Hugh."    She  then  tried  to  speak  to  him,  some- 
thing plainly  of  great  urgency,  but  she  couldn't,  and 
seeing  that  she  was  very  ill,  and  was  making  herself 
worse,  he  put  half-a-crown  into  her  feverish  hand, 
and  said  he  would  call  again  in  the  morning.    He 
could  get  no  information  about  her  from  the  neighbors  ; 
they  were  surly  or  asleep. 

When  he  returned  next  morning,  the  little  girl  met 
him  at  the  stairhead,  and  said,  "She's  deid."  He 
went  in,  and  found  that  it  was  true  ;  there  she  lay, 
the  fire  out,  her  face  placid,  and  the  likeness  to  her 
maiden  self  restored.  Hugh  thought  he  would  have 
known  her  now,  even  with  those  bright  black  eyes 
closed  as  they  were,  in  ceternum. 

Seeking  out  a  neighbor  he  said  he  would  like  to 
bury  Mary  Duff,  and  arranged  for  the  funeral  with  an 
undertaker  in  the  close.  Little  seemed  to  be  known 
of  the  poor  outcast,  except  that  the  was  a  "licht," 
or,  as  Solomon  would  have  said,  a  "  strange  woman." 
"  Did  she  drink  ?"    "  Whiles." 

On  the  day  of  the  funeral  one  or  two  residents  in  the 
close  accompanied  him  to  the  Canongate  church-yard . 
He  observed  a  decent- looking  little  old  woman  watch- 
ing them,  and  following  at  a  distance,  though  the  day 
was  wet  and  bitter.  After  the  grave  was  filled,  and 
he  bad  taken  off  his  hat  as  the  men  finished  their 
business  by  putting  on  and  slapping  the  sod,  he  saw 
this  old  woman  remaining.  She  came  up,  and, 
courtesying,  said,  "Ye  wad  ken  that  lass,  sir?" 
"  Yes  ;  I  knew  her  when  she  was  young."  The  w* 
man  then  burst  into  tears,  and  told  Hugh  that  she 
"  keepit  a  bit  shop  at  the  close-moot h,  and  Mary  dealt 
wi'  me,  and  aye  paid  regular,  and  I  was  feared  she 
was  deid,  for  she  had  been  a  month  a  win'  me  haif-a- 
croon  ;"  and  then  with  a  look  and  voice  of  awe,  she 
told  him  how  on  the  night  he  was  sent  for,  and  imme- 
diately after  he  had  left,  she  had  been  awakened  by 
some  one  in  her  room ;  and  by  her  bright  fire — for  she 
w-as  a  bein\  well-to-do  body—  she  had  seen  the  wasted 
dying  creature,  who  came  forward  and  said,  "  Wasn't 
it  half-a-crown  ?"  "  Yes."  "  There  it  is,"  and  put- 
ting it  under  the  bolster,  vanished  ! 

Alas  for  Mary  Duff!  her  career  had  been  a  sad  one 
since  the  day  when  she  had  stood  side  by  side  with 
Hugh  at  the  wedding  of  their  friends.  Her  father 
died  not  long  after,  and  her  mother  supplanted  her  in 
the  affections  of  the  man  to  whom  she  had  given  her 
heart.  The  shock  was  overwhelming,  and  made 
heme  intolerable.  Mary  fled  from  it  blighted  and  em- 
bittered, and  after  a  life  of  shame  and  sorrow,  crept 
into  the  corner  of  her  wretched  garret,  to  die  desert- 
ed and  alone  :  giving  evidence  in  her  latest  act  that 
honesty  had  survived  amid  the  wreck  of  nearly  every 
other  virtue. 

"My  thoughts  are  not  your  thoughts,  neither  are y 
your  ways  my  ways,  saith  the  Lord.    For  as  the 
heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth,  so  are  my  ways 
higher  than  your  ways,  and  my  thoughts  than  your -j~ 
thoughts." — Dr.  John  Brown's  Hor<z  Subsecivcc. 


T 


HE      WORLD      IS      ADVANCING  T 


Matrimonial  Felicities. 

I  brought  a  new  bonnet  home  to  my  wife. 
Now,  S  there  be  one  thing-  more  than  another 
which  my  wife  likes  to  have  me  bring  home  to 
her,  it  is  a  new  bonnet.  A  new  bonnet  in  a  house  I 
is  an  unfailing  source  of  delight,  for  at  least  one 
ounday .    After  it  has  been  to  church,  and  your 
wife  s  female  friends,  and,  perhaps,  who  are  not  .1 
:  her  friends,   have   admired    and  cast    envious 
I  glances  at  it,  it  ceases,  to  some  extent,  to  possess 
its  pristine  charm.    Still,  with  a  little  manage-  ' 
meat  on  the  part  of  the  wearer,  a  new  bonneCif " 
it  be  a  very  elegant  one,  may  be  made  to  do  good 
service,  not  only  at  the  church,  but  at  the  opera 
one  or    two  concerts,  and  a  lecture.    I  don't  ■ 
know  why  it  is,  but,  so  far  as  my   experience 
goes,  I  thmk  ladies  take  very  kindly  to  new  bon- 
nets; they  seem  to  appreciate  them  muc'i  more 
than  any  other  portion  of  their  wardrobe.    Per- 
haps it  is  because  it  can  be  shown  to  greater  ad- 
vantage than  many  other  articles.    In  crowded 
assemblages  the  bonnet  can  always  be  seen.  The 
furs,  thje  shawl,  the  rich  dresses  and  the  jewelry 
are  oftentimes  hidden  from  observation;  but  the 
bonnet  rises  above  all,  and  in  church  can  be  Z 
seen  for  pews  around. 

It  is  very  gratifying  to  the  husband  to  mark  * 
the  smile  which  lights  up  his  wife's  countenance 
when  he  informs  her  that  he  has  brought  her  a  ^ 
new  bonnet.  That  smile,  in  my  opinion,  is 
worth  more  than  many  new  bonnets.  It  re- 
minds me,  somehow,  of  my  courtship  days,  and 
I  wish,  at  such  moments,  that  I  could'  be  al- 
ways bringing  home  new  bonnets  to  my  wife. 

I  know  of  no  other  article  of  ladies'  apparel 
which  is  so  subject  to  the  changes  cf  fashion  as 
the  bonnet.  Every  month  witnesses  an  altera- 
tion; so  that  you  may  safely  take  a  new  bonnet 
home  to  your  wife  each  month,  without  fearing  ; 
that  she  already  possesses  one  in  the  least 
like  it.  j 

For  a  man  whose  experience  in  the  matrimo-  ' 
mal  arena  is  of  an  infelicitous  character,  I  can 
imagine  no  surer  way  of  his  making  it  felicitous  - 
than  by  a  monthly  gift  to  his  wife  of  a  new  bon- 
net.   Even  though,  in  the  parlance  of  the  world, 
he  can't  afford  it,  yet  he  should  do  it  for  the  sake 
of  domestic  peace.      Wisely  hath  a  latter-day  5 
Solomon  said:  "Better  is  anew  bonnet  on  the  r\ 
head  of  a  wife,  than  shoes  and  stockings  on  the 
feet  of  children." 

In  my  case,  fortunately  for  my  purse  and  the  / 
comfort  of  my  little  ones,  this  necessity  does  not    ! 
exist.    The  new  bonnet,  which,  two   or    three 
times  a  year,  I  take  home  to  my  wife,   is   not 
given  as  a  peace-offering.    I   sometimes   think, 
too,  that  I  enjoy  that  new  bonnet  quite  as  much 
as  she  does.    I  experience  great  pleasure  in  see- 
ing her  open  the  square  green  box,  on    which 
the  name  of  a  French  milliner  of  repute,  in  gilt 
letters  on  a  white  enameled  card,  appears,  con- 
taining it,  and  observe    her  look  of  approval- 
she  regards  my  taste  in  the  matter  of  selecting  a  ^ 
bonnet,  as  unequaled— when  her  glance  first  falls 
upon  it.    Then,  placing  her  hand  carefully  uu-  .- 
dent,  she  lifts  it  as  tenderly  out  of  the  box  as  if  / 
it  were  an  infant,  and  gazes  at  it  with  admira- 
tion.   She  takes,  before  speaking  a  word,  a  front, 
side,    and  back  view  of  it,   turning  it  quietly  ' 
round  on  her  hand,  and  sometimes  I  have  re- 
marked, like    a    connoisseur  before  a  picture, 
with  half  closed  eyes  and   head  resting  a  little 
on  one  side,  reminding  me  of  the  action  of  a  ca- 
nary bird,  so  as  to  get  a  fairer  view  of  it,  and  to 
better  appreciate  its  contour  and  style.    Then 

Hily  re-arrangcg  a  bud  or  a  leaf  on  the  { 
outside,    putting    the    bud     over     the     leaf, 
or    the    leaf    under    the    bud,    as  it  may  be. 
She  gives  a  little  twist,  too,  to  a  cluster  of  'flow- 
ers which  seemed  inharmoniously  put  together,   ' 
and,  I  confess,  that,  even  to  my  eyes,  it  assumes 
a  more  artistic  appearance.    Then  she  shakes  up  ., 
in  a  light,  airy  way,  the  plume,  but  immediately  j' 
thereafter  proceed*  to  smooth  it  down;    she  ruf-  • 
ties  and  smooths  it  several  times,  indeed,  before 
she  has  it  to  please  her.    Then  she  closely  scru- 
tinizes  the  quality   of   the  velvet,  the  texture  of  ' 
the  ribbons,  and  the  character  of  the  lace.    Then, 
speaking  for  the  first  time,  and  in  somewhat  ot 
a  confidential  tone,  she  remarks  that  the  lace  is  // 
real  thread  lace,  Chautiily  or   Valenciennes,  or 
whatever  it  may  be.    But  this   time  she  is  pre- 
pared to  perform  the  great  act  of  Irving  it  on. 

Getting  before  the  mirror,  where  she  can  ob-  £ 
tain  a  fair  view  of  herself,  the  dear  woman  pro- 
smooth  down  her  hair,  where  it  lies 
plain  on  her  head;  or  elevates  the  curls  a  trifle,  " 
if  there  be  curls;  or  lifts  up  the  puffs  a  little, 
where  there  are  puffs.     Then,    after  assuring 
herself  by  repeated  glances  at   the  mirror,  that  , 
her  hair  is  in  good  order,  she  places,  with  due 
solemnity,  the  bonnet  on    her  head.    It  takes  , 
about  ten  minutes  to  get  that  bonnet  into  the 
exact  position  which  she  deems  the  most  becom- 
ing, and  to  tie  the  strings  in  a  suitable  manner 
under  her  chin.    Then   she  turns  to  you  with  a 
ravishing  smile,   and  arching  her  eyebrows  and  . 
making  her  lips  look  like  a  half-blown  rose,  gives 
you  a  glance  which  plainly  asks  you  to  express 
your  opinion  as  to  the  bonnet  and' the  wearer. 

It  is  always  safe,  on  these  occasions,  to  say 
that  you  never  saw  a  lovelier  bonnet;  one  more 
becoming,  or— and  here  you  can  make  a  low  bow 
—a  moment  when  the  wearer  looked  younger 
and  fairer  than  she  docs  now.  But  you  must 
noi  seek  to  kiss  her,  for  she  would  instantly 
frown    down    any  such   attempt  on   your   part. 


A 


Waif  until  ihe  Donnet  is  taicen  on  aim  laid  into 
its  box  before  you  do  this,  and  then— well,  then 
it  is  a  good  thing  to  do;  and  that  day,  if  you 
stay  at  home,  will  lie  a  white  day  in  your  life." 

Within  one  week,  my  wife's  new  bonnet  at- 
tended church,  a  concert,  a  lecture,  and  the  re- 
ception at  the  National  Academy  of  Design :  a 
course  of  treatment  most  satisfactory  to  the 
wearer.-  -Home  Journal. 

Why  Iteung  Men  Do  Not  Marry. 

Eev.  Robert  Collyer,  the  eloquent  Unitarian 
clergyman,  recently  preached  a  sermon  in  Chi- 
cago on  "Our  Daily  Bread,"  in  the  course  of 
which  he  discussed  social  questions,  and  ex- 
plained why  young  men  do  not  marry : 

"When  one  said  lately  in  the  presence  of  a 
frank,  outspoken  young  woman  in  this  city, 
that  the  reason  why  young  men  did  not  marry 
was  that  their  wives  would  not  be  content  to  be- 
gin to  live  in  a  homely  fashion,  after  they  had 
been  raised  in  luxury,  she  replied,  'the  woman 
is  quite  as  willing  as  the  man  to  do  that,  and  I 
know  of  no  woman  in  the  circle  of  my  acquaint- 
ance who  would  not  be  content,  forjthe  sake  of 
the  man  she  loved,  to  cast  her  lot  with  him,  and 
make  his  interest  in  every  way  her  own.'  I  be- 
lieve the  young  woman  spoke  the  truth.  When 
I  hear  a  man  living  in  chambers  and  constant  in 
his  attendance  at  play  and  opera  say  "I  dare  not 
marry,  because  I  know  no  woman  would  be  con- 
tent to  live  as  one  should  have  to  live,'  I  say  to 
myself,  it  may  be  true,  but  it  looks  very  much 
like  old  Adam,  who  ate  the  apple  and  then  turned 
around  and  laid  the  blame  on  the  woman.  Let 
this  be  as  it  will.  Here  is  the  dismal  fact  staring 
us  everywhere  in  the  face,  and  in  no  place  more 
painfully  than  in  our  own  city,  that  for  social, 
conventional,  or  still  worse  reasons,  the  best 
youth  of  the  country  is  held  back  from  its  most 
sacred  duty  as  well  as  its  most  perfect  felicity- 
falls  into  that  sad  mistake  of  a  long  engagement, 
in  which  the  pain  and  disappointment  bears 
hardest  always  on  the  woman;  or  the  young 
man  shuts  his  eyes  and  his  heart  when  the  spirit 
walking  among  the  golden  lamps  whispers  to  him 
of  some  maiden,  'That  is  thy  wife,'  and  says  'No, 
not  yet  for  many  a  year  to  come' — and  so  mar- 
ries at  last  away  on  in  life,  when  both  lines  have 
become  set  in  their  own  fashion,  and  their  love 
is  hardly  long  enough  to  give  them  the  kindly 
mutual  forbearance  toward  what  is  dissimilar  in 
character  and  disposition,  until  they  can  become 
"  'Self-reverent  and  reverencing  each 
Alike  in  individualities/ 

and  so  the  best  of  the  days  of  the  best  of  our 
youth  go  by  and  fiud  'I  dare  not'  wait  upon  'I 
would; 

"In  the  name  of  all  that  is  sacred,  I  ask  why 
this  is,  and  get  for  my  answer,  'We  cannot  afford 
it.'  The  young  farmer  can  afford  it  on  the  prai- 
ries; the  miner  on  Superior;  the  woodman  on 
the  peninsula;  the  carpenter  at  his  bench;  the 
smith  at  his  anvil;  the  operative  at  his  frame  or 
loom;  the 'longshoreman  and  the  sailor.  That 
cluster  of  men  down  there  in  Pennsylvania,  and 
those  in  Yorkshire  whose  mere  young  men  were 
with  me  long  years  ago,  lost  no  time  and  asked 
few  questions,  because  some  right  instinct  told 
them  they  must  do  that  or  worse — worse  in  any 
and  every  way  they  could  look  at  it;  and  so 
I  can  remember,  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  how 
speedily  these  lound  the  wife  and  went  to  house- 
keeping in  one  room  or  two,  as  they  could  man- 
age it,  and  make  the  hammer  ring  with  a  new 
music,  and  gradually  got  their  house  and  house- 
hold goods,  and  the  world  has  ncverfailed  them, 
no,  not  for  a  day;  but  through  dark  future  and 
bright,  and  sickness  and  strength,  they  have 
found  the  deepest  experiences  of  their  lite  each 
with  the  other,  for  Great  Heart  and  Interpreter 
go  together  on  this  pilgrimage,  and  now  tl.<ry 
see  their  children  coming  up  to  manhood  and 
womanhood,  about  them,  with  the  freshness  of 
their  own  youth  in  their  hearts,  and  know, 
though  probably  they  cannot  tell,  the  deep  con- 
tent of  a  life  ordered  after  the  fashion  God  gave  / 
them  when  he  created  them  man  and  woman. 

"But  here  are  men  with  noble  powers,  with 
faculties  fast  will  ensure  them  a  greater  place,  j\ 
living  in  the  most  plentiful  land  on  the  globe,  J 
evening  themselves  through  the  years  of  their 
youth  with  that  poor  lost  tribe  of  ballet  singers, .  i 
the  loneliest  of  all  those  to  whom  God  has  given  ^ 
a  chance,  and  when  you  get  at  their  real  reason 
it  is  either  one  or  the  other  of  these.  They  can- 
not believe  what,  if  they  have  lived  in  the  coun- 
try, they  have  seen  twenty  times  to  be  true  of 
the  birds  that  sing  about  us  everywhere;  that 
new  exigencies  tap  new  energies,  and  the  little 
fellow  who,  a  few  weeks  ago,  had  quite  enough 
to  do  to  takc~careof  himself,  is  now  caring  for  a 
nest  full  just  as  successfully.  They  do  not  be- 
lieve that  the-  Maker  who  has  made  their  life  of 
itself  a  natural  prayer  for  daily  bread,  has  pro- 
vided that  the  answer  shall  be  equal  to  the  cry ; 
or  when  they  pray  they  mean  by  daily  bread 
board  for  two  at  the  Sherman,  the  privilege  t« 
attend  parties  three  times  a  week  throughout 
the  whole  winter,  to  take  a  trip  to  Saratoga  in 
summer,  and  miss  no  chance  at  any  other  pleas- 
ure, however  expensive.  Let  it  be  that  or  a 
shred  of  that  which  makes  this  fatal  fading  in 
the  flower  of  the  youth  of  America — the  men 
from  Harvard  and  Yale  and  all  of  their  line 
quality — and  the  thoughtful  cannot  but  deplore 
the  education  that  can  so  curse  the  fair  man- 
hood and  cause  the  blossoming  of  youth  to 
come  i    si  .!,  an  untimely  end. 


VACATIONS. 

Some  Old-Fashioned  Notions  Abont  Them. 

'Husband,'  said  Mrs  Smith,  as  Mr  Smith  took 
his  seat  in  their  cozy  sitting  room  for  a  quiet 
evening  hour  after  the  labors  of  the  day  were 
ended,  'Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  take  a 
journey  this  season  to  the  sea  shore  or  the  moun- 
tains? Can'tjwe  afford  a  few  days  of  recrea- 
tion?' 

Mr  Smith  looked  at  his  wife  in  surprise. 
They  had  lived  and  labored  together  for  years; 
planned  and  economized,  which  they  considered 
no  more  than  their  duty,  ana  the  duty  of  all. 
They  were  not  very  rich,  but  belonged  to  that 
large,  thrifty,  middle  class  in  this  country,  who 
are  able  to  provide  themselves  the  comforts  and 
many  of  the  luxuries  of  life,  but  in  these  fast 
times  cannot  be  counted  among  the  wealthy. 
Moreover,  they  had  earned  and  saved  their 
property  with  too  much  care  to  spend  it  thought- 
lessly. They  were  generous,  kind  hearted  peo- 
ple, but  they  valued  money  as  a  means,  not  as  an 
end.  They  felt  they  had  acquired  it  by  the  bless- 
ing of  God,  who  had  given  them  health  to  labor 
and  guided  their  endeavers;  and  they  felt  that 
He  required  of  all  his  chidren  that  they  use  the 
means  He  has  given  wisely  as  He  will  approve 
for  our  own  highest  good  or  to  comfort  and 
bless  others.  Consequently  the  customs  of  the 
iashionable  world  did  did  not  usually  disturb 
them. 

'What  has  put  that  idea  into  your  head,  Mrs 
Smith?'  he  at  length  inquired. 

'Why,  husband/  said  she,  'don't  you  think  we 
need  some  change  as  well  as  other  people?  It  is 
so  customary,  and  besides  health  of  body  and 
mind  require  it. 

'Are  you  out  of  health  ?'  inquired  Mr  Smith. 
'If  so  I  will  go  with  you  wherever  your  judg- 
ment or  the  advice  of  our  physician  may  ad- 
vise.' 

'Oh,  no,  I  am  not  sick,'  she  said  quickly,  'but  to 
keep  us  in  health  and  from  premature  breaking 
down.' 

'Do  people  have  better  health  now  than  for- 
merly, or  keep  their  vigor  and  strength  to  a 
greater  age?' 

'No,  I  do  not  think  they  do.' 

'Then  why  all  this  talk  about  traveling  for 
health?  It  is  a  comparatively  new  thing.  Call 
it  going  for  fashion  and  pleasure,  and  done  with 
it.  I  think  we  should  be  honest  with  ourselves, 
and  call  things  by  their  right  names,  and  if  it  is 
right  to  spend  our  time  and  money  for  pleasure, 
why,  call  it  so. 

'But,  to  the  point,'  he  continued.  'Why  in  the 
warm  season  leave  our  comfortable,  roomy  house 
and  this  pure  air,  for  the  crowded  cars,  boats  and 
hotels?' 

'But  it  is  so  common  now  that  it  either  looks 
poor  or  stingy  to  spend  the  whole  season  at 
home.' 

'But,  my  dear/  said  Mr  Smith,  'we  must  de- 
cide by  the  right  or  wrong  of  the  thing,  and  not 
be  governed  by  other  people's  opinions  or  prac- 
tices. I  have  no  objection  to  what  we  cau  truly 
afford.  I  think  it  is  desirable  to  do  so  to  a  rea- 
sonable extent  as  a  means  of  improvement  and 
to  visit  our  friends.  But  we  have  no  right  to 
spend  so  much  money  in  these  ways  as  to  lessen 
our  ability  to  do  good  in  the  various  modes  in 
our  power.  In  my  opinion,  this  talk  about  long 
vacations  for  health  is  all  nonsense.  The  class 
that  would  be  benefited  are  not  reach- 
ed. Very  few  except  pleasure  seekers  seek 
these  long  rests.  Those  who  really  love  use- 
fulness cannot  afford  themselves  months  of  idle- 
ness under  the  name  of  rest.  An  aged  clergyman 
said  sadly,  not  long  since,  that  this  laying  aside 
the  harness  was  all  wrong;  that  he  had  done  far 
more  labor  for  many  years  than  the  voung  minis- 
ters knew  anything  about;  but  he  bad  never 
seen  a  time  when  he  thought  it  would  be  right 
for  him  to  lay  aside  his  harness.  I  think  minis- 
ters in  late  years  are  helping  all  this  on  by  going 
to  a  great  extreme  in  these  things,  perhaps  more 
than  any  other  class.  If  their  hearts  are  in  their 
work  they  find  great  variety  and  interest  in  them. 
They  have  chosen  a  profession  which,  if  they 
follow  in  the  footsteps  of  their  Master,  should  in- 
volve self-denial  and  in  some  degree  the  laying 
aside  of  frivolity  and  vain  pleasure.  Christ's 
disciples  are  prone  to  forget  the  example  of  their 
Master.' 

'But,  Mr  Smith,  don't  you  think  that  ministers 
and  Christian  people  need  recreation  and  amuse- 
ment?' 

'Certainly,  but  not  in  the  amount  or  extent 
they  are  taking  it  in  these  days.  It  is  the 
excited  way  in  which  people  are  living  hot  a- 
days  that  is  breaking  them  down  more  '.b  in 
work,  ami  the  classes  of  persons  who  really  need 
rest  cannot  have  it.  It  is  entirely  beyond  their 
reach.  If  those  persons  who  are  constantly  con- 
fined to  monotonous  labor  indoors  could  hav«  a 
few  weeks  of  rest,  it  would  do  them  untold  good. 
Traveling  is  all  right,  but  we  should 
be  just  before  we  are  generous,  and  not  spend 
what  should  be  used  for  other  purposes.  And  if 
we,  who  perhaps  could  go,  do  it,  we  make  it 
harder  for  those  who  cannot.  Let  us  rather  in- 
vite some  poor  hard-working  women  to  rest 
themselves  for  two  or  three  weeks  in  our  com- 
fortable home.' 

'Well,  Mr  Smith,  you  may  be  right.  I  do  not 
know  but  these  things  are  certainly  worth  con- 
sidering.' 


[Correspondence  of  (he  Daily  Spy.] 
A  RAMBLE  IN  ROANOKE. 

Camp  Fosteu,  Roanoke  Island,  1 
March  2nd,  1862.        J 

A  little  account  of  a  ramble  in  the  late  re- 
bel island  of  Roanoke,  spiced  with  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  its  inhabitants,  may  not 
be  uninteresting  to  the  readers  of  your  paper. 
On  the  afternoon  of  the  last  day  r.f  winter,  a 
pass  for  six  of  us,  viz  :  corporal  Gates,  privates 
Lyon,  Billings,  Hartshorn,  Aborn  and  Earle, 
was  obtained  from  Col.  Upton,  and  with  haver 
sacks  well  filled  with  hurd  crackers,  and  re- 
volvers, and  tin  cups  strung  upon  our  belts,  a 
jolly  company.  We  left  camp  to  visit  the 
batte  ground,  our  place  of  landing,  &c.,  and  it 
was  just  three  weeks  to  a  day,  since  we  met 
the  enemy — and  they  were  ours. 

Leisurely  and  happily  we  rambled  through 
the  woods,  and  over  sandy  roads  till  we  came 
toa  house  neatly  covered  up  with  drifts  of  sand 
lying  in  |>iles  just  like  snow  ;  and  all  the  trees 
about  the  house  were  nearly  imbedded  to  tiieir 
limbs  in  sand  drifts.  Our  Yankee  curiosity  led 
us  to  make  enquiries  within, when  we  found  two 
old  ladies,  over  80  years  of  age,  with  ten 
wounded  rebels  in  their  charge.  Theold  lady's 
name  was  Mrs.  Etheridge,  and  she  told  us 
that  she  had  lived  there  fifty-eight  years. 
When  they  first  settled  there  it  was  a  good 
farm,  but  after  they  cut  off  the  woods,  the 
sand  covered  up  nearly  the  whole  farm,  and 
in  many  places  the  drifts  are  more  than  sixty 
feet  high,  the  highest  of  which  we  tumbled 
in  and  over  as  we  would  in  snow.  Thus  we 
wound  our  way  towards  the  scene  of  the  bat-, 
tie,  calling  at  the  'different  houses, and  making 
acquaintance  with  the  occupants  as  we  passed, 
till  nearly  dark,  when  our  aim  was  to  find  a 
place  where  we  could  be  fed  and  quartered 
for  the  night. 

A  funny  and  exciting  time  we  had  of  it,  go 
ing  from  house  to  house,  listening  to  tales  of 
woe  and  poverty,  and  of  the  treatment  the 
inhabitants  had  received  at  the  hands  of  the 
rebels.  One  old  lady  told  us  "that  the  Geor- 
gians had  destroyed  nearly  every  thing  she 
had— her  spinning  wheel,  her  loom,  all  of  her 
bedsteads,  and  had  nearly  ruined  her."  She 
had  hoped  that  when  the  Yankees  came,  thry 
would  leave  what  she  had,  but  she  had  been 
disappointed,  lor  they  had  broken  all  of  her 
pots  and  kettles,  and  she  had  only  one  dinner 
pot  and  oue  spider  left.  "I  don't  mean  you 
Yankees  with  blue  coats,"  said  she,  "but  those 
red-headed  devils,"— alluding  to  the  Zouaves 
with  red  caps.  Wherever  we  went,  we  learned 
that  they  were  a  terror  to  the  inhabitants— 
stealing  everything  within  their  reach,  and 
killing  all  the  stock  on  the  farms,  leaving  them 
when  they  shot  them. 

Thus  from  house  to  house  we  wandered 
without  success,  till  at  last  we  were  directed 
to  one  Sam  Jarvis's,  a  man  "well  to  do  in  the 
world"  for  a  Roanoke  Islander,  and  putting  on 
my  white  gloves,  I  was  delegated  by  our  par- 
ty to  act  as  spokesman,  and  thus  approached 
the  island  mansion,  meeting  the  said  Mr.  Jar- 
vis  upon  the  threshold  of  his  door.  As  polite- 
ly as  was  in  my  power,  I  asked  for  supper  and 
lodging  for  the  party,  but  got  a  grum  no  for 
answer.  The  sound  of  our  voices  brought  to 
the  door  Mrs.  Jarvis,  weighing  some  two  hun- 
dred pounds,  with  pipe  in  mouth,  and  a  large 
Dutch  face,  red  from  spirits  working  within 
We  had  choice  music  enough  from  her.  Next 
came  a  boy  about  eight  years  of  age,  follow- 
ing his  mother,  her  hands  just  from  the  dough, 
ana  she  exclaiming,— "Harry,  come  in  here^ 
and  if  you  go  out  again,  I  will  introduce  this 
pair  »f  knuckles  to  your  eyebrows,"  at  the 
same  time  shaking  her  fist  in  the  child's  face. 
This  was  "Mrs.  Dowdy." 


We   then   went   through    the  woods,   after 
dark,   to   Mr.  Joshua  Johnson's,  who  proved 
to  be  a   good   Union    man,   and   where    our 
party     were     taken      in,     and     well     cared 
for.     When' he  decided    that  we   cfluld  be  ac- 
commodated, after  consulting  with  Mrs.  John- 
■   son,  who  was   in  the  kitchen,  (separate  from 
'  the  house,  as  is  the  style  here,)  we  were  invi- 
ted   into  the  house,  where  we  were  welcomed 
(  by  a  large  open  fire  aud  well  sanded  floor.    In 
one  corner  of  the   room   was  an  old  fashioned 
sideboard,  well  filled  with  dishes,  and  a  cheer- 
'  ing  sight  it  was   to  us.     We  sat  down  before 
^  the  blazing  fire,  and  heard  the  history  of  the 
family  and  their  experiences  of  the  summer 
while  the  rebels  had  possession  of  the  island 
It  seems  that  one  of  Mr.  Johnson's  sons,  with 
a    wife  and    three  children,  had  been  driven 
from    their    liouie  and   robbed  of  everything 
they  possessed,  because  of  their  Union  sen  '*" 
ments,    and    had  sought  shelter  under  th  e,r 
father's  roof.     Christopher  Columbus,  Flqran- 
da,  and  Margaret  Ann,  were  the  names  of  the 
grandchildren. 

In  the  midst  o(  this  history  we  were  sum- 
moned to  supper,, where  we  found  a  table 
spread  with  a  white  cloth,  upon  which  we 
found  roast  pork,  warm  biscuit,  sweet  pota- 
to pie,  with  Mrs.  Johnson  and  her  daughter- 
in-law  standing  near  to  pass  us  the  coffee.  We 
kept  the  cups  moving.  Supper  over,  we  again 
seated  ourselves  for  the  evening  around  the 
fire.  Mr.  Johnson  told  us  that  soon  af- 
ter the  North  Carolina  troops  came  up- 
on the  island,  they  pressed  his  horse  into  the 
service,  and  used  him  to  assist  in  building  the 
forts.  The  day  ot  the  battle  one  of  the  rebel 
commanders  took  him  to  ride,  and  he  was 
killed  in  the  engagement.  He  also  toid  us 
that  he  had  grapes  enough  stolen  from  his 
vines  to  have  made  several  barrels  ot  wine. 
He  suffered  in  many  ways  from  their  depreda- 
tions. The  old  lady  was  particularly  emphat- 
ic towards  the  rebels,  and  many  times  wished 
them  all  where  their  horse  was,  "dead  beside 
the  road."  She  told  us  in  a  very  forcible  man- 
ner, "that  for  six  weeks  before  we  came,  she 
had  prayed  to  Almighty  God  every  night,  that 
a  million  Yankees  might  land  on  the  island 
and  kill  every  rebel.  She  said  that  Sam  Jar- 
vis  had  been  one  oi  the  bitterest  and  noisest 
of  the  rebels  all  summer,  and  that  his  wife  had 
been  very  saucy  and  insolent  to  all  the  union 
people  She  wanted  that  we  should  go  there 
next  day  and  demand  a  dinner,  and  make 
them  get  it  lor  us. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  some  of  us 
took  from  our  pockets  some  photographs,  and 
the  old  lady  thinking  them  to  be  caids,  at  once 
covered  up  her  eyes  with  both  hands ;  but 
discovering  her  mistake,  she  looked  at  them 
with  interest.  She  then  told  us  what  n  feeling 
she  had  against  card  playijjg.  The  rebels 
played  them  Sundays  and  all,  behind  the 
roads,  or  wherever  they  might  be.  When  our 
fleet  bombarded  the  fort,  the  shells  and  rifle 
shots  fell  all  about  this  house.  One  that 
weighed  over  a  hundred  pounds  we  saw  and 
lifted. 


luus  passea  the  evening,  mi  we  were 
shown  by  Mr.  Johnson  to  our  lodgings,  where 
we  tried  a  night's  repose  on  leather  beds,  but 
not  much  to  our  comfort,  for  we  were  as  un- 
easy as  fish  out  of  water,  being  about  as  much 
out  of  a  soldier's  element.  Morning  at  last 
came  and  with  it  a  good  breakfast,  after  which 
we  visited  the  battle  ground,  and  there  spent 
an  hour  or  more  very  pleasantly.  We  exam- 
ined the  places  which  we  occupied  during  the 
engagement,  and  it  was  more  of  a  wonder  to 
us  than  ever,  how  we  got  there,  through  such 
a  swamp.  We  foui  d  many  logs  there  nearly 
cut  off  by  cannon  ball,  just  above  our  heads, 
and  the  ground  all  about  us  was  covered  with 
small  limbs,  cut  by  the  musket  bails,  from  the 
trees.  We  then  went  to  the  place  of  our  first 
landing  where  we  found  the  lamily  here  re 
turned.  From  thence  we  went  to  Ashby  land- 
ing, where  were  the  graves  of  our  comrades, 
who  fell  in  battle,  and  those  who  have  died 
since — twenty-six  graves  in  all, — neatly  ar- 
ranged, with -evergieen  trees  as  a  kind  of 
hedge,  and  most  of  the  graves  with  neat  head 
boards,  on  which  were  carved  the  name,  age, 
regiment,  and  company  of  the  deceased,  with 
this  inscription  on  most,  "who  fell  in  action, 
Feb.  8th,  1802,  on  Roanoke  Island." 


Thus  we  paitl  our  last  tribute  ot  love  and 
respect  to  our  brave  comrades,  who  fell  nobly 
doing  their  duty,  and,  as  we  turned  away,  felt 
and  expressed  symjathyfor  their  friends  at 
home.  Siowly  and  pleasantly  we  wound  our 
way  back  to  Mr  Johnson's,  where  we  had  left 
our  haversacks,  and,  on  reaching  the  house, 
seated  ourselves  for  a  little  rest,  when  the 
daughtei  in  law  of  Mrs,  Johnson  handed  round  J~ 
to  each  one  of  us  a  large  piece  of  pie.  As  we 
parted  we  bid  them  a  hearty  good  bye,  and 
some  of  us  who  had  left  little  ones  at  home 
could  not  refrain  from  giving  the  children  a 
parting  kiss,  particularly  the  little  girl,  about 
fiv%  years  of  age;  alter  which  we  went 
through  the  different  cartas  on  the  shore,  and 
through  Gen.  Burnside's  headquarters,  to  the 
three  large  forts,  and  to  Camp  Foster.  In  our 
tramp  we  passed  by  a  newly  made  burying 
ground,  where  were  forty-two  graves  ol  rebels 
who  died  in  September  and  October,  reach- 
ing our  quarters  about  the  middle  of  the  alter-  ' 
noon. 

Thus  we  ended  our  winter,  and  'commenced 
our  spring,  with  a  ramble  in  Roanoke,  taking 
with  the  people,  listening  to  the  thousand  rob- 
ins, bluebirds,  bobolinks,  brown  thrashers, 
&c,  and  seeing  green  peas  in  many  ot  the 
gardens  about  three  inches  high.  The 
two  days  thus  spent  by  six  members  of  corn- 
piny  A,  will  ever  remain  oue  of.-the  bright 
spots  of  our  soldier  life.  We  had  a  tramp  of 
over  twenty-five  miles.  You  can  imagine  that 
we  were  glad  once  more  to  enter  our  rough 
quarters,  where,  sitting  upon  the  floor,  with 
knapsack  in  lap,  this  letter  has  been  written, 
anil  with  it,  thousands  go  by  to-morrow's  mail, 
—  to  many  anxious  friends  at  home.         x.  n^iuC/  i 


pUl 

In] 


LETTER  F30K  NEWBERN. 

Nbwbkkn,  N.  C,  April  20,  1862. 
Dear  Brothtr : — A  mail  leaves  to-morrow 
morning,  and  I  will  write  a  few  lines.  We 
are  having  hot  weather  steadily.  I  think  for 
throe  days  we  have  had  it  as  hot  as  our  July 
days  at  home.  This  has  been  the  hottest  day 
a»  yet,  aud  1  think  the  mercury  must  have 
been  85  degrees,  for  yesterday  iti  the  forenoon 
it  was  80  degrees  in  the  shade.  This  morn-  ' 
ing,  just  after  breaklast,  Lieut.  Drennan  and^ 
myself  took  a  horse  and  buggy  and  went  eight 
miles  into  the  country,  towards  Trenton,  go. 
ing  out  as  far  as  our  videttes  extend.  We  took' 
dinner  with  the  major  and  two  captains  of  the 
seventeenth  Massachusetts,  who  are  on  our 
extended  pickets,  living  in  a  email  farm  house. 
The  rebel  cavalry  are  very  annoying  to  our 
videttes  and  pickets,  and  there  are  constant 
skirmishes.  While  we  were  out  there,  there 
was  a  skirmish,  and  four  rebel  cavalry  were 
killed,  while  none  of  our  men  were  killed  or 
wounded,  as  could  be  ascertained.  There  has 
been  a  skirmish  with  some  loss  to  both  sides, 
nearly  every  day  (he  past  week. 

Last  Sunday  night,  a  company  of  the  103d 
New  York  regiment  were  on  picket  in  Jones 
county  (southerly  part),  and  while  most  were 
on  duty,  thirty  men  and  the  captain,  off  duty, 
laid  down  in  a  small  house  to  sleep,  when  they 
were  surrounded  by  280  rebel  cavalry,  headed 
by  the  colonol  of  a  North  Carolina  regiment. 
The  colonel  demanded  a  surrender,  saying 
they  were  surrounded,  but  the  captain  told 
him  he  couldn't  think  ot  doing  it,  drew  his 
sword,  and  ordered  his  men  to  fire,  which 
they  did,  and  the  colonel  fell  wounded  from 
his  horse,  and  is  now  in  one  of  our  hospitals 
here.  The  fight  lasted  half  an  hour,  when 
the  cavalry  broke  and  run,  leaving  three  of 
their  men  dead,  sixteen  prisoners,  and  sixty 
horses,  all  taken  by  our  thirty  men.  This  is: 
a  German  company,  and  they  did  well.  Pick-, 
»t  duty  is  exciting,  and    I  got  60    much  inter- 

1     ested  in  being   out  to-day,  that  I  wished  we 
were  stationed  outside  instead  of  guarding  aj. 

,  city.  VVe  have  conveniences  and  comforts  * 
here,  which  we  could  not  have  outside,  but 
we  lose  tho  excitement  a  soldier  loves,  and 
have  no  chance  to  distinguish  ourselves,  aud 
get  that  glory  which  can  only  be  earned  in 
action. 

Friday  night,  or  rather  afternoon,  some  sev- 
enty contrabands  arrived  at  the  wharf,  near 
our  house,  coining  un  in  a  boat  from  mar  the 


f 


4 


place  of  the  Ugh'  last  Sunday  night.  Such 
another  set  of  '  lUOrla|s  I  nCver  saw— all  sexes 
anil  all  ages  ^  jre8Se(j  up  j„  all  sorts  of  cloth- 
ing. So»"(ie  womell  decked  with  coats  and 
hats  f<<  r  want  0f  female  clothing,  i'.nd  nearly 
11 "  *  ue  women  toiinga  baby.  One  little  "nig," 
" 'mart  as  a  steel  trap,  was  appropriated  by  Mr. 
Haven,  our  principal  drummer,  and  be  is 
mightily  pleased  with  him,  and  has  him  dress-. 
ed  up  nicely.  The  little  fellow  is  about  five' 
years  old,  and  can  dance  like  a  top.  Iques-. 
lioned  him.  lie  said  he  ran  away  from  his" 
massa  captain.  I  asked  him  what  lie  ran 
away  for,  not  thh.king  the  little  fellow  could 
realize  anything,  v»  ben  be  answered,  prompt 
ly,  "Kale  I  didn't  van't  to  be  a  slave — I'se 
want  to  bo  tree."  I  talked  with  many  of  the 
slaves,  ami  found  that  they  understood  affairs 
pretty  will.  The  people  have  told  the  slaves 
mo»t  hoirible  stories  about  the  Yankees,  but 
the  negroes  say  "Oh  Lor,  massa,  dunna 
'blcve  word  day  say — we  knowed  dey  lied — 
we's  been  praying  to  de  Lord  dat  you  Yan- 
kees might  come,"  &c,  &c.  One  negro  told 
Maj    Picket  :— "Tank    God,    massa,  now  I  do 


husbands,  lathers  ana  sons  may  oe  successiut 
in  killing  and  destroying  us  1  This  is  no  fan 
cy  sketch,  but  exactly  the  truth  »s  I  tee  it 
every  day.  It  we  must  feed  the  south, 
because  its  people  will  not  provide  for 
themselves  let  us  make  a  clean  thing  of  it.  If 
they  keep  their  ilaves  we  must  feed  them,  if 
they  are  in  e  we  can  do  no  mote  and  it  won't 
cost  any  more  as  I  reckon  it,  to  feed  tifree 
man,  than  a  slave.  They  compel  their  slaves 
to  aid    in   their    rebellion   against    their  will. 


ordered  to  hiv,  they  commenced  witil  a  win. 
Every  piece  told,  and  then  the  boys  buckled 
to  in  g.od  style.  For  an  hour  we  fought  on, 
not  a  man  shrinking  from  bis  post.  One  alter 
another  was  wouudod  ;uid  sunt  to  the  rear. 
Stiil  the  boys  closed  their  ranks  and  fired.  I 
made  them  lie  down  while  loading,  to  keep 
them  under  cover.  You  have  no  conception 
of  the  deadly  whiz  of  bullets,  or  of  the  pecu- 
liar breath  of  grape  and  shrapnel !  An  .ron 
rain,  a  leaden  hail,  were  on  every  side.  I  was 
looking  at  Lieut.  Stillman.  A  ball  entered 
his  lungs;  he  gasped  and  fell  !  Two  sergeants 
and  three  pri  ates  carried  him  to  the  ambu- 
lance.    There  he  died. 


The    Connecticut  Tenth. 
The    New  Haven  Journal  publishes  a  pri 
vate  letter  from  Capt'  Pardee  of  the  Connect! 

cut  tenth  regiment,  which  gives  a  graphic  ac 


We  have  got  an  addition  to  our  numbers  in  a 
poor  boy  who  came  to  us  about  three  weeks  ago, 
named  Henry  -     — ,  company  A,  158th  New 


York  volunteers,  24th  army  corps,  a  native  of 

Corning,  N.  Y.    He  was  wounded  in  front  of 

count  oi  Ihe  part  taken  by    that  tegiment  m    Petersburg  last    fourth  month.      He  was  sent 


the    battle  of    Roanoke  Island.     We  copy  a 


iv         i    -  few  passages  of  the  letter,  beginning  with  his 
blieve  de   Lord   is  entire  for  sure:     Yes,   de  >  *  ,        ,  ,  , 

,  .  ,     ,„.   ,      ,  ,  /.  account  ot  the  advance  the  morning  after  they 

Lord  is  come    mm.     We  ve  ben   praying  and  - J 


landed.     He  says 

"Gens.  Foster  and  Burnside  came  up  and 
greeted  our  colonel.  Both  of  them  spoke 
pleasantly  to  us.  Pretty  soon  Gen.  Foster, 
with  about  a  dozen  attendants,  started  down 
the  narrow  road  through  the  woods,  which 
was  to  be  the  pathway  to  battle,  death  and 
victory.  A  reconnoissance  was  made,  skir- 
mishers thrown  out,  and  by  and  by  the  rat- 
tling shot  told  us  we  had  found  the  foe.  It 
was  a  tierce,  hot  fire — shot  by  shot  at  first — 
then  came  the  order  for  our  advance.  On  we 
walked  slowly,  stopping  every  few  minutes 
for  the  regiments  at  our  bead  to  move  on,  and 
wondered  what  the  nature  ot  the  rebel  position/ 


could  be.     We  laughed  and  joked  togelhef  as?  ^  is  over  God  will  put  it  into  the  heart  of  some 


wheia  in  camp.  It  was  impossible  to  feel  that 
all  this  was  real  and  deadly.  One  mile  was 
passed,  then  a  second — heavy  guns  boomed, 
rifled  shots  shrieked.  We  heard  cheering 
ahead.  By  and  by  the  woods  showed  more 
light  ahead.  We  heard  balls  among  the 
leaves  ;  we  saw  men  hurry  by  with  medical 
stores  towards  the  front;  we  met  men  ex- 
hausted by  the  roadside.  Art  aid  came  down 
to  us  witli  an  order — 'Advance  ihe  Tenth!' 

Colonel  Russell  pressed  bis  lips  firmly  to- 
gether, and  said,  "we  are  going  under  fire, 
Captain — forward,  solidly,  quickly  !"  I  was 
hoarse  with  a  terrible  cold,  but  found  voice. 
Men  came  by  with  stretchers,  carrying  the 
brave  Massachusetts  boys,  frightful  with  their 
bleeding  wounds.  We  saw  the  dead  lying  be- 
neath the  trees  on  either  side.  Doctors  were 
busy  in  their  vocation  ;  surgery  is  a  noble  art! 
We  halt  on  the  edge  of  a  great  clearing  ;  we 
deploy  to  the  right,  by  companies,  and  mine 
in  advance.  I  see, the 'smoke  and  flashes  from 
tve  redoubts  ;  at  last  we  are  under  tire  !  We 
move  forward  twenty  paces.  I  halt  and  dress 
my  company.  Two  others  wheel  in  at  my 
left.  The  bail*  whistle  around  me.  I  knew  I 
bad  sua  power  to  control  them,  but  that  God 
would  shield  me,  and  make  me  do  my  duty. 
I  ielt  ready  for  any  thing.  God  kept  me  cool 
and  collected!  God  preserved  me.  To  Him 
be  the  glory.     I   stood  two   or  three  paces  in 


i>r»)  ing  dis  long  time  dat  de  Lord  might  come, 
and  I  knowed  he  would — kase  for,  dese  63 
years  I'se  read  in  de  Bible  dat  dc  time  was 
comin',  Use  read  it  in  de  11th  chapter  ol  Dan- 
iel io  many  times— more  times,  massa,  den  dis 
nigger  has  hairs  on  dis  head,  and  now  I  sees 
it  wid  my  own  eyes,  and  bress  de  Lord." 

]  think,   il   you   wjll   read  that  chapter  in 
Daniel,  yon   will  bo   satisfied  that  old  ebony 
made  a  shrewd  calculation.     You  can  put  the 
emphasis   on    the  underscored    words  of  the 
African's  speech,  and  it  will  sound  quite   like 
him.     The  more    I  think  of    this    matter,  the 
more  I  see  of  the  white  people  here,  the  more 
1  h-arn   of  their    miserable  and  devilish  con- 
duct in   this    rebellion —  the   more  I  see  the, 
joy  of    the  slave*  as  they  flee  to  us  for  protec- 
tion, the  more  satisfied  am  I  that  a  deadly  blow 
must  b;?  struck  at  the  cause  of  this  rebellion. 
There  is  no  use    in  prating   about  the  Union 
sentiment  in  the  south— there   may  be  a  little 
of  it,  but  when  you  find  it,  it  is  the  rare  exeep-^ 
tion,   and    it    is    seldom,    if    ever,    you  find  i 
a     man     who     is    a    slaveholder    possessed 
of   a   spark    of   Unionism.     The   people  here^ 
are  all  wallowing  in  the  filth    of  secession  to- 
gether, and  are  all    ready  to  fight  us  as  long^ 
as  they  can    hold    out.     They    kill  and  burn. ' 
They  destroy   all   their  property  beiore  they 
leave  it.     Theywik   for  no  quarters.     If  they 
have  determined    to   burn   and   destroy  their, 
villages,  their  cotton,   turpentine— every  things 
they   have  which  they  can  burn — why  cannot/ 
we  help   the  matter   along  by    destroying  all 
the  property  they  have  left  which  they  cannot*' 
burn — their  slaves  ?     Why  should  we  protect  > 
them  in  this  kind   of  property   when  they  de-' 
clare  that  they  will  destroy  everything  rather      ^ 

than  it  shall  fall  into  our  hands  1     I  say  pitch  ying  fcr  ^  f0-rm'ation  tobe  completed,  know-   ' 
in  and  give  these  rebels  all  they  want,  plenty      jug  that  our  next  order  would  he  to  commence 
of  grape  and  shot,  as  much  hemp  as  will  serve      tiring.     An    explosion  close  by  me  benumbed  " 

for  the  leaders,  and  freedom  for  their  slaves.     <  t*;    }  l°olf d  lU  mJ"*,f-  *  l  rwas   unharmed- 

I   looked  at  my   company,     tour  men   were 
They  think  to  trouble   us   when    they  burn       W0Unded  by  the  bursting  of  a  shell.  I  ordered 
up  their  property .     I  saw  the  smoke  to-day  of,/  them    to  the  rear,  to   a   surgeon's  care,   and 
hundreds  of  barrels  of  turpentine  turned  over      dressed  the  ranks.     "Commence  firing  !"  rang 
to  the  flames  juit   over   our  picket   lines.     I 
said,  let  them  burn  and  destroy — the  more  the 
better — for  they  are  only  making  their  calami- 
ty the  greater,   -  nd  the  day  of  their  suffering  { 
will  come.     The  fields  here  are  all  running  to 
waste — not  a  planter  thinks  of  .cultivating  any- ^ 
thing.     No    cotton,    or    corn,    or  tobacco,  is  j 
planted,  and  lamii.e    stares  them  in  the  face./' 
They  take  no  thought  of  the  morrow.what  they 

shall  eat !  Here  in  Newbern  the  government  '{{J^  "pieces  of  a]  tilU  ry  "iron ting  «t«"N*>'"- 
of  the  United  States  is  daily  feeding  hundreds  manding  this  clearing^  and  large  numbers  of 
of  men  <md  women  whosesons,  husbands  Rnd':  riflemen,  perched  in  trees,,  behind  the  ..turfed 
e  ,.  .  .     ,  ah  ,i    „  ,.,,,    '    walls,  and    under    all    possible  covers.     I  had 

fathers  are  in  arms  against  us.     All  they  can    |    ^  ^  ^  ^^^  |.a  lu,  dfefl8  pftrade  had. 

get  to  eat  conies  from  the  United  States,  and  I  (1  L>ver  been  done  better,)  and  stood  two  or 
while  they  are  eating  of  our  charity,  they  are  j  three  paces  in  front  of  them,  when  the  shell 
cursing  the  Yankees,  and    praying  that   their  .J   hurst  ot  whickl  have  before   spoken.     When 

'  S/uts  *  ' 


here  by  the  ladies  of  the  sanitary  commission  in 
or  near  that  place.  His  father  was  killed  at  the 
same  time.  He  came  here  on  one  of  those  very 
cold  days;  had  walked  from  Penn  Yan,  most 
miserably  clad — almost  naked.  As  soon  as  he 
got  to  the  door  he  burst  into  tears,  and  said,  '  I 
have  no  home  nor  parents,  will  you  take  me  in?' 
Well,  dear  friend,  thee  maybe  sure  what  my  an- 
swer was.  As  soon  as  could  be  we  warmed  and 
fed  him,  gave  him  warm  shirt,  drawers  and 
socks,  and  the  others  lent  him  one  an  article  and 
the  other  an  article,  till  we  had  made  him  pretty 
comfortable.  He  is  only  eighteen  years  old. 
Now  I  must  tell  thee  of  the  goodness 
of  our  Heavenly  Father.  In  less  than 
two  hours  we  had  six  bushels  of  potatoas, 
ten  loaves  of  bread  and  two  bushels  of  flour 
sent  in,  and  during  the  week  following  we  had 
more  sent.  If  that  boy  had  not  come  those 
things  would  not  have  been  sent.  I  have  a  firm 
faith  in  God,  and  said  to  my  people,  before  this 


one  to  send  a  donation.  And  when  the  things 
came  the  boys  all  felt  the  Lord  was  good  to  us. 
They  all  are  so  good  and  attentive  at  our  devo- 
tions, and  try  to  live  a  good  life.  I  shall  be  so 
glad  when  they  get  their  pensions;  some  of  them 
are  very  poorly  off  for  clothin.sr.  I  am  almost  at 
my  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  do,  I  have  bought 
boots  for  nine  already,  to  be  paid  back  to  me 
when  they  get  their  pensions.  If  it  was  known 
in  New  York  I  am  sure  some  good  people  would 
send  us  some  old  clothing. 

"Does  thee  know  the  neighbors  have  supplied 
us  with  potatoes  so  that  we  need  not  buy  one? 
I  did  not  mean  to  write  a  long  letter  this  time, 
but  thee  sees  how  it  is.  I  have  so  much  to  tell 
thee,  and  as  this  ia  Seventh  day,  I  have  as  much 
work  to  do  as  would  frighten  some  folks. 
First  of  all,  twenty  pumpkin  pies  to  bake — mind, 
not  extravagant  ones — then  corn  beef  and  cab- 
bage for  dinner,  and  a  piece  of  beef  (that  was 
sent  in )  to  cook  for  to-morrow's  dinner.  Thee 
knows  we  do  not  cook  on  First  day.  We  have 
not  made  one  pound  of  cake  since  we  came  here, 
and  all  the  time  we  are  well  supplied.  At  this 
time  we  have  seven  larjje  ones  in  the  house.  Re- 
specting the  day's  wrork :  all  the  men  to  see  to 
shaving;  their  shoes  all  to  be  cleaned  for  First 
day;  then  every  man  to  be  well  washed,  feet  and 
all,  and  clean  clothes  given;  and  then  their  beds 
to  have  clean  things  on.  Last  night  I  was  up 
till  eleven,  mending  shirts,  drawers  and  socks 
(my  weekly  work),  tor  a  stitch  in  time  saves 
nine:  and  with  all  this  I  am  well  and  happy. 
Excuse  haste.    From  thy  friend, 

"John  L.  Alcooke." 


f 


out  from  the  lips  ol  our  colonel.  Let  me  de 
scribe  the  position  We  had  been  pursuit) 
an  embowered  path  through  the  woods  ;  sud 
denly  it  entered  a  broad  clearing,  where  thick 
bushes,  (like  the  whortleberry,)  and  tangled 
vines  netted  the  marshes.  Evergreen  treesJ 
principally  pines,  were  on  either  side,  and  300 
yards  ill  front  of  us  was  the  famous  redoubt, 
of.  which  we  had  been  told  weeks  beiore. 
When  we  debouched  IronS  ih"  road  into  the 
cleared  way,  it  brought  us  right  in  front  of  and 
in  perfect  range  of  the  rebel  guns.    They  had 


/■■ 


Dirge  for  a  Soldier. 
Close  liis  eyes,  his  work  is  done! 

What  to  him  is  friend  orfoeman, 
Kisc  of  moon  or  set  of  sun, 

Hand  of  mnn  or  kiss  of  woman. 

As  man  may,  he  fought  his  fight, 

Proved  liis  truth  by  his  endeavor, 
Let  him  sleep  in  solemn  night, 
Sleep  forever,  and  forever. 

Fold  him  in  his  country's  stars; 

Boll  the  drum  and  lire  the  volley! 
What  to  him  are  all  our  wars, 

What  but  death  bemocking  folly' 

Leave  him  to  God's  watching  eye : 
Trust  him  to  the  hand  that  made  him. 

Mortal  love  weeps  idly  by- 
God  alone  has  power  to  aid  him. 


//' 


Ellsworth. 

Ellsworth  !    With  the  storied  brave 
Whose  names  outlive  an  early  grave, 

Hero  we  call  thee  ! 
Thine  be  our  hearts'  incense  ! 
Thine  all  the  praise  that  hence 
Shall  waft  thy  noble  soul 
Where  ceaseless  years  roll — 
Into  eternity  ! 

Ellsworth  !  Thine  the  daring  hand 
Whose  act  has  conjured  Freedom's  land 

The  traitor-flag  to  scorn. 

Thine  the  bold  arm  that  Hung 

To  earth  the  banner,  swung — 

Staining  bright  Heaven's  blue. 

As,  'gainst  the  arch  it  threw 

Its  shape,  of  treason  born. 

Ellsworth  !  For  this,  God  bless  thee  ! 
Honor'd  'mong  all  who  confess  thee 

Martyr'd  for  Freedom's  truth. 
Twine  we  a  wreath  for  thee  : 
Laurel,  oak,  immortelles,  we 
Upon  thy  grave  will  lay — 
Nor  e'er  forget  this  day — and  thee  ! 
Slain  in  thy  noble  youth. 
May  24,  1801. Stella. 


LYON. 

bine:,  bird,  on  green  .Missouri's  plain, 

The  saddest  song  of  sorrow; 
Drop  tears.  Oh  clouds,  in  gentlest  rain 

Yc  from  the  winds  can  borrow; 
Urea!  he  out.  ye  winds,  your  so  test  sigh, 

Weep,  flowers,  in  dewy  splendor, 
For  him  who  knew  well  how  to  die, 

But  never  to  surrender. 

Uprose  serene  the  August  sun 

Upon  that  day  of  glory  : 
Upcurled  from  musket  and  from  gun 

fin'  war-cloud  gray  ami  hoary. 
It  gathered  like  a  funeral  pall. 

Mow  broken  and  now  blended, 
Where  rang  the  bugle's  angry  call, 

And  rank  with  rank  contended. 

Four  thousand  men.  as  brave  and  true 

As  e'er  went  forth  in  daring, 
Upon  the  foe  that  morning  threw 

The  strength  of  their  despairing. 

feared  not  death— men  bless  the  field 

That  patriot  soldiers  die  on — 
Fair  Freedom's  cause  was  sword  and  shield. 

And  at  their  head  was  Lyon! 

Their  leader's  troubled  soul  looked  forlh 

1'  nun  eyes  of  troubled  brighl  I 
.Sad  soul!  the  burden  of  the  north 

Had  pressed  out  all  its  lightm 
lie  gazed  upon  the  uBequal  fight, 

His  ranks  all  rent  and  gOTy, 
And  felt  the  shadows  close  like  night 

Bound  bis  career  oi  glory. 

''General,  come  lead  us!"  loud  the  cry 

From  a  brave  band  was  ringing — 
"Lead  us.  and  we  will  stop,  or  die, 

Thai  battery's  awful  sin. 
He  spurred  tc'>  where  his  heroes  stood, 

'twice  wounded  — no  wound  knowing— 
The  lire  of  battle  ii.  his  blood 

And  ou  his  forehead  glowing. 

Oh.  cursed  for  aye  (hat  traitor's  hand, 

And  cursed  that  aim  so  deadly, 
Which  smote  the  bravest  of  the  land, 

And  dyed  his  bosom  redly!— 
Serene  he  lay  while  past  him  pressed 

The  battle's  furious  billow. 
As  calmly  as  a  babe  may  rest 

Upon  ijs  mother's  pillow. 

So  Lyon  died!  and  well  may  (lowers 

His  place  of  burial  cover, 
For  never  had  this  land  of  ours 

A  more  devoted  iover. 
Living,  his  country  was  his  bride, 

ilis  lite  he  gave  her  dying; 
Life,  fortune,  love— he  naught  denied 

To  her  and  to  her  sighing. 

Best",  patriot,  in  thy  hill  side  grave, 

Beside  her  form  who  bore  thee! 
Long  may  the  land  thou  diedst  to  save    • 

Her  bannered  stars  wave  o'er  thee! 
Upon  herlustory's  blightest  page, 

And  on  JfcimeV  glowing  portal, 
She'll  wiire  thy  grand,  heroic  rage, 

And  grave  thy  name  immortal.  n.  J 


"Buried   Willi  His  IVig-ers."* 
Buried  with  a  band  of  brothers 
Who  for  him  would  fain  have  died; 
Buried  with  the  gallant  fellows 
Who  fell  lighting  by  Ids  side. 

Buried  with  the  men  God  gave  him, 
Those  whom  he  was  sent  to  save; 
Buried  with  the  martyred  heroes, 
He  lias  found  an  honored  grave. 

Buried  where  his  dust  so  precious 
Makes  the  soil  a  hallowed  spot; 
Bailed,  where,  by  christian  patriot, 
He  shall  never  be  forgot. 

Buried  in  the  ground  accursed, 
Which  man's  lettered  leet  have  trod; 
Buried  Where  his  voice  still  speaketh. 
Appealing  tor  the  slave  to  God. 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  noble  warder, 
Who  iu  youthful  beauty  weut 
On  a  high  and  holy  mission, 
By  the  Uod  of  battles  sent. 

Chosen  of  Him,  -'elect  and  precious," 
Well  diust  thou  fulfil  thy  part; 
When  thy  country  "counts  her  jewels,' 
Shu  shall  wear  thee  on  her  heart. 


^ 


J>. 


/ 


< 


Twenty-First    Regiment   Reunion    :ii 
Fitcbburg. 

The  21st  Mass.  Regimental  Association  held 
its  annual  reunion  at  Fitchburg  yesterday,  and 
was  favored  with  fine  weather  and  a  large  at- 
tendance. The  veterans,  with  their  wives, 
daughters  and  friends,  assembled  at  a  tent  on  the 
Common  during  the  forenoon,  and  hearty  greet- 
■  ings  and  mutual  congratulations  occupied  the 
earlier  hours  of  the  day.  On  the  arrival  of  the 
midday  train  from  Worcester,  the  veterans, 
headed  by  tho  Fitchburg  Cornet  Band,  marched 
to  the  depot,  and  icceived  Post  28,  G.  A.  R.,  of 
West  Boylston,  and  a  largo  number  cf  invited 
guests,  and  escorted  them  to  the  place  of  meet- 
is  g. 

Tho  next  sentiment  was  introduced  by  a  brief 
and  Feeling  allusion  to  Miss  Clara  Barton,  and 

her  services  in  camp  and  hospital.    The  senti- 

ment  was  as  follows : 

Our  falle*h  comrades,  officers  and  privates  alike, 
from  the  Colonel  to  the  ranks,  all  lie.  in  heroes' 
graves.  While  scattered  abroad,  the  graves,  "tin* 
known  to  men,  are  marXed  of  GocL"  The  monu- 
ments we  raise  to  them  are  not  cold  as  marble,  hut 
warm  as  our  beating  hearts  and  their  memories 
are  fragrant  like  the  cedars  of  Lebanon. 

"They  never  fail  who  die 
In  a  great  cause. 

*       *       *       Though  years 
Klapse,  and  others  share  as  dark  a  doom, 
They  but  augment  the  deep  and  sweeping  thoughts 
Which  overpower  all  others,  and  conduct 
The  world  at  last  to  Freedom." 

Miss  Barton  came  forward  and  was  warmly 
groeted.  She  responded  to  the  sentiment  with 
tho  following,  which  was  frequently  interrupted 
by  applause  from  the  men,  who  hold  a  vivid  re- 
membranOo  Of  the  scenes  she  so  feelingly  de- 
picted :  I 
Comrades:  —I  came  among  you  to-day  not  to  I 
speak,  but  to  enjoy  what  others  might  say,  and  look 
once  more  upon  the  familiar  veteran  faces  of  the 
brave  old  regiment  I  ever  claimed  as  thing.  But  had 
I  never  so  much  preparation,  it  is  little  that  soldiers 
could  expect  of  one  who  not  only  never  wore  the 
blue,  but  went  to  war,  armed  and  equipped  only  with 
sponges,  wash-basins,  bandages  and  bread.  But  it 
we  came  hither,  hungering  and  thursting  for  elo- 
quence, we  should  be  already  satisfied  In  the  noble 
addresses  to  which  we  have  listened.  Our  repast 
lias  already  amounted  to  a  feast. 

Soldiers,  you  met  here  not  to  celebrate,  but  to  re- 
member to  Jive  ofer  again  the  old  days  won  by  your 
blood,  and  hallowed  by  your  dead.  And  how  thick 
and  rich  the  memories  throng.  Again  the  busy  hum 
ot  the  camp  sounds  in  your  ears.  The  watch  fares 
light  up  the  forest  tops,  and  the  weary  sentinel 
treads  his  beat.  Once  more  the  long  roll  peals  out 
upon  the  midnight  air. 

Again  the  noble  Burnside  calls  you  to  his  aid,  and 
the  gallant  Beno  leads  you  to  the  charge. 

Again  you  shout  the  victor's  shout  with  memo- 
ry's eyes  upon  the  rent  old  banner,  never  conquered, 
never  lost,  and  mournfully,  manfully  turn  ye  away 
to  gather  your  wounded  and  bury  your  dead. 
Dead  everywhere,  on  every  battle  field  they  he. 
In  the  crowded  yards  ot  every  prison  ground,  in 
the  dark  ravines  of  the  tangled  forests,  in  themirey, 
poison  swamps,  where  the  slimy  serpent  crawls  by 
day  and  the  will-o-the-wisp  dances  vigil  at  night,  in 
the  beds  of  the  mighty  rivers,  under  tho  waves  of 
the  salt  sea,  in    the  drifting  sands  of  the  desert  isl- 
ands, on  the  lonely  picket  line,  and  by  the  road  side, 
where  the  weary  soldier  laid  down  with  his  knap- 
sack and  his  gun,  and  his  march  of  life  was  ended; 
there  in  their  strange  beds  they  sleep    till  the  morn- 
ing of  the  great  reveille.    They  sleep— and  you  re- 
member— ,     ,.  .  ■' 
Sou  remember,  I  said ;  ay,  you're  living  it  o  er ; 
You're  turning  again  from  the  old  cottage  door; 
Your  hearts  beat  with  pride,  as  they  beat  on  that 

When  the  Northerner  sailed  from  Annapolis  Bay; 


^l 


K    B.  8. 


•  Wheu   the   body  of  Col.   Kobert   G     Shaw  war 
i   those  rebels  in  the  midst  of  win  .,1    he  leil 
it  was  replied — '-lie  is  burieo^with  his  niggers." 


You're  Iring  it  o'er  twix't  a  tear  and  a  smile, 
Annapons,  ttatteras,  Roanoke  Isle— 
Boanoke,  barren,  and  sandy  and  drear, 
But  it  echoed  your  earliest  victory's  cheer. 

On  rude  Cedar  Mountain  ye're  panting  for  breath, 
Down  gory  Manassas,  the  valley  of  death, 
On,  onto  Chantilly,  mid  darkness  and  gloom, 
lire,  thunder  and  lightning,  guns  boom  upon  boom. 
The  hand  to  hand  tight.  Muskets  dripping  with  rain, 
The  best  of  your  band  lying  low  with  the  slam ; 
Weak,  wouuded,  and  left  to  hunger  and  thirst, 
Yc  learned  the  war-life  of  the  old  21st. 


No  rest  from  your  labors,  for  northward  the  bars, 
And  closely  behind  them  you're  crowding  the  stars  f 
No  rest  from  your  sorrow.    Ay  let  fall  the  tear 
That  fell  that  sad  day  »pon  dead  Reno's  bier. 
No  time  ior  more  tears.    So  on  Maryland  Kidge, 
"Hold  the  bridge  steady,  boys,— always  the  bridge. 
Was  the  order  obeyed,  did  ye  hold  it  or  not? 
One  lopg  fearful  hour  without  powder  or  shot? 
Did  the  Rebel  turn  back  with  his  treason  accurst? 
Ay,  and  the  world  gave  a  cheer  for  the  old  21st. 

Down  Virginia's  slopes  marches  Lee  with  his  bars, 
And  you're  driving  them  home  with  the  stripes  and 

the  stars,  s     ,    .,.,„•  d 

Till  he  turned  him  to  bay  upon  Frederick's  Heights, 
And  Falmouth  lies  watching  the  long  winter  nights. 
That  mild  snow  clad  morn,  ye  are  living  it  still, 
When  ye  dared  the  dark  torrent  and  charged  up  the 

Up  the  hill,  thro'  the  streets,  with  cheer  upou  cheer, 
Across  those  brood  acres,  unsheltered  and  drear. 
Across  that  wide    opening— swept  clean  by  their 

With  never  a  tree,  nor  a  mound,  nor  a  dell 

Across  those  broad  acres :    God  pity  .the  day 

For  the  blue  that  fell  there,  'neath  those  ramparts  of 

But  mark  the  old  banner,  and  list  that  wild  call, 
"Don't  let  it  fall  boys— don't  let  it  fall." 
And  the  blood  that  is  on  it  was  hit  blood  that  day, 
Till  armless  and  bleeding  the  brave  Plunkett  lay- 
Armless  I  said,  but  armless  no  more, 
For  the  two  that  he  los  tGod  has  given  him  lour. 
And  prouder  than  ever  for  glory  athnst, 
We  point  to  the  blood  on  the  old  21st. 
Still  with  glorious.  Burnside  you're  tramping  the 

For  the  toilsome  march  is  the  soldier's  rest; 
Ye  are  still  in  the  wilderness,  blazing  and  red. 
Where  the  hungry  flames  lick  up  even  the  dead. 
You  are  still  charging  home  on  the  Petersburg  line, 
O'er  the  volcanic  torrent  that  rolls  from  the  mine, 
While  one  brings  the  staff,  and  another  the  flag, 
Preserved  from^dishonor,  though  only  a  rag. 
But  oh !  for  the  dead  that  lay  there,  in  that  dire  hell 

accurst, 
My  tears  fall  with  yours— dear  old  brave  21st. 
Ye  have  met  to  remember,  may  ye  ever  thus  meet. 
So  long  as  two  comrades  can  rise  to  their  feet ; 
May  their  withered  hands  join,  and  clear  to  the  last 
May  they  live  o'er  again  the  great  deeds  of  the  past, 
Till  summoned  in  victory,  honor  and  love, 
To  stand  in  the  ranks  that  are  waiting  above,  _ 

And  on  their  cleared  yision  God's  glory  shall  burst, 
Rs-united  in  Heaven,  the  old  21s]r. 

G  Bliss  Clara  Barton,  the  brave,  tender  friend  of 
the  soldier,  in  camp,  field  and  hospital;  the  loved 
friend  of  the  Twenty -First  Regiment— May  her  re- 
ward be  the  consciousness  of  having  made  many 
hearts  glad  as  she  lessened  and  soothed  pains  of  body 
and  mind,  and  never  failed  to  keep  us  in  remem- 
brance of  the  dear  ones  at  home. 

Maj.  T.  E.  Hall  of  Worcester  responded  to  the 
sentiment,  speaking  earnestly  in  her  honor,  as 
one  to  whom  not  only  every  soldier,  but  every  | 
friend  of  the  soldier,  owes  a  debt  of  gratitude 

7   The  Thirty-Fourth  Regiment    of  Mass.  Vols.,  j 
our  first  cousin— led  by  one  whose  ancestry,  alike  dis-  I 
tinguished  in  our  history  for  military  and  civic  tal- 
ent, the  present  generation  perpetuates  with  distin- 
guished ability— the  honored  name  of  Lincoln. 

Gen.  Wm.  S.  Lincoln  of  Worcester  responded, 
reviewing  in  brief  the  history  of  the  21st,  and 
paying  a  high  compliment  to  their  unvarying 
and  complete  devotion  to  duty,  and  to  their  bril- 
liant record  of  service.  He  spoke  of  the  intimate 
relations  of  the  21st  and  34th  regiments,  and  of' 
the  men  who,  from  privates  iu  the  21st,  became 
officers  in  the  34th.  He  complimented  the  asso- 
ciation ou  the  success  of  its  gathering  and  its 
prospect  of  long  life. 

■  8  The  Grand  Annv  of  the  Republic— The  army  of 
peace,  because  it  would  keep  alive  the  patriotic  spir- 
it in  which  alone  our  country  is  strong,  and  all  the 
holy  bonds  of  brotherhood  cemented  by  common  suf- 
fering, created  by  sharing  and  facing  common  sor- 
rows and  dangers,  consecrated  by  open  graves,  and 
looking  up  to  the  same  common  source  of  consola- 
tion and  thought*-May  its  grand  mission,  in  reliev- 
ing suffering  and  want  among  our  disabled  comrades, 
and  in  sustaining  the  reputation  and  maintaining  the 
rank  among  men  of  the  soldiers  of  freedom,  end 
where  the  mission  of  the  Union  army  ended— in  com- 
plete vid 

■JfanM0  R'  Sprague  of  Worcester,  Grand 
Commander  of  the  G.  A .  R.  department  of  Mas- 
sachusetts, responded,  speaking  of  the  charita- 
ble and  patriotic  purposes  of  the  order,  one 
which  draws  to  its  care  the  weak,  ill  and  suffer- 
ing, and  urged  all  soldiers  to  unite  with  it  to  aid 
in  its  glorious  work.  He  alluded  to  the  recent 
institution  of  the  G.  A.  R.  of  the  ceremony  of 
decoraUng  the  graves  of  th^JTnion  dead,  as  well 
calculated  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  the  past, 
and  to  keep  alive  the  spirit  of  loyalty.  He  also 
read  a  letter  frorn'Maj.  Gcn.-Devens,  expressing 
his  regret  in  not  being  able  to  attend  and  enjoy 
the  gathering,  and  alluding  with  words  of  praise 
to  the  record  of  tho  21st  regiment. 

9  Our  patriotic  women.— May  that  love,  express- 
ed in  such  care  for  our  comfort  in  such  fervent 
onistles  to  us  in  field,  camp  and  hospital,  breathed 
in  such  prayers  for  our  safety,  aud  whose  aspirations 
were  a  noble  ambition  that  all  might  bravely  dis- 
charge their.duty,  be  answered  in  a  country  redeem- 
ed, and  their  loved  honored  by  their  countrymen.; 

This  sentiment  was  responded  to  by  Sergeant 
Cutting,  who  paid  a  high  tribute  to"U)C  devo- 
tion and  sacrifices  of  the  wives,  mothers  and  sis- 
ters of  Worcester  county,  attributing  in  some 
measure  the  success  of  the  soldiers  to  the  exam- 
ple and  faith  of  those  who  were  left  at  home. 

10  The  36th  Regiment.— Ever  successful,  but  in  its 
honor,  we  claim  a  share,  as  we  gave  our  Smith. 


CofUmitli  of'Tempicton.Joi  tiic  .'Kill:,  respond- 
ed, closing  his  remarks  with  the  sentiment,  "tbc 
•21st  Muss.  Regiment,  seldom  repulsed,  and  never 
defeated." 

Sentiments  complimentary  to  Companies  D, 
A,  K,  II,  C,  F  and  E,  and  to  the  band,  Post  28, 
G.  A.  R.,  &c,  were  also  made,  and  brief  re- 
sponses and  addresses  were  made  by  Lieut.  Hay- 
ward.  SeiRt.  Cutting,  Cape.  C.  W.  Davis,  Major 
Wm.  T.  Harlow,  Capt.  Bradford  and  others. 

Rev.  Miss  Ella  E.  Gibson,  late  chaplain  of  the 
1st  Wisconsin  heavy  artillery,  also  made  brief 
remarks,  closing  with  the  sentiment: 

"The  brave  defenders  of  our  dear  old  flag:  Wheth- 
er below,  on  earth,  or  above  In  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  ,we  will  remember  them  with  love,  and  honor 
them  as  our  country's  saviors." 

A  SAINY  DAY  IN  CAMP. 

It's  a  •heerless,  lonesome  evening, 
Wbeo  ihe  soaking,  sodden  ground 

Will  not  echo  to  the  footfall 
Ol  the  •eflitofel's  dull  round. 

God's  blue  star-spangled  tanner 

To-night  is  not  unfurl 
Surely  Jfe  ha3  not  deserted 

Tli is  weary,  warring  world. 

I  peer  Into  the  darkness. 

And  the  crowding  fancies  come : 
The  night  wind,  blowing  Northward, 

Canieo  all  my  heart  toward  home- 

For  I  listed  in  this  army, 
Not  exactly  to  my  mind  ; 

But  my  country  cal'edt  or  helpers, 
And  I  couldn't  stay  behin.  I 

to.  I've  had  a  sight  of  drilling, 
And  have  roughed  it  many  ways, 

And  Death  has  nearly  had  me- ; 
Yet  I  think  the  service  pays 

It's  a  ble*i.?ed  sort  of  feeling; 

"Whether  you  liv?  or  die ; 
You  helped  your  country  in  her  ceed. 

And  fought  right  loyalty. 

But  I  can't  help  thinking  sor>eiir)iet% 
W!>en  a  wet  day's  leisure  cornea, 

And  I  hear  the  old  home  voices 
Taikmg  louder  than  the  &uem, 

And  the  far,  familiar  facts 
Pe*>p  in  at  the  tent  door, 

And  the  litt'.e  children's  footsteps 

00  pit-pat  on  the  floor, 

I  can't  help  thinking  somehow 

01  ail  the  parson  read.* 
About  that  other  Sold5er-i£f  <» 

Which  every  true  man  ie*J.< 

And  wife,  soft-hearted  creature.,. 

.Seems  a-saying  in  my  ear, 
"I'd  rattier  have  you  in  titosz  rinlm 

Than  to  sec  you  Brigadier." 

I  call  myself  a  brave  one, 

But  in  my  heart  I  lie  I 
For  my  Country  a;:d  her  Hcaoi- 

I  am  tiercel;  free  to  die, 

But  when  the  Lord  who  bought  ci? 

A*ks  tor  my  service  here 
To  "  fight  the  good  tight"  faithfully, 

I'm  skulking  in  the  rear. 

And  yet  I  know  this  Captain 

AH  love  and  care  to  be  : 
lie.  would  never  get  impatient 

With  a  raw  recruit  like  me. 

And  I  know  he'd  not  forget  me 
When  the  Day  of  Peace  appears  ; 

I  should  share  with  Him  the  victory 
Of  all  his  volunteers. 

And  it's  kind  of  cheerful,  thinking 
Beside  the  dull  tent  fire, 

About  that  big  promotion 
When  He  says,  "  Come  up  higher." 

And  though  it's  dismal,  rainy, 
Even  now,  with  thoughts  of  Him, 

Camp  life  looks  extra  cheery, 
And  death  a  deal  less  grim. 

For  I  seem  to  see  Him  waiting 
Where  a  gathered  Heaven  meets 

A  great,  victorious  army, 
Surging  up  the  golden  streets ; 

And  I  hear  nim  read  the  roll-call, 
And  rny  heart  is  all  aflame. 

When  the  dear,  Recording  Angel 
Writes  down  my  happy  name! 

But  my  fire  is  dead  white  ashes, 
And  the  tent  is  coming  cold, 
1  m  playing  win  the  battle. 


S1  I*  ®  ~  The  poem  was  by  J-  K>  Lombard  of  Bridge- 
^3  port,  Ct.,  formerly  a  teacher  in  the  Worcester 
£  g  High  School.  It  was  a  pleasine;  and  just  trib- 
2  »  a  "te  to  "Working  Women,"  and  including  per- 
il, ~  <3  sonal  tributes  to  Mrs.  .Browning,  Clara  Barton, 
I*  f  a  Harriet  Hosmer,  Rosa  Bouheur,  Camilla  Urso 
%  Z  S-  and  Jenny  Lind,  all 


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"Earnest minds  from  custom  free," 
who    have     wrought     nobly    in  their  several 
spheres,  and  have  lifted  their  sex  to  a  higher 
plane  of  life  and  power.    Of  Mrs.  Browning  he 
spoke  as  follows : 

Such  song  was  hers  whose  thrilling  voica 

Came  to  us  over  distant  seas, 
Whose  fancy  ranged  with  queenly  choice, 
Through  all  the  realm  of  harmonies. 

Da>-k  curtained  eyes,  clear,  soft,  and  true, 
Fair,  open  brow,  o'erarch^d  with  curls, 

Pale  cheeks,  that  roses  rarely  knew, 
Slight  form,  most  like  a  tender  girl's. 

Great  soul,  sweet  heart,  and  spirit  pure, 
Most  royal  mind,  serene  and  strong, — 

None  uttered  braver  words  or  truer, 
In  praise  of  right  or  scorn  of  wrong. 

Dead  tongues  to  her  were  living  souls, 
To  secret  locks  she  knew  the  keys, 

Could  breathe  the  charm  that  conquered  ghouls, 
And  disenchanted  mysteries. 

Not  Milton  sang  more  sweet  than  she, 

Of  Eden  and  its  exiled  twain  ; 
Not  grander  in  old  tragedy 

Prometheus  struggled  with  his  chain. 

Such  voice  she  gave  to  those  who  sigh, 
But  have  no  heart  to  speak  a  word, 

That  in  the  piteous  .'Children's  Cry," 
Their  plaint  shall  evermore  be  heard. 

A  biting  curse  her  hand  could  pen, 

So  true  and  lofty  was  her  mood, 
For  men  who  held  their  brother  men 

lu  unrequited  servitude ; 

While  loudly  vaunting  Freedom's  prize, 

Her  royal  mein,  her  right  divine, 
A  right  that  all  to  you  denies. 

And  all  usurps  for  me  and  mine. 

But  O !  for  that  fair  southern  land 

On  three  sides  bounded  by  the  sea, 
Whose  millions  with  one  breath  demand 
.  A  re-united  Italy, — 

How  beat  her  heart,  how  throbbed  her  verse, 
With  burning,  keen  and  smiting  words, 

That  cheered  the  better,  awed  the  worse, 
And  glittered  like  a  thousand  swords. 

She  crowned  with  laurel-wreath  the  head 

Of  civic  chief  aud  hero-king, 
And  bade  the  graves  of  martyred  dead 

Bloom  greenly  with  perpetual  spring. 

Her  tears  were  dropped  with  those  who  weep 

A  nation's  or  a  private  grief, 
Her  blessing  breathed  o'er  those  who  sleep 

The  sleep  that  brings  all  woe  relief. 

That  blessed  sleep  is  hers  at  last, 

God-given,  restful  and  serene, 
Three  nations  hold  her  glory  fast, 

And  keep  her  fragrant  memory  green. 

This  was  one  woman ;  icho  is  more 

Than  poet,  patriot,  scholar,  sage? 
A  new  forerunner,  sent  before 

AnewElizabethian  age. 

The  following  passage  in  allusion  to  Miss  Bar- 


§  3  S<*ton,  was  from  its  local  association,  no  less  than 
p  a  o  §from  its  merit,  well  received: 


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^    t>  Alus !  the  weary  hours  pass  slow, 
'Mer  Hg,      Tlic  night  is  very  dark  and  still, 
'<=  3.  ?-3   And  in  the  marshes  far  below 
0  o  IT  2       I  hear  the  bearded  whip-poor-will. 
B  2.  S--'1    I  scarce  can  sec  a  yard  ahead, 

My  c;.rs  are  strained  to  catch  each  sound ; 
I  hear  the  leaves  about  me  shed, 

And  the  springs  bubblingthrough»e  ground. 
Along  the  beaten  path  I  pace, 

Where  white  rage  mark  my  sentry's  track, 
In  formless  shrubs  I  seem  to  trace 

The  focman's  form  with  bending  back. 
I  think  I  see  him  crouching  low, 

I  stop  and  list — I  stoop  and  poet — 

Until  the  neighboring  hillocks  grow 

To  groups  of  soldiers  far  and  near. 


Such  holy  choice  was  hers,  who  went 

Amid  the  thunder  of  the  wars, 
From  field  to  field,  from  tent  to  tent, 

Through  all  that  nature  most  abhors, 

To  watch  the  sick,  to  aid  the  weak, 
To  stanch  the  wound,  relieve  the  pain, 

And  dry  the  tear  upon  the  cheek 
That  ne  er  might  feel  love's  kiss  again. 

Of  home  and  mother  self-bereft 

They  chose  the  camp's  hard  couch  and  fare, 
She  came  to  bring  what  they  had  left, 

A  woman's  smile,  a  mother's  care. 

Disease  was  checked  at  her  approach, 
Disorder  calmed,  despair  beguiled,— 

And  he  who  felt  her  tender  touch 
Straight  dreamed  himself  once  more  a  chil 

What  wonder  that  the  veteran  line 
All  maimed,  and  scarred,  and  battle-torn, 

Should  see  in  her  somewhat  diviuo 
As  it  a  halo  she  had  worn, 

And  slowly,  weakly  limping  by, 

Should  halt  with  love  of  reverence  mute,     . 
And  while  emotion  dimmed  the  eye 

Give  each  his  soldier-like  salute. 

THE    COlFiVTEltSIGN. 


In  Memoriam. 

WILUAM  H.  VRESCOTT. 

A  huali  is  over  all  the  land, 

A»  when  the  tliuiider-clouds  tiavo  hurled 
Their  fury  on  the  startled  world — 

Men  Like  their  brothers  by  the  hand. 

A  light  that  glowed  ujion  a  hill 
Han  flickered,  sunken  in  the  dark — 
Death's  arrows  seek  a  shining  mark, 

And  in  the  blackoMa  we  are  Btill. 

A  man  who  felt  God's  gift  of  mind 
Stirring  within  him  and  who  sought, 
By  wisdom  of  all  sages  kaugat. 

To  share  its  blessings  with  his  kind  : 

A  man  of  purpose,  true  and  strong, 
Who  digged  amid  the  ruined  past, 
And  (lulling  jewels  upward  cast, 

Bet  them  in  |jrose  that  seems  like  song. 

A  man  who  stood  amid  the  years. 
Like  Saul  among  his  brothers  tall, 
A  head  and  shoulders  over  all, — 

A  giant  to  his  would-be  peers  ; 

This  man  has  failed  from  off  the  earth  ; 
God  called  him — here  we  blindly  grope 
And  faintly  whisper,  yet  we  hope 

ITe  reaps  great  wealth  from  this  our  dearth. 

As  when  a  star  whose  beam  was  shed 
Upon  us  through  the  midnight  lorn, 
is  merged  into  the  splendid  morn, 

It  is  not  lost,  but  only  hid. 

3o,  bear  with  solemn  step  and  slow 
Our  dead,  and  though  he  hear  not  praise, 
Drape  we  his  marble  with  the  bays 

He  won  in  mortal  life  below. 

And  in  the  light  of  Heaven's  throne 
His  soul  shall  broaden,  day  by  day, 
Till  all  the  space  'twixt  God  and  clay 

Be  overpast  and  overgrown. 


To  Jenny  Lind. 

Woman  of  high  endowments !  God  hath  given 
Luto  thee  gifts  of  rarest  excellence  ;— 
A  mind  impassioned  of  the  Beautiful, 
And  a  sound  body  as  its  instrument 
And  thou  hast,  furthermore,  the  added  gift 
Of  a  wise  human  Culture  given  tliee. 
Ihe  germ,  that  Was  implanted,  had  been  watched, 
Watered  and  tended ;  and  so  it  has  reached, 
A  large  and  exquisite  development. 
Thus  Art  has  wrought  with  Nature,  Earth  with  Heaven, 
In  the  transcendent  out  come  of  thy  growth. 

There  is  a  beauty  of  the  outward  form, 

Beauty  of  feature,  grace  of  mould  and  step, 

W  Inch  might  be  thine  if  there  were  need  of  such. 

But  O,  there  is  a  beauty  of  the  foul, 

A  glory,  beaming  from  the  mind  witluu, 

charm,  that  lights  the  eye, 
(.uickens  the  fiesh, 
life  and  energy  divine 
OS,  for  a  season,  to  transfigure  it! 

mu"1  this  exiling  beauty  dwells  in  thee. 

Ihine  is  the  loveliness  of  character 

Shedding  a  constant  glow  on  all  around. 

I  hiue  is  the  changeM  play  and  lightning  flash 

Of  Oemus,  Inspiration,  that  can  still 

Kindle  that  which  it  shines  on  into  life. 

Bright,  golden  hair  and  azure-colored  eyes 

And  a,  fair  face,  made  paler  yet  by  thought, 

All  tell  the  story  of  thy  northern  birth. 

And  111  thy  nature  those  extremes  are  blent, 

Which  make  the  charm  of  thy  dear  native  land. 

For,  in  thy  birth -land,  frozen  winds  sweep  down 

Over  long  tracts  of  the  "  thrice-bolted"  snow ; 

And  there  the  summer  sun  calls  forth  the  flowers 
And  ripens  the  young  gram  with  genial  warmth, 
buch  snowy  purity,  such  warmth  of  sun 
Must  make  eternal  Spring-time  in  thy  heart ! 
Never  did  fiery  heat  of  southern  climes 
Ouicken  a  soul  with  a  more  generous  life; 
Never  the  dark  eye  of  proud  Italy 
lias  beamed  with  radiance  surp;issing  thine! 
lor  there  is  such  a  depth  beneath  those  lids, 
that  the  enraptured  gaze  may  lose  itself 
As  in  the  depth  of  heaven ;  and  thence  there  shines 
A  light  of  soul-born  origin  and  power 

that  throbs  and  pulses  like  the  light  of  stars. 
Thou  goest  abroad  as  the  true  Artist  goes, 
itevealmg  unto  man  the  beautiful, 
Not  only  in  the  realms  of  matchless  song 
Jiut  in  expression  and  in  character, 
(ux  b,ess  thee  on  thy  mission  everywhere! 
it  the  nice  sense  of  angels  can  take  in 
I  hat  which  doth  stir  our  drowsy,  mortal  ear, 
Thou  journey  est  well  attende.  1.    Nay,  I  thought, 
\V  lnle  listening  to  the  music  of  thy  voice, 
i  iiat  if  an  angel,  sent  on  embassage 
Ot  a  high  import  to  this  nether  world, 
And  winging  his  (light  homeward  to  the  sky. 
Had,  passing  nearly,  caught  thy  strain  of  Bong, 
lie  would  have  paused  a  moment  In  his  flight, 
Surprised  to  hear  such  sound  outside  of  Heaven  ! 
arhsle.  Pa,  No  v.  18th,  1851.  * v  "  -  gIGMA_ 


rf2.g  o 


S3<5 


•1~     CO 
iqi  .to.?.? 


With  refdy  piece  1  wait  ancTwatcn, 

Until  mine  eyes,  familiar  grown, 
Detect  each  harmless  earthen  notch, 

And  turn  guerillas  into  stone. 
And  then  amid  the  lonely  gloom, 

Beneath  the  weird  old  tulip  trees, 
My  silent  marches  I  resume, 

And  think  on  other  times  than  these. 
Sweet  visions  through  the  silent  night ! 

The  deep  bay-windows  fringed  with  vine ; 
The  room  within,  in  softened  light, 

The  tender,  milk-white  hand  in  mine : 
The  timid  pressure,  and  the  pause 

That  ofttimes  overcame  our  speech- 
That  time  when  by  mysterious  laws 

We  each  felt  all  in  all  to  each. 
And  then,  that  bitter,  bitter  day, 

When  came  the  final  hour  to  part. 
When  clad  in  soldier's  honest  gray, 

I  pressed  her  weeping  to  my  heart. 
Too  proud  of  me  to  bid  me  stay, 

Too  fond  of  mc  to  let  me  go, 
I  had  to  tear  myself  away, 

And  left  her  stolid  in  her  woe. 
So  rose  the  dream— so  passed  the  night — 

When  distant  in  the  darksome  glen, 
Approaching  up  the  sombre  height, 

I  heard  the  solid  march  of  men. 
Till  over  stubiile,  over  sward, 

And  fields  where  lay  tbc  golden  sheaf, 
I  f-aw  the  lantern  of  the  guard 

Advancing  with  the  night  relief. 


HP"    ■* 


+*■->■■.' 


mf 


Poetical  Patchwork. 

Some  ingenious  person,  with  a  good  memory 
and  a  great  deal  of  patience,  has  amused  himself 
with  making  the  following  cento  verses  pro- 
fessedly from  twenty-two  authors.  We  do  not 
answer  for  the  accuracy  of  the  quotations,  and 
the  sense  halts  a  little  here  and  there,  hat  the 
rhyme  and  measure  are  generally  perfect : 

I  only  know  she  came  and  went,  [Lowell. 

Like  troutlets  in  a  pool ;  [Hood. 

She  was  a  phantom  of  delight,  [Wordsworth. 

And  I  was  like  a  fool.  '■        [Eastman. 

One  kiss,  dear  maid,  I  said,  and  sighed,     [Coleridge. 

Out  of  those  lips  unshorn !  [Longfellew. 

She  shook  her  ringlets  round  her  head,     [Stoddard. 

And  laughed  in  merry  scorn.  [Tennyson. 

Ring  out  wild  hells,  to  the  wild  sky,         [Tennyson. 

You  hear  them,  O  my  heart,  [Alice  Gary, 

"lis  twelve  at  night  by  the  castle  clock— 

[Coleridge. 

Beloved,  we  must  part !  [Alice  Cary, 

Come  back,  come  back,  she  cried  in  grief, 

[Campbell. 

My  eyes  are  dim  with  tears ;  [B.  Taylor. 

How  shall  Hive  through  all  the  days,  [Mrs.  Osgood. 

All  through  a  hundred  years  ?     '         [J.  S.  Perry. 

'Twas  in  the  prime  of  summer  time,  [Hood. 

Sne  blessed  me  with  her  hand ;  [Hoyt. 

We  stray  together,  deeply  blest,        [Mrs.  Edwards. 

Into  the  Dreaming  Land.  [Cornwall. 

The  laughing  bridal  roses  blew,  [Patmore. 

To  deck  her  dark  brown  hair,         [Bayard  Taylor. 
No  maiden  may  with  her  compare,  [Brailsford. 

Most  beautiful,  most  rare !  [Read. 


I  clasped  it  on  her  sweet  cold  hand,         [Browning. 

The  precious  golden  link ;  [Smith. 

I  calmed  her  fears,  and  she  was  calm —     [Coleridge. 

Drink,  pretty  creature,  drink !  [Wadsworth. 

And  so  I  won  my  Genevieve,  [Coleridge. 

And  walked  in  Paradise ;  [Hervey. 

The  fairest  thing  that  ever  grew  [Wordsworth. 

Atween  me  and  the  skies  f  [Tennyson. 


The  other  Side  of  the  Woman  Ques- 
tion.— "A  constant  reader"  sends  us  the  follow- 
ing verses,  transcribed  from  a  very  old  volume 
of  sacred  poetry  of  uncertain  date.  They  present 
the  old-fashioned  argument  against  woman's 
lights  in  an  old-fashioned  way,  and  their  writer 
was  evidently  a  woman-hater  on  principle,  bear- 
ing malice  for  the  orginal  offence  of  the  first 
woman,  and  forgetting  that  five  thousand  years 
or  more  is  too  long  a  time  to  cherish  an  old 
grudge.  His  indignation,  which  is  so  strongly 
excited  by  the  comparatively  venial  offence  of  a 
woman's  speaking  in  public,  would  have  been 
provoked  to  the  utterance  of  still  more  fierce  in- 
vective if  the  enormity  of  woman  suffrage,  prob- 
ably unknown  in  his  day,  had  come  under  his 
notice : 

We  think  that  woman  should  not  speak 

In  churches  not  at  all, 
We  wish  to  see  them  silent  keep, 

As  saith  our  brother  Paul. 

Paul  always  tried  to  stop  their  tongues; 

He  knew  they  would  deceive, 
We  wish  they'd  look  from  whence  they  sprung, 

And  view  their  mother  Eve. 

In  the  transgression  she  was  first, 

And  man  would  likely  stood, 
So  for  her  sake  the  world  was  curst, 

And  Christ  hath  spilt  his  blood. 


//, 


An  Editor's  Drawer. 

[A  Western  editor  has  just  been  having  "a  clarin' 
up  time,"  and  thus  pictures  to  the  life  what  he  found 
in  his  drawer.    There  is    no   doubt   of  its  absolute 
truth  as  well  as  its  passable  rhyme] : — 
Around  us  lay  exchanges,  scraps  and  clippings, 
Half-written  leaders,  locals,  puffs  and  sippings 
Of  Punchy  humor; manuscripts  rejected, 
From  geniuses  who  think  themselves  neglected ; 
Obituary  verses,  full  of  gloom, 
And  doleful  voices  from  a  doleful  tomfe; 
"Lines  to  a  Lady,"  from  Mr  Dash, 
Who's  desperately  in  love  with — his  mustache. 

A  sentimental  song  about  sea  shells, 
Writ  by  a  moping,  melancholy  she, 

Who  would  be  married,  though  her  face   yet 
smells 
Of  bread  and  butter  and  the  nursery. 

An  eulogy  on  General  Blank's  oration, 
Delivered  off-hand  at  the  late  ovation, 
And  which  suggests,  by  way  of  mere  reflection,, 
He  should  be  honored  by  a  re-election;: 
Modest  requests,  which  hope  we'll  not  refuse 
To  notice  this  and  that  in  next  day's-"news." 

A  dozen  bad  cigars  that  some  one  sends 
Expecting  thrice  their  value  in  a  local; 

Unopened  invitations  from  our  friends, 
Asking  our  presence  at  a  concert  vocal, 

Or  at  a  lecture,  party,  play  or  ball,. 

At  such  a  date  (please  mention)  at  such  hall. 

Papers  and  books  not  worth  a  decent  rating, 
Sent  out — they  send  few  others  but  for  cash; 

By  Eastern  firms  who  take  that  way  of  baiting 
The  Western  press  to  advertise  their  trash. 

In  short,  a  hundred  things  by  men  devised, 

To  get  their  humbugs  cheaply  advertised. 


They  say  the  Devil  quickly  see 
He  could  not  tempt  the  man, 

So  took  our  mother  to  the  tree 
And  broached  the  hellish  plan. 

Shew'd  her  the  beauty  of  the  fruit, 

And  told  her  it  was  good, 
Said  he,  this  apple  can't  pollute— 

It  makes  you  more  like  God. 

Then  quickly  she  began  to  taste 
And  ate  it  more  and  more, 

Till  all  the  best  of  it  was  waste, 
Then  gave  the  man  the  core. 

•         He  took  the  apple  from  his  wife 
And  spake  but  with  a  groan, 
I'll  eat  it  tho'  I  loose  my  life, 
ts  Rather  than  be  alone. 

They  like  their  mother  bring  the  fruit, 
And  we  like  Adam  eat, 
(£]        Their  poison  doth  our  souls  pollute 
•^  Before  we  see  the  cheat. 

We  hate  deciet,  we  hate  to  hear 
A  woman  speak  for  God ; 

Such  hypocrites  we  need  to  fear, 
They  never  did  no  good. 


WHO  IS  IT. 


Now,  children,  there's  somebody  coming, 
So  try  to  think  sharply  and  well ; 

And,  when  I  get  through  with  my  story, 
Just  see  if  his  name  you  can  tell. 

His  hair  is  as  white  as  a  snow-drift; 

But  then  he  is  not  very  old, 
His  coat  is  of  fur  at  this  season : 

The  weather,  you  know,  is  so  cold. 

He'll  bring  all  the  children  a  present, — 
The  rich,  and,  I  hope,  too,  the  poor; 

Some  say  that  he  comes  down  the  chimneys 
I  think  he  comes  in  at  the  door. 

His  coat  is  all  stuffed  full  of  candy, 
While  all  sorts  of  beautiful  toys 

You'll  see  sticking  out  of  his  pockets, 
For  girls  just  as  well  as  for  boys. 

For  girls  he  has  dolls,  muffs  and  pictures ; 

For  boys  he  has  skates,  or  a  sled : 
And  some  little  boys  I  can  tell  or, 

Who  will  take  horses  with  them  to  bed. 

And  presents  he  brings  for  the  mothers 
And  fathers  and  aunts  with  the  rest; 

But  most  he  will  bring  for  the  children, 
Because  he  likes  little  folks  best. 

I  tlrit'k  you  will  know  when  you  see  him, 
He's  dressed  up  so  funny  and  queer; 

And  then  you'll  .hear  every  one  shouting, 
"Merry  Christmas  and  Happy  New  Year.' 


Breaking  It  Gently. 

FROM   THE    GERMAN   OF   GRTJN. 

The  count  he  was  riding  home  one  day,  « 

But  meeting  his  groom  upon  the  way —  t 

"Where  are  you  going,  groom?"  said  he, 
"And  where  do  you  come  from?  answer  me." 

"I'm  takinsr  a  walk  for  exercise  sake, 
And  besides  there's  a  house  I  want  to  take." 
"Take  a  house!"  said  the  count.    "Speak  out, 
What  are  the  folks  at  home  about?"  } 

"Not  much  has  happened,"  the  servant  said,        ,t 
"Only  your  little  white  dog  is  dead." 
"Do  you  tell  me  my  faithful  dog  is  dead? 
And  how  did  this  happen?"  the  master  said. 

"Well,  your  horse  took  fright  and  jumped  on  the 

hound, 
Then  ran  to  the  river,  and  there  eot  drowned. 
"My  noble  steed!  the  stable's  pride! 
What  frightened  him?"  the  master  cried. 

"  'Twas  when,  if  I  remember  well, 
Your  son  from  the  castle  window  fell." 
"My  son !  but  I  hope  he  escaped  with  life, 
And  is  tenderly  nursed  by  my  loving  wile?" 

"Alas!  the  good  countess  has  passed  away ! 
For  she  dropped  down  dead  where  her  dead  son 

lav." 
"Why,  then,  in  a  time  of  such  trouble  and  grief, 
Are  you  not  taking  care  of  the  castle,  you  thief?"  ' 

"The  castle!  I  wonder  which  you  mean! 

Of  yours  but  the  ashes  are  now  to  he  seen. 

As  the  watcher  slept,  misfortune  dire! 

In  a  moment  her  hair  and  her  clothes  took  fire. 

Then  the  castle  around  her  blazed  up  in  a  minute, 
And  all  the  household  have  perished  in  it. 
And  of  them  all,  fate  spared  but  me, 
Thus  gently  to  break  the  news  to  thee." 

The  Twine-Twister. 

When  the  twister  a- twisting  will  twist  him 
a  twine, 

For  the  twisting  his  twist,  he  three  times 
doth  entwist, 

But  if  one  of  the  twines  of  the  twist  doth 
untwine. 

The  twine  that  untwisteth,  untwisteth  the 
twine. 

Untwisting  the  twine  that  untwisted  be- 
tween, 

He  twists  with  his  twister  the  two  in  a 
twine;  .  ' 

Then,  twice  having  twisted  the  twines  of 
the  twine, 

He  twisteth  the  twine  he  hath  twined  m 
twain;  . 

The  twain  that  in  twisting  before  in  the 
twine 

As  twines  were  untwisted,  he  now  doth  un- 
twine, ft    . 

'T wi xt  the  twain  intertwisting  a  tw me  more 
between,  £_....,. 

He,  twirling  his  twister,  makes  a  twist  of 
the  twine. 


THIS,  TOO,  MUST  PASS  AWAY. 


CLEMENTINE    HOWAETH, 


"  And  so  the  old  Baron  gave  a  grand  banquet,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  festivities  he  requested  the  seer  to  write  some  in- 
scription on  the  wall  in  memory  of  the  occasion.  The  seer 
wrote :  '  This,  too,  must  pass  away.'  " — Old  Story. 

Once  in  a  banquet  hall, 
'Mid  mirth  and  music,  wine  and  garlands  gay, 
These  words  were  written  on  the  garnished  wall, 

"  This,  too,  must  pass  away." 
And  eyes  that  sparkled  when  the  wine  was  poured, 

'Mid  song,  and  jest,  and  merry  minstrel  lay, 
Turned  sad  and  thoughtful  from  the  festive  board, 
To  read,  'mid  pendant,  banner,  lyre,  and  sword, 

"  This,  too,  must  pass  away." 

And  where  are  they  to-night, 
The  gay  retainers  of  that  festive  hall  ? 
Like  blooming  rose,  like  waxen  taper's  light, 

They  have  departed,  all — 
Long  since  the  banners  crumbled  into  dust, 

The  proud  Corinthian  pillars  met  decay, 
The  lyre  was  broken  and  the  sword  is  rust, 
And  kingly  hards  who  sang  of  love  and  trust, 

They  too,  have  passed  away. 

Yet  Genius  seeks  the  crown, 
And  Art  builds  stately  homes  for  wealth  and  pride, 
And  Love  beside  the  household  shrine  kneels  down, 

And  dust  is  deified. 
Yet  midst  our  loves,  ambitions,  pleasures,  all, 

The  spirit  struggles  ever  with  the  clay ; 
On  every  ear  a  warning  voice  will  fall — 
Each  eye  beholds  the  writing  on  the  wall, 

"  This,  too,  must  pass  away." 


LITTLE  THINGS. 


Shall  we  strike  a  bargain,  Fate  ? 

And  wilt  thou  to  this  agree  ? 
Take  whatever  things  are  great, 

Leave  the  little  things  to  me  1 

Take  the  eagle,  proud  and  dark, 
Broad  »f  nhoulderg,  strong  of  wing ; 

Leave  the  robin,  leave  the  lark, 
'Tis  the  little  birds  that  sing  1 

Take  the  oak-wood,  towering  up, 
With  Its  top  against  the  skies ; 

Leave  one  little  acorn  cup- 
Therein  all  the  forest  lies. 

Take  the  murmurous  fountain-beads, 

Take  the  river,  winding  slow, 
But  about  my  garden-beds 

Leave  the  dew-drop,  small  and  low. 

Winding  waves  are  fine  to  view, 

Sweet  the  fountain's  silver  call ; 
But  the  little  drop  of  dew 

Holds  the  sunshine,  after  all. 

Take  the  sea,  the  great  wide  sea, 

White  with  many  a  swelling  sail ; 
Leave  the  little  stream  to  me, 

Gliding  silent  through  the  vale. 

Take  the  palace  all  ashine, 

With  its  lofty  halls  and  towers  ; 
Let  the  little  house  be  mine, 

With  its  door-yard  grass  and  flowers. 

Take  the  lands,  the  royal  lands, 
All  with  parks  and  orchards  bright; 

Leave  to  me  the  little  hands 
Clinging  closely  morn  and  night. 

Ah,  for  once,  be  kindly,  Fate, 

To  my  harmless  plan  agree  ; 
Take  whatever  things  are  great, 

Leave  the  little  things  to  me ! 

—Alice  Cary. 

Daily  Living. — Look  upon  every  day  as  the 
whole  of  life,  not  merely  as  a  section  ;  and  enjoy 
the  present,  without  wishing,  through  haste,  to 
spring  on  to  another  section  now  lying  before  you. 
— Jean  Paul  Richter. 


// 


"ABIDE   WITH  US." 


\V 


Broad  on  the  mountains  sleeps  the  sunrise  glory, 

Golden,  and  clear,  and  calm  ; 
No  thunderous  praise  mores  their  foundations  hoary, 

For  silence  is  their  psalm ; 

Yet  throbbing  from  their  centers  do  they  greet 

The  mighty  blessing  of  the  light  and  he^t. 

Jf 
Rest  in  our  souls  Spirit  of  God  abidiDg,' 

Seiene,  and  deep,  and  still — 
As  once  upon  creation's  waters  gliding, 

Mold  and  instruct  our  will ; 
Rest,  broad,  and  calm,  and  glorious  as  the  light, 
That  in  our  hearts  there  never  more  be  night  I 


r 


TVITMIOWJV  .4JVJD    WiVSMIJV. 

BY  MRS.  8.  8.  TH0MP80N. 


'Tis  but  an  outward  life  we  load, 

A  life  of  toil  and  gain; 
And  little  do  our  comrades  head 

Our  inward  strife  and  pain. 
As  little  do  we  know  the  whole 

Of  their  unspoken  woe; 
A  veil  o"er  every  human  soul 

Drops  heavily  and  low. 

Not  bappy  always  are  the  gay, 

Some  mourners  wear  no  weeds, 
And  hopes  die  out,  day  after  day, 

Which  no  observer  heeds. 
Beneath  a  frank  and  winning  smile 

May  lurk  distrust  and  doubt, 
And  hearts  be  breaking  slowly,  while 

The  merry  laugh  rings  out. 

We  call  another  proud  and  cold, 

Who  lives  his  lile  apart, 
A  sadder  story  might  be  told 

Could  we  but  read  the  heart. 
For  hidden  in  the  distant  past 

May  be  some  sunny  spot, 
Some  day-dream  all  too  bright  to  last, 

Some  lcve  still  unforgot. 

And  none  may  know,  or  how,  or  why 

He  saw  those  visions  fade; 
The  veil  conceals  ironi  every  eye 

The  wounds  that  time  has  made. 
But  that  sweet  dream,  all  dreams  above, 

May  ever  be  his  own, 
And  for  the  sake  of  that  lost  love 

He  may  live  on  alone. 

Perhaps  when  mortal  life  is  o'or 

And  dust  is  turned  to  dust, 
The  hearts  that  prated  forevermoie 

For  happiness  and  trust. 
May  find  in  higher,  holior  spheres 

An  answer  to  that  prayer; 
And  they  who  sowed  with  bitter  tears 

May  reap,  exulting,  there. 


i.UFJEieissr.iBZfS. 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  HEAVEN  WITHIN. 


Around  each  earfh-boond  spirit 

A  world  of  beauty  lies — 
Of  fragrant  flowers  and  golden  fruit 

Seen  by  the  spirit's  eyes. 

And  music  deep  and  wondrous  sweet 

Among  these  flowerets  moves, 
Shining  the  heavenly  melodies 

Which  the  watching  spirit  loves. 

A  world  of  beauty  wholly  made 

Of  man's  interior  life, 
His  holy  thoughts,  those  "fragrant  flowers" 

Which  do  not  grow  in  strife. 

The  "fruit,"  his  deeds  of  love  on  earth,  . 

That  "music  sweet,"  the  breathing 
Of  the  immortal  soul  to  God, 

And  harmony  receiving. 

O  ye  who  tread  God's  beauteous  earth, 

And  dwell  before  His  face, 
O  ye  are  building  day  by  day 

Your  «wn  abiding  place. 

Your  words  of  love,  your  gentlest  thoughts, 

Your  slightest  acts  are  there — 
Ana  the  breath  of  life  which  all  must  breaths 

Is  the  answer  unto  prayer. 

Then  fill  your  hearts  with  heavenly  thoughts. 

Your  Jives  with  deeds  of  love, 
And  beautiful  beyond  compare 

They'll  bloom  lor  you  above. 

Thus  may  ye  build  a  world  of  light, 
Of  wondrous  sights  and  sounds, 

Where,  'mid  the  joys  which  angels  know, 
The  peace  of  God  abounds. 


The  pure,  the  bright,  the  beautiful, 

That  stirred  our  hearts  in  youth, 
The  impulse  to  a  wordless  prayer, 

The  areams  of  love  and  truth, 
The  longings  after  something  lost, 

The  spirit's  yearning  cry : 
The  strivings  after  better  hopes, 

These  things  can  never  die. 

The  timid  hand  stretched  forth  to  aid 

A  brother  in  his  need, 
The  kindly  word  in  grief's  dark  hour 

That  proves  a  friend  indeed,— 
The  plea  for  mercy,  softly  breathed, 

When  justice  threatens  high ; 
The  sorrow  of  a  contrite  heart, 

These  things  shall  never  die. 

The  memory  of  a  clasping  hand, 

The  pressu*^  of  a  kiss, 
And  all  the  trifles,  sweet  and  frail, 

That  make  up  love's  first  bliss, 
If  with  a  firm  unchanging  faith, 

And  holy  trust  and  high, 
Those  hands  have  clasped,  these  lips  have  met, 

These  things  shall  never  die. 

The  cruel  and  the  bitter  word, 

That  wounded  as  it  fell ; 
The  chilling  want  of  sympathy, 

We  feel,  but  never  tell. 
The  hard  repulse,  that  chills  the  heart 

Whose  hopes  were  bounding  high, 
In  an  unfading  record  kept, 

These  things  shall  never  die. 

Let  nothing  pass,  for  every  hand 
Must  find  some  work  to  do ; 

Lose  not  a  chance  to  waken  love- 
Be  firm,  and  just  and  true. 

So  shall  a  light  that  cannot  fade 
Beam  on  thee  from  on  high, 

And  angel  voices  say  to  thee, 
These  things  shall  never  die. 
-All  the  Tear  ftrund. 


A  Lancashire  Doxology, 

BY  THB  ATJTHOE  OF  "JOHU  HALIFAX,  GENTLBMAK." 


"Bury  Me  in  tfm  Sunshine." 

Where  the  snnbeams  fal!  so  gently 

Waking  into  lite  the  flowers, 
Where  the  dewdrops  iado  so  quickly, 

In  the  morning's  freshest  hoars  ;— 

Where  the  song-bird  breaks  the  stilines 
With  its  gushing  notes  of  love, 

Unto  Him  who  made  all  brightness. 
He  who  rules  supreme  above. 

Where  the  moonlight  kisses  lightly 
All  the  sleeping  woHd  around. 

And  the  stars  look  down  so  softly, 
Let  my  reating-plaoe  be  found. 

When  my  ©ye-lids  close  forever 
On  this  world  of  joy  and  pant. 

Let  the  sun  shine  on  ma  ever. 
Till  they  open  once  again. 

Till  they  open  to.  the  sun-'ight 

Of  the  blessed  Saviour's  face 
In  rts  splendor,  dazzling  si^ht, 

Lighting  up  that  Heavorily  place 


*  Last  words  of  Archbishop  Hughos. 


G.  £-.  J. 


[Some  cotton  has  lately  been  imported  into  Farring- 
don,  wht  re  the  mills  have  been  closed  for  a  considera- 
ble time  The  people,  who  were  previously  in  the 
deepest  distres*,  went  out  to  meet  the  cotton :  the  wo- 
men wept  over  the  bales  and  Kissed  them,  and  finally 
sang  the  Doxology  over  them.— Spectator,  May  14.] 


"Fraiso  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow," 
Praue  Him,  who  «endeth  joy  and  woe 
The  Lord  who  take3— the  Lord  who  gives, 
O  praise  Him,  all  tt>at  dies,  and  lives. 

He  opens  end  He  shuts  his  hand, 
But  why,  we  cannot  understand: 
Pours  and  dries  up  his  mercies'  flood, 
And  yet  is  still  Allperiect  Good. 

We  fathom  not  the  mighty  plan, 
The  mystery  of  God  and  man : 
We  women,  when  afflictions  come, 
We  only  suffer  «nd  are  dumb. 

And  when,  the  tempest  passing  by, 
He  gleams  out,  sun- like,  through  our  sky, 
We  look  up,  and  through  blick  olouds,  riven, 
We  recognize  the  smile  of  Heaven. 

Ours  is  no  wisdom  of  the  wise, 
We  bave  no  deen  philosophies : 
Childlike  we  tak'e  both  kiss  and  rod, 
For  he  who  loveth  knoweth  God.  ■« 

—London  Good  Words. 


I 


A  BURIAL  AT   SUNSET. 

Wk  laid  her  down  to  summer  rest ; 

Soft  dews  of  healing  o'er  her  fell; 

The  eyes  that  loved  her  watched  her  well, 
As  sank  that  sunset  down  the  west. 

Did  no  strange  thrill  our  pulses  stir  ? 

Whispered  no  fear  with  chilling:  breath  ? 

Nor  felt  we  that  the  angel  Death, 
Silent  and  awful,  watched  with  her! 

Stately  and  calm  above  us  then 

The  gates  were  opened  ;  straight,  we  !m?w,. 

Our  friend  was  passing  softly  through  : 
She  came  not  back  to  us  again. 

While  those  afar,  who  loved  her  best, 
Were  saying,  "  Lo,  the  Spirit  saith, 
To  those  •  in  Christ'  tttkrk  is  no  death  !" 

She  sank  as  sunset  down  the  west ! 


SUJYtSHWJYm. 


BT  WW.  P.  BBABHAW. 


T 


Gather  sui  whine  from  all  the  gay  pleasures  of  life, 

And  hoai  ^  '*  away  lor  the  dark  coming  days; 
Gather  song  *  where  the  loveliest  Dowers  are  rife 

With  blueb  "rdsand  robins  rehearsing  their  lays; 
As  the  bee  g  »thers. honey  from   summer's    bright 
blooms, 
And  dreams    of  sweet  meadows  through  winter's 
bleak  air, 
L  Do  tbou  garner  a  way  all  life's  richest  perfumes, 
And  welcome,  >  *ith  light-hearted  laughter,  despair. 

'  'Twere  nowise  to  bi  >Heve  the  great  Giver  of  good 
Had  destined  our  days  to  be  clouded  with  pain ; 
Though  our  hot  tean*  ot  anguish  fall  deep  as  a  flood, 

The  sun  bow  of  beiUity  will  shine  from  the  rain. 
When  love  e.nters  the  heart  there's  no  corner  for 
gloom; . 
If  love  light*  the  eye,  ©very  object  is  fair: 
Holy  spirits  of  loeanty  leap- forth  front  the  tomb- 
Not  even  the  .grave  is  a  jpJace  for  despair. 


/ 


OH,  ANGEL  EYES  ARE  WATCHING ! 

BY    E.    M .    STORRS.  . 

Brightest  angels  undefiled 
Watch  above  the  sinless  child  ; 
Guard  the  maiden,  pure  and  fair, 
Shielded  from  the  breast  of  care ; 
Watch  the  hearts  that  have  as  yet 
Not  a  wave  of  sorrow  met. 

Watching,  when  we  wake  or  sleep, 
Watching,  when  we  smile  or  weep, 
Not  alone  o'er  those  who  bear 
With  pure  hearts  life's  grief  or  care, 
Whom  temptation  hath  not  driven 
From  all  hope  of  peace  and  heaven. 

But  o'er  those  who  often  stray 
From  the  straight  and  narrow  way, 
Who  have  dropped  the  unseen  hand 
Leading  to  the  better  land, 
Who  have  dimmed  the  light  within, 
And  to  sorrow  added  sin. 

Though  every  voice  upbraid  them, 
No  human  kand  will  aid  them ; 
Angel  eyes,  full  well  I  know, 
Watch  them  wheresoe'er  they  go. 
Angel  hands,  without  a  stain, 
Wait  to  lead  them  back  again. 


THE    BBAVE    A.T    HOME. 


The  maid  who  binds  the  warrior's  sash, 

With  smile  that  well  her  pain  dissembles, 
The  while  beneath  her  drooping  lash 

One  starry  tear-drop  hangs  and  trembles, 
Though  heaven  alone  records  the  tear, 

And  fame  shall  never  know  her  story, 
Her  heart  has  shed  a  drop  as  dear 

As  ever  dewed  the  field  of  glory. 

The  wife  who  grinds  her  husband's  sword, 

'Mid  little  ones  who  weep  and  wonder, 
And  bravely  speaks  the  cheering  word. 

What  though  her  heart  be  rent  asunder- 
Doomed  nightly  in  her  dreams  to  hear 

The  bolts  ot  war  around  him  rattle, 
Hath  shed  as  sacred  blood  as  e'er 

Was  poured  upon  the  plain  of  battle. 

The  mother  who  conceals  her  grief, 

While  to  herbreast  her  son  she  presses, 
Then  oreath.es  a  few  brave  words  and  brief, 

Kissing  the  patriot  now  she  blesses, 
With  no  one  but  her  secret  God 

To  know  the  pain  that  weighs  upon  her, 
Sheds  holy  blood  as  e'er  the  sod 

Received  on  Freedom's  field  of  honor. 

— T.  Buchanan  usad. 


DAGUERREOTYPE  EXHIBITION. 

Apples  of  gold  in  pictures  of  silver. — Frov.  sxv 

0  what  if  thus  our  evil  deeds 
Are  blazoned  in  the  sky  ; 

And  every  scene  of  our  wild  lives 
Daguerreotyped  on  high ! 

1  know  some  angel  chronicleth 

Each  living  mortal's  name  ; 

But  what  if  thus  our  vital  breath 

Be  painting  out  our  shame  ! 

0  lowly  live  on  earth,  and  let 

Thine  alms,  unseen  as  air, 
Be  golden  fruitage  in  the  skies, 

And  silver  pictures  there ! 


FRIENDSHIP. 

— Hast  thou  a  friend  f 
Often  to  his  threshold  wend. 
Thistles  and  weeds  the  path  o'ergrow, 
On  which  a  man  neglects  to  go. 


KBSOLVE. 

Resolve 
Shines  over  on  the  front  of  victory ; 
Resolve,  that  through  tho  darkness  goes  right  on, 
True  to  its  purpose,  leaving  hope's  dead  dust 
Reddening  with  blood-sweat,  in  aespito  of  pain, 
(Building  its  walls  of  sorrow  round  tho  soul), 
Pointing  still  forward  to  tho  flowery  tops 
Of  fame's  great  moveless  mountains. 

[Alice  Cary. 


KBSVK6AMC8, 

They  say  the  battle  baa  been  lost— what  then? 
There  is  no  used  of  tears,  and  doleful  strains: 
The  holy  cause  tor  which  wo  fought  remains, 

And  millions  of  unconquerable  men. 

Repulse  may  do  us  good— it  cannot  harm; 
Where  work  is  to  be  done,  'tis  well  to  know 
Its  full  extent ;  before  the  final  blow, 

J'ower,  nerved  to  crush,  must  bare  ils  strong  right 
arm ! 

Let  them  rejoice,  then,  while  they  may;  for  we, 
Driven  back  a  moment,  by  the  tide  of  war, 
lie-gathered,  shall  pour  on  rhemrrom  alar, 

As  mighty  and   resistlew  as  the  sea  ! 

The  battle  is  not  lost,  while  men  remain, 

Free  men,  and  brave,  like  ours,  to  flg-hl  agftlto! 
New  York,  July  22,  1861.  It.  11.  STODDABB. 


I 


**mm 


THE   SWEET  LITTLE  MAN. 
Dedicated  to tbx  stav-at-Home  Hangers. 

Now,  while  our  soldiers  are  fighting  our  battles, 

Each  at  his  post  to  do  si  1 1  that  he  can, 
Down  among  r<  bels  and  contraband  chattels, 

What  aie  you  doing,  my  sweet  little  man? 

All   the  brave   boys  under  canvass  are  sleeping, 
All  of  them  pressing  to  march  with  the  van, 

Far   from   the    home    where   their  sweethearts  are 
weeping; 
What  are  you  waiting  for,  sweet  little  man?  ~ 

You  with  the  terrible  warlike  moustaches, 

Fit  for  a  colonel  or  chief  of  a  clan, 
You    with    the    waist    made    for  sword-beits   and    , 

sashes; 
Where  are  your  shoulder-straps,  sweet  little  man? 

Bring  him  the  buttonless  garment  of  woman! 

Cover  his  face  lest  it  freckle  and  tan; 
Muster  the  Apron-string  Guards  on  the  Common, 

That  is  the  corps  lor  the  sweet  little  man! 

I m  for  escort  a  tile  of  young  misses, 

Each  of  them  armed  with  a  deadly  rattan; 

They  shall  defend  him  from  laughter  and  hisses, 

Aimed  by  low  boys  at  the  sweet  little  man. 

All  the  fair  maidens  about  him  shall  cluster.  < 

Fluck  the  while  feathers  from  bonnet  and   fan, 
Make  him  a  plume  like  a  turkey  wing  duster, — 
i  he  crest  for  the  sweet  little  man  ! 

ipron-string  Guards  are  the  fellows! 
Ilig  each  day  since  our  troubles  began,— 

mr  walking-sticks!"    '-.Shoulder  umbrel- 


'Hanu! 


las! 


That  is  the  style  for  the  sweet  little  man. 

Have  we  a  nation  to  save?    In  the  first  place 
Sat  ins  put  seh  es  is  the  sensible  plan, — 

Surely  the  spot  where  theie's  shooting's  the  worst 
place 
Where  1  can  stand,  says  the  sweet  little  man. 

Catch  me  confiding  my  person  with  strangers! 

Think  how  cowardly  the  Bull-Kunners  ran! 
In  the  brigade  of  the  Stay  at-home  Rangers 

Marches  my  corps,  says  the  sweet  little  man. 

Such  was  the  stuff  of  the  -Malakcfl-takcrs. 

SlMh  were  the  soidieis  that  scaled  the  Kedan; 
Truculent  housemaids  and  blood-thirsty  Quakers 

Brave  not  the  wrath  ol  the  sweet  little  man! 

Yield  him  the  side-walk,  ye  nursery  maidens! 

Sauvt  qui pmt ;  Bridget, and  tight  about!  Ann, — 
Fierce  as  a  shark  in  a  school  of  menhadens, 

See  him  advancing,  the  sweet  little  man! 

When  tin;  red  flails  of  the  battle-field  threshers 
Beat  out  tne continent  s  wheal  from  its  loan, 

While  the  wiim  scatters  the  chaffy  eeccshers; 
What  will  become  Of  our  sweet  little  man.' 

When  the  brown  soldiers  come  back  from  the  bor- 
ders, 

How  will  he  look  while  his  features  they  scan? 
How  will  he  feel  when  he  gels  marching  orders, 

Signed  by  his  lady  love?  sweet  little  man! 

Fear  not  for  him,  though  the  rebels  expect  him, — 
Life  is  too  precious  to  shorten  its  span  ; 

Woman  her  broomstick  shall  raise  to  protect  him, 
Will  she  not  light  forthe  sweet  little  man.' 

Now  then,  nine  cheers  forthe  Stay-at-home  Hanger! 

Blow  the  great  fish-horn  and  beat  the  big  pan! 
First  in  the  field  that  is  farthest  Horn  danger, 

Take  your  white  leather  plume,  sweet  little  man! 

Tune— "The  first  gun  is  fired." 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham— three  hundrec 
thousand  more — 

From  Mississippi's  winding  stream  and  Irom  New 
England's  shore; 

We  leave  our  plows  and  workshops,,  our  wives  anci 
children  dear. 

With  hearts  too  full  for  utterance,  with  but  a  silent 
tear; 

We  dare  not  look  behind  us,  but  steadfastly  be- 
fore— 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham— three  hundred 
thousand  more! 

If  you  look  across  the  hill-tops  that  meet  the  north 

em  sky, 
Long  moving  lines  of  rising  dust  your  vision  ma) 

descry; 
And  now  Hie  wind,  an  instant,  tears  the  cloudy 

veil  aside, 
And  floats  aloft  our  spangled  flag  in  glory  and  ir 

pride; 
And  bayonets  in  the  sunlight  gleam,  and  band! 

brave  music  pour — 
We  are  coming,  lather  Abraham — three  hundrec 

thousand  more! 

If  you  look  all  up  our  valleys,  where  the  growinj 

harvests  shine. 
You  may  see  our  sturdy  farmer-boys  fast  forminj 

into  line; 
And -children  from  their  mother's  knees,  are  pullinf 
at  the  weeds, 
I  And  learning  how  to  reap  and  sow,  against  theit 
country's  needs; 
And  a  farewell  group  stands  weeping  at  every  cot- 
tage door; 
|  We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham— three  hundrec 
thousand  more! 

You  have  called   us,  and   we1re  coming,  by  Kich 

mond  ■  bloody  tide. 
To  lay  us  down   for  freedom's  sake,  our  brothers 

bones  beside; 
Or  from  foul  treason's  savage  grasp  to  wrench  tin 

murderous  blade, 
And  In  the   face  of  foreign  foes  the  fragments  t< 

parade. 
Six   hundred  thousand  loyal   men  and  true  havi 
*  gone  before; 

We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham — three  hundred 

thousand  more! 


Coming  Home, 
They  are  coining  home,  coming  home 

Brother  and  lover,  iather  and  son, 
Friend  and  foe — they  are  coming  home 

To  rest,  for  their  work  is  done. 

They  come  from  hospital,  picket  and  field, 
From  iron  boat,  and  frowning  fort, 

In  silent  companies,  slowly  wheeled 
In  the  rythm  of  a  solemn  thought. 

This  was  a  father  of  women  and  men, 
Gray-haired,  but  hale,  and  strong  of  limb : 

The  bayonet  flashed,  and  flashed  again, 
And  the  old  man's  eyes  grew  dim ! 

Here  was  a  form  of  manly  grace : 
The  bomb-shell  groaning  through  the  air, 

Drenched  with  his  blood  a  pictured  face, 
And  a  curl  of  silken  hair. 

This  was  a  bright-eyed,  venturesome  boy  : 
Back  from  the  perilous  picket-ground 

They  bore  him,  waked  from  his  dream  of  joy 
To  a  ghastly,  fatal  wound. 

And  thus  for  three  days  lingering, 
He  talked  in  wandering,  rapid  speech 

Of  mother,  and  home,  and  the  cooling  spring 
His  lips  could  almost  reach. 

They  are  coming  home,  but  not  as  they  went, 
With  the  flying  flag  and  stirring  band, 

With  the  tender  word,  and  messages  sent 
From  the  distant,  waving  hand. 

Up  the  steps,  and  into  the  door, 
With  hidden  faces  our  loved  ones  come:: 

We  may  cry  their  names  out  o'er  and  o'er, 
But  their  pallid  lips  are  dumb. 

O  friends  untimely  snatched  from  hence, 
May  we  find,  beyond  heaven's  lowering  dome, 

Some  blissful  future  recompense 
For  this  sorrowful  coming  home! 
-Boston  Transcript. 


SONCt   OF   THE    VOt,trJVTEEBS. 

Turns—  "Marching  Along." 

We've  come  here  from  Maine,  whose  green  hills  kiss 

the  sky, 
From  where  Erie's  waves  in  the  clear  sunlight  lie ; 
In  far  off  Nebraska,  our  loved  one3  among, 
We  unfurled  our  banner  and  oame  marching  along. 
Chorus— Marching  along,  we'll  be  marching  along- 
Shouldering  bur  rifles,  we'll  be  marching 

along; 
For  freedom  we're  battling  'gainst  oppres- 
sion and  wrong; 
So,  shouldering  our  rifles,  we'll  be  marching 
along. 
We'll  stand  side  by  side,  sternly  fronting  the  foe, 
No  word  like  "  surrender  "  our  lips  e'er  shall  know ; 
In  our  country's  cause  we  are  linked  heart  to  heart- 
Defending  her  honor,  we  will  each  do  our  part. 
Maching  along,  &c. 

We're  enrolled  for  the  war,  and  we  will  see  It  o'or ; 
Our  banner  shall  triumph  on  inland  and  shore. 
Rebellion  is  doomed,  for  God  fights  'gainst  the  wrong, 
And,  calling  on  Him,  we'll  be  marching  along. 
Marching  along,  &c. 

Through  God  we're  determined  the  victory  to  win, 
And  make  peace  succeed  to  this  war's  fearful  din. 
Through  Him  will  we  vanquish  that  thrice  cursed  band 
Who've  crimsoned  with  blood  this  our  once  happy 
land. 

Marching  along,  &c. 
South  Heading,  Sept.  17, 1862.  Winnie  W— — . 


y// 


v  .  iz 


Off  for  a  Soldier. 

"Oh,  where  are  you  eoin'?"  said  Mrs.  O'Flaherty 
One  morning  to  Mike,  as  he  shouldered  a  gun ; 

"I  am  going,"  said  Mike,  ''to  put  on  regimentals, 
And  march  wid  the  boys  till  rebellion  is  done." 

"And  what,  if  you're  kilt,  will  b  ecome  of  my  chil 
der — 
My  poor  little  boys  and  the  girl  on  my  knee? 
"Sure,  Mike,"  said  she,  "I  will  be  dead,  although 
living, 
If  niver  again  you  come  back  unto  me." 

"Oh,  Peggy,  my  darlint,  no  harm  shall  befall  me; 

The  stars  and  the  stripes  shall  float  over  my  head; 
And,  Peggy,  you  know  I  must  help  save  the  coun- 
thry 

That  affords  me  protection  and  gives  me  my  bread. 

"And  won't  ye  be  proud  of  your  Mickey  O'Fla- 
herty 

When  he  comes  back,  dear  Peggy,  all  covered  wid 
scars,  * 

To  show  that  he's  shtood  in  the  front  of  the  battle, 
Where  no  one  can  shtand  who  stays  home  from  the 
wars'" 

"And  Mickey,"  said  Peggy,  "my  prayers '11  go  wid    I 
>e, 
Tho'  deep   in  my  heart  I  shall  gjieve  for  your    I 
sake; 
And  I'll  kiss  our  dear  babies  each  mornin'  and  eve- 
niu', 
And  tache  them  the  name  of  their  father  to  spake,    j 

"The  papers  I'll  read,  Mike,  to  see  if  you're  wound- 
ed— 
Oh,  faith,  Mike,  that  thought  makes  a  fire  of  my 
brain; 
To  think  of  you  lying,  shot  down  by  a  ribel, 

Wid  an  arm  or  a  leg  off,  and  groaning  wid  pain; 

"Wid  no  kind  one  near  you  to  give  you  attention, 
To  wipe  the    cold  dampness    away   from   your 
cheek — 

Oh,  Mike,  it  is  hard,  when  I  think  ol  these  avils, 
To  look  in  your  lace  and  a  parting  to  speak." 

"But,  Peggy,"  said  he,  "sure  I'll  come  back  a  hero 

To  be  pointed  at  as  America's  pride; 
And  I'll  carry  my  gun  on  the  top  of  my  shoulder, 

Wid  both  legs  all  right  and  my  arms  by  my  side. 

"Faith,  niver  a  dangerous  bullet  shall  reach  me, 
And,  sure,  if  it  does  I  will  balk  its  design, 

For  with  God  on  my  side  and  the  thoughts  of  ould 
Erin, 
No  serious  avil  can  iver  be  mine." 

'•But,  Mickey,"  said  Peggy,  "how  many  have  per- 
ished ! 
How  many  are  shleeping  that  niver  will  wake, 
Who  marched  with  the  army  a  searching  lor  glory! 
Oh,  Mickey,  stay  home  for  your  poor  Peggy's 
sake!" 

"Stay  at  home,  is  it,  Peggy!    Ah!    niver,  till  thrait- 
ors  • 

Have  fired  their  last  gun  at  the  flag  of  the  free; 
I  must  go  and  just  have  a  brief  lark  wid  the  ribeis — 

Those  sons  ol  the  divil  who  kicked  up  this  spree. 

"And  good  bye,   my  Peggie!    and  good  bye,  my    «- 
childer! 
May  God  bless  you  all  till  I  come  back  again 
Wid  my  arms  and  my  legs,  wid  my  head  and  my 
body, 
Wid  niver  a  scratch,  and  wid  niver  a  pain." 

The  drums  then  came  beating— the  colors   were  fly- 
ing— 

A  kiss  for  his  wife  and  his  dear  children  three — 
And  Mickey  O'Flaherty  marched  with  the  soldiers 

To  tisrht  lor  the  flag  of  the  laithiul  aud  free. 


The  God  of  battle  was  with  the  Union  army, 
and  His  favor  gave  to  them  the  triumph.  As, 
in  the  days  of  ancient  Israel,  the  sons  of  God 
went  to  battle,  and  to  victory,  trusting  in  the 
"Sword  of  the  Lord,  and  of  Gideon,"  so,  in  our 
clay,  the  people  of  our  free  land,  fought  their 
battles,  and  gained  their  triumphs,  trusting  in 
the  "Sword  of  the  Lord,"  and  of  General  Grant. 


The  Soldier's  Oath. 
Rev.  C.  T.  Brooks,  of  Newport,  R.  I.,  offers  the 
following  variation   and  adaptation   of  a  German 
song  by  Anidt,  the  patriotic  and  pious  lyrist  of  the 
Liberation  War  of  1S14:— 

Lilt  on  high  both  heart  and  hand  ! 

By  the  broad,  blue  heaven  high  o'er  us, 
By  the  SHcred  cause  before  us, 
Swear  with  Freed  ours  flag  to  stand  ! 
By  your  forefathers  in  glory. 
that  consecrate  the  air. 
By  -our  Freedom's  kindling  story, 
By  the  God  of  Freedom,  swear! 

Lift  oi.  high  both'  heart  and  hand, 

Swear,  that  earth  and  heaven  may  hear  it, 

And  the  brazen  traitor  fear  it — 
Swear  the  oath  to  save  your  land! 

Glorious  ensign,  float  before  us, 
Proudly  lead  us  to  the  held; 

While  thy  folds  are  fluttering  o'er  us, 
None  shall  basely  flee  or  yield  ! 

Lift  on  high  both  heart  and  hand. 

Swell,  with  Freedom's  pure  air  filling, 

Noble  flag,  each   bosom  thrilling 
Of  our  chosen  patriot  band; 

Sign  of  honor!  never  paling. 
Save  in  death,  our  cheeks  thou'lt  see — 

Thousand  pangs  with  transport  bailing- 
Ere  we  turn  our  backs  on  thee! 

Lift  on  high  both  heart  and  hand, 

Hail,  this  giorious  consecration' 

iiail,  regenerated  nation! 
Hail,  all  hail!  thou  new-born  land! 

Sons  oi  Freedom,  all  assemble, 
Solemn  vows  and  praise  to  paj  . 

Falsehood,  hand,  and  treason,  tremble! 
Courage,  children  of  the  day! 

Lift  on  high  both  heart  and.  hand. 

To  the  hiug  of  Nations  rear  it, 

Le1  the  greal  Heart-searcher  hear  it, 
As  we  here  before  him  stand, 

Fraying  him  to  keep  us  holy, 
Pure  in  thought  and  word  ami  deed —   . 

Him  whore  hand  uplifts  the  lowly, 
Makes  I  he  just  alone  succeed! 


Prayer  During  Battle. 

Father,  I  call  on  Thee  ! 
While  the  smoke  of  the  firing  envelops  my  sight, 
And  the  lightnings  of  slaughter  arc  winged  on 
their  flight, 
Leader  of  battles,  I  call  on  Thee  ! 
"Father,  0  lead  me. 

Father,  O  lead  me '. 
Lead  me  to  victory,  or  lead  me  to  death  ! 
Lord,  I  yield  to  Thee  my  breath  ! 

Lord,  as  Thou  wilt,  so  lead  me ! 

God,  I  acknowledge  Thee  ! 

God,  I  acknowledge  Thee  ! 
In  the  grove  where  the  leaves  of  the  summer  are 

fading-, 
As  here  'mid  the  storm  of  the  loud  cannonading,      -4 

Fountain  of  love,  I  acknowledge  Thee!  O 

Father,  O  bless  me  ! 

Father,  O  bless  me ! 
I  commit  my  life  to  the  will  of  Heaven, 
For  Thou  canst  take  it  as  Thou  hast  given. 

In  life  and  death,  O  bless  me  ! 

Father,  I  praise  Thee ! 

Father,  I  praise  Thee  ! 
This  is  no  strife  for  tho  goods  of  this  world; 
For  freedom  alone  is  our  banner  unfurled. 

Thus,  falling  or  conquering,  I  praise  Thee. 

God,  I  yield  myself  to  Thee  ! 

God,  I  yield  myself  to  Thee  ! 
When  tiie  thunders  of  battle  are  loud  in  the  strife, 
And  ray  opening  veins  pour  forth  my  life, 

God,  I  yield  myself  to  Thee  ! 

Father,  I  call  Thee.  — Korner. 


THIS    BIT, 


COrNTBTMEJT. 


Cowards,  elink  away ! 
Hut  who  scorns  to  see  tun  iw 
Deal  our  land  all  shame  and  woe,      m 

Must  go  forth  to-day ! 

Crops  are  safe,  afield! 
Cripples  and  old  men  can  reap: 
Young  and  strong  and  bold  must  leap 

Other  toolB  to  wield. 

Cfft  the  daily  trade! 

Nfver  may  be  bought  or  won, 

After  this  great  fight  is  done, 
■What  this  day  is  weighed. 

Leave  your  true  love's  fide! 

(,c!  b-  fearless,  true  and  strong! 

Woman  glorjPs  to  b»lon? 
Where  she  looks  with  pride. 

True  men  hold  our  line: 

Ba*e !y  leave  th^ir  true  ranks  thin, 

W-.i-te  and  min  will  rush  in 
Like  the  trampling  swine. 

Dare  you  be  a  maB  ? 
Now  for  home,  and  law,  and  right, 
Go.  in  God's  name  to  the  right, 

Forward  to  the  van! 

—Robert  Lmoell. 


The  Dead  at  Richmond. 

BY   EI.BR1DOE  JKFFK11SOX    CUTLER. 

The  God  of  Israel  is  our  God,   who  set  his  people 

TtaoofTfln  and  storm  aud  desert  heats  and  slimy 

depths  of  sea.  ,  , 

So  while   the  thunder's  arrow  smites  and    angry 

He  Uiad^ufto^tae'promised  land,  by  this  his  chosen 

way. 
Let  not  a  wailing  cry  be  heard,  let  not  a  tear-drop 
In  ■Hence  follow  to  the  grave  the  dead  beneath  yon 
Not  yef  plant  we  the  votive  stone,  nor  mockery  of 
But  let'us'swear  our  oath  anew  upon  the  hero's 

By  HhnwUose  throne  is  Truth  and  Law,  by  those 

who  sleep  below, 
We  hold  our  lives  as  cheap  as  air,  while  stands  an 

We  ukiw  the 'sword  our  lathers  blessed,  and  throw 
the  sheath  away,  , . 

To  conquer  In  these  dead  men's  name,  or  he  as  cold 
as  they. 

When  bright  upon  its  ancient  staff,  and  purged  of 
shame  and  crime,  , 

The  flu-  shakes  out  its  stars  again  high  in  the  van  of 

HHenFraedon  holds  her  perfect  sway,  aud  Truth 

consorts  with  l'eace,  ,    .       .  ,  „„-„„ 

When  young  men  dare  to  face  their  sires  and  offer 

Whence  have  won  the  right  to  weep,  the  right  to 
praise  the  brave,  . 

Then  be  the  lofty  marble  brought  to  mark  the  sol- 
dier's crave.  .  ,    ,         .  , 

Around  it  let  the  ivy  creep  with  roses  side  by  side; 

And  all  in  shining  gold  be  writ  his  name  and  how 
he  died. 

lift  not  the  voice 


From  the  Boston  Transcript. 
The  following  grand  and  inspiring  lyric,  one  of 
the  noblest  that  tne  war  has  called  forth  lrom  any 
poet,  has  been  sent  to  us  for  publication. 

To  Canaan ! 
A  SONG  OF  THE  SIX  HUNDRED  THOUSAND* 

Where  are  you  going,  soldiers, 
With  banner,  gun,  and  sword? 
We're  marching  South  to  Cauaan 

To  battle  for  the  Lord! 
What  Captain  leads  your  armies 

Along  the  rebel  coasts? 
The  Mighty  One  of  Israel, 
His  name  is  Lord  of  Hosts! 
To  Canaan,  to  Canaan 
The  Lord  has  led  us  forth. 
To  blow  before  the  heathen  walls 
The  trumpets  of  the  North! 

What  flag  is  this  you  carry- 
Along  the  sea  ami  shire? 
The  same  our  grandbires  lifted  up, — 

The  same  our  fathers  bore? 
In  many  :>  battle's  tempest 

It  shed  the  crimson  rain, — 
What  God  hag  woven  in  his  loom 
Let  no  man  rend  in  twain! 
To  Canaan, to  Canaan 
The  Lord  has  led  us  forth, 
To  plant  upon  the  rebel  towers 
The  banners  of  the  North! 

,  What  troop  is  this  that  follows. 

All  armed  with  picks  and  spades? 
These  aie  the  swarthy  bondmen — 

The  iron-skin  brigades! 
They'll  pile  up  Freedom's  breastwork, 

They'll  scoop  out  rebels'  graves; 
Who  then  will  be  their  owner 
And  march  them  off  for  slaves? 
To  Canaan, to  Canaan 
The  Lord  hath  led  us  forth, 
To  strike  upon  the  captives'  chain 
The  hammers  of  the  North! 

What  song  is  this  you're  singing? 

The  same  that  Israel  sung 
When  Moses  led  the  mighty  choir, 

And  Miriam's  timbrel  rung!. 
To  Canaan!    To  Canaan! 

The  priests  and  maidens  cried : 
To  Canaan!    To  Canaan! 
The  people's  voice  replied. 
To  Canaan,  to  Canaan 
The  Lord  has  led  us  forth, 
To  thunder  through  its  adder  dens, 
The  anthems  of  the  North! 

When  Canaan's  hosts  are  scattered, 

And  all  her  walls  lie  flat, 
What  follows  next  in  order? 

The  Lord  will  see  to  that! 

We'll  break  the  tyrant's  sceptre, — 

We'll  build  the  people's  throne, — 
When  half  the  world  is  Freedom's 
Then  all  the  world's  our  own! 
To  Canaan,  to  Canaan 
The  Lord  has  led  us  forth 
To  Sweep  the  rebel  threshing  floors, 
A  whirlwind  from  the  North! 


4 

4 


-before. us  is 


But  now  shed  not  the  useless  tear, 

of  woe, 
The  earth  is  red  with   kindred   blood. 

The  cannon's  roar,  the  sword's  keen  flash,  the  un- 
releutins  eve.  ,  . 

These  be  our  wail  at  sore  defeat,  these  be  our  proud 
reply  '■  . 

/ 


/ 


"OIKS" 

BY    BltlG.  OKJJ.  F.  W.   I.A.NUKH. 


[From  the  Boston  Post] 
The  following  stanzas  were  written   by  Brigadier 
ral  Lander,  on    hearing   that   the   confederate 
troops    had   said    "that    fewer  of  the  Massachusetts 
officers  would  have  been  killed  if  they  had  not  been  ^ 
too  proud  to  surrender"':—  t 

Ave.  deem  US  proud,  for  we  are  more 
proud  of  all  our  mighty  dead; 
Pi-oik!  Ol   the  Weak  and  rock-bound  shore 
A  crowned  oppressor  cannot  tread. 

Proud  Of  each  rock,  and  wood,  and  glen, 

river,  lake,  and  pit 

:  of  the  calm  and  earnest  men 

ID  the  right  and  will  to  reign. 

Frond  of  the  men  who  gave  us  birth. 

Who  battled  with  the  stormy  wave, 
To  sweep  the  red  man  from  the  earth. 

And  build  their  homes  upon  his  grave. 

l'roud  of  the  holy  summer  morn, 

They  traced  In  blood  upon  it 
The  rights  of  freemen  yet  unborn  : 

l'roud  of  their  language  and  their  God. 

Proud,  that  beneath  our  proudest  dome.  ' 

And  round  the  cottage-cradled  hearth. 
There  is  a  welcome  and  a  home 

i  very  striken  race  on  earth. 

l'roud,  that  yon  slowly  sinking  sun 

.•saw  di  owning  lips  grow  white  in  prayer 
.   such  biiei  acts  ol  duty  done 
honor  gathers  from  despair. 

Priitf,  'tis  our  watchword,  "Clear  the  boats';'' 
'•Holmes,  Putnam,  Bartlett.  I'iersou— Here!" 

And  while  this  crazy  wberr)  floats, 
"Let's  save  our  wounded,"  cries  Severe.  ^ 

Old  state— some  souls  are  rudely  sped— 

Thin  record,  tor  thy  Twentieth  corps, 
Imprisoned,  wounded,  dying,  dead, 

It  only  »>ks:  "Has  .Sparta  more.'" 


J     *See  Numbers  1,  45, 46. 

^KJSS  MUS,  MOTHKB,  AKD  LBT  Mil  GO, 

The  Springfield  Republican  publishes  the  following 
beautiful  poem  by  Miss  Priest,  the  author  of  "  Over 
the  River."  We  copy  it  as  the  most  eloquent  and  ef- 
fective means  at  our  disposal  for  securing  alike  volun- 
teers and  involuntary  tears.  It  possesses  almost  the 
pathetic  power  of  the  little  poem  which,  by  itself, 

'  has  given  the  writer  a  place  in  American  literature. 

'  Read  it,  everybody : 

Have  you  heard  the  news  that  I  heard  to-dty? 

The  newsthat  trembles  on  every  lip? 
The  eky  is  darker  again,  they  say, 

And  breakers  threaten  the  good  old  ship. 
Our  country  calls  on  her  sons  again, 

To  strike.'in  her  name,  at  a  dastard  foe; 
She  asks  for  six  hundred  thousand  men, 

I  would  be  one,  mother.    Let  ma  go. 


SONG  OF  THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES. 

BT  BEV.  B.  H.  SBAB3. 

Wk  see  the  gillant  stteamer  yet 

Float  from  the  bastioned  walls ; 
One  hearty  song  for  fatherland, 

Before  its  banner  falls- 
Last  on  our  gaze  when  outward  bound 

We  plough  the  ocean's  foam, 
First  on  our  longing  eyes  again 

To  waft  our  welcome  home  1 

Beneath  thy  shade  we've  toiled  in  peace ; 

The  golden  corn  we  reap ; 
We've  Ukeu  home  our  bonny  brides ; 

We've,  rooked  our  babes  to  sleep ; 
We  marched  to  front  the  battle-storms 

That  brought  the  invaders  nlgb, 
When  the  grim  lion  cowered  and  sank 

Beneath  the  eagle's  eye. 

BeneUh  the  Stars  and  Stripes  we'll  keep, 

Come  years  of  weal  or  woe; 
Close  up,  close  up  the  broken  line, 

And  let  the  traitors  go  1 
Ho,  brothers  of  the  «  Border  States  I" 

We  reach  across  the  line, 
And  pledge  our  faith  and  honor  now, 

As  once  in  AuldLang  Syne. 

We'll  keep  the  memories  bright  and  green 

Of  all  onr  old  renown ; 
We'll  strike  the  traitor  hand  that's  raised 
'  To  pluck  the  eagle  down. 
Still  shall  it  guard  your  Southern  homes 

From  all  the  foes  that  come. 
We'll  move  with  you  to  harp  and  flute, 
Or  march  to  life  and  drum ! 

Or  if  ye  turn  from  us  in  scorn, 

Still  shall  our  nation's  sign 
Roll  out  again  its  streaming  stars 

On  all  the  border  line ; 
Aid  with  the  same  old  rallylng-cry, 

Beneath  its  folds  we'll  meet, 
And  they  shall  be  our  conquering  sign, 

Or  be  our  winding-sleet  I 

'Tis  said  that  when  Jerusalem 

Sank  In  her  last  despair, 
A  spectre  sword  hung  gory  red 

Just  o'eT  her  In  the  air ; 
Ye  that  tear  down  your  country  s  flag, 

Look  when  God's  gathering  ire 
Hangs  in  its  place,  just  o'er  your  heads, 

A  sword  of  bloody  flro  I 


The  love  of  country  was  born  with  me; 

I  remember  how  my  young  heart  would  thrill 
When  1  used  to  «it  on  my  graudame's  kuee 

And  list  to  the  story  of  Bunker  Hill. 
Life  gushed  out  there  in  a  rich  red  flood ; 

Mv  grandsire  fell  in  that  fight,  you  know;— 
Would  you  have  me  shame  the  brave  old  blood? 

Nay,  kiss  me,  mother,  and  let  me  go. 

Our  flag,  the  flag  of  our  hope  and  pride, 

With  its  stars  and  stripes,  and  its  field  of  blue, 
Is  mocked,  insulted,  torn  down,  defied. 

And  trampled  upon  by  the  rebel  crew, 
And  England  and  France  look  on  and  sneer, 

"  Ha,  queen  of  the  earth,  thou  art  fallen  low," 
Earth's  downuod  n  illions  weep  and  fear; 

bo  kies  me,  mother,  and  let  me  go. 

Under  the  burning  Southern  skies, 
Our  brothers  languish  in  heartsick  pain, 

They  turn  to  us  with  their  pleading  eyes; 
Oh,  mother,  say,  shall  they  turn  in  vainr 

Their  ranks  are  thinning  lrom  sun  to  suu, 
\  tt  bravely  they  hold  at  bay  the  foe; 

Shall  we  let  them  die  there,  one  by  oner 

ou  selfishly  cling  to  your  household  joys, 

flefusin*    tits  smallest  tithe  to  yield, 
•yv  i.i  ■  >f  mothers  are  sending  boys 

Beloved  ;.s yours,  to  the  battle-field? 
Can  jcu  see  my  country  call  In  vain, 

And  restrain  my  arm  from  the  needful  bi«wr 
Not  ho,  though  your  heart  should  break  withpai*J, 

You  will  kiss  me,  mother,  and  let  me  go. 


,  Let  the  SWORD  be  the  standing  emblem,  glittering 
before  out  eyes:  and  let  the  Flag  advance,  ami 
armed  men  tread  beneath  its  folds,     GOV.  Akdp.kw. 


THE  STABS  AND  STRIPES. 

BY  BBV.  \VM.  C.  KICHAKDS. 

[Am— "Auld  Lang  Syne."] 
The  Stars  and  Stripes  have  been  our  boast 

For  four  score  years  and  more; 
And  woe  betide,  the  flag  beside, 

That  waves  our  country  o'er. 

Our  fathers  set  the  Stars  above, 

And  ruled  the  Stripes  below; 
If  they  are  gone,  their  Flag  lives  on, 

And  we  will  keep  it  so. 

Thirteen  at  first,  its  glittering  Stars 

Have  grown  to  thirty-four; 
Each  Star  a  State— and  still  we  wait 

To  count  the  number  more! 

But  some  to  make  the  number  less 

Have  wantonly  conspired — 
A  rebel  band,  with  traitorous  hand, 

By  false  ambition  fired — 

Unfurl  a  flag  unlike  our  own, 

An  upstart,  bastard  thing; 
And  swear  to  hate,  each  recreant  state, 

The  banner  that  we  sing. 

Upon  that  flag  are  seven  scars, 
Seven  stars  on  ours  they  shone! 

And  now  it  flies  'neath  southern  skies, 
Whence  our  dear  flag  is  gone! 

Gone  for  a  day,— perhaps  a  year,— 

But  not  forever  gone, 
For  myriads  forth  from  the  great  North 

Are  hurrying  Southward  on 

Tear  that  mongrel  banner  down 

And  grime  it  in  the  dust. 
That  flouts  the  sky.  where  once,  on  high, 

Waved  our  proud  flag  and  just. 

And  though  the  work  cost  precious  blood, 

And  gold  like  water  flows — 
Its  whole  domain— our  flag  again, 

Shall  conquer  from  all  Iocs. 

God's  finger  writes  this  promise  sure 

In  all  oar  gloi  ions  past— 
From  sea  to  sea  our  flag  shall  be 

'1  he  first,  alone,  and  lust. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  have  been  our  boast, 
1  or  lour  score  years  and  mote; 

And  woe  betide,  the  flag  beside, 
That  waves  one  acie  o'er! 


I  usheuth  It— 'tis  a  friend  to  thee; 

Strike  with  the  Christian's  might; 
Sword  ol  the  Spirit  it  shall  be! 

God   bless  thee   and    the  light. 


■SSB 


THE  SWEET_JLITTLE  MAN. 
Dedicated  to  the  Stav-at-Home  Rangers. 

Now,  while  our  roldiers  are  fighting  our  battles, 

Each  at  his  post  to  do  all  that  lie  can, 
Down  among  rebels  and  contraband  chattels, 

What  aio  yon  doing,  my  sweet  little  man.' 

All   the  brave   boys  under -canvass  are  sleeping, 
All  of  them  pressing  to  march  with  the  van, 

Far  from  the  home   where  their  sweethearts  are 
weeping; 
What  are  )  ou  waiting  for,  sweet  little  man  ? 

You  with  the  terrible  warlike  moustaches, 

Fit  for  a  colonel  or  chief  of  a  clan. 
You    with    the    waist    made    for  sword-belts   and    i 
sashes; 

WheVe  are  your  shoulder-straps,  sweet  little  man? 

Bring  him  the  buttonless  garment  of  woman! 

Cover  his  lace  lest  it  freckle  and  tan; 
Muster  the  A;  i -ou-stiing  Guards  on  the  Common, 

That  is  the  coips  for  the  sweet  little  man! 

him  for  escort  a  file  of  young  mi 
Bach  of  them  anned  with  a  deadly  rattan; 
The',  shall  defend  him  from  laughter  and  hisses, 
Aimed  by  low  boys  at  the  sweet  little  man. 

All  the  fair  maidens  about  him  shall  cluster. 

Thick  the  white  leathers  from  bonnet  and   fan, 
Make  him  a  plume  like  a  turkey  wing  duster, — 
i    the  crest  for  the  sweet  little  man! 

^iron-string  Guards  are  the  fellows! 
■  .rl  each  day  since  pur  troubles  began, — 

i  walking-sticks!"    '-Shoulder  umbrel- 

That  is  the  style  for  the  sweet  little  man. 

Have  we  a  nation  to  save?    In  the  first  place 
Saving  purreh  esis  the  sensible  plan. — 

Surely  the  spot  where  there's  shooting's  the  worst 
place 
Where  1  can  stand,  says  the  sweet  little  man. 

Catch  me  confiding  my  person  with  strangers! 

Think  how  cowardly  the  Bull-Runners  ran! 
In  the  brigade  of  the  Stay  at-home  Rangers 

Marches  my  corps,  says  the  sweet  little  man. 

Such  was  the  stuff  of  the  Malakoll-takers. 

Such  were  the  soldiers  that  scaied  the  Redan; 
Truculent  housemaids  and  blood-thirsty  Quakers 

Brave  not  the  wrath  of  the  sweet  little  man! 

Yield  him  the  side-walk,  ye  nnrsery  maidens! 

Sauve  qui  prui ' .'  Bridget,  and  tight  about!  Ann, — 
Fierce  as  a  shark  in  a  school  of  menhadens, 

.see  him  advancing,  the  sweet  little  man! 

When  the  red  Hails  of  the  battle-field  threshers 
Beat  out,  the  continent  s  u  heat  from  its  bran, 

While  the  wiim  scatters  the  chaffy  seceshers. 
What  will  become  Of  our  sweet  little  man.' 

When  the  brown  soldiers  come  back  from  the  bor- 
ders, 

How  will  he  look  while  his  features  they  scan? 
How  will  he  feel  w  hen  he  geis  niaicliing  orders, 

Signed  by  his  lady  love?  sweet  little  man! 

Tear  not  lor  him,  (hough  the  rebels  expect  him,— 
Life  is  too  precious  to  shorten  its  span  ; 

Woman  her  broomstick  shall  raise  to  protect  him, 
Will  she  not  light,  lor  the  sweet  little  man.' 

Now  then,  nine  cheers  for  the  St  ay-at-home  Ranger! 

Blow  the  great  fish-horn  and  beat  the  big  pan! 
First  in  the  field  that  is  farthest  from  danger, 

Take  your  white  leather  plume,  sweet  little  man! 


Coming  Home, 
They  are  coming  home,  coming  home 

Brother  and  lover,  lather  and  son, 
Friend  and  foe — they  are  coming  home 

To  rest,  for  their  work  is  done. 

They  come  from  hospital,  picket  and  field, 
From  iron  boat,  and  frowning  fort, 

In  silent  companies,  slowly  wheeled 
In  the  rythm  of  a  solemn  thought. 

This  was  a  father  of  women  and  men, 
Gray-haired,  but  hale,  and  strong  of  limb : 

The  bayonet  flashed,  and  flashed  again, 
And  the  old  man's  eyes  grew  dim ! 

Here  was  a  form  of  manly  grace: 
The  bomb-shell  groaning  through  the  air, 

Drenched  with  his  blood  a  pictured  face, 
And  a  curl  of  silken  hair. 

This  was  a  bright-eyed,  venturesome  boy : 
Back  from  the  perilous  picket-ground 

They  bore  him,  waked  from  his  dream  of  joy 
To  a  ghastly,  fatal  wound. 

And  thus  for  three  days  lingering, 
He  talked  in  wandering,  rapid  speech 

Of  mother,  and  home,  and  the  cooling  spring 
His  lips  could  almost  reach. 

They  are  coming  home,  but  not  as  they  went, 
With  the  flying  flag  and  stirring  band, 

With  the  tender  word,  and  messages  sent 
From  the  distant,  waving  hand. 

Up  the  steps,  and  into  the  door, 
With  hidden  faces  our  loved  ones  come:: 

We  may  cry  their  names  out  o'er  and  o'er, 
But  their  pallid  lips  are  dumb. 

O  friends  untimely  snatched  from  hence, 
May  we  find,  beyond  heaven's  lowering  dome, 

Some  blissful  future  recompense 
For  this  sorrowful  coming  home! 
-Boston  Transcript. 


Tune — "The  first  gun  is  fired." 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham-— three   hundrec 

thousand  more — 
From   Mississippi's  winding  stream  and  lrom  New 

England's  shore; 
We  leave  our  plows  and  workshops,,  our  wives  anc 

children  dear. 
With  hearts  too  full  for  utterance,  with  but  a  sileni 

tear; 
We  dare  not  look  behind   us,  but  steadfastly  be 

fore — 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham— three  hundred 

thousand  more! 

If  you  look  across  the  hill-tops  that  meet  the  north- 
ern sky, 

Long  moving  lines  of  rising  dust  your  vision  may 
descry ; 

And  now  the  wind,  an  instant,  tears  the  cloudy 
veil  aside, 

And  floats  aloft  our  spangled  flag  in  glory  and  ii 
pride; 

And  bayonets  in  the  sunlight  gleam,  and  band; 
brave  music  pour — 

We  are  coming,  lather  Abraham— three  hundrec 
thousand  more! 

If  you  look  all  up  our  valleys,  where  the  growing 

harvests  shine, 
You  may  see  our  sturdy  farmer-boys  fast  forminj 

into  line; 
And  .children  from  their  mother's  knees,  are  pulling 

at  the  weeds. 
And  learning  how  to  reap  and  sow,  against  theii 

country's  needs; 
And  a  farewell  group  stands   weeping  at  every  cot 

tage  door; 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham— three  hundrec 

thousand  more ! 

You  have  called   us,  and   we're  coming,  by  Bich 

mond  s  bloody  tide. 
To  lay  us  down   for  freedom's  sake,  our  brothers 

bones  beside; 
Or  from  foul  treason's  savage  grasp  to  wrench  th( 

murderous  blade, 
And  in  the   face  of  foreign  foes  the  fragments  t( 

parade. 
Six   hundred  thousand  loyal   men  and  true  havi 

gone  before; 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham — three  hundred 

thousand  more! 


Off  for  a  Soldier. 

"Oh,  where  are  you  coin'?"  said  Mrs.  O'Flaherty 
One  morning  to  Mike,  as  he  shouldered  a  gun; 

"I  am  going,"  said  Mike,  -'to  put  on  regimentals, 
And  march  wid  the  boys  till  rebellion  is  done." 

"And  what,  if  you're  kilt,  will  b  ecome  of  my  chil 
der — 
My  poor  little  boys  and  the  girl  on  my  knee? 
"Sure,  Mike,"  said  she,  "I  will  be  dead,  although 
living, 
If  niver  again  you  come  back  unto  me." 

"Oh,  Peggy,  my  darlint,  no  harm  shall  befall  me; 

The  stars  and  the  stripes  shall  float  over  my  head; 
And,  Peggy,  you  know  I  must  help  save  the  coun- 
thiy 

That  affords  me  protection  and  gives  me  my  bread. 

"And  won't  ye  be  proud  of  your  Mickey  O'Fla- 
herty 

When  he  comes  back,  dear  Peggy,  all  covered  wid 
scars, 

To  show  that  he's  shtood  in  the  front  of  the  battle, 
Where  no  one  can  shtand  who  stays  home  from  the 
wars'" 

"And  Mickey,"  said  Peggy,  "my  prayers '11  go  wid 

>'e) 
Tho'  deep   in  my  heart  I  shall  giieve  for  your 
sake; 
And  I'll  kiss  our  dear  babies  each  mornin'  and  eve- 
nin', 
And  tache  them  the  name  of  their  father  to  spake. 

"The  papers  I'll  read,  Mike,  to  see  if  you're  wound- 
ed— 
Oh,  faith,  Mike,  that  thought  makes  a  lire  of  my 
brain; 
To  think  of  you  lying,  shot  down  by  a  ribel, 

Wid  an  arm  or  a  leg  oil",  and  groaning  wid  pain; 

"Wid  no  kind  one  near  you  to  give  you  attention, 
To  wipe  the    cold  dampness    away   from   your 
cheek — 

Oh,  Mike,  it  is  hard,  when  I  think  ol  these  avils, 
To  look  in  your  face  and  a  parting  to  speak." 

"But,  Peggy,"  said  he,  "sure  I'll  come  back  a  hero 

To  be  pointed  at  as  America's  pride; 
And  I'll  carry  my  gun  on  the  top  of  my  shoulder, 

Wid  both  legs  all  right  and  my  arms  by  my  side. 

"Faith,  niver  a  dangerous  bullet  shall  reach  me, 
And,  sure,  if  it  does  I  will  balk  its  design, 

For  with  God  on  my  sideaud  the  thoughts  of  ould 
Erin, 
No  serious  avil  can  iver  be  mine." 

••But,  Mickey,"  said  Peggy,  "how  many  have  per- 
ished! 
How  many  are  shleeping  that  niver  will  wake, 
Who  marched  with  the  army  a  searching  tor  glory! 
Oh,  Mickey,  stay  home  for  your  poor  Peggy's 
sake!" 

"Stay  at  home,  is  it,  Peggy  !    Ah!    niver,  till  thrait- 
ors  . 

Have  fired  their  last  gun  at  the  flag  of  the  free; 
I  must  go  and  just  have  a  brief  lark  wid  the  ribels — 

Those  sons  of  the  divil  who  kicked  up  this  spree. 

"And  good  bye,   my  Teggie!    and  good  bye,  my 
childer! 
May  God  bless  you  all  till  I  come  back  again 
Wid  my  arms  and  my  legs,  wid  my  head  and  my 
body, 
Wid  niver  a  scratch,  and  wid  niver  a  pain." 

The  drums  then  came  beating— the  colors   were  fly- 
ing— 

A  kiss  for  his  wife  and  his  dear  children  three — 
And  Mickey  O'Flaherty  marched  with  the  soldiers 

To  fisrht  lor  the  flag  of  the  faithful  aud  free. 


The  God  of  battle  was  with  the  Union  army, 
and  His  favor  gave  to  them  the  triumph.  As, 
in  the  days  of  ancient  Israel,  the  sons  of  God 
went  to  battle,  and  to  victory,  trusting  in  the 
"Sword  of  the  Lord,  and  of  Gideon,"  so,  in  our 
day.  the  people  of  our  free  land,  fought  their 
battles,  and  gained  their  triumphs,  trusting  in 
the  "Sword  of  the  Lord,"  and  of  General  Grant. 


SOXG    OF   THE    VOI/UtfTEERS. 

Tuke—  "Marching  Along." 

We've  come  here  from  Maine,  whose  green  bills  kiss 

the  sky, 
From  where  Erie's  waves  in  the  clear  sunlight  lie ; 
In  far  off  Nebraska,  our  loved  ones  among, 
We  unfurled  our  banner  and  oame  marching  along. 
Choi-us— Marching  along,  we'll  be  marching  along- 
Shouldering  our  rifles,  we'll  be  marching 

along ; 
For  freedom  we're  battling  'gainst  oppres- 
sion and  wrong; 
So,  shouldering  our  rifles,  we'll  be  marching 
along, 
We'll  stand  side  by  side,  sternly  fronting  the  foe, 
No  word  like  "surrender"  our  lips  e'er  shall  know; 
In  our  country's  cause  we  are  linked  heart  to  heart- 
Defending  her  honor,  we  will  each  do  our  part. 
Macliing  along,  &c. 

We're  enrolled  for  the  war,  and  we  will  see  it  o'er; 
Our  banner  shall  triumph  on  inland  and  shore. 
Eebelhon  is  doomed,  for  God  fights  'gainst  the  wrong, 
And,  calling  on  Him,  we'll  be  marching  along. 
Marching  along,  &c. 

Through  God  we're  determined  the  victory  to  win, 
And  make  peace  succeed  to  this  war's  fearful  din. 
Through  Him  will  we  vanquish  that  thrice  cursed  band 
Who've  crimsoned  with  blood  this  our  once  happy 
land. 

Marching  along,  &c. 
South  Reading,  Sept.  17, 1862.  WnrwiE  W-— . 


r 


y/y 


\.:i7 


The  Soldier's  Oath. 

Rev.  C.  T.  Brooks,  of  Newport,  R.  I.,  offers  tho 
following  variation  and  adaptation  of  a  German 
song  by  Arndt,  the  patriotic  and  pious  lyrist  of  the 
Liberation  War  of  1814: — 

Lilt  ou  high  both  heart  and  hand  ! 
By  th  lue  heaven  higli  o'er  us, 

By  tii"  foi  e  us, 

Swear  with  freedom's  flag  TO  stand  ! 
By  your  forefathers  in  glory, 

By  your  Freedom's  kindling  story, 
By  the  God  of  Freedom,  swear! 

Lift  oi.  high  both'  heart  and  baud, 

Swear,  tnat  earth  and  heaven  may  hear  it, 

And  the  brazen  traitor  fear  it — 
Swear  the  oath  to  save  your  land! 

tilorious  ensign,  float  before  us. 
Proudly  lead  us  to  the  held; 

While  thy  Colds  are  Muttering  o'er  us, 
None  shall  basely  flee  or  yield  ! 

Lift  on  high  both  heart  and  hand. 

Swell,  with  Freedom'.-!  pure  air  filling, 

-Noble  Hag,  each  bosom  thrilling 
Of  Our  chosen  patriot  band; 

Sign  ot  honor!  never  paling. 
Sine  in  death,  our  cheeks thou'lt  see — 

Thousand  pangs  with  transport,  hailing- 
Ere  we  turn  out  backs  on  tiiee! 

Lift  on  high  both  heart  and  hand, 

flail,  this  glorious  consecration  ' 

Hail,  regenerated  nation! 
Hail,  all  bail!  thou  new-born  land! 

Sons  ol  Freedom,  all  assemble, 
Solemn  vows  and  praise  to  pay. 

Falsehood,  fraud,  and  treason,  tremble! 
Courage,  children  of  the  day  ! 

Lift  on  high  both  heart  and  hand, 

To  the:  tviug  of  Nations  rear  it. 

Lei  the  great  Heart-searcher  bear  it, 
As  we  here  before  him  stand. 

fraying  him  to  keep  us  holy, 
Pure  in  thought  and  word  aud  deed—   . 

Him  whote  hand  uplifts  the: lowly, 
Makes  I  he  jtl^t  alone  succeed! 


Prayer  During;  Battle. 

Father,  I  call  on  Thee  ! 
While  the  smoke  of  the  firing  envelops  my  sight, 
And  the  lightnings  of  slaughter  are  winged  on 
their  flight, 
Leader  of  battles,  I  call  on  Thee  ! 
"Father,  O  lead  me. 

Father,  O  lead  me ! 
Lead  me  to  victory,  or  lead  me  to  death  ! 
Lord,  I  yield  to  Thee  my  breath  ! 

Lord,  as  Thou  wilt,  so  lead  me ! 

God,  I  acknowledge  Thee  ! 

God,  I  acknowledge  Thee  ! 
In  the  grove  where  the  leaves  of  the  summer  are 

fading, 
As  here  'mid  the  storm  of  the  loud  cannonading, 

Fountain  of  love,  I  acknowledge  Thee! 

Father,  O  bless  me  ! 

Father,  O  bless  me ! 
I  commit  my  life  to  the  will  of  Heaven, 
For  Thou  canst  take  it  as  Thou  hast  given. 

In  life  and  death,  O  bless  ine  ! 

Father,  1  praise  Thee ! 

Father,  I  praise  Thee  ! 
This  is  no  strife  for  the  goods  of  this  world; 
For  freedom  alone  is  our  banner  unfurled. 

Thus,  falling  or  conquering,  I  praise  Thee. 

God,  I  yield  myself  to  Thee  ! 

God,  I  yield  myself  to  Thee  ! 
When  the  thunders  of  battle  are  loud  in  the  strife, 
And  my  opening  veins  pour  forth  my  life, 

God,  I  yield  myself  to  Thee  ! 

Father,  I  call  Thee.  —Korner. 


THIS    BAT,    COlTirTaTMEJf. 


Cowards,  eliDk  away ! 
But  who  scorns  to  see.  the  im 
Deal  our  land  all  shame  and  woe,      m 

Must  go  forth  to-day! 

Crops  are  safe,  afield! 
Cripples  and  old  men  can  resp: 
Young  and  strong  and  bold  must  leap 

Other  tools  to  wield. 

Cost  the  daily  trade! 

Never  may  be  bought  or  won, 

After  ibis  great  fight  is  done, 
What  this  day  is  weighed. 

Leave  your  true  love's  fide! 

Go !  b"  fearless,  true  and  strong! 

Woman  glorjes  to  belong 
Where  she  looks  with  pride. 

True  men  hold  our  line: 
fta-Hy  leave  their  true  ranks  thin, 
le  anrt  ruin  will  rush  in 
Like  the  trampling  swine. 

Dare  you  be  a  man  ? 
Now  lor  home,  and  law,  and  right, 
Go.  in  God's  name  to  the  fight, 

Forward  to  the  van ! 

— Robert  Lowell. 


Tlie  l>ead  at  Richmond. 

BY  ELBRIDGE  JEFFERSON  CUTLER. 

The  God  of  Israel  is  our  God,   who  set  his  people 

Through  Are  and  storm  and  desert  heats  and  slimy 

depths  of  sea. 
So  while   the  thunder's  arrow  smiles  and    angry 

lightnings  play,  .      . 

lie  leads  us  to  the  promised  lnnd.by  this  his  chosen 

way. 
Let  not  a  wailing  cry  be  heard,  let  not  a  tear-drop 

fall 
In  silence  lollow  to  the  grave  the  dead  beneath  yon 

Notyet'plant  we  the   votive  stone,  nor  mockery  of 

bloom: 
But  let  us  swear  our  oath  anew  upon  the  hero  s 

By  Him  whose  throne  is  Truth  and  Law,  by  those 

who  sleep  below. 
We  hold  our  Jives  as  cheap  as  air,  while  stands  an 

armed  foe.  ,         ,  ... 

We  draw  the  sword  our  fathers  blessed,  and  throw 

the  sheath  away. 
To  conquer  in  these  dead  men's  name,  or  lie  as  cold 

as  they. 
When  bright  upon  its  ancient  staff,   and   purged  of 

shame  and  crime,  .,.,..,  «• 

The  flu;,'  shakes  out  its  stars  again  high  m  the  van  ol 

time,  „  ,  ~     ,. 

When  freedom  holds   her  perfect  sway,  aud  1  ruth 

consorts  with  l'euce,  , 

When  young  men  dare  to  lace   their  sires  and  offer 

maids  a  kiss,  j 

When  we  have  won  the  right  to  weep,   the  right  to 

praise  the  brave, 
Then  be  the  lofty  marble  brought  to   mark  the   sol- 
dier's grave.  ...         -j 
\round  it  let  the  ivy  creep  with  roses  side  by   side; 
And  all  in  shilling  gold  be  writ  his  name  and   bow 

he  died. 
But  now  shed  not  the  useless  tear,  lift  not  the  voice 

of  woe,  ,,"",,»  . 

The  earth  is  red  with  kindred  blood— before  us  Is 
the  loe— 

The  cannon's  roar,  the  sword's  keen  flash,  the  un- 
relenting eve. 

These  be  our  wail  at  sore  defeat,  these  be  our  proud 
reply  ! 


From  the  Boston  Transcript. 
The  following  grand  and  inspiring  lyrie,  one  of 
the  noblest  that  the  war  has  called  forth  from  any 
poet,  has  been  sent  to  us  for  publication. 

To  Canaan  I 
A  SONG  OF  THE  SIX  HUNDRED  THOUSAND* 

Where  are  you  going,  soldiers, 
With  banner,  gun,  and  sword? 
We're  marching  South  to  Canaan 

To  battle  lor  the  Lord! 
What  Captain  leads  your  armies 

Along  the  rebel  coasts? 
The  Mighty  One  ol'  Israel, 
His  name  is  Lord  of  Hosts  1 
To  Canuan, to  Canaan 
The  Lord  has  led  us  forth, 
To  blow  before  the  heathen  walla 
The  trumpets  of  the  North! 

What  flag  is  this  yon  carry 
Along  the  sea  ami  shore? 
The  same  our  grandsiie.6  lifted  up, — 

The  same  our  fathers  bore? 
In  many  ;'  battle's  tempest 

It  shed  the  crimson  rain, — 
What  God  has  woven  in  his  loom 
Let  no  man  rend  in  twain ! 
To  Canaan, to  Canaan 
The  Lord  has  led  us  forth, 
To  plant  upon  the  rebel  towers 
The  banners  oi  the  North! 

.  What  troop  is  this  that  follows. 

All  armed  with  picks  and  spades? 
These  aie  the  swarthy  bondmen — 

The  iron-skin  brigades! 
They'll  pile  up  Freedom's  breastwork, 

They'll  scoop  out  rebels'  graves; 
Who  then  will  be  their  owner 
And  march  them  off  for  slaves? 
To  Canaan, to  Canaan 
The  Lord  hath  led  us  forth, 
To  strike  upon  the  captives'  chain 
The  hammers  of  the  North! 

What  song  is  this  you're  singing? 

The  same  that  Israel  sung 
When  Moses  led  the  mighty  choir, 

And  Miriam's  timbrel  rung!. 
To  Canaan!    To  Canaan! 

The  priests  and  maidens  cried  : 
To  Canaan!    To  Canaan! 
The  people's  voice  replied. 
To  Canaan,  to  Canaan 
The  Lord  has  led  us  forth, 
To  thunder  through  its  adder  dens, 
The  anthems  of  the  North! 

When  Canaan's  hosts  are  scattered, 

And  all  her  walls  lie  flat, 
What  lollows  next  in  order? 

The  Lord  will  see  to  that! 

We'll  break  the  tyrant's  sceptre, — 

We'll  build  the  people's  throne, — 
When  half  the  world  is  Freedom's 
Then  all  the  world's  our  own! 
To  Canaan,  to  Canaan 
The  Lord  has  led  us  forth 
To  Sweep  the  rebel  threshing  floors, 
A  whirlwind  from  the  North! 


J     *See  Numbers  1,45,46. 

/ 
^BIJSS  M3£,  UOTHEB,  AND  LET  BtE  GO. 


SONG  OF  THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES. 

BT  BET.  H.  n.  BSAB3. 

Wk  see  the  gallant  streamer  yet 

Float  from  the  bastioned  walls ; 
One  hearty  song  for  fatherland, 

Before  its  banner  falls- 
Last  on  our  gaze  when  outward  bound 

We  plough  the  ocean's  foam, 
First  on  our  longing  eyes  again 

To  waft  our  welcome  home  1 

Beneath  thy  shade  we've  toiled  in  peace ; 

The  golden  corn  we  reap  ; 
We've  Uken  home  our  bonny  brides ; 
/.  We've,  rooked  our  babes  to  sleep ; 

We  marched  to  front  the  battle-storms 
That  brought  the  invaders  nigh, 
A  When  the  grim  lion  cowered  and  sank 

Beneath  the  eagle's  eye. 

Beneath  the  Stars  and  Stripes  we'll  keep, 

Come  years  of  weal  or  woe; 
Close  up,  close  np  the  broken  line, 

And  let  the  traitors  got 
Ho,  brothers  of  the  «  Border  States  1" 

We  reach  across  the  line, 
And  pledge  our  faith  and  honor  now, 

As  once  in  AuldLang  Syne. 

We'll  keep  the  memories  bright  and  green 

Of  all  our  old  renown ; 
We'll  strike  the  traitor  hand  that's  raised 
'  To  pluck  the  eagle  down. 
Still  shall  it  guard  your  Southern  homes 

Fiom  all  the  foes  that  come. 
We'll  move  with  you  to  harp  and  flute, 

Or  march  to  life  and  drum  I 

Or  if  ye  turn  from  us  in  scorn, 

Still  shall  our  nation's  sign 
Eoll  out  again  its  streaming  stars 

On  all  the  border  line ; 
And  with  the  same  old  rallying-cry, 

Beneath  its  folds  we'll  meet, 
And  they  shall  be  our  conquering  sign, 

Or  be  our  winding-sheet  I 

'Tls  said  that  when  Jerusalem 

Sank  in  her  last  despair, 
A  spectre  sword  hung  gory  red 

Just  o'er  her  in  the  air ; 
Ye  that  tear  down  your  country's  flag, 
<f.  Look  when  God's  gathering  ire 

Hangs  in  its  place,  just  o'er  your  heads, 

A  sword  of  bloody  fire  I 


/ 


"OIKS." 

BKIG.  GEN.  F.  W.   LANDER. 


[From  the  Boston  Post.] 
The  following  stanzas  were  written   by  Brigadier 
al   Lander,  on    hearing   that  the   confederate    • 
troop>    hail   said    "that    fewer  ol  the  Massachusetts 
officers  would  have  been  killed  if  they  had  not  been  ^ 
too  prond  to  surrender":—  J 

Ave.  deem  us  proud,  for  we  are  more 
proud  of  all  out  mighty  dead  : 
Proud  ot  the  Weak  and  rock-bound  shore 
.vned  oppressor  cannot  tread. 

Proud  of  each  rock,  and  wooil,  and  glen, 

river,  lake,  and  pi: 

:  ol  the  calm  and  earnest  men 

Who  claim  the  right  and  will  to  reign. 

.ad  of  the  men  who  gave  us  birth. 

Who  battled  with  the  stormy  wave. 

To  sweep  the  red  man  from  the  earth. 

d  build  their  homes  upon  his  grave. 

Proud  of  the  holy  summer  morn, 

They  traced  in  blood  upon  it>  sod 
The  rights  of  freemen  yet  unborn 

Proud  of  their  language  and  their  God. 

Proud,  that  beneath  our  proudest  dome,  ' 

And  round  the  cottage-cradled  hearth, 

There  is  a  welcome  anil  a  home 
Tor  every  striken  race  on  earth. 

l'rouil.  that  yon  slowly  sinking  sun 

Saw  di  owning  lips  grow  white  in  prayer 

<j.  r  such  hi  ief  acts  ol  duty  done 
,\  -  honor  gathers  from  despair. 

l*ri(/t,  'tis  our  watchword,  "Clear  the  boat.-:" 
"Holmes,  Putnam,  T.artlett.  1  ierson — Here!" 

And  while  this  crazy  wherrj    floats, 

"Let's  save  our  wounded,"  cries  Revere.  ~ 

Old  state-some  soul-  an;  rudely  sped — 
This  record,  tor  thy  Twentieth  corps, 

Imprisoned,  wounded,  dying,  dead, 
It  only  asks:  "Has  Sparta  more.'" 


The  Springfield  Republican  publishes  the  following 
beautiful  poem  by  Miss  Priest,  the  author  of  "  Over 
the  River."  We  copy  it  as  the  most  eloquent  and  ef- 
fective means  at  our  disposal  for  securing  alike  volun- 
teers and  involuntary  tears.  It  possesses  almost  the 
pathetic  power  of  the  little  poem  which,  by  itself, 
'  has  given  the  writer  a  place  in  American  literature. 
/  Read  it,  everybody : 

Have  you  heard  the  news  that  I  heard  to-d*y  ? 
s  The  news  that  trembles  on  every  lip? 

The  sky  is  darker  again,  they  say, 

And  breakers  threaten  the  good  old  ship. 
Our  country  calls  on  her  sons  again, 

To  strike,  in  her  name,  at  a  dastard  foe ; 
She  asks  tor  six  hundred  thousand  men, 

I  would  be  one,  mother.    Let  me  go. 


The  love  of  country  was  born  with  me; 

I  remember  how  my  young  heart  would  thrill 
When  1  usee?  to  ?it  on  my  grandame's  knee 

And  list  to  the  story  of  Bunker  Hill. 
Life  gushed  out  there,  in  a  rich  red  flood; 

My  grandsire  fell  in  that  fight,  you  know;— 
Would  you  have  me  shame  the  brave  old  blood? 

Nay,  kiss  me,  mother,  and  let  me  go. 

Our  flag,  the  flag  of  our  hope  and  pride, 

With  its  stars  and  stripes,  and  its  field  of  blue, 
Is  mocked,  insulted,  torn  down,  defied, 

And  trampled  upon  by  the  rebel  crew, 
And  EDgland  and  Franco  look  on  and  sneer, 

"  Ha,  queen  of  the  earth,  thou  art  fallen  low," 
Earth's  aownuori  n  iliions  weep  and  lear; 

bo  kiss  me,  mother,  and  let  me  go. 

Under  the  burning  Southern  skies, 
Our  brothers  larguish  in  heartsick  pain, 

They  turn  to  us  with  their  pleading  eyes; 
Oh,  mother,  say,  shall  they  turn  in  vain? 

Their  ranks  are  thinning  lrom  sun  to  sun, 
Ytt  bravely  they  hold  at  bay  the  foe; 

Shall  we  let  them  die  there,  one  by  one? 

Can  you  selfishly  cling  to  your  household  joys, 

Refusing  (his  smallest  tithe  to  yield, 

•iri'i-i  of  mothers  are  sending  boys 

Beloved  as  yours,  to  the  battle-field? 
Can  ytu  see  my  country  call  iti  vain, 

And  restrain  my  arm  from  the  needful  biew? 
»t  ho,  though  your  hi^rt  should  bretk  with  pai'J, 

You  will  kiss  me,  mother,  and  let  mo  go. 


i    Let  the  Swobd  be  the  standing  emblem,  glittering 

Im  lore    oui    eyes;    and    let   the    fl.Ad   advance,  anil 
armed  men  tread  beneath  its  folds.     GOV.AHDBBW. 


THE  STARS  ASD  STKIPES. 

BY  REV.  WX,  C.  KICHAEDS. 

[Air — "Aulcl  Lang  Syne."] 
The  Stars  and  Stripes  have  been  our  boast 

For  four  score  years  and  more; 
And  woe  betide. "the  flag  beside, 

That  waves  our  country  o'er. 

Our  fathers  set.  the  Stars  above, 

And  ruled  the  Stripes  below; 
If  they  are  gone,  their  Flag  lives  on, 

And  we  will  keep  it  so. 

Thirteen  at  first,  its  glittering  Stars 

Have  grown  to  thirty-four; 
Each  Star  a  State — and  still  we  wait 

To  count  the  number  more! 

But  some  to  make  the  number  less 

Have  wantonly  conspired — 
A  rebel  band,  with  traitorous  hand, 

By  false  ambition  fired — 

Unfurl  a  flag  unlike  our  own, 

An  upstart,  bastard  thing; 
And  swear  to  hate,  each  recreant  state, 

The  banner  that  we  sing. 

Upon  that  flag  are  seven  scars, 
Seven  stars  on  ours  they  shone! 

And  now  it  flies  'neath  southern  skies, 
Whence  our  deal  flag  is  gone! 

Gone  lor  a  day, — perhaps  a  year, — 

But  not  forever  gone, 
For  myriads  forth  from  the  great  North 

Are  hurrying  Southward  on 

Tear  that  mongrel  banner  down 

And  grime  it  in  the  dust. 
That  flouts  the  sky.  where  once,  on  high, 

Waved  our  proud  flag  and  juct. 

And  though  the  work  cost  precious  blood, 

And  gold  like  water  flows — 
Its  whole  domain— our  flag  again, 

Shall  conquer  from  all  toes. 

God's  linger  writes  this  promise  sure 

In  all  oar  glorious  past — 
From  sea  to  sea  our  flag  shall  be 

'The  first,  alone,  and  last. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  have  been  our  boast, 
1-  or  four  score  yea  is  and  more; 

And  woe  betide,  the  (lag  beside, 
That  waves  one  acie  o'er! 


ii 


Lnsheath  it— 'tis  a  friend  to  thee; 

snike  with  the  Christian's  might; 
Sword  ol  the  .Spirit  it  shall  be! 

God  bless  thee  and   the  right. 


1 


I 


scowr  ^r^rj»  vise  vETMsmur. 


BY   BAYARD  TATLOE, 


Sons  of  the  "  Army  mf  the  Tennessee." 

[Written  for  the  Savannah  Republican.] 
To  the  Army  of  the  Tennessee, 

Upon  whose  noble  banners  ride 
The  noble  bird  of  victory, 
The  eagle  ot  our  pride. 
Where'er  there 's  death  and  danger, 

'Pis  ever  sure  to  go, 
To  vindicate  the  noble  flag 
Of  Benny  Havens,  O! 

Chorus— Benny  Havens,  O ! 
Benny  Havens,  O ! 
To  vindicate  the  noble  flag 
Of  BennjtfHavens,  Ol 

Here 's  to  our  first  commander, 

Vicksburg'a  U.  8.  Grant, 
Who  in  searching  thro'  the  lexicon, 

Can  find  no  word  like  "  can't;" 
But  he  has  since  found  what's  better, 

A  way  to  crush  the  foe 
That  arrays  itself  against  the  flag 

Of  Benny  Havens,  O! 
Chorus,  &c. 

Here's  to  honest  Billy  Sherman, 

Our  gallant  old  tycoon ; 
Hay  his  star  of  fame  be  ever  bright 

As  the  summer's  sun  at  noon ; 
May  hit  n?me  float  down  time's  channel, 

Where  our  country's  fame  will  go, 
As  ene  among  the  brightest  lights 

Of  Benny  bavens,  O! 

Chorus,  &c.  _ 

To  the  memory  of  our  McPherson 

We  drink  in  silent  sorrow; 
A  night  of  grief  now  sbrouds  our  hearts, 

A  ni^ht  that  knows  no  marrow. 
He  fell  as  falls  the  soldier, 

With  his  face  toward  the  foe— 
A  nobler  never  clinked  a  cup 

At  Benny  Havens,  O! 
Chorus,  &c. 

To  eur  noble  brothers  lying 

At  Vicksburg's  bloody  rear, 
Hay  their  lonely  graves  be  watered 

By  an  honest  comrade's  tear ; 
May  the  traitorous  hand  who  slew  them 

No  nwTcy  ever  know ; 
Ner  in  the  future  world  ere  meet 

With  Benny  HaveDs,  O! 
Chorus,  &o. 

To  the  martyr  horces  fallen 

In  Atlanta's  grand  campaign, 
Their  life  blood  still  cries  out  to  us 

From  the  gory  batlle  plain, 
For  vengeance  on  the  traitorous 

And  sacrilegious  foe, 
Who  dared  betray  tho  starry  flag 

Ov  Benny  Havens,  O! 
Chorus,  &c. 

In  the  days  that  are  coming. 

When  the  present  scenes  are  fled, 
And  the  prairie  flower's  blooming 

Above  our  final  bed, 
May  those  who  survive  us 

Pass  the  bottle  to  and  fro ; 
And  drink  to  tnose  who  are  sleeping 

With  Bennv  Haven*,  0 ! 
Chorus,  &c. 

Here's  a  health  to  Christian  Howard, 

The  "Havelock"  of  the  day; 
The  Hero  who  save  his  own  right  hand 

At  Fair  Oaks  moody  fray. 
May  bis  days  grow  bright  and  joyous 

With  ages  coming  snow, 
And  his  name  be  ee'r  enbalmed  in  song 

With  Benny  Havens,  O! 
Chorus,  &c. 

And  their  Staffs  so  gay  and  festive, 

As  they  rove  through  Southern  bo  were; 
And  talking  sweet  to  Southern  belles 

Of  moonlight,  love  and  flowers. 
May  they  ne'er  forget  their  duties, 

As  they  sentimental  grow, 
But  teach  the  darlings  Union 

With  Benny  Havens,  O! 
Chorus,  fco. 


COJMMJTG    MMOJtMB. 

They  are  coming  home,  oomir»g  home, 
Itiother  an<>  myer,  taiber  auu  sou ; 

Friend  ana  fte— th^y  are  coming  home 
To  rest,  for  their  work  is  done. 

Tbey  come  from  the  hospital,  picket  and  field, 
From  iron  boat,  and  ii owning  fort, 

In  eileut  companies,  sio*ly  wheeled, 
In  the  rhythm  of  a  doleful  thought. 

This  was  a  fa»ber  of  women  and  men, 
Gray-bain-d  but  bale,  and  strong  of  limb; 

The  bayonet  flasoed  ana  flished  again, 
And  the  old  man's  eyes  gicw  dim. 

Here  was  a  form  of  manly  grace; 

Tb<*  bomb-t-hBtl  groaning  <h  ougb.  the  air, 
DrtactM-d  with  bis  blood  a  pictured  face, 

And  a  curl  ol  silken  hair. 

This  was  a  bright-eyed,  venturecome  boy; 

Back  lrom  *be  perilous  picke'-grouod, 
Tbey  burn  tim,  wa*ed  ln.m  bis  dream  ot  joy, 

To  a  ghastly,  fatal  wound. 

Ard  thus  for  three  days  lingering. 

He  talked  iu  wandering,  rapio  speech, 
Of  mother  and  houw,  and  the  cooling  spring 

Bis  lips  could  ain  ost  reach. 

Tbev  are  coming  home,  but  not  as  they  went, 
With  the  flying  fl»K  »u<1  stirring  baud; 

WnU  tke  tenner  word  and  message  seat 
From  th*  distant  waving  hand. 


An  ol<!  and  crippled  veteran  to  the  War  Department 

i 
Host:  .<  1  who  led  him,  on  many  a  field  of 

who  shouted    "Forward!"    where'er   his 

in  triumph  behind  the  flying  foes. 


forgotten,  General,"  the  battered  soldier 

01 

•n'ii  hundred,  twelve,  when  I  wasat 

a  Johnson,  that  fought  at  Lundy's 
Lane? 
'lis  and  pensioned,  but  I  want  to  fight 

-  in,,'.' 

in. 
: .?"  said  the  Chief,  "my  brave  old 

And   here's  tie  hai.d  I  gave  you  then,  and  let  it  tell 

u  :0. 

But  you  );a\  e  done  your  share,  my  friend ;  you're  crip- 

id  grty , 
And  wi  ha  i   need  of  younger  arms  and  fri  slier  blood 

i  | ." 

IV. 

"  But,  general!"  cried  the  veteran,  a  flush  upon  his 
wbo  fought  with  us,  they  say,  are 

m  : 

of  Lundy's  Lane,  our  old  red, 

of  blood  is  left,  I'll  show  that  drop 

v. 
but  I  can  strike,  and  I've  a  good  old 

of  traitors'  hearts,  and  prick  them, 

and  such  arms  it  ain't  worth  while 
1< 

hang  o'  them,  but  I'll  keep  my  pow- 

VI. 

.   oomiade!"  said  the  Chief;  "God 
oval    hei  it! 
are  in  the  field,  and  claim  to  have 
part. 
'1  hej '!  plant  oursacred  banner  in  each  rebellious  town, 
'  Aiitl  ■  rth,  to  any  baud  that  dares  to  pull 

it  i  ov.  ji !" 

VII. 

"But,  General !" — still  persisting, the  weeping  veteran 

"l'n  uiih  to  follow,  so  long  as  you're  my 

1  ■ 
Ant  b<  me,  <cu  know,  must  bite  the  dust,  and  that,  at 

a  n  I ; 
So,  ,ti>  t  the  young  ones  place  to  fight,  but  me  a  place 
iu  die  I 

VIII. 

"lit  bey  should  fire  on  Pickens,  lot  the  colonel  i:i  com- 

npoi    t,.e  rampart,  with  the  flag-staff  in  my 

A«  odds  how  Lot  the  cannon-smoke,  or  how  the  shells 

I'll  hold  the  Stars  and  Stripes  aloft,  and  hold  them  till 

IX. 

"  I'm  read] ,  General,  so  you  let  a  post  to  me  be  given, 
Where  Washington  can  see  me,  as  be  looks  iiom  high- 

i     '    Hi 

And  say  to  Putnam  at  bis  side,  or,  may  be,  General 
W  ay  lie ; 

tandsold  Billy  Johnson,  that  fought  at  Lun- 
dj  V  Lane:' 

x. 
"  And  when  the  fight  is  hottest,  before  the  traitors  fly; 
When   shell   and   ball  are  screeching,  and  bursting  ia 
the  sk> , 

;  ould  hit  ni(>,  and  lay  me  on  my  face, 
M)  sou.  would  go  to  Washington's  and  not  to  Arnold's 

;  It  iv!  " 


V~C^7 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OS-  MY  iT.IEXD, 

Brigadier  General  ,5asss*s  C  Kice. 
Moaning  upon  the  bloody  phiin, 

The  young  and  gallant  soldier  lay ; 
And  from  his  failing  heart  asd  brain  _ 
Tlie  life  was  ebbing  swift  away. 

Tho  restle-sne33  of  death  was-  tho: e— 
The  weariness  that  longed' for  rest— 

The  beaded  brow,  the  matted  hair, 
Th?  hurried  pulse,  the  heaving  b;  ea3t. 

•TmiJt  me,"  he  said,  "tcias.'  I  jiay  die 
Face  to  ttie  eoe!"    And  ready  hands 

And  loyal  hearts  were  waiting  by, 
To  execute  his  last  commands. 

Facing  the  enemy,  lie  di'ad, — 

A  hero  in  bis  latest  breath ; 
And  now,  with  ming!ed;l»ve  and  prid^, 

I  weep  and  boast  hig  glorious  death. 

No  braver  words  than  these,  my  fiend, 
Have  ever  sealed  a  soldier's  tongue; 

No  nobler  wo  ds  hathMstory  penned; 
Kb  line:'  words  hath  poet  sung. 

Tho  oak  that  breaks  beneath  the  blast, 
Or  falls  before  the,. woodman's  strokes, 

Spre  dr3  by  it:;  fall  th*  i  ipened  mast  , 
That  holds  in  gerza  a  thousand  oal* 

And  in  tho  wot  di  thy  death  hath  strewn 
.  More  than  thy  f;\J?ea.  life  survives; 
For  o'er  the  nation-  they  are  sown— 
deeds  for  a  thousand  noble  lives. 

J.  G.  HOLLAND. 


Io  Triumphc  : 

BY  ELBRIDOE  JEFFERSON  CUTLER. 

Now  let  us  raise  a  song  of  praise,  like  Miriam's  song 

of  old— 
A  song  of  jiraise   to   God   tho   Lord,   for  blessings 

manifold! 
He  lil'teth  up,  be  casteth  down  ;  he  bindeth,  makcth 

lree; 
He  sendeth  grace  to  bear  defeat ;  he  giveth  victory! 
Fling  out,  fling  out  the  holy  flag  broad  in  the  swel- 
ling air! 
Its  stars   renew  their  morning  song.     All   hail  lhe 

symbol  fair! 
For  what  the  lathers  did   of  yore,   the  sons   have 

learned  to  do; 
And  the  old  legends,  half-believed,  are  proven   by 

the  new. 

The  East  and  West  have  shaken  hands,  twin-brained 
and  twin  at  heart; 

In  the  red  laurels  either  wins,  each  has  a  brother's 
part. 

O,  hear  ye  how  from  Somerset  the  voice  of  triumph 
calls! 

Hear  bow  the  echoes  take  it  up  on  Henry's  con- 
quered walls! 

And  wilder  yet  the  thrilling  cry  :  Fort  Donelson  is 
ours, 

Like  chaff  before  the  roaring  north  fly  fast  the  reb- 
el powers. 

New  Orleans  sees  her  doom  afar,  and  lifts  a  palsied 
arm, 

And  haughty  Richmond's  drunken  streets  are  so- 
bered with  alarm. 

Up  Carolina's  Iran  tic  shore  the  tide  rolls  black  and 
dire; 

The  thunder's  voice  is  in  its  heart,  its  crest  aveng- 
ing fire! 

Proud  Charleston  trembles  in  her  sin,  Savannah 
bows  her  head, 

And  Norfolk  feels  the  firm  earth  shake  beneath  the  north- 
men's  tread. 

On  island  slopes  and  by  the  sea  are  wreck  and  fly- 
ing toes 

And  fresh  in  that  unwonted  air  the  flowers  of  free- 
dom blow' 

Then  honor,  under  God,  to  those,  the  noble  men 

who  plan, 
And  unto  those  ol  fiery  mould  who  flame  in  battle's 

van ! 
For,  oh,  the  land  is  sate,  is  safe;  it  rallies  from  the 

shock! 
King  round,  ring  round,  ye  merry  bells,  till  every 

steeple  rock! 
Loud  let.  the  cannon's  voice  be  heard!     Hang  all 

your  banners  out! 
Lift  up  in  your  exultant  streets  the  nation's  triumph 

shout ! 
Let  trumpets  bray  and  wild  drums   beat;  let  maid- 
ens scatter  flowers! 
The  sun  bursts  thro'  the  battle  smoke.    Hurrah,  the 

day  is  ours! 


fi 


April    SO,    1864. 

BY  PRIVATE    MILES  O'REILLY. 

Three  years  ago  to-day 

We  raised  our  hands  to  Heaven, 
And  on  the  rolls  of  muster 

Our  names  were  thirty-seven ; 
There  were  just  a  thousand  bayonets, 

And  the  swords  were  thirty -seven, 
As  we  took  the  oath  of  service 

With  our  right  hands  raised  to  Heaven. 

Oh  'twas  a  gallant  day1, 

In  memory  still  adored, 
That  day  of  our  sun-bright  nuptials 

With  the  musket  and  the  stvord! 
Shrill  rang  the  fifes,  the  bugles  blared, 

And  beneath  a  cloudless  Heaven 
Twinkled  a  thousand  bayonets, 
And  the  swords  were  thirty-seven. 

Of  the  thousand  stalwart  bayonets 

Two  hundred  march  today; 
Hundreds  lie  in  Virginia  swamps. 

And  hundreds  in  Maryland  clay; 
And  other  hundreds,  less  happy,  drag 

Their  shattered  limbs  around, 
And  envy  the  deep.  long,  blessed  sleep 

Of  the  battle-field's  holy  ground. 

For  the  swords— one  night,  a  week  ago, 

The  remnant,  just  eleven, 
Gathered  around  a  banqueting  board 

With  seats  tor  thirty-seven  ; 
There  were  two  limped  in  on  crutches, 

And  two  had  each  but  a  hand 
To  pour  the  wine  and  raise  the  cup 

As  we  toasted  "Our  flag  aud  laud!" 

And  the  room  weeined  filled  with  whispers 

As  we  looked  at  the  vacant  seats, 
And,  with  choking  throats,  we  pushed  aside 

The  rich  but  untasted  meats; 
Then  in  silence  we  brimmed  our  glasses, 

As  we  rose  up— just  eleven. 
And  bowed  as  we  drank  to  the  loved  and  the  dead 

Who  had  made  us  thirty  seven? 
-Harper's  Weekly. 

On     With     the      Flag  ! 

INSCRIBED  TO    OKN.   P.  8.  GRANT. 

They  fainted  not  at  death  and  blood, 

But  through  lhe  wilderness  and  flood 

Bore  on  the  flag.  ir 

Through  scorching  days  of  shot  and  fhell, 
O'er  men  who  fought  aud  men  who  fell, 
Swept  on  the  flag. 

O'er  file  on  file,  a  solid  front, 
With  weapons  bare  to  battle's  brunt. 
War  thunder  clouds  close  rolling  round, 
Hot,  stiflihgsmoke  lrom  sky  to  ground — 
High  floats  the  flag. 

Firm-poised  and  stern  with  deadly  aim, 
Hank  alter  rink  leaps  forth  in  (lame, — 
A  molten  (loom  of  liery  darts 
Wild-shrieking  home  to  traitor  hearts 
That  cursed  the  flag  . 

And  rebel  charge  its  bolts  of  hate 
Hurls  back  to  crush  the  Freedom-fate) 

But  everywhere,  "mid  heaps  of  slain. 
Cry  youug  lips  yet  'instilled  from  pain,— 
'•(jlod  bless  the  flag  " 


■■1 


BtrttJrstOMi, 


\ 


God  blew  the  nobis  General  now. 

The  army  who  commands, 
For  he  will  lead  our  soldiers  on 

Witb  willing  hearts  and  hands. 
With  hearty  cheers  and  brave  resolves, 

In  battle's  stern  array, 
They  will  march  on  for  victory, 

And  win  it  in  a  day. 

No  longer  will  they  stand  and  wait 

In  idleness  and  rust, 
But  they  will  onward,  though  they  fall, 

And  perish  if  they  muttt. 
Better  to  keep  their  swords  and  guns 

In  action  clear  and  bright; 
They  were  not  made  for  mere  parade, 

But  practice  in  the  fight. 

Camp  lye  is  not  a  life  for  men 

Wno  long  to  do  or  die, 
.  And  see  the  banners  of  the  cause 

Careering  in  the  sky. 
They  wish  to  grapple  with  the  foe, 

And  put  his  ranks  to  rout- 
Not  calmly  sit,  as  in  a  siege, 

And  wear  bis  patience  out. 

Thank  God !  the  longed  for,  prayed  for  hour, 

Has  come  for  ns  at  length, 
In  wbicb  the  soldiers  of  the  North 

May  prove  their  nerre  and  strength ; 
Not  waste  away,  with  hope  deferred, 

In  most  inglorious  ease, 
Or  meet  within  their  winter  tents 

Home-sickness  and  disease. 

The  General  who  commands  them  now 

will  spend  not  in  delay 
The  golden  hours  tbat,  once  unused, 

Forever  pass  away. 
But  he  will  grasp  the  present  time, 

And  wield  it  while  he  can ; 
Nor  distant  from  the  Southern  rear 

Will  be  the  Northern  van. 

Btjknsidb  will  rush  upon  the  foe, 

In  battle  or  retreat, 
And  you  shall  hear,  with  joyful  ear, 

His  drum?  victorious  beat. 
His  banner  shall  not  folded  be 

For  long  and  weary  days, 
But  like  a  comet's  dazzling  beams. 

Advancing,  soar,  and  blaze '. 

—Park  Benjamin, 


THE    BLUE     COAT. 


— - 


It 


[From  Harper's  Magazine  for  December.] 
MXOLEi    cm. 


"Corporal  Green !"  the  Orderly  cried; 
"Here!"  was  the  answer,  loud  and  dear, 
From. the  lips  of  a  soldier  who  stood  near; 

And  "Here !"  was  the  word  the  next  replied. 

"Cyrus  Drew!"— then  a  silence  fell— 
Tfcis  time  no  answer  followed  the  call; 
Only  bis  rear-man  had  seen  him  fall, 

Killed  or  wounded  he  could  not  tell. 

Tb^re  they  stood  in  the  falling  light, 
These  men  of  battle,  with  grave,  dark  looks, 
As  plain  to  be  read  as  open  books, 

While  slowly  gathered  the  shade  of  night. 

The  fern  on  the  hill- sides  was  splashed  with  blood, 
And  down  in  the  corn,  where  the  poppies  grew, 
Were  redder  stains  than  the  poppies  knew; 

And  crimson-dyed  was  the  river's  flood. 

For  tbe  foe  bad  crossed  from  the  other  side, 
Tbat  day,  in  the  face  of  a  murderous  fire 
1  bat  swept  them  down  in  its  terrible  ire ; 

And  their  life-blood  went  to  color  the  ilde. 

"Herbert  Cline !"— At  the  Cs.ll  there  came  f 
Two  stalwart  soldiers  into  tbe  line, 
Bearing  between  tbera  this  Herbert  Cline, 

Wounded  and  bleeding,  to  answer  his  name. 

"Ezra  Kerr !"— and  a  voice  answered  "Here !" 

"Hiram  Kerr !"— but  no  man  replied ; 

1  hey  were  brothers,  theee  two ;  the  sad  wind  sighed, 
And  a  shudder  crept  through  the  corn-field  near. 

"Ephrajm  Dean !"— then  a  soldier  spoke; 
'  Dwrne  carried  our  regiment's  colors,"  he  said, 
"When  our  eBsien  was  shot;  I  left  him  dead 

Just  after  the  enemy  wavered  and  broke. 

Close  to  the  roadside  his  body  lie? ; 

I  paueed  a  moment  and  gave  him  to  drink; 

He  murmured  his  mother's  name,  I  think; 
And  death  came  with  it  and  closed  his  eyes." 

'Twas  a  victory— yes;  but  it  cost  us  dear; 
For  that  company's  roll,  when  called  at  night, 
Of  a  hundred  men  who  went  into  the  fight, 

Numbered  but  twenty  tbat  answered  "flere." 


TUB     VOLtTJYTBWiR. 


BY  B.  J.  OTJTLBR. 


"At  dawn,"  he  said,  "I  bid  them  all  farewell, 
To  go  where  bugles  call  and  rifles  gleam." 

And  with  the  restless  thought  asleep  he  fell, 
And  glided  into  dream. 

A  great  hot  plain  from  sea  to  mountain  spread, 
Through  it  a  level  river  slowly  drawn ; 

He  moved  with  a  vast  crowd,  and  at  its  head 
Streamed  banners  like  the  dawn. 

There  oarae  a  blinding  flash,  a  deafening  roar, 
And  dissonant  cries  of  triumph  and  dismay: 

Blood  trickled  down  the  river's  reedy  shore, 
And  with  tbe  dead  he  lay. 

The  morn  broke  in  upon  his  solemn  dreams, 
And  still,  with  steady  pulse  and  deepening  eye, 

"Where  bugles  call,"  he  said,  "and  rifles  gleam, 
I  follow,  though  I  die!" 

Wise  youth !    By  few  Is  glory's  wreath  attained ; 

But  death,  or  late  or  soon,  awaiteth  all. 
To  fight  in  Freedom's  cause  is  something  gained, 

And  nothing  lost,  to  fall. 

—Atlantic  Monthly. 


[The  following  ballad  is  from  the  pen  of  Bishop 
Burgess  of  Maine,  and  was  contrib  uted  by  him  to  the 
book  published  and  sold  at  the  late  Sanitary  Fair  in 
Baltimore,  under  the  sanction  of  the  JHate  Fair  Asso- 
ciation of  the  women  of  Maryland.] 


TIxe  »Ine  Coat  of  the  Soldier, 

You  ask  me,  little  one,  why  I  bowed, 

Though  never  I  passed  the  man  before? 
Because  my  heart  was  full  and  proud 
When  I  saw  the  old  blue-coat  he  were: 
Ahe  bine  great-coat,  the  sky-blue  coat, 
The  old  blue  ecat  the  soldier  wore. 

I  knew  not,  I,  what  weapon  he  chose, 
What  chief  he  loll  owed,  what  badge  ho  wore; 

Enough  that  in  the  front  ol  foes 
His  country's  blue  great-coat  he  wore: 
The  blue  greatcoat,  &c. 

Perhaps  he  was  born  in  a  forest  hut, 
Perhaps  h<  en  a  palace  floor; 

lo  want  or  wealth"  my  ej  as  were  abut, 
I  only  marke.fi  the  coat  ho  wore? 
The  blue  great-coat,  &e. 

It  mattered  not  roach  if  he  drew  his  line* 
Prom  Shem  or  Ham,  in  the  days  of  yore; 

For  surely  he  was  a  brother  ©f  mine, 
Who  for  my  sakt-  the  war-cisat  wore ; 
The  blue  great-  soat,  &c. 

He  might  have  no  slrtll  to  read  or  write, 

Or  he  might  be  rich  in  learned  lore; 
But  I  knew  he  could  make  his  nark  in  fight, 

And  nobler  ;<own  nascholar  wora 
Than  the  blue  great-ooat,  fec- 
it may  bo  he  could  plunder  and  prow], 

And  perhaps  in  his  uiood  hi  seofle.l  and  s  ■ 
But  I  could  not  guess  a  spot  so  foul 

On  the  honored  coat  .ie  bravely  wore : 
The  blue  greatcoat,  &c. 

He  had  worn  it  long,  and<  borne  it  far; 

And  perhaps  on  the  red  Virginian  shore, 
From  midnight  chill  till  the  morning  star, 

That  worn  great-coat  the  sentry  wore: 
The  blue  great-coat,  &a-. 

When  hardy  Butler  reined  his  steed 

Through  the  streets  of  proud,  proud  Baltimore, 
Perhaps  behind  him,  at  Lis  need, 

Marched  he  who  yondar  blue  coat  wore: 
The  blue  great-coat,  &c. 

Perhaps  it  was  seen  in  Buynside's  ranks, 
When  Rappahannock  ran  dark  with  gore; 

•Perhaps  on  the  mountain-side  with  Banks 
In  the  burning  sun  no  mot«-  he  wore 
The  blue  great-coat,  &c. 

Perhaps  in  the  swamps  was  a  bed  for  his  form, 
From  the  seven  days'  battling  aud  marching  sore ; 

Or  with  Kearney  and  Pope  'raid  the  steely  storm, 
As  the  night  elosed  in,. that  coat  he  wore: 
The  blue  great-  coaV&c. 

Or,  when  right  over  a&  Jackson  dashed, 

That  collar  or  cape  some  bullet  tore; 
Or,  when  far  ahead  Atietara  flashed, 

He  flung  to  the  ground  the  coat  that  he  wore: 
The  blue  great-coat,  &a, 

Or  stood  at  Gettysburg,  where  the  graves 
Bang  deep  to  Howard's  canae-n-roar; 

Or  saw  with  Grant  the  unchained  waves 
Where  conquering  hosts  tho  blue  coat  wora: 
The  blue  great- coat,  &c. 

That  garb  of  honor  tells  enough, 

Though  I  its  story  guess  no  more;  I 

The  heart  it  covers  is  made  of  such  stuff, 

That  coat  is  mail  which  that  soldier  wore : 
The  blue  great-coat,  &c. 

He  may  bang  it  up  when  the  peace  shall  come, 
And  tho  moths  may  find  it  behind  the  door; 

But  his  children  will  point  when  they  hear  a  drum 
To  the  proud  old  coat  therr  father  wore : 
The  blue  great-coat,  &c. 

And  so.  my  child,  will  you  and  I, 

For  whose  fair  homo  their  blood  they  pour. 
Still  bow  the  head,  aa  one  goes  by 
WJtio  wears  the  coat  that  soldier  wore : 
The  blue  great-coat,  tho  sky-blue  coat, 
The  old  blue  coat  the  so.dier  wore. 


THE    hOI.IMUR'S    MOTHER. 


There  comes  new  light  to  her  dimming  eye, 

As  she  opens  the  fatal  scroll, 
With  a  dying  hope,  whose  wondrous  charm 

Holds  her  back  from  her  nearing  goal. 
No  tear  for  her  darling,  who,  fresh  from  bar  arm 

Fcr  his  country  his  life-blood  hath  shed  ; 
But  her  thin  lips  pi.rt  as  the  broken  heart 

Takes  in  the  record—"  Dead!" 

Old  friends  and  true  bend  kindly  down, 

And  are  mumuring  soft  and  low; 
But  her  dying  glance  is  upon  the  lino 

That  in  pealing  a  mother's  woe; 
And  the  whisper  seems  like  the  voice  of  dreams 

When  night's  first  gloom  is  gone, 
"  Fighting  he  fell,  with  his  face  to  the  foe, 

Clwerivg  Ma  comrade*  on.'" 

The  paper  falls  from  a  HfeleM  hand, 

As  fbe  goes  to  her  hero's  side : 
But  a  smile  is  stamped  ou  the  rigid  lip, 

In  the  life  of  a  mother's  pride; 
For  there  steals  on  the  air,  like  a  battle  prayer, 

To  bless  ber  sejU's  new  dawn — 
"  Fighting  he  feu,  with  hisjace  to  the  foe, 

Cheering  his  comrades  on." 


THE  PMEalOSNT'B   HYMN. 

The  following  fine  hymn  by  Rev.  Dr.  Muhlenberg, 
Of  New  York,  author  of  "I  Would  Not  Live  Always,''' 
is,  by  Mr.  Lincoln's  permission,  entitled  the  Presi- 
dent's Hymn,  and  Is  recommended  to  be  sung  in  aM  i 
Churches  on  Thanksgiving  Day: 

GIVE  THANKS,  ALL  YE  PEOPLE. 
Give  thanks,  all  ye  people,  give  thanks  to  the  Lord. 
Alleluias  ol  ireedom,  wllh  Joyful  accord- 
Let  the  East  and  the  West,  North  and   South,  roll 

Sea,  mountain  and  prairie,  one  thanksgiving  song. 

Chorus  after  each  terse — 
Give  thanks,  all  ye  people,  give  thanks  to  the  Lord. 
Alleluias  of  freedom,  with  joyful  accord. 

For  the  sunshine  and  rainfall,  enriching  again. 
Our  acres  in  myriads  with  treasures  of  grain- 
For  the  earth  still  unloading  her  manifold  wealth, 
For   the   skies  beaming  vigor,  the  winds   breathing 
health.  B 

Give  thanks— 

For  the  nation's  wide  table,  o'ernowingly  spread, 
"Where  themany  have  feasted,  and  all  have  been  fed, 
With  no  bondage,  their  God-given  rights  to  enthrall, 
But  liberty  guarded  by  Justice  for  all. 

Give  thanks— 

In  the  realms  of  the  anvil,  the  loom,  and  the  plow, 
AVhose  the  mines  and  the  fields,  to  Him  gratefully  bow: 
His  the  flocks  and  the  herds,  sing  ye  hill-sides  and 

vales; 
On  His  ocean  domains  chant  His  name  with  the  gales. 
Give  thanks— 

Of  commerce  and  traffic,  ye  princes,  behold 
Your  riches  from  Him  whose  the  silver  aud  gold, 
Happier  children  of  labor,  true  lords  of  the  soil, 
Bless  the  Great  Master-Workman,  who  bleaseth  your 
toil. 

Give  thanks- 
Brave  men  of  our  forces,  Life-guard  of  our  coasts, 
To  your  Leader  be  loyal,  Jehovah  of  Hosts; 
Glow  the  Stripes  and  the  Stars  aye  with  victory  bright, 
Reflecting  His  glory— He  crowneth  the  Right. 

Give  thanks— 

Nor  shall  ye  through  our  borders,  ye  stricken  of  heart, 
Only  wailing  your  dead,  in  the  joy  have  no  part; 
God's  solace  be  yours,  and  for  you  there  shall  flow 
All  that  honor  and  sympathy's  gifts  can  bestow. 
Give  thanks — 

In  the  Domes  of  Messiah— ye  worshiping  throngs, 
Solemn  litanies  mingle  with  jubilant  songs; 
The  Ruler  of  Nations  beseeching  to  spare, 
And  our  Empire  still  keep  the  Elect  of  His  care. 
Give  thanks— 

Our  guilt  and  transgressions  remember  no  more; 
Teace,  Lord !  righteous  Ponce,  of  Thy  gift  we  implore; 
And  the  Banner  of  Union,  restored  by  Thy  liana, 
Be  the  Banner  of  Freedom  o'er  All  in  the  land. 
And  the  Banner  of  Union,  &c. 
Give  thanks. 


The  following  lines  were  ctraposed  by  Sergeant  Q. 
I.  Hyatt,  Co.  F,  147th  Pa.  Volrarteers,  atAoderson- 
viJe,  Ga.,  on  the  3st  of  January,  1865.  He  died  the 
next  day : 

THE    CRY    OP  THE    PRISONERS. 
When  our  country  called  for  men,  we  came  from 

forge  and  store  aa*  mill, 
From  workshop,  farm  and  factory,  the  broken  ranks 

to  fill; 
We  left  our  quiet  homes,  each  the  one  he  loved  so 

well, 
To  vanquish  all  our  Union  ioes,  or  fall  where  others 

fed; 
Now  in  the  prison  drear  we  languish,  with  this  our 

constant  cry, 
Oh!  >e  who  yet  can  save  us,  will  you  leavens  hero 

to  dre  f 

The  voice  of  slander  tells  you  that  our  hearts  are  weak 

with  fear, 
That  all  or  nearly  all  of  us  were  captured  in  the  rear; 
Tbe  scars  upon  our  bodies,  ftvm  ruusnet  ball  and 

shell,. 
The  missing  legs  and  shattered  arms  another  talo  will 

teh; 
We  have  tried  to  do  cur  duty  in  eight  of  God  on  high, 
Oh!  ve  who  yet  can  save  us,  will  you  leave  us  here  to 

die? 

There  are  hearts  with  hopes  still  beating  in  our  pleas- 
ant Nertbern  hon.es, 

WsiMng,  watching  tor  the  footsteps  that  may  never 
more  return : 

In  a  Southern  prison  pining,  meagre,  tattered,  pale 
and  gaunt, 

Growing  weaker,  weaker  daily  from  pinching  cold 
and  wai.t: 

There  broihf  rs,  sons  and  husbands,  poor  and  helpless 
capti  red  he, 

Oh!  je  who  yet  can  s*ve  us,  will  you  leave  us  here  to 
die? 

Just  outside  our  prisan  gate,  is  a  graveyard  near  at 
band. 

Where  lie  fifieen  thc-usand  Uaicn  mon,  beneath  the 
Georgia  sand; 

Scores  and  scores  are  laid  beside  as  day  succeeds  to 
day, 

And  thus  it  shall  be  ever,  'till  the  last  shall  pass  away, 

Ana  tie  lust  shall  say  when  d/ing,  with  uplifted,  gla- 
zing ere — 

Both  faith  aud  love  are  dead  at  home,  they  'vo  left  us 
here  to  die! 


Till  raging  tierce  aud  raging  long, 
Rebellion  falters,  Right  grows  strong, — 
And  royal  rings  the  shout  on  high, 
"Advance!  aoVance!  the  traitors  fly! 
On  With  the  flag!-' 

No  bivouac  now,  but  armor  set, 
And  hands  that  clench  the  If  ay  net : 
For  men  who  ii.;l.t  and  men  who  fall. 
In  tli  Me  rough  'lav-  of  shell  and  ball, 
Must  siive  the  fliig. 

Heroes  ol  victories  double  score! 
►Ob  ii-ou-handed  conqueror! 

Thou  hast  our  sons',  our  brothers'  blood, 
And  prayers  of  loyal  womanhood.— 
Oil,  down  though  wilderness  and  flood, 
Lead  on  the  dig! 


W: 


Special  ffaikes. 


The  Traxsfigi  NATION  of  Memory. —  As 
there  was  an  hoar  when  the  fishermen  of  Galilee 
saw  their  Master  transfigured,  his  raiment  white 
and  glistening,  and  his  face  like  the  light,  so  are 
there  hours  when  our  whole  mortal  life  stands 
forth  in  celestial  radiance.  From  our  daily  lot 
falls  off  every  weed  of  care,  from  our  heart-friends 
every  speck  and  stain  of  earthly  infirmity.  Our 
horizon  widens,  and  blue,  and  amethyst,  and  gold 
touch  every  object  Absent  friends,  gone  on  the 
last  journey,  stand  once  more  together,  bri 


A  TRUE  SENSATION  STORY. 

Ho  had  done  the  deed. 

But  little  did  he  guess  that  the  eye  of  an  intel- 
'  ligent  potato  in  the  next  field  was  upon  him. 

The  potato  poured  the  dreadful  story  into  the 
ear  of  the  corn,  which  let  out  the  secret  in  its  (s) 
stalk,  and  though  1  am  bound  to  add  that  the 


J»t 

wirii  an  immortal  glow,  and,  like  the  disciples  who    corn   was   cut,  after  thus  betraying  confidence, 

saw  their  Master  floating  in  the  clouds  above  '■  n„  .*-»_  „ni.   „:„ a    „„j  *i  i 

them,  we   say,    "Lord,  if  to  good  to  be  here!"  j  the  story  got  wind,  and  the  cucumber  was  in  a 

How  fair  the  wife,  the  husband,  the  absent  moth-  j  most  distressed  frame  of  mind  in  consequence. 

cr,    the     gray-haired    father,    and    the    manly         m.     _„i__;i  „,„«,  „,T„„i.„i ^     •     .  •  ■■ 

sou,  the  bright-eyed  .laughter!   Seen  in  the  actual  ;       The  culPnt  was  overtaken  by  justice  and  sev- 

present,  all  have  some  fault,  some  flaw;  but  ab-  i  eral  scarlet  runners,  and  brought  before  a  justice 

sent,  we  see  them  in  their  permanent  and  better      p  . . 

selves.     Of  onr  distant  home  we  remember  not  a  peas. 

dark  day,  not  one  servile  care,  nothing  but  the        The    case  was  investigated   to  the  very  roots, 

echo  of  its  holy   hvmns -and  the  radiance  of  its         -,.,  ..  -  ...,.,  c    Bhoes  and  stockings,  to  be  exposed  to  the  caze  of 

bright  day— of  our  father,  not  one  hasty  word,    and  lhe  potato  was,  of  course,  principal  witness  >    the  passengers.  b 

The  detectives  were  on  the  alert,  and  at  the 
first  station  this  side  of  the  river  where  several  of 
the  possessors  of  the  passive  juveniles  left  the 
train,  one  of  the  officers  politely  requested  per- 
mission of  a  lady  to  hold  her  'rbab.r'  while  she 


Whiskey  Smuggling  ovebthe  Canadian 
Border— Capacious  Babies.— The  commis- 
sioner of  customs,  who  has  recently  been  making 
every  effort  to  suppress  the  extensive  sinuggMni 
operations  which  for  a  long  time  have  been  goin^ 
on  along  the  Canada  frontier,  has  received  inteP 
ligence  from  the  revenue  detectives  stationed 
there  that  they  have  just  detqajed  an  ingenious 
tcheme  tor  conveying  whiskey  from  Canada  to 
the  United  States. 

The  attention  of  the  officers  was  first  attracted 
by  the  extraordinary  number  of  women  and 
babies  on  a  railroad  train  bound  to  the  United 
States,  and  their  suspicions  were  aroused  from 
the  fact  that  out  of  32  "blessed  babies"  but  two 
gave  evidence  ol  the  irrepressible  animation 
peculiar  to  juveniles.  The  "mothers,"  likewise 
seemed  especially  anxious  to  screen  their  little 
innocent's  heads  from  prying  curiositv,  folding 
them  closely  to  their  breasts,  and  permitting 
only  the  neat  little  feet  and  legs,  encased  in  tiny 


but  only  the  fullness  of  his  manly  vigor  and  noble    for  the  prosecution. 

tenderness — of   our  mother,   nothing  of   mortal 

weakness,  but  a  glorified  form  of  love — of  our 

broihcr,  not    one    teasing,    provoking   word    of 

brotherly  freedom,  but  the  proud  beauty  of  his 

noblest  hours — of  our  sister,  our  child,  only  what 

is  fairest  and  sweetest. — Mm-Stmee. 


Wouldst  know,  O,  reader,  the  wretched  man's 
guilt?  * 

He  had  shed  the  blood  of  a  turnip,  little  ex- 
pecting it  would  turn  up  in  evidence  against 
him. 

He  was  executed,  of  course,  the  mode  of  execu- 
tion, decapitation,  in  order  to  sever  the  carrot-ed 
artery. 

He  is  now  a  dead  beat. 


Saturday  IVigUt. 

How  many  a  kiss  has  been  given — how  ma- 
ny a  curse — how  many  a  caress,  how  many  a 
look  of  hate — how  many  a  kind  word — how 
many  a  promise  has  been  broken — how  many 
a  heart  has  been  wrecked — how  many  a  soul 
lost — how  many  a  loved  one  lowered  into  the 
narrow  chamber — how  many  a  babe  has  gone 
from  earth  and  heaven — how  many  a  little  crib 
Or  cradle  stands  silent  now,  which  last  Satur- 
day night  held  the  rarest  of  all  treasures  of 
the  hearts. 

A  week  is  a  life.  A  week  is  a  history.  A 
week  marks  events  of  sorrow  or  gladness  which 
people  never  heard.     Go  home  to  your  family, 


r<c 


Benefactions  to  Literature  in  America. 
The  last  number  of  the  Congregational  Quar- 
terly contains  a  list  of  the  personal  gifts — not  in- 
cluding grants  of  land  and  Slate  appropriations — 
which  have  been  made  within  the  past  five  years 
to  our  American  colleges,  theological  seminaries, 
academies,  scientific  societies,  education  generally, 
and  public  libraries. 

From  this  it  appears  that  our  colleges  have  re- 
ceived $8,858,000;  our  theological  seminaries, 
$1,359,500;  our  academies,  $1,850,000;  our  scien- 


tific societies,  $540,000 ;  education  generally,  $2,- 
man  of  business !  Go  home,  you  heart  erring    220,000;  libraries,  $385,000 ;  making  a  grand  total 


wanderer !  Go  home,  to  the  cheer  that  awa 
you,  wronged  waif  on  life's  breakers  !  Go  home 
to  those  you  love,  man  of  toil,  and  give  one 
night  to  joy  and  comforts  fast  flying  by !  Leave 
your  books  with  complex  figures — your  dirty 
shop — your  busy  store!  Best  with  those  you 
love  ;  for  God  only  knows  Avhat  the  next  Satur- 
day* night  will  bring  you  !  Forget  the  world  of 
care  and  battles  with  life  that  haTe  furrowed 
the  week !  Draw  close  around  the  family  hearth ! 
Saturday  night  has  waited  your  coming,  in  sad- 
ness, in  tears,  and  in  silence. 

Go  home  to  those  you  love,  and  as  you  bask 
in  the  loved  presence,  and  meet  to  return  the 
loved  embraced  of  your  heart's  pets,  strive  to 
be  a  better  man,  and  bless  God  for  giving  his 
weary  children  so  dear  a  stepping  stone  in  the 
river  to  the  Eternal,  as  Saturday  night. 


of  personal  gifts  to  general  education  purposes, 
in  five  years,  of  fifteen  millions,  two  hundred 
and  twelve  thousand  five  hundred  dollars — $15,- 
212,500!  We  are,  doubtless,  as  generally  report- 
ed, a  money-loving,  money-making  people;  given 
to  business,  and  also  to  show;  worshippers  of  the 
"almighty  dollar,"  either  for  itself  or  for  what  it 
will  do  for  us  and  ours ;  yet  where  on  earth  can 
be  found  such  another  record  of  personal  bene- 
factions to  the  cause  of  sound  learning — collegi- 
ate, theological,  academic,  scientific  and  general  / 
— as  is  furnished  by  this  record  of  American  gen- 
erosity? 

Silks  to    be  more  Costly. — The  London 
//  Pali  Mall  Gazette  says: 

(■*-         "Tho  silk  hrmvlmv!  nf  1 


The  silk  breeders  of  France  are,  we  are  told, 

in  a  position  of  the  greatest  distress.    A  strange 

disease,  which  has  reappeared  among  the  worms 

Sifi-odnpw   af'Toavs  from  time  to  time— notably  in  1688  and  1710- 

aau  iuna.*!»   OI    iwis.  has,  since  1860,  recommenced  its  ravages,  till  the 

There    is  a   sacredness    in   tears.      They  are  price  of  seed  has  risen  ten  fold,  and  the  demand 

int   thp    mark    of  weakness     but   of   novver tor  millbenT  leaves  has  so  iallen  off  that  the 

101  tne    marK    oi   weakness,    out   oi    power. —  planters  threaten  to  cut  down  the  trees  and  use 

rhey  speak  more  eloquently  than  ten  thousand  the  lands  for  some  more  profitable  cultivation. 

oneues.     They   are  the   messengers   of  over-  The  disease  shows  itfslf,  according  to  a  petition 

,  °,     .  .    r     ~    ,  .  -.-  r  i      analyzed   in  the  China  Telegraph,  just  as  the 

vhelming  grief  of  deep  contrition,  ol  unspeak-  worm  is  about  to  begin  the  cocoon,  so  that  the 
ible  love.  If  there  were  wanting  any  argument  breeder  has  the  trouble  of  rearing  for  nothing, 
o  prove  that  man  is  not  mortal,  I  would  look  ^£SfS5^  J^  %*t 
or  it  in  the  strong  conclusive  emotions  ol  the  that  the  only  seed  which  can  be  trusted  is  that 
ireast,  when  the  soul  has  been  deeply  agitated,  from  Japan,  and  the  breeders  thereof  pray  the 

,         V,     i.        .    •  c  c    l-  •  •  i   state  to  aid  them  by  bringing  home  their  supplies 

vlien  the  fountains  of  feelings  are  rising,  and  in  men.of.War.  It  seems  probable  that  this  request 
vhen  tears  are  gushing  fortli  in  crystal  will  be  gran  ted,  and  also  that  the  evil  which  has 
itreams.  O,  speak  not  harshly  of  the  stricken  sPread  through  all  silk-growing  countries,  except 
.    '    r      .,  i      T,       l  .1       j         Japan,  is  not  temporary,  but  may  last  as  long  as 

me,  weeping  in  silence  !  Break  not  the  deep  the  potato  rot  and  the  odium.  The  real  obstacle 
solemnity  by   rude   laughter,  or   intrusive  foot-  to  silk-growing  seems  to  be  the  slow  growth  of 

■tpns      TVsnisP   not   woman's   tears thev'aro  ««  mulberry.    The  worms  will  live  and  work  in 

.teps.  Uespise  not  woman  s  tears— iney  are  moSt  countrieSj  but  they  want  mulberry  leaves, 
vhat  made  her  an  angel.  Scoff  not  if  the  stern  and  nobody  is  willing  to  p-  at  orchards  which 
leart  of  manhood  is  sometimes  melted  to  tears'*™"1  tf°t  ^o™  to  beaaMOTtlv-e-and-twenty  years. 

r  .         .,  ,     .    ,    l      *        i       *  J  It  would  be  fto  matter,  oi  surprise  if  silk  in  the 

)f  sympathy— they  are  what  help  to  elevatel  uextgeieradon  became  as  costly  asunder  the  Ko- 
aun  above  the  brute.  I  love  to  see-  tears  otiunatf  empire1,  and  a  Silk  dress  as  complete  a  test  of 
iffection.     They    are    painful  tokens,  but    still!  wealth  as  it  wo^vokundrig  years  ago." 


nost    holy.      There   is    pleasure   in   tears— ^n 
lwful   pleasure  !     If  there   were  none  on  earth' 
to  shed  a  tear   for  me,  I  should  be  loth  to  live  ; 
ind   if  no  one  might  weep   over  my   grave,  I 
;ould  never  die  in  peace. — Dr.  Johnson. 


+  m 


;* 


Never  wait  for  a  thing  to  turn  up 
turn  it  up  yourself, 
sure  to  be  done. 


Go  and 


alighted.  Struck  with  the  unusual  weight  of  the 
infant,  and  the  excessive  solicitude  of  the  moth- 
er, the  officer  commenced  an  investigation,  and 
on  removing  the  wrappings  discovered  that  the 
interior  was  a  tin  case,  fashioned  after  the  simil- 
itude of  a  veritable  baby,  filled  with  from  three 
to  five  gallons  of  whisky. 

A  general  descent  was  at  once  made  on  the 
bogus  mammas,  resulting  in  the  arrest  of  about 
thirty  and  the  securing  of  over  one  hundred  gal- 
lons of  old  rye.— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

The  Old  Oaken  Bucket.  The  following 
reminiscence  of  Samuel  Woodworth  possesses 
sufficient  interest,  we  think,  to  warrant  us  in 
presenting  it  to  our  readers.  It  is  a  portion  of 
a  private  letter  recently  received  from  one 
whose  authority  in  the  matter  cannot  be  ques- 
tioned. In  reference  to  the  period  of  the  pro- 
duction of  the  "Old  Oaken  Bucket,"  the  writer 
says  :  "It  was  written  in  the  spring  or  sum- 
mer of  1817.  The  family  were  living  at  the 
time  in  Duane  street.  The  poet  came  home  to 
dinner  one  very  warm  day,  having  walked 
from  his  office,  somewhere  near  the  foot  of 
Wall  street.  Being  much  heated  with  the 
exercise,  he  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of 
water — New  York  pump  water, — and  drank  it 
at  a  draught,  exclaiming,  as  he  replaced  the 
tumbler  on  the  table,  "that  is  very  refreshing, 
but  how  much  more  refreshing  would  it  be  to 
take  a  good  long  draught,  this  warm  day,  from 
the  old  oaken  bucket  I  left  hanging  in  my 
father's  well  at  home !"  Hearing  this,  the 
poet's  wife,  who  was  always  a  suggestive 
body,  said,  <Selim,  why  wouldn't  that  be  a 
pretty  subject  for  a  poem  ?'  The  poet  took 
the  hint,  and  under  the  inspiration  of  the 
moment,  sat  down  and  poured  out  from  his 
very  soul  those  beautiful  lines  which  have 
immortalized  the  name  of  Woodworth." 

Home  Journal. 

The  Mammoth  Army  Bakery. — We  first 
visited  flic  vault  under  the  rotunda,  which  is  used 
as  a  store-room  for  the  immense  quantity  of  flour 
which  is  daily  being  received.  The  wagons  are 
constantly  kept  brfsy  delivering  their  loads  under 
the  eastern  portico,  from  whence  the  barrels  are 
rolie  1  into  the  vault.  Whenever  the  Hour  is  need- 
ed it  is  slided  down  to  the  floor  below.  The 
amount  of  flour  constantly  in  this  room  is  between 
four  and  eight  thousand  barrels.  Retracing  our 
steps,  we  came  again  to  the  vicinity  of  the  foun- 
tain, where,  we  found  eight  ovens  in  full  opera- 
tion, turning  out  about  20,000  loaves  of  bread 
every  twenty-four  hours.  The  bread  is  of  the  best 
quality,  and  each  loaf  weighs  22  ounces.  There 
are  40  bakers  employed  at  these  ovens,  who  have 
on  one  or  two  occasions,  when  pressed,  run  out 
24,000  loaves  per  day.  Adjacent  to  these  ovens 
are  two  rooms,  one  on  each  side  of  the  entrance, 
from  which  the  bread  is  delivered.  It  may  not  be 
uninteresting  to  know  the  form  in  use.  When  the 
requisition  is  sent  by  a  quartermaster  to  the  sub- 
sistence department  at  the  post-office  for  the  ra- 
tions for  his  regiment,  an  order  is  drawn  for  the 
bread  on  Lieut  Cate,  to  whom  the  driver  of  the 
wagon  presents  it,  and  is  furnished  with  a  ticket, 
which  is  handed  in  at  the  delivery  window,  and 
the  bread  is  forthwith  passed  out  on  smooth 
boards  to  the  wagons.  The  mess  room  and  the 
kitchen  is  also  on  this  floor,  and  the  bauds,  to  the  J 
number  of  160,  here  take  their  meals.  This  depart- t- 
ncnt  is  superintended  by  Mr  Levi  M.  Pierce,  for- 
merly of  the  8ih  Massachusetts  regiment,  and  the 
cleanly  appearance  observable,  as  well  as  the  well-  , 
catered  meals  set  out,  tfive  indisputable  evidence 
that  hg  "can  keep  a  hotel." 

Outside  of  the  building,  in  the  vaults  heretofore 
used  for  the  stowing  of  fuel,  we,  find  six  double- 
sized  ovens  built,  employing  ten  bakers  each,  and 
capable  orturning  out  40,000  loaves  per  day,  but 
at  present  averaging  about  80,000.  Near  by  are  tW(    • 


°  L 

H    W 


.      •  !       ill   pi\>i]Villl   <*   1   V  »  "-.->»  >'^,    »""Ul   *-»'.' j  WV»       -i'  VrtW      'J  J      UHj    I'll 

It  takes  less  time  ami  is  ;  other  roo,„Sj  ,„  which  eight  men  are  constantly 
employed   in   making  yeast,  of  which  about  four- 
teen hundred  and  fifty  gallons  is  made  per  day. 
Washington  IhpubUcan. 


§   =3 


I—*- 


—3JWirTiiM„> 


— 


The  Arctic  Night  is  thus  described  by  Dr. 
Hayes:  "The  darkness  of  the  night  cannot  be 
appreciated  by   any    unless   personally  experi-  j 
encing  it.     It  is  darkness  that  can  be  felt.  Al-  i 
though  no  effect  seemed  to  be  produced  on  the 
physical  faculties,  it  was  a  severe  strain  on  the 
mental.     Repose    is     withdrawn.     The    desire 
for  sleep  gives  place  to   an  intense  longing  for 
light.     The  heart  yearns  for  new   companion- 
ship :  any  thing  but  the  same  stern  darkness.    / 
The  silence    eo   dreary  and   profound  becomes  . 
at  last  a  terror,  yet  one  which,    however  terri- 
bly it   haunted,   must  stUl  be   endured.     The 
scene  at   times  is   grand  beyond    description  ; 
the  mountain  peaks  stand  out  m  all  their  cold 
distinctness  ;  the   stars   even,    seem    to  pierce 
sharply    through    the    clear    sky;  the    moon's 
clear  light  sends  a  chill  of  discomfort.     Noth- 
ing seems  to  blend,    but  on    the  contrary,   ev- 
erything   stands   out  abruptly    and    distinct. 
The  quiet  that  everywhere  reigns  is  terrible  in 
itself.     The  mind   can  find    no   rest,  but  wan- 
ders out  inta  the   vast  space  to    escape  present    , 
scenes  and   hnd  something  to  cling   to.     The 
constellations   so    familiar    at    home  have  lost  j 
their    charm  ;  the   Pleades   their   softness;  no 
footfall  gladdens  the  ear  ;  no  wild    beast  even, 
breaks  the  stillness.     Silence  has  ceased  to   be 
negative,  it  stands  as  a  frightful  spectre  ;    it  is 
^unendurable,  and  the  foot  thrust  into  the  snow 
to  relieve  the  calm,  causes  a  start   almost   of 
fear." 


A  XOVEL    MODE  OF  REFORM. 
We  find  the  following  in  one  of  our  English 


A  Novel  Pictuke  of  a  New  England 
SrJMMEB  was  given  by  UufusChoate,  than  whom 
no  man  was  more  capable  of  making  language 
do  Che  work  of  the  pencil.  His  description, 
which  we  quote  below,  will  be  admired  Cor  its 
fidelity  and  grace  in  the  grouping  of  the  facts — 
and  the  idea  it  was  use.)  to  enforce,  that  irregu- 
larity is  not  ruin,  that  prosperity  may  abound, 
and  a  rich  growth  flourish  amidst  vicissitudes, 
was  certainly  illustrated  in  the  happiest  man.' 
n  er: 

"Take  the  New  England  climate  in  summer; 
you  would  think  the  world  was  coming  to  an 
end.  Certain  recent  heresies  on  that  subject 
may  have  had  a  natural  origin  there.  Cold  to- 
day; hot  to-morrow;  mercury  at  80  degrees  in 
the  morning  with  wind  at  southeast.and  iu  three 
hours  more  a  sea-turn,  with  wind  at  east,  and  a 
thick  fog  from  the  very  bottom  of  the  ocean,  and 
a  fall  of  40  degrees  of  Fahrenheit.  Now  so  dry- 
as  to  kill  all  the  beans  in  New  Hampshire;  then 
floods  carrying  off  the  bridges  of  the  Penobscot 
and  Connecticut;  snow  in  Portsmouth  in  July, 
and  the  next  day  a  man  and  a  yoke  of  oxen  kill- 
ed by  lightning  in  Rhode  Island.  You  would 
think  the  world  was  twenty  times  coming  to  an 
end.  But  I  don't  know  how  it  is;  we  go  along; 
the  early  an  flatter  rains  fall  each  in  its  season; 
seed  time  and  harvest  do  not  fail ;  the  60  days  of 
hot  corn  weather  are  pretty  sure  to  be  measured 
out  to  us.  The  Indian  summer  with  its  bland 
southwest  wind  and  mitigated  sunshine  bring 
all  up,  and  on  the  25th  of  November  or  therea- 
bouts, being  Thursday,  the  millions  of  grateful 
people  in  meeting  houses  or  around  the  family 
board,  give  thanks  for  a  year  of  health,  plenty 
and  happiness." 


Intelligent  Sympathy. — The  Americans  in 
exchanges,  which  is  apt  and  suggestive   to-day    Geneva,  Switzerland,  celebrated  the  Fourth  of 


and  in  this  country  : — 

A  merchant  in  London  had  a  dispute  Avith  a 
Quaker  respecting  the  settlement  of  an  ac- 
count.    The  merchant  was  determined  to  bring 

e  accodfe^hto  court,  a  proceeding  which  tin 
akerelraPily  deprecated,  using  every  ar- 
gument in  his  power  to  convince  the  merchant 
of  his  ercor ;  but  the  latter  was  inflexible. 
Desirous  to  make  a  last  ell'ort,  the  Quakei 
called  at  his  house  one  morning,  and  inquired 
of  the    servant   if   his   master    was  at  home. 


^July  in  company  with  many  of  the  distinguish- 
ed friends  of  civil  and  religious  liberty  residing 
<at  that  intelligent  capital.  Count  de  Gasparin, 
'who  had  been  invited  to  be  present,  responded 
by  telegraph  and  by  letter,  expressing  his  cordial 
sympathy  with  the  feeling  which  that  day  in- 
spirei  in  the  hearts  of  all  true  Americans,  and 
adding:  "In  any  event,  you  know  how  dear  to 
ine  are  the  destinies  of  your  great  country.  Has- 
ten to  complete  the  work  begun — the  equality  of 


Summer,  Travel.  At  the  Church  of  the 
Unity,  in  Worcester,  Rev.  Mr  Shippen  re- 
cently preached  a  discourse  on  "Summer 
Travel,"  in  which  he  compared  a  summer's 
trip  to  the  journey  of  life.  Enforcing  the 
need  of  an  occasional  period  of  rest,  which  is 
most  beneficial  when  united  with  change  of 
scene  and  occupation,  he  gave  a  series  of  valu- 
able hints  to  tourists,  of  both  practical  and 
,;noTal  significance,  presenting  the  follv  of 
making  himself  a  freight  agent  with  his  stock 
0(  unnecessary  baggage,  and  showing  how 
wealth  may  be  an  impediment  to  summer  en- 
joyment, requiring,  as  it  often3  does,  so  much 
care  for  what  is  left  behind,  and  so  much 
anxiety  for  the  amount  taken ;  the  danger 
that  thought  for  the*outward  man  and  woman 
shall  usurp  that  high  mental  enjoyment  which 
should  accompany  summer-travel,  at  once  ele- 
vating the  soul  and  re-creating  the  body  ;  and  ■ 
urging  upon  tourists  the  importance  of  cher-  " 
ishing  a  hospitality  of  heart,  which,  instead  of 
seeking  for  causes  for  peevishness  and  discon- 
tent, is  always  ready  to  perceive  beauty  in  na-  . 
ture  and  excellence  in  man.  It  is  good  to  get 
out  of  the  ruts  of  every-day  life;  to  enlarge' 
our  spiritual  vision  by  new  scenes  and  new  ' 
experiences.  It  is  good  for  us,  although  hu-  : 
miliating,  to  see  how  little  we  are  missed,  how 
the  world  goes  on  without  us  ;  and  to  take  a 
view  of  .life  from  some  high  summit  where  the 
little  things  that  seem,  great  in  our  existence, 
sink  to  their  real  insignificance.  Always  we 
should  remember  that  wherever  we  go,  to 
Europe,  or  to  the  world  to  corrre,  we  shall 
only  find  what  we  take  with  us. —  Christian 
Register. 


yche  races  and  the  equality  of  the  states.  The  day 
The  merchant  bearing  the  inquiry,  and  know      on  which  your  Congress  shall  declare  general   / 
ing  the  voice,  called  out  from  the  top  of  the     suffrage  and  general  amnesty,  I  shall  not  be  the 


last  to  applaud. 

The  venerable  Merle  D'Aubigne,  the  historian 
of  the  reformation,  responded  in  person.    He  is 

'now  seventy  years  of  age,  with  long  white  locks 
hanging  to  his  shoulders,  with  a  r  )bnst  physique, 

/and  a  clear,  strong,  and  impressive  enunciation. 

'In  face  as  in  person  he  is  described  as  bearing 
resemblauce  to  the  late  Daniel  Webster.  His 
eyes  are  not  quite  so  cavernous  and  piercing,  nor 
are  his  features  so  regularly  cut;  but  he  has  the 


stairs  : — 

"Tell  that  rascal  I  am  not  at  home." 

The  Quaker,  looking  up  to  him,  calmly  said, 
"Well,  friend,  God  put  thee  in  a  better 
mind." 

The  merchant,    struck  afterwards  with  the 
meekness  of  the  reply,   and  having  more  de- 
I  liberately  investigated  the  matter,  became  con- 
vinced that  the  Quaker  was  right  and  he  was 
I  wrong.     He  requested  to  see  him,  and  after 
acknowledging  his  error,  he  said  : — 

"I  have  one  question  to  ask  you  ;  how  were  same.portly  frame,  the  same  big  head,  the  same 
you  able,  with  such  patience,  on  various  occa-  expressive  and  eloquent  lips.  He  spoke  extcm- 
sions  to  bear  my  abuse  P"  poraneously,  partly  in   French    and   partly  in 

'Friend,"  replied  the  Quaker,  "I  will  tell  rEna-Unh.  and  closed  as  follows: 
thee.  I  was  naturally  as  hot  and  violent  as 
tliou  art.  I  knew  that  to  indulge  this  temper 
was  sinful,  and  I  found  it  was  imprudent.  I 
found  that  men  in  a  passion  always  spoke  loud, 
and  I  thought  if  I  controlled  my  voice  I  should 
repress  my  passion.  I  have,  then-fore,  made 
it  a  rule  never  to  let  my  voice  rise  above  a  cer- 
tain key,  and,  by  a  careful  observation  of  this 
rule,  I  have,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  entirely 
mastered  my  natural  temper. " 

The  Quaker  reasoned  philosophically,  and 
the  merchant,  as  every  one  else  may  do,  bene- 
fited by  his  example. 


¥ 


Live  for  Goon. — Thousands  of  men 
breathe,  move  and  live,  pass  off  the  stage  of  life  ' 
and  arc  heard  of  no  more.  Why  1  They  did 
not  see  a  particle  of  good  in  the  world,  and 
none  were  blessed  by  them  as  instruments  of 
their  redemption  ;  not  a  word  they  spoke  could 


The  IiirEKiAL  Stables.— The  Prussian  King 
paid  a  special  visit  to  the  imperial  stables  while 
in  Paris.  These  stables  contain  three  hundred 
horses,  of  which  two  hundred  arc  carriage,  seven- 
ty saddle  and  uiuety  post  horses.  There  are 
one  hnudred  and  fifty  carriages  of  all 
kinds,  and  an  immense  number  of  employees, 
who  are  all  ruled  by  a  quartermaster,  and  are 
BSparately  classified  as  carriage  outriders,  saddle 
outriders,  Daumont  outriders,  coachmen,  postil- 
ions, groom,  express  couriers,  courrier  en  chef ', 
scouts,  harness  makers,  saddlers  and  marshals. 
The  stalls  for  the  horses  are  made  of  carved  oak. 
All  the  inmates  may  read  their  baptismal  names 
(those  who  know  boAv),  written  on  a  medallion 
placed  above  their  heads,  and  surrounded  by  the 
Imperial  crown — nhdef  their  feet  is  a  litter  well 
furnished,  yellow  as  saffron,  strewn  over  a  mat 
whose  borders,  woven  and  regular,  extend  the 
entire  breadth  of  the  alley.  The  flooring  is 
i  a  resistant  bitumen,  designed  in  Iojs- 
each  stamped  with  a  spread  eagle.  The 
drains  and  metallic  equipments  of  the  stalls  and 
mangers  are  all  of  copper  or  steel,  and  shine 
like  carbuncles.  Imagine  (at  least  for  the  day  of 
al  visitation)  a  bright  sunshine  streamim 


be  reached,  and  so    they    perished,  their    light     obliquely  upon  the  ttlOBs'y  hacks  of  the   horses, 

-  .  neighing  attd  pawing  the  lioorwith  their  boefVj 

driukinii'  from  troughs  and  fountains  liilud  with 


-i>» i  1  r    '•  ■'■' 

mav  have 
Sect  of  th 


Sweetening  one's  eolfee  is 


went  out  iu  darkness,  and  they  were  not  re 
membcrcd  more  than  the  insects  of  yesterday. 
Will  you  thus  live  and  die,  0  man  immortal  ! 
Live  for  something.  Do  good  and  leave  be- 
hind you  a  monument  of  virtue  that  time  can 
never  destroy.  Write  your  name  in  kindness, 
love  and  mercy  on  the  hearts  of  thousands  you  dirst  stirring  event  of  the  day 
come  in  contact  with,  year  by  year.and  you  will 

never  be   forgotten.    No;    your    name,   your      Few   men   Know   enou 
deeds  will  he  as  legible  on  the  hearts  you  leave  they  know  but  little, 
behind,  as  stars  on   the   brow   ot  the   evening. 
Good  deeds  will  shine  as   brightly  on   the  earth 
as  the  stars  of  heaven. 


iti  full    lit 
g  jfltlnd  fro,  and 

d%al!an;    aw- 


'-•*4  /-  'ttirjp 
generally 


the 


b      to   know  that 


We  grow  old  more  from   indolence  than 
from  old  age. 


What  one  Glass  of  Wine  Did.— The  influ- 
ence which  an  apparently  insignificant  circum- 
stance often  exerts  on  the  affairs  of  life,  was  well 
illustrated  in  the  history  of  Louis  Phillippc,  who 
was  heir  apparent  to  his  father's  throne,  and 
regarded  as  one  of  the  most  promising  young 
men  in  France,  Not  given  to  dissipation,  of  a 
lofty  and  noble  character,  and  an  officer  of  dis- 
tinction in  the  army,  the  hopes  of  his  family, 
and  his  country  were  centered  in  him.  One 
morning,  being  about  to  take  his  departure 
from  Paris  to  join  his  regiment,  he  mvited 
a  few  companions  to  breakfast  with  him, 
and  in  the  conviviality  of  the  hour  drank  one 
glass  too  much.  Bidding  adieu  to  his  compan- 
ions he  stepped  into  his  carriage.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  "glass  too  much"  he  would  have 
remained  seated;  as  it  was  he  sprang  out.  But 
for  the  "glass  too  much"  he  would  alighted  on 
his  feet;  as  it  was,  his  head  struck  the  pavement. 
Senseless  and  bleeding,  he  was  carried  into  a  beer 
shop  and  soon  expired. 

That  extra  glass  of  wine  overthrew  the  Or- 
leans dynasty,  caused  the  confiscation  of  their 
property  worth  $100,000,000,  and  drove  the 
family  into  exile. 

The  Female  Cif  t  of  Rlorniiig-call-oquy 

as  exercised  in  the  fashionable  world : — 

"  Perhaps  it  is  this  power  of  attending  to  two 
thiugs  at  once,  when  to  all  appearance  they  are 
engaged  with  hut  one,  which  adds  to  the  difficulty 
we  have  in  understanding  women,  of  knowing 
what  they  would  be  at,  as  the  saying  is.  For 
after  we  have  spent  hours  in  weighing  every 
word  they  have  addressed  to  us,  after  we  hate 
reoalled  every  gesture,  every  look,  till  at  last  we 
have  imagined  we  have  quite  discovered  their 
meaning,  we  find,  on  returning  to  the  subject, 
that  every  word,  every  gesture,  may  be  inter- 
preted quite  differently ;  and,  like  M.  Karr,  we 
are  forced  to  exclaim,  ■  They  either  meant  that, 
or  something  just  the  reverse !' 

"  If  Albert  Smith,  in  his  next  account  of  the 
ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,  would  manage  to  intro- 
duce such  a  sermon  against  '  morning  calls  '  as 
he  did  last  year  against  crochet-work,  that  re- 
source, as  he  rightly  termed  it,  of  idiotic  idle- 
ness, we  should  look  upon  him  in  the  light  of  a 
true  benefactor  of  man  and  womankind.  There 
has  always  been  something  exceedingly  mysteri- 
ous to  us  about  this  femalo  observance;  it  is  a 
rito  which  all  exclaim  against,  but  which,  never- 
theless, all  are  most  careful  to  perform  at  certain 
stated  periods,  which  we  believe  are  strictly  laid 
down.  ^  When  one  of  these  periods  arrives,  the 
female*  worshipper  seta  out,  attired  in  her  best, 
with  car&Voase  in  hand,  which  card-case  she  says 
she  devoutly  hopes  may  be  empty  by  the  time 
she  has  finished  her  'round.'  For,  according 
to  her,  there  is  nothing  she  fears  so  much  as 
4#»find  any  of  her  friends  '  at  home.'  We  have 
often  wondered  that  if  such  be  the  case,  a  servant 
should  not  be  sent  to  leave  his  mistress'  cards  at 
the  houses  of  her  various  acquaintances,  and  so 
save  her  the  trouble  of  dressing,  and  the  annoy- 
ance of  finding  any  of  her  friends  too  scrupulous 
to  say,  '  Not  at  home ;'  for  we  understand  that 
those  called  upon  have  as  much  dislike  to  receiv- 
ing visiters  as  to  making  visits.  But  for  some 
inscrutable  cause  or  other,  it  seems  that  the  rito 
must  be  performed  in  person." 


£  p 


O    B 

3  1 


3    S* 


5  a* 

§  S" 
*}  3 


NEARER  HOME, 
©ne  sweetly  solemn  thought 

Comes  to  me  o'er  anil  o'er; 
I  arn  nearer  home  to-day 

Than  I  ever  have  been  before) 

Nearer  my  Father's  house. 
Where  the  many  mansions  be; 

Nearer  the  great  white  throne. 
Nearer  the  crystal  sea: 

Nearer  the  bound  of  life, 

Where  we  lay  our  burdens  down; 
Nearer  leaving  the  cross. 

Nearer  gaining  the  crpwn!    * 

But  lying  darkly  between, 

Winding  doyn  through  the  night, 
Is  the  silent,  unknown  stream 

That  leads  at  last  to  the  light. 

Closer  and  closer  my  steps 
Come  to  the  dread  abysn; 

Closer  Death  to  my  lips 
Presses  the  awful  chrism. 

Oh,  If  my  mortal  feet 

Have  almost  gained  the  brink  ; 
If  it  be  I  am  nearer  home, 

Even  to-day  than  I  think ; 

Father,  perfect  my  trust ; 

Let  my  spirit  feel  in  dcajh 
That  her  feet  are  firmly  ses 

On  the  rock  of  a  living  faitb. 


1'erminus. 


BT    R.    W.   EMERSON. 


It  is  time  be  old,  ^v 
To  base  in  sail  ;— 


The  god  of  bounds, 

Who  sets  to  sois  a  shore, 
.Came  to  me  in  his  fatal  rounds, 
aid,  "No  more! 

No  further  spread 

:oad  ambitious  branches,  and  thy  root; 

A'aucy  departs :  no  more  iuveut, 
'  Contract  thy  firmament 

To  couipass'of  a  tent. 

There's  not  enough  for  this  and  that, 

Make  thy  option  which  of  two; 

Economize  the  failing  river, 

Not  the  less  ad-re  the  Oiver, 

-Leave  the  many  aid  hold  the  few. 
(Timely  wist-  accept  the  terms, 

.Soften  the  fall  with  wary  foot; 

A  little  while 

Btill  plan  and  smile, 

And,  fault  of  novel  terms. 

Mature  the  uufalleu  fruit. 

"Curse,  if  tuou  wilt,  thy  sires, 

Bad  husbands  of  their  fiies, 

Who,  when  they  pave  thee  breath, 

Faiied to  bequeath 

The  needful  smew  stark  as  once, 

The  Baresark  marrow  to  thy  bones,  > 

But  left  a  legacy  of  ebbing  veins, 

Inconstant  heat  and  nerveless  reins,— 

Amid  the  Muses,  left  thee  deaf  and  dumb, 

Amid  the  gladiators,  halt  and  numb." 

As  the  biid  trims  her  to  the  gale, 

I  trim  myself  to  the  storm  of  time, 

I  man  the  rudder,  reel  the  sail, 

Obey  the  voice  at  eve,  obeyeu  at  prime: 

"Lowly  faithful,  banish  tear,    ' 

Right  onward  drive  unharmed; 

'the  port,  well  worth  the  cruise,  is  near, 

And  every  wave  is  charmed." 


Our  Little  Friend. 

Our  little  friend  is  in  his  grave; 

The  sod  is  green  w'ith  April  rain; 
We  weep  for  him.     What  would  we  hava? 

To  him  at  least  our  loss  is  gain 

We  lose  the  hope  of  future  yoars— 
Our  child,  our  gallant  little  man  ; 

But  lie,  the  future's  paiu  and  tears. 
We  will  be  happy  if  we  can. 

Or,  il  not  happy,  still,  content - 
His  peace  should  solace  our  despair, 

God  takes  away  the  gem  he  lent 
To  set  it  with  the  star-beams  fair. 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  FUNERAL. 
I  saw  an  aged  man  upon  his  bier, 

His  hair  was  thin  and  white,  and  on  his  brow 
A  record  of   '.he  cares  of  many  a  year; — 

Cares  that  were  ended  and  forgotten  now. 
And  there  was  sadness  round,  and  faces  bowed, 
And  woman's  tears  fell  fast,  and  children  wailed  aloud. 

Then  rose  another  hoary  man  and  said, 
In  faltering  accents,  to  that  weeping  train, 

Why  mourn  ye  thai  our  aged  friend  is  dead? 
Ye  are  not  sad  to  see  the  gathered  grain, 

Nor  when  their  mellow  fruit  the  orchards  east. 

Nor  when  the  yellow  woods  shake  down  the  ripened  mast. 

Ye  sigh  not  when  the  sun,  his  course  fulfilled, 
His  glorious  course,  rejoicing  earth  and  sky, 

In  the  soft  evening,  when  the  winds  are  stilled, 
Sinks  where  his  islands  of  refreshment  lie, 

And  leaves  the  smile  of  his  departure,  spread 

O'er  the  warm-colored  heaven  and  ruddy  mountain  head. 

Why  weep  ye  then  for  him,  who,  having  won 
The  bound  of  man's  appointed  years,  at  last, 

Life's  blessings  all  enjoyed,  life's  labors  done, 
Serenely  to  his  final  rest  has  past; 

While  the  soft  memory  of  his  virtues,  yel, 

Lingers  like  twilight  hues,  when  the  bright  sun  is  set. 

His  youth  was  innocent ;  his  riper  ase, 

Marked  with  some  act  of  goodness,  every  day  ; 

And  watched  by  eyes  that  loved  him,  calm,  una  sage, 
Faded  his  late  declining,  years  away. 

Cheerful  he  gave  his  being  up,  and  went 

To  share  the  holy  rest  that  waits  a  life  well  spent. 

That  life  was  happy;  every  dav  he  gave 
Thanks  for  the  fair  existence  that  was  his  ; 

For  a  sick  fancy  made  him  not  her  slave, 
To  mock  him  with  her  phantom  miseries. 

No  chronic  tortures  racked  his  aged  limb, 

For  luxury  and  sloth  had  nourished  none  for  him. 

And  I  am  glad,  that  he  has  lived  thus  long, 
And  glad,  that  he  has  gone  to  his  reward  ; 

Nor  deem,  that  kindly  nature  did  him  wrong, 
Softly  to  disengage  the  vital  cord. 

When  his  weak  hand  grew  palsied  and  his  eye 

Dark  with  the  mists  ol  age,  it  was  his  time  to  die. 


TO-DAY. 

Lo,  here  hath  been  dawning 

Another  blue  day ; 
Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 

Slip  useless  away? 

Out  of  eternity 

This  new  day  is  born  ; 
Into  eternity 

At  night  will  return. 

Behold  it  aforetime 

No  eye  ever  did ; 
So  soon  it  for  ever 

From  all  eyes  is  hid. 

Here  hath  been  dawning 

Another  blue  day  ; 
Think,  wilt  thou  let  it 

Slip  uselees  away? 

—  Thomas  Carlylc 


A  Type  of  Life. 


[For  Brooklyn  Eagle.] 

.  Th*>  golden  morning  dawned  upon  a  pilgrim  on  his  way 
And  argel  voices  cheered  him  at  the  breaking  of  the 

day, 
And,  at  the  first,   soft  breezes  floated  kindly  o'er  his 

cheek 
Though  the  way  was  sad  and  dreary  and  all  his  steps 

were  weak. 
But  soon  the  Sun  rose  high  in  heaven— his  rays  were 

hard  to  bear, 
They  fell  upon  an  aching  brow,  a  frame  that  stooped 

with  care, 
The  dust  came  rolling  blindingly, — he  scarce  could  see 

the  way, — 
«•  How  shall  I  bear,"  he  cried,  "  this  heat  and. burden  of 

the  day?" 
Ere  long  the  air  grew  cooler  and  the  birds  with  softer 

BODg 

Told  the  pilgTim  that  his  journey  though  rough  would 

not  be  Ion?. 
The  burning  sun  sank  down  to  rest,  the  moon  in  beauty 

rose, 
He  felt  the  fresh'ning  western  breeze  and  thought  "how 

soft  it  blows  1 " 

Then,  one  by  one,  the  pitying  stars  looked  on  him  from 

the  sky 
And  gentle  spirits  whispered  "  'Tis  a  happy  thing  to 

die— 
"  This  is  the  blessed  eventide  after  the  heat  of  day, — 
•The  time  of  sweet  refreshing  from  the  burden  of  tie 

day." 

Still  toiled  the  pilgrim  on  his  way  and  felt  "  'Tis  hard  to 
roam 

"But  sloping  is  the  onward  track  and  I  shall  soon  be 
home 

"  And  yonder  stands  the  pointing-sign  whose  words,  so 
welcome,  say 

«'  This  is  tbo  end  of  night  and  yen  the  land  of  far- 
away I* " 

The  golden  morning  dawned  once  more  upon  the  weary 

road 
And  saw  the  pilgrim  sleeping  and  his  soul  at  rest  with 

God; 
Noomide  and  eve  on  others  fell,— they  too  the  voices 

heard, 
But  he  no  more  could  hearken  to  the  "singing  of  the 

bird."  y  W.  H. 

The  Flight  of  Time. — "After  death  the  judg- 
ment." Wc  die;  hut  intervening  ages  pass  rapidly 
over  those  who  sleep  in  the  dust.  There  is  no  plate 
there  on  whieh  to  count  the  hours  of  time.  No 
longer  is  it  told  by  days,  or  months,  or  years;  for 
the  planets  which  mark  these  periods  are  hidden 
from  their  sight.  Its  flight  is  no  longer  noticed  by 
the  events  perceived  by  tjje  senses,  for  the  car  is 
deaf  and  the  eye  is  el  i  p>rld  of  life, 

which  wakes  at  each  morning  aed  ceases  every 
night,  goes  on  above  them,  but  to  them  all  is  silent 
aiicl  unseen.  The  greetings  of  joy  and  the  voice 
of  grief,  the  revolution  of  empire  i  pse  of 

ages  send  no  sound  within  that  narrow  cell.  Gen- 
eration after  generation  are  brought  and  laid  by 
their  side;  the  inscription  upon  their  monumental 
marble  tells  the  centuries  that  have  passed  away; 
but  to  the  sleeping  dead  the  long  interval  is  unob- 
served. Like  a  dream  of  the  night,  with  the  quick- 
ness of  thought,  the  mind  ranges  time  and  space 
almost  without  limit.  There  is  but  a  moment  be- 
tween the  hour  when  the  eye  >s  closed  in  the  grave 
and  when  it  wakes  to  judgment. — Of.  Spring. 


A  WALK   IN   A   CHURCHYARD. 

We  walked  within  the  churchyard  bounds, 

My  little  boy  and  I; 
lie  laughing,  running  happy  rounds, 

I  pacing  mournfully. 

it  is  not  well,"  I  said, 
ravjfcto  shout, 

the  dead, 
out. 

A  moment  to  my  sidfe  he  clung, 

Leaving  his  merry  play, 
A  moment  stilled  his  joyous  tongue, 

Almost  as  hushed  as  they. 
Then,  quite  forgetting  the  command, 

In  life's  exulting  burst 
Of  early  glee,  let  go  my  hand, 

Joyous  as  at  the  flrst. 

And  now  I  did  nqt  check  him  more, 

For,  taught  by  nature's  face, 
I  had  grown  wiser  than  before, 
Even  in  that  moment's  space. 
She  spread  no  funeral  pall  above 

That  patch  of  churchyard  ground ; 
But  the  game  azure  vault  of  love 

As  hung  o'er  all  around. 
And  white  clouds  o'er  that  spot  would  pass 

As  freely  as  elsewhere ; 
The  sunshine  on  no  other  grass 

A  richer  hue  might  wear. 
And,  formed  from  out  that  very  mold 

In  which  the  dead  did  lie, 
The  daisy  with  its  eye  of  gold 

Looked  up  into  the  sky. 
The  rook  was  wheeling  overhead, 

Nor  hastened  to  be  gone ; 
The  small  bird  did  its  glad  notes  shed^   ► 

Perched  on  a  gray  headstone^A  ' 
And  God,  I  said,  would  never  gTW  '■' 

This  light  upon  the  earth, 
Nor  bid  in  childhood's  hejttt  to  li\ 

These  springs  of  gushing  mirth,— 
If  our  one  wisdom  were  to  mourn, 

And  linger  with  the  dead, 
To  nurse,  as  wisest,  thoughts  forlorn 

Of  worm  and  earthy  bed. 
O  no  1  the  glory  earth  puts  on, 

The  child's  unchecked  delight, 
Both  witness  to  a  triumph  won— 

(If  we  but  judge  aright)— 
A  triumph  won  o'er  sin  and  death,— 

From  these  the  Savior  saves ; 

And,  like  a  happy  infant,  Faith 

Can  play  among  the  graves.  | 


There  is  something  dreadful,  yet  beautiful,  in ' 
consumption.     It  comes   stealing  on  so  softly  and 
so  silently.    It  comes  too,  in  the  garb   of  mockery 
and  deception,  and  clothes  its  victims  in  beautiful 
garments   For  the   grave.    The   hectic   flush,  the 
snowy  brow,  the  brilliant  eye  ;   who  could  believe 
that  these  were   death's  precursors,  the  signet  of 
the  conqueror !     It  invests  the  patient  with  a  pre- 
ternatural patience  and  sweetness  under  suffering, 
keeping  alive,  at  the  same  time,  in  her  breast  the 
illusion  of  hope.     Even  in  her  moments   of  keen- 
est suffering,  she  looks  forward  to  days  of  return- 
ing happiness;   and   while  the    worm  is  for   ever 
preying  at  the  core,  and   her  slender   form   each 
day  more  feeble  and  attenuate,  she  sits  before  her 
a  gilded  prospect,  and  the    mind   and   spirits   are 
buoyant  with  the  thought.     But   when   the   final 
struggle  has  at  last   commenced,  how   sublime  is 
the  spectacle!     To  behold  the  immortal   mind   so 
calm,   so    tranquil,   and    so  triumphant;   waxing 
brighter,  while  the  tenement  which  contains  it  is 
but  a  poor  flcshlcss  skeleton  ;  to   behold    the  eye 
beaming  with  undiminished  lustre  toward  the  ob- 
jects of  its  affection,  until  the  soul  at  last  bursting 
the  ch&rnel  vault  which  has  too  long  confined   it, 
takes  one  triumphant  bound.     Then  is   the   body 
still  and  silent.     The   feather  is  unruffled   by   the 
breath,  and  the  glass   retains  its   polish  ;  for   dust 
has  returned   to  dust  again,  and   the  spirit   unto 
God  who  gave  it. 

SYMBOLS  OF  DEATH. 

The  primrose  to  the  grave  is  gone ; 

The  hawthorn  flower  is  dead  ; 
The  violet  by  the  moss'd  grey  stone 

Hath  laid  her  weary  head. 

[Ebenczer  Elliott. 


4 


A  beautiful  thought  is  suggested  in  the  Koran  t 
"  Angels  in  the  grave  will  not  question  thee  as  to 
the  amount  of  wealth  thou  hast  left  behind  thee,  but 
what  good  deed  thou  hast  done  in  the  world  to  entitle 
Ihee  to  a  seat  among  the  blessed." 


10, 

11, 

12. 

13. 
M. 

15. 

1G. 

17. 

IS. 

lf>. 
20. 

21. 

22. 

23. 

24. 

25. 
26. 

27. 
2S. 

29. 

30. 

31. 
32. 

33. 
34 


A  Literary  Curiosity:.  Tho  following  re- 
markable little  poem  is  a  contribution  to°the 
oanl rancisco  Times,  from  the  nen  of  Mrs.  H 
A.  Deming.  The  reader  will  notice  that  each 
line  is  a  quotation  from  some  one  of  the  stand- 
ard authors  of  England  and  America,  This  is 
tne  result  of  a  year's  laborious  search  amon» 
the  voluminous  writings  of  thirty-eight  lead' 
mg  poets  of  the  past  and  present.  The  num- 
ber ot  each  line  refers  to  its  author  below: 

LIFE. 

o*  }y,r%  a11  tbis  toil  for  triumphs  of  an  hour? 
4.  hue  s  a  short  summer,  man  a  flower. 

3.  By  turns  we  catch  the  vital  breath  and  die— 

4.  The  cradle  and  the  tomb,  alas !  so  nigh.  J 

5.  To  be,  is  better  far  than  not  to  be, 

o.  Though  all  man's  life  may  seem  a  tragedy; 

7.  But  light  cares  speak  when  mighty  griefs  are 

8.  The  bottom  is  but  shallow  whence  they  come. 
.  Your  fate  is  but  the  common  fate  of  all : 

Lnmingled  joys  here  to  no  man  befall. 

Nature  to  each  allots  its  proper  sphere ; 
fortune  makes  folly  her  peculiar  care. 

Custom  does  often  reason  overrule. 
And  throw  a  cruel  sunshine  on  a  fool. 

Live  well;    how  long    or  short,  nermit  to  ; 

Heaven; 
They  who  forgive  most  shall  be  most  forgiven. 

Sin  may  be  clasped  so  close  we  cannot  see  its 

face — 
Vile  intercourse,  where  virtue  has  no  place. 

Then  keep  each  passion  down,  however  dear      ' 
Ihou  pendulum  betwixt  a  smile  and  tear. 

Her  sensual  snares  let  faithless  Pleasure  lav. 
With  craft  and  skill,  to  ruin  and  betray. 

Soar  not  too  high  to  tall,  but  stoop  to  rise: 
We  masters  grow  of  all  that  we  despise. 

Ob,  then,  I  renounce  that  impious  self-esteem ; 
h  ,hes  have  wings,  and  grandeur  is  a  dream. 

Think  not  ambition  wise  because  'tis  brave- 
The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

W  hat  is  ambition  ?    'Tis  a  glorious  cheat- 
Only  destructive  to  the  brave  and  great. 

What's  all  the  gaudy  glitter  of  a  crown? 
The  way  to  bliss  lies  not  on  beds  of  down. 

How  long  we  live,  not  years,  but  actions  tell: 
iuat  man  lives  twice  who  lives  the  first  life 


A  SONG  OF  LIFE. 


35'  MfriendhCn' WMle  Vet  ye  may' y0ur  God  your 
3G'  Whend  ^hristiailS  w0*sl»P,  yet  not  compre- 

37 '•  Th^[?st  that's  Siven  guard,  and  to  yourself  be 
38.  For,  live  we  how  we  can,  die  we  must. 

1,  Young;  2,  Dr.  Johnson;  3,  Pope;  4,  Prior- 
5,  Sewell;  0,  Spenser;  7,  Daniell;  8,  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh:  9,  Longfellow;  10,  Southwell- 11  Con- 
greve;  12  Churchill;  13,  Rochester  {"'Arm- 
strong; 15,  Milton;  16,  Bailey;  17.  Trend?  18 
Somerville;  19,  Thomson;  2of Byron ■ If  BrnoE 
let;  22,  Crabbe;  23,  Massinger;  24,  Cowl'ev™25 

gerS  2&C«?r;  &  8f  ^Iter  Dlven'aS'; 
28,  Gray;  29,  Willis;  30,  Addison;  31,  Dryden 
32.  \rancls  Quarles;  33,  Watkms;  34  Herrick 

IhakSeare?  MaS°n'   3°'  HiU;   37>  D^>  *& 


NOTHING    BUT    LEAVES. 


Nothing  but  leaves.    The  spirit  grieves 

Over  a  wasted  lite ; 
Sin  committed  while  conscience  slept, 
I  romises  made  and  never  kept— 
ihitred,  battles  and  strife- 
Nothing  but  leaves. 

Nothing  but  leaves;  no  gathering  sheaves 

Ot  life's  fair  ripened  grain. 
\J  ords,  idle  words,  for  earnest  <leed< ; 
N  e  sow  our  seeds— lo!  tares  and  weeds 

Ave  reap  for  toil  and  pain- 
Nothing  but  leaves. 

Nothing  but  leaves;  memory  wi 

No  veil  to  screen  the  past; 
As  we  retrace  our  weary  way, 
Counting  each  lost  and  misspent  day. 

We  sadly  find  at  last- 
Nothing  but  leaves. 

And  shall  we  meet  our  Fatner  so, 
Bearing  our  withered  leaves? 
viour  looks  for  perfect  fruit— 
ad  before  Him,  humbled,  mute, 
Writing  tlTe  words  He  breathe- 
Nothing  but  lea  v 


An  miant,  a  prattli 
will  live  again  in  the 
loveo  it,  and  play  its 
rt deeming  actions  of 
be  burnt  to  a  hes,  or 
There  is  not  an  angel 
but  does  itd^^^H 
loved  it  here. 


ng  child,  dying  iu  its  cradle, 
better  thoughts  ot  those  who 
part,  through  them,  in  the 
the  world,  though  its  body 
drowned  in  the  deepest  s.a. 
added  to  the  host  of  heav.n, 
work  on  earth  in  those  that 


BY    CHARLES     MiCKAI, 

A  traveller  through  a  dusty  road, 

Mrewed  acorns  oa  the  lea- 
And  one  took  root  and  sprouted  up, 

And  crew  into  a  tree. 
Love  sought  its  shade  M  evening  time, 

To  breathe  its  early  vows  ; 
And  Age  was  pleased,  in  heat  of  noon, 

To  bask  beneath  it*  boughs. 
The  dormouse  loved  its  dangling  twigs, 

The  birds  sweet  music  bore  • 
It  stood  a  glory  in  its  place— 

A  blessing  evermore ! 

A  little  spring  had  lost  its  way 

Amid  the  grass  and  fern  ; 
A  passing  stranger  scooped  a  well 

Where  weary  men  might  turn  ; 
He  wall'd  it  in,  and  hung  with  care 

A  ladle  at  th*  brink- 
He  thought  not  of  the  deed  he  did, 

flut  thought  that  toil  might  drink. 
Ha  passed  again—  and  lo  !  the  well, 

By  Summers  never  dried, 
Had  cooled  ten  thousand  parched  tongues, 
And  uave'd  a  life  beside  ! 

A  dreamer  dropped  a  random  thought  j 

5T  was  old,  and  yet  't  was  new 

A  simple  fancy  of  the  brain, 

But  strong  in  being  true. 
It  shone  upon  a  genial  mind, 

And  lo!  its  light  became 
A  lamp  of  life — a  beacon  ray 

A  monitory  flame. 
The  thought  was  small,  its  issue  great 

A  watch-fire  on  the  hill — 
It  sited  its  radiance  far  adown, 

And  chdt-rs  the  valley  still. 

A  nameless  man,  amid  the  crowd 

That  thronged  the  daily  mart, 
Let  full  a  word  of  Hope  and  Love, 

Unst  ulied,  from  the  heart; 
A  whisper  on  the  tumult  thrown — 

A  transitory  breath — 
It  r  lis  d  a  brother  from  the  earth, 

It  saved  a  soul  from  death. 
O  germ'.  O  fount !  O  work  of  love  ! 

O  thought  at  random  cast! 
Ye  were  but  little  at  the  first, 

But  mighty  at  the  last! 


KIND   WORDS. 
The  sun  may  warm  the  grass  to  life, 

The  dew  the  drooping  flower, 
The  eyes  grow  bright  and  watch  the  light 

Of  Autumn's  opening  hour,  — 
But  words  that  breathe  of  tenderness, 

And  smiles  wo  know  are  true, 
Are  warmer  than  the  summer  time, 

And  brighter  than  the  dew. 

It  is  not  much  the  world  can  give, 

With  all  its  subtle  art, 
And  gold  and  gems  arc  not  the  things 

To  satisfy  the  heart ; 
But  oh,  if  those  who  cluster  round 

The  altar  and  tho  hearth 
Have  gentle  words  and  loving  smiles, 

How  beautiful  is  earth. 


"Whosoever  Will,  LclHiiu  Come.)' 

BY  WILLIAM  H.    BURLEIGH. 

Oh,  come  who  will !  though  wide  and  far 

Ye  wander  darkly  from  the  right; 
A  or  doubt,  nor  tear,  nor  sin  can  bar 

a  t,\°Jn  80uls  tllat  80Gk» tlle  heavenly  Hirht- 
Mill  for  your  guidance  doth  it  burn, 
And  Heavenly  Love  still  cries,  "Retftrn !" 

Oh,  come  who  will !  from  lordly  hall, 
From  squalid  hut,  or  sad,  or  gay, 

Haste  to  the  Fount  that  flows  for  all, 
Whose  waters  wash  all  stains  away ; 

'Twas  oped  for  thee  by  Qrace  Divine, 

And  all  its  blessings  may  be  thine ! 

Oh,  come  who  will !  though  slave  to  sin 
And  bowed  its  heavy  yoke  beneath ; 

Though  almost  quenched  the  light  within, 
Haste  from  tho  thrall  whose  end  is  death  ! 

Thy  needs  are  great;  but  Love,  that  pleads 

For  thee,  is  greater  than  thy  needs. 

Oh,  come  who  will!  nor  ask  the  price 

Of  what  God's  goodness  doth  impart; 
But  pay  to  Him  thy  sacrifice 

A  broken  and  a  contrite  heart- 
Ami  hi  nceforth  shall  thy  spirit  know 
His  love's  divluest  overflow. 


» THEY'RE  DEAR    FISHTO  ME." 

The  farmer's  wife  sat  aTthe  door, 

A  pleasant  6ight  to  see, 
And  blithesome  were  the  wee,  wee  bairns 

That  played  around  her  knee. 

When  bending  'neath  her  heavy  creel, 

A  poor  fishwife  came  by, 
And  turning  from  the  toilsome  road, 

"Unto  the  door  drew  nigh. 

She  laid  her  burden  on  the  green, 

And  spread  its  scaly  store, 
With  trembling  hands,  and  pleading  words, 

She  told  them  o'er  and  o'er. 

Bnt  lightly  laughed  the  young  guidwife. 

"We're  no  sae  scarce  o'  cheer;  . 
Tak'  up  yonr  creel,  and  gang  your  ways— 

I'll  buy  nae  fish  sae  dear." 

Bending  beneath  her  load  again, 

A  weary  sight  to  see ; 
Bight  sorely  "sighed  the  poor  fishwife : 

"  They're  dear  fish  to  me ! 

Our  boat  was  oot  ae  fearfu'  night, 

And  when  the  storm  blew  o'er, 
My  husband,  and  my  three  brave  sons. 

Lay  corpses  on  the  shore. 

I've  been  a  wife  for  thirty  years, 

A  childless  widow  three ; 
Imaun  buy  them  now,  to  sell  again— 

They're  dear  fish  to  me!" 

The  farmer's  wife  turned  to  the  door— 

What  was't  upon  her  check  ? 
What  was  there  rising  in  her  breast, 

That  then  she  scarce  could  speak  ? 

She  thought  upon  her  ain  guidman, 

Her  lithesome  laddies  three; 
The  woman's  words  had  nierced  her  heart— 

"They're  dear  fish  to  m;  I" 

"Come  back,"  she  cried,  with  quivering  voice, 

And  pity's  gathering  tear; 
"Come  in,  come  in,  my  poor  woman, 

Ye're  kindly  welcome  here. 

"  I  kentna  o'  your  aching  heart, 

Your  weary  lot  to  dree ; 
J'h  ne'er  forget  your  sad,  sad  words : 

'  They're  dear  fish  to  me !' " 

Ay,  let  the  happy -hearted  learn 

To  pause  ere  they  deny 
The  meed  of  honest  toil,  and  think 

How  much  their  gold  may  buy— 

Hew  much  of  manhood's  wasted  strength, 

What  woman's  misery — 
What  breaking  hearts  might  swell  the  cry  : 

"  They're  dear  lish  to  me  1" 

A  Double  Misfortune. 
"  Two  visits  less  lucky  than  mine 

No  unfortunate  ever  could  pay : 
The  first  man  I  eall'd  on,  they  said, 

Was  gone  out  for  the  whole  of  the  day; 
And  the  other — it's  certainly  true 

That  misfortunes  in  pairs  ever  come— " 
"  Oli.  I  see ;  you  found  him  gone  out  too." 

"No,  I  didn't;  1  found  liten  at  home*" 


' 


The  Old. 

BY  WILLIAM  H.  BUKLKIGH. 

Give  me  old  songs  —  though  rude  and  bold, 
Yet  sparkling  with  the  purest  gold, 
Such  as  were  syllabled  in  fire 
When  u  rare  Ben  Johnson  w  swept  the  lyre ; 
Or  flung  from  Shakspeare's  bolder  hand, 
Vibrating  went  through  all  the  land, 
And  found  in  every  heart  a  tone 
That  seemed  an  echo  of  their  own. 

Give  me  old  books  —  the  tomes  where  mind 
Its  choicest  treasures  hath  enshrined, 
Rich  with  the  thoughts  of  buried  seers, 
Whose  genius  glorified  their  years ; 
Old  books,  well  thumbed  and  vellum-bound, 
The  wise,  the  witty,  the  profound, 
Whose  stained  and  ample  pages  hold 
A  rarer  wealth  than  gems  of  gold. 

Give  me  old  paths  — though  few  the  bloom* 
That  drug  the  senses  with  perfumes, 
And  few  the  syren-notes  that  keep 
A  chime  to  steps  that  climb  the  steep ; 
Old  paths,  though  rugged,  brightening  still 
With  golden  gleams  from  Zion's  hill, 
By  patriarchs  and  prophets  trod, 
And  leading  to  the  Mount  of  God. 

Give  me  old  friends  —  the  tried  of  years, 
Whose  souls  are  in  their  smiles  and  tears; 
Though  rough  of  speech  and  void  of  art, 
Jfet  frank  and  bold  and  leal  of  heart ; 
With  steady  faith  and  soul  serene, 
Scorning  the  hollow,  false,  and  mean ; 
With  open  brow  and  honest  eye 
Their  patent  of  nobility. 

Then,  in  some  mansion  old  and  grim, 
Embowered  by  woods  whose  twilight  dim 
Hallows  the  noonday,  let  me  hide 
The  ebb  of  Life's  tumultuous  tide. 
With  passions  hushed  in  deep  repose, 
Forgot  ambition  and  its  woes; 
In  calmness  wait  till  Death  enfold 
A  heart  grown  weary,  worn,  and  old. 


December. 

December,  like  the  three  preceding  months, 
derives  it*  name  from  its  position  in  t!ae  Roman 
calendar.  The  year  was  divided  nominally,  into 
only  ten  months,  supplementary  days  being  in- 
serted to  complete  the  period  required  for  a  revo- 
lution oi  the  earth  around  the  suu.  Martial  ap- 
plies to  the  twelith  month  the  name  of  fumos'us 
or  smoky,  in  allusion  to  the  practice  of  lighting 
fires  for  the  purpose  of  warmth  and  the  incon- 
Tenience  which  lesulted.  Tne  ancient  Saxons 
styled  December  winter  .monat,  a  term  which 
was  changed  to  Helighmonat  or  holy  month  , 
from  the  anniversary  of  Christ.  This  term,  giv- 
en to  the  month,  was  after  the  conversion  of  the  ' 
Saxons  to  Christianity.  The  Germans,  from  the 
circumstance  just  cited,  call  the  month  Christ-  • 
monst. 

December  brings  with  him  a  cold  that  pierces 
to  the  very  bones,  driving  us  to  the  fireside  com- 
forts. Tiie  beautiful  picture  of  winter  in  Shaks-  ' 
peare's  "Love's  Labor  Lost,"  pives  a  counter- 
part to  the  ouc  now  before  us.  The  icicles  hang- 
ing down  the  frosty  wall;  Dick,  the  shepherd, 
industriously  engaged  in  warming  his  half- 
irozen  tinger-uai Is,  using  at  the  same  time  his 
breath  to  cool  his  waiting  meal;  Murion,  cold  - 
from  exposure  to  the  out-door  gusts  of  freezing 
wind,  next  appears,  pail  in  hand,  expressing  for 
the  por  birds  outside  a  watui-hearted  sympathy. 
The  great  poet  well  conceived  the  picture  of  the 
drear,yet  charming  season — winter.  His  im- 
mortal works  can  now  be  read  with  lively  inter- 
est by  (he  cheerful  heanh  piled  with  glowing 
embers  while  the  sparks  rush  up  the  roaring 
chimney. 

The  happy*  thoughts  of  romping  times  on 
Christinas,  the  merry  Kris-krtugte-expoctationa 
oi  the  young  give  life  and  .-*: 'fit  in  the  waiting 
time  lor  the  hippy  days  to  come.  The  time  for" 
Christmas  sports  is  near  at  hand,  and  but  a  few 
clays  interve  le  between  now  and  the  long  antici- 
pated day.  Christmas,  in  anticipation,  is  much 
like  Christmas.  We  go  through  in  our  thoughts 
that  which  we  intend  to  do  when  the  good  time 
comes  to  hand. 

Three  months  of  winter — to  some  of  pleasure, 
to  many  of  pain  and  suffering — soon  liy  past, 
and  are  counted  among  the  ages  gone  by.  Old 
winter  sleeps  but  for  a  night,  and  his  gradually  * 
waning  lamp  ofliie  will  in  due  time  usher  in  a 
more  genial  friend — smiling,  budding,  happy 
spring. 


IN  Winter  awful  Thou  !  with  clouds  and  storms 
Around  Thee  thrown,  tempest  o'er  tempest  roll'd, 
Majestic  darkness  !  on  the  whirlwind's  wing, 
Riding  sublime,  Thou  bid'at  the  world  adore, 
And  humblest  Nature  with  thy  northern  blast. 


/ 


Thomson. 


January,  1869. 

VX    WILLIS. 

Fleetly  hath  passed  the  year.     The-  seasons  cuioe 
Duly  as  they  are  wont— the  gentle  Spring, 
Ami  the  delicious  Summer,  and  the  cool, 
Rich  Autumn,  with  the  nodding  ai  the  grain, 
And  Winter,  like  an  old  and  hoary  man, 
Frosty  and  stiff — and  so  are  chronicled. 
We  have  read  gladness  in  the  new  (freer)  leaf, 
And  the  first  brown  violets:  we  have  drunk 
Cool  water  from  the.  rocks,  and  in  the  shade 
Sunk  to  the  noontide  slumber;  we  have  plucked 
The  mellow  fruitage  ot  the  bending  tree, 
And  girded  to  our  pleasant  wanderings 
When  the   cool   winds    came   freshly    from    the 

hills: 
And  when  the  tinging  of  the  Autumn  leaves       j 
Hail  fided  from  its  glory,  we  have  sat 
By  the  good  fires  of  winter  and   rejoiced 
Over  the  fullness  of  the  gathered  sheaf. 

"God  hath    been    very  good  '"      'Tis  He  wliost 

hand 
Moulded  the  sunny  hills  and  hollowed  out  the 
Shelter  of  the  valleys,  and  doth  keep 
The  fountains  in  their  secret  places  cool ; 
And  it  is  he  who  leadeth  up  the  sun, 
And  tempered!  the  keenness  of  the  frost, 
And  tli'-refoie  in  the  plenty  ot  the  feast, 
And  in  the  lifiiut"  of  the  cup,  let  Him 
Have  praises  for  the  well-completed  year. 

~  NOVEMBER. 
The  mellow  year  is  hasting  to  its  close ; 

The  little  birds  have  almost  sung  their  last ; 

Their  small  notes  twitter  in  the  dreary  blast — 
That  shrill-piped  harbinger  of  early  snows. 
The  patient  beauty  of  the  scentless  rose, 

Oft  with  the  morn's  hoar  crystal  quaintly  glassec 

Hangs,  a  pale  mourner  for  the  summer  past, 
And  makes  a  little  summer  where  it  grows. 
In  the  chill  sunbeam  of  the  faint,  brief  day 

The  dusky  waters  shudder  as  they  shine ; 
The  russet  leaves  obstruct  the  straggling  way 

Of  oo/.v  brooks,  which  no  deep  banks  define ; 
And  the  gaunt  woods,  in  ragged,  scant  array, 

Wrap  their  old  limbs  with  sombre  ivy  twine. 


WINTER-TIME. 

Though  Winter  reigns,  Beauty  still  holds  her  throne; 
She  moulds  the  snow-flake  to  its  lovelv  form, 
And  the  few  crinkled  leaves  that  mock  the  storm, 
And  laugh  and  cliattcr  while  the  sad  winds  moan, 
Beauty  hath  stained  with  mingled  gold  and  brown. 
Tho  patches  of  bright  sky  between  the  showei  s, 
The  robin's  breast,  and  moss-floois  of  lone  bowers. 
For  naked  trees  and  fui.eral-clouds  atone. 
Scanty  dies  not,  she  walks  through  foiest  dim 
With  feathery  feet,  when  Ihe  strange  cuckoo-noto 
Like  a  friend's  voice  on  the  calm  air  doth  float, 
And  lisping  irephyis  cliaut  Spiing's  advent-hymn  : 
With  the  swart  Summer  and  brown  Autumn  dwells; 
And  marries  Winter  in' the  ico-flowcr  dells. 

mmmemu 


BY    HOBACE    SMITH. 


The  bud  is  in  the  bough,  and  the  leaf  is  in  the  bud, 
And  the  Eaith's  beginning  now  in  her  veins  to  feel 

the  blood, 
Which,  warm'd  by  Summer  suns  in  th'  alembic  of  the 

vine, 
From  her  founts  will  over-run  in  a  ruddy  gush  of 

wine. 

The  perfume  and  the  bloom  that  shall  decorate  tho 

flower, 
Are  quickening  in  the  gloom  of  their  subterranean 

bower; 
And  the  juices  meant  to  feed  trees,  vegetables,  fruits, 
Unerringly  proceed  to  their  pre-appointed  roots. 

How  awful  is  the  thought  of  the  wonders  under- 

f  round, 
e  mystic  changes  wrought  in  the  silent  dark, pro- 
found ; 
How  each  thing  upward  tends  by   necessity  de- 
creed, 
And  a  world's  support  dopends  on  the  shooting  of  a 
seed! 

The  Summer's  in  her  ark,  and  this  sunny-pinion'd 

day 
Is  commission'd  to  remark  whether  Winter  holds  her 

sway. 
Go  back,  thou  dove  of  peace,  with  the  myrtle  on  thy 

wing, 
Say  that  floods  and  tempests  cease,  and  tho  world  is 

ripe  for  Spring. 

Thou  hast  fann'd  the  sleeping  Earth  till  her  droamg 

are  all  of  flowers, 
And  the  waters  look  in  mirth  for  their  overhanging 

bowers ; 
The  forest  seems  to  listen  for  tho  rustle  of  its  loaves, 
And  the  very  skies  to  glisten  in  the  hope  of  Summer 

eves. 

The  vivifying  spell  has  been  felt  beneath  the  wave, 
By  the  dormouse  in  it*  cell,  and  the  mole  within  its 

cave; 
And  the  Summer  tribes  that  creep,  or  in  air  expand 

their  wing, 
Have  started  from  their  sleep  at  the  summons  of  the 

Spring. 

The  cattle  lift  their  voices  from  the  valleys  and  the 

hills, 
And  the  feather'd  race  rejoices  with  a  gush  of  tuneful 

bills; 
And  if  this  cloudless  arch  fills  the  poet's  song  with 

glee, 
O  thou  sunny  first  of  March,  be  it  dedicate  to  thee. 


Jack  Frost's  Levee. 
"A  levee  !  a  levee!"  Jack  cries — "a  levee!'' 

The  first  of  the  season  so  near  ; 
And  of  every  tree,  its  beauty  shall  be 

With  the  bright  and  the  beautiful  here. 

Then  the  first  that  he  met  wns  a  little  coquette 

In  her  garb  of  a  beautiful  red — 
'  Miss  Maple,"  her  name,  was  cried  as  she  came, 

"And  oh,  she  is  brilliant,"  they  said. 

Then  stnlked  in  Miss  Birch,  as  if  going  to  church, 

In  her  mantle  of  orient  yellow  ; 
That  she  is  a  belle,  her  ornaments  tell; 

For  her  they  must  find  their  best  fellow. 

In  came,  Mr.  Oak.  in  his  parti-hued  cloak, 
With  a  dash  of  fine  gold  in  his  hat ; 

He  wanted  to  bow,  but  did  not  know  how 
To  pay  lowly  obeisance  like  that. 

Then   came   Misses   Cherry,  well  dressed,   and  so 
merry. 

And  the  nut-folks  were  all  in  their  best; 
Not  a  leaf  had  they  on  like  those  who  had  gone, 

But  the  Pines  were  in  uniform  dressed. 


9 

4 


k 


Miss  Kim  and  Miss  Ash  cut  also  a  dash, 
But  the  Vines  were  in  sober  maroon  ; 

Miss  Poplar  (glace),  in  her  silvery  grey, 
Was  as  charming  as  roses  in  June. 


4 


The  Fruit  groop  so  plain,  need  not  stoop  to  be  vain, 
For  none  could  dispute  their  fine  taste  ; 

Though  most  scantily  dressed,  they  were  welcomed, 
caressed — 
At  the  head  of  Jack's  table  were  placed. 

"  Fine  colors  they  carry,"   quoth   Jack;  "but  now 
marry  ; 

I  will  warrant  them  not  firm  and  fast  : 
At  my  next  Christmas  dinner,  as  I  am  a  sinner, 

We  shall  find  that  their  beauty  has  passed." 

O  yes,  it  is  true ;  but  Jack,  it  is  you 

Who  then  should  be  last  to  complain; 

To  meet  you  with  honor,   each  tree  takes  upon  her 
The  best  she  can  ever  obtain. 

Jack  Frost,  now  1  pray,  was  such  an  array 
Ever  drawn  lound  a  king  or  a  queen  ? 

Dame  Nature  herself,  with  all  her  rich  pelf, 
Deems  this  her  most  beautiful  scene. 


Sleighing* 


BY  GEO.  a.  BUKLEIOn. 


SPRING  SONG. 

"Welcome,  bright  and  sunny  Spring! 
Oh,  what  joy  and  light  you  bring!  — 
Meadows  green  and  pretty  flowers, 
Pleasant  walks  and  happy  hours. 
First  the  pretty  snowdrop  see 
Drop  her  bell  so  tenderly ; 
There  the  crocus,  golden  bright, 

Lifts  his  head  into  the  light; 

Ah !  the  daisies  now  have  come, 
Springing  on  the  grassy  lawn ; 
And  the  buttercup  of  gold 
Its  bright  beauty  doth  unfold. 

Hark !  —  the  little  birds  they  sing, 
■  Welcome,  bright  and  sunny  Spring ! ' 
And  the  little  children's  feet 
Patter  down  the  village  street, 

Into  woods  and  meadows  fair, — 
Primroses  and  violets  there,  — 
Some  to  pick,  and  some  to  sing, 
'  Welcome,  happy,  joyous  Spring! '  " 


With  never  a  plumo  o!  the  wind  set  humming, 

The  snow  has  come,  and  still  is  coming. 

Youcier  and  hither,  and  eveiy  where, 

Its siient  eet  in  the  pathless  air 

lrip  down  and  around,  and  over  the  ground, 

With  a  visible  hush  there  is  nothiug  glum  in, 

Nothing  but  beauty  and  peace  profound. 

Ho,  now  for  tun !  never  wait  for  the  sun ! 

'Ihe  girls  are  d.mcing,  the  steeds  are  prancing, 

The  boys  are  glancing,  and  sigh  for  a  run 

In  the  glimmering,  shimmering,  hovering  covering, 

Like  flaky  moonlight  dropped  on  a  lover  in 

Shadowy  glens  that  a  lover  knows, 

With  their  lohage  clouu^  and  moonbeam  snows. 

Now  verily,  merrily,  cheerily  go 

Over,  and  under,  and  through  the  snow, 

Willie  and  Lillie,  and  Nellie  and  Joe, 

Black-eyed  Nellie,  and  blue-eyed  Willie, 

Hazel-eyed  Lillie,  and  berry  o  fsloo 

Twinkling  under  the  brow"of  Joe, 

With  the  mischief  In  him  as  big  as  a  crow  I 

Ho,  with  a  shout!  we  are  out  and  away ! 
Tangling,  mingling,  jangling,  jingling. 
Laughing,  chafliug,  twingling,  tingling; 
Bells  on  the  horses,  and  belles  in  thesieigh, 
Merrily,  cheerily  measure  the  way, 
ifcShoutunr  up  echoes  with  "Caw,  caw !" 
To  irighten  the  crows  irom  the  thicket  and  haw. 

LShuiBeJoes,  muffle  nose  under  the  buffaloes! 
^Smothering,  feathering,  gathering  snow, 
Over  and  under,  around  and  below, 
Vet  nobody  cares  but  the  whitening  crow! 
Fast  through  the  dingle  we  follow  the  jingle, 
And  a  fig  for  the  fellows  who  dose  by  the  regie 
When  life  goes  leaping  along  the  snow! 

(Jut  Boys  and  Girls, 


NOW  has  arrived  the  season  of  snows,  and 
sleigh-rides,  and  pleasant  fireside  gather- 
ings, and  long  evenings  for  readings  and  chat- 
tings,  and  cozy,  cheery  dinners,  and  concerts, 
and  lectures,  and  all  that !  How  sonorously  does 
Emerson  usher  in  the  wintry  king : 

"Announced  by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky 
Arrives  the  snow;  and,  driving  o'er  the  fields, 


Seems  nowhere  to  alight;  the  whited  air 
Hides  hills  and  woods,  the  river,  and  the  heaven, 
And  veils  the  farm-house  at  the  garden's  end. 
The  sled  and  traveler  stopped,  the  courier's  feet 
Delayed,  all  friends  shut  out,  the  housemates  sit 
Around  the  radiant  fire-place,  inclosed 
In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm." 


Spring. 

Thrice-blessed  Spring!  thou  Dearest  gifts  divine. 
Sunshine  and  song  and  fragrance,  all  are  thine. 

Nor  unto  earth  alona: 
Thou  hast  a  blessing  for  the  human  heart, 
Balm  for  its  wounds  and  healing  for  its  smart; 

Telling  of  winter  flown, 
And  bringing  hope  upon  thy  rainbow  wing. 
Type  of  «ternal  lifo,— thrice-blessed  spring. 

William  H.  Burleigh. 


June. 

June  is  the  pearl  of  our  New  England  year; 

Still  a  surpnsal,  though  expected  long, 

Her  coining  startles.    Long  she  lies  in  wait, 

Makes  many  a  feint,  peeps  forth,  draws  coyjy  back, 

Then  from  some  southern  ambush  in  the  sky, 

With  one  great  gush  of  blossoms  storms  the  world. 

— James  Russell  Lowell. 


Then  comes  thy  -lory  in  the  Summer-months, 
With  light  and  heat  refulgent.     Then  thy  sun 
Shoots  full  perfection  through  the  swelling  year; 
And  oft  thy  voice  in  dreadful  thunder  speaks  ; 
And  oft  at  dawn,  deep  noon,  or  falling  eve, 
By  brooks  and  groves,  in  hollow-whisperin 


ales. 
Thomson. 


JUNE. 

BY  WILLIAM  C.  BBYANT. 

I  gazed  upon  the  glorious  sky 

And  the  green  mountains  round ; 
And  thougnt,  that  when  I  came  to  lie 

Within  the  silent  ground, 
'Twere  pleasant  that,  in  flowery  June, 
When  brooks  sent  up  a  cheerful  tane, 

And  groves  a  joyous  sound, 
The  sexton's  hand,  my  grave  to  make, 
The  rich,  green  mountain  turf  should  break. 

A  cell  wifnn  the  iroren  mould, 

A  coffin  borne  thi  jugh  sleet, 
And  icy  clods  above  it  roll'd, 

While  fierce  the  tempests  beat- 
Away!— I  will  not  think  of  these— 
Blue  be  the  sky  and  soft  the  breeze, 

Earth  green  beneath  the  feet, 
And  be  tne  damp  mould  gently  press'd 
Into  my  narrow  place  of  rest. 
There,  through  the  long,  long  summer  hours, 

The  golden  l'^ht  should  lie, 
And  thick,  young  herbs  and  groups  of  flowers 

Stand  in  their  beauty  by. 
The  oriole  should  build  and  tell 
His  lovc-ta'e,  close  beside  my  cell ; 

The  idle  butterfly 
Should  rest  him  there,  and  there  be  heard 
The  housewife  bee  and  humming-bird. 

And  what,  if  cheerful  shouts,  at  noon, 

Come,  from  the  villase  sent;, 
Or  songs  of  maids,  beneath  the  moon, 

With  fahy  laughter  blent? 
And  what  if,  in  tne  evening  light, 
Betrothed  lovers  wa!k  in  sight 

Of  my  low  monument? 
I  wouid  the  lovely  scene  around 
Might  know  no  sadder  sight  nor  sound. 

I  know,  I  know  I  should  not  see 

The  season's  glorious  show, 
Nor  would  its  brightness  shine  for  me, 

Nor  its  wild  music  flow ;  * 
Eut  if,  aroand  my  place  of  sleep, 
The  friends  I  love  should  come  to  weep, 

The}  tmight  not  haste  to  go. 
Soft  airs,  and  song,  and  light,  and  bloom 
Should  keep  them  lingering  by  my  tomb. 

These  to  their  soften'd  hearts  should  bear 

The  thought  of  what  has  been, 
And  speak  of  one  who  cannot  share 

The  gladness  of  the  scene; 
Whose  part,  in  all  the  pomp  that  fills 
The  circuit  of  the  summer  hills, 

Is— that  his  grave  is  green; 
And  deeply  would  their  hearts  rejoice 
To  hear,  again,  his  living  voice. 


Thl.   vBt  l3  S0  rare  as  *  day  ln  Jl»»e? 
ti.  -.,   £f  lf  eyer'  .come  Perfect  days : 
rnen  Heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune 

And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays ;       ' 

Wp  iZ7vl°0k  or  whether  we  li'ten 

we  near  lif.j  murmur  or  gee  it  irllsten  • 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might 
An  instinct  within  it  which  reaches  and  towers 
And  groping  blindly  above  it  for  ifght  I 

O.imbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers." 

*5*tfn«;t  from  the  LamciM  of  Sir  ■><>!,  <„i. 

O  what  is  so  raw  as  a  day  in  June? 

Then,  this  summer,  come  wretched  days, 
When  heavens  and  earth  seem  all  out  Of  tone, 

And  vainly  the  farmer  forsunsine  pray;;. 
Then  the  east  wind  riots,  the  doctors  thrive; 
The  bees  cuddle  up  to  keep  warm  in  the  hive; 
The  bravest  cling  closely  to  cloak  and  umbrella, 
And  who  leaves  them  at  home  is  a  desjwrate  feller; 
The  little  bird  shivers  and  clings  to  his  nest, 

All   soaked   with   the   rain    as  it  drips  from  the 
leaves,  > 

And  at  thought   of  the  clime  where  he  spent  last  « 
winter 

A  tear  he  drops  and  a  sigh  he  heaves. 
The  cowslip  scarcely  dare  to  be  seen,  / 

The  buttercup  catches  she  fog  in  his  chalice ;  «• 

And  every  creature  pronounces  it  mean, 

From  the  beggar's  hut  to  the  merchant's  palace. 
And  the  gardener's  oath  and  the  invalid's  tear 
Protest  June  never  come  as  it  conies  this  year. 


SFRIJfG  CONCERT. 

BY  MBS.  L.  n.  8IGOTTBNEY 

Their  arrival  to  hail,  and  their  melodies  share. 
These  exquisite  minstrels  a  fashion  have  set 

1  regret!  ^  7°*'U  COmpl>'  with  a7d  may  not 
They  do^'t  keep  late  hours,  for  they've  always  been 
'Twould  injure  their  voices,  and  make  them  look  old 
They  invite  you  to  come  if  yon  have  a  line  Tar 
To  the  garden  or  grove,  their  rehearsals  to  hear  • 
Their  chorus  is  full  ere  the  sunbeam  is  born 
Their  nmsic  the  sweetest  at  breaking  of  morn- 
It  was  learned  at:  Heaven's  gate,  with  its  rapturous 

And  may  teach  you  perhaps  its  own  spirit  of  praise. 


EARLY  APRIL   DAYS. 


SEPTEMBEE !— speaking  of  which,  we  found 
the  other  evening,  in  a  quaint  old  volume, 
filled  with  things  odd,  this  verse : 

"Next  him  September  marched  eke  on  foot; 

Yet  was  he  heavy  laden  with  the  spoyle 

Of  harvest's  riches,  which  he  made  his  boot, 

And  him  enriched  with  bounty  of  the  soyle ; 

In  his  one  hand,  as  fit  for  harvest's  toyle, 

He  held  a  knife-hook;  and  in  th'  other  hand 

A  puire  of  weights,  with  which  he  did  assoyle 
Both  more  and  lesse,  where  it  in  doubt  did  stand, 
And  equal  gave  to  each  as  justice  duly  scanned." 

The  beginning  of  autumn  and  the  gathering  in 
of  the  harvests  has  ever  been  a  favorite  theme  of 
the  poets.  In  the  "Faery  Queen"  old  Spenser 
writes : 

"  Then  came  the  antumne,  all  in  yellow  clad, 
As  though  he  joyed  in  his  plenteous  store, 
Laden  with  fruits  that  made  him  laugh,  full  glad 
That  he  had  banished  hunger,  which  to-fore 
Had  by  the  belly  oft  him  pinched  sore; 
Upon  his  head  a  wreath  that  was  enrold 

With  eares  of  corne  of  every  sort,  he  bore, 
And  in  his  hand  a  sickle  he  did  holde, 
To  reape  the  ripened  fruit  the  which  the  earth  had 
yold." 


J' 


Twice  in  the  year  the  maple  tree 
Grows  red  t-eneath  our  northern  skies  • 

Once  when  October  lights  tho  lea 
V»  lth  splendid  flames  and  Tyrian  dves 

And  once  when  April  and  tho  bee  ' 

a    irst  p.^>et  us,  1?*°  tlleir  K,ad  surprise, 
And  on  the-  budding  twigs  we  see 
Tbe  first  faint  color  rise. 

These  morning  hours  blend  joy  with  "Hef 

That  draw  the  fuller  springtime  near     ' 
And  hint  the  tender  opening  leaf 

And  pour  the  robin's  carol  clear— 
h  or  not  the.  time  of  ripened  sheaf 

And  rainbow  woods,  is  half  so  dear 
As.tr.is,  the  boyhood,  bright  and  brief. 

The  earliest  of  the  Year! 


//A 

— — I  To  OTay. 

j      J  „Come'  gentle  May! 
/    ^  Come  with  thy  robe  of  flower*, 

'  e?sf  th-vsnnandsky-  thy  clouds  and  show- 


ovronKa. 


BY  B.  V.   FULLER.. 


Sadly  splendid,  sere  and  sober. 
Flashed,  like  sunset  glory,  hers 

Both  the  gorgeous  October 
In  her  pageantry  appear, 

Bit f  in  thought,  and  fruitage  fraught. 
Richest  season  ot  the  year! 

From  the  sun,  so  high  revolving, 
Still  absorbing  beams  of  heaven. 

Fruit  ana  foliage  drank,  dissolving. 
Color*  ot  'he  spec  rum  seven— 

Daybreak  blushes,  sunset  flushes, 
Livery  of  moi  n  and  even. 

Phoebus- tires  on  forest  flecking 
Fa)),  like  cloven  tongues  of  old. 

Crimson  maple  boughs  bedecking, 
Turning  chestnut  leave*  to  gold. 

Buff  array  the  walnut  sprays, 
Woods  we  all  bouquets  behold. 

In  the  vesper  cloud-lids  twinkling, 
Day's  eye  sbut3  to  radiant  r«st. 

Souvenirs  oi  treasure  sprinkling 
In  tbe  glories  of  th>-  west. 

Full-orbed  flashes,  pale  as  ashes,       . 
Dian,  dazzled  and  oppressed. 

Though  1'actolns  floods  of  splendor, 
Mixing  with  .Night's  raven  plume, 

Cannot  long  a  giory  Jeud  her, 
Trees,  Mill  glowing  in  tbe  gioom, 

Where  night  brood*  on  autumn  woods, 
lake  the  beacon  Ares,  illume. 

Test  of  autumn  tries  the  spirit, 
.Like  the  clear  refiner's  lire. 

These  of  tboughttul  tamper  bear  it, 
lVaoe  ot  conscience,  pure  desire, 

Calmly  pensive,  comprehensive, 
And  tbe  spirits  that  aspire. 

Uctubcr  Days. 
These  sweet,  delicious  autumn  d 

When  all  il     day  is  tilled  with  calm, 
And  nil  day  long  a  purple  haze 
Hangs  o'er  tie-  meadow  and  the  farm! 

iet,  dreamy  afternoons, 
And  sunsets  rich  with  crimsoi  glow, 
fliese  sott,  refulgent  harvest  mi 
Fill  me  with  thoughts  of  lung  ago. 

In  baj>py  reverie  my  thought 
(ioes  back  to  those  dear  times  again, 

Ana  scenes  and  faces  ne'er  forgot 
Come  thronging  to  niy  musing  brain. 


SEPrEMBER. 

BY  H.  J.  L. 

Thou  contest  with  a  dullness  in  thy  breath, 
Thou  harvest  month!  and  now  we  miss  the  rose 

And  the  sweet  violet;  and  we  know  that  death 
>      Hath  been  before  us  in  the  garden's  close, 
/  And  in  the  woodland  paths,  and  by  the  streams 
'  That  flow  to  music  where  the  cowslip  gleams. 

Oh !  they  who  dwell  in  softer  climes  than  ours, 
Where  flowers  are  blooming  all  the  radiant  year, 

Know  not  bow  precious  are  the  few  bright  hours 
That  Summer  brings  our  colder  realm  to  cheer; 

Nor  how  we  greet  her  coming,  when  her  voice 

Bids  the  still  valleys  and  the  hills  rejoice ! 

Nor  Can  they  deem  how  sadly  the  farewell 
Drops  from  our  i:ps  when,  the  brief  journey  done, 

She  folds  her  robes  about  her  to  the  swell 
Of  ocean's  dirge-like  murmuring,  while  the  suu 

Grows  paler  in  his  course,  and  day  by  day 

Shortens  his  path  along  the  azure  way. 

We  bless  thee,  harvest  month!  though  thou  dost 
bring 

A  train  of  pensive  memories  with  thy  sheaves! 
Thou  mak'st  the  reaper's  heart  with  joy  to  sing 

O'er  the  rich  guerdon  that  his  toil  receives; 
And  fruits  hang  ripe  upon  the  bending  trees, 
Kissed  by  the  golden  sunshine  and  the  breeze. 

For  all  the  glory  of  the  summer  fled, 
lor  the  rich  garniture  of  hill  and  mead, 

For  the  iate  blooming  flowers  around  us  spread, 
That  mtnUter  unto  the  soul's  deep  need, 

We  bring  our  harvest  hymn— a  mingled  strain 

Of  joy  and  sadness,  gratitude  and  paiu. 
i     1861. 


October  Moog. 
The  chestnuts  shine  through  tbe  cloven  rind, 

And  tbe  woodland  leaves  are  red,  my  dear; 
The  scarlet  fuchsias  burn  in  the  wind, — 

Funeral  plumes  for  the  Year ! 

The  Year  which  has  brought  me  so  much  woe, 
Tha,*  if  it  was  not  for  you,  my  dear, 

I  woulii  wish  the  fuchsias'  fire  might  glow, 
For  me\  *s  well  as  ttwj  Yegrl 

T.  B.  Aldrich. 


,         Come,  and  bring  forth  unto  the  eye  of  dav 

-S  Th2hnKfimpriTln«  and  "Won    °gk 
The  buds  of  many  hues,  the  children  of  thy  light. 

APBIL. 

BY  MRS.  St.  A.  KIDDER. 

TjTj'lKE  the  leaping  of  thy  rills, 
111  Welcome  April, 

x=P  Like  thy  torrents  down  the  hills, 
Genial  April, 
Like  the  streamlet  as  it  goes, 
Like  the  melting  of  the  snows,  ' 

So  our  bounding  life-blood  flows, 
Sunny  April ! 

Pj^I'ITH  the  lowing  of  the  herds, 
IfiUjt  Joyous  April, 

OXD  With  the  singing  of  the  birds, 
Merry  April, 
With  the  murmuring  of  the  bees 
And  tho  whispering  of  the  tr 
Our  pulsating  heart  agrees, 
Lovely  April  1 

jrHEN  we  see  thy  generous  showers' 
%  Tearful  April, 

Brighten  up  the  new-born  flowers 

Budding  April! 
When  we  watch  the  daisy's  hue, 
And  the  violet's  tender  blue, 
Then  we  know  that  thou  art  true, 
Fitful  April! 

'iiK.'s  the  vales  in  green  are  drest, 
Pleasant  April, 
When  the  b  wallow  builds  her  n 

Gentle  April, 
When  the  skies  are  warm  and  <  tear, 
When  the  robin  s  song  we  hear; 
Then  we  know  sweet  May  is  dorr 
Farewell,  April! 

EASTER. 

Flowers,  bring  flowers  to  welcome  tho  morn 
When  the  angel  of  death  of  his  tenors  was  shorn  ; 
Twine  them  in  wreaths  with  the  dark  evergreen, 
Emblem  of  "glory  which  eyo  hath  not  seen," 
Glad  with  their  beauty  the  house  of  tho  Lord, 
Pour  out  their  incense  o'er  altar  and  board, 
Scatter  them  over  the  graves  of  your  dead, 
"Jesus  hath  risen,"  death's  terrors  are  fled. 

Ring  out,  yo  bells,  on  the  listening  air  ! 
Summon  the  people  to  praise  and  to  prayer  r 
Peal  forth  your  triumph  with  jubilant  voice, 
"Jesus  hath  risen,"  immortals,  rejoice! 

Gifts,  bring  thy  gifts  with  full  hand  and  free, 
Remembering  mercies  beRtowed  upon  thee  ; 
Greet  thou  thy  neighbor  with»tokens  of  love, 
Symbols  of  blessings  showered  down  from  above  ; 
Jesus  hath  risen  from  out  ths  dark  tomb. 
Let  him  riso  in  thy  heart  and  dispel  all  its  gloom  , 
He  hath  conquered  tho  grave,  he  hath  broken  death's  d 

"JeSUS  hflt.h  riann    '»  f»   civa  him   tl,fn»  V,««-t  I 


J 


SEPTEMBER. 

BI       GEORGE        ARNOLD. 

Sweet  is  the  voice  that  calls 

From  babbling  waterfalls, 
In  meadows  where  the  downy  seeds  are  flying; 

And  soft  the  breezes  blow, 

And  eddying,  come  and  go, 
In  faded  gardens  where  the  rose  is  dying. 

Among  the  stubbled  corn, 

The  blithe  quail  pipes  at  morn, 
The  merry  partridge  drums  In  hidden  places ; 

And  glittering  insects  gleam 

Above  the  reedy  stream, 
Where  busy  spiders  spin  their  filmy  lace3. 

At  eve,  cool  shadows  fall 

Across  the  garden  wall, 
And  on  the  clustered  grapes  to  purple  turning; 

And  pearly  vapors  lie 

Along  the  eastern  sky, 
Where  the  broad  harvest  moon  is  redly  burning. 

Ah  I  soon  on  field  and  hill 
The  winds  shall  whistle  chill, 
And  patriarch  swallows  call  their  flocks  together. 
To  fly  from  frost  and  snow, 
To  seek  for  lands  where  blow 
The  fairer  blossoms  of  a  balmier  weather. 

The  pollen-dusted  bees 

Search  for  the  honey-lees 
That  linger  in  the  last  flowers  of  September; 

While  plaintive,  mourning  doves 

Coo  sadly  to  their  loves 
Of  the  dead  summer  they  so  well  remember. 

The  cricket  chirps  all  day, 

"Oh !  fairest  summer,  stay ! ' ' 
The  squirrel  eyes  askance  the  chestnuts  browning, 

The  wild  fowl  fly  afar 

Above  the  foamy  bar, 
And  hasten  southward  ere  the  skies  are  frowning. 

Now  oomos  a  fragrant  breeze 

Through  the  dark  cedar  trees, 
And  round  about  my  temples  fondly  lingers, 

In  gentle  playfulness, 

Like  to  the  soft  caress 
Bestowed  in  happier  days  by  loving  Angers. 

Yet,  though  a  sense  of  grief 

Comes  with  the  fallen  leaf, 
And  memory  makes  the  summer  doubly  pleasant, 

In  all  my  autumn  dreams 

A  future  summer  gleams, 
Passing  the  fairest  glories  of  the  present. 

—Harper's  Magazine. 


JUNE. 

The  dainty  bees  hang  over  the  dewey,  scented  clover, 
The  little  birds  are  singing  in  the  warm  June  sun, 

The  roses'  blood  is  creeping  where  the  wee  green  buds  lie 
sleeping, 
And  the  glow  on  nature  tells  us  that  summer  has  begun. 

The  honeysuckle  clusters  where  fall  the  golden  lustres. 

The  smiling  sky  bends  over  with  a  brow  of  stainless  blue, 
The  tiny  brooks  are  singing  of  the  great  news  they're  bring> 
ing 

From  the  founts  that  told  them  the  glad  tale  ever  new. 

The  ivy  green  is  trailing  the  rocks,  with  festoons  veiling, 
The  woodbine  clasps  and  kisses  the  ruin  the  past  has  done ; 

Anemones  are  flushing  with  daintiest  of  blushing, 
While  the  hill-slopes  court  the  sun  till  violets  are  won. 

Now  birds  and  flowers  go  wooing,  their  last  year's  homes 
renewing; 

The  woods  are  full  of  music  and  perfume  all  the  day  f 
The  sea  in  glittering  glory  murmurs  its  low  sweet  story, 

With  liquid  lips  just  tinted  with  many-colored  spray. 

In  the  valleys  lilies  MoWBlnjf,  all  the  air  around  perfuming, 
Nestle  their  wee  bells  In  the  clustering,  shining  leaves, 

Ringing  low  the  meaning  of  the  warmth,  and  glow,   and 
gleaming, 
To  the  birds  that  love  them,— the  butterflies  and  bees. 

The  foot-prints  of  the  summer  dint  the  heart  of  every  comer 

Who  Is  fain  to  linger  'mid  the  beauty  and  the  bloom  ; 
The  soul  forgets  its  sadness,  and  brims  o'er  and  o'er  with 
gladness,— 
All  nature  is  at  peace,  for  the  year  is  at  its  noon. 

S.  Pierce. 


AUGUST. 

There  is  no  month  in  the  whole  year  in 
which  nature  wears  a  more  beautiful  appear- 
ance than  in  the  month  of  August.     Spring 
has  many  beauties,  and  May  is  a  fresh  and 
blooming  month,  but  the  charms  of  this  time 
of  year  are  enhanced  by  their  contrast  with 
the  Winter  season.    August  has  no  such  ad- 
vantage.    It  comes  when  we  remember  noth- 
ing but  clear  skies,   green  fields,  and  sweet 
smelling  flowers— when    the  recollection    of 
snow  and  ice  and  bleak  winds  has  faded  from 
our  minds  as  completely  as  they  have  disap- 
peared from  the  earth,— and  yet  what  a  pleas- 
ant time  it  is!     Orchards  and  cornfields  ring 
with  the  hum  of  labor ;  trees  bend  beneath 
the  clusters  of  rich  fruit  which  bow  their 
branches  to  the  ground ;  and  the  corn  piled  in 
graceful  sheaves,   or  waving   in  every  light 
breath  that  sweeps  above  it,  as'  if  it  wooed  the 
sickle,  tinges  the  landscape  with  a  golden  hue. 
A  mellow  softness  appears  to  hang  over  the 
whole  earth.      The  influence    of  the  season 
seems  to  extend  itself  to  the  very  wao-on 
whose  slow  motion  across  the  well-reaped  field 
is  perceptible  only  to  the  eye,  but  strikes  with 
no  harsh  sound  upon  the  ear. 

As  the  coach  rolls  swiftly  past  the  fields  and 
orchards  which  skirt  the  road,  groups  of  wo- 
men and  children,  piling  the  fruit  in  sieves,  or 
gathering  the  scattered  ears  of  corn,  pause  for 
an  instant  from  their  labor,  and,  shading  the 
sunburnt  face  with  the  still  browner  hand,  gaze 
upon  the  passengers  with  curious  eyes,  while 
some  stout  urchin,  too  Small  to  work,  but  too 
mischievous  to  be  left  at  home,  scrambles  over 
the  side  of  the  basket  in  which  he  has  been 
deposited  for  security,  and  kicks  and  screams 
with  delight.  The  reaper  stops  in  his  work, 
and  stands  with  folded  arms,  looking  at  the 
vehicle  as  it  whirls  past ;  and  the  rough  cart- 
horses bestow  a  sleepy  glance  upon  the  smart 
coach  team,  which  says  as  plainly  as  a  horse's 
glance  can,  "It's  all  very  fine  to  look  at;  but 
slow  going  over  a  heavy  field  is  better  than 
warm  work  like  that  upon  a  dusty  road,  after 
all."  You  cast  a  look  behind  you,  as  you  turn 
a  corner  of  the  road.  The  women  and  child- 
ren have  resumed  their  labor ;  the  reaper  once 
more  stoops  to  his  work ;  the  cart-horses  have 
moved  on;  and  all  are  again  in  motion. — 
Dicker)  r.  : 


O,  Ruler  of  the  waning  year! 
How  calm  while  summer  lingers  here 
Is  thine  enchanted  sleep  •  ' 

When  murmurh  g  woods  are  full  of  songs, 

^    SU«gf?eu  Jeaves  are  whispering  tongues, 
And  fields  grow  rich  and  deep-     MM1Bue8' 

JUI  wakened  by  the  thrilling  sound 
Of  the  sharp  scythe  a'.ong  the  ground, 

Ihro  Nature's  flowering  heart  • 
Or  shouts  cf  jocund  harvest  home. 
That  down  the  echoing  valleys  come. 

From  laughing  hills  a  part. 

How  calm  a  splendor  ever  lies 
Within  thy  roj  al  waking  eyes, 

O  wondrous  autumn  time! 
Like  glory  roimd  a  good  man's  head, 
W  hen  angels  light  about  his  bed, 

And  waken  thoughts  sublime. 

And  who  could  dream  yon  soft,  sweet  light 
Were  heraid  01  the  year's  dark  night 

And  North  wind's  stormy  breath! 
That  ali  these  tints  of  red  and  "old, 
Burning  through  every  starry  fold, 

Were  signs  01  Nature's  death ! 

Ah,  me!  thy  coming  stirs  the  sense, 
At  every  poital,  calling  thence 

The  troops  of  awe  and  tear. 
Wo  think,  perforce,  of  days  gone  by, 
And  days  that  all  as  swiftly  fly, 

Knowing  thine  errand  here. 

We  cannot  with  the  swallow  flee, 
And  shun  the  gloomy  days  that  be 

Sofuii  ojf  winter 
We  pass  into  our  Orient  land 
Across  dark  sea;-  where  some  bright  hand 

Calls  from  the  deeps  below. 

Born  where  the  black  pine  crowned  the  bills, 
And  violets  pierced  the  soil  that  fills 

The  e!m  tree's  rugged  spurs; 
When  wore  the  thorn  her  snow-white  crown, 
And  chestnut  spires  fell  softly  down 

Among  the  golden  furze. 

Still  thy  dread  pii  iocs,  as  of  old. 
The  sylvan  hiiis  aci  vales  unfold 

O'er  all  the  spreading  land; 
And  earth's  sv.  ect  face,  once  bright  and  mild 
As  the  fair  forehead  (fa  child, 

Is  seared  as,  with  a  brand. 

And  still  man's  conscious  spirit  foels, 
While  far  and  wide  the  east  wind  peals, 

'Tis  God  Almighty's  breath ; 
While  as  in  prayer  all  heaven  is  bowed, 
O'or  hil!  and  valley  blowing  loud, 

The  Autumn -blast  of  Death. 

SPEING. 


TO  SUMMED. 

O  thou  who  passest  thro'  our  valleys  in 

Thy  strength,  curb  thy  fierce  steeds,  allay  the  heat 

That  flames  from  their  large  nostrils!  thou,  O  Sun 

mer, 
Oft  pitchedst  here  thy  golden  tent,  and  oft 
Beneath  our  oaks  hast  slept,  while  we  beheld 
With  joy,  thy  ruddy  limbs  and  flourishing  hair. 

Beneath  our  thickest  shades  we  oft  have  heard 
Thy  voice,  when  noon  upon  its  fervid  car 
Kode  o'er  the  deep  of  heaven ;  beside  our  springs 
Sit  down,  and  in  our  mossy  valleys,  on 
Some  bank  beside  a  river  clear,  throw  thy 
Silk  draperies  off,  and  rush  into  the  stream: 
Our  valleys  love  the  Summer  in  bis  pride. 

Our  bards  are  famed  w  ho  strike  the  silver  wire; 
Our  youth  are  boHer  Jhan  the  southern  swains; 
Our  maidens  fairer  imthe  sprightly  dance; 
We  lack  not  songs,  nor  instruments  of  joy, 
Kor  echoes  sweet,  nor  waters  clear  as  heaven 
2for  laurel  wreaths  against  the  sultryheat. 

William  Blake. 


We  know  it  is  good  that  old  winter  should  come. 

Roving  awhile  from  his  Lapland  home: 

VT is  fitting  that  we  should  hear  the  sound 

01  his  reindeer  sledge  on  the  slippery  ground : 

For  bis  wide  and  glittering  cloak  of  snow 
Protects  the  seeds  of  life  below; 
Beneath  bis  mantle  are  nurtured  and  bora 
The  roots  of  the  flowers,  the  germs  of  the  corn. 

The  whistling  tone  of  his  pure,  stroDg  breath, 

Rides  purging  the  vapors  of  pestilent  death. 

I  love  bim,  I  say,  and  avow  it  again, 

For  God's  wisdom  and  might  show  well  in  his  train. 

But  the  Baked— the  poor !    I  know  they  quail 
With  crouching  limbs  from  the  biting  gale; 
They  pine  and  starve  by  the  firelass  hearth, 
And  weep  as  they  gaze  on  the  frost-bound  earth 

StaBd  nobly  forth,  ye  1  ich  of  the  land, 
With  kindly  heart  and  bounteous  hand ; 
Remember  'tis  now  their  season  oi  need, 
And  a  prayer  for  help  is  a  eau  ye  must  heed. 

A  few  of  thy  blessings,  a  tithe  of  thy  gold;. 
Will  save  the  young,  and  cherish  the  old. 
'Tis  a  glorious  task  to  work  such  good — 
Do  it,  ye  great  ones !    Ye  can,  and  ye  should 

He  is  not  worthy  to  bold  from  Heaven 
The  trust  reposed,  the  talents  given, 
Who  will  not  add  to  the  portion  that's  scant 
In  the  pinching  hours  of  cold  and  want. 

Oh !  listen  in  mercy,  ye  sons  of  wealth, 
Backing  in  comfort  and  glowing  with  health; 
Give  wbate'er  ye  can  spare,  and  be  sure 
Be  serveth  his  Maker  who  aideth  the  poor. 

Tiho  Sleigh-Bide.' 

Oh,  the  rare  delight 

On  a  winter  night, 
When  the  winds  aro  still  and  the  stars  are  bright  - 
When  I  ,  am]  wliito, 

Ami  tho  trees  aro  decked  with  pearls, 

To  glide  down  the  road, 

Vt  ith  a  merry  load 
Of  frolickaome  boys  and  girls! 

As  our  pulses  climb, 

it  time 
To  the  merrj 

Intln.  lort  of  a  Ruuio  rhyme  " 

That  thej  learned  ho  long  ago. 

How  the  joyous  shout 

Of  our  mirth  rings  out. 
As  we  speed  o'or  the  glistening  snow] 


:.        Come  quickly,  Oh  thou  Spring .' 
"Write  love's  fair  alphabet  upon  the  sod 
In  many-colored  flowers— to  preach  of  God, 
Our  Everlasting  King ! 

Come  from  the  rosy  south, 
eIn  chariot  of  incense  and  of  light, 
Dissolve  the  lingering  snows  that  glisten  whit 

Beneath  thy  fragrant  mouth. 

Walk  softly  o'er  the  earth, 
Thou  blessed  spirit  of  the  Eden- time  ; 
Thy  breath  is  like  an  incense-laden  clime, 

Clasping  rich  bowers  of  mirth. 

Thy  virgin  herald  's  here — 
The  snow-drop  bares  her  bosom  to  the  gale, 
iTVhile  down  her  cheek,  so  delicately  pale, 

Trickles  a  crystal  tear. 

The  lark  now  soars  above, 
As  if  he  felt  thy  freedom  on  his  wing3, 
"While  from  his  heaven- attuned  throat  there  rk 

A  charming  peal  of  love. 

The  yet  unbearded  wheat 
Now  timidly  puts  forth  its  tender  leaf 
To  drink  sweet  dews,  for  Winter,  ancient  el 

Crawls  off  with  tott'ring  feet. 

Your  sorrows  now  inter, 
.  Ye  dwellers  in  dark  cities  ;  Spring  is  nigh  ; 
She  bathes  her  garments  in  a  sunset  sky, 
And  treads  the  halls  of  myrrh. 

'  The  Effect  of  Spring  on  Man. 

Still  let  my  song  a  nobler  note  assume, 
And  Kihfi  ""'  Iniusive  force  of  Spring  ou  Man; 
Wh<  n  leaven  and  earth,  as  if  contending,  vie 
To  rain'  hi*  being  and  serene  his  soul. 
Cat'  he  iorbear  to  join  tho  general  smile 
01  Nature?    Can  fierce  passions  vex  his  breast, 
While  every  gale  is  pence,  ano  every  grove 
1-  melody  F     Hence!  from  the  bounh-om  walks 
Of  flowing  Spring,  \e  sordid  sons  oi  earth, 
Ilaid,  and  unfeeling  of  another's  woe, 
Oi  onlj  lavish  to  yourselves,  away ! 
But  come,  ye  generous  minds,  in  whoso  wide  tho't, 
Of  ail  his  wo!  ks  creative  Bounty  burns 
With  warmest  beam;  and  on  your  open  front 
Al(I  liberal  eve  sits,  from  bis  dark  re'reat, 
Inviting  modest  Want.    Nor,  till  invoked, 
Can  listless  Goodness  wait;  your  active  search 
Leave.  n«  co  d  wintry  corner  unexplored; 
like  silent-working  Heaven,  surprising  oft 
The  lone  y  heart  wirrj  unexpected  good, 
l*or  you  the  roving  spirit  of  tbe  wind 
Blows  Sb'iog  abroad;  for  you  tbe  teeming  clouds 
l)»scei.o  in  gladsome  plenty  o'er  the  world; 
And  the  sun  sheds  his  kinuest  lays  lor  you. 
Ye  (lower  of  human  race.  [  Thompson^ 


An  Affecting  Story  by  a  Printer's  Devil. 
The  following  is  an  account  of  a  heart-rend- 
ing circumstance.  Read  it  if  you  can:  We 
once  saw  a  man  near  iqC,  gazing  at  the  *ry 
heavens,  with  a|  in  i  \jtT  and  a  , — <— .  of 
pistols  in  the  other.  We  endeavored  to  at- 
tract his  a  lotion    by  .ing  z  a  ^[  in  a  paper 


CHINESE  PROVERBS. 

To  feel  after  a  pin  on  the  bottom  of  the  ocean 
—(to  try  to  do  an  absurd  or  impossible  thing.) . 
^.  cat  leading  a  rat  to  view  the  feast  of  lanterns 
—(one  bad  man  deceiving  another  with  specious 
vretensions.)  A  tiger  eating  a  fly — (dispropor- 
tionate.) A  wooden  tiger — (an  unsuccessful 
)lan  to  frighten  people.)     A  basket  of  grain  pro- 


©ur  JFutmg  Cornet. 

A  conscript  being  told  that  it  was  sweet 
to  die  for  his  country,  tried  to  excuse  him- 
self on  the  ground  that  ne  never  did  like 
sweet  things. 


* The  man  who  bolted  the  door,  is  suf- 
fering from  indigestion.  ^  -^ 

The  man  who  "  re-traced  "  fie  p*ft<Cs 

supposed  to  have  been  a  harness-maker. 


lucing  only  a  pound  of  chicken-meat- (indicates  b  ■  ■  TllE  finest  wallflowers  of  the  SEa- 

B  y        B  '.  money-losing  business.)     A  toad  in  a  well  can-  "-son.— The  defenders  of  the  walls  of  Silistria. 


wc  held  in  our 

man  in  that  §  of    the  country,  who  had  left!10t  behold  t£e  whole  heavens;  to  look  at  the 
home  in  a  st8  of  derangement.   He  dropped  jieavens  from  the  bottom  of  a  well— (contracted/ 
the  f  and  pistols  from  his  13P°  JJ®*  with  the  deas.)     Climbing  a  tree  to  hunt  for  fish — (to 
!  « It  is  I  of  whom  U  read  ;  I  left  my  home  ook  for  things j^bere  they  can  by  no  probability  / 
be4  my  friends  knew  of  my  design.     I  had  ,e  found.) 


BTThe  Turks  have  some  odd  sayings.     Taste  a 


so  the  J2p*  of  a  girl  who  refused  2  lisio  to 

me,  but    smiled   upon  another.      I  ed  fevv_     You'll  not  sweetcen  your  mouth  by  saying 

madly  from  the  house  uttering  a  wild  !  to  "honey."  If  a  man  would  live  in  peace,  he 
the  god  of  love  (Qpid),  and  without  apply-  should  be  blind,  deaf  and  dumb.  Do  g^od  and 
ing  to  the  ??  of  my  friends,  and  came  here  throw  it  into  the  sea.  if  the  fish  know  it  not, 
with  this  f   and  - — • — ,  of  ^pistols  to    put  a 


A  schoolmaster,  after  giving  one  of  the  schol- 
ars a  sound  drubbing- for  speaking  bad  gramma* 
sent  him  to  the  other  end  of  the  room  to  inform 
another  boy  that  he  wished  to  speak  with  him 
an. 1,  at  the  same  time  promising  to  repeat  t..e 
•lose  if  he  spoke  to  him  ung. ammaticaily.  The 
youngster,  quite  satisfied  with  what  he  has]  got 
determined  to  be  exact,  and  thus  addressed  his 
fellow  pupil:  "There  is  a  common  substantive 
of  the  masculine  gender,  singular  number,  nomi- 
native case,  and  in  angry  mood,  that  sits  perch- 
ed upon  the  eminence  at  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  and  wishes  to  articulate  a  few  sentences  to 
you  m  the  present  teuse  " 


finis  2  mv  Xisiocc.  My  case  has  no  in 
this  §.'  4otitudeand  4bearance  R  required 
under  such  perpleXing  circumstances. 

Charity.— "I  fear,"  said  a  country  curate  to 
his  flock,  "when  I  explained  to  you  in  my  last 

^hovit.r  oormnn  that  nhilflnthr'     **V    W8S  the  love 

u-stood  me  to 


the  Lord  will.  ^     The  reason  we  admire'pretty  feet :  Because  all's 

''-'*'"„      „    „  TT    ,  .  .  .  ii      ,„«"  ~  well  that  ends  well. 

JS^S^^SS^'S^SS^  i  h  Ought  not  a  young  lady  of  eighteen  springs 
the   widew   Hooper    in     an   adjoining   town,      have  a  fine  waterfall  I 


town 

Thither  he  rode  on  his  brown  mare  and  fouud 

her   emptying   a   wash-tub.     "Is   this   widow 

Hooper?"    "Yes,  sir."    "Well,  I  am  that  little 

bit  of  an  old  dried  up  Deacon  Small,  and  have 

only  one  question  to  propose  to  you.  .  "Please 

propose,  sir."    "Well,  madam,  have  you  any 

n  objection  to  going   to  heaven  by  the  way  of 

A  Hopkinton?"    "None  at  all,  deacon.    Come  in, 

'*  sir!"    The  result  was  a  wedding  the  next  week. 

An  echo  in   Woodstock   Park,   Oxfordshire, 

Eng.,  repeats  seventeen  syllables  by  day  and 

twenty  by  night.    The  most  remarkable  echo 

known  is  one   on   the   north    side   of   Shiply 

Church,  in  Sussex,  which  distinctly  repeats  21 

syllables.  __  _  

(lg^-"Mind  your  eye,"  as  the  arrow  said  to. the 
target. 


charity  sermon  that  philanthr 
of  our  species,  you  must  hav^  _ 
say  specie,  which  mav  account  fo    the  smallness 
of  the  collection.    You  will  prove,  I  hope,  by 
your  present  contribution,  that  you  are  no  long- 
er laboring  under  the  same  mistake." 

We  are  quite  willing  to  concede  the  sincerity 
of  certain  men  who  are  opposed  to  Foreign  Mis- 
sions, deeming  that  here  in  New  York  is  a  mis- 
sionary field  larger,  more  easily  worked,  and 
more  promising  for  results  than  any  that  are  now 
.sustained  at  such  heavy  expense  abroad:  but, 
while  avowing  our  own  conviction  in  favor  of 
foreign  effort,  it  may  not  be  inappropriate  to  state 
the  action  of  a  good  man  in  Bishop  Neely's  dio- 
cese (Maine).  On  being  solicited  to  aid  one  of  tuougaD(i  giuai  1  brilliants  form  the  crown  of  the  ,er  on  trial 
these  foreign  projects  he  gave  twenty-five  cents.  *    -       . 

but  stoppexl  the  agent  as  he  was  departing,  and  Queon  of  Belgium 


said:    "Here's  a  dollar  to  pay  the  expense  of 
getting  that  '  quarter  to  the  heathen  /" 


SAINT  VAI-F.XTINE— Fkbbuary  14. 
Valentine  wfts  an  anient  presbyter  of  the  chiircri:    he 
raffbred  mnrtvr.btn  in  the  persecution-  under "»»  H^i 
Rome  i  being  beaten  with  clubs,  and  then  bcheadod,  about 
the  year  970.  . 

"The  .lav  Saint  V.i!mtine, 
When  rn.ii.4s  are  brhk,and  at  the  brMtk  of  d*y 
Start  up  an  i  turn  (h«ir  pillows,  ci.noiu  all 
To  Vnow  what  trappy  twain  (lie  fota  provide 
A  mate  for  life    Then  f«t1nwi  (hick  aifeJwrp 
Of  true-love  kails  and  lonneti  nirelv  penned, 
I".!*!  to  the  learned  critic*!  eye  no  ver»#, 
But  pro«t  diitracteo. 

A  Neat  Akithmeticai,  Eule.— As  the  Ma- 
sonic procession  was  passing,  on  Monday,  a  lady 
said  to  her  companions:  "I  do  wish  I  knew  how 
many  miles  of  carriages  there  are  in  the  proces- 
sion!" "Nothing  easier,"  replied  a  sister. 
"Count  the  number  of  horses,  and  allow  four 
feet  for  every  horse,  and  you  have  it  to  a  foot! 
—Boston  Traveller. 


jgrGold  goes  in  at  any  gate  except  Heaven's. 

At  a~church   fair  in   St.  Paul,  last  weelc,  a 

series  of  conundrums  were  read,  and  a  set  of 

Cooper's  works  promised  to  the   person    who 

should  answer  the  most  appropriately.     lh« 

i  winner  received   tbo    prize   in   the   shape  of^ 

6  I  small  wooden  pails. 


Why  are  jokes  like  nuts  ? 
— Because  the  dryer  they 
are  the  better  they  crack. 


A  Horse's  Petition  io  his  Driver —Up 
the  hM,  whip  me  nor;  dnv.>  v\ieuvl,  hurry  me 
nor;  in  the  staVe,  C*SfA  ave  not;  of  hay  and 
corn,  rob  ma  uot;  oftj«5b«n  water,  stint  me  not; 
with  sponge  and.  brush,  uek'ect  me  not;  of  soft 
dry  bed,  deprive  me  not ;  if  sick  or  cold,  chill  me 
not;  with  bit  anl  rem?,  ob!  jerk  mn  no-;  -.ind 
w'^n  rou  are  angry,  strike  me  nor.— Our  Dumb 
Animals 

What  is  Faith?—  \  little  girl  five  years  of 
8ga,  on  ''ting  Mskn<  whit  i«  f-ith,  anles-ly  re-  I 
pited,  "It;  i>  doingjasc  what  God  warns  us  tod', 
and  asking  no  questions  about  it."  Tbi§  covers  I 
the  whole  field;  perfect  trust  combined  with  im-  j 
plicit  obedience.— Am.  Messenger. 


The  greatest  lack  of  self-respect  is  exhibited  in 
thinking  continually  of  self. 

The  'lasses  candy  wedding  is  when  the  first 
baby  gets  big  enough  to  lick. 

Some  one  calls  the  time  of  squeezing  girls' 
hands  the  palmy  season  of  life. 

When  the  good  man  dies,  the  tears  he  in  life 
prevented  from  flowing  are  shed. 

The  prosperous  man,  who  yields  himself  up  to 
temptation,  bids  farewell  to  welfare. 

Whatever  the  advance  in  the  price  of  liquors, 
they  are,  unfortunately,  always  going  down. 

"Arc  our  girls  fitted  for  wives  ?"  queries  a  sober 
exchange.  Are  they  fitted  for  husbands?"  re- 
torts a  young  itemizer. 

Every  man  has  a  paradise  around  him,  until 
he  sins,  and  the  angel  of  an  accusing  conscience 
drives  him  from  his  Eden. 
^-Forty-five  pearls,  forty  diamonds  and  five     gaid  an  Irish  justice  tQ  an  obstreperous  prison. 

Wc  want  nothing  from  you  but 
silence,  and  but  little  of  that." 

Many  beautiful  women  when  walking  in  the 
streets  seem  very  angry  if  they  are  gazed  at,  and 
sadly  disappointed  if  they  are  not. 

A  little  boy  who  was  praised  for  never  taking 
his  eyes  off  the  preacher,  answered  with  all  sim- 
plicity :  "I  wanted  to  see  how  near  he  was  to 
the  end." 

A  Calvinistic  old  lady,  on  being  asked  about 
the  Universalist,  observed,  "Yes,  they  expect 
that  everybody  will  be  saved;  but  we  look  lor 
better  things." 

Our  Lord  God  doth  like  a  printer,  who  setteth 
the  letters  backwards;  we  see  and  feel  well  his 
setting,  but  we  shall  read  the  print  yonder  in  the 
life  to  come. — Luther. 

Madame  de  Stael  defined  happiness  to  be  a 
state  of  constant  occupation  upon  some  desirable 
object,  with  a  continual  sense  of  progress  to- 
wards its  attainment. 

A  young  man  who  was  about  jumping  from  a 
train  while  in  motion  was  deterred  tajr  a  reporter, 
who  asked  for  his  name,  age,  business  and  resi- 
dence for  an  obituary  item. 

Heaven  is  the  opening  of  a  door;  it  is  tbe  find- 
ing of  a  long-sought  good,  the  renewal  of  a  lqng- 
lost  communion,  the  restoration  to  a  favor  which 
is  in  itself  the  fullness  of  joy. 

In  ancient  days  the  precept  was,  "Kftidw  thy- 
self." In  modern  times  it  has  been  supplanted 
by  the  far  more  fashionable  maxim,  "Kno  v  thy 
neighbor,  and  everything  about  him." 

Fair  opportunities  are  sw'hto  ab; 
But  in  returning  they  are>  ah,  how  slow! 
Unrighteous  2ain  has  destroyed  millions;  but 
has  never  made  one  man  permanently  prosperous 
and  happy. 

Two  hard  thinzs:  First,  to  talk  of  yourself 
without  being  vain;  second,  to  talk  of  others 
without  slander. 

An  elderly  and  good-natured  spinster,  on  be- 
ing rallied  as  tojher  "single  blessedness,  declar- 
ed, "I  have  never  yet  lost  heart,  because  I  have 
always  kept  in  constant  remembrance  the  fact 
that  Naomi,  the  daughter  of  Enoch,  was  five 
hundred  and  eighty  j  ears  old  when  she  got  mar- 
ried.'' 

Robert  Burns  was  once  taken  to  task  by  a 
young  Edinburg  blood,  with  whom  he  was  walk- 
ing, for  recognizing  an    honest  farmer  in  the 
,, ,.    ..        ,        .,                      .,,      .    .    open  street.    "It  wap  uot,"  said  the  poet,  "the 
A  Uuaker  Answer.—    Martha,  does  thee  love  me?'  asked  a  *atcoat  the  scone  bonnet,  and  the  boot-hose 
Quaker  youth  of  one  at  whose  shrine  his  heart's  holiest  feelings  had  been  £,ia't  £  s.)0'jce  t0,  but  the  man  that  was  in  them ; 
offered  up.    "  Why,  Seth,"  answered  she,  "  we  are  commanded  to  lovean'c,  tue  m0JX)  s/rj  ror  true  worth,  would  weigh 
one  another,  are  we  not  ?"    "Ay,  Martha,  but  does  thee  regard  me(jown  „OH  &n^  me  .an&  jgjj  more  8u<j,  any  day." 
with  that  feeling  the  world  calls  love?"    "  I  hardly  know  what  to  tell 
thee,  Seth.     I  have  greatly  feared  that  my  heart  was  an  erring  one.     I 
have  tried  to  bestow  my  love  on  all ;  but  I  may  have  sometimes  thought, 
perhaps,  that  thee  was  getting  rather  more  than  thy  share."  . | 


Curran,  the  witty  Irish  barrister,  was  plead- 
ing the  cause  of  a  certain  Miss  Tickel.  Tha 
judge  was  also  a  bit  of  a  wit;  and  When  Curran 
opened  his  case  with  "Tickel,  my  client,  the   de- 

•v,  fendant,  my  lord "  the  judge  interrupted  him 

*  with  "tickle  her  yourself,  Curran,  you're  as  well 
able  to  doit  asl  am/' 


"NATURE'S   JEWELS!" 

BY      MRS.      M.      A.      KIDDE1U 

Tat 

The 

Tns 

/jfV    OLDEN  Sos 

Diamond  Dew  I 

Crystal  Showers. 

(l73)Drightly 

Soft  it  goc* 

Seel  it  rains  !• 

To- the  heart 

Hear  tho  drops         1 

On  the  trees, 

Of  tho  Rose. 

Or*  *he  panes 

Flowers  and  vine*. 

Sparkling  dew 

\\  clcomc  rain  T 

Glowing  bun. 

Clear  and  bright, 

Coolinz  nhowcrs  I 

Like  a  tear 

En-ht'ning  up 

The  shadows  now 

Full  of  light 

Trees  and  Cowers. 

Disappear. 

Tn» 

Tn* 

THE- 

Emeu Ai.n  Leaves  : 

PeahltSnow! 

How  they  thrill 

Tuxe  it  fiic* 

On  the  lakes, 

With  the  winds 

Trom  the  dull. 

Rills  and  streams. 

From  tho  hill. 

Murky  skit-y. 

fickle  moon! 

Trembling  leaves ! 

Dazzling  Snow* 

Failing  high, 

Fair  and  green,           1  Coming  down. 

Through  the  clouds 

Lighting  up                  Covering  all 

T.i  the  skj. 

I  All  the  seen*.              1  A\  ith  a  crown*        i 

"  When  a  woman,"  says  Mrs.  Partington,  "has  once  married 
with  a  congealing  heart,  and  one  that  beats  responsible  to  her  own, 
she  will  never  want  to  enter  the  maritime  state  again." 


V 


•• 


Be  not  soon  angry,  and  be  not  angry  with- 
out a  cause;  and  remain  not  under  its  influ- 
ence ;  are  maxims  which  come  to  us  clothed 
with  the  authority  of  heaven. 

A  proud    spirit,  and  a  fro  ward   and  unsub- 
dued hearty  are  the  chief  causes  of  precipitate 
/  anger  and  hasty  wrath. 

The  humble,  meek,  and  lowly,  are  not  easi- 
ly provoked,  and  cherish  no  false  estimates  of 
their  pre-eminent  excellencies  and  impor- 
tance. 

A  man  incapable  of  anger  is  manifestly  de- 
ficient in  some  of  the   emotions  which  belong 
to  our  nature;  and  friendship  with  such  a  one 
would  be  as  undesirable  as  with  the  man  who  | 
is  soon  angry,  or  angry  without  a  cause. 

An  angry  man  carrieth  about  him  the  coals 


The  late  Lord  Palmerston  once  offered  Dr.      I"  tne  practice    of  politely   bowing  strangers 


\ 


Lord 


Palmerston,  who  was  given  to  waggery,  popped  blandly  said  one  of  these  Sunday  Chesterfields, 
Lis  head lout ;  of  the  window  and  cried  out  in  as  with  emphatic  gracefulness  he  opened  the 
the  words  oi  Tate  and  Brady,  Psalms:  j^„       <<  t    k„„   ,n  a       »         r   J  .1 

door.         1   beg  pardon,"   replied  the  stranger, 

rising,  "I  fear  I  have.     I  mistook  it  for  a  Chris- 


"How  ble^t  tbe  man  who  ne'er  consents 
"By  ill  advWe  to  walk," 

to  which  the  witty  Prelate  responded: 
"Not  stands  in  sinner's  wavs,  nor  sils 
"Wheie  men  pro fanely  talk .'" 

LITTLE-OR-NOTHINGS. 


Kissing  the  hands  of  great  men  was 

a  Grecian  custom. 

A  Western  editor  posts  the  following 


nan's." 

Klopstock  engraved  on  the  grave  of  his  wife 
two  sheaves  of  wheat,  thrown,  as  it  were  care- 
lessly together,  with  the  words:  "We  shall  ripen 

*    in  heaven." 

Slight  changes  make  great  differences.  Din- 
ner for  nothing  is  very  good  fun;  but  you  can't 
say  as  much  of  nothing  for  dinner. 

Fenelon. — When  Fenelon's  library  was  once 


(t.  e.,*scissors.) 


notice  -.--Lost  or  stolen.— Our  assistant  editor,    onfire>  «Qod  be  praised,"  he  exclaimed,  "that 


it  is  not  the  dwelling  of  some  poor  man." 


A  Notion  of  Talkers. — It  seems  that  the  French  lan- 
of  strife,    and  on   any  emergency,   his    own  <J  guage  ))as  5000  more  words  than  the  English.    Upon<- 
k,„„ft,    „.,l-:.,.u„»!.  iKn»n,.,;ili  tl,n  fipn  nf  ivmili  th  is  fact  being  men  tioned  to  a  lady,  she  said :  "Well,  I'm 

breath    enkltldletll  theiewilh  the  fire  Of  Wiatll.  J   6urethcylnUst  want  them  all,  for  the  French  talk  ever  so 

Anger  is  the  highway  lo  many  sins,  and  the  A  much  more  than  we  do."      


downward  path  to  complicated  sorrows. 

If  thou  wouldst  be  dignified  and  happy,  use-  ^ 
ful   and   respected,   an  ornament  to  morality, 
and  a  witness  for  religion,  then  ''be  not  hasty 
in  thy  spirit  to  be  angry." 

MADAME 


"The  work  of  a  thousand  men  for  four  years" 
is  the  inscription  upon  the  immense  railroad 
bridge  which  has  just  been  erected  across  the 
Susquehanna  river,  at  Havre  de  Grace,  Mary- 


STRIKING     SAYINGS     FROM 
SWETC'HINE. 


f 


We  are  always  looking  into  the  future,  but  „•,] 
we  see  only  the  past.  y 

The  courage  with  which  we  have  met  past 
dangers  is  often  our  best  security  in  the  pres-     , 
ent.  y 

Real  sorrow  is  almost  as  difficult  to  discover 
as  real  poverty.    An  instinctive  delicacy  hides  . 
the  rays  of  the  one  and  the  wounds  of  the 
other. 

Ke  who  has  never  denied  himself  for  the  sake  ^ 

I  of  giving  has  but  glanced  at  the  joys  of  chari- 
ty. We  owe  our  superfluity,  and  to  be  happy 
in  the  performance  of  our  duty  we  must  ex- 
ceed it. 

Let  us  ever  exceed  our  appointed  duties,  and    A 
keep  within  our  lawful  pleasures 


The  Swekt   Small   Courtesies  — 
- 1  want  to   tell    you    a   secret.     The 
way  to  make  yourself    pleasant   t> 
others  is    to    show    them    attention. 
The  whole  world  is  like   the    miller 
(at  Mansfield,  •   'io  cared  f»v   nobody 
—  no,  not  hi ...  i  ojanse  nobody  cared 
•  for   him.       And    the    whole    world 
would  serve  yon  so,  ifyou  gave  them 
the  same   cause.      Let   every   one, 
therefore,  see  that  you  do   care    for 
them,  by  showing  them    the    small 
courtesies,  in  which  there  is  no  pa- 
rade, whose  voice  is  still  to    please, 
and  which  manifest   themselves   by 
tender  and  affectionate  looks  and  lit- 
tle acts  of  attention,  giving   others 


We  expect  everything  and  we  are  prepared  god  hath  ma»k  of  usk  blood  all  Nations  of  mk  .^,1r„,.„n,.0  ;n  ~™rv  littlp  aninv 
for  nothing  -^  llie  prticiLiitA,  in  cvcij    ••»•*«  ^"j   j 

There  are  not  good  things  enough  in  life  to  ,  ''^rnember  nopohhed  change  w  worth  a  single  crime,  ment  ftt  the  ^u,.^  jn  the  fielJ>  walfc 
indemnify  us  for  the  neglect  of  a  single  duty.      ^  above  all,  a  single  drop  of  human  6Joo<l"-Dan.  O'Connel 

Silence  is  like  nightfall:  objects  are  lost  in 


jng,  sitting  or  standing. 


jar 
«s- 
*ss- 
js- 
i:  |  ■ 
t;  i  - 

JS" 

J8®- 

>esr 
x&r 
m~ 
ms- 

jari 
js-i 

m-< 

J9"l- 
J  ..  • 
J3- 

jor 

tar 


it  insensibly. 

We  are  rich  only  through  what  we  give  and  ^ 
poor  only  through  what  we  refuse. 

There  is  a  transcendent  power  in  example. 
We  reform  others  unconsciously  when  we 
walk  uprightly. 

The  inventory  of  my  faith  for  this  lower 
world  is  soon  made  out.  I  believe  in  Him  who 
made  it. 

The  root  of  sanctity  is  sanity.  A  man  must 
be  healthy  before  he  can  be  holy.  We  bathe 
first,  and  then  perfume.  ^ 

Cm  any  of  our  readers  solve  the  following' 

•barade?     It   has   been   stated  to  he  by   tOft principal 
If  a  Cambridge  College,  hut  wo  know  not  with  what 

nuh: 

"  A  Headless  man  had  a  letter  to  write, 
'Twaa  read  by  one  who  bad  lost  h'u  sight, 
The  Dumb  repeated  it  word  for  word, 
And  he  wan  Deaf  who  listeu'd  and  heard." 

"Ths  Neobo  in  Paradise.'— It  has  been  doubted  j 
wheuier  negro  attendauts  were  known  in  Jiugland  ' 
before  tbe  seventeenth  century.    Perhaps  the  follow-  1 
iujj  passage  in  regard  to  kve,  from  "Paradise  Lust," 
may  seme  the  question  : 
'•vVith  goddeaa-Uke  demeanor  forth  she  went 
Not  unattended;  tor  on  her,  as  a  qtieuu, 
A  Pomp4ol  winning  graces  waited  still." 

Write  your  name  in  kindness,  love  and  mercy 
on  the  hearts  of  those  you  come  in  contact  with 
and  you  will  never  be  forgotten. 

A  clergyman  after  marrying  a  couple  made  a 
prayer  over  them,  concluding:  "Forgive  them, 
Lord ;  they  know  not  what  they  do." 

An  exchange  says,  when  David  slew 

Goliak  with  a  sling,  the  latter  fell  stone  dead, 
and  of  course  quite  astonished,  as  such  a  thing 
had  never  entered  his  head  before .' 


/ 


My  son,  he  this  thy  simple  plan  ; 
Serve  God  and  love  thy  fellow-man  ; 
Forget  not  in  temptation's  hour, 
That  sin  lends  sorrow  double  power  ; 
Count  life  a  stage  upon  thy  way, 
And  follow  conscience,  come  what  may, 
Alike  with  heaven  and  earth  sincere, 
With  hand  and  brow  and  bosom  clear, 
«'  Fear  God  and  know  no  other  fear." 


"With  Four  Metallic  Qualifications  a  man 
may  be  pretty  sure  of  earthly  success,  'these  are- 
gold  in  his  pocket,  silver  in  his  tongue,  brass  in  his 
nd  Iron  in  his  heart.'' 

Want  less  man  you  have,  ana  you  will  always 
have  more  than  you  want. 

The  virtue  of  prosperity  is  temperance;  the 
virtue  of  adversity  is  fort'tude. 

Tea-kettles  are  decidedly  Yankee  in  their 
melody — they  sing  through  their  noses. 


BLANK  PAPER. 
'T  is  but  a  blank  and  worthless  leaf; 

No  writing  there  we  And; 
'T  is  only  fit  to  be  destroyed, 

And  scattered  to  the  wind. 

Yet  pause  awhile,  and  bring  it  near 
Where  the  warm  firelight  glows; 

Look  now— behold,  by  cfl  ,n/c  art 
The  writing  slowly  grog's 

Clear  and  distinct:  thus  aye  'twill  bo 

Exposed  to  heat  and  light; 
Removed  from  thence,  and  cold  again, 

It  vanishes  from  sight. 

Thus  many  a  heart  a  blank  appears, 

Where  hidden,  uncontested, 
Unknown  to  all,  God's  writing  there 

Indelibly  impressed, 

Waits  but  the  Spirit's  heat  and  light, 

In  His  good  time  revealed, 
To  show  what  wondrous  power  and  love 

Were  for  a  while  concealed. 

—  Chambers'  Journal. 


—"There  isonek;'ntl0'  ship  I  always  steer  clear 
of,"  said  an  old  bachelor  sea  captain;  "and 
that's  courtship,  'cause  on  that  ship  there's 
always  two  mates  and  no  captain." 


A  mammoth  cheese,  weighing  4000  pounds, 
which  had  been  exhibited  at  several  agricultural  j 

1  fairs  in  New  York  and  Canada,  was  recently  on 
its  way  to  Montreal  on  a  platform  car,  when  the 
tiain  ran  off  the  track.    The  big  cheese  rolled 
d  wn  an  embankment,  and  was  fractured  into 
fragments  at  the  bottom.    The    owner,  greatly 
garaged,  demanded  $1500  from  the  railway  com- 
pany, and  his  claim  was  settled. 
fo_mllL*jiJ  Here  is  its  welcome  to  Longfellow  : 
"Welcome  to  England  thou  whose  strains  prolong 
The  glorious  bead-roll  of  our  Saxon  song; 
Embassador  and  Pilgrim-bard  in  one, 
Fresh  from  thy  home— the  home  of  Washington, 
On  hearths  as  sacred  as  thine  own,  here  stands 
The  loving  welcome  that  thy  name  commands; 
Hearths  swept  for  thee  and  garnished  as  a  shrine 
By  trailing  garments  of  thy  muse  divine. 
Poet  of  Nature  and  of  Nations,  know 
Thy  fair  fame  spans  the  ocean  like  a  bow. 
Born  from  the  rain  that  falls  into  each  life, 
Kindled  by  dreams  with  loveliest  fancies  rife: 
A  radiant  arch  that  with  prismatic  dyes 
Links  the  two  worlds,  its  keystone  in  the  skies." 


Tiik  Velocipede  in  Scotland.— The  Dun- 
dec  Advertiser  tells  this  story : 

A   matron  in  Bonnebank  was  stunned  and 
stupefied  the  other  day  on  seeing  a  gentleman 
who  had  been  practicing  with  a  velocipede,  and 
who  was  approaching  her  dwelling  on  foot,  lead- 
ing it  up  the  incline.    "Preserve  a'  living— come 
here,"  she  cried  to  a  neighbor.    "Did  yo  ever  sec 
a  thing  like  this?"    Both  looked  intensely  for  a 
while,  and  the  other  said :  "Toots,  woman,  did 
ye  never  see  a  thing  like  that?    It's  just  a  man 
gaun    about  wi'  a  thing   for  sharpin'  razors. 
Hearing  this  the  matron  ran  to  the  house  to  look 
for  her  scissors,  crying   at  the  same  time  to  her 
gon — "Jim,  rin  oof  and  tell  that  man  to  stop,  for 
I  want    my  sheers  sharpit."    Jim  did    as  com- 
manded, but  after  looking  a  short  time  he  said, 
"Mither,  that's  no  a  sheer  man  ava;  I  think  it's 
only  Teyler  Tamson  tryin'  to  row  twa  girds !" 
But  the  gentleman,  who  was  now    "stridelegs" 
over  the    fleet  horse,  was  off  ]ike  an    arrow. 
"Hechl  What'll  ye  wager,"    quoth  the  matron, 
as  he  vanished  from  view;  "b  ut  that's  anc  o'  the 
new-fashioned   whurlygigs  th  c  newspapers  eft' 

'nliilnannhpra!'  " 


'philosophersl' 


S 


p. 


MESS  AGE  f  ILOM  THE  ATLANTIC)  CABLE 


"Wise  men  ne'er  sit  And  wall  their  low, 

But  cueerly  seek  how  to  redress  their  harms— 

The  cable  broke,  the  holding-anchor  lost," 

—Benry  VI.,  Act  •.,  Scene  I. 

0,  gulfed  in  Hie  mysterious  realms 

Of  deep-sea  fairy  fable, 
Hast  thou  no  message  thenoe  to  us, 

Thou  long-drawn,  short-lived  Cable  f 

Least  lucid  when  thou  loosed  art 

Thou  still,  roethinks,  art  able 
To  teach,  although  thou  art  not  taut, 

Thou  many-stranded  Cable. 

Thou  thoughtest  scorn,  perhaps,  to  <juot« 

The  daily  market-table ! 
The  price  of  stocks,  and  hides,  andtifrul 

Ah,  too  romantic  Cable! 

Or  ocean  had  a  notion  got 

That  noise  of  modern  Babel 
Should  ne'er  profane  his  secret  depth, 

Through  thee,  intrusive  Cable  t 

Nor"  thou  wouldst  moral  lessons  teach? 

Persistence  firm  ana  stable— 
Jbat  still  defeat  should  nerve  to  trial? 

Well  said,  Atlantic  Cable! 

But  trace  of  man  the  "enchafed  deep" 

Foams  oil'.    Is  man  (hen  able 
To  drive  the  main  to  daily  work 

In  traces— thine,  0  Cable? 

Yes  j  but  his  art  must  flawless  be, 

His  science  to  enable 
To  flash  through  solitary  seas 

His  words,  in  magic  Cable. 

Coiled  now  o'er  many  a  slimy  depth 

Sharp  ledge,  or  jutting  gable, 
Thou  best  waste  for  this— thy  gear 

Was  all  too  feeble,  Cable. 

Needless  thy  needles  then,  to  point 

The  moral  of  thy  fable- 
Wrecked  now  by  reckless,  random  gear, 

Jfil  desperandum,  Cable ! 


Wtttumk 


» tAf 


The  Departed  Cable. 


Broke,  broke,  broke, 

On  thy  cold,  gray  stones,  Q  Sea! 
And  I  would  there  were  more  Connection, 

In  the  thoughts  that  arise  hi  me ! 

Oh,  well  for  the  Fisherman's  Buoy, 
That  lie  swings  with  the  breakers  at  play ! 

Oh,  well  for  the  Iron-Clad, 
That  she  heads  for  Yaleutia  Bay ! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  the  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  oh,  for  a  touch  of  the  Grappling-Hooks, 

And  the  sound  of  a  Click  that  is  still ! 

Broke,  broke,  broke, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  Oh  Sea ! 
But  the  slender  "trust"  of  a  day  tiiat  is  dead 

Will  ever  "go  back"  on  me! 

[Mrs.  C  ruudy. 


JTOT     WiT. 


BY  WILLIAM  C.  BUY  ANT 

Oh  country,  marvel  of  the  earth ; 

Oh  realm  to  sudden  greatness  grov 
The  age  that  gloried  in  thy  birth, 

Shall  it  behold  thee  overthrown? 
Shall  traitors  lay  that  greatness  low* 
No,  Land  of  Hope  and  Blessing,  No! 

And  we  who  wear  thy  glorious  name. 
Shall  we,  like  cravens,  stand  apart, 

"When  Ihose  whom  thou  hast  trusted  aim 
The  death-blow  at  thy  generous  heart? 

Forth  goes  the  battle-cry,  and  lo! 

Hosts  rise  in  harness,  shouting,  No ! 

And  they  who  founded,  in  our  land, 
The  power  that  rules  from  sea  to  sea. 

Bled  they  in  vain,  or  vainly  planned 
To  leave  their  country  great  and1  free? 

Their  sleeping  ashes,  from  below, 

Send  up  the  thrilling  murmur,  No  f 

Knit  they  the  gentle  ties  which  long 
These  sister  Status  were  proud  to  \v?ar, 

And  forged  the  kindly  links  so  strong 
For  idle  hands  in  sport  to  tear— 

For  scornful  hanfis  aside  to  throw? 

No,  by  our  fathers'  memory,  No! 

Our  hummiiij  iron  wavs, 

Our  wind-tossed  woods  on  mountain  crest, 

The  hoarse  Atlanta 'with  his  bays, 
The  calm,  broad  Ocean  of  the  vYe*t, 

And  Mississippi's  torrent- flow, 

And  loud  Niagar?   answer,  No ! 

Not  vet  the  hour  is  nigh,  when  they 
Who  deep  in  E  IV  dim  twilight  sit, 

Earth's  ancient  kings  shall  rise  and  sav, 
"  Proud  country,  welcome  to  the  pit'! 

So  soon  art.  thou   >;ke  us,  brought  low!  " 

No,  sullen  group' of  shadows,  No! 

Fer  now,  behold,  the  arm  that  gave 
The  victory  in  «ir  fathers'  day, 

Strong,  as  of  old,  to  guard  and  save- 
That  mighty  aim  which  none  can  stav— 

On  clouds  above  ni»d  fields  below. 
Writ  i he  answer, No! 


c 


AH    OLD    POEM. 

Oh  !  it  is  hard  to  work  for  God, 

To  rise  and  take  his  part 
Upon  this  battle-field  of  earth, 

And  not  sometimes  lose  heart  \ 

He  hides  himself  so  wondrously, 
As  1  hough  there  were  no  God  ; 

He  least  is  seen  when  all  the  powers 
Of  ill  are  most  abroad. 

Or  he  deserts  us  at  the  hour 

The  tight  is  almost  lost ; 
And  seems  to  leave  us  to  ourselves 

Just  when  we  need  him  most. 

Ill  masters  good  ;  good  seems  to  change 

To  ill  with  greatest  ease  ; 
And,  worst  of  all,  the  goo.d  with  good 

Is  at  cross  purposes. 

It  is  not  so,  but  so  it  looks  ; 

And  we  lose  courage  then  ; 
And  doubts  will  come  if  God  hath  kept 

His  promises  to  men. 

Ah  !  God  is  other  than  we  think  ; 

His  ways  are  far  above, 
Far  above  reason's  bight,  and  reached 

Only  by  childlike  love. 

The  look,  the  fashion  of  God's  ways, 

Love's  life- long  study  are  ; 
She  can  be  bold,  and  guess,  and  act, 

When  reason  would  not  dare. 

Bbe  has  a  prudence  of  her  own ; 

Her  step  is  firm  and  free  ; 
Yet  there  is  cautious  science,  too, 

In  her  simplicity. 

Workman  of  God !  oh  lose  not  heart, 

But  learn,  what  God  is  like  ; 
And  in  the  darkest  battle-field 

Thou  shalt  know  where  to  strike. 

Oh,  blessed  is  he  to  whom  is  given 

The  instinct  that  can  tell 
That  God  is  on  the  field  when  he 

Is  most  invisible. 

And  blessed  is  he  who  can  divine 

Where  real  right  doth  lie, 
And  dares  to  take  the  side  that  seems 

Wrong  to  man's  blindfold  eye ! 

Oh,  learn  to  scorn  the  praise  of  men  1 

Oh.  learn  to  love  with  God! 
For  Jesus  won  the  world  through  shame 

And  beckons  thee  his  road. 

God's  glory  is  a  wondrous  thing, 
Most  strange  in  all  its  ways , 

And  of  all  things  on  earth,  least  like 
What  men  agree  to  praise. 

Muse  on  his  justice,  downcast  soul ! 

Muse,  and  take  belter  heart ; 
Bark  with  thine  angel  to  the  field  ; 

Goad  luck  shall  crown  thy  part. 

G.  d's  justice  is  a  bed  where  we 
Our  anxious  hearts  may  lay, 

And  weary  with  ourselves,  may  sleep 
Our.  discontent  away. 

For  right  is  right,  since  God  is  God  j 
And  right  the  day  must  win  ; 

To  doubt  would  be  disloyalty, 
To  falter  would  be  sin. 


[trpBiJUim,  or  Hjumi  oftieir  lietroskmaal    •4CBUrt  bj 
Rev.  Dr.  Huntington.] 

ONLY    WAITING. 

Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 

Are  a  litile  longer  grown ; 
Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 

Of  the  day's  last  beam  is  flown; 
Till  the  night  of  earth  is  faded 

From  the  heart  once  full  of  day ; 
Till  the  stars  of  heaven  are  breaking 

Through  the  twilight,  soft  mid  gray. 

Only  waiting  till  the  reapers 

Have  the  last  sheaf  gathered  homej 
For  the  summer  time  is  faded, 

And  the  autumn  winds  have  come} 
Quickly,  reapers!  gather  quickly 

These  last  ripe  hours  of  my  heart, 
For  Che  bloom  of  life  is  withered, 

And  I  hasten  to  depart. 


Only  waiting  till  the  angels 

Open  wide  the  mystic  gate, 
At  whose  feet  I  long  have  lingered, 

Weary,  poor,  and  desolate. 
Even  now  I  hear  their  footsteps 

And  their  voices  far  away ; 
If  they  call  nte,  I  am  waiting, — 

Only  waiting  to  obey. 


Only  wailing  till  the  shadows 

Are  a  little  longer  grown ; 
Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 

Of  the  lass  day's  beam  is  flown : 
Then  from  out  the  gathering  darkness 

Holy,  deathless  stars  shall  rise, 
By  whose  light  my  soul  shall  gladly 

Tread  its  pathway  to  the  skies! 


CFromElim,  or  Hvmns  of  Holy  Refreshment. 
ltev.  Dr.  Huntington.] 


Edited  by 


A  PRAYER. 


HOSOU. 


'lis  not  the  house  tbat  honor  makes- 
True  honor  is  a  thing  divine: 

It  is  the  mind  precedence  takes- 
It  is  the  spirit  makes  the  shrine. 

So  keep  thou  yet  a  generous  heart, 

A  steadfast  and  contented  mind ; 
And  not  till  death  consent  to  part 

With  tbat  which  friend  to  friend  doth  bind. 

What's  uttered  from  the  life  within 

Is  beard  not  by  the  life  without; 
There's  always  something  to  begin 

'Twixt  lifa  in  faith  and  life  in  doubt. 

But  grasp  thou  Truth,  though  bleak  appears 
The  rugged  path  her  steps  have  trod; 

She'll  be  thy  friend  in  other  spheres- 
Companion  in  the  world  of  God. 

Thus  dwelling  with  the  wise  and  good — 
The  rich  in  thought  the  great  in  soul — 

Man's  mission  may  be  understood, 
And  part  prove  equal  to  the  whole, 

— Charles  Swain 


I  ask  not  wealth,  but  power  to  take  • 
And  use  the  things  I  have  aright; 

Not  years,  but  wisdom,  that  shall  make 
My  life  a  profit  and  delight. 

I  ask  not  (hat  for  me  the  plan 

Of  good  and  ill  be  set  aside, 
But  that  the  common  lot  of  man 

Be  nobly  borne  and  glorified. 

I  know  I  may  not  always  keep 
My  steps  in  places  green  and  sweet, 

Nor  find  the  pathway  of  fbe  deep 
A  path  of  safety  to  my  feet. 

But  pray,  that,  when  the  tempest's  breath 
Shall  fiercely  sweep  my  way  about, 

I  make  not  shipwreck  of  my  faith 
In  the  unbottomed  sea  of  doubt; 

And  that,  though  it  be  mine  to  know 
How  hard  the  stoniest  pillow  seems, 

Good  angels  still  may  come  and  go 
On  the  bright  ladder  of  my  dreams. 

I  do  not  ask  for  love  below, — 
That  friends  shall  never  be  estranged; 

But  for  the  power  of  loving,  so 
My  heart  may  keep  its  youth  unchanged. 

Youth,  joy,  wealth— Fate,  I  give  thee  these: 
Leave  faith  and  hope  till  life  is  passed; 

And  leave  my  heart's  best  impulses 
Fresh  and  unfailing  to  the  fast. 

For  this  I  count,  of  all  sweet  things, 
The  sweetest  out  of  heaven  above; 

And  loving  others  surely  brings 
The  fullest  recompense  of  love ! 


The  Ten  Commandments.— The  following  lines  ha., 
been  sent  to  us  as  another  answer  to  the  query  on  the 
subject:  "Have  the  Ten  Commandments  ever  been  con- 
densed into  ten  lines  of  poesy?"  They  may  be  found 
in  the  "  Columbian  Spelling-Book,"  formerly  used  in  i 
the  common  schools  of  southern  New  York: 
"Thou  shalt  have  no  gods  but  me; 

Before  no  idol  bow  thy  knee  ; 

Take  not  the  name  of  God  in  vain  ; 

Nor  dare  the  Sabbath  day  profane ; 

Give  both  thy  parents  honor  due  ; 

Take  heed  that  thou  no  murder  do ; 

Abstain  from  words  and  deeds  unclean ; 

Nor  steal,  though  thou  art  poor  and  mean ; 

Nor  make  a  willful  lie  nor  love  it ; 

What  is  thy  neighbor's  dare  not  covet." 

An  Old  Truth  in  a  New  Form.— A  recent  homilist 
thus  sets  an  old  truth  in  a  new  and  impressive  form: 

The  actions  of  man  form  his  own  funeral  procession ;  they 
accompany  him  to  the  tomb,  return  not  back,  like  his  rela- 
tives and  friends  after  the  funeral,  but  enter  the  tomb  with 
him,  and  go  on  with  him  to  the  tribunal  of  the  Almighty, 
and  there  witness  for  him,  whether  for  good  or  evil,  and  it  is 
from  their  testimony  that  his  sentence  is  pronounced  of  death 
or  life  eternal. 


TRUE  ALMS-GIVING. 

'•That  is  no  true  alms  which  the  hand  can  bold  ! 
He  gives  nothing  but  worthless  gold 

Who  gives  from  a  ?ense  of  duty ; 
Rut  he  who  gives  a  slender  mite, 
And  gives  to  that  which  is  out  of  sight. 

That  thread  of  the  all-sustainiug  Beauty 
Which  runs  throuph  all  and  doth  all  unite,— 
The  hand  cannot,  clasp  the  whole  of  his  almsf 
The  heart  outstretches  Its  eager  palms. 
For  a  god  goes  with  It  and  makes  it  store 
To  tho  soul  that  was  starving  in  darkuess  before. 


Pawtnclcet. 

Curious  Epitaphs.— There  is  a,  marble  slab 
in  the  Mineral  Spring  Cemetery  in  Xorth  Provi- 
dence, erected  to  the  memory  of  William  Luce, 
of  Tisbury,  who  died  in  Pawtuoket  in  1845, 
bearing  the  fol'owing  epitaph,  a  curious  mixture 
of  the  sublime  and  ridiculous : 

"Tread,  gentle  reader,  near  the  dust 
Commit  ed  to  this  tomb-stoue's  trust ; 
For  while  'twas  flesh  Is  held  a  guest 
With  universal  love  possessed; 
A  soul  that  stemmed  opinion's  tide, 
Did  oyer  sects  in  triumph  ride- 
Yet  separate  from  the  giddy  crowd 
And  paths  tradition  hai  allowed, 
Through  good  and  ill  report  he  passed. 
Oft  censured,  yet  approved  at  last. 
Woulds't  thou  his  religion  know  V 
In  brief  terms  this:  To  all  to  do 
Just  as  he  would  be  done  auto. 
80  in  kiud  Nature's  laws  he  stood, 
A  temple  undeflleri  with  blood; 
A  friend  to  everything  'twas  good. 
The  rest,  angels  above  can  fitly  sell; 
Haste,  then,  to  them  and  him,— and  so  farewell. 
His  parents  said  "Wilmot  Luce"  should  be  his 

name. 
Since  then  his  petition  Aid  improve  the  same ; 
And,  alter,  his  name  was  Wilmot  D'Luce. 
Old  acquaintance,  iudge  ye,  was   he  wise,  «r 

foolisii  as  a  goose  f 

Another  epitaph  in  the  same  grounds  is  to  the 
memory  of  John  Georgo  Courin,  who  died  m 
Pawtucket  or  North  Providence,  in  132i,  in  the 
91st  year  of  his  age.  The  closing  years  of  his 
life  were  passed  in  the  pursuit  of  trade — the 
peddling  of  apples  and  oandy.  The  remainder 
of  his  history,  what  is  known  of  it,  is  summed 
up  in  the  following,  which  appears  oa  his  tomb- 
stone; 

"He  crossed  the  raging  ocean 

This  country  for  to  save; 
Twas  Fuancb  that  gave  him  birth* 
And  Ameeica  a  grave." 

The  first  named  of  these  epitaphs  has  been  on 
object  of  curiosity  for  years,  and  the  stone  has 
been  sought  out  and  read  by  thousands. 


Liove  ljishicns  JLnbor. 

'A  good  wife  rose  irom  her  bed  one  morn, 

And  thought  with  a  nervous  dread 
Ot  the  piles  of  clothes  to  be  washed,  and  more 

Than  a  dozen  mouths  to  be  led. 
There's  the  meals  to  get  tor  the  men  in  the  field, 

And  the  children  to  fix  away 
To  school,  and  the  milk  to  be  skimmed  and  churned ; 

And  all  to  be  done  this  day. 

It  had  rained  in  the  night,  and  all  the  wood 

Was  wet  as  it  could  be ; 
There  were  puddings  and  pies  to  bake,  besides 

A  loal  ot  cake  for  tea. 
And  the  day  was  hot,  and  her  aching  head 

Throbbed  wearily  as  she  said, 
"If  maidens  but  knew  what  good  wives  know, 

J  hey  would  be  no  haste  to  wed!" 

"Jennie,  what  do  you  think  I  told  Ben  Brown?'' 

tailed  the  farmer  irom  the  well ; 
And  a  flush  crept  up  to  his  bronzed  brow, 
1      And  his  eyes  half  bashfully  tell; 
"It  was  this,"  he  said— and  coming  near, 

He  smiled,  and  stooping  down, 
Kissed  her  cheek— "Twas  this:  that  you  were  the 
best 
And  the  dearest  wile  in  town!"' 

The  iarmer  went  back  to  the  field,  and  the  wire 

In  a  smiling  and  absent  way, 
Sang  snatches  of  tender  little  songs 

She'd  not  sung  for  many  a  day. 
And  the  pain  in  her  head  was  gone,  and  the  slothes 

Were  white  as  the  foam  of  the  sea; 
Her  bread  was  light  and  her  butter  was  sweet, 

And  as  golden  as  it  eould  bo. 

"Just  think,"  the  children  all  called  in  a  breath, 

"Tom  Wood  has  run  off  to  sea! 
He  wouldn't,  I  know,  it  he  only  had 

As  happy  a  home  as  we." 
I  he  night  came  down,  and  the  good  wife  smiled 

In  herself,  as  she  softly  said, 
"  Tii  so  sweet  to  labor  tor  those  we  love, 

It's  not  strange  that  maids  will  wed!" 


IE    MISTLETOE    KISS. 


i* 


The  Alpine  Boj>*   Prayer. 

By  Alpine  lake,  'neath  shady  rock, 
Hie  herd-boy  knelt  beside  his  flock, 
And  softly  told  with  pious  air 
His  alphabet  as  evening  prayer. 

Unseen,  his  pastor  lingered  near: 
•'My  child,  what  means  the  sound  I  hear" 
"Mav  1  not  in  thy  worship  share, 
Andtaise  to  Heaven  my  evening  prayer? 
Where'er  the  hills  and  ralleys  blend 
The  sound  of  prayer  and  praise  ascend  " 
"My  child,  a  prayer  your's  cannot  be: ' 
You've  only  said  your  A  B  C." 

"I  have  no  better  way  to  pray ; 

All  that  1  know  to  God  i  say; 

I  tell  the  letters  on  my  knees; 

He  makes  the  words  himself  to  please  " 


HOLD  ON!   HOLD  IN!   HOLD  OUT! 

BY   REV.    C.    T.    BROOKS. 

Hold  on,  my  heart,  in  thy  believing! 

The  steadfast  only  wins  the  crown. 

He  who,  when  stormy  waves  are  heaving, 

Parts  with  his  anchor,  shall  go  down ; 

But  lie,  whom  Jesns  hoi  Is  through  all, 

Shall  stand,  though  earth  and  heaven  should  fall. 

Hold  in  $by  murmurs,  Heaven  arraigning! 
Tiie  patient  sees  Gel's  loving  face; 
Who  bear  their  burden  uncomplaining, 
'Tis  they  that  win  the  Father's  grace; 
'He  wounds  himself  who  braves  the  rod, 
And  sets  himself  to  fight  with  God. 

Hold  out!    There  comes  an  end  to  sorrow: 
Hope,  from  the  dust  shall  conquering  rise; 
The  storm  foretells  a  sunnier  morrow; 
The  cross  points  on  to  Paradise. 
The  Father  reigncth;  cease  all  doubt; 
Hold  on,  my  heart,  hold  in,  hold  out! 


tail 

t,  my  - 


' 


Minding  sleet, 
inl 
,  my  sweet ! 

Mlstle*  ■  nay! 

Bui  t'^i%x.  ■ 

For  wanwi  cretin 

The  in-  ad, 

Myfli  <>beat: 

S!<  1  p  soft !  w  bile  over  the  floor  I  tread— 

And  wake  at  the  touch  ot  my  lips,  my  sweat! 

Winter  is  long!  ay,  winter's  lo 

Cousin  Annette,  is  it  time  to  go? 
Perchance  the  lover  and  love-sick  song 

Jlay  nu  It  for  ever  with  winter's  snow? 
The  dearest  thoughts  in  the  heart  lio  deep 

Through  snows  of  winter  and  rose-time  heat 
But  if  your  memory  tries  to  sleep, 

Bemtmber  the  mistletoe  kiss,  mysi'i 


MONSTER  BELLS    OF   THE    WORLD. 

In  making  large  bells,  loudness,  rather  than 
their  pitch,  is  the  object,  as  their  sound  can  be 
conveyed  to   a  much  greater  distance.     This 
accounts  for  the  enormous  weight   of  some  of 
the  largest  bells.      St.    Paul's,    for  instance, 
weighs  43,000  pounds  ;  that  of  Antwerp,    16,- 
000  pounds  ;  Oxford,    1 7,000   pounds ;  Rome, 
1 9,000    pounds  ;     Mechlin,     20,000    pounds ; 
Bruges,  23,000  pounds  ;  York,  24,000  pounds  ; 
Cologne,    25,000    pounds;    Montreal,     29,000 
pounds ;    Erfurt,    30,000    pounds  ;     Big  Ben 
(House  of  Parliament),  41,000  pounds;  Sens, 
34,000  pounds ;  Vienna,  40,000  pounds  ;  Nov- 
gorod,   69,000   pounds;    Pekin,   130,000;  and 
that  of  Moscow,  141,000  pounds.     But,  as  yet, 
the  greatest  bell  ever  known  is  another  famous 
Moscow  bell,  which  was   never   hung.     It   was 
cast  by  order  of  the  Empress   Anne,   in   1653. 
It  lies  broken  on  the  ground,  and   is   estimated  I 
to  weigh  441,772  pounds.     It  is  nineteen   feet 
high,   and  measures  around  the  margin  sixty- 
four  feet.     There   are    few  bells  of  interest  in  I 
the  United  States.     The  largest  is  probably  the  | 
alarm-bell   on  the    City  Hall   in   New    York, 
weighing  about  23,000  pounds.      As   the  Rus- 
sians make  pilgrimages  to   the  great   Moscow 
bell,  and  regard   it   with  superstitious  venera- 
tion, so  the  American  citizen  honors   and   ven- 
erates the  old  In.'  ^icndence  bell    at   Philadel- 
phia ;  for  he  is  x\oi  only  reminded  of  the   glory 
of  the  Revolution,  but  he   believes  now   more 
than  ever,  since  its  injunction  has  been  obeyed, 
its  inscription,  "Proclaim  liberty  throughout  the 
land,  unto  all  the  inhabitants  thereof." 


£ 

.= 

be 

'■ 

O 

~ 

— 

3 

~ 

C 

— 

a 

3 

c 

>> 

e3 

0 

7 

0 

:. 

r 

.-, 

f  humiliation  for  past  offenses  ana 
6liort-t'omiii£s  is  also  a  day  of  prayer  for  future 
favors.  It  is  now  the  morning  of  the  year.  Na- 
ture is  awaking  from  the  death-like  sleep  of 
winter,  and  will  soon  appear  in  her  spring  vest- 
ments of  the  richest  green.  The  sap  stirs  with 
a  new  life,  and  will  soon  spring  to  light  in  burst- 
ing buds  and  growing  leives.  There  is  also  an 
April  in  the  blood,  as  the  warm  sun  6tarts  the 
sluggish  veins.  It  is  the  season  of  preparation 
in  all  the  outward  world.  Is  it  not  fittingly  set 
apart  as  a  season  of  preparation  in  the  soul,  a 
time  to  gird  on  our  armojr  Jfresh  and  to 
renew  our  vows  of  Christiam  kaghthood 
before  we  set  forth  te  do  battkj  for  hu- 
manity and  God?  We  know  not  what 
conflicts  are  before  us,  what  victories  or  defeats. 
But  we  know  that,  with  our  trust  in  God,  we 
shall  not  be  utterly  cast  down.  Let  us  to-day 
renew  our  vows,  and  fix  again  our  trust  in  Him 
who  never  fails.  Then,  if  the  eartli  should  re- 
fuse to  yield  her  increase,  God  will  not  refuse  his 
all-sufficient  help;  and  if*  pestilence  should  come 
within  our  borders  it  shall  not  hide  the  Father's 
love.  No  harm  can  bcf.dl  us  while  God  is  near; 
no  terrors  appal  us  while  our  hearts  are  fixed  on 
Him.  We  will  not  care  to  lift  the  veil  of  the  fu- 
ture while  the  present  is  seenre  by  our  faith  and 
our  trust.  The  future  also  will  be  secure  if  to-day 
we  strive  and  wait  and  pray : — 

"Strive,  yet  I  do  not  promise 
The  prize  you  dream  of  to-day 

Will  not  fade  when  you  think  to  grasp  it, 
And  melt  in  your  hand  away. 

But  another  and  holier  treasure, 
You  would  now  perchance  disdain, 

Will  come  when  your  toil  is  over, 
And  pay  you  for  all  your  pain. 

Wait ;  yet  I  do  not  tell  you 

The  hour  you  long  for  now 
Will  not  come  with  its  radiance  vanished, 

And  a  shadow  upon  its  brow. 
Yet  far  through  the  misty  future, 

With  a  crown  of  starry  light, 
An  hour  of  joy  you  know  not, 

Is  winging  her  silent  flight. 

Pray ;  though  the  gift  you  ask  for 

May  never  comfort  your  fears, 
May  never  repay  your  pleading, 

ret  pray,  with  hopeful  tears. 
An  answer,  not  that  you  long  for, 

But  diviner,  will  come  one  day ; 
Your  eyes  are  too  dim  to  see  it, 

Yet  strive,  and  wait  and  pray.'™  y 


The  Origin  of  tlii;  term  mid 
Bhipmaii  was  as  follows :  The 
largest  class  of -vessels  of  the  old 
build  had  immensely  high  forecastles,  quarter- 
decks and  round-houses,  but  no  gangways,  as  now. 
There  was,  therefore,  no  means  of  going  from  the  ( 
quarterdeck  to  the  forecastle  without  descending 
into  the  waist;  hence,  messengers  were  neces- 
sary, in  order  to  save  the  captain  and  the  officer 
of  the  watch  from  the  necessity  of  ever  deserting 
their  station.  These  messengers  took  the  orders 
from  the  officer  on  the  quarter-deck,  and  carried 
them  to  the  forecastle,  and  likewise  brought  the 
various  reports  from  the  officers  stationed  for- 
ward, to  those  in  command  abaft.  Thence,  from 
their  station,  these  messengers  were  called  "mid- 
shipmen." 

A    LITERARY    CURIOSITY. 


The  following  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  compo- 
sitions we  have  ever  met  with.  It  evinces  an  ingenuity 
peculiarly  its  own.  The  initial  capital  letters  spell 
«'My  boast  is  the  glorious  cause  of  Christ."  The  words 
In  italics,  when  read  on  the  left  side  from  top  to  bot- 
tom, and  on  the  right  side  from  bottom  to  top,  form 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  complete: 

Make  known  the  Gospel  truth,  our  Father  King 

Yield  up  thy  grace,  dear  Father  from  above, 
Bless  us  with  hearts  which  feelingly  can  sing, 

"Our  life  thou  art  for  ever,  God  of  Love.'' 
Assauge  our  grief  in  love  for  Christ  we  pray 

Since  the  Prince  of  Heaven  and  glory  died 
Took  all  our  sins  and  hallowed  the  display, 

Infant  be.-iwa,  first  a  man  and  then  was  crucified. 
Stupendous  God !  thy  grace  and  power  make  known; 

In  Jesus'  name  let  all  the  world  rejoice, 
Now  labor  iu  thy  heavenly  kingdom  own, 

lhat  blessed  kingdom,  for  thy  saints  the  choice. 
How  vile  to  come  to  thee  (a  all  our  cry ; 
,        Enemies  to  thy  self  and  all  that's  th 
Graceless  our  will,  we  Mrejbr  vanity; 

Loath':ig  the  verv  <V-injr,  evil  in  design, 
VUod,  thy  will  be  donefrom  earth  to  heaven; 

Bechniiig  on  the  Gospel,  let  us  live. 
In  earth  from  sin,  deiiver-ed  and  forgiven, 

Oh!  a»  tbyseli  but  fo>aoh  us  to  forgive, 
Unless  its  power  temptation  doth  destroy; 

Ion  is  our  tall  into  the  depths  of  woe, 
Carnal  in  mind,  we've  not  a  glimpse  of  ioy 

liaised  against  heart  n :  in  ua  no  hope  we  know, 
O  (live  us  grace  and  lead  us  on  thy  way ; 

Shine  on  us  with  thy  love  and  give  us  peace. 
Self  and  this  sin  that  rise  against  us  slay. 

Oh!  grant  each  day  our  trespasses  may  cease; 
Forgh  0  oi'r  evil  deeds  that  oft  we  do; 

Convinee  u«  daily  of  them  to  our  shame; 
Help  uh  with  heavenly  bread,forglve  as,  too, 

ltecurrent  lusts,  and  w<  'il  udorn  thy  name 
In  thy  /bry 'ir-iioss  we  as  s  tints  can  die, 

Since  for  m  and  our  trespasses  so  high, 
Thy  Son,  our  Saviour,  died  on  Calvary. 

Teach  your  children  to  holt)  themselves,  ] 
bill  not  to  what  docs  not  belong  to  them. 

ttfau kind  has  been  learning  tor  six  thous- 
and years,  and  yet  how  lew  narg  learned 
thai  their  fellow-beings  arc  as  good  as  them- 
selves. 


"L Written  fori 

On  Top  of  the  Ark. 

A  STORY  OF  CHRISTMAS  NIGHT. 


BY   SU8AN   COOLIDGE. 


in 
the 


It  was  the  day  before  Christmas,  and  a 

little  mob  of  boys  and  girls  w«pe  gathered 

about  the  door  of  the  Miss'      School,  lis- 

kiovning  to  certain  mysterious  bounds  which 

cuUme  from  within.    It  was    ot  the  Second 

|     Ctfflt'cn   Mission    School.     Far  from   it. 

i  Not  a  child  there  but  would  have  resented 

'  ]  such  a  mistake.     This  was  the  "JohnOrd- 

Iray  Mission,  "  supported  by  the  First 
ehuro^>  Society  of  Bunbury,  and  a  very  su- 
perior article  to  the  other,  at  least,  so  its 
scholars  thought,  and  I  am  afraid  some  of 
its  teachers,  also. 
There  Was  a  great  rivalry  between  the 
Sunday-schools  of  Bunbury.  Each  of 
them  had  the  best  intentions  in  the  world 
as  to  doing  good ;  but  each  was  resolved, 


whatever  it  cost,  to  do  more  good  than  P  at  the  very  idea. 


"Don't  you  wonder  what  it's  to  be?" 
said  one  of  the  girls. 

'  'I  know  what  I  hope  it  is,"  said  another. 

"WhatP" 

"A  tree.  'Cause  the  other  school's  go- 
ing to  have  one.  And  Marianne,  that's 
my  cousin,  is  always  saying  her  school's 
the  best.  But  it  isn't.  They  didn't  have 
a  bit  of  candy  last  Christmas,  only  pop- 
corn balls!  And  we  had  lace  stockings 
full  of  gum-drops!  I  told  Marianne  I 
wouldn't  belong  to  such  a  mean  school  as 
hers,  for  anything." 

"A  tree!"  cried  little  Winnie  Ander- 
sen. "With  candles  do  you  mean?  Oh 
I  wish  they  would.  I  never  saw  one. 
Martha  did  once,  before  we  came  here, 
and  she  said  it  was  the  splendidest  thing 
as  ever  was.    Oh,  if  teachers  only  will!" 

And  Winnie,  a  rosy,  grey-eyed  English 
child,  clasped  her  fat  hands  in  transport 


the  other.    They  spared  no  pains  to  make  f 
the  schools    attractive.     If  the    Second  ! 
Church  Mission  gave  a  picnic,  and  treat- 
ed the  children  to  oranges  and  cakes,  the 
John  Ordray  would  have  a  picnic  too, 
with  the  additional  splendorsof  ice-crea* » 
and  a  whirligig.    This,  of  course,  was 
very  nice  for  the  scholars,  because  they 
got  twice  as  many  frolics  and  good  things 
as  they  otherwise  would  have  had.    Each 
school  thought  its  own  melodeon  and  li- 
brary were  better  than  the  melodeon  and 
library  of  the  other  school.    Each  was 
perfectly  certain  that  their  number  of  pu- 
pils was  largest  and  their  teaching  most 
thorough.    So  everybody  was  satisfied; 
especially  a  few  unprincipled  little  boys 
and  girls  who  didn't  go  regularly  to  either  i 
school,  but  were  in  the  habit  of  joining  ' 
first  one  and  then  the  other,  and  so  having  ' 
the  advantages  of  belonging  to  both. 

It  was  very  provoking,  the  children  , 
thought,  that  Mr.  Ashe,  the  superintend- 1 
ent,  should  have  locked  the  door.    If  he  I 
hadn't,  they  could  have  peeped  in  and 
found  out  what  was  to  be  the  entertain- 
ment for  next  day. 

"They're  hammering  inside,"  said  Mary 
Ryan.  '  'P'r'aps  it's  fire-works  they 'reput- 
ting  up." 

"Not  a  bit.  It's  greens.it  is,"  replied 
Barney  Reardon,  one  of  the  big  Irish  boys. 
"I  seen  them  a  going  in  this  morning." 

This  was  rather  a  disappointment.  The 
children  were  used  to  evergreen  wreaths. 
They  would  have  preferred  that  the  ham- 
mering should  mean  something  newer  and 
more  exciting.  But  Barney  persisted. 
At  last  he  climbed  up  to  one  of  the  win- 
dows to  make  sure.  But  Miss  Ashe  had 
pinned  her  shawl  over  it,  and  nothing 
could  be  seen.  Then  Barney  made  Pat 
McQuale  hold  his  legs,  and  raising  the 
window  a  little,  he  slipped  the  shawl  one 
side.  The  teachers,  however,  heard  him, 
and  just  as  he  applied  his  eye  to  the  peep- 
hole, Mr.  Ashe  stepped  up,  and  opening 
the  window  a  little  wider,  gave  Barney 
such  a  snap  with  his  finger  and  thumb 
that  he  dropped  down  again,  howling 
loudly.  After  that  Mr.  Ashe  fastened  the 
window  with  a  nail,  and  went  back  to  his 
work. 

^  was  evidently  no  use  to  wait  with  the 
hope  of  seeing  anything.  One  by  one  the 
children  dropped  away.  At  last  nobody 
was  left  except  two  or  three  little  girls, 
and  the  indefatigable  Barney,  who  had 
got  a  broken  gimlet,  and  was  trying  to 
bore  a  hole  through  the  front  door. 


Meantime,  inside  the  school-room,  ev- 
erybody was  working  busily.  Not  only 
one  tree,-  but  two  were  being  made  ready 
for  the  important  to-morrow.  There  they 
stood,  on  either  side  the  pulpit,  tall  and 
green.  Their  stems  were  set  firmly  in 
tubs  of  sand.  Miss  Ashe  was  tacking 
moss  over  these  tubs.  Mr.  Ashe,  on  a 
step-ladder,  with  a  lighted  candle,  was 
melting  the  ends  of  little  blue  and  yellow 
tapers,  and  sticking  them  all  over  the 
boughs.  The  other  teachers  were  hang- 
ing oranges,  red  apples,  horns  of  candy, 
gilt-nuts,  pop-corn  balls,  and  parcels  of 
toys  wherever  hanging  room  could  be 
found.  The  trees  looked  crowded  al- 
ready, but  on  the  floor  stood  baskets  full 
of  things  which  must  go  on  somewhere, 
Mr.  Ashe  said. 

"What  a  pity  that  some  of  the  presents 
are  so  much  nicer  than  the  rest,"  said 
Miss  Smith  to  Miss  James,  who  was  busy 
pinning  names  on  the  parcels.  "There's 
this  Noah's  Ark,  for  instance.  Who's  to 
have  that  ?  I'm  afraid  the  children  will 
quarrel  about  it." 

"I've  spoken  for  that,"  said  Miss  Allen, 
who  was  working  near  them.  "I  want  it 
for  Winnie  Andersen,  the  dearest  little 
tot  of  a  girl  in  my  class.  She's  from  Eng- 
land. They  have  only  been  in  Bunbury 
about  four  months,  but  Winnie  has  come 
so  regularly  to  school,  and  been  so  good, 
that  she  really  deserves  something  nice. 
Miss  Ashe  says  I  may  have  it." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Miss  Smith.  But 
she  was  rather  sorry,  for  she  had  a  little 
girl  in  her  class  who  would  also  have  liked 
the  Noah's  Ark. 

Winnie  little  guessed  the  good  fortune 
which  was  in  store  for  her.  Still  she 
dreamed  about  Christmas  trees  that  night, 
and  thought  of  them  all  the  next  day. 
And  when  at  last  evening  came,  and  she, 
with  the  rest,  entered  the  John  Ordray 
school-room,  and  beheld  the  tall,  glitter- 
ing trees,  all  bright  with  lighted  tapers, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  never  in  the  world 
was  anything  so  beautiful  seen  before. 

She  was  too  much  dazzled  and  excited 
at  first  to  realize  that  any  of  the  things  on 
those  wonderful  boughs  could  be  intended 
for  herself.  But  when  Mr.  Ashe  brought 
her  an  orange  and  a  horn  of  candy,  and 
somebody  else  a  shining  apple  and  two 
corn-balls,  she  began  to  take  it  in.  Her 
"Oh,  thank  you!"  at  each  gift  was  pretty 
to  hear.  And  when  at  last  Miss  Allen 
brought  the  Noah's  Ark,  and  Winnie  un- 
derstood that  it  was  really  her  own,  red 


roof,  yellow  keel,  and  all,  her  wonder  and 
delight  knew  no  bounds. 

"Oh,  teacher,  it's  too  nice.  I  don't 
know  how  to  say  thau  you,"  she  cried. 
But  the  beaming  eyes,  a  d  rosy,  pleased 
smile  were  thanks  enough,  and  Miss  Al- 
len was  quite  satisfied. 

I'm  afraid  the  rest  of  the  class  were  a 
little  jealous  of  her  when  they  saw  her 
beautiful    present.      But    they  all   liked 
Winnie.    She  was  such  a  sweet,  affection- 
ate little  thing  that  no  one  could  help  it. 
And  even  Alice  Reardon  said  at  the  last, 
|  ".Ybiir'  since  it  wasn't  me,  I'm  glad  it 
was  you,  Wiinnie>  only  I  hate  parshality." 
Winnie  carried  home  her  treasure  in 
both  arms,  hugging  u*  as  tight   as  she 
could. 

"Oh,  mother,  see!"  she  crietf,.  as  she 
dumped  it  in  Mrs.  Andersen's  lap, — "see  i 
what  teacher  gave  me  at  the  Christmas 
Tree !" 

"Gave  you,  did  she  ?"  replied  her  moth- 
er. /'Well,  on  my  word,  it's  a  fine  toy. 
Why,  it's  good  enough  for  a  little  lady. 
It  must  have  cost  a  power  of  money. 
Perhaps  father  could  sell  it  for  you,  Win- 
nie. Wouldn't  you  like  that  ?  It'd  get 
you  something  useful." 

"No,  no,"  protested  Winnie.  "I  don't 
want  father  to  sell  it.  Why,  it's  my  own, 
mother;  Miss  Allen  gave  it  to  me.  All 
the  little  American  girls  have  nice  things. 
I'm  a  little  American  girl  now.  I  want 
to  keep  it." 

"Well,  don't  cry;  you  shall  then. 
We'll  say  no  more  of  selling,"  said  her 
mother. 

But  Winnie  felt  anxious.  She  took  the 
Noah's  Ark  up  stairs  with  her,  and  set  it 
on  the  floor  close  to  her  bed.  "It'll  be 
safer  there,"  she  thought. 

It  was  a  moonlight  night.  The  blind 
was  open,  and  the  room  was  quite  bright, 
so  that  Winnie  could  see  the  Ark  distinct- 
ly from  her  pillow.  She  wasn't  sleepy, 
so  she  lay  watching  it,  and  thinking  how 
wonderful  it  was  that  she  should  own  such  \ 
a  beautiful  thing. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  slight,  creaking 
sound,  and  the  roof  of  the  Ark  seemed  to 
lift  a  very  little,  and  then  shut  down 
again.  Winnie  sat  up  in  bed  and  stared 
with  all  her  eyes.  Yes;  the  roof  lifted 
again.  A  hand,  a  stiff,  pink  hand,  in  a 
blue  coat  sleeve,  was  pushing  it  up.  It 
was  Noah's  arm  and  hand.  In  another  / 
moment  he  had  thrown  back  the  lid  en- 
tirely, and  climbed  out  on  the  roof;  then 
he  sat  down  on  the  edge,  and  taking  a 
spy-glass  out  of  his  wooden  pocket,  be- 
gan to  look  carefully  round  the  room. 

"All  right,"  he  said  at  last,  in  an  odd 
voice,  which  sounded  like  the  rustling  of 
shavings.  Then  he  twisted  himself  round 
and  called  out,  "Mrs.  Noah!  My  dear! 
Boys!  Shemina!  You  can  come  out. 
The  storm  is  over,  and  the  coast  is  clear." 
"What's  the  use  of  our  having  a  coast? 
We've  got  an  Ark,"  remarked  Mrs.  Shem, 
tripping  down  the  roof  in  a  green  gown, 
and  a  little  pointed  hat,  like  those  worn 
by  the  Tyrolese  Bell  Ringers.  Mrs. 
Shem's  face  was  pretty,  but  ver^pert. 
Winnie  had  noticed  this  when  she  exam- 
ined the  Noah  family,  earlier  in  the  even- 
ing. 

"I  was  speaking  met-a-phor-ically,  my 

daughter,"  replied  Noah,  who  seemed  to 

be  fond  of  Mrs.  Shem,  notwithstanding 

her  saucy  manners. 

"Met-a-what?"  said  Mrs.  Shem ;  and  I 


) 


am  sorry  to  say  she  gave  her  father-in- 
law  a  poke  in  the  ribs.  "  Met-a-what? 
I  thought  all  the  long,  stupid  words  like 
that  were  drowned  at  the  time  of  the 
Flood.1'      • 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Noah.  "Do  not  poke 
me  in  that  way  again,  Shemina.  It  is  not 
respectful.  Beside,  it  hurts.  My  ribs 
are  sensitive  ever  since  the  bad  attack  of 
rheumatism  which  I  contracted  during 
that  long,  damp  spell." 

"Boneset  is  the  thing  for  rheumatism," 
remarked  Mrs.  Japhet,  coming  down  the 
roof  with  a  green  twig  in  her  hand. 
"Chew  this,  oh,  my  father.  The  robin- 
redbreast  has  just  flown  back  with  a 
bunch  of  it  in  his  beak." 

"What  a  comfort  to  get  a  breath  of 
fresh  air  again,"  called  out  Japhet,  who 
was  standing  on  the  peak  of  the  Ark,  and 
holding  by  its  chimney.  "What  a  time 
we  have  been  shut  up.  Two  hundred 
and  twelve  days  by  my  reckoning.  And 
never  once  in  all  that  time  have  we  been 
able  to  open  the  scuttle." 

"That  was  because  it  was  hooked  down 
outside,"  replied  Noah. 

"Yes,  hooked  down;  that's  what  you 
kept  saying  when  I  asked  you  why  you 
didn't  do  something  about  the  animals," 
said  Mrs.  Noah,  sticking  her  head  out  of 
the  opening  in  the  roof.  "Poor  creat- 
ures! how  they  would  ever  have  man- 
aged without  me  I  can't  Imagine.  Hook- 
ed down,  indeed!  If  you  had  half  the 
spirit  of  a  man,  Noah,  you'd  have  got 
that  hook  unfastened,  somehow  or  other, 
rather  than  let  dumb  beasts  suffer.  I 
would,  I  know." 

"Then,  my  dear,  why -didn't  you  ?"  an- 
swered Noah,  without  turning  his  head. 
"And  as  for  the  beasts  being  dumb,  all  I 
can  say  is  that  I  never  lived  in  such  a 
noise  in  my  life  as  during  this  voyage. 
I've  scarcely  slept  a  wink,  except  when 
under  the  influence  of  paregoric." 

"Yes,  slept !"  said  Mrs.  Noah,  angrily ; 
"that's  all  you  think  about— just  your  own 
bodily  comfort.  Much  you  care  whether 
the  poor  brutes  suffer  or  not,  sitting  there 
with  Shemina,  and  taking  no  steps  what- 
ever to  let  them  out!  And  yet  you  know 
as  well  as  I,  that  the  last  grain  of  saw- 
dust in  the  Ark  was  eaten  up  four  weeks 
ago.  For  my  part,  I'm  sick  of  the  Del- 
uge and  everything  connected  with  it." 
Saying  this,  Mrs.  Noah,  in  a  high  dud- 
geon.'flounced  over  the  edge  of  the  open- 
ing. Her  purple  wooden  gown  could  be  V 
heard  clattering  down  inside. 

"I'm  glad  she's  gone,"  giggled  Sh< 
na.    Noah  said  nothing,  but  he  looked  ' 
through  his  spy-glass  in  a  simpering  way. 
Shem  and  Japhet  whispered  together  for 
a  moment;  then  they  went  in,  and  pres- 
ently came  back  again,  carrying  Ham 
between  them  in  a  camp-chair.    He  look- 
ed very  pale  and  peaked,  and  had  evi-  • 
dently  been  seasick. 

"Oh,  what  a  comfort  to  anchor  again," 
he  moaned,  in  a  feeble  voice.    "Where  1 
are  we?    This  isn't  Ararat,  I'm  sure." 

"No,  it's  Mouse-a-rat,"  replied  Mrs. 
Shem^eiggling,  and  pointing  to  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  where,  just  then,  a 
small  gray  mouse  was  running  from  one 
hole  to  another,  through  a  streak  of  moon- 
light. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Noah  appeared 
again,  driving  a  pair  of  camels  before 
her. 


"I  suppose,  Mr.  Noah,"  she  said,  se- 
verely, "that  you've  no  objection  to  my 
saving  the  life  of  these  camels,  since 
they're  my  own,  a  wedding  present  trom 
my  uncle  who  was  drowned  ?  Poor  man,  ' 
he  didn't  know  enough  to  come  in  when 
it  rained,"  and  she  wrung  her  hands. 

"Objection,  my  dear?  not  in  the  least," 
replied  Noah.  "I  consider  it  highly  de- 
sirable that  all  the  animals  shall  have  air 
and  food,  as  soon  as  anybody  has  time  to 
drive  them  out.  I  would  be  happy  to  do 
it  myself,  but  this  morning  I  really  feel 
too  stiff  for  any  exertion,"  and  he  rubbed  / 
his  wooden  leg  and  groaned. 

"For  gracious' sake,  do  drive  them  out 
at  once,"  whispered  Mrs.  Shem  to  her 
husband.  "We  shall  have  no  peace  till 
you  do." 

So  Shem  and  Japhet  climbed  the  roof, 
and  dived  down  into  the  hold.  Pretty 
soon  loud  roaring  and  moo-ing  and 
cackling  and  hissing  were  heard,  and  the 
animals  began  to  pour  out  in  a  long  pro- 
cession, headed  by  the  elephants  and  the?: 
giraffes,  and  winding  off  with  the  dickey- 
birds  and  a  pair  of  black  beetles.  Shem 
and  Japhet  followed,  with  long  sticks  hr 
their  hands.  Shem  also  carried  a  small 
box,  at  the  sight  of  which  his  wife  gave  a 
shriek. 

"Now  Shemmy,"  she  cried,  "I  won't 
have  it !  It's  bad  enough  for  mother  to 
insist  on  bringing  those  fleas,  without 
your  letting  them  loose  to  browse  on  the 
family.  Take  them  right  back.  If  you 
don't  I'll  drown  them  on  the  spot. 
They've  no  business  to  be  alive,  any  way. 
Of  course  it's  no  use  arguing  with  any- 
body of  the  name  of  Noah,  but  in  that 
box  they  shall  stay  till  there  are  some 
more  people  in  the  world,  or  my  name  is 
not  Shemima." 

Shem  seemed  rather  afraid  of  his  wife* 
for  he  went  meekly  back  and  left  the  box 
of  fleas  inside,  as  she  ordered  him.  Then 
he  and  Japhet  drove  the  animals  down 
the  side  of  the  Ark  on  to  the  floor.  They 
wandered  across  the  room  in  a  long  file, 
keeping  together  in  pairs,  while  the  Noah 
family  sat  on  the  roof  looking  on.  All 
but  Mrs.  Noah.  She  had  followed  the 
drove  to  the  floor,  and  now  was  running 
to  and  fro  among  the  creatures,  interfer- 
ing with  them,  and  ordering  them  to  do 
this  and  not  do  that.  Once  Winnie  saw 
one  of  the  ostriches  turn  and  peck  at  the 
purple  gown,  and  she  was  really  glad, 
Mrs.  Noah  seemed  to  be  such  an  aggra- 
vating person. 

"There  isn't  a  drop  of  water,"  she  call- 
ed out.  "Noah,  boys,  come  here.  We 
must  irrigate  this  country  as  fast  as  possi- 
ble." 

Noah  didn't  stir,  but  Shem  and  Japhet 

went  down  obediently.  Mrs.  Noah  hur- 
ried about,  peering  and  prying.  At  last 
she  climbed  the  round  stool,  on  which 
stood  Winnie's  tin  basin  and  pitcher  of 
water. 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  "I  knew  my  nose  did 
not  deceive  me.    Here  is  water  in  plenty ; 
a  whole  mountain  lake.    Now  the  ques-  6 
tion  is  how  to  get  it  down  to  the  plain  be- 
low." 

They  tried  various  ways  without  suc- 
cess. At  last  Mr.  Noah  and  Ham  and 
Japhet  took  hold  all  together  on  one  side 
of  the  pitcher,  and  lifting  their  feet  off 
the  ground,  hung  on  with  all  their  might. 

"That  will  bring  it,"  said  Mrs.  Noah. 

And  it  did  bring  it— not  the  water  only, 


?reat 
)  the 


but  the  pitcher  as  well.  With  a 
splash  and  clatter  down  it  came  to 
floor,  sending  a  stream  of  water  into  the 
middle  of  the  flocks  and  herds.  The 
Noahs,  who  had  hung  on  to  its  edge  for 
dear  life  during  the  fall,  picked  them- 
selves up,  scared  and  very  wet. 

"Ahoy!  ahoy!"  cried  Noah,  springing 
up  suddenly,  an^d  waving  his  spy-glass. 
"What  do  I  see?  Another  flood  is  com- 
ing. All  aboard !  Mrs.  Noah,  do  you 
hear  ?    All  aboard !  all  ab-o-ard !" 

So  terrible  and  startling  were  his  tones 
that  a  panic  seemed  to  seize  everybody 
within  hearing.  One  and  all  began  to 
hurry  toward  the  Ark  in  a  confused  mass, 
scrambling,  slipping,  lions,  tigers,  sheep, 
birds,  Mrs.  Noah,  Shem,  Japhet,  all  mixed 
up  together.  Noah  stood  erect  upon  thd 
roof,  brandishing  his  spy-glass.  As.  Mrs. 
Noah  went  by,  he  caught  hold  of  her  col- 
lar and  gave  her  a  good  shake. 

"Perverse  woman!"  he  cried,  "what 
did  I  tell  you  ?" 

Then,  seizing  Shemina  by  the  band,  he 
hurried  up  the  roof  after  them.  Shemina 
ran  down  inside.  Noah  stood  alone  at  the 
opening.  He  reached  up,  caught  hold  of 
the  lid,  was  about  to  close  it. 

"Wait,  wait,  don't  leave  me  out,"  cried 
a  voice  from  below. 

It  was  one  of  the  black  beetles  which 
had  fallen  down  in  a  pool  of  water  and 
was  struggling  to  regain  its  footing. 

"No  passengers  received  after  once  the 
bell  has  rung,"  replied  Noah.  Then  he 
shut  the  lid  down  with  a  loud  rattle. 

"Oh,  you  cruel  man!"  exclaimed  Win- 
nie, starting  up  in  bed. 

But  as  she  moved,  everything  seemed 
to   change.     The   room  grew  suddenly 
light.    Instead  of  the  moonbeams,  there  f 
was  the  sun,  streaming  in  and  casting  a^_ 
pink  glow  on  the  white  wall.     Winnie^ 
rubbed  her  eyes. 

"How  queer,"  she  said  sleepily ;  "they, 
were  all  here  just  now." 

Was  it  a  dream  ?  I  do  not  know.  One  J 
thing  was  certainly  strange ;  there  lay  the 
tin  pitcher  upset ;  the  water  had  run  out 
on  to  the  floor,  and  soaked  Winnie's  shoes 
and  stockings ;  and  in  the  very  middle 
of  the  slop  sprawled  one  of  the  black 
beetles ! 

Mother  tried  to  explain  this  by  saying 
that  Winnie  had  forgotten  to  put  the 
beetle  back  after  she  took  him  out.  She 
also  suggested  that  as  the  stool  stood  near 
the  bed,  Winnie  must  have  upset  the 
pitcher  in  her  sleep. 

But  Winnie  was  -not  convinced.  She 
was  sure  she  had  not  slept  a  wink  that 
night.  And  the  first  time  she  opened  the 
lid  of  the  ark,  it  seemed  to  her  that  Noah, 
who  was  lying  on  top  of  the  other  things, 
looked  at  her  queerly  and  gave  a  slight, 
very  slight,  wink  with  his  left  eye. 
don't  suppose  he  did  any  such  thing 
you  ? 


D( 


"Young  man,  what's  the  price  ef  thja 
chamber  set  ?"  asked  a  deaf  old  lady. 

"Thirty-seven  dollars,"  was  the  reply. 

"Forty-seven  dollars!"  exclaimed  »bo, 
'I'll  give  you  forty." 

•'Thirty-seven  dollars,  madam,  is  the 
price  of  this  chamber  set,"  replied  the  hon- 
est salesman. 

,:0,  thirty-seven  dollars,"  replied  tho 
lady  sharply,  "I'll  give  you  thirty." 


THE    mS\m    0?   THE   OLD   Fi&S 

0»T    FOIST    SUAITjEK. 


EENKY  WARD  BHECEEXL'S  ADDRESS. 


Tie  latest  intelligence  from  Charleston,  received 
by  steinier  at  Baltimore,  is'ttui;  the  flag  of  Fort 
Sumter,  the  identical  oie  vailed  to  the  gun3  of 
Mcesshi  four  yean  a^o,  was  en  Fiiday  last,  April 
14,  raised  sjiain  abov^  the  ru>'ns  of  that  fortress  by 
General  Anderson,  in  the  presence  of  a  distin- 
guished csmpany.  The  new  of  the  su-Wider  of 
Lee  fcad  just  before  been  received,  and  added  great- 
er interest  to  the  occasion.  Flags  floated  from 
every  flagstaff  in  Charleston  a;d  on  the  islands, 
and  from  every  vcfscl;  a^d  all  the  war  ships  were 
gaily  decorate.!.*  Salutes  i;nd  ringing  of  bells  ac- 
companied and  preceded  the  event. 

Ami  ng  the  two  thousand  people  gathered  in  the 
court  yard  of  the  fort,  were  Admiral  Dablgreu  and 
Capt.  Bradfoid,  and  over  a  hundred  navjd  officers, 
Senator  Wilson,  Win.  Lloyd  GarrLou,  flSiV  Sim- 
utl  Hooper  and  ox-C-ov.  Clifford  of  Mas?a*eflusett3, 
Lieut.  Gov.  Andersen  of  Ohio,  Justice  Swayne  of 
the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  J  udges 
Strong  aEd  Thompson  and  Congressman  Kelly  of 
Pennsylvania,  George  Thompson  of  England,  As- 
sistant Secretary  of  Na^y  Fox,  Prot.  Davis  of 
West  Point  Academy,  Atijt  Gen.  Town3end,  Col. 
Guiley:,commandicg  the  post^G^nerals  Gillmore, 
Anderson.  Dix,  Wasbburne,  Deubleday,  Dellafidd, 
Giover,  Hatch,  Saxton  and  Molineanx,  moat  of 
whom  had  their  respective  staffs  with  them,  and 
others  of  distinction,  besides  the  wite  and  children 
of  Gen.  Anderson,  Gen.  Dix's  daughter,  Dr. 
Mackey,  the  undaunted  South  Carolinia  Free  Ma- 
son and  his  family,  and  large  detachments  of 
troops,  black  and  while,  including  a  part  of  the 
54ih. 

The  steamer  Planter,  Capt.  Robert  Small,  who, 
it,  will  be  remembered,  run  the  rebel  gauntlet  in. 
1862,  came  to  the  fort  loaded  down  with  hundreds 
of  colored  people,  of  ail  ages  and  sizes.  Their  ap- 
pearance was  waimly  welcomed. 

The  despatch  to  tne  Journal  gives  the  particu- 
lars of'  the  notable  event,  which  commenced  with 
a  song  and  chorus,  "Victory  at  Last"  Chaplain 
Harris,  of  the  U.  S.  Army,  who  was  with  An- 
derson before  he  wer*.s  from  Moultre  to  Sumter, 
offered  prayer.  Rev.  Dr.  Starrs,  Jr  ,  of  New  York, 
read  Psalms  26,  47,  98  and  part  of  the  20th.  Ad- 
jutant General  Townsend  read  Major  Anderson's 
despatches  of  April  18,  18G1,  on  the  Baltic,  off 
New  York,  announcing  the  Jail  of  Fort  Sumter. 

General  Anderson  now  stooped  to  the  front  ot 
the  platform,  end  made  the  following  addie»s : 
General  Aiirtersou's  Address. 

I  am  here,  my  friends  and  fellow  citizens  aad 
brothsr  soldiers,  to  perform  an  act  of  duty  which 
is  dear  to  my  heart,  and  which  all  of  you  present  ap- 
preciate and  feel.  Did  1  listen  to  the  promptings 
ef  my  own  heart,  I  would  not;  attempt  to  speak; 
but  I  have  beeH  desired  by  the  Secretary  of  War 
to  make  a  few  remarks.  By  the  considerate  ap- 
pointment of  the  honored  Secretary  of  War,  I  am 
permitted  to  fulfil  the  cherished  wish  of  my  hsart 
through  four  long  years  of  bloody  war,  to  restore 
to  it*  proper  pluee  this  very  flig  which  floated 
here  during  pence  before  the  first  act  of  this  cruel 
rebellion.  Thank  God,  I  have  lived  to  see  this  day ! 
[applause]  that  I  lave  lived  to  be  here  to  perform 
this,  perhaps,  the  last  act  »f  du'y  to  my  country 
in  this  life.  My  heart  is  filled  with  gratitude  to 
Almighty  God  for  the  signal  blessings  which  he 
has  eiven  us— blessings  beyond  number.  May  all 
the  world  proclaim— 'Glory  to  God  in  the  highest! 
on  earth  peace  and  good  will  toward  man!'  "' 

The  general  then  took  the  halliards  and  hauled 
the  starry  flag  to  its  proud  place,  amid  mingled 
enthusiasm  aid  tears  of  joy.  The  emotions  of 
the  moment  were  sublime.  The  Star  Spangled 
Banner  was  sung  in  stirring  chorus,  and  the  guos 
of  Sumter  and  MouPrie,  and  Battery  Bee,  and 
Fort  Johnson  pealed  forth  thundering  salute3. 
Oration  of  Henry  Ward  Beccber. 

Rev.  Henry  Ward  Bcecher  delivered  the  oration, 
which  was  frequently  and  warmly  applauded,  and 
was  followed  by  the  singing  of  "Old  Hundred," 
end  a  closuig  prayer  and  benediction  by  Rev.  Dr. 
Storrs. 

We  extract  from  the  Journal  the  leading  or 
more  e'oqueBt  portions  of  Mr.  Beecher's  address : 

On  this  solemn  and  joyful  day  we  agaiB  lift  to 
the  breeze  our  fathers'  Hag,  now  again  the  banner 
of  the  United  Sta'es,  wish  the  prayer  that  God 
would  crown  it  with  honor,  protect  it  from  treason, 
and  send  it  down  to  our  children  with  all  the  bless- 
ings of  civilization,  liberty  and  religion.  Happily 
no  bud  or  beast  ot  prey  has  been  inscribed  upon  it. 
The  stars  that  redeem  the  nUht  from  darkness, 
and  the  beams  of  red  light  that  beautify  the  morn- 
ing, have  been  nnited  upon  its  folds. 

******** 

You  have  come  back,  with  honor  who  departed 
once,  'our  years  ago,  leaving  the  air  sultry  with 
fanaticism.  The  surging  crowds  that  rolled  up 
th  ir  frenzied  shouts  as  the  flag  came  down  are 
cead,  or  scattered,  or  silent,  and  their  habitations 
are  de-oia  e  Ruin  sits  in  the  cradle  of  treason. 
IitleUion  has  perished,  but  there  flies  the  same 
tit/'t  that  "'  is  insulted. 


Lifted  to  the  air  to-day,  it  proclaims,  aiter  rour 
years  of  war,  not  a  State  is  blotted  out.  [Ap- 
plause.] Hail  to  tueflMt  of  our  fathsrsanl  our 
fla»!  Glory  10  the  Dinner  taat  has  been  through 
foiir  years,  black  with  tempests  of  war,  t<»  pilot 
the  nation  back  to  peace  without  dismemberment  I 
and  glory  be  to  God  who,  above  all  hosts  and 
banners,  hath  ordained  victory  and  shall  ordain 
pence!    [Applause.] 

******** 

This  flag  commands,  not  supplicates.-:  There  may 
be  pardon,  but  no  concession.  [Great  applause.'] 
There  may  be  amnesty  and  obliviou,  but  no  honied 
compromises.  [Applause]  The  nation  to-day 
has  peace  for  the  peaceful,  and  war  for  the  turbu- 
lent. [Appluuse.]  The  only  condition  of  suo- 
mir-sion  is  to  snSinit.  [Laughter  and  applause.] 
There  is  the  Constitution — there  are  the  laws- 
there  is  the  government— they  rise  up  like  moun- 
tains of  strength  that  shall  not  be  moved;  they  are 
the  conditions  of  peace.  One  nat'on  uader  one 
government,  without  slavery,  has  been  ordained 
and  shall  stand.  There  can  be  peace  on  no  oth6r 
basis.  On  this  basis  reconstruction  is  easy,  and 
neeCs  neither  architect  nor  engineer.  Without  this 
basis  no  engineer  or  architect  shall  ever  reconstruct 
these  rebellious  States. 

***** 

We  are  expected  to  forget  all  that  has  happened! 
yes,  the  wrath,  the  conflict,  the  cruelty,  but  not 
those  overruling  decrees  of  God  which  this  war 
has  pronounced  as  solemnly  as  on  Mount  Sinai- 
God  says:  "Remember,  Remember!"  Hear  it  to- 
day under  this  sun— under  that  bri;ht  child  of  the 
sun,  our  banner— with  the  eyes  of  this  nation  and 
the  world  upon  us,  we  repsat  the  syllables  of  GroV 
evidence,  and  recite  the  solemn  decrees.  No  more 
Disunion!  No  more  Secession!  No  more  slave- 
ry! 

***** 

When  the  passage  of  the  Stamp  Act,  in  1765, 
aroused  the  Colonies,  it  was  Gadsden  of  South 
Carolina  thaf;  cried  with  prescient  enthusiasm :  "We 
stand  on  the  broad  common  ground  of  those  na- 
tural rights  that  we  all  feel  and  know  as  men. 
There  ought  to  be  no  New  England  man,  no  New 
Yorker  known  on  this  continent,  bat  all  of  us," 
said  he,  "  Americans."  This  was  the  voice  of 
South  Carolina.  That  shall  be  the  voice  of  South 
Carolina.  Faint  is  the  echo,  but  it  is  coming. 
We  now  hear  it  sadly  sighing  through  the  pines, 
but  it  shall  yet  break  upon  the  shore.  No  North, 
no  West,  no  South,  but  one  United  States  of  Amer- 
ica.   [Applause.]  '  • 

***** 

Raise  up  the  glorious  gospel  banner  and  roll  out 
the  messages  of  God.  Tell  the  air  that  not  a  spot 
sullies  iky  wiitcness.  Thy  red  is  not  the  flash  of 
shame  but  the  flush  of  joy.  Tell  tin?  dews  that 
wash  thee  that  thou  art  pure,  as  they  say  to  the 
niaht  that  thy  stars  lead  towards  morning,  and  to 
the  morning  that  a  brighter  day  arises  with  heal- 
ing on  its  wings;  and  then,  O  glowing  flag,  bid 
the  sun  pour  light  on  all  thy  folds  with  double 
brightness,  whilst  thou  art  bearing  round  and 
round  the  world  the  column  joy — "a  race  set  free !" 
"  a  nation  redeemed^" 

*  *      •      *  *  ft 

There  is  half  a  hundred  years  advance  in  four. 
We  believed  ia  our  institutions  and  principles  be- 
fore, but  now  we  know  their  power.  We  had 
never  before  seen  this  nation  thundering  like 
Mount  Sinai  at  all  those  that  worshipped  the  calf 
at  the  base  of  the  mountain.  A  people  educated  | 
and  moral  are  competent  to  all  the  exigencies  of 
national  life.  A  vote  can  govern  better  than  a 
crown.    We  have  proved  it.    [Applause] 

*  *  *  *  * 

The  originatois  and  leading  spirits  of  this  need-1 
leas  bloodshed,  caught  up  in  black  clouds,  full  of' 
voice  s  of  vengeance  and  lurid  with  punishment, 
shall  be  whirled  aloft  and  plunged  downward 
forever  and  ever  in  an  endless  retribution,  while 
God  shall  say:  "Thus  shall  it  be  with  all  who  be- 
tray their  country;"  and  all  in  heaven  and  upon 
earth  will  say  amen  [Voices  "Amen!"  "Amen!" 
"Amen!"]  But  for  the  people  misled,  for  thei 
multitudes  drafted  and  driven  into  this  civil  war,  | 
let  not  a  trace  of  animosity  remain.  [Applause.] 
The  moment  their  willing  hand  drops  the  musket 
and  they  return  to  their  allegiance,  then  stretch 
out  your  own  honest  right  hand  to  greet  them. 
Recall  to  them  the  old  days  of  kindness.  Our 
hearts  wait  for  their  redemption.  All  the  resources 
of  a  renovated  nation  shall  be  applied  to  rebuild 
their  prosperity,  and  smooth  down  the  furrows  of 
war. 

Work.  There  is  nothing  in  American  so-  - 
ciely  that  should  give  us  reason  to  scorn  those 
that  work.  You  are  all  workers,  or  you  are  j 
vagabonds.  Nowhere  else  under  God's  heav-  j 
en  is  there  a  place  where  a  man's  standing 
so  depends  on  what  he  can  do  as  hi  this 
country.  And  no  man  should  be  ashamed 
to  acknowledge  that  lie  earned  his  property 
between  the  handles  of  the  plow.  The  less 
chance  a  man  has  for  success  the  more  credit 
is  due  him  if  he  succeeds.  Any  man  can 
run  down  hill,  but  he  that  can  clamber  up  to 
the  top  of  a  steep  precipice  where  birds  can 
scarcely  go,  and  where  few  men  dream  of 
going,  and  cast  down  opposition,  and  in. 
trench  himself  there,  deserves  the  highest 
praise.— [Henry  Ward  Beecher. 


PEJKSEVERAITGE  IN  CHEI3TM  LIFE, 


A  SERMON 

riUiA.CH  ED  BY 

Ilcniy  Ward  Beecher, 

PLYMOUTH      CTi^RCM,,     BROOKLYN. 


> 


"To  him  Shat  overcome*  will  I  five  to  eat  of  fbe- 
Jiiaden  manna,  and  will  give  hiura- wbite  stone,  and  in- 
the  stone  a  new  aame  writtetti-wliicti  n&maa  knowc?' 
saving  he  that  h«  receiveth  it. "'— Rev.  ii„17. 

<■      Many  of  you  will  have  observed  thafi  exaltation  I 
of  mind  renders  things;   about   us   harmonious 
which  in  a  lower  frame  seervat  discord.    In  a 
/  low  f ramie  mirth  and  solemnity  seem  utterly  in- 
congruous; but  in  a  higher  religions  mood  they 
are  perfectly  reconciled  and  go  together.    And  so 
of  a  million  other  cases.    The  inspired  mood  out 
of  which  came  thejgtfhs  of  Scripture  was  after 
i  this  kind.    Wcfreqnfeirtly,  therefore, .  see  things 
*  joined  together.    There  seem  to  be  violent  collo- 
cations of  unlfke  things  in  the  utterances  of  Scrip- 
ture.   Figures  ure  put  together,  and  h  cidents  are 
mixed,  which  to  a   low  state  of  feeling  seem 
I    strangely  inappropriate,  but  which  are  perfectly 
«  natural  to   a  vc?y  high  degree  of  excitement. 
Our  text  fttrnishss  an  instance.     It  i»  .".solemn 
call  tf»  victorious  perseverance  in  Christian  life. 
As    a    motive,   two    promises    ai\J    made,— one 
/  of  hidden  manna ,  and  the  other  of  an  unknown 
name  upon  a  white  stone     One  refers  to  the  his- 
toric period,  the^t,  aim  the  other  to  the  future. 
The  one  was  funded  npon  fact,  and  the  other-  is 
mystical.  9*®  the  mingling  of  these  two  seem- 
ingly u in  -ed  and  strange  elements  that  in* 
dicawa  i,uht  hieh  state  in  <  which  things  and  rela- 
,  tions  are  seen  that  are  'not  ordinarily  discerned. 
in  a  low  state  of  mind. 

Let  us  elucidate  a  little  each -of  the  figures,  and 
derive  from  them  such  spiritual  profit  as  seems 
appropriate  to  the  occasion. 

The  Israelites,  who  were  Ged.'s  typical  people 
—not  his  only  people,  but  the  people  by  which 
pre-eminently  he  developed  and- made  known  the 
moral  side  of  truth— had  been  cruelly  oppressed 
and  held  in  bondage  in  Egypt.    We  are  not  left 
to  our  own  fancy  when  we  say  that  this  is  still 
the  experience  of  all  those  who  attempt  to  follow 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ;  for  the  New  Testament 
'  appropriates  that  historic  condition.    We,  too, 
.  are  represented  as  being  in  bondage,  or  as  having 
'  been  in  bondage.    Whom  a  man  serves,  to  him 
,  he  is  in  bondage;  and  we  have  been  under  the  do- 
;  minion  of  the  world,  under  the  power  of  the  ap- 
petite, under  the  control  of  our  own  will,  and  so 
we  have  been  in  Egypt. 

God  appeared  in  a  special  and  glorious  manner, 
and  set  his  people  free,  and  brought  them  forth 
with  a  high  hand  and  an  outstretched  arm  from 
Egypt;  and  so,  with  a  continuous  parallel,  it  is 
represented  in  the  New  Testament  that  the  Chris- 
tian is  brought  from  the  house  of  bondage  into 
light  and  liberty.  For  in  the  New  Testament, 
though  religion  is  sometimes  represented  as  a 
service,  at  other  times,  and  more  comprehen- 
sively, it  is  represented  as  an  enfranchisement,  as 
an  act  of  emancipation,  as  fieedom  conferred,  as 
liberty  achieved. 

When  the  Israelites  had  been  delivered  from 
their  pursuers,  and  had  crossed  the  sea,  instead 
of  making  straight  for  the  promised  land,  they 
took  counsel  of  their  fear  and  their  love  of  ease, 
and  were  obliged,  in  consequence,  for  forty  years 
to  wander  up  and  down  through  the  great  desert 
land.  But  at  length,  after  a  generation,  after 
those  that  first  set  out  had  from  cowardice  laid 
their  carcasses  in  the  wilderness,  the  people  came 
into  the  promised  land,  where  long  ago  they 
might  have  been  settled.  And  so,  those  that  have 
been  brought  out  from  under  the  dominion  of 
their  sin  into  newness  of  lii'e,through  Jesus  Christ, 
instead  of  aiming  at  once  at  the  highest  Christian 
states,  attempt  to  avoid,  as  much  as  they  may,la- 
bors  and  self-denials,  and,  in  consequence,  impose 
upon  themselves  the  very  things,  in  the  long  run, 
that  they  seek  to  avoid,and  make  a  life  of  circuits. 
And  they  may  well  be  compared  to  the  children 
of  Irael  who  wandered  in  the  wilderness  of 
Egypt. 

Now,  during  this  long  pilgrimage  of  the  Israel- 
ites, it  was  impossible  for  them  to  sow  and  to 
gather  harvests.  They  were  dwellers  in  tents. 
They  had  been  shepherds  and  husbandmen;  but 
they  could  not  pursue  for  a  livelihood  their  old 
avocations.  It  was  needful,  therefore,  that  there 
should  be  a  supply  granted  to  them  miraculously; 
and  by  a  divine  command  manna  fell  daily  from 
heaven.  And  therevelator  says,  "I  will  feed  con- 
quering Christians  with  manna."  As  we  are  like 
the  Israelites,  in  bondage,  in  deliverance,  anAin 
wandering  in  $he  wilderness,  "so"saith  tae  de- 
lator, "the  parallel  shall  continue;  and  as  God 
fed  his  people,  not  through  their  own  skill  and  in- 
dustry, but  by  a  direct  power,  so  God  promises 
that  those  who  are  victoriously  faithful  in  the 
Christian  life  in  all  their  wanderings  and  vicissi- 
tudes shall  have  divinely-bestowed  manna."  But, 
lest  it  should  seem  as  though  it  was  to  be  a  repe- 
tition of  the  old  miracle,  it  is  declared  that  it  is 
not  to  be  substantial  and  visible  manna,  such  as 
the  Israelites  plucked  from  the  ground,  but  "liid-> 
den"  or  secret  manna — that  is,  invisible,  spiritual 
manna,  in  distinction  from  visible  and  material. 


7 


Heavenly  cneer,  spiritual  comfort,  tde  sours 
oread— that  is  the  manna  which  is  here  promised. 
Let  us  then  see,  for  one  single  moment,  what  is 
the  scope  of  this  promise.  To  them  that  overcome 
I  will  give  hidden  manna.  The  implication  is 
that  Christians  are  in  great  conflict  and  peril; 
and  that, 'in  consequence  of  the  strifes  and 
dangers  of  Christian  life,  they  need  something 
more  than  they  can  minister  to  their  own  salves! 
They  need  food  that  is  higher  than  the  daily 
bread  for  which  we  are  taught  to  pray.  And  the 
promise  is  that,  if  they  are  faithtul  to  their  Chris- 
tian life,  God  will  give  them  this  other  food  that 
they  need. 

It  is  only  a  mystic  and  poetic  expression  of  the 
same  thought  that  our  Saviour  indulged  in  when 
he  declared,  "Take  no  thought,  saying,  What 
shall  we  eat?  or,  What  shall  we  drink?  or, 
Wherewithal  shall  we  be  clothed;"  "but,  seek  ye 
first  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  his  righteousness, 
and  all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto  you. 
Here  the  same  truth  is  set  forth  in  another 
mode  of  expression— namely,  Fight  the  bat- 
tle of  temptation,  wage  the  conflict  of 
Christian  life,  be  bold,  be  faithful,  and  God 
will  feed  your  souls.  As  in  the  one  case 
God  will  take  care  of  the  body  according  to  the 
literal  promise  of  Christ,  so  here  we  have  in- 
cluded something  higher  and  better. 

We  are  incessantly  tempted,  in  this  life,  to 
conform  our  ethical  conduct  either  to  our  direct 
or  implied  physical  condition.  There  is  a  natural 
but  not  too  srood,  tendency  to  make  the  metes  and 
bounds  of  ethical  truth  and  duty  conform  to  nat- 
ural law,  and  then  to  interpret  natural  law  on  the 
side  of  selfishness.  We  are  perpetually  tempted 
by  compliances,  by  customs,  by  seeming  physical 


moral  scruple.  But  yet  it  has  been  the  experience 
and  the  testimony  of  Bfiore  tha3)one  can  count  of 
blessed  saints  in  heaven*,,  and  of  multitudes  that 
still  dwsll  upon  earfli'and  are  engaged  in  its  con- 
flicts, that,  no  matter"  how  rugged  W  steep  the 
path  may  have  been,  rhey  have  beetfbest  fed  and 
best  sustained  when  fikey  have  followed  Christ 
the  nearest,  I  will  not  e»y  that  those  who  follow 
Christ  at  all  hazards  will  lie  best  sustained  out- 
wardly, (thofcg4i  they  will  ihve  enough  for  their 
outward  wan tsj.  or,  when  tfcey  do  not  ha^e  this, 
what  is  better,  tftey  will  die.^bn*  they  wi'J  have, 
-  in  spite  of  the**  circumstance  more  of"  those 
ends  for  which  men  strive  than  they  could  have 
attained  if  they  h?4!  conformed  foiihe  world. 

Why  do  men  storms?;  There  is  a:pleasure  in  the 
J«e  of  our  faculties  that  makes  men  industrious 
<*«d  enferprising;  ttutftleads  them  to  become  en- 
gineers, mechanics,  laboring  men  or  scholar.-'; 
TSere  is  pleasure  in  a  me  of  activity.  But  mainly' 
mert'sre  feing  for  the- sake  of  supplying  them- 
selves wife  a  multitude  ?f  worldly  benefits;  that 
they  ?nay  ftave  a  broader-  foundation  for  their 
famiy;  tha?  they  may,  i£  possible,  derive  more 
enjoy  rtfentft^m  leisure;  that  they  may  multiply 
the  sorites  of  their  improvement  "in  other  words, 
various-  joy,  t%at  shall  develop  the  mind  and  fill 
up  the  'Jeart;;  IsSte  evading  of  evil,,  which  is  a  reflex 
seeking  for> possible  joy— thk^s  t&at  which  is  the 
universal'  spring,  the  grand  motive,  of  human 
action;  a-t'l  when  you  take  avay  firom  a  man  the 
foarof  e\*hand  the  hope  of  !&y,you  paralyze 
him.  No  Tiau'WOmld  be  more  than  a  leaf  on  a 
stream  thai  had  not  this  fear  or  *  Ms- hope. 

Now,  it  is- the  experience  of  mea,  and  one  of 
those  experiences- winch  we  come ''to'  slowly  and 


necessities,  by  social  sympathies,  and  by  evan  J  rebictantly,  t  af»  whfk-h  dawn  upow  us  only  after 
moral  biases,  to  depart  from  propriety  and  recti-  ;  we  flave  g°ue  trough  a  long  course  of  struggle, 
tude.  In  all  the  relations  of  life— in  the  family,  <n  *Dat>  after  al'h-we  find  more  hapiJiaess  in  the 
in  the  neighborhood,  in  business,  in    their  whole  '  faithful  performance  <«f  Christian  duty  at  every 

hazard  and  sacrifice  than  we  wouhMmve  found 
withunobstracted'-freisdom  along  the=  course  of 


estate— men  are  strongly  inclined,  if  not  to  give 

up  right  and  duty,  yet  to  moderate  their  ideas  of  A.  wxlu  UI1UU 

what  is  right;  to  take  on  milder  conceptions  of  /   prosperity 


duty;  to  see  if  the  cross  cannot  be  evaded  or 
avoided,  or.  to  make  it  as  inconspicuous  as  possi- 
ble. That  tendency  is  natural,  using  the  word 
natural  in  ifs  lowest  acceptation. 

There  is  always  present,  more  or  less  obtrusive- 
ly, the  economic  argument  in  the  soul,  and  wd  of- 
ten find  ourselves  resorting  to  it  to  excuse  our- 
selves from  adhering  to  that  which  is  incumbent 
upon  us.  When  we  are  irradiated  with  conceptions 
ot  Christian  life,  when  we  have  heroic  ideals,  we 
mean  lo  be  absolutely  true  men;  we  mean  to  have 
au  unadulterated  faith  in  God;  we  mean  to  have 
the  utmost  sincerity  of  life;  we  mean  to  burn 
with  a  courage  that  shall  never  know  obliquity; 
we  mean  to  be  enterprising,  abounding  in  work. 
And  yet,  when  we  come  out  of  the  inspirational 
hours  that  sometimes  come  to  us,  and  enter  upon 
the  actual  experience  of  life,  we  come  into  the  eco- 
nomic and  argumentative  mood.  And  the  question 
arises  whether  it  is  proper  in  our  circumstances- 
winch  are  always  peculiar— for  us  to  do  so  and 
so.  And  in  this  mood  we  are  always  tempted  as 
much  as  possible  to  avoid 'the  cogency  and  urgen- 


Let  me  take  the:  case,  for  instance  -of,  a  man 
that  pursues  the  most  uwiocent  course  of.  life.  It 
is  thought  of  industry  feat  it  is  good.*that  it  is 
right,  that  it  is  praiseworthy.  It  is.  Bat  little 
by  little  a  man  in  -the  coarse  of  duty  perils  him- 
ssJf  for  others'  sake,- and  begins  to  under/none  his 
*  health  and  strength.    He  would  draw  back,  but 

■^  thsre  is  an' obligation  imposed  upon  him.  It  is  a 
soldier,  in  time  of  war,  and  he  is  called  to  do  duty 
in  places  of  danger,  and.  to  sacrifice  his  bodily 
heath.  And  ere  long,  by  maims  and  wounds,  or 
by.  rheumatic  twistings  •  and  contortions,  or  by 
organic  weaknesses,  the  man  is  laid  aside  from 
laborv     And  men  say,  'It  is  a  pity  that- this 

'>  man  should  not  have  avoided  this  excessive  taxa- 
tion-upon  his  physical  system.  There  is  modera- 
tion in  all  things."  But  I  have  taken  notice 
that  when  it  is  moral  things  moderation  is  known 
to  all  men;  and  when  it-is  physical  things  moder- 
ation is  known  to  nobody.  There  is  a  general 
public  sentiment  that  zeal  and  fervor  for  the  ani- 
mal system  is  all  right  enough;  but  that  for  the 
moral  nature  there  snoukl  be  great  moderation 


cy  of  the  reasons  which  incline  us  to  fulhT  our   A  and  self-restraint.    And  so  men  look  with  pity 


duties,  and  to  argue  whether  it  is  best  for  us,  for 
ours,  and  for  the  world  about  us,  to  press  forward 
in  the  path  of  duty  which  is  opened  before  us. 

Now,  I  do  not  undertake  to  say  that  these  casu- 
istical questions  are  not  a  part  of  our  necessity ; 
but  I  do  say  that  the.  application  of  truths  and 
principles  requires  right  judgment  and  the  con- 
tinuous exercise  thereof.  It  is  not  half.so  much 
trouble  to  know  what,  the  truth  is  in  general  as  it 
is  to  know  what  the  truth  is  at  any  particular 
time,  and  in  its  applications  to  particular  phases 
of  experience.  And  it  is  at  this  point,  not  that 
we  are  necessarily  deceived,  but  that  we  are  ex- 
tremely liable  to  lean  toward  a  compliance  with 
worldly  ways  aad  customs,  for  the  sake  of  getting 
along  easier ;  for  tiie  sake  of  haying  more  certain, 
solid,  assured  success. 

"  Man  shall  not  live  by  bread,  alone/'  said  the 
Saviour,  when,  he  was  himself  tempted.  And  the 
promise  of  our  text  is,  Do  not  comply  with  evil 
under  any  circumstances.;  do  not  give  way  to 
worldly  counsels,,  where  they  are  distinctly  oppo- 
'  site  to  spiritual  counsels.;,  do  not  consume  your- 
selves w&h  anxieties;  do  not  use  your  strength  L* 
needlessly;  do  not  expend  it  on  thia  thing  r 
or  that  when  it  mi^ht  be  better  spent  on  some- 
thing else;  do  not  judge  your  prosperity  by  out- 
ward signs  alone,  and.  you  shall  have  your  re- 
ward: 1  will  give  to  every  man  that  is  a  true  sol- 
dier; to  every  matt' that  holds  the  faith  of  Christ, 
and  that  means  to>  maintain  a  godly  and  pure 
life — to  every  such  man,  whatever  may  be  his 
i  trials,  whatever  may  be  his  perils,  and  whatever 
f  may  be  his  inducements,  if  he  will  only  overcome 
his  temptations,  I  will  give  a  hidden  support.  I 
will  feed  him  inwardly.  As  the  Israelite  had  visi- 
ble manna,  so  he  shall  have  manna  that  i3  invisi- 
ble, hidden,  mystic. 

1  would  to  God  that  in  some  adequate  way  the 
experience  of  this  truth  might  be  gathered  out  of 
that  army  of  suffering  ones  that  the  world  has 
seen,  and  framed  into  a  history,  and  poured  forth 
upon  men,  that  the  world  might  know  how  G.>;] 
does  do  exceeding  abundantly  more  than  we  &ak 
or  think  for  those  that  are  willingjfor  Christ's  sake 
to  cut  off  the  right  hand,  or  pluck  gut  the  right 
eye,  or  forego  any  temptation  «r  any  inducement 
of  pleas*«j. 

There  i.- nothing  that  seems  m<*o  apparent  to' 
men  of  the  World  than  for  a  man  to-  stand,  as  it  is 
said,  in  his  men  MgfU;  fop  a  man  to  <rive  up  posi- 
tive, and  in  tfhny  respects,  it  may  be.,  innocent 
good,  for  the  sake  of  some  nation,  some  *sm,  some 


upon  a  man  that  has  been  laid  aside  from  activity 
by  reason  of  over-exertion  in  the  discharge  of  the 
most  solemn  duties  that  -can  be  known  in  the 
providence  of  God. 

It  is- hard  to  stand  still  enforcedly.  It  is  hard 
to  see  the  thunderous  processes  of  industry  go. 
past  your  skilled  hand  and  Avilling  feet,  and  you  - 
not  be  called  to  take  part  and  lot  in  them.  And 
yet  many  a  man  has  learned,  after  the  first  days 
of  bitterness,  that  he  could  reap  more  joy  bed- 
ridden than  he  could  on  his  feet.  In  many  a  case  ■ 
helpless  bauds,  that  could  not  be  lifted  in  prayer, 
have  reaped   better  harvests  for  a  man,  if  you 

'  measure  by  the  satisfaction  of  the  soul,  than  they 
could  under  any  other  circumstances.  Many  a 
man  that  has  been  laid  aside  early  in  life,  and  for 
long    and   useless  years,  has    realized,  without 

<■  knowing  it,  the  promise  of  God,  "I  will  give  you 
hidden  manna  if  you  will  overcome  in  the  posi- 
tion in  which,  in  my  providence,  I  have  placed 
you ;  stand  firm  in  the  path  of  duty,  and  I  will  see 
to  it  that  hidden  manna  is  ministered  to  you,  and 
that  so  you  are  fed." 

Are  there  not  those  that  canbsnr  witness  here 
to-day  that  a  man  may  lose  all  things,  in  the  com. 
mon  acceptation  ot  the  term,  and  yet  be  exceed 
ingly  happy,  and  blessed  of  God?  Am  m  may  be 
stripped,  of  property,  a  man  may  be  bsreft  of . 
friends,  a  man -may  lose  his  health,  a  matt  may 
have  the  way  of  usefulness  blocked  up  to  him; 
and  yet  he  may  experience  a  happiness  that  is  in- 
describable, if  he  only  has  left  this  thought:  . 
"Heaven  cannot  be  touched.  Here  I  am  tossed 
about  and  rolled  over,  ami  I  am  like  a  vessel 
borne  down  before  a  tempest,  and  swept  hither 
and  thither;  but  ah!  there  is  a  rest  that  remain- 
cth,  God  keeps  it  for  me,  and  ere  long  1  shall 
dwell  in  his  presence.  And  I  am  sure  that  I  am 
a  better  ana  nappi&  man  ir. 
which  I  have  been  made  to  Buffer,  since  they  have 
rendered  my  soul  susceptible  to  the  mysterious 
touches  of  God's  hand."  It  ii  the  fulfilment  of 
the  promise,  "To  him  that  overcometh  will  I  give 
to  eat  of  the  bidden  manna."  The  man  that  is 
willing  to  stand  up  wherever  his  lot  may  in  the 
providence  of  God  be  cast,  and  that  stands*  victo- 
riously, God  will  feed,  not  outwardly  alone,  but 
inwardly. 

Now  conies  the  other  mystic  promise,  of  some- 
thing nobler  yet.  The  explanation  that  I  shall 
give  of  the  white  stone,  with  the  name  which  no  • 
man  knowcth.  saving  he  that  receiveth  it,  will 
seem  fanciful  to  you,  unless  you  think  of  the  dif- 
ference which  there  is  on  this  subject  between 
modern  and  occidental  thought  and  ancient  and 
oriental  thinking.     But  no  one  who  is  acquainted 


with  the  sentiment  ot  antiquity  win  tninK  mm 
explanation  fanciful;  for  precious  stones  were  al- 
most the  veryjform  of  literature  for  the  expression 
of  the  idea  of  precious  truths— so  much  so  that 
God,  when  he  wished  to  describe  how  heaven  it- 
self was  builded,  instead  of  saying  that  it  was  a 
budding  whose  tower  was  justice,  and  whose 
foundations  were  mercy  and  love  and  sympathy,  I 
said,  "It  is  builded  of  sapphire,  and  ruby,  and  ' 
other  precious  stones."  Precious  stones  were 
identified  with  great  moral  truths  and  qualities. 
Just,  as  we  say  ermine  in  referring  to  the  omce 
of  a  judge  or  magistrate,  just  as  we  speak  of 
white  fur  as  signifying  purity,  so  to  the  ancient,  ' 
the  oriental,  a  precious  stone  was  associated  with 
moral  truths  and  moral  qualities.  And  God  al- 
ways speaks  in  conformity  to  this  use  of  precious 
stones  in  representing  such  truths  and  qualities. 
In  the  description  of  heaven  they  were  largely  em- 
ployed, whose  walls,  it  was  said,  were  of  jasper 
and  whose  pavements  were  likened  to  a  sea  of 
glass. 

But,  more  significantly,  though  less  poetically 
perhaps,  precious  stones  were  set,  and  worn  as 
breast-stones.  All  the  priests  wore  them  in  the 
Jewish  economy.  On  the  cphod  they  were  placed. 
And  the  kings  wore  them.  Now,  in  modern  times,  j 
they  are  worn  merely  for  show;  but  then  they 
were  worn  to  signify  moral  and  regnant  qualities. 
Crowns  carried  them  symbolically,  much  as  iu 
coronets  they  still  flame. 

But  more  frequently  than,  in  any  other  way, 
precious  stones  were  made  into  signet  rings;  and 
as  such  they  carried  authority,  because  they  sug- 
gested the  personal  identity  of  the  wearer.  Where 
precious  stones  were  set.  as  signet-rings,  they 
■  were  worn,  probably,  in  part,  on  account^  their 
'  brilliancy,  and  for  mere  private  and  personal 
pleasure;  or  else  they  were  presents,  given  as 
tokens  of  ordinary  regard,  by  neighbor  to  neigh- 
bor, or  friend  to  friend;  or.  else  they  were  be- 
stowed as  honors.  Where  a  prince  or  a  mon- 
arch desired  to  confer  the  highest  testimony  of 
his  appreciation  of  one  that  had.  served  him  or 
the  kingdom,  he  gave  him.a.preeioas  stone,  with 
his  name  cut.  on  it. 

But  more  preciously  these  stones  were  used  as 

-  love  tokens;  and  in  this  case  they  were  cut  with 
mystic  symbols.  As  two  loveia,agree  upon  names 
which  no  one  but  themselves,  know  the  meaning 

<  of,  or  as  they  speak  to  each  other  in  endearin" 

-  terms  which  belong  to  them,  severally;  not  in  bap- 
tism, not  in  common  parlance*  but  by  the  agree-, 
ment  of  the  heart;  so  it  was.  customary  to  cut  in 
stone  names  or  initials  which  no  one  knew  but  tha 
one  that  gave  it  and  the  one;  that  received  it. 

Now,  these  last  two.  uses  of  precious  stones— 
i  that  by  which  monarchs-confcrred  honor  upon  tkeir 
favorites,  and  that  by  which  lovers  gave  toke 
their   affection  for  each  other,  with  names  In- 
scribed, and  known  only  to  love— arc  blended.  * 

•  And  tins,  I  apprehend, Jus.  the  origin  of  the  figure 

ot   our   text,   "  To   him    that  overcometh   will  — 
l   give    a  white    stone:,    and  in   the   stone    a 
new    name  written,   which  no    man    knoweth 

•  saving  he  that  receiveth  it."  God  says,  "I 
am  the  eternal  Kim-,  and  I  am  the  universal 

\  hover;  and  to  him.  that  is  faithful  to  toe  and  that  - 
|  overcometh  1  will  give,  as.  a  token  of  my  love  and 
|  honoring  a  white  stone/*  What  is  meant  by 
a  white  stone  I  doiaot  know;  but  I  prefer  to  think 
that  it  was  a*  opaV-the  most  human  of  all  stones. 
ihe  diamond  is  tne  mora  spiritual,  there  is  less  of 
color  and  more  of  suggestion  in  it;  but  the  opal 
has  m  it  more  sympatht,  more  feeling,  more  won- 
drous beauty  more  of  those  moods  that  belong  to 
the  human  hoaxt;  and  of  all  the  stones  that  are 
I™  **}&£&  human  affection,  none  is  to  be 
compared  to  the  opal.    And  mafainks,  when  God 

he  said,     i  w-iu  cut  vour  toT>npme  ,. ,    ,  f       , . 
and  as  your  King  and  Lever  I  will  gi  :< )  ■  tp  you  •' 


to 


Smiles.    Nothing   on  earth  can  smile   but   a 
man !    Gems  may  flash  reflected  light,  but  what 
;  is  a  diamond-flash  compared  with  an  eye-flash 
and  mirth-flash  ?    Flowers   cannot   smile.    This 
is  a  charm  which  even  they  cannot  claim.    Birds 
cannot  smile,  nor  can  living  thing.    It  is  the  pre- 
rogative  of    man.    It  is    the  color  which   love 
wears,  and  cheeifulness,  and  joy— these  three.  It 
is  the  light  in  the  window  of  the  face,  by   which 
the  heart  signifies  to  father,  husband,  or   friend 
that  it  is  at  home  and  waiting.    A  face  that  can- 
not smile  is  like  a  bud  that  cannot  blossom  and 
dries  up  on  the  stalk.    Laughter  is  day,  and   so- 
briety is  night,  and  a  smile  is  the    twilight   that 
hovers  gently  between  both,   more   bewitching 
than  cither.    But  all  smiles  are  not   alike.    The 
cheerfulness  of  vanity  is  not  like  the  cheerfulness 
of  love.    The  smile  of  gratified  pride  is  not  like 
the  radiance  of  goodness  and  truth.    The    rains 
of  summer  fall  alike  upon  all  trees   and   shrubs. 
Hut  when  the  storm  passes,  and  every  leaf  hangs 
a-drip,  each  gentle  puff  of  wind   brings    down  a 
pretty  shower,  and  every   drop   brings  with   it 
something  of  the  nature  of  the  leaf  or  blossom 
on  which  it  hung;   the  roadside  leaf  yields  dust; 
the  walnut-leaf  bitterness ;  some  flowers   poison ; 
while  the  grape  blossom,  the  rose  and  the   sweet- 
briar  lend  their  aroma  to   the   twinkling   drops 
and  send  them  down  in   perfumed   drops.    An 
so  it  is  with  smiles  which  every,  heart   perfmue 
according   to   its  nature— selfishness   is    acrid 
pride,   bitter;   good-will,   sweet   and  fragrant 
[Henry  Ward  Beecher. 


/  From  the  Mat  flower,  by  Mr.i.  Ftowe. 

1776.-THE    ALTAR    OF  LIBEBTY. 

Dick  sprang,  an  1  had  the  table  out  in  a  trice 
with  an  abudnant  clatter,  and  put  up  the  leaves 
with  quite  an  air.  His  mother,  with  the  sile'nt 
and  gliding  motion  characteristic  of  her,  quiet- 
ly took  out  the  table  cloth  and  spread  it,  and 
began  to  set  the  cups  and  saucers  in  order,  and 
to  put  on  the  plates  and  knives,  while  Aunt 
Hitty  hustled  about  the  tea. 

"I'll  be  glad  when  the  war's  over,  (or  one 
reason,"  said  she.  "I'm  pretty  much  tired  of 
drinking  sage  tea,  for  one,  I  know." 

"Well,  Aunt  Hilly,  how  you  gcolded  that 
peddler  last  week,  that  brought  along  that  real 
tea." 

"To  be  sure  I  did.  Suppose  I'd  be  taking 
any  of  his  old  tea,  bought  of  the  British?- 
Fling  every  teacup  in  his  (ace  first !" 

"Well,  mother,"  said  Dick,  "I  never  exact 
Iy  understood  what  it  was  about  the  tea,  and 
why  the  Boston  folks  threw  it  all  overboard." 
"Because  there  was  an  unlawful  tax  laid 
upon  it  that  the  government  had  no  right  to 
lay.  It  wasn't  much  in  itself,  but  it  was  a  part 
ol  i  whole  system  of  oppressive  measures, 
designed  to  take  away  our  rights  and  make  us 
slaves  of  a  foreign  power." 

"Slaves!"  said  Dick,  straightening  himself 
proudly.     "Father  a  slave  !" 

"But  they  would  not  be  slavos  !  They  saw 
clearly  where  it  would  all  end,  and  they  would 
not  begin  to  submit  to  it  in  ever  so  little,"  said 
the  mother. 

"I  wouldn't  if  I  was  they,"  said  Dick. 
"Besides,"  said  his  mother,  drawing  him 
towards  her,  "it  wasn't  for  themselves  alone 
they  did  it.  This  is  a  great  country,  and  it 
will  be  greater  and  greater  ;  and  it's  very  im- 
portant that  it  should  have  free  and  equal 
laws,  because  it  will  by  and  by  be  so  great. 
This  country,  if  it  is  a  free  one,  will  be  a  light 
of  the  world — a  city  set  on  a  hill,  that  can  not 
be  hid  ;  and  all  the  oppressed  and  distressed 
from  other  countries  shall  come  here  to  enjoy 
equal  rights  and  freedom.  This,  clear  boy,  is 
why  your  father  and  uncles  have  gone  to  light 
and  why  they  do  stav  and  fight,  though  God 
knows  what  they  suffer,  and — "  and  the  large 
blue  eyes  of  the  mother  were  full  ol  tears  ;  yet 
a  strong,  bright  beam  of  pride  and  exultation 
shone  through  those  tears. 

"Well,  well,  Roxy,  you  can  always  talk, 
everybody  knows,"  said  Aunt  Hitty,  who  had 
been  not  the  least  attentive  listener  of  this  lit- 
tle patriotic  harangue;  "but  you  see  the  tea  is 
getting  cold,  and  yonder  I  see  the  sleigh  is  at 
the  door,  and  John's  come;  so  let's  set  up  our 
chairs  for  supper." 

The  chairs  were  soon  set  up,  when  John, 
the  eldest  son,  a  lad  of  about  fifteen,  entered 
with  a  letter.  There  was  one  general  excla- 
mation, ami  stretching  out  ot  hands  toward  it. 
John  threw  it  into  his  mother's  lap;  the  tea 
table  was  forgotten,  and  the  tea  kettle  sang 
unnoticed  by  the  fire,  as  all  hands  crowded 
about  mother's  chair  to  hear  the  news.  It  was 
from  Capt.  Ward,  then  in  the  American  army, 
at  Valley  Forge.  Mrs.  Ward  run  it  over  has 
lily,  and  then  read  it  aloud.  A  few  words  we 
may  extract : — 

"There  is  still,"  it  is  said,  "much  suffering. 
I  have  given  away  every  pair  of  stockings  you 
sent  me,  reserving  to  myself  only  one  ;  for  I 
will  not  be  one  whit  better  off  than  the  poor- 
est soldier  who  fights  for  his  country.  Poor 
fellows  !  it  makes  my  heart  ache  sometimes 
to  go  round  among  them,  and  see  them  with 
worn  clothes  and  torn  shoes,  and  olten  bleed- 
ing feet^  yet  cheerful  and  hopeful,  and  every 
one  willing  to  do  his  very  best.  Often  the 
spirit  of  discouragement  conies  over  them, 
particularly  at  night,  when,  wenry,  cold,  and 
hungry,  they  turn  into  their  comfortless  huts, 
on  the  suowj  ground.  Then  sometimes  there 
is  a  thought  of  home,  and  warm  fires,  and 
some  speak  of  giving  up  ;  but  next  morning 
outcome  Washington's  general  orders — littie 
short  note,  but  it's  wonderful  the  good  it  does! 
and  then  they  all  resolve  to  hold  on,  come 
what  may.  There  are  commissioners  going 
all  through  the  country  to  pick  up  supplies. 
If  they  come  to  you,  I  need  not  tell  you  hat 
to  do.  I  know  all  that  will  be  in  your 
hearts." 

"There,  children,  see  what  you  father  suf- 
fers." said  the  mother,  "and  what  it  cost  these 
poor  soldiers  to  gain  our  liberty." 

"Ephraim  Seranton  told  me  that  the  com- 
missioners had  come  as  far  as  the  Three  Mile 
Tavern,  and  that  he  rather  'spec ted  they'd  be 
along  here  to-night,"  said  John,  as  lie  was 
>.%')':|g  round  the  bnked  beans  to  the  silent 
'"-lany  at  the  tea  table. 


To-night  ?— Do  tell,  now  !"  said  Aunt  Hitty. 
"Then,  it's  time  we  were  awake  and  stirring. 
Let's  see  what  can  be  got." 

"I'll  send  my  new  overcoat  for  one,"  said 
John.  "That  old  one  isn't  cut  up  yet,  is  it, 
Aunt  Hitty  1" 

"No,"  saul  Aunt  Hitty,  "I  was  laying  out  to 
cut  it  over  next  Wednesday,  when  Desire 
Smith  could  be  here  to  do  the  tailoring." 

"There's  the  south  room,"  said  Aunt  Hitty, 
musing  ;  that  bed  has  the  two  old  Aunt  Ward 
blankets  on  it,  and  the  great  blue  quilt,  and  two 
comforters.  Then,  mother's  and  my  room, 
two  pair — four  comforters — two  quilts — the 
best  chamber  has  got " 

"Oh,  Aunt  Hitty,  send  all  that's  in  the  best 
chamber!  If  any  company  comes,  we  can 
make  it  up  off  from  our  beds,"  said  John.  "I 
can  send  a  blanket  or  two  off"  from  my  bed,  I 
know  ;— can't  but  just  turn  over  in  it,  so  many 
clothes  on,  now." 

"Aunt  Hitty,  take  a  blanket  off  from  our 
bed,"  said  Grace  and  Dick  at  once. 

"Well,  well,  we'll  see,"  said  Aunt  Ditty, 
bustling  up. 

Up  rose  grandmamma,  with  great  earnest- 
ness, now,  and  going  to  the  next  room,  and 
opening  a  large  cedar-wood  chest,  returned, 
bearing  in  Her  arms  two  large,  snow  white 
blanket?,  which  she  deposited  flat  on  the  table, 
just  as  Aunt  Hitty  was  whisking  off  the  table- 
cloth. 

■  "Mortal!     Mother,  what  are  you  going  to 
to  do?"  said  Aunt  Hitty. 

"There,"  she  said,  "I  spun  those — "every 
thread  of  'em,  when  my  name  was  Mary  Evans. 
Those  were  my  wedding  blankets — made  of 
teal  nice  wool,  and  worked  with  roses  in  all 
the  corners.  I've  got  them  to  give  !"  and  the 
old  lady  stroked  and  smoothed  the  blankets, 
and  patted  them  down  with  great  pride  and 
tenderness.  It  was  evident  she  was  giving 
something  that  lay  very  near  her  heart ;  but 
she  never  faltered. 

"La !  mother,  there's  no  need  of  that,"  said 
Aunt  Hitty.  "Use  them  on  your  bed,  and 
send  the  blankets  off' from  that;  they  are  just 
as  good  for  soldiers." 

"No,  I  shan't !"  said  the  old  lady,  waging 
warm;  " 'tisn't  a  bit  too  good  for  'em.  I'll 
6end  the  very  best  I've  got  before  tjiey  shall 
suffer.  Send 'm  the  best!"  and  the  old  iady 
gestured  oratoiically. 

Thej  were  interrupted  by  a  iap  at  the  door, 
and  two  men  entered,  and  announced  them- 
selves as  commissioned  by  congress  to  search 
out  supplies  for  the  army.  Now  the  plot 
thickens.  Aunt  Hitty  flew  in  every  direction, 
through  entry  passage,  meal  room,  milk  room, 
down  cellar,  up  chamber — her  cap  border  on 
end  with  patriotic  zeal — and  followed  by  John, 
Dick,  and  Grace,  who  eagerly  bore  to  the 
kitchen  the  supplies  she  turned  out,  while 
Mrs.  Ward  busied  herself  in  quietly  sorting 
and  arranging,  in  the  best  possible  traveling 
order,  the  various  contributions  that  were  pre- 
cipitately launched  on  the  kitchen  floor. 

Aunt  Hitty  soon  appeared  in  the  kitchen 
with  an  armful  of  stockings,  which,  kneeling 
on  the  floor,  she  began  counting  and  laying 
out. 

"There,"  she  paid,  laying  down  a  large  bun- 
dle on  some  blankets,  "that  leaves  just  two 
pair  apiece  all  round." 

"La!"  said  John,  "what's  the  use  of  saving 
two  pairs  for  me  ?  I  can  do  with  one  pair  as 
well  as  father." 

"Sure  enough,"  said  his  mother;  "besides, 
lean  knit  you  another  pair  in  a  day." 

"And  I  can  do  with  one  pair,"  said  Dick. 

"Yours  will  be  too  small,  young  master,  I 
guess,"  said  one  of  the  commissioners. 

"No,"  said  Dick,  "I  have  got  a  pretty  good. 
foot  of  my  own,  and  Aunt  Hitty  will  always 
knit  my  stockings  an  inch  too  long,  'cause  she 
says  I  grow  so.  See  here— these  will  do  ;" 
and  the  boy  shook  his  head  triumphantly. 

"And  mine,  too,"  said  Grace,  nothing  doubt- 
ing, having  been  busy  all  the  time  in  pulling 
off'  her  little  stockings. 

"Here,"  she  said  to  the  man  who  was  pack- 
ing the  things  into  a  wide-mouthed  sack ; 
"here's  mine,"  and  her  large  blue  eyes  looked 
earnestly  through  her  fears. 

Aunt  Hitty  flew  at  her.  "Good  land  !  the 
child's  crazy.  Don't  think  the  men  could 
wear  your  stocking- — take  'em  away  !" 

Gracf  looked  round  with  an  air  of  utter  des 
olation  and  began  to  cry.  "I  wanted  to  give 
them  something,"  laid  she  "I'd  rather  go 
bare  footed  on  the  snow  all  day  than  not  send 
'em  :iny thing." 

"Give  me  my  stocking  my  child,"  said  the 
old  soldiei\  "There  I'll  take  'em,  and  show 
'em  to  the  soldiers,  and  tell  them  what  the 
littie  girl  said  that  sent  them.  And  it  will  do 
them  as  much  good  as  if  they  would  wear 
them.  They've  got  little  girls  at  home,  too." 
Grace  fell  on  her  mothers  bosom  completely 
hannv.and  Aunt  Hitty  only  muttered  : 


"Everybody  does  spile  that  child;  and  no 
wonder,  neither  !" 

Soon  the  o  d  sleigh  drove  off  from  the  brown 
house,  tightly  packed  and  heavijy  loaded. 
And  Grace  and  Dick  were  creeping  up  to  their 
little   beds. 

"There's  been  something  put  on  the  altar 
of  Liberty  to-night,  hasn't  there  Dick?" 

'Yes,  indeed,"  said  Dick,  and  looking  up 
to  his  mother,  he  said,  "But,  mother,  what 
did  you  give  ?" 

"I  ?"  said  the  mother  musingly. 

"Yes,  you,  mother,  what  did  you  give  to 
the  country  ?" 

"All  that  I  have  dears,"  she  said,  laying 
her  hands  gently  on  their  heads— "my  hus- 
band and  my  children." 


Uliss  Asphyxia. 

Mrs.  Stowe  has  in  press  a  new  novel  called 
"Old town  Folks,"  which  is  to  be  issued  this 
week.  The  following  extract  from  the  advance 
sheets  shows  that  her  unrivalled  talent  for  de- 
lineating the  peculiarities  of  New  England  char- 
acter is  as  fresh  and  vigorous  as  ever : 

Miss  Asphyxia  was  tall  and  spare.  Nature 
had  made  her,  as  she  often  remarked  of  herself 
entirely  for  use.  She  had  allowed  for  her  mus- 
cles no  cushioned  repose  of  fat,  no  redundant 
smoothness  of  outline.  There  was  nothing  to 
her  but  good,  strong^  solid  bone,  and  tough 
wiry,  well-strung  muscle.  She  was  past  fifty, 
and  her  hair  was  already  well  streaked  with 
gray,  and  so  thin  that,  when  tightly  combed  and 
tied,  it  still  showed  bald  cracks,  not  very  sightly 
to  the  eye.  The  only  thought  that  Miss  As- 
phyxia ever  had  had  in  relation  to  the  coiffure 
of  her  hair,  wa#  £Juit  it  was  to  be  got  out  of  her 
way.  Hair  she  considered  principally  as  some- 
thing that  might  get  into  people's  eyes,  if  not 
properly  attended  to;  and  accordingly,  at  a  very 
early  hour  every  morning,  she  tied  hers  in  a 
very  tight  knot,  and  then  secured  it  by  a  horn 
comb  on  the  top  of  her  head.  To  tie  this  knot 
so  tightly  that,  once  done,  it  should  last  all  day 
was  Miss  Asphyxia's  only  art  of  the  toilet,  and 
she  tried  her  work  every  morning  by  givin°-  her 
head  a  shake  before  she  left  her  looking-°>-lass 
not  unlike  that  of  an  unruly  cow.  If  this"  pro- 
cess did  not  start  the  horn  comb  from  its  moor- 
ings, Miss  Asphyxia  was  well  pleased.  For  the 
rest,  her  face  was  dusky  and  wilted,— guarded 
by  gaunt,  high  cheek  bones,  and  watched  over 
by  a  pair  of  small  gray  eyes  of  unsleeping  vigi- 
lance. The  shaggy  eyebrows  that  overhung 
them  were  grizzed  like  her  hair. 

It  Avould  not  be  proper  to  say  that  Miss  As- 
phyxia looked  ill-tempered;  but  her  features 
could  never,  by  any  stretch  of  imagination,  be 
supposed  to  wear  an  expression  of  tenderness, 
fhey  were  set  in  an  austere,  grim  gravity,  whose 
imes  had  become  more  deeply  channelled  by 
every  year  of  her  life.  As  related  to  her  fellow- 
creatures,  she  was  neither  passionate  nor  cruel. 
We  have  before  described  her  as  a  working  ma- 
chine, forever  wound  up  to  high-pressure  work- 
ing point;  and  this  being  her  nature,  she  trod 
down  and  crushed  whatever  stood  in  the  way  of 
her  work,  with  as  little  compunction  as  if  she 
had  been  a  steam-engine  or  a  power  loom. 

Miss  Asphyxia  had  a  full  conviction  of  what 
a  recent  pleasant  writer  has  denominated  the  to- 
tal depravity  of  matter.    She  was  not  given  to 
many  words,  but  it  might  often  be  gathered 
from  her  brief  discourses  that  she  had  always 
left  herself,  so  to  speak,  sword  in  hand  against  a 
universe  where  everything  was  running  to  dis- 
°™?r>— everything  was    tending   to  slackness, 
slut tlessncss,  unthrift,  and  she  alone  was  left  orf 
the  earth  to  keep  things  in  their  places.    Her 
hired    men   were   always   too   late  up  in  the 
morning,  always  shirking,  always  too  long  taking 
a  nap  at  noon;  everybody  was  watching  to  cheat 
her  in  every  bargain;  her  horse,  cow,  pi«-s,— all 
her  possessions,— were   ready  at  the   slkrhtest 
wiTuung  of  her  eye,  or  relaxing  of  her  watch, 
to  tall  into  all  sorts  of  untoward  ways  and  gyra- 
tions; and  therefore  she  slept,  as  it  were,  in  her 
armor  and  spent  her  life  as  a  sentinel  on  duty. 
In  taking  a  child,  she  had  her  eves  open  only 
to  one  patent  fact,— that  a  child  was  an  animal 
who  would  always  be  wanting  to  play,  and  that 
she  must  make  all  her  plans  and  calculations  to 
keep  her  from  playing.    To  this  end  she  had  be- 
forehand given  out  word  to  her  brother,  that,  if 
she  took  the  girl,  the  boy  must  be  kept  away. 
Got  enough  on  my  hands  now,  without  havin' 
a  boy  tiainin  round  my  house,  and  upsettin'  all 
creation,    said  the  grim  virgin. 

"Wal,  wal,"  said  old  Crab,  "taint  best;  they'll 
be  a  consultin'  together,  and  cuttin'  up  didos. 
1 11  keep  the  boy  tight  enough,  I  tell  you." 

Little  enough  was  the  dinner  that  the  child 
ate  that  day.  There  were  two  hulking,  square- 
sliouldered  men  at  the  table,  who  stared  at  her 
with  great  round  eyes  like  oxen;  and  so,  though 
Miss  Asphyxia  dumped  down  Indian  pudding 
ham  and  fried  potatoes  before  her,  the  child's 
eating  was  scarcely  that  of  a  blackbird. 

Marvellous  to  the  little  girl  was  the  celerity 
with  which  Miss  Asphyxia  washed  and  cleared 
up  the  dinner  dishes.  How  the  dishes  rattled, 
the  knives  aud  forks  clinked,  as  she  scraped  and 
piled  and  washed  and  wiped,  and  put  everything 
in  a  trice  hack  into  such  perfect  place,  that  it 
looked  as  if  nothing  had  ever  been  done  on  the 
premises ! 


c  °  5 


C   ^  <D 

"■sg  ■. 

'—  <-•  .f  "ir 

>     O    OT  V     , 


ii 


After  this  Miss  Asphyxia  produced  thimble, 
thread,  needle,  and  scissors,  and  drawing  out  of 
a  closet  a  bale  of  coane  blue  home-made  cloth, 
porceeded  to  measure  the  little  girl  for  a  petti- 
coat and  short  gown  of  the  same.  This  being 
done  to  her  mind,  she  dumped  her  into  a  chair 
beside  her,  and,  putting  a  brown  towel  into  her 
hands  to  be  hemmed,  she  briefly  said,  'Thero, 
keep  to  work;"  while  she,  with  great  despatch 
and  resolution,  set  to  work  on  the  little  garments 
aforesaid. 

The  child  once  or  twice  laid  down  her  work  to 
watcli  the  chickens  who  came  up  round  the 
door,  or  to  note  a  bird  which  flew  by  with  a  lit- 
tle ripple  of  song.  The  first  time,  Miss  As- 
phyxia only  frowned,  and  said,  "Tut,  tut."  The 
second  time,  there  came  three  thumps  of  Miss 
Asphyxia's  thimble  down  on  the  little  head, 
with  the  admonition,  "Mind  your  work."  The 
child  now  began  to  cry,  but  Miss  Asphyxia  soon 
put  an  end  to  that  by  displaying  a  long  birch 
rod,  with  a  threatening  movement,  and  saying 
succinctly,  "Stop  that,  this  minute,  or  I'll  whip 
you."  And  the  child  was  so  certain  of  this  that 
she  swallowed  her  grief  and  stitched  away  as 
fast  as  her  little  fingers  could  go. 

As  soon  as  supper  was  over  that  night,  Miss 
Asphyxia  seized  upon  the  child,  and,  taking  her 


New  England  Sermons. — In  Mrs.  Stowe'8 
new  novel,  one  of  the  characters  gives  the 
following  synopsis  of  an  old-time  New  Eng- 
land sermon  :  " Wal,"  said  Sam,  leaning  over 
the  fire,  with  his  long,  bony  hands  alternately 
-raiV^I  t*i  catch  the  warmth,  and  then  dropped 
witli  an  utter  laxness,  when  the  warmth 
became  too  pronounced,  "Parson  Simp- 
son's a  smart  man :  but,  I  tell  ye,  it's  kind  o' 
discouragin'.  Why,  he  said  our  state  and 
c  condition  by  natur  was  just  like  this  :  We 
was  clear  down  in  a  well  fifty  feet  deep,  and 
the  sides  all  'round  nothin'  but  bare  ice  :  but 
we  was  under  obligations  to  get  out ,  'cause 
we  was  free,  voluntary  agents.  But  nobody 
would,  unless  the  Lord  reached  down  and 
took  'em.  And  whether  he  would  or  not,  no- 
body could  tell;  it  was  all  sovereignty.  He 
said  there  wasn't  one  in  a  hundred — not  one 
in  a  thousand — not  one  in  ten  thousand — that 
■  would  be  saved.  Lordy  massy,  says  I  to  my- 
C  self,  ef  that's  so  they're  any  of  'em  welcome 
'  to  my  chiinrue.     And  so  I  kind   o'  ris   up  and 


-me  out, 'cause  Id  got  a  pretty  long  walk 
to  a  tub  in  the  sink-room,  proceeded  to  divest  J  home,  and  I  wanted  to  go  round  by  South 
her  of  her  garments  and  subject  her  to  a  most  ^  Pond  and  inquire  about  Aunt   Sally  Morse's 


thorough  ablution 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  one  good  scrubbin'  to 
start  with,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia;  and,  truth  to 
say,  no  word  could  more  thoroughly  express  the 
character  of  the  ablution  than  the  term  "scrub- 
bing." The  poor  child  was  deluged  with  soap 
and  water,  in  mouth,  nose,  ears  and  eyes,  while 
the  great  bony  hands  rubbed  and  splashed, 
twisted  her  arms,  turned  her  ears  wrong  side 
out,  and  dashed  on  the  water  with  unsparing 
vigor.  Nobody  can  tell  the  torture  which  can 
be  inflicted  on  a  child  in  one  of  these  vigorous 
old  New  England  washings,  which  used  to  make 
Saturday  night  a  terror  in  good  families.  But 
whatever  they  were,  the  little  martyr  was  by  this 
time  so  thoroughly  impressed  with  the  awful  re- 
ality of  Miss  Asphyxia's  power  over  her,  that 
she  endured  all  with  only  a  few  long-drawn  and 
convulsed  sighs,  and  an  inaudible  '*0  dear!" 

When  well  scrubbed  and  wiped,  Miss  Asphyxia 
put  oa  a  coarse  homespun  nightgown,  and,  pin- 
ning a  cloth  round  the  child's  neck,  began  with 
her  scissors  the  work  of  cutting  off  her  hair. 
Snip,  snip,  went  the  fatal  shears,  and  down  into 
the  towel  fell  bright  curls,  once  the  pride  of  a 
mother's  heart,  till  finally  the  small  head  was 
despoiled  completely.  Then  Miss  Asphyxia 
shaking  up  a  bottle  of  camphor,  proceeded  to 
rub  some  vigorously  upon  the  child's  head. 
"There,"  she  said,  "that's  to  keep  ye  from  catch- 
in'  cold." 

She  then  proceeded  to  the  kitchen,  raken  open 
the  fire,  and  shook  the  golden  curls  into  the  bed 
of  embers,  and  stood  grimly  over  them  while 
they  seethed  and  twisted  and  writhed,  as  if  they 
had  been  living  things  suffering  a  fiery  torture, 
meanwhile  picking  diligently  at  the  cloth  that 
had  contained  them,  that  no  stray  hair  might  es- 
cape. 

"I  wonder  now,"  she  said  to  herself,  "if  any  oS 
this  will  rise  and  get  into  the  next  pudding? 
She  spoke  with  a  spice  of  bitterness,  poor  wo- 
man, as  if  it  would  be  just  the  way  things  usual- 
ly went  on,  if  it  did. 

v  She  buried  the  fire  carefully,  and  then,  open- 
ing the  door  of  a  small  bed-room  adjoining, 
which  displayed  a  single  bed,  she  said,  "Now  i 
get  into  bed. 

The  child  immediately  obeyed,  thankful  to 
hide  herself  under  the  protecting  folds  of  a  blue 
checked  coverlet,  and  feeling  that  at  last  the 
dreadful  Miss  Asphyxia  would  leave  her  to  her- 
self. 

Miss  Asphyxia  clapped  to  the  door,  and  the 
child  drew  a  long  breath.  In  a  moment,  how- 
ever, the  door  flew  open.  Miss  Asphyxia  had 
forgotten  something.  "Can  you  say  your 
prayers?"  she  demanded. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  child. 

"Say  'em,  then,"  said  Miss  Asphyxia;  and 
bang  went  the  door  again. 

"There,  now,  if  I  hain't  done  up  my  duty  to 
that  child,  then  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  As- 
phyzia. 

:HS  TRAHSEiGURATiOl  OF   MfiHORY. 


toothache. 


Read  This  ! 


[An  Extract  from  Mrs.  Stowe's  "Chimney  Corner" 
in  the  February  "Atlantic"] 

Fault-Finding.  The  first  fox  that  I  mean  to 
treat  of,  is  Fault-finding,— a  most  respectable  lit- 
tle animal  that  many  people  let  run  freelv  among 
their  domestic  vines,  under  the  notion"  that  ho 
helps  the  growth  of  the  grapes,  aud  is  the  princi- 
pal means  of  keeping  them  in  order. 

Now  it  may  safely  be  set  down  with  a  margin 
that  nobody  likes  to  be  found  fault  with;  but 
everybody  likes  to  find  fault  when  things  do  not 
suit  them. 

Let  my  courteous  reader  ask  him  or  herself  if 
he  or  she  does  not  experience  a  relief  and  pleasure  J 
in  finding  fault  about  or  with  whatever  trouble 
them.   ; 

This  appears  at  first  sight  an  unevenness  in 
the  provisions  of  Nature.  Generally  we  are  so  *> 
made  that  what  it  is  a  pleasure  to  us  to  do,  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  our  neighbor  to  receive.  It  is  a  pleas- 
ure to  love:  it  is  a  pleasure  to  be  loved;  a  pleas-  ^ 
ure  to  admire;  a  pleasure  to  be  admired.  It  is  a 
pleasure  to  give  and  a  pleasure  to  receive.  It  is  a 
pleasure  also  to  find  fault,  but  not  a  pleasure  to  be 
.found  fault  with.  Furthermore,  those  people 
whose  sensitiveness  of  temperament  lead  them  to 
find  the  most  fault  are  precisely  those  who  can 
least  bear  to  be  fonnd  fault  with;"  they  bind  heavy 
burdens  and  grievous  to  be  borne,  and  lay  them 
on  other  men's  shoulders;  but  they  themselves 
cannot  bear  the  weight  of  a  finger. 

Now  the  difficulty  in  the  matter  is  this :  there 
are  things  in  life  that  must  be  altered.  Life  must 
be  a  constant  series  of  erasures  aud  amendments; 
for  things  to  be  altered,  they  must  be  spoken  of  to 
the  people  whose  business  it  is  to  make  the 
change.  This  it  is  that  opens  wide  the  general 
door  of  faultfinding  to  well-disposed  people,  and 
that  give  them  latitude'bf  conscience  to  impose  on 
their  fellows  all  the  annoyances  which  they 
feel  in  their  own  minds.  The  father  and  mother 
of  a  family  are  fault-finders,  ex  officio ;  and  to 
them  flow  back  the  tide  of  ever  separate  individ- 
ual complaiute  in  the  circle,  till  often  the  family 
air  is  chilled  and  darkened  by  a  drizzling  Scotch 
mist  of  complaint.  Very  bad  are  these  mists  for 
grape-vines,  and  produce  mildew  in  many  a  fair 
cluster. 

Thus  it  is  Enthusius  falls  in  love  with  Hcrraio- 
ne,  because  she  looks  like  a  moonbeam, — because 
she  is  ethereal,  spirituelle,  fipil  as  a  summer 
cloud.  He  commences  forthwith  the  perpetual 
adventure  system  that  precedes  marriage.  He 
assures  her  that  she  is  too  fair  for  this  world,  too 
bright  and  good  for  any  of  the  uses  of  frail  mor- 
tality,— that  she  ought  to  tend  on  roses,  sleep  oa 
the  clouds — that  she  ought  never  to  shed  a  tear, 
know  a  fatigue,  or  make   an  exertion,  but  live 


As  there  was  an  hour  when  the  fisherman  of  till 

lec  saw  their  Master  transfigured,  his  raiment  white  apart  in  some  bright,  ethereal  sphere  worthy  of 

md  giistfning,  and  t,:s  i.,  light,  so  are  there  her  charms.    All  of  which  is  duly  chanted  in  her 

lours  when  our  whole  mortal  lift:  stands  forth  in  ear  in  moonlight  walks  or  sails,  and   so  often  rc- 

seleuial  radiance.    Fjom  our  daily  lot  i^  off  every  £»**•  that  a  sensible  girl   may  be  excused  for 

,ecd  cf  care, from  cuih.art-friends  every  speck  and  ^^oS  mairiag?  an  dTturnTout  that  E* 

, .     Our  horizon  widens,  and  thnsjU8  j8  very  particular  as  to  his  coffee;  that  he 

due,  &■  id   gold  touch  every  object,  cannot  be  comfortable  with  any  table  arrange- 

kbjent  friends  aud  friends  gone  on  the  last  journey  ments  that  do  not  resemble  those  of  his  notable 

stand  ence  more  together,  bright  with  an  immortal  mother,  lately  deceased  in  the  odor  of  sanctity, 

glow,  and,  like  the  disciples  who  saw  their  Master  He  also  wants  his  house  in  perfect  order  at  all 

float  irg  in  Uie  clouds  above  turn,  we  say,  "  Lord,  it  bour8'  flnd  neis  excessively  disturbed  if  his  meals 

is  feood  to  be  here  !  i  r  the  wife,  the  husband,  •"  'rregular  and  still  he  does  not  propose  to  pro- 

n,!.i,«,im,>ft,»r  «,£,  ^o„  ui.„i  r  -i        ,'„™    V  vide  a  trained  housekeeper;  it  is  all  to  be  effected 

the  abaei.t  mother  the  gray-haired  fa«  her,  the  manly  ^   mean8  of  certaia  ra£  ^8h  girlg  uader  th0  8U. 

brJght-eyea  daughter!    Seen  tn  the  actual  perintendence  of  this  angel  who  was  to  tread  on 

,  all  have  some  fault,  some  flaw  ;  but  absent,  roses,  sleep  on  clouds,  and  never  know  an  earthly 

them  in  their  permanent  and  better  selves,  care.    Neither  has  Entuusius  ever  considered  it  a 

Of  our  distant  home  we  remember  not  a  dark  day,  part  of  the  husband's  Juty  to  bear  personal  in- 

not  one  servile  care,  nothing  hut  the  echo  of  its  holy  conveniences  in  silence,    lie  would  freely  shed  his 

hums  and  the  radiance  of  its  bright  days -of  oor  1,lood  for  Hcrmiono.—nay,  he  often  frantically 


"My  dear,  this  tea  is  smoked:  can't  vou  ecr. 
Jane  m  the  way  of  making  it  better  ?"  &t 

aslSlheer>IliaVetrie<1;  but  Bhe  wi"  not  do  it 

"Well,  all  I  know  is,  other  people  can  have 
good  tea,  and  I  should  think  we  mi>ht  " 

And  again  at  dinner: 

"Mv  dear  this  mutton  is  overdone  again-  it  is 
always  overdone."  ^      '  "  " 

"Not  always,  dear,  because  you  recollect  on 
Monday  you  said  it  was  just  right." 
'Well,  almost  always." 
"Well,  my  dear,  the  reason  today  was  because 
1  had  company  m  the  parlor,  and  could  not  go  to 
caution  Bndget  as  I  generally  do.  It's  very  dif- 
ficult to  get  things  done  with  such  a  «-irl  " 

"My  mother's  things  were  always  well'  done  no 
matter  what  her  girl  was." 

Again:  "My  dear,  you  must  speak  to  the  ser- 
vants about  wasting;  the  coal.  I  never  saw  such 
a  consumption  of  fuel  in  a  family  of  our  si/se-" 
or, '  My  dear,  how  can  you  let  Maggie  tear  the 
morning  paper?"  or,  "My  dear,  I  shall  actually 
have  to  give  up  coming  to  dinner  if  my  dinners 
i  cannot  be  regular;"  or,  "My  dear,  I  wish  you 
would  look  at  the  way  my  shirts  are  ironed— it  is 
perfectly  scandalous;"  or,  "My  dear,  you  mu«t 
7  act  let  Johnnie  finger  the  mirror  in  the  parlor-" 
or,  My  dear,  vou  must  stop  the  children  from 
playing  in  the  garret;"  or,  "My  dear,  you  must 
see  that  Maggie  doesn't  leave  the  mat  out  on  the 
railing  when  she  sweeps  the  front  hall;"  and  so 
on,  upstairs,  and  downstairs,  in  the  lady's  cham- 
.  ber;  My  dear  is  to  sec  that  nothing  goes  wrou«- 
J-  an£  she  te  found  fault  with  when  anything  does' 
£^  Yot^KnUmslug.  when  occaaioaaily  \%  finds  Ida 
sometime  angel  in  tears,  and  when  she  tells  him 
he  does  not  love  her  as  he  once  did,  repudiates  the 
charge  with  all  bis  heart,  and  declares  he  loves 
her  more  then  ever— and  perhaps  he  does.  The 
only  thing  is  that  she  has  passed  out  of  the  plane 
of  moonshine  and  poetry  into  that  of  actualities. 
While  she  wis  considered  an  angel,  a  star,  a  bird, 
an  evening  cloud,  of  course  there  was  nothing  to 
be  found  fault  with  in  her,  but  now  the  angel  has 
become  chief  business-partner  in  an  earthlv  work- 
ing firm,  relations  are  different,  Enthusius  could 
say  the  same  things  over  again  under  the  same 
circumstances,  but  unfortunately,  now  they  never 
are  in  the  same  circumstances.  Enthusius  is  sim- 
ply a  man  who  is  in  the  habit  of  speaking  from 
impulse,  and  saying  a  thing  merelv  and  only  be- 
cause he  feels  it. 

Before  marriage  he  worshipped  and  adored  his 
wile  as  an  ideal  being  dwelling  in  the  land  of 
dreams  and  poetries,  and  did  his  very  best  to  make 
her  unpractical  and  unadapted  to  enjoy  the  life  to 
which  he  was  to  introduce  her  after  marriage. 
After  marriage  he  still  yields  unreflectingly  to  pre- 
sent impulses,  which  are  no  longer  to  praise,  but 
to  criticise  and  condemn.  The  very  sensibility  to 
beauty  and  love  ot  elegance,which  made  him"  ad- 
mire her  before  marriage,  now  transferred  to  the 
arrangement  of  the  domestic  menage,  leave  him 
daily  to  perceive  a  hundred  defects  and  find  a  hun- 
dred annoyances.  Thus  far  we  suppose  an  amia- 
ble, submissive  wife,  who  is  only  grieved,  not  pro- 
voked,—who  has  no  sense  of  injustice,  and  meek- 
ly strives  to  make  good  the  hard  conditions  of  her 
lot. 

Such  poor,  Ji+tle,  faded  women  have  we  seen, 
looking  for  all  the  world  like  plants  that  have  been 
nursed  and  forced  into  blossom  in  the  steam-heat 
of  the  conservatory,  and  are  now  sickly  and  yel- 
low, dropping  leaf  by  leaf  in  the  dry,  dnstv  par- 
lor. 

But  there  is  another  side  of  the  picture,  where 
the  wife,  provoked  and  indignant,  takes  up  the 
fault-finding  trade  in  return,  and  with  the  keen 
arrows  of  her  woman's  wit  searches  and  penetrates 
every  joint  of  the  husband's  armor,  showing  her- 
self full  as  unjust  and  far  more  culpable  in  this 
sort  of  conflict. 

Saddest  of  all  sad  things  is  it  to  see  two  dear- 
est friends  employing  all  that  peculiar  knowledge 
of  each  other  which  love  has  given  them  only  to 
hnrrass  and  provoke;  thrusting  and  piercing 
with  a  certainty  of  aim  that  only  past  habits  of 
confidence  and  affection  could  have  put  in  their 
power,  wounding  their  own  hearts  with  every 
deadly  thrust  they  make  at  the  other,  and  all  for 
such  inexpressibly  miserable  trifles  as  usually 
form  the  openings  of  fault-finding  dramas. 

For  the  contentions  that  loosen  the  very  founda- 
tions of  love,— that  crumble  away  all  its  fine 
traceries  and  carved  work,— about  what  miserable, 
worthless  things  do  they  commonly  begin, — a  din- 
ner underdone,  too  much  oil  burned,  a  paper 
torn,  a  waste  of  coal  or  soap,  a  dish  broken, — and 
for  this  miserable  sort  of  trash,  very  good,  very 
generous,  very  religious  people  will  sometimes 
waste  and  throw  away  by  double  handfuls  the 
v(  iy  thing  for  which  houses  are  made  and  coal 
burned,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  a  home  es- 
tablished, they  will  throw  away  their  happiness. 
Better  cold  coffee,  smoked  tea,  burned  meat,  bet- 
ter any,  inconvenience,  any  loss,  than  a  loss  of 
fore,  and  nothing  so  surely  burns  away  love  as 
constant  fault-finding. 

For  fault-finding  once  allowed  as  a  habit  be- 
tween two  near  and  dear  friends  comes  in  time  to 
establish  a  chronic  soreness,  so  that  the  mildest, 
the  most  reasonable  suggestion,  the  gentlest  im- 
plied reproof,  occasion  burning  irritation,  and 
when  this  morbid  stage  has  once  set  in,  the  resto- 
ration of  love  seems  well-nigh  impossible. 


TILE   GRECIAN  BEND. 


IT  DESTROYS  A   LOVER'S  PEACE    OF 
MIND. 


Interesting  Correspondence. 

One  of  those  "  gentlemen,"  "  personally 
strangers"  to  Gen  Butler,  who  steal  dispatches 
and  open  letters  for  him,  while  passing  through 
Springfield  the  other  day  with  the  private  corres- 
pondence of  six  Boston  families  in  his  carpet-bag 
(probably  on  his  way  to  Gloucester),  threw  the 
following  letter  out  of  the  car  window.  Although 
it  contained  nothing  suitable  for  electioneering 
purposes,  we  "venture,"  as  Gen  Butler  says,  to 
publish  it: — 

New  Haven,  October  8, 1868. 

My  Dear  Mansfield :  You  know,  when  I  was 
a  boy  and  you  boarded  at  my  father's,  I 
always  used  to  go  to  you  for  advice  if  anything 
was  the  matter.  The  old  habit  sticks  to  me.  I 
never  wanted  or  needed  your  advice  more  than  I 
do  now,  for  I  never  was  in  quite  so  perplexing  a 
predicament  before.  Please  hear  my  story,  and 
take  my  case  into  consideration. 

Miss  Mary  Meserve  was  the  most  intimate 
friend  my  sister  Ellen  had,  in  the  young  ladies' 
seminary,  last  winter.  One  Monday  early  in  the 
season,  Ellen  told  me,  with  a  good  deal  of  anima- 
tion, that  Miss  Meserve  had  promised  to  come 
home  with  her  next  Friday  evening  and  remain 
till  the  following  Monday.  Ellen  evidently  had 
a  great  desire  that  I  should  like  her  friend,  for 
she  spent  a  part  of  every  evening,  between 
then  and  Friday,  in  telling  me  what  a  charming 
girl  she  was,  what  beautiful  eyes  she  had,  what 
splendid  teeth,  what  an  elegant  figure.  My  im- 
pression, in  the  time  of  it,  was  that  Ellen  was 
painting  her  friend  in  most  too  glowing  colors. 
But  I  had  to  confess  that  before  I  had  been  intro- 
duced to  her  half  an  hour  I  repeated  to  myself 
what  the  queen  of  Sheba  said  on  a  certain  occa- 
sion— "the  half  was  not  told  me." 

It  was  a  clear,  frosty  afternoon  when  she  came 
home  with  Ellen.  I  saw  them  as  they  entered  the 
gate.  Our  house,  you  know,  is  set  back  from 
the  street  about  ten  rods.  I  sat  by  one  of  the 
front  parlor  windows  and  watched  them  as 
they  came  leisurely  up  to  the  door.  They  were 
chatting  cheerfully,  and  they  both  looked  very 
happy.  Miss  Meserve's  cheeks  had  a  most  beau- 
tiful rosy  tint  upon  them,  caused,  probably,  in 
part,  by  her  long  walk  in  the  keen,  frosty  air; 
and  her  eyes  danced  and  sparkled  like  dew- 
drops  in  the  sun,  as  she  laughed  merrily  at  some- 
thing Ellen  was  telling  her.  When  she  smiled 
she  had  a  beautiful  dimple  in  each  cheek,  and  I 
doubt  if  there  is  another  girl  in  the  world  that 
could  show  a  handsomer  set  of  teeth  than  she 
did.  You  know  me  of  old,  Mansfield,  and  I  think 
you  will  admit  that  I  am  a  very  prudent,  cautious 
fellow,  not  easily  wrought  upon  by  any  thing, 
but  true  as  I  live,  for  ail  that,  I  felt  as  though  I 
would  like  to  print  a  kiss  upon  those  coral  lips 
of  hers  before  the  first  evening  was  over. 

For  two  or  three  Saturday  afternoons  after  that, 
I  took  sister  Ellen  in,  and  drove  up  to  Miss 
Meserve's  father's, — they  live  about  two  miles  out 
of  the  city; — then  we,  Ellen,  her  friend  and  my- 
self, would  go  sleighing  an  hour  or  two  together. 
Sisters  are  quite  handy  to  have  about,  in  the 
commencement  of  such  an  acquaintance,  but,  af- 
ter that,  I  managed  to  leave  Ellen  at  home  and 
drive  alone  with  Miss  Meserve.  Well,  the  long  and 
short  of  it  is,  that,  before  the  winter  term  in  the 
seminary  closed,  we  were  engaged.  I  used  to 
think,  very  often,  Mansfield,  how  proud  I  should 
be  when  I  could  introduce  her  to  you,  as  my 
young  wife.  If  you  only  could  have  seen  her  as 
she  used  to  trip  along,  last  winter,  on  the  side- 
walk to  the  seminary!  I  always  managed  to  get 
a  seat  at  the  side  window,  in  my  office,  in  season 
in  the  morning  to  get  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she 
passed  along.  Somehow  it  put  me  in  good  hu- 
mor for  the  whole  day.  Some  folks  may  laugh 
at  what  I  am  going  to  say,  and  think  it  was  only 
because  I  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love;  but, 
you  know  me  so  well,  you  will  believe  me  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  never  saw  another  woman  walk 
as  well  as  she  did, — she  was  so  free,  easy  and 
graceful  in  every  motion.  But,  alas  for  human 
pride  and  expectations!  That  is  all  changed, 
and  if  she  really  were  my  wile,  now,  and  I  knew 
you  were  going  to  call  upon  me,  I  should  entreat 
hei  not  to  walk  across  the  room,  or  even  get  out 
of  her  chair,  while  you  were  in  the  house,  I  should 
feel  so  chagrined.  It  is  suck  a  misfortune,  such 
a  sad  thing  for  us  both !  I  pity  the  girl  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,  but  I  don't  think  I  can  pos- 
sibly bring  my  mind  to  marry  her,  unless  her 
disease  is  curable.  Let  me  explain  to  you,  and 
then  tell  me  if  you  can  blame  me. 

Directly  after  the  summer  term  closed  at  the 
seminary,  (she  graduated  this  summer,  and  I  was 
hoping  that  by  Christmas  I  could  call  her  my 
wife),  she  went  with  her  father's  family  to  the 
seaside.  I  promised  her,  notwithstanding  my 
business  was  very  pressing,  that  I  would  try  to 
join  them  in  a  few  weeks,  and  spend  a  few  days 
with  them.  Well,  in  a  little  less  than  two  weeks 
(that  was  as  long  as  I  could  stand  it  without  see- 
ing her),  I  took  the  cars  one  Saturday  morning, 
and  reached  Newport  about  three  o'clock  p.  m. 
I  found  Miss  Meserve  had  gone  to  ride  with  her 
father,  mother,  and  little  brothers.    I  took  a  seat 


by  a  window  in  one  of  the  public  parlors,  where 
I  could  get  a  good  view  of  the  drive  up  to  the 
door.  I  know  that  you  will  sympathize  with  me 
when  I  tell  you  that,  man  as  I  am,  I  am  obliged 
to  lay  down  my  pen  and  wipe  my  eyes  before  I 
can  write  the  rest. 

In  about  fifteen  minutes  I  saw  them  coming. 
I  did  not  go  down  to  the  carriage,  for  I  preferred 
that  our  first  meeting  should  be  in  their  private 
parlor;  so  I  staid  by  the  window.  Well,  Mr 
Meserve  got  out,  and  after  him  came  the  two  lit- 
tle boys.  Then  Mr  Meserve  assisted  his  wife  to 
alight,  and  I  thought,  of  course,  Mary  would 
?  come  next.  But  instead  of  her  he  helped  out  a 
bowed  over  woman,  who  moved  so  much  as  old 
'  Aunt  Sukey  Taft  used  to,  I  should  have  thought 
C  positively  it  was  she  if  she  hadn't  been  dressed 
elegantly  and  so  youthfully  for  one  of  her  years. 
f  You  remember  Aunt  Sukey,  as  all  the  young 
L  folks  used  to  call  her,  don't  you?  I  boarded 
with  her  when  I  taught  school  in  Wethersfield. 
Her  husband  used  to  raise  a  great  many  onions. 
She  said  that  one  summer,  about  ten  years  before 
t  that,  Mr  Taft  was  very  feeble,  and  she  took  the 
whole  care  of  the  onion  beds  herself. 
One  day  she  had  got  a  large  bed  nearly 
weeded  as  a  cold  rain  set  in.  She  was  so  nearly 
through  she  thought  she  would  stick  to  it  till  it 
was  completed.  But  she  says  she  had  better  have 
left  the  weeds  a-growing  and  gone  into  the 
house;  for  all  the  money  they  got  for  those 
onions  didn't  half  pay  her  doctor's  bill.  She  took 
a  dreadful  cold  in  her  back  and  was  laid  up  for 
months' with  the  rheumatism,  and  from  that  day 
to  this  she  has  never  been  able  to  straighten  her 
spinal  column.  After  Mr  Meserve  helped  the 
bowed-over  woman  out — she  was  much  longer 
getting  out  than  Mrs  Meserve,  she  was  so  cramp- 
ed in  her  motions — the  driver  touched  up  his 
horses  and  moved  away.  'What  does  this  mean?' 
I  said  to  myself.  'Where  is  Mary?'  Imagine,  if 
you  can,  what  my  consternation  was,  an  instant 
afterward,  as  the  little,  crooked,  and  apparently 
crippled  woman  turned  her  face  toward  the  par- 
lar  windows  so  that  I  had  a  full  view  of  it,  to  be- 
hold that  it  was  my  own  Mary  so  metamorphosed. 
'Good  Lord!'  I  exclaimed  aloud,  without  stop- 
ping to  see  if  there  was  any  one  present  to  hear 
me:  'What  ails  that  girl's  back?  What  can  have 
happened  to  her  ?' 

A  colored  waiter,  who  was  adjusting  the  dra- 
pery at  one  of  the  windows,  looked  out  and  grin- 
ned so  thstt  he  showed  all  his  ivories,  and  said : — 
'1  presume,  sah,  she  has  got  the  Grecian  bend, 
sah,  the  new  disease,  sah.' 

'The  Grecian— what  do  you  call  it?  What 
kind  of  a  disease  is  it?' 

'The  Grecian  bend,  sah, — the  new  disease,  sah,' 
he  replied,  grinning  again,  from  ear  to  ear.  'Eve.- 
so  many  young  ladies  have  been  taken  with  it 
since  they  came  here.' 

What  in  thunder  are  you  grinning  at  ?'  I  asked, 
curtly.  'I  don*t  see  anything  very  funny  in  such 
distortion,  myself.  What  kind  of  a  disease  is  it, 
anyhow  ?  You,  say  a  good  many  have  got  it.  Is 
it  catching  like  measles  and  mumps?' 
'I  should  say,  sah,  that  it  was  as  contagious  as 
1  the  small-pox,  by  the  way  it  has  spread  since  it 
come  here.  The  first  case  that  I  noticed  was 
about  a  month  ago,  and,  now,  I  hardly  see  a  girl, 
sah,  but  what  has  it !' 

f  vVell,  how  Jong  a  run  does  it  have?  Are  those, 
who  were  first  attacked  with  it,  getting  over  it? 
And  have  they  got  straight  again,  or  will  they 
always  be  '>owed  over?' 
»        'I  haven  t  se°n  any  one  that  has  got  over  it  yet, 
sah.    It  is  difficult  to  tell  how  long  a  run  it  will 
have.    But  it  seems  to   me,   sah,   that  after  a 
body's  backtoue  has  beeu  bent  in  that  way  for 
any  length  of  time,  the  j'ints  would  become  so 
.stiffened  it  never  could  get  straight  again. 
/  Mary  must  feel  awfully  to  see  me,  in  her  present  I 
condition.    Besides,  if  the  disease  was  so  catch- 
ing, I  might  take  it  myself,  t  I  wished  I  hadn't 
come.    It  wouldn't  bejany  co'mfort  to  either  of  us  I 
to  meet  under  such  circumstances.    If  she  was 
alone  I  would  stay  and  do  all  I  could   for  her. 
But,  no  doubt,  her  father  and  mother  were  feel- 
ing quite  as  badly  about  her  condition  as  I  was, 
and  would  do  all  that  I  could  do  for  her,  and  a 
good  deal  more.    I  concluded  that  I  had  better 
go  immediately  back  to  the  depot  and  take  the 
next  train  tor  home.    I  did  so,  and  was  just  in 
time  to  swing  myself  on  the  last  cai  as  the  train 
-  moved  off.    The  next  Monday  morning  I  wrote 
/  her  a  hurried  letter,  telling  her  that  circumstan- 
ces of  such  a  nature  had  transpired,  since  she 
left,  as  to  make  it  inexpedient  for  me  to  visit  her 
j,  during  her  stay  in  Newport.    I  would  explain 
^  more  fully  in  my  next  letter,  &c. ;   thus  giving 
myself  a  little  mere  time  to  consider  what  to  say 
to  her.    Now,  my  friend,  what  would  you  advise 
me  to  do?    They  are  coming  home  next  week. 
Mary  has  written  me  several  times   since  they 
left  Newport,  but  she  has  not  once  alluded  to 
her  situation;  but  I  have  ascertained  that  her 
<■  terrible  malady  is  on  the  increase  instead  of  de- 
crease.   I  want  to  do  what  an  honorable  man 
should  do  under  such  circumstances.    You  know 
„  that  you  used  to  tell  me  I  was  so  fastidious  in  my 
tastes  in  regard  to  women,  I  should  certainly 
'   take  up  with  a  crooked  stick,  at  last.    Did  you, 
really,  see  this  dark  cloud   hanging  ovei   my 
'future,    when   you  thus  prognosticated?    And 
must  your  predictions  be  fulfilled  so  near  to  the 
letter  ?    If  so,  I  beg  of  you,  consult  your  horo- 
scope once  more  and  see  if  her  terribly  malady 
will  ever  be  removed,  so  that  she  can  stand  erect 
and  move  with  her  former  grace  and  freedom. 
/    Please  let  me  hear  from  you  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble. Ever  your  friend, 

Jonathan  Particular. 


cedar  en.. 
where  the  "little  General"  turned  a  disgraceful  route 
into  a  victory,  and  where  he  annihilated  forever  Early';! 
army,  we  found  the  earthworks  still  entire.  The  beau- 
tiful stream  flowed  on  as  quietly  and  sweetly  through 
the  rich  meadows  as  though  it  had  never  seen  war  a: 
been  colored  with  blood.  We  *at  down  upon  its  bank! 
and  recalled  the  accounts  we  lad  heard  of  the  battle, 
felt  like  hurrahing  for  the  brare  little  General,  and  did 
take  occasion  to  repeat  these  few  lines  of  "Sheridan's 
Hide:" 

Up  from  the  South  at  break  of  day, 
Bringing  to  Winchester  fresh  dismay, 
The  affrighted  air  with  a  shudder  bore, 
Like  a  herald  in  haste,  to  the  chieftain's  door, 
The  terrible  grumble,  and  rumble,  and  roar, 

Dg  the  battle  was  on  once  more, 
And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

And  wider  still  those  billows  of  war 
Thundered  along  the  horizon's  bar; 
And  louder  yet  into  Winchester  roiled 
The  roar  of  that  red  sea  uncontrolled, 
Making  the  blood  of  the  listener  cold, 
As  he  thought  of  the  stake  in  that  fiery  fray, 
And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away. 

Hurrah !  hurrah  for  Sheridan ! 
Hurrah !  hurrah  for  horse  and  man! 
And  when  their  statues  are  placed  on  high, 
Under  the  dome  of  the  Union  sky,— 
The  American  soldier's  Temple  of  Fame, — 
There  with  the  glorious  General's  name, 
Be  it  said,  in  letters  both  bold  and  bright, 
"Here  is  the  steed  that  saved  the  clay, 
By  carrying  Sheridan  into  the  tight. 
From  Winchester,  twenty  miles  away!" 

"Were  you  here  during  the  war?"  asked  we  of  a 
seedy-appearing  man  in  the  door  of  the  hotel.  "I  recon 
I  was ;  don't  I  look  like  it?"  said  he,  lifting  the  flap  of 
his  ragged  coat  and  taking  a  genera  survey  of  himself. 
We  had  to  confess  that  he  had  the  air  of  burning 
houses,  ruined  fences  and  smoky  battle-fields  about 
him,  at  which  he  seemed  pleased,  entering  at  once  into 
a  lively  conversation  about  the  war.  He  stated  th*t 
he  was  a  stafl  officer,  and  was  in  the  valley  nearly  all 
the  time  during  the  war. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Bsnks'a  campaign 
we,  to  draw  him  out. 

"What  do  I  think?  Why  I  know  this  much,  that  it 
was  a  failure;  and  that  old  Dick  once  se 
paper  collars  which  he  captured  with  one  of 
baggage  trains,  saying  to  the  Federal  General 
had  fried,  stewed  and  boiled  them,  but  found 
digestible,  and  requested  Banks  to  exchange  hi 
for  them. 

"Was  Sheridan  a  failure,  too?" 

"Oh,  no,  no;  he  was  a  bully  fighter,  no  mistake. 
But  you  Yankees  had  a  mighty  queer  way  of  n 
the  war.    You  sent  Banks  up  here  with  t  ■>• 
men,  and  because  he  couldn't  hold  his  owi 
twenty  thousand  of  us,  why,  you  vote  himas-iam  *t 
once.    Then  you  send  Sheridan  with  a  hundr 
sand  against  thirty,  and  because  he  licked  us  i 
getting  mighty  near  annihilated  himself,  why,  you  say, 
Oh!  Sheridan's  a  bully  good  fellow;  give  him  an  oflice; 
write  songs  about  him,  and  ail  that  sort  o'  thing." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  glad  the  war  is  over." 

"  I  be  blowed  if  I  aint !  I've  seen  men  enough  killed 
and  have  seen  ruin  enough,  I  tell  you!  Wl. 
see  them  old  black  chimneys  standing  all  along  tb< 
valley  where  houses  used  to  stand,  and  see  nothing  but 
ashes  wbere  mills,  factories,  churches  and  fences  once 
were,  I  be  blamed  if  I  don't  hale  Jeff.  Davis  and  his 
whole  click." 

"  I  suppose  you  thought  you  were  right,"  said  we. 

"Yes,  I  thought  we'd  got  a  big  thing  soinevvhar, 
but,  I  declare,  I  didn't  exactly  see  whar.  I  hed  an 
idea  that  we  were  not  having  our  rights,  somehow  or 
other;  but  I've  been  a  thinkin'  and  thinkin'  and  a 
thinkiu'  ever  since  the  war,  about  that  thing,  and  you 
may  swamp  me  if  I  can  make  out  what  in  the  devil 
we  were  fighting  for.  Perhaps  old  Jeff,  knows,  but  ii 
he  does,  he  is  mighty  pertickler  'bout  keeping  it  to/ 
himself." 


i 


A 


|      Our  conversation  was  interrupted  t>y  the  arrival  of  a 
party  for  which  our  companion  had  waited,  and  soon 
,  after  he,  with  his  seedy  grey  coat,  disappeared  around 
the  coiner,  and  we  at  once  took  the  cars  for 
harper's  ferrt. 
No  place  have  we  found,  in  any  part  of  the  South,    / 
so  full  of  iuterest  and  so  aJive  with  ini?rc*ting  associa-  *^-- 
tions   as  Harper's  Ferry.    Here  it  was  that  the  greaf 
conflict    began,— the   war  for  freedom.     Here,  that 
insane  old  maD,— the  representative,  nevertheless,  of  a 
great  idea,  and  the  humble  instrument  In  the  hands  of 
God  for  the  performance  of  a  great  work,— John  Brown, 
first  opened  the  war  with  slavery.     Here,  with  his 
little  band,  ho    captured  the  armories  and  fortified 
himself  in  the  engine  ho^se.     From  this  place  he 
was    taken   to   Charlestown,   twelve     miles     away, 
tried,  and  hung.     Here,  too,  the  second  act  of  the 
great    tragedy    was  performed.    .  Here    Lieutenant 
Jones,  when  attacked  by  the  Virginia  militia,  set  all 
the  armory  buildings  on  fire,  and  blew  up  the  arsenal- 
preventing  the  rebels  from  getting  the  arms,  and  saved 
"Washington.    Here  General  Patterson  came  and  drove 
Joseph  E.  Johnston  from  the  cragged  mountain  oppo- 
site, called  Maryland  Heights.  Here  Major  Gould,of  the 
13th  Massachusetts,  began  the  fight  of  Camp  Heights. 
Here  it  was  that  General  Banks  began  his  campaign 
agaiast  Stonewall  Jackson.    Here  it  was  that  that  in- 
efficient cowardly  Colonel  Miles  allowed  himself  to  be 
entrapped  by  Lee  at  the  first  invasion  of  Maryland 
Here  it  was  that  McClellan's  army  la  y  idle  after  the 

battle  of  Antietam  while  he  "had  some  correspondence 
with  Washington."  Oh!  that  he- had  moyed  forwa«J 
then !   Again  we  quote, 

"Of  all  the  words  of  tongue  or  pen 

The  saddest  are  these,— It  might  hare  been." 
To  this  place  withdrew  Milroy  from  Winchester  when 
L«e  came  to  make  a  second  invasion  of  Maryland.  And 
her?  it  was  that  the  gallant  General  French  posted 
hims»lf  in  Lee's  rear  after  the  battle  of  Gettysburg, 
and  hsld  the  heights. 

No  part  of  rur  long  journey  through  the  Soulsh  have 
we  enjoyed  like  this  vi3it  at  Harper's  Ferry.  We  fan 
about  fro.31  canal  to  railroad,  barracks  to  hotel,  ftom 
one  ghastl »  ruin  to  another,  and  from  hill  to  hiH,-tO 
see  the  places  where  such  stirring  events  occurred.  On 
Loudon  Heights  we  stood  and  thought  of  General' 
W  ashington,  who  once  purchased  the  whole  tract  of 
land  about  Harper's  Ferry.  On  Camp  Heights  we  gazed 
at    the    old    rained  walls    of  "headquarters,"    and 

d  the  history  of  the  generals  who  bad  made  it 
their  abode.      In  the   shot^riddled   ruins,  that   once 
her.rd  the  sound  ot  prayer  and  of  preaching,  we  stared  /  > 
:jlack  ceiling  and  crumbling  walls,  wondering  / 
where  the  minister  and  congregation  were  gone.     In    ] 
the  shattered  and  desolate  ruins  of  the  armory  build- 
ings we  stood  and  pondered  on  the  traie  whea  they 
were  full  nl  workmen  with  whom  the  proud  Virginians 
would  hold  no  intercourse.    In  the  little  engine  house, ) 
still  kept  as  a  guard  house  or  jail  by  the  town  author-! 
ites  and  military,  we  looked  at  the  port-holes  which 
John  Bb)™i'  and  his  men  made  with  their  pikes,  and 
laughed  in  spite  of  ourselves  to  think  how  he  put 
thf     "  raw     militia "     of     chivalrous    Virginia     to 
flight     by     pointing     a     .-ingle     musket    at     them. 
In  the  dismantled  mills,  whose  walls  threatened  to 
cave  in  upon  us,  we  hunted  for  pieces  of  shot  and  shell, 
and  regretted  that.-;  and  such  build- 

ing material  should  I  he  need  of  sufficient 

enterprise  to  put  them  to  practical  use.    On  the  mag- 
Potomac,  In  the  villi 

\  hen  the 
wooden  brid-r>  is  covered  with  flame 

and  -moke.  We  stood  on  the  railway  and  sighed  for 
the  friends  of  those  who  had  fallen  while  tearing  up 
the  track  or  defending  it  tram  the  foe.  On  that 
magnificent     spot,    far,    far     above     the     Potomac 

in    *he   very   clouds — on     Maryland    Heights, 

we  stood  and  g«zed  down  upon  the  Tillage  and  the 

dindnutire-appearing  men  in  the  streets,  imagining  the 

dot,    tn  the  old  stone 

fort  on  the  highest  point  ip  pieces  of  old   ") 

(gainst  the  dilapidated  wall,  won-  t . 

■■  hands  grasped  them  last.     Along  the 

ridge  down  to  the  lower  hills  we  strayed,  musing  upon 

ie  whan  Colonel  ID  als  oannondown 

this  rugged  st<  he  fortifications,  along  the 

hills,  out  to  "John  Brown's  church,"  where  h 

ut  to  Id-  firm  house,  where  he  lived  and  pre- 
raiuing  tools,  down  to  the  canal,  across 
again  to  Harp  went,  tilled  with  thoughts 

we  canii'  id  which  might  not  he  interesting 

to  any  ore  but  the  "boys  who  have  been  there,"  if  we 
did.  Dreary  and  deserted,  surrounded  by  piles  of 
niiris  that  remind  one  of  the  remains  of  ancient  cities, 
situated  in  so  narrow  a  valley  that  the  sun  reaches  it 
near  midday,  Harper's  Ferry  may  be  entered  In  our 
reader's  note-book  as  a  lonesome,  unthrifty  place,  yet 
there  are  many  Yankees  there  from  Massachusetts  and 
Vermont,  who  propose  to  build  up  'the  town.  We 
hope  they  may,  but  we  will  confess  to  a  feeling  of  re- 
lief when  we  left  Harper's  Ferry  behind  us  and  rode 
over  the  mountains  toward  Autietam. 

"Who  is  Auntie  Etam?  "  asked  a  former,  of  whom 
we  iuciiiircd  the  way.  Russell. 


Deep  Sea  Exploration. 

Of  the   expedition    undertaken  by  the  coast 
survey,  to   explore  the  bottom  of  the  Atlantic 
and  Pacific  Oceans,  the  Boston  Advertiser  says : 
"The   work    of  dredging    the  bottom  of  the 
ocean  was  begun  in  1867,  and  during  the    past 
two  years  the  operations    have  gone  on  under 
the  direction    of  Count  Pourtales  of    the  coast 
survey,  who  has  already   prepared    valuable  re- 
ports of    his  work.    The  results   obtained  bv  it 
have  induced  the    superintendent  of   the  coast 
survey  to  start  another  and  much  more  compre- 
hensive expedition,  which  is  now  about  to  sail 
from  this  port.    The  objects  of   the  expedition 
are  to  study  the  physical  character  of  the  ocean, 
its  inhabitants,  and  to  compare  the  condition  of 
the  Pacific  Ocean  with  that  of  the  Atlantic.  For 
the    latter  purpose   it  is    especially  important, 
since  the  project  for  an    inter-oceanic  canal  has 
been  revived,  and  is  pursued  with  a  good  deal  of 
attention.  It  is  claimed  by  some  that  the  Pacific 
Ocean  is    much  higher  than  the  Atlantic,  and 
it  is  necessary  that  the  fact  should  be  ascertained 
before  anything  is    clone.    The    expedition  has 
for  its  primary  object  the  survey  of  the  ocean  in 
such  a  way  as  to  furnish  the  means  of  compari- 
son between  the  two  sides  of  the  continent,  the 
observations  being  not  limited  to  the  shore,  but 
extending  to  the   greatest   depth  of   the  ocean. 
With  a  mind  more  comprehensive  than    his  pre- 
decessors, Prof.  Peirce  sees  the  connection  of  the 
phenomena  of  nature  more  clearly,  and  is  there- 
fore inclined  to  have  investigations  made  which 
have  such  a  comprehensive  character,  and  which 
will  place  this  expedition  far  above  the  similar 
surveys  of  any  other  country.    The  study  of  the 
currents  and  of  the  tides  cannot  be  carried  a 
step  beyond  the  point  which  has  been   reached 
now  unless  the  form  of  the  trough  in  which  the 
water  is  contained  is  known— unless  we  know 
all  the  inequalities  of  its  form,  and  the  valleys 
which  intersect  it  all  over  its  course.    Professor 
Agassiz's  theory  is  that  the  great  ocean  currents 
flow  according  to  the  shape  of  the  bed  in  which 
they  re-t,  and  arc  determined  by  the  inequalities 
at  the  bottom  just  as  the  Mississippi  flows  from 
the  Rocky  Mountains  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  be- 
tween  the  great  mountain  ranges.    Every  fish- 
erman on  the  coast  knows  why  the  Gulf  stream 
helps  him  when  he  goes  east,  and  why  the  north 
current  helps  him  when   he  goes  south  it  he 
keeps  close  to  the  shore;  they  move  in  opposite 
directions.     But  nothing  is  known  of  the  cur- 
tents  which  form  the  Antarctic  ocean   and   the 
south   pole  and  pour  into  either  ocean.    ^.11  the 
troubles  which  navigators  experience  in  round- 
ing Cape  Horn  are  in  a  great  measure  owing  to 
the  ignorance  which  exists  with  regard  to  the 
currents  and  their  temperature.    Of  course  the 
present  expedition  will  not  be  able  to  settle  all 
this,  but  a  course  of  investigation  will  be  begun 
which,  according  to  Prof.  Agassiz,  will   be  pur- 
sued for  the  next  half  century   and  perhaps 
longer. 

With  great  liberality  the  navy  department 
has  provided  for  the  expedition  a  new  vessel, 
and  co-operated  in  all  the  arrangements  in  a 
most  efficient  manner.  Nothing  had  been  with- 
held in  the  building  of  the  vessel,  the  F.  R. 
Sassier,  named  in  honor  of  the  first  superin- 
tendent of  the  coast  survey.  The  plan  of  the 
Hassler  is  an  original  one,  devised  by  Captain 
Patterson,  an  officer  of  the  department,  who 
baa  special  knowledge  of  the  requirements  of 
such  a  vessel.  The  burthen  is  only  about  four 
hundred  tons,  and  the  draught  very  light  to  en- 
able the  steamer  to  run  close  to  the  shore,  and 
there  is  a  steam  launch  to  run  in  shoal  water. 
1' he  accommodations  are  all  for  work;  neither 
sliced  nor  capacity  has  been  sought,  but  only  ' 
advantages  for  the  dredging  operations.  Anoth- 
er vessel  of  the  same  class,  the  Bachc,  will  soon 
lie  completed,  and  a  similar  expedition  will 
then  be  sent  to  the  north  Atlantic.  If  the  Hnss- 
ler  had  been  completed  in  mid-summer,  as  was 
intended,  the  work  of  the  present  expedition 
would  have  been  begun  in  the  north  Atlantic, 
out  the  lateness  of  the  season  renders  it  impos- 
sible to  begin  work  there  now.  The  officers  of 
the  Sassier  have  been  selected  with  reference  to 
the  work  of  the  expedition,  and  they  are  all  of 
them  gentlemen  interested  in  scientific  pursuits. 
Some  of  them  are  practised  photographers' 
and  will  serve  the  expedition  in  that 
way.  Their  assistance  will  be  valuable. 
The  scientific  corps  is  made  up  of  gentle- 
men interested  in  the  different  departments  of 
science,  so  t bat  the  work  of  the  expedition  will 
be  admirably  distributed.  The  management  of 
the  scientific  matters  is  in  the  hands  )f  Professor 
Agassiz,  who,  in  the  sixty-fifth  year  of  his  a-'c 
starts  out  on  an  expedition  to  the  Antipodes  in 
the  pure  love  of  science.  He  will  of  course  de- 
vote himself  principally  to  the  department  of 
natural  history.  Count  I'ourtales  of  the  coast 
Mirvey,  who  will  have  charge  of  the  dredging 
operations,  has    had  more,  experience  than  any 

other  man  living,  in  such  operations.  Ex-Presi- 
dent lliil  of  Harvard  college  will  accompany  the 
expedition  and  devote  his  time  to  the  physical 
investigation  of  the  sea  — its  transparency,  its 
specific  gravity,  its  motions.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  matters  which  will  come  within  his 
study  will  be  to  ascertain  the  depth  to  which 
light  penetrates  the  ocean.  Dr.  White  of  Phila- 
delphia noes  as  the  chemist,  of  the  expedition. 
His  task  will  be  to  ascertain  by  analysis  the 
saltnessof  the  ocean  at  different  depths,  and  in- 
vestigate other  questions  which  bear  upon  the 
general  subject  of  the  ocean  currents.  |)r 
Steindachn'er  will  have  the  care  of  the  speci- 
mens of  natural  history,  especially  of  the  fishes 


Professor  Agassiz    will  also    be  assisted   by  one 
who'w'nTh^'l  JaUK's  W  of  p™incetown 

who  will  have  charge    ol    the  niollusks,  and  he 
w.ll  be  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Agassiz,  who  ren- 
ders her  husband  material  assistance 
The  course  of  the  expedition  will  "be  straight! 
1     for  the  West  Indies,  and    there  a  stop  o    sm, 
ength  will  be  made  for    the  purport '  teSSS 
the  apparatus,  as  it  is  impossiole  totestit  before 
starting,  on   account  of  the   roughness  of  the 
water  in  the  vicinity  of  this  harbor.    The  test- 
ing ot    the  apparatus    will   be  made  near  St 
Ihomas  after  which  the  expedition  will  go  out- 
side the  V\  est  India  islands  to  ascertain  how  the 
great  current  that  comes  from  Africa  enters  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  how  the  gulf  strom  iVs  ,  ,- 
plied     Then  the  Hassler  will'^move  to  t"  e  e  's  - 
ward,  seeking  the  greatest  depths  of  the  Atlantic 
ocean.    She  will  then  go  to  Rio  Junerio  for  coal 
and    hence. to  the  east  coast  of  Patagonia  ami 
Falkland     islands,    where     another    series    of 
inyest.gat.ons  will  be  made  especially  wifh   a 
view  ot  s  udying  theeurrents  that  come  from  the 
south  pole  in  the  Atlantic.    The  Hassler  will 
then  pass  through  the  Straits  of  Magellan   into 

he  %S&  e™PlH'in|?  thC  -Ia,Cial  Phenomena  in 
the  straits  on  the  way,  and  then  through  the 
archipelago  of  Chiloe,  striking  out  into  the  broad 
ocean  towards  the  islands  of  San  Juan  Fein  , 
dez.  Ibis  will  be  during  the  month  of  February 
and  about  midsummer  in  that  latitude.  The 
course  ot  the  expedition  will  be  next  to  Val- 
paraiso, crossing  the  great  current  that  flows 
north  along  the  west  oast  of  South  America 
Here  it ;  will  be  sought  to  ascertain  wbefhe •  l.ij 
current  is  the  counterpart  of  the  current  which 
flows  southward  along  our  coast.  The  expedi- 
tion win  then  proceed  to  the  Gallipagos  islands 
and  then  to  the  continent,  probably  to  Acapu  co' 
although  the  po.nt  is  not  fixed,  and  will  be  de- 
termined by  the  progress  of  the  expedition 
Next  summer  will  be  devoted  to  the  exploration 
of  our  own  coast  from  Panama  to  San  Francisco 

?jlarTS,t  ^n,,be  ^de  to  the  islands  to  the 

west  of  lower  California,  which  have  never  et 
been  explored.  The  voyage  will  occupy  abou 
ten  months  and  may  extend  as  far  north  as 
Puget  s  sound,  perhaps  eveu  beyond  there.  The 
party  will  return  across  the  continent.  There 
will  not  be  time  to  bestow  much  care  upon  the 
collections  and  they  will  be  sent  home  from  dif- 
inade  P01"tS  ^  ^  r0Ute  as  fast  as  they  are 
Hitherto  knowledge  of  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
has  been  obtained  by  the  use  ot  the  lead  merely 
The  result  has  been  that  little  except  the  depth 
ol  the  water  has  been  ascertained,  and  some 
limited  scientific  data  obtained  from  the  frag- 
meats  of  shells  which  have  been  brought  up  by 

the  tallow  attached  to  the  lead.    During  the  in- 
vestigations of  the  past  four  years  the'  sea  bot- 
tom- has    been    scraped   by    apparatus    which 
brings  up  large  quantities  of  matter  from  the  sea 
bottom,— rocks    and  living  animals.    The  bot- 
tom of  the  ocean  is  in  fact  fished  out.    Profes- 
sor.Agassiz  has  sometimes  secured  a  whole  tub- 
ful  -of  fresh  specimens  at  once,  and  the  condi- 
tion  of  the  bottom  of  the  ocean   between  the 
Florida    Keys    and  the  West   India  islands   is 
about  as  well  known  to  scientists  as  the  slope  of 
the  White  mountains,  and  the  vegetable  growths 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  are  as  well  known  as 
the  character  of  the  vegetation  between  Littleton 
and  Mount  Washington.     In  the  course  of  cen- 
turies it  is  anticipated  the  entire  bottom  .surface 
of  the  Pacific  will  be  equally  well  known.    The 
American  coast  survey  has  the  honor  of  being 
the  pioneer  in   this  great  work,  which  nobody 
thought  of  undertaking  until  these  expeditions 
were  organized.    The  British   government  is  al- 
ready moving  to  fit  out  a  similar  expedition,  but 
it  will  be  sent  out  in  a  large  ocean  steamer,  and 
will  not  be  able  to  carry  on  its  work  with  such 
facilities  as  will  our  expedition.    The  Swedish 
government  has  also  done  something  recently  in 
the  way  of  deep-sea  dredging  near  the  Canary 
islands,    but    the  publication   of  results    is    not 
yet   very   advanced.      The   explorations   were 
mainly  made  near  the  shore,  but  our  expedition 
will  dredge  chiefly  off  shore,  with  a  view  of  as- 
certaining the  qualities  of  the  ocean   without 
special  reference  to   the  coast.    The  expedition 
will  touch  shore  only  when  it  becomes  nc; 
to  obtain  supplies,  and  this  will  not  be  frequent, 
as  the  Hassler  can    carry  a  titty  days'  supply  of 
coal.    The  principal  points   at   which  she  will 
touch  on  the  Atlantic  side  arc  St.  Thomas,  Rio, 
Montevideo,  and  the  straits  of  Magellan,  and  to 
each  of  these  points  Prof.  Agassiz   has  sent  a 
thousand  gallons  of  alcohol,  while  the  Hcssler 
will   also  take  that  amount  of  the  preservative 
fluid.    For  the  expense  of  this  part  of  the  work 
the  government  does   not   provide,  simply  con- 
ceding to  Prof.  Agassiz  the  privilege  of  sending 
all   the  specimens   to  the  Cambridge  museum. 
Money  enough  has   been  collected  to  pay  for  the 
operations    as    far  as    the   sti alts  of  Magellan. 
1'herc,  If  no   more   funds   are  contributed,   the 
work  of  making  collections  will   have  to  stop. 
feu  thousand  dollars  have    been  contributed  bv 
the  friends  Of  the   museum,    and    ten  thousand 
more  are  needed  to  render  the  expedition  com- 
pletely successful.     With  this  amount  of  money 
Pro!.  Agassiz  would  be  able  to  put  the  museum 
at  Cambridge  ahead  of  all   the  other  museums 
ot  the  world,   for  none  of  them   can  have  this 
splendid  opportunity  for  gathering  collections 
from   the  depths  of  the   two  greatest  oceans  of 
the  world." 


J 


A  -SPLENDID    STORY. 


A 


LETTIE&  Iff  THE  HEW  YEAE. 


long  time,  trying  to  Unci  ^oma  one  to  ao  if,  ia  tha  vu 
lage;  but  evbryboii-.  in  btny  just  now,  aui  as  a  last 
resort.  I  come  to  iou." 
"Certainly  I  would  rlo  it,  if  I  bad  tints,"  replied 
f  Grace;  "but  I  do  not  knew  how  it  will  be." 
i       '  Oh,  I  knaw  you  will  hxvano  time  on  Monday," 
(  Interrupted  Miss  RedfieU);  "but  you  might  do  it  to- 
morrow." 

"lo-morrow!"    Grace  repeated,  in  dismay.    "Sure- 
ly you  don't  mean  it.    To-morrow  is  the  S'tb'iath." 
"But,"  laughed  Miss  Rediield,  "  it  id  a  work  of  ne- 

c  "Pardon  me,  Miss  Redfield,"  said  Grace,  "but  it 
does  not  seem  at  »IUKC-tva?y  to  me.  I  have  seen  you 
wear  a  number  ofTieauuful  drosses  since  you  hire 
fceen  here,  and  surely  some  of  them  would  do  for  M  in- 
day  evening." 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  rejoiced,  impatiently,  "but  I  have 
•worn  them  all  ever  so  many  many  times,  and  this  is 
new,  and  so  becoming.  I  have  set  mv  heart  upon  it, 
and  must  have  it!"  And  she  placed  a  shining  gold 
piece  in  the  hand  of  Grace. 

"Thai  that  honor  me  I  will  honor,"  seemed  to  sound 
in  Grace's  ears,  and  she  answered  decidedly,  as  "Bhe 
returned  the  gold  :  "No,  Mis*  Ksdfiald,  1  cmnot  do 
it  to-morrow.  Money  is  no  temptation  to  me  to  vioHte 
the  law  of  God  and  mv  own  conscience.  And  if  I  did 
it  at  a)),"  she  continu-d,  somewhat  proudly,  "I  should 
do  it  for  nothing."    . 

A  malignant  expression  crept  over  Miss  Radfiell's 
face  as  she  rose  saying:  "You  will  repent  of  this! 
But  I  know  what  your  object  is;  you  have  gat  some  of 
the  WalcoHs  puritanical  ideas, and  think  your  saintly 
ways  will  find  favor  in  Richard's  eye's.  But,  I  can  tell 
you,  he  is  as  proud  as  he  is  good,  and,  with  all  his  chiv- 
alrous ideas  of  right  and  honor,  he  will  never  stoop—'' 

The  hot  blood  was  flushing  Grace's  fac9&8  8he  rose 
and  held  open  the  door.  Miss  R-dfiald,  angrier  than 
ever  at  the  bint  of  dismissal,  could  not  finuh  the  sen- 
tence, but,  with  a  look  of  bitter  hatred,  passed  out. 
Grace  closed  and  locked  the  door;  then  threw  herself 
on  a  chair  and  wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

On  Monday  there  wan  a  joyous  bustle  through  the 
house.  Grace  wa*  working  busily  upon  aomi  article 
that  she  knew  Mrs.  WaJcoft  wished  to  have  dene  that 
day,  when  she,  heard  Miss  R  >afield's  voice  in  the  hall, 
say  in;. ,  "I  have  a  protege,  whom  I  would  like  to  rec- 
ommend to  you  in  her  place.  I  think  she  would 
please  you  betser.  I  -will  show  you  a  specimen  of  her 
needle-work." 

To  Grace's  astonishment  she  heard  Mrs.  Walcott 


It  was  the  last  night  of  the  old  year,  and  Grace  Dean 
and  h«r  mother  werealone  in  th-ir  cottage  on  the  edge 
tf  Walcott  woods.  Oooe  G-cahad  been  a  petted  and 
humoiod  heiress,  but  sinoe  the  insolvency  and  dea^n 
of  her  father,  she  mad*  only  too  familiar  acquaintance 
with  poverty'.  Little  did  the  inhabitants  of  rmevill* 
think  that  the  pale  weary-looking  seamstress  who  had 
come  as  a  stranger  amongst  them  and  rented ^tha Wal- 
cott cottage,  and  who  dependeo  chiefly  for  her  subsist- 
once  cm  the  patronage  »fJu*ge  Waleott's  fami  y,  had 
4ce,  in  a  distant  city,  moved  among  the  highest  ot  the 
land,  and  been  even  the  belie  of  her  set.  «,„._, 

And  on  this  night  the  heart  of  Grace  was  heavy 
Though  it  was  nearly  midnight,  she  still  Ptodher 
needle,  and  her  tears  fell  as  fast  as  8he  sewed.  She  was 
thinking  of  the  festive  party  up  at  the  nail,  with  its 
lights  aSd  flowers,  its  muxic  and  dancing;  and  she  p.c 
tured  the  portly  old  Judge,  once  her  friend,  gaily  lead- 
ing the  revels ;  and  another,  younger  and  handsomer 

than  even  the  Judge  had  been  in  his  best  days,  who 

■was  also  alienated  from  her.  .     „„„„.,,.,_„,,_ 

Mrs.  Dean  sat  slumbering  in  her  chair,  occasiona.iy 

awakening  to  bemoan  their  bard  fate,  that  they  had 

again  to  seek  their  fortune  ir.  some  strange  placn;  but 

the  mother  did  not  know  of  the  deeper  sorrow  ot  the 

daughter,  and  Grace  had  vowed  she  never  should, 

though  her  own  heart  broke  for  it.      r 

Grace  had  been  sewing  at  Judge  Waleott's  when 

Mrs.  Walcott  was  seized  with  a  malignant  fever,    lna 

servants  had  flod  in  dismay,  leaving  only  the  invalid  a 

two  daughters  to  take  cate  of  her,  and  they  were 

yonng,  and  ignorant,  and  necessarily  inefficient,    in 

this  emergency  Grace  had  tendered  her  service.    All 

through  Mrs.   Waleott's  long  and  dangerous  illness 

Grace  nursed  her  faithfully  aud  tenderly.    1  or  many 

days  the  room  was  kept  darkened  and  quiet;  Midge 

and  Fanny  hovering  uneasily  about,  obeying  braces 

Fuegestione.  with  the  docility  of  children,  wuila  the 

Judge  and  Richard  would  steal  in  by  thesufferer  whne 

Grace  rested. 
At  length  came  <bo  day  of  convalescence,  and  now 

the  fsmilv  gathered    in  Mrs.    Waleott's  room,    and 

■whiled  away  the  hours  with  reading  and  conversation, 

and,  as  she  became  stronger,  there  were  Ions'  pleasant 

eveBinas  in  the  luxurious  parlors,  when  Madge  played 

&vi  Richard  and  Fanny  sang,  and  Grace  sat  by  Mrs.   !  Bay,  in  reply,    "Tbakk  you;  I  think  I  will  employ  he 
*  Waleott's  side,  quiet  and  happy.    In  these  days  all  f  t8  i  have  contemplated  a  changa  lor  soma  time." 


social  distinctions  seemed  to  have  been  forgotten,  and 
the  poor  seamstress  was  treated  as  a  valued  friend. 

Grsea  could  never  forget  the  evening  when  Mrs. 
Walcott  fir&t  joined  tha  family  at  the  tea  table.  The 
Judge  catried  her  out  to  the  dinner  room,  while  the 
rest  followed.  I*  was  a  warm,  pleasant  evening 
Tfce  windows  w»ro  ope 
Hounds  of  summer  o.am3 
motioned  Grace  to  a  Beat  bsside  her,  saying 

"I  have  had  Grace  by  me  sj  kmg  I  should  feel  en- 
tirely lost  without  her." 

They  were  all  in  high  spiri's;  all  glad  and  grateful, 
that  the  danger  had  patted,  and  the  beloved  wife  and 
another  v,  at'  with  tbem  as  she  was  of  o'.d. 

Grace  sat  and  listened  to  their  cheerful  flow  of 
words,  but  she  jek  strangely ;  she  could  not  eat.  Rich- 
ard, who  sat  opposite,  noticed  it,  and  said : 

"Miss  Dean  looks  like  an  invalid  herself." 

A  f*iw:ness  came  over  Grace,  and  she  fell  insensible 
When  she  woke  to  consciousness  again  she  wason 
sofa,  and  the  iauiily  were  grouped  around  with  anx 


Grace  was  thunderstruck.    What  could  Mrs.  Wal- 
cott mean?    How  could  she  have  offended  Mrs.  Wal- 
cott, who  was  so  gentle  and  so  just?    All  tha  rooming 
Gr«C3  pondered  her  words,  and  wondered  what  she 
(should  do  when  cart  ofl'  upon  the  world  again. 
„     She  will  surely  help  me  to  find  another  place,  ©race 
and  the  sweet  odors  aud  ^thought,    She  knew  she  had  done  right;  and.  aa  hu- 
stealing  in.    Mrs.   Walcott   •  mm  helpers  seeinud  to  mil  aw&f.she  leaned  with  firm- 
er trust  upon  the  Divine.    Truly,  she   thought,  the 
ways  of  the  Ail-  Wise  are  mysterious  and  part  finding 
„  out.    It  seems  so  strange  to  me  that   this   wioked 
Bheuld  triumph;  but  I  know  it  is  ail  right,     f  he  h«r Is 
of  men,  oh  God,  are  iu  thy  hand:',  and,  trusting  in 
.  TliC8, 1  will  await  tne  issne." 

And  so  sbe  sat,  that  bright  morning,  and  listened  to 
the  joyous  sounds,  and  noted  the  guests  as  I 
ted  past  the  half  open  door,  and  saw  the  sleigh  drive 
off  with  Richard  aud  Miss  R°dfield. 
It  was  afternoon  when  Madge  came  in  hurrielly.say- 
ing: 

Why  Grace,  how  pale  you  are.    We  have  bsen  so 


ious  faces 
heard  the  _ 

"It  is  the  liver ;  she  was  worn  out  with  her  exertions 
in  your  sick  room,  madam,  and  will  need  tb.8  bast  of 
jjure." 

Graeo  was  weak  and  helping  as  a  child,  and  Mr. 
Walcott  carried  her  up  stairs.  Then  came  a  blank. 
iSometiraes  sbe  would  see  kind,  anxious  facas  beside 
Bex;  then  att  would  bo  dark  again.  But  it  passed  at 
length,  that  terrible  illness,  and  then  it  wss  so  pleasant 
to  be  carried  iota  the  sitting  room,  those  pleasant 
autumn  morniugs,  while  ^>rs.  Walcott,  who  was  quite 
restored,  occupied  her  usual  plac>  Madge  usually 
fcu?ied  herself  about  bar  embroidery,  and  Richard  often 
read  to  them,  while  Fanny  flitted  about  like  a  little 
humming  bird,  as  sh*  was  When  Grace  grew  strong- 
er she  often  went  out  in  the  carriage  with  Mrs.  Wal 
cott,  and  sometima*  one  or  bota  the  ladies.  When  the  / 
danger  of  infection  was  over,  things  ftll  more  into 
their  usual  course— Grace  returning  to  bar  mother  at 
But  sbe  was,  nevertheless,  almost  oon 


"Oh!  Grace,  how  could  your"  were  tue  first  words 
of  the  young  man,  as  he  took  her  hands. 

She  blushed  crimson,  but  could  not  answer.  What 
did  it  all  mean?  Richard  gave  her  no  time  for 
thought. 

"  We  expected  yon  til!  night  set  in,"  he  said,  "  and 
then  the  Judge  finding  you  did  not  come,  ordered  ma 
to  start  in  the  sleigh  and  bring  you,  rating  Finny 
eoundly  lor  having  forgotten  to  ask  your  mother, 
which  is  the  reason,  he  says,  you  didn't  come.    So 

Fanny  is  out  in  the  sleigh  waiting  to  help  you  dress; 
and  tne  housekeeper  comes  to  stay  with  your  mother, 
if  Mrs.  Dean  thinks  it  is  too  cold  to  go  out  tonight. 

What  could  Grace  do?  Before  she  could  reply, 
Bicbard  had  darted  back  to  tbe  sleigh,  and  was  leid- 
iBK  buck  FanBy.  Mrs.  Dean,  when  her  wonder  let  her 
understand  how  things  were,  said  she  was  too  old  to 
have  a  waimfire  at  tuch  an  hour,  and  so  toe  house- 
keeper was  caned  in.  Grace,  still  bewildered,  was 
ready,  thanks  to  the  nimble  fingers  of  Fanny  and  her 
simple  wardrobe,  and  with  a  betting  heart,  took  her 
place  in  the  sleigh,  which  moved  merrily  off  in  the 
i  moonlight  and  under  the  still,  grand  old  trees. 
r  The  Judge  came  down  to  the  front  door,  to  hand 
Qrace  out  of  the  sleigh,  and  himeelf  led  her  up  to  Mrj. 
Walcott,  who  ro?e  and  kissed  her  as  if  Grace  had  been 
her  own  daughter.  Miss  Redtteid,  standing  aloof, 
looked  caggers  at  the  new  com  >r. 

Poor  Grace,  eid  not  dare  to  imagine  what  it  all 
meant.  It  seemed  so  strauge  to  her  to  be  moving 
among  that  throng,  leaning  on  Richard's  arm. 

The  pleasant  remarks  of  her  companion  had  the 
effect  to  restore  her  in  pome  measure  to  herself,  and 
sbe  was  almost  surprised  to  find  herself  talking  so  free- 
ly to  Miss  Lamdowne,  whom  they  met  near  the  door 
of  the  conservatory,  to  which  her  partner  soon  led  hex. 

The  perfume  of  the  rare  exo>ics  greeted  her  here  like  , 
the  breath  of  summer.    At  the  far'her  end  of  tha  room 
they  stopped  to  admire  a  brilliant  flower,  when  Rich- 
ard said: 

"I  have  a  gift,  Gtace,  which  I  want  you  to  accept 
from  me,"  and  he  held  up  a  diamond  ring:  "but  first 
/  will  you  give  me  the  hand  upon  whioh  I  would  place 
it'" 

"Richard!  Mr.  Walcott '."  she  exclaimed,  "you  are 
not  in  earnest?"  .  .. 

"I  never  was  more  so,"  he  said.  "Will  you  take  the 
ring  ?" 

"But  your  parents?"  she  asked,  half  bewildered, 
hardly  knowipg  what  he  said. 

"I  have  their  sanction,  dear  Grace,  and  I  await 
ycurs,"  apd  he  held  up  the  ring  with  a  question-gest- 
ure. 

Grace  extended  ber  hand;  he  pressed  U  to  his  lips, 
Placed  the  ring  upon  her  flower,  tiirm  drew  her  head  to 
bis  bosom.  "My  poor  little  lamb,"  he  murmured, 
drawing  aside  the  veil  of  curls  that  hung  over  li6f  face, 
and  pressing  a  kiss  upon  her  throbbing  brow,  "now  I 
have  a  right  to  take  care  of  you.  It  has  made  my 
heart  acfee  to  see  you  looking  eo  pale,  and  to  think  of 
your  toiling  s-o  patiently." 

Grace  conld  only  li&ten  passively;  tha  change  was 
so  sudden  that  it  overpowered  her;  she  could  nardly 
realize  that  ehe  was  betrothed  to  Richard  Wtticott. 

At  length  shessnd,  "They  will  miss  you;  had  you 
Tarn  betrer  return  to  the  parlore  ?  I  wh!  j;ay  hare 
awhile." 

He  smiled  and  replied,  "I  want  to  present  you  to 
mv  parents  first." 

r-Oh!  I  cannot  eee  any  one  to-night  1"  she  exclaim' 
eel.    •  loueed  Icauiiot!" 

"You  needn't  f*ar,:'  he  said,  "you  will  i 
daughter's. welcome."    And  ha  led  her  b;. 
parlor.    The  Judpe  and  Mrs  Waicott  wen 


,u.j  .uu...j   „,j,..  y,...u ,,.,■..   —  .„„....      "Jr. '  "  n>  u rao'.',  mi»  iimw   juu»m.      ? ?  o  uavn  wk,u   »»»    ii   par.or.     ine  juugH   auu  sits    rr  mcinv  ww 

Madge  wa?  bathing  her  head,  and  Graca^,^™  tar,t  I  havtn'teeenyou.--  You  are  too  much  con-  U  together,  and  ihough  everything  «.- 
physician's  voice  saying:  -/ fined  here."  to  float  and  blend  in  inextricable 


Yee,  and  it's  a  shame  for  her  to  be  stitobing  awa7 
this  merry  holiday  time,  when  everybody  else  are  ea- 
Joying  themselvee,"  chimed  in  little  Kanay,  whs  bad 
«.nter<-d  nuperceired  "3d  ..inms  sent  me  to  tell  yon," 
she  coco  o  mind  about  finishing  that  trim- 

S  will  dojusi  as  well.  She  said 
she  meant  to  tell  you  before,  but  sir-  had  so  much  to 
take  up  her  atten'lon  lately.  Weaie  going  to  nave 
a  grand  time  to-mgiit,  and  mamma  wants  you  to  come 
down." 

i    "I  tbsck  you,"  Grace  managed  to  say,  "but  I  think 
'I  had  better  not  come." 

"Oh,  but  you  EDO»t,"  paid  Fanny,  and,  never  suppos- 
ing 'hat  Grace  wsuld  continue  obstinate,  left  ner. 

But  how  oould  Urs.ce  go?    What  was  there  in  com- 

'mon  between  her  and  the  happy,  brilliant  cooapaay  to 

be  assembled  that  evening?    The  dream  of  her  life  was 

Notuntilit  had  been  so  rudely  dissipated  was 


the  coitage.    But  she  was,  Tievortheies; ,  almost  con-  j  Jto^'oinolons  that  she  bad  indulged  ia  it.  How  insane 
Btintlyat  the  hall,  where,  thoagh  nominally  still  the     £$  B0W  8aw  iT  to  have  bee.  !    Ati!  little-she  thought 


seamstress,  her  position  iu  the  household  was  entirely  _did  her  triumphant  enemy  know  of  the  blows  she 

changed.    Whenever  the  famny  spapt  the  evening  at  had  struck  una  how  they  had  gone  to  Grace's  heart 

;)ome  aloncs  6he  oiten  jsmed  them  u\  the  parlor,  aud  Unf,,.artfi    '                       * 

-f, ..j    _'    „„.„,,.,♦     ~nn;ri     ho   car,*  tn    uManri    bar  f  OI  "e»'lb- 


afterward  a  servant  "wouid  be  sent  to  attend  her 
boms,  or  the  judge,  jr  his  son,  would  walk  down  with 
her.  , 

It  drew  near  Christmas.  Some  guests  had  amvaa 
several  dayBbelore,  among  whom  was  Mrs  Lansdowne 
(Mrs.  Waleott's  sister),  aud  her  daughter  Minnie,  with 
Maud  Radfteld,  an  old  school  frieni  of  the  Misses  Wal- 


When  nigbt  began  to  fall,  eha  had  come  home,  plod- 
ding ber  way  wearily  over  lbs  snuw,  and  having  pre- 
pared her  frugal  supper,  had  sat  down  to  sew,    fler 
-('mother  had  observe l  ber  evident  distress,  and  had  in- 
sisted on  knowing  its  cau-e.    So  Grace,  unable  to  nut 
her  entirely  off,  bat*  iReuTh.ne.d  her  dismissal  from  Mrs 
Wa'cott's  as  th«  reason  iur  her  depression. 
,     In  vain,  however,  bad  her  mother  begged  her  to  lay 
viole  -eyed I   Mmme  Lansdown,  and  *h*  a»'f.  W  ' down  her  work.    H*r  answer  bad  been,  ••IS a,  I  must 
beauty  ol  Maud  U«dhed;  and  Grace i  felt  from  the  fits,  industrious  than  ever  now,    God  only  knows, 

^^r^^l^^u^lVJ^ttfJ^'l    L  indeed  wsat  will  become  ofus.    We  must  leave  here 
^wletTe^^^^^^  f  »•  ..ivwil,  employ  menowthat  Mrs.  Walcott  casts 


cott.    Nothing'  could  b8  more  unlike  than  tha  fair   J 
"    Minnie  Lansdown,  and  the  dark,  regal  /_ 


with  a  haughty  stare,  that  deepened  her  dislike, 

One  day  after  Miss  Redfieid's  arrival,  Grace  met 
Richard  on  the  stairs.    He  greeted  her  cordially— 

"Wftern  do  you  Sen  o  yourself,  thaw  pleasant  diys, 
MissDeaa?  I'm  afraid  our  guests  frighten  you  into 
mak<ng  a  prisoner  ef  yourself." 

Grace  blushed  more  at  his  manner  than  his  words, 
and  b-fere  sh«  oould  reply,  a  vole?  sail  "I'm  ready, 
Mr.  Walcott,"  and,  lookiag  up,  ehe  saw  Mtss  Redfield 
Btaneing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  dressed  for  a  rid--. 
Richard  answered  with  a  bow  and  smile,  p.ud  offdfed 
her  his  arm,  while  she  gave  Grace  a  look  miagled  con- 
tempt and  hatred.  » 

Christmas  came  and  went  N8W  Year  was  «Tn« a. 
New  Year  was. always  a  great.  d*y  at  Walcott  UiU. 
The  Judge  belonged  to  tn  old  Koiokerbeclcer  fimily, 
and,  bwidee,  Ns-w  Year  was  his  birh-dav.  This  fear 
3STew  Year  ft  11  on  Tuesday.  On  Saturday,  as  ( 
■was  sewing  at  the  hall,  Miss  Rfldfleld  enterad  the  rwm 

"Will  you  sit  down?  '  Grace  asked,  scarcely  know- 
ing what  this  visit  portended. 

Miss  Redtield  sailed  and  drew  a  cliair  up  beside 
Grace,  saying:  "I  have  coma  to  ask  of  you  a  favor.  It 
is  a  trifle,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  grant  it.    I  had  a 

dress  made  lust  before  I  left  home,  and  intended  to  *>**  ™J™  disappearing  down  the  road;  the  little  gate 
■wear  it  on  New  Year's  Er0;butl  neglected  to  try  it  juto  Waleott's  wood's  wasop<m;  aud  up  the  aveaue 
on  till  yesterday,  wh«n  I  found  that  it  needed  soma  al-  (wb«ch  led  to  the  hall)  she  thought  she  saw  a  sleigh, 
teration  bHOi-e'I  cjoII  postibly  wear  it     I  was  out  a  .'With  a  ranflleQ  figure  or  two  in  it. 


me  off."  And  her  intvher,  unable  to  comfort  hex,  and 
equally  oppressed  with  fears  of  the  future,  had  final- 
ly desisttd. 

law  moonlight  lay  bright  end  cold  without;  the 
woods,  except  where  the  avenues  pierced  them,  were 
dark,  but  »eitlie>  was  colder,  nor  darker,  than  the 
heart  and  fe»p*».«t  Grace.  It  wis  the  habit  of  Pine  villa, 
as  it  is  in  mamr  other  places,  for  parties  to  go  about, 
Jrom  house  tolUMMo,  hnigmjr,  which  they  called  letting 
in  the  Now  Year.  As  Grace  eat  sewing  she  suddenly 
beard  voices  witbint ;  rm:  she  was  in  no  mood  for  such 
a  visit,  ar  d  sbe  rose  to  draw  the  curtMin,  not  without 
a  secret  fear,  for  the  cottage  was  lonely,  and  she  knew 
jioonewho  Would  be  likelvtocome  siogingat  their 
doer,  unless  ruae  boys  or  ruder  men.  Her  alarm  was 
increased  when  sbe  paw  through  the  latticed  window 
a  face  that  was  un  known  toiler,  and  she  gave  a  scream. 
At  that  moment,  however,  another  step  w*s  heard,  *. 
end  a  deep  voice,  thai  made  her  heart  leap  with  a  lad-  I 
den  bound,  was  heard,  speaking  authoritatively,  aVen 
angrily.  Iustai  tly  theie  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  4 
UK-same  voice  cried, 
"It  is  I— don't  be  afraid,  Grace." 
With  trembling  hands  she  opened  tha  deor. 


was  conscious  that  they  welcomed  hsr  to  their  naarts 
ana  borne;  and  she  heard  Mis*  Lmsdowna  say,  "So 
you  will  be  a  cousin,  Grace.  Weil,  I  shall  love  you 
dwarly." 

.And  then  csme  Madge  aud  F^nny,  witb  their  warm 
hearts  and  graceful  welcome.  But  everything  Kerned 
'.o  Grsce  like  a  dream,  till  she  found  haiaelf  again  in 
ber  little  room,  Richard  haviDg  driven  her  hom«  him- 
telf. 

And  that  was  the  way  for  Gracs,  that  the  New  Year 
•  was 'let  in. 


[From  the  Round  Table.] 
(Decbmbbk  23-4,  1863.) 

"And  just  as  the  last  bell  struck,  a  peculiar,  sweet 
smile  shone  over  his  face,  and  he  lifted  up  bts  heaji  a  little 
Ind  quickly  aaia,  •Adsumi*  an*  fell  back."-2V  N«*- 

(•MM. 

The  angel  came  by  night, 

(Such  angels  still  come  down !) 
And  like  a  winter  cloud 

Passed  over  London  town; 
Along  its  lonesome  streets, 

Where  Want  had  ceased  to  weep, 
Until  it  reached  a  house 

Where  a  great  man  lay  asleep ; 
The  man  or  all  his  time 

Who  knew  the  most  of  men; 
The  soundest  head  and  heart, 

The  sharpest,  kindest  pen. 
It  paused  beside  his  bed, 

And  whispered  in  his  ear : 
He>  never  turned  his  head, 

But  answered,  "I  am  here." 


The 


Into  the  night  they  went. 

At  morning,  side  by  side. 
They  gained  tho  sacred  Place 

where  the  greatest  Dead  abide ; 
Where  grand  old  Homer  sits, 

In  godlike  state  benign; 
Where  broods  in  endless  thought 

The  awful  Florentine ; 
Where  sweet  Cervantes  walks, 

A  smile  on  his  grave  face ; 
Where  gossips  quaint  Montaigne, 

The  wisest  of  his  race ; 
Where  Goethe  looks  tlirough  all. 

With  that  calm  eye  of  his ; 
Where — little  sean  but  !Light— 

Tho  only  Shakespeare  is ! 
When  the  new  Spirit  came, 

They  asked  him,  drawing  near, 
"Art  thou  becotui;  Uko  us?" 

He  answered,  "1  am  here"  „„ 

R.  H.  Stoddard. 


FATE  IN  A  OT  DIPPSR. 


"Want  to  buy  any  tin  ware,  to-day,  ma  am? — 
pails,  brooms,  needles,  scissors,  thread,  wash- 
boards—all kinds  of  glass  ware,  cheap  for  old  rags, 
iron,  money,  or  credit?  Want  to  purchase? 
Should  like  to  trade  with  you." 

This  was  the  salutation  of  a  tall,  handsome* 
youth,  as  he  openedj  Mrs  Phillips's-  kitchen  door, 
ore  fine  morning  in  August,  and  addressed  the 
fa<  y  of  the  houss  at  her  6eat  by  the  window. 
Now,  Mrs.  Phillips  was  a  little  nettled  with  the  dis- 
obliging conduct  of  a  skein  of  yarn,  which  she  was 
y.  inding,  and  she  answered  the  fellow's  string  of 
inquiries  rather  tartly  for  her : 

"No — I  don't  want  any  of  your  trash !" 

Mis.  Phillips's  eyes  snapped  portentously,  and  her 
eyebrows  d  ew  into  closer  relationship,  as  if  deter- 
bat  no  peddler  should  be  suffered  to  annoy 
their  amiable  owner. 

'  Please,  Mr.  Peddlerman,  I  want  a  tin  dipper!" 


i — on    Deing  brought   to 
to  be  in  a   like   blissful 


ti.Dutth 

matter;  aiid  Jane  pro-. 
the  inquisition  by  Eva 
stae  with  her  mistress. 

Then  Eva  went  through  with  a  grand  system  of 
recoDnoiterkg,  which  resulted  in  the  recovery  of 
the  dipper  from  a  nu-ss  of  rubbish  in  a  corner  of 
the  wood-shed.  It  was  bruised  and  battered  a  lit- 
tle, but  was  in  o'her* respects  as  good  as  new,  and 
Mrs.  Phillips,  though  guilty  of  the  intend,  was  not 
exactly  in  act  of  the  sin  of  the  iconoclast. 

Resolved  to  guard  against  all  further  profaution 
of  her  idol,  Eva  carefully  tied  the  dipper  in  a  piece 
of  strong  silk — which  had  been  givea  her  by  the 
village  milliner  to  make  her  doll  a  dress— which 
she  deposited  in  a  little  hollow  at  the  foot  of  the 
pasture,  and  covered  the  aperture  with  a  flat  stone. 

Some  days  afterwards  she  was  sect  by  her  mother 
on  an  errand  to  her  Aunt  Ethel,  and  as  her  way 
lay  down  the  pasture  lane,  she  thought  she  would 
take  out  her  dipper,  give  it  an  airing,  and  per- 
haps fill  it  with  strawberries  down  in  Grant's 
meadow.    Singing  blithely,  she  went  her  way,  the 


called  a  childish  voice  from  a  back  porch— and  /  exhumed  dipper, ^  still  in  its   bandages,  Jianging 
Eva  Phillips,  the  first  and  the  last  born  of  her 
parents,  came  bounding  into  the  room.    Eva  was 
a  beautiful  child,  and  the  young  peddler  gazed  at 
her  in  undisguised  admiration. 

'Aid  pray,  for  what  does  my  curly-headed  girl 
want  a  tin  dipper?"  he  asked,  with  an  amu-ing ex- 
pression on  his  face. 

"Oh,  to  dip  up  water  from  the  brook— to  get 
berries  down  on  Blackberry  Hills,  and,"  she  add- 
td  with  charming  naivete,  "to  see  my  face  in* 

The  peddler  laughed. 

"Female  vanity  alike  the  world  over!"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself;'  thee — "Well,  my  dear  girl,  you 
shall  have  the  dipper.    The  best  tin  in   the  world 
niight  be  proud  of  mirrorirg  such  a  face!    Come 
the  cart  and  get  it." 
an  meirily  down  to  the  brown  gate,  where 
..tier's  good-natured  horse   was    patiently 
awaiting  tr-e  master's  coming,  her  happy  head  full 
of  the  grand  times  she'd  have  with  that  tin  dipper. 
Th<>  peddler  Opened  the  box,  and  took  from  theuce 
a  very  bright  dipper,  and  then,  with  the  point  of 
his  knife,  he  engraved  his  name — Eugene  Fuller — 
upon  the  outside,  and  gave  it  into  the  child's  hand. 

"There,  mv  lit  le  Miss,  what  is  your  name?" 

"E?a  Pearl  Phillips,"  said  the  little  girl,  inspect- 
ing her  gilt  with  sparkling  eyes. . 

"Mies  Eva! — a  pretty  name.    Well,  accept  this 
Upper asa  love-gage  from  Eugene  Fuller,   who, 
>u  get  older,  is  coming  back  to  make  you 
Iris  littlewife.    Good-bye,  wifey  1"  and  the  laugh- 
ing boy  sprang  upon  his  seat  and  drove  off. 

"His  liitlewife!"  mused  Eva,  on  her  way  back 
to  the  house;  "I  wonder  what  mother  will  say?    I 


•cts,  just  as  Aunt  Ether  did  before  Cousia  Carrie 

as  married !    I  must  tell  her  about  it !" 
Eva  dashed  into  the  kitchen  full  of  the  import- 
ant news: 

"Mother,  mother!  the  peddler-man  says  he   is 
^oing  to  marry  me  one  of  ihese   days!    Ain't   it 
Only  think— then  I  can  have  just  as  many 
ppers  as  T  like!" 
"As  many  fiddlesticks!    Go  help  Jane  to  shell 
the  beans  for;  he  dinrer.    Idowisa  there   hadn't 
been  a  peddler  created— they  are  a  pest !" 
Mrs.  Phillips  rocked  violently  forth  in  hsr  heu- 
ed  chair,  and  made  an  extra  knot  in  the  re- 
fractory yarn. 
Tine  passed  on— and  Eva  kept  the  tin  dipper 
ber  most  cherished  playthings— she  did  not 
use  it  often  to  hold  berries  or  to  dip  spring  water 
for  fear  its  lustre  would  be  spoiled,  and  the  name 
of  t£e  donor  effaced.    Mrs.  "Phillips  despised  the 
dipper,  because  she  despised  peddlers,  and   she 
would  have  destroyed  the  "amulet"  had  not  her 
mother's  love  pleaded  against  it. 

80,  when  Eva  had  reached  her  tenth  year— a 
bright  blooming  little  lassie,  full  of  gaiety  and  hap- 
piness— the  dipper  was  still  in  existence,  bearing 
bravely  its  age,  and  its  oft  repeated  struggles  for 
htvor  with  Mrs.  Phillips. 
Eva  was  as  fond  of  it  as  ever— she  kept  it  on  her 
<_c  bureau,  that  it  might   meet  her 


upon  her  arm.  She  came  to  the  narrow  bridge 
across  the  Dead  River,  aDd  was  nearly  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  cros&iag,  when  her  attention  was  attract- 
ed by  a  large  cluster  of  wild  dragon  star,  clinging 
to  the  willows  which  hung  over  the  bridge. — 
Thoughtlessly  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  flowers— the 
advanced  to  the  verge  of  the  bridge — the  plank 
bent  and  tipped  with  her  weight — ons  scream,  and 
the  little  form  of  Eva  struggled  in  the  water.  She 
closed  her  eyes,  and  gave  herself  up  for  los:— bnt 
no,  the  dipper,  bour,d  with  silken  cloth,  acted  like 
a  life-preserver,  and  kept  her  above  the  surface. 

"Help  me!  Do  somebody  come  aad  help  me!" 
she  screamed,  as  she  was  borne  rapidly  past  a  field 
where  some  iarmers  were  engaged  ia  planting  their 
com.  In  a  moment  a  stalwart  man  cleft  the 
waters,  and  reaching  Eva,  he  grasped  her  in  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  he  swam  to  the  shore. 

"Where  am  I,  and  where  is  my  dipper?"  queried 
the  child,  as  soon  as  she  came  to  realization. 

"You are  here,"  replied  the  man;  but  what  of 
jour  dipper?  Ha!  as  I  live, 'tis  an  old  tin  dip- 
per— rather  the  worse  for  wear — tied  up  ia  a  rag! 
Well,  it  has.  saved  your  life !" 

Then  the  good  man  put  her  into  his  rough  farm 
wagon,  and  conveyed  her  home,  taking  particular 
care  to  relate  to  her  mother  the  important  part  the 
dipper  had  played  in  the  rescue  of  the  child. 

"I  tell  you,  ma'am,  it  it  hadn't  been  for  that  ar' 
tin  dipper's  keepin'  her  above  water,  she'd  been  a 
dead  drowned  afore  anv  mortal  man  would  'a 
reached  her!  Thank  the  dipper,  ma'am,  and  not 
me !" 

This  unbiased  account  of  the  praiseworthy  he- 


►nder if  she  will  begin  to  make  pillow-cases  and  f    havior  of  the  dipper,  softened  Mrs.   Phillips  to- 


wards it,  and  she  allowed  Eva  to  keep  it  wherever 
she  chose. 

Months  arcl  years  rolled  away,  and  when  Eva 
Phillips  -was  fourteen,  she  was  sent  to  a  celebrated 
female  seminary  in  a  neighboring  State,  from 
whence,  after  a  long  three  years'  course,  she  was 
emancipated,  a  "finished  young  lady."  But  her 
learning  and  accomplishments  had  not  spoiled  her 
— and  she  was  the  sair\e  gay,  light-hearted,  little 
fairy  who  had  begged  a  tin  dipper  from  Eugene 
Fuller  twelve  years  beft:re. 

Shortly  alter  Eva's  return  to  Wheatwold,  her 
mother  sickened  and  died— and  although  in    many 


by  the  advice  of  her  unknown 
mg  upon  him  with  the  trust  of  a  helpless  child. 
Under  his  protection  Eva  set  out  for  home— home 
no  longer,  now  that  there  wire  none  era  earth  to 
care  for  her.  The  house  at  Wheatwold  bad  basn 
closed  the  greater  part  of  the  time  daring  the  ab- 
sence of  its  owners,  and  had  only  been  opened  a 
few  weeks  be* ore  in  expectation  of  their  coraing. 
Evyy  thing  there  was  damp  and  mouldy— the  cur- 
tains were  falling  to  pieces  in  the  continual  mois- 
ture of  the  atmosphere— everything  bore  the  im- 
press of  gloom.  Still  heavier  fell  that  gloom  when 
the  closed  coffin  holding  the  remains  of  Mr.  Phiilips 
was  brought  ii  to  the  long,  dark  parlor— awaiting 
the.  funeral  service  of  tomorrow's  morn. 

Eva's  affliction  was  dieadful  to  witness.  She 
.took  notice  of  nothing,  neither  ate  nor  slept,  and 
refused  all  attempis  at  consolation  from  her  sym- 
pathizing neighbors.  The  70ung  stranger,  w  no  ac- 
compaiiedher  home,  took  charge  of  everything, 
and  the  good  people  of  the  vicinity,  supposing  him 
to  have  been  an  intimate  friend  of  the  deceased, 
made  no  inquiries  concerning  his  right  to  act  as 
Le  saw  fit  AH 

Mr.  Phillips  was  ou-ied  by  the  side  of  his  wife, 
and  Eva,  on  the  arm  of  the  pitying  old  clergyman, 
went  down  to  the  grave,  icily,  fearlessly — like  a 
stone  statue.  She  exhibited  no  emotion — uttered 
no  sigh— her  eyes  looked  r aguely  into  the  vacancy 
with  a  fixed  immovaole  stare.  The  funeral  over, 
the  stranger  engaged  two  trusty  servants,  a  man 
and  his  wife,  to  take  charge  of  domestic  affairs 
about  the  place,  and  then  be  made  preparations 
for  immediate  departuic.  The  morning  upon 
wtich  he  was  to  leave,  he  sent  a  message  to  Eva, 
requesting  a  private  interview.  It  was  granted, 
and  she  met  him  in  the  little  boudoir  attached  to  her 
cl  amber,  where  she  had  passed  the  greater  portion 
of  rer  time  since  her  return.  He  came  in  with  a 
little  hesitation  in  his  step,  and  took  the  chair  her 
silent  nod  indicated.  As  he  did  so,  his  eyes  invol- 
untary fell  upon  the  tin  dipper,  which  still  retained 
its  olden  place  upon  her  dressing  bureau.  He 
started  up,  and  approached  it,  took  it  into  his  hands 
and  examined  it  long  and  attentively.  Still  re- 
taining it,  he  came  to  Eva's  side : 
"Miss  Phillips!" 

She  looked  up  drearily  en  hearing  her  name 
spoken,  but  her  face  brightened  instantly  when  she 
btbeld  her  own  favorite  plaything. 

"May  I  ask  how  you  came  by  this,  Miss  Phil- 
lips?" 

"It  was  given  to  me  by  a  pedlar  some  years  ago 
— bis  name  »s  on  trie  side." 

"And  you  have  preserved  it  through  all  this 
time — you  evidently  prize  it!" 
"Prize it!— sir,  it  has  saved  my  life" 
"Would  you  like  to  see  the  giver  of  that  trifliae 
toy?— would  it  please  you  to  see  Eugene  Fuller?" 
'Yes,  it  would  gratify   me  above   all  things. 
Then  I  wou'd  thank  him  for  the  good  his  gift  has 
bet n  to  me." 

"Then,  Eva  Phillips,  look  up  inte  my  face  and 
thank  me !— I  am  Eugene  Fuller!" 

The  gill  rose  hurriedly  to  her  ftet,  and  threw  a 
long,  searching  look  into  the  face  of  the  young 
stiaDger.    Then  her  eyes  fell,  and  she  said,  with 
something  of  doubt — 
"Is  it  true?" 

"It  is  true,"  he  answered. 
She  put  her  hands  confidingly  in  his. 
"And  it  is  to  Eugene  Fuller  to  whom  I  owe  my 


> 


respects  a  hart  woman,  she  was  long  aad  sincerely  f  preservation  from  a   terrible  death  in  that  time 


mourned  by  her  daughter. 

With  the  coming  summer,  Mr.  Phillips,  at  Eva  s    I 
earnest  e»  sire,  let  his  farm  for  a  couple   of  years,  /{ 
end  with  bis  child  set  out  upon  a   European  tour. 
Eva's  beauty  excired  the  most  fervent  admiration 
wherever  she  went,  but,    although   she  received 

?  many  offers  of  marriage,  she  preferred  to  remain 
with  h*r  father.  Tney  visited  all  places  of  inter- 
est in  Southern  Eurooe— sighed  over  Rome,  walk- 

*  ed  upon  the  la«  a  of  Vesuvius,  beheld  the  magni- 
ficent prospect  from  the  highest  peak  of  Mont 
Blanc,  floated  upon  the  waters  of  Lake  Constance, 
admired  the  impregnable  fortress  of  Gibraltar,  aud 
sojourned  for  some  months  in  tne  French  capital. 


At  last  tbeyl'ook  passage  rrom  Liverpool  to  New 
thing  in  the  morning.  One  would  j/  York,  and  wufc  melting  hearts  looked  out  dafly 
that  the  little  maiden  was  complete- 


have  tht    . 

ly  infatuated  with  what  Eugene  Fuller  five  years 
styled  a  "love-gage"— and  perhaps  she 
i      r  ting  for  the  fancies  of  a 

c  head — no  philosopher  has  ever  discovered 
bywhfeb  to  analyze  the   mysterious  cam- 
ion. 
One  evening  Mrs.  Philiips  was  coming  into  the 
hing  of  a   hurry,  ami,  it  being 
is  •  hither  foot  against   - 

iquence  lost  her  balance  and 

uttermilk,  which 

left  oa  the  floor. 

atid   spattering,    and 

ough  unhurt,   wi:<   decidedly  put 

i  ul  of  buttermilk,    bnt  out    of  temper. 

.itenwl  so  much 

upon    the  cat's  back  for 

imal    made   her    c 

f  Roi'he  to  drop 

'drs.  Phillip 
anc,   on  Jane's  bringing  a  light,  she  proceeded  to 
Investiga  wondering  all  the  time  what 

ambled  against.    The    wonder 

I   by   the   appearance   of  Bra's 

1      chil',   wearied  out  wri<h    a    long 

ramble    over  the  fields  had  returned   home   so 

drowsy  that  her  mother  had  sent  her  din 

her  room,  without  giving  iipr  a  chance  to  put  away 

sight  of  the   tin  dipper    only 

geeined  to  im  l'tiilhps's  indignation,  and 

she  vow  n-c  on  the  unfortunate  cause  of 

her  fall. 

Consequently,  the  next  morning,  when  Eva 
arose  ana  looked  about  for  her  dipper,  it  was  aot 
tr>  l.c  set  n.     She  went  to  her  mother  for  informa- 


towarCs  the  blue  distance  where  they  knew  home 
was.  A  prosperous  passage  was  theirs;  and  from 
the  bustling  American  metropolis  they  took  the 
exp'  i  an  «j\sttj  u  railroad,  which  would 

get  them  down  at  home  before  sunset. 

But  alas !  how  little,  do  we  know  of  coming  events ! 
How  little  do  we  realize  upon  what  a  slender  cord 
han^s  our  destiDy!  At  lightning  speed  the  train 
which  carried  our  travellers  sped  on;  Eva,  joyous 
aid  cheerful  in  view  of  beholding  once  mora  the 
dear  old  place;  her  father  rejoicing  in  his  daugh- 
ter's huppineps  In  crossing  a  bridge  buHt  on  a 
broad,  but  shallow  river,  the  machinery  of  the  en- 
gine became  disordered, and  in  an  instant  the  foam- 
ing monster  plunged  inta  the  river,  dragging  the 
train  after  it. 

Attic  first  sheck  of  the  overthrow,  a  young 

n.ar>,  who  for  the  v  hole  journey  had  been  regard* 

i  with  a  fixed  attention,  dashed  towards  her 

end  clasping  hir  in  his  arms,  reached  the  tottering 

platform  just  as  it  was  going  over— one  frantic  leap 

,  with  his  set  st  K'bs  burden,   went  down  be- 

•  wan  r  to  rite  almost  instantaneously  and 

!or  short. 

Boldly  he  swam  on,  aad  at  last  ha  safely  reached 
tie  land,  when,  after  ginsg  E. 
some  benevolent  people  who  dwelt  near  thci  briJg-i, 
he  returned  to  the  scene  of  accident,  hoping  to  be 
of  some  service  in  rescuing  those  yet  imperiled. 

Shd  to  relate,  Mr.  Phillips  watr  among  the  Sillei, 
aad  Eva,  on  the  return  df  consciousness,  found  her> 
selt  orphaned,  and  alone  in  the  werld,  among  atrau- 
gers-  It  was  a  new  and  terrible  experience  to  her, 
and  ber  shrinking  spirit  was  nearly  broken  by  the 
shock.    She  suffered  herself  to  be  guided  entirely 


n 


5  c 
r?  a 


when 

Her  voice  failed— a  sigh  heaved  from  the  in- 
most depths  of  her  heart — her  frame  shook — and 
tears,  blessed  tears,  flowed  like  raiu  down  her  face. 
They  were  the  first  she  had  shed  since  her  orphan- 
hood.   Edfcene  blessed  them— for  he  knew  that  -• 
only  through  much  weeping  could  the   burden  o-'g 
i  which  crushed  her  be  lightened.    When  she  was  &  j 
I  calmer,  he  drew  her  down  beside  him  on  a  settee,  g.  s? 
i  and  said—  a 

"Eva,  it  is  fifteen  years  ago,  that  I— a  youth  of  fg  5 
fourteen — charmed  with  the  beauty  of  a  little  girl  g  S 
!  —gave  her  a  tin  dipper,  with  my  name  cat  there-  &B 
ob,  telling  ber  that  when  she  was  older  (and  ^  % 
wben  I  was  older),  I  should  come  back  and  ra*ke  g-f* 
hermywi'e.    Dost  thou  remember  tais,  Eva?" 

Evk's  voice  was  low  and   subdued  as  she  an 
sweiedbina — 
"Yes,  I  remember  it." 
"Well,  lam  older  now— twenty-nine  summers  ^g, 
have  passed  over  my  be«1,  giving  me  wealth  and  2.0 
it  flaence,  and  to-day  the  heart  of  the  man  but 
echoes  the  sentiments  of  the  boy.    I  have  always 
reiiKmbeied    you— have    always    cherished    tue 
a  of  coming  back  to  this  country  town 
where  I  first  saw  you,  and  renew  our  acquaintance- 
ship, but  until  last  Thursday  my  busiues*  could  £  g 
never  be  arrange*   for  leaving.    Fate  placed  m&;c-_ 
on  hoard  that  taial  train  of  cars,  and  the  first  faci^.  g  ^ 
which  I  saw  on  scuting  myself  was   yours.    I  ditjj  °  c 
recogmz*  vou  as  Mr*  PhilUns,  but  I  recopizaix  ^g- 
as  the  twin  of  my  soul,    for  I  have  been  1^2^ 
...ng     believer     In    predestined  marriages,     a  3  £ 

m  t'eath  because  I  felt  that  my  }"ca^\ 
would  b*  desolate Iwithout  you,  and  when  afto 
I  learned  tbat  you  were  Eva  Phillips,  m 
coitcaiment  was    perfect.    And  now,    Eva,  th 
mate  of  my  spirit,  may  I  waive  all  etiquette,  now-  s  r> 
m  when  your  heatt  is  sullcrtng  fron^-jj 
•rowfnlheteavt meat,  and  ask  you  to  &)V%  0  ~ 
r*c,  of  all  t>  e  world,  the  right  to  comfort  you?     S  0  » 
Eva's  head  dropped  lower,  her  lips  quivered    £» 
she  spoke  the  woees  he  so  longed  to  hear :  S.  a 

'  toy  u!"  g- 

He  crew  her  into  his  arms,  and  kissed  off  tti    g  * 
:  ich  still  clung  to  ber  check.    And  she    g*g 
fedingagsin  the  warm  band  of  affection  aroun    »g 

•  ked  up  with  hope  aud  trust  to  the  hope  0    „, 

til  happitiiss— to  Heiven.  .      §,3 

Kngene  Fuller  and  Eva  Phillips  were    marne        p 

two  months  from  that  day,  and  the  health  of  th    g-^ 

was    drunk  by   the  coterie  of  distmgeis     %? 


not 

you 
strcng 


THE   ARMADILLO. 

The  armadillo,  or,  as  the  Guarani  Indians  term  io,  tatu,  has  the 
whole  of  the  upper  surface  of  the  body,  the  top  of  the  head,  and  also  the  tail,  defended 
by  plates  and  bands  of  horny  or  even  bony  armor,  diversely  arranged  in  the  several  spe- 
cies. This  armor,  which  reminds  us  of  that  of  the  lobster,  consists  of  a  broad  buckler 
covering  the  neck  and  shoulders,  and  a  similar  buckler  covering  the  hind  part  of  the 
back  and  the  thighs.  Between  these  bucklers,  and  occupying  the  centre  of  the  back,  are 
bands,  laid  upon  a  tough,  leathery  skin,  which,  when  the  animal  rolls  itself  up  in  a  hedge- 
hog-like fashion,  appear  between  them.  These  bands  vary  in  number  in  the  different 
species,  and,  if  we  may  trust  Azara,  even  in  the  same  species,  according  to  age  or  sex. 
The  top  of  the  head  is  defended  by  a  flat  skull-cap  ;  the  tail,  variable  in  length,  is  inclosed 
either  in  bands  or  in  a  wrinkled  sheath,  and  the  limbs  are  encased  in  a  tough  skin  more 
or  less  studded  with  hard  pimples.  The  general  armorof  the  head,  body  and  tail  presents 
a  tessellated  appearance,  being  composed,  in  some  instances,  of  square  or  angular  pieces 
welded,  as  it  were,  together ;  in  others,  as  in  the  mataco,  of  rosettes,  arranged  with  order 
and  elegance.  The  power  of  rolling  themselves  up  into  a  ball-like  figure  possessed  by 
these  animals,  is  not  possessed  to  the  same  degree  alike  by  every  species,  and  in  general 
this  defensive  attitude  is  only  assumed  when  they  are  surprised  and  unable  to  regain  their 
burrows,  to  which  they  first  direct  their  course.  Still,  it  is  their  ordinary  attitude  of  repose. 
The  armadillocs  are,  with  a  few  exceptions,  burrowing  animals,  and  also  nocturnal,  at 
least  to  a  great  extent  in  their  habits.  Their  burrows  are  very  deep  and  narrow,  with 
two  or  three  sharp  turns,  and  they  excavate  them  with  wonderful  expedition.  It  is  only 
by  smoke  or  by  water  that  they  can  be  driven  forth  from  these  retreats;  such  is  their 
strength,  and  such  is  the  tenacity  of  their  hold  in  the  narrow  passage,  that  they  have  been 
known  to  leave  their  tail  in  the  hands  of  the  hunter  on  his  attempt  to  drag  them  out.    The 


THE  MONK  WEATHER  GLASS. 


.     THE  MONK  WEATHER-GLASS. 

The  most  simple  form  of  the  hygrometer  was  formerly  a  very 
favorite  indicator  of  the  state  of  the  weather,  and  usually  con- 
sisted of  the  figure  of  a  monk  with  his  hood,  which  is  attached 
to  a  bit  of  catgut ;  this  covering  of  paper,  painted  to  represent 
the  hood,  falls  over  the  head  on  the  approach  of  damp  weather, 
and  inclines  well  back  during  the  period  that  the  air  is  dry  or 
contains  less  moisture  ;  and  simple  as  it  is,  this  hygrometer,  in 
conjunction  with  the  reading  of  the  barometer,  may  assist  pater- 
familias in  deciding  the  fate  of  a  pet  bonnet  or  velvet  mantle, 
which  is  or  is  not  to  be  worn  on  a  doubtful  day.  The  hood,  a  b, 
covers  the  head  to  dotted  line  c  in  wet  weather,  and  takes 
various  intermediate  positions,  being  quite  back  on  the  shoul- 
ders in  dry  states  of  the  air.  A  thermometer,  d,  is  usually 
attached. 


%*u, 


The  Great  i;<lu«a- 
tional      Game.  —  We 

have  purchased  the  en- 
tire patent  for  this  won- 
derful I'.ombination  of 
instruction  with  amuse- 
ment, which  combines 
the  principles  of  Addi- 
tion, Subtraction,  Multi- 
plication, and  Division, 
with  the  elements  of 
chance  and  skill  to  a 
.greater  degree  than 
any  other  game  ever 
invented.  Without 
~  doubt  this  will  be  the 
:>|pitS»  most  popular  parlor 
amusement  of  the 
season. 

Aritlmiaielleis  played 
on  a  board  the  same 
size  as  a  cue  alley,  and 
all  the  necessary  imple- 
ments for  the  cue  alley 
accompany  each  game 
without  extra  charge. 


OLD  DR. 

QUAKER 


^ 

fc 


* 


HYDRAULIC 

CLOTHES 

WASHED  < 

AND 

WRINGER 
SEAT  BENEFACTOR! 


KING  OF  THE  WEST 

Washing  Machine  I 


BAY     STATE 

GAS    STOVES, 

FOR    COOKING. 

Patented  18S5. 


TIIR  NEW  BIBCOCK  PATENT 

and  vKiiETABLE  CHOPPER    FIRE     EXTINGUISHER  ! 


THE  HOME 
Washing   Machine, 


r^saijrct  away 


The  Good  Wife. 


It  is  just  as  you  say,  neighbor  Green, 

A  treasure  indeed  is  my  wife ; 
Such  another  for  bustle  and  work 

A  never  have  found  in  my  life, 
But  then  she  keeps  every  one  else. 

As  busy  as  birds  on  the  wing; 
There  is  never  a  moment  for  rest, 

She  is  such  a  fidgety  thing 

She  makes  the  best  bread  in  the  town. 

Her  pies  are  a  perfect  delight, 
Her  coffee  a  rich  golden  brown, 

Her  crullers  and  puddings  just  right. 
But  then  while  I  eat  them  she  tells 

Of  the  care  and  worry  they  bring, 
Of  the  martyr-like  toil  she  endures— 

Oh,  she's  such  a  fidgety  thing. 

My  house  is  as  neat  as  a  pin, 

You  should  see  how  the  door  handle  shines, 
And  all  the  soft  cushioned  chairs, 

And  nicely  swept  carpets  are  mine. 
But  then  she  so  frets  at  the  dust, 

At  a  fly,  at  a  straw,  at  a  string, 
That  I  stay  out  of  doors  all  I  can, 

She  is  such  a  fidgety  thing. 

She  doctors  the  neighbors,  Oh,  yes, 

If  a  child  has  the  measles  or  croup, 
She  is  there  with  her  saffron  and  squills. 

Her  dainty-made  gruels  and  soup. 
But  then  she  insists  on  her  right 

To  physic  my  blood  in  the  spriug*; 
And  she  takes  the  whole  charge  of  my  bile-^ 

Oh,  she  is  such  a  fidgety  thing ! 

She  knits  all  my  stockings  herself, 

My  shirts  are  bleached  white  as  the  snow ; 
My  old  clothes  look  better  than  new 

Yet  daily  more  threadbare  they  grow. 
But  then  if  a  morsel  of  lint 

Or  dust  on  my  trousers  should  cling, 
I"m  sure  of  one  sermon  at  least. 

She  is  such  a  fidgety  thing. 

You  have  heard  of  a  spirit  so  meek. 

So  much  that  it  never  opposes, 
Its  own  it  dares  never  to  speak— 

Alas  I  am  meeker  than»MoseV»r\ 
But  then  I  am  not  reconcSfci  •    j  - 

The  subordinate  music  to  siDg: 
I  submit  to  get  rid  of  a  row, 

She  is  such  a  fidgety  thing,   t,      . 

It's  just  as  you  say,  neighbor  Green, 

A  treasure  to  me  has  been  given, 
But  sometimes  I  fain  would  be  glad 

To  lay  up  my  treasure  in  heaven. 
But  then  every  life  has  its  cross, 

Most  pleasures  on  earth  have  their  sting ; 
She's  a  treasure  I  know  neighbor  Green, 

But  she  is  such  a  fidgety  thing. 


Charily. 

••Now abideth  these  three:  Faith,  Hope,  Charity 
but  the  greatest  of  these  is  Charity." 

If  we  knew  the  cares  and  crosses 
Crowding  round  our  neighbor's  way ; 

It  we  knew  the  little  losses. 
Sorely  grievous  day  by  day, 

Would  we  then  so  often  chide  him 
For  his  lack  of  thrift  and  gain, 

Leaving  on  his  heart  a  shadow- 
Leaving  on  our  lives  a  stain'. 

If  we  knew  the  clouds  above 

Hold  but  gentle  blessings  there, 
Would  we  turn  away  all  trembling, 

In  our  blind  and  weak  despair  l 
Would  we  shrink  from  little  shadow*, 

Flitting  o'er  the  dewey  grass, 
If  we  knew  that  birds  of  Eden. 

Were  in  mercy  flying  past ! 

Tt  we  knew  the  silent,  story 

Quiver  ng  through  the  heart  of  pain, 
I  Would  we  .irive  it  with  our  coldness 

Back  to  haunts  ot  guilt  again/ 
Life  hath  many  a  tangled  crossn  g, 

Jov  hath  many  a  break  ot  woe, 
But  the  cheeks,  lear-wasied,  are  whitest, 

And  kept  in  lite  are  tlowers  by  snow. 

Let  us  reach  into  our  bosoms 

For  the  kev  to  other  lives, 
And  with  love  toward  erring  nature, 
Cherish  good  that  still  survives; 
i  So  that  when  our  disrobed  spirits 

Soar  to  realms  of  light  above, 
We  may  sav,  "Dear  Fftber,  love  us, 
E'en  as  we  have  sho-vn  our  love. 


ASPIRATIONS. 

Our  aims  are  all  t  w  l»'f?"  i  we  try 

To  gain  the  siuni.^t  at  a  bound, 
When  we  should  rea  "A  it  step  by  step, 

And  climb  the  ladder  mind  by  round. 
He  who  would  climb  th^fceiffbgl  sublime 

Or  breathe  tho  purer  ail' of  lite, 
Must  not  expec;  _o  rest  in  e.V,e,< 

But  brace  himself  for  toil  orstrffe. 

We  should  not  in  our  blindness  seek 

To  grasp  alone  for  grand  and  gie&t, 
Disdaining  every  smaller  good, 

For  trifles  make  the  aggregate. 
And  if  a  cloud  should  hover  o'er 

Our  weary  pathway  like  a  pall, 
Remember  God  permits  it  there, 

And  his  good  purpose  reigns  o'er  all. 

Life  should  be  full  of  earnest  work, 

Our  hearts  undashed  by  fortune's  frown; 
Let  perseverance  conquer  fate, 

And  merit  seize  the  victor's  crown. 
The  battle-is  not  to  the  strong, 

The  race  not  always  to  the  fleet; 
And  he  who  seeks  to  pluck  the  star3, 

Will  lose  the  jewels  at  his  feet. 


How  neatly  and  lovingly,  in  the  following 
verses,  has  some  one  expressed  the  thought  that 
springs  daily  from  many  a  heart  while  waiting  pa- 
tiently for  "  The  Step  on  the  Stair :" 

"Twilight  is  coming,  and  work  is  o'er, 
Ana  I  am  quite  free  from  all  care ; 
I  silently,  patiently  watch,  and  I  wait 
For  the  sound  of  the  step  on  the  stair. 

"'Tis  a  welcome  sound  to  my  listening  ear, 
And  my  heart  beats  quick  and  fast ; 
For  I  know  that  my  darling's  returning  to  me, 
And  the  toil  of  the  day  is  past. 

"Baby  is  sleeping  within  his  warm  nest, 
The  tea-kettle  sings  in  loud  glee; 
Nearer  the  sound  of  the  step  on  the  stairs- 
Husband's  come  home  to  nis  tea. 

"He  comes,  and  I'm  happy:  my  heart  is  at  rest; 
I've  no  trouble,  nor  shadow  of  care. 
How  he'll  laugh  when  I  tell  him  I  watch  and  I  wait 
For  the  sound  of  his  step  on  the  stair. 

"God  grant  that  we  ever  may  thus  happy  be; 
All  trials  we'll  equally  share. 
If  I  were  called  first  to  that  bright  home  above, 
I'd  still  list  for  his  step  on  the  stair." 


The  Bktjtalitt  of  Mak.— Of  all  the  creature 
in  existence,  whetherthey  be  tame  or  wild,  whether 
they  are  in  a  state  of  peace  or  war,  man  is  the 
only  one  that  lays  violent  bands  on  the  female  of 
his  species.  The  bear  offers  no  injury  to  his;  the 
Jionness  is  safe  by  the  side  of  the  lion;  the  heifer 
has  no  fear  of  the  horns  of  the  bull.  What  pest 
of  abomination— what  fury  from  hades,  has  come 
to  .disturb  in  this  respect  the  bosom  of  human 
hind  ?  Husband  and  wife  deafen  one  another  with 
injurious  speeches,  tear  one  another's  faces,  bathe 
the  genial  bed  with  tears,  nay,  sometimes  with 
bloodshed.  la  our  eyes,  the  man  who  can  allow 
himself  to  give  a  blow  to  a  woman,  or  even  hurt 
»  hair  of  her  head,  is  a  violator  of  nature  and  a 
rebel  against  God ;  he  that  can  do  that  is  not  a 

£>»"  at  all,  but  a  fiend  with  a  man's  face. 
" O  shame,  where  is  thy  blush!" 


An  ©Id  Man's  Dream. 

Beside  a  stream  whose  liquid  beam 

Was  carolling  and  shining, 
As  dewy  blades  and  azure  flowers 

Harinously  were  twining, 
An  old  man  sat  and  heeded  not 

The  bliss  below— above  him; 
But  sighed,  that  in  a  lovely  spot 

No  heart  was  there  to  love  him. 

From  bower  and  tree  the  bird  and  bee 

Flew  happily  over,  singing, 
While  from  a  tower  across  the  lea 

A  marriage  bell  was  ringing. 
The  old  man  wended  to  the  place 

And  mot  the  people  leaving ; 
He  looked  upon  each  sunny  face 

And  stayed  a  while  his  grieving. 

But  as  the?  left,  again  bereft 

Of  joy,  lie  looked  above  him 
And  sighed,  though  all  the  sky  was  blue, 

That  there  was  none  to  love  him. 
Again  he  sought  the  wildwood  stream 

And  rested,  sad  and  weary, 
Upon  Its  mossy  bank  to  dream 

A  vision  bright  and  cheery. 

He  seemed  to  rove  in  a  land  of  love, 

Where  lute-toned  bells  were  ringing, 
And  decked  with  jewelled  light  was  one 

Whose  speech  wuh  more  than  singing. 
Oh.  she  wa«  memory's  morning  light. 

That  beamed  on  earth  above  him ; 
He  slumbered,  woke  ami  found  that  night 

God,  Heaven  and  her  to  love  him. 


"Quie*t."  There  is  a  period  in  life  when  to  be 
quiet  is  the  greatest  enjoyment  that  can  offer 
itself.  This  must  be  the  rest  after  a  well-fought 
day,  the  sleep  of  the  brain  after  intense  and  pro- 
tracted thought,  the  escape  into  some  secluded 
nook  of  the  man  who  has  been  too  long  deafened 
by  the  roar  and  whirl  of  a  great  multitude. 
Above  all,  it  must  not  be  the  mere  precautions 
taken  by  indolence  for  the  sake  of  selfish  sloth. 
The  rest  only  of  the  laboring  man  is  sweet,  and, 
however  humble  may  be  the  home  whose  influ- 
ence lulls  the  soul  to  pure  thoughts  and  quiet 
influences,  that  at  least  shall  be  the  one  spot  in 
all  earth  for  which  the  heart  shall  pant  at  last, 
when  the'  great  battle  of  the  world  has  been 
fought,  and  fought  well.  Whether  it  bo  won  or 
lost,  the  thoughts  of  that  quiet  home  shall  come 
after  the  conflict,  and  if  itoo  lost  the  subdued 
but  not  quite  broken  man  may  deem  himself 
happy  if  he  find  an  asylum  beneath  the  roof 
where  every  early  image  is  recalled  and  tho  in- 
tervening (struggle  is  shut  out  like  an  ugly  dream,, 


0  Elver  of  Time!  how  oeaselessly 
Thou  flowest  on  to  the  boundless  sea— 
Whether  upon  the  funny  tide 
The  sweet  spring- blossoms  drop  and  glide, 
Of  whether  the  dreary  snow-flakes  only 
Fall  in  the  winter  cold  and  lonely — 
W  hether  we  wake  or  whether  we  sleep, 
Thou  hastest  on  to  Eternity's  deep. 

Twas  long  ago  in  my  life's  sweet  May, 
My  childhood  silently  floated  away. 

1  bear  the  noon-bells  distantly  o&ime, 
And  youth  glides  by  on  the  stream  of  tims; 
My  days,  though  sunny  or  overoast, 
Are  stealing  away  to  the  changeless  past; 
But  I  mark  their  flight  with  a  smile  of  cheer, 
And  not  with  a  sigh  or  a  falling  tear. 

So  often,  se  sadly,  the  people  say 
"Passing  away !  still  passing  away !" 
That  the  words  have  borrowed  a  peneiTO  tone, 
And  &  shade  of  sadness  not  their  own. 
And  I  fain  would  reclaim  the  notes  again 
From  their  minor  key  on  the  lios  of  men, 
And  make  the  refrain  of  my  gladest  lay 
"Passing  away !  ever  passing  away !" 

For  what  is  the  transient?  and  what  will  last? 
What  maketh  its  grave  in  the  growing  Past? 
And  what  lives  an  in  the  deathless  spheres 
Where  taught  corrupts  by  the  rust  of  years? 
Doth  Time,  who  gathers  our  fairest  flowers, 
Destroy  no  weeds  in  this  world  of  oars? 
What  rises  victorious  o'er  dull  deo*y  ? 
And  what  is  that  which  is  passing  away? 

Our  time  is  flying.    The  years  sweep  by 
Like  flitting  clouds  in  a  breezy  sky. 
But  time  is  a  drep  of  the  boundless  sea 
Of  an  infinite  eternity. 
As  our  seas  are  spanned  by  the  arching  skies, 
'Neath  the  presence  of  God  that  ocean  lies, 
And  though  tides  may  fall  im  liie'e  shallow  bay, 
E*einity's"deep  is  not  ebbing  away. 

Lift  to  the  werds  which  the  mourner  saith, 

"The  lives  we  have  loved  are  los  in  death." 

O  tell  him  that  Jesus  hath  brought  to  light 

A  life  not  subject  to  mortal  blight. 

We  are  not  bubbles  that  shine  aod  break 

On  the  river  of  time  in  the  great  world's  wake. 

While  immortality  cannot  decay, 

Our  real  life  is  not  passing  away. 

The  trivial  things  of  this  earthly  life, 
Its  petty  cares,  and  its  noise  and  strife; 
Its  riches  that  moth  and  rust  can  spoil, 
Its  fretting  troubles,  and  fruitless  tail; 
Its  greater  eorrow*,  its  woes  and  pain; 
Its  long  despair,  and  its  hope  in  vain ; 
Its  clouds  of  anguish  and  dark  dismay ; — 
These  are  the  things  that  are  passing  away. 

But  the  heart's  best  treasures  of  faith  and  love, 

Bear  the  seal  of  deathiessnesa  from  above ; 

While  the  summers  flit  over  earth's  green  plain, 

The  roses  die,  and  the  thorns  remaia: 

But  the  heart's  sweet  flowers  know  a  better  way— 

The  blossoms  live  and  the  thorns  decay ; 

And  we  know  that  beyond  heaven's  crystal  wall 

No  thorn  can  grow  and  no  sweet  rose  I  all. 

While  our  Heavenly  Father's  throne  is  sure, 

Wbile  eternal  ages  shall  endure, 

We  need  not  grieve  for  the  jeys  of  sense 

Which  day  after  day  are  passing  henca; 

Though  the  heavens  depart,  and  this  lower  world 

Be  taken  away  like  a  banner  furled, 

Though  the  sun  and  the  steady  stars  be  gone, 

Our  deathless  happiness  liveth  on. 

As  we  climb  Heaven's  stairway  we  need  not  grieve, 
For  the  rich  carved  work  of  the  step  we  leave, 
For  brighter  than  which  has  gone  before, 
Is  the  near  approach  to  the  palace  door. 
And  oh,  the  joy  as  we  enter  in ! 
And  find  naught  gone  but  the  stain  of  sin, 
And  know,  »s  we  look  back  over  the  way, 
That  only  the  shadows  were  passing  away ! 


Parental  Indulgence. — No  children  are  ever 
so  1  appv  as  those  who  have  been  early  taught 
implicit  and  immediate  obedience  to  a  paretit's 
wishes,  or  will,  or  commands.  Would  that  parents 
more  universally  felt  that!  When  they  suffer  their 
children  to  disobey  them,  they  are  absolutely  teach- 
in  g  them  to  sin  against  God  by  breaking  one  of 
His  commandments,  and  one  to  which  the  promise 
of  long  lite  is  given.  No  wonder  if  God,  in  just 
displeasure,  remove  the  child  from  such  tuition. 
Remember  «•  hat  a  solemn  and  instructive  lesson  the 
Holy  Ghost  has  given  in  the  history  of  Eli.  There 
is  much  danger,  from  an  amiable  wish  to  gravify  a 
child,  of  counter-ordering  our  own  orders.  If  you 
once  direct  a  child  to  do  a  thing,  however  unplea- 
sant it  may  be  to  yourself  or  the  child,  insist  with 
firmness  upon  immediate  and  full  obedience. 
There  should  be  no  demur  nor  delay.  Prompt 
obedience  is  as  lovely  in  a  child,  as  its  enforcement 
is  dignified  in  a  parent.  The  firm  and  trentle  con- 
straint of  parental  authority  commands  respect, 
and  even  inspires  reverence  and  love  in  the  child 
towards  the  parent.  Thus,  then,  if  you  desire 
your  children  should  grow  up  cherishing  for  you 
profound  esteem  and  affection,  insist  upon  this 
filial  dun — the  duty  of  implicit  obedience — and 
commence  early.  To  begin  right  is  the  way  to  end 
right. 


ff 


Goodness  of  heart  has  comfort  for  all  the  troubles 
of  the  soul ;  it  is  the  angel  of  consolation  and  hope; 
it  docs  more  than  relieve  misfortune,  it  teaches  how 
lo  support  it  ;  it  reanimates  the  being  who  is  laid 
low  by  adversity,  communicating  to  him  its  own 
moral  life;  it  bestows  upon  men  the  greatest  of 
blessings     it  makes  them  love  virtue. 


A  Hymn    for    the    Sabbath. —  The    following 

i  beautiful  hymn  iB  from  the  pen  of  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Wordsworth,  canon  of  Westminster  Abbey,  and 
nephew  of  the  poet  laureate  : 


O  day  of  rest  and  gladness, 

O  day  of  joy  and  light, 
O  balm  of  care  and  sadness, 

BfoSt  beautiful,  aiost  .bright ; 
On  thee,  the  high  and  lowly, 

Bending  before  the  Throne, 
Sing  Rely.  Holy,  Holy, 

To  the  Great  Three  in  One. 


On  thee,  at  the  Creation, 

The  Light  first  had  its  birth  ; 
On  th  e  for  our  s*l<^tion 

Christ  rose  from  dpp  bs  cf  earth  ; 
On  thee  our  Lord  victorious 

The  Spirit  Bent  from  Heaven, 
And  thus  on  thee  most  glorious 

A  triple  Light  was  given. 


Thou  art  a  port  protected 

From  storms  that  round  us  rice  ; 
A  garden  intersected 

With  streams  of  Farsflbc  . 
Tbou  art  a  cooling  fountain 

la  life's  dry,  dreary  sand  ; 
From  thee,  like  Pisgah's  mountain, 

We  view  our  Promised  Land. 


Tbou  art  a  holy  ladder, 

Where  angels  go  and  come ; 
Each  Sunday  finds  us  gladder, 

Nearer  to  Heaven,  our  home  ; 
A  day  of  sweet  reflection, 

Thou  art  a  day  of  love  ; 
A  day  of  resurrection 

From  earth  to  things  above. 


To-day  on  weary  nations 

The  Heavenly  manna  falls  ; 
To  holy  convocations 

The  silver  trumpet  calls, 
Where  Gospel-light  is  glowing 

With  pure  and  radiant  beams, 
And  living  water  flowing 

With  soul-refreshing  streams. 

vr. 
New  graces  ever  gaining 

From  this  our  day  of  rest, 
We  reach  the  rest  remaining 

To  spirit  of  the  blest ; 
To  Holy  Ghost  be  praises, 

To  Father  and  to  Son  ; 
The  Cuurch  her  voice  upraises, 

To  Thee,  blest  Three  in  One. 


S 


— 


^ 


■"      ■ 


-    y_^_ 


BYJmPdLTMir. 


BT  MRS.  K  H.  BSQOTJRirBT. 


"  I  »m  poor  and  needy,  yet  the  Lord  thfcaketh  upon 
me  " 

Psalm  40th  end 17th. 

Savieur !  who  while  here  below 
Cbose  the  rank?  ol  want  and  woe, 
Friends,  no  princely  power  that  bore, 
Friends,  the  fwher's  coat  who  were, 
Sought  the  weary  ana  the  worn 
"W  n  in  the  world  beheld  with  scorn. 
Art  Thou  not,  though  throned  above, 
Full  of  pity,  full  of  love? 
Then  regard  the  suppliant  eight, 
Poer  and  needy,  Lord,  am  1. 

Knowledge  here,  with  toil  and  pain, 
Drop  by  drop,  we  slowly  gain; 
Or,  perclmnca,  its  pearls  and  gold 
Let  pome  fickle  casket  bold. 
Treacherous  Memory,  weak  and  vain, 
Blinded  tye,  or  soften'd  brain ; 
All  our  wisdom  fcere  on  earth, 
In  Thy  sight  in  nothing  worth, 
Save  with  penitence  wo  cry. 
Poor  and  needy,  Lord,  am  I. 

Heart  with  heart  forms  linked  line, 
Love  and  Hope  strong  tendrilg  twine, 
There  our  garner'd  joys  we  lay 
Building  for  a  future  day. 
Tearful  words  disao  ve  our  tru*t, 

'  th  to  earth,  and  dust  to  duxt." 
Falling  clods,  and  closing  tomb. 
Board  and  fireside  wrapp  d  in  gloom; 
Deign  the  gushing  tear  to  dry, 
Too.-  and  needy,  Lord,  am  I. 

Wealth,  with  all  its  envied  fame, 
in  Hood  and  flame; 
-  a  wreck  whence  none  may  save, 

d  lrom  the  wave; 
no  balm  it*  lord  to  cheer 
In  the  hour  of  mortal  lear; 
Bnt,  ala» !  among  his  heirs 
Oft  engendereth  feud*  and  cares. 
>.'ot  on  gold  would  I  rely, 
Poor  and  needy,  Lord  am  I. 

We  are  teld,  though  frail  his  span, 
Thou  dost  deign  to  tbinK  of  man; 
And  that  bleseed  word  transcends 
.All  that  earth's  distinction  lends; 
Nought  have  we,  the  horn  of  day, 
For  such  priceless  thought  to  pay, 
Nought  save  impotence  and  death, 
Wandering  feet,  and  fainting  breath, 
Unto  Thee  the  helpless  fly, 
I'oor  and  needy,  Lord,  am  I. 
Haijtford,  Conn.,  June  24th,  1808. 


K 


BT  MRS.  L.    H.    SIOOWRHBT. 


My  country  weepeth  sore 

Above  ber  fallen  brave, 
By  field,  by  grove,  by  stream  they  lie. 
Their  faces  toward  their  native  sky, 

And  scarcely  find  a  grave. 

She  listenetb  to  the  wail 

That  from  a  thousand  homes 
By  town,  by  tower,  by  prairie  bright, 
At  dawn,  at  noon,  at  dead  of  night, 
In  wild  discordance  comes. 

She  at  the  threshold  grieve?, 

Where  stretched  on  pallets  lie 
Beneath  the  surgeon's  scalpel  keen 
The  stalwart  form  the  noble  mien, 
Convuls'd  with  agony. 

She  bendeth  o'er  the  wave 

Where  sank  the  patriot  train, 
Whose  volleying  guns  a  farewell  sent 
As  downward  with  their  ship  they  went 
To  the  unfathomed  main. 

Sbe  listenetb  as  the  Earth 
Surchar'd  with  bloody  rain, 

Her  many  cherished  sons  demands ; 

Her  bold,  her  beautiful,  whose  hands 
Make  rich  her  harvest-wain. 

She  kneeleth  at  the  Throne 

Of  mercy,  day  and  night : 
Sbe  loometh  o'er  the  war  cloud  dim, 
With  an  unwavering  trust  in  Him 

Who  doeth  all  things  right. 


tH 


HYMN    OP    PAITH. 



BT  MBB.  I~  H.  SIOOtHBNBT. 


God  sent  me  in  this  world  to  stay, 
And  Be  will  take  me  hence  away, 
Whene'er  His  wisdom  shall  decree 
It  is  the  fitting  time  for  me. 


.awjiit 


Where'er  the  sphere  or  what  the  task, 
It  Is  not  meet  lor  me  to  ask ; 
Since  He  who  gave  this  being  first. 
And  lent  the  breath  that  stirred  its  dust, 
Hath  a  full  right  to  fix  its  date,  >* 

And  as.He  wills  to  legislate. 

Why  need  I  fear  alone  to  tread 
The  unseen  regions  of  the  dead? 
To  earth  I  came  without  a  guide, 
And  found  my  every  want  supplied. 

I'll  reach  my  hand  to  Death  and  say, 
Blest  angel  lesd  me  hence  away, 
Where'er  His  love  appoints  my  lot, 
I  follow  theo,  and  murmur  not ; 
And  whereso'er  His  sway  is  known, 
There  Truth  and  Goodness  fill  the  Throne 

It  Is  not  mine  to  choose  the  way,        rt  u 
Mine  bnt  the  province  to  ebey ; 
And  so  I  lift  this  trustful  song, 
Bidding  my  soul  bo  gUd  and  strong 
In  Him  who  will  not  do  it  wrong. 

IIOHF    AND    HEAVES 


C£> 


Dr.  Watts  expresses  his  feelings  during  a  painful 
£  illness  in  the  following  beautiful  and  characteristic 
lines  : 

"  Yet,  gracious  God,  amidst  these  storms  of  nature, 
Thine  eyes  behold  a  sweet  and  sacred  calm 
Reign  through  the  realms  of  conscience.    All  within 

■  Lies  peaceful,  all  compoeed.    'Tig  wondrous  grace 
Keeps  off  tby  terrors  from  this  humble  bosom, 
Though  stained  with  sins  and  follies,  yet  serene 
In  penitential  peace  and  cheerful  hope, 
Sprinkled  and  guarded  with  atoning  b'.ood. 
Thy  vital  smiles,  amidst  this  desolation, 
Break  out  In  happy  moments  with  bright  radiance, 
Cleaving  the  gloom  ; — the  fair  celestial  light 
Seftens  and  gilds  the  horrors  of  the  storm, 
And  richest  cordials  to  the  heart  conveys. 

"  0  !  glorious  solace  of  immense  distress, 
A  conscience  and  a  God.    A  friend  at  home, 
And  better  friend  on  high.    This  is  my  rock 
Against  infernal  arrows.    Rise,  my  soul, 
Put  on  thy  courage.    Here's  the  living  spring 
Of  joys  divinely  sweet  and  ever  new, 
<"■ '         A  peaceful  conscience  and  a  smiling  heaven." 

PRAY  FOE  WHOM  THOU  LOVEST. 

"Pray  for  whom  thou  lovest;  thou  wilt  never  have  any 
Comfort  of  his  friendship  for  whom  thou  dost  not  pray"." 

Yes,  pray  for  whom  thou  lovest;  thou  mayst  vainly.  Idly 

seek 
The  fervid  words  of  tenderness  by  feeble  words  to  speak ; 
Go  kneel  before  thy  Father's  throne,  and  meekly,  humbly 

there  ro*#*aY  M a  , 

Ask  blessing  for  the  loved  one  In  the  silent  hour  of  prayer. 

Yes,  pray  for  whom  thou  lovest ;  If  uncounted  wealth  were 

thine— 
The  treasures  of  the  boundless  deep,  the  riches  of  the  mine— 
Thou  could'st  not  to  thy  cherished  friends  a  gift  so  dear 

impart, 
As  the  earnest  benediction  of  a  deeply  loving  heart. 

Seek  not  the  worldling's  friendship,  it  shall  droop  and  wave 
ere  long 

In  the  cold  and  heartless  glitter  of  the  pleasure-loving 
throng; 

But  seek  the  friend  who  when  thy  prayer  for  him  shall  mur- 
mured be, 

Breathes  forth  in  faithful  sympathy  a  fervent  prayer  for 
thee. 

And  should  the  flowery  path  cf  life  become  a  path  of  pain, 

The  friendship  formed  in  bonds  like  these  thy  spirit  shall 
sustain; 

Years  may  not  chill,  nor  change  invade,  nor  poverty  Im- 
pair, 

The  love  that  grew  and  flourished  at  the  holy  time  of 
prayer. 

A  head  properly  constituted  can  accommodate 
itself  to  whatever  pillows  the  vicissil  tides  or  fortune 
may  place  under  it. 


BT  MBB.  I.  H.  8IOOTJRMBT. 


If  thou  hast  peace  at  home 
What  boots  it  though  the  rabble  rout 
Uplift  their  hoarse,  discordant  shout,— 
Though  the  unquiet  world  should  tost 
And  cast  up  leculences  and  dross, 
And  warring  tides  each  other  mock 
And  vengeful  surges  smite  the  rock,— 
And  men  contend  with  angry  mind 
II  thou  in  shelter'd  nook  cans't  liud 

Sweet  peace  at  home. 

Why  noed'st  thou  care  though  throngs  of  pride 

It  (lion  haht  love  at  home, 
With  sneer  of  scorn  thy  course  deride  r 
Assail  the  fabric  of  our  fame 
And  ring  their  changes  on  tby  name? 
Thou  would'st  not  to  their  ta*te  refuse    - 
Such  pungent  pastime  if  it  choot-e, 
While  shielded  fioin  the  unseemly  blast 
Thy  comforts  all  are  garner'd  fast 

By  love  at  home. 

If  there  is  rest  in  heaven, 
And  so  the  Unerring  Word  declares, 
Why  shrink  from  labors,  griefs  or  cares! 
The  appointed  agencies  to  try 
Thy  patience  and  thy  constancy. 
For  like  the  illusion  of  a  dream, 
Like  passing  bubbles  on  a  stream, 
Shall  be  their  memory  aud  their  pain 
When  thou  at  last  shalt  blissful  gain 

The  rest  of  Heaven. 


WfiKN  beings  who  are  destined  to  be  blessed  with 
real  friendship  meet  for  the  first  time  in  the  world, 
does  it;  not  seem  that  they  recognize  each  other,  as 
if  an  indistinct  presentiment  had  announced  them 
to  one  another? 


THIS    BEAUTIFUL    LIFE. 


BT  MRS.  1.  H.  8ia0rjRS6T. 


TRUE  RICHES. 

Tldnk'st  thou  the  man  whose  mansions  hold 
Xhe  worldling's  pomp  and  miser's  gold, 

Obtains  a  richer  prizo 
Than  he  who  in  his  cot  at  rest 
Finds  heavenly  peace  a  willing  guest, 
And  boars  tho  promise  in  his  breast 

Of  treasure  in  the  skies? 

[Mrs.  Sigourney. 


I> KAY  Kit. 
True  ppi.M'r  If  not  the  noisy  sound 

That  clamorous  lip*  repeat, 
lint  the  deep  silence  of  a  soul 

That  clasps  Jehovah's  feet.— Sioourxet. 


How  beautiful  this  earth,  where  God 

His  cfaseless  bounty  shows, 
The  dropping  of  au'umnal  fruits, 

The  fragranco  of  the  rose, 
Ar>d  all  tho  varied  harvest  wealth 

That  he  on  man  bestows. 

How  beauf  iful  the  snowy  floefcs 

That  in  green  pastures  feed, 
The  patier't.  plastic  herds,  intout 

And  with  intelligence  en< 
The  noble,  prancing  si 

How  beautiful  tho  human  faoe, 

Th  ' 

■ 

Creatl".  e  g.»  rv  shines. 

How  bi  unfolding  mind, 

Wh>  ira 

unrusting  gold, 
irn, 
And  Aiot-  ory  bids  tho  buried  Past 
In  pictur'd  tints  return. 

How  beautiful  the  immortal  Son', 

Its  heavenly  birth  that  feels,  • 

'coking  upward  to  its  Sire  » 

With  faith  that  moekly  kneels. 
Gains  strength  that  heightens  evjry  joy, 

And  every  sorrow  heals. 

How  beautiful  this  Howe  lead, 

That  brightens  year  by  year. 
Aud  bears  upon  its  brow  the  hope 

Of  a  niv-re  perfect  sphere;— 
To  fit  ui  for  that  world,  we'll  strive 

lo  be  a  Messing  here. 


■ 


MOZAET. 


•-" 


Johannes  Chrysostomus  Wolfgang  Amadeus 
Mozart  was  born  in  Salzburg,  January  27,  1756. 
He  was  the  oon  of  Leopold  Mozart,  a  man  of  emi- 
nent musical  ability  but  who  was  content  to  de- 
mote himself  almost  wholly  to  the  education  of 
his  boy  and  girl  after  their  taste  and  talent  for 
music  had  manifested  itself  to  his  attention.  In 
this  respect  Mozart  was  much  more  fortunate 
than  are  many  men  of  genius  who  are  suc- 
cessful in  gaining  undying  renown.  We 
have  seen  how  Handel  was  obliged  to  struggle 
on  against  every  kind  of  opposition  ''torn  his 
friends,  and  how  Hadyn  was  only  too  3lad  to 
stifle  the  pangs  of  hunger  and  cold  by  close 
communion  with  his  beloved  harpsichord  and 
violin;  but  Mozart  we  find  assisted  from  the  very 
first  by  a  kind  and  careful  father,  whose  grati- 
tude to  God  for  the  gift  of  such  a  son  could  often 
be  expressed  only  by  his  flowing  tears. 

Under  such  advantages  it  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  a  child  of  such  surpassing  genius  should 
make  more  rapid  progress  in  his  art  than  many 
others  of  perhaps  equal  talents.    When  he  first 
drew  his  father's  attention  to  himself  by  the  de- 
light he  found  in  striking  chords  upon  the  harp- 
sichord, seeking  particularly  for  thirds,  and  by 
the  facility  with  which  he  learned  passages  from 
his  sister's  lessons,  though  at  this  time  only  three 
'  years  old,  he  found  the  most  ready  sympathy 
from  both  his  parents,  and  henceforward  they 
were  unwearied  in  their  instruction.    The  child 
himself  would  leave  every  other   employment, 
though  passionately  fond  of  the  amusements  of 
his   age,  for  his  beloved  music,  and  was  ever 
ready,  at  the  slightest    sign   from   his   father, 
to    proceed  with    the    duties   which  were  ap- 
pointed   for    his    performances.      In   his   fifth 
year  he  began  to  compose  little  melodies    in 
"an  easy  style  and  taste,  which  were  much  ap- 
proved of."    Many  of  these  simple  compositions 
his  father  was  at  the  trouble  of  writing  out,  and 
specimens  of  them  may  be  found  in  the  biogra- 
phies by  Holmes  and  Nissen. 

His  extraordinary  talents  soon  came  to  the  no- 
tice of  persons  high  in  influence,  and  in  his  sev- 
enth year  his  father  conceived  the  plan  of  making 
an  artistic  tour  to  Munich;  and  accordingly  the 
whole  family  left  their  home  in  Salzburg  and 
were  soon  prepared  for  their  great  undertaking,— 
the  presentation  of  their  children  at  court.  In 
Munich  Wolfgang  and  his  sister  Maria,  who  in 
the  five  years  from  1762  to  1767,  always  appeared 
with  her  brother  at  public  concerts,  played  be- 
fore the  Elector  and  excited  the  deepest  ad- 
miration. On  this  occasion  the  Elector  en- 
couraged the  boy  by  saying  that  he  need  fear  no- 
thing from  the  august  presence  in  which  he  was 
to  perform;  little  Wolfgang  immediately  placed 
himself  at  his  harpsichord  with  an  arch  look 
of  confidence,  informing  his  highness  that 
he  had  already  played  before  the  Empress 
Dowager.  It  was  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year, 
1762,  that  the  family  visited  Vienna.  The  fame 
of  the  children  had  preceded  them;  and  before 
their  father  could  apply  for  an  audience  at  court, 
he  was  summoned  to  appear  at  Schonbrunn,  be- 
fore the  Emperor.  Francis  was  pleased  to  call  the 
boy  the  "  little  magician,"  causing  him  to  play 
with  one  finger,  with  a  cloth  spread  over  the  keys, 
a  feat  which  Wolfgang  performed  with  the  ut- 
most precision. 

In  the  summer  of  1763  another  journey  was  un- 
dertaken. The  boy,  who  was  now  seven  years  of 
age,  excited  more  admiration  among  musicians 
by  his  organ  playing  than  by  his  performances 
on  the  harpsichord  or  violin,  as  is  shown  by  an 
inscription  on  an  organ  in  Heidelberg.  At 
Nymphenberg  Wolfgang  played  a  concerto 
upon  the  violin  in  a  most  wonderful  manner, 
and  thus  his  arrival  in  the  several  cities  upon 
their  route  was  only  a  fresh  triumph  for  the 
young  musician  in  every  place,  both  princes 
and  people  resting  unsatisfied  until  they  had 
seen  and  listened  to  the  youthful  prodigy. 
Travelling  through  Frankfort,  Coblentz,  Aux 
la  Chapelle,  and  Brussels,  they  at  last  came 
to   Paris,  where   their   reception   at  court  was 


-**«■ 


more  than  they  could  have  wished.    It  was  at 
this  period  that  Wolfgang's  first  work  was  pub- 
lished, four  sonatas  for  the  harpsichord  and  violin. 
Soon  afterward  the  family  went  to  London,  where 
their  reception  was  even  more  flattering  than  at 
Paris.    Tie  Queen  accepted  the  dedication  of  six 
( sanatas  of  the  boy's  composition  and  at  every 
concert  which  he  gave  there  were  numbers  refused 
admission. 
Upon  the  return  of  the  family  to  Salzburg  some 
,  time  was  spent  upon  the  further  education  of  the 
children,  but  during  this  period  Wolfgang  com- 
posed an  opera,  La  finta  simpliee,  at  the  request 
j   of  the  Emperor  Joseph  H.    It  was  during  his 
I   visit  to  Italy  that  he  performed  a  feat,  show- 
!  ing  his  wonderful  proficiency   and   his   mem- 
r  ory  for  music,  which  may  perhaps  be  reckoned 
;  as  one   of  the  most  remarkable  of  his  whole 
career.    His  father  took  him  to  the  Sis  tine  chapel, 
on  the  evening  of  Ash  Wednesday,  that  he  might 
hear  the  celebrated  Miserere  of  Allegri  performed. 
It  was  said  that  the  Pope's  musicians  wereforbid- 
t  den  to  give  copies  of  it  under  pain  of  excom- 
munication; therefore  young  Mozart  resolved  to 
commit  the  whole  to  memory.    Incredible  as  the 
faet  may  appear,  when  he  returned  to  his  inn  he 
sat  down  and  wrote  it  all  off.    When  the  service 
was  repeated  on  Good  Friday,  he  again  attended, 
this  time  taking  his  manuscript  with  him,  and 
thus  he  was  enabled  to  make  the  few  corrections 
necessary,  and  to  carry  home  with  him  a  perfect 
copy  of  the  Miserere.    The  story  made  some  talk 
in  Rome,  and  it  was  much  discredited  by  some; 
but  when,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  truth,  the  boy 
was  engaged  to  sing  the  Miserere  at  a  public  con- 
cert, he  executed  it  to  such  perfection,  that  (Jhris- 
tofori,  who  had  performed  it  at  the  Sistine  chapel, 
and  was  present  at  the  concert,  was  overwhelmed 
with  astonishment  and  confusion,  and  Wolfgang's 
triumph  was  complete. 

From  Rome  the  Mozarts  went  to  Naples,  where 
the  audience  at  one  of  the  coucerts  stopped  the  boy 
in  the  midst  of  one  of  his  sonatas,  ascribing  his 
wonderful  power  to  a  charm  which  tiicy  thought 
was  held  by  the  ring  he  wore.  But  when  the  magic 
circle  was  removed,  the  music  was  found  to  be 
none  the  less  beautiful.  On  his  return  to  Rome  the 
Pope  bestowed  on  him  the  cross  and  brevet  of  a 
Knight  of  the  Golden  Spur,  and  when  at  Bologna 
soon  afterward  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the 
Philharmonic  Academy,  and,  indeed,  throughout 
Italy  he  was  generally  known  by  the  name,  B 
Cavaliere  Filuimonico.  In  1772  he  composed  the 
cantata,  U  sogno  di  Scipione,  and  at  Milan,  where 
he  passed  the  winter  of  the  following  year,  he 
wrote  Lucio  iSilla,  a  serious  opera,  which  had 
twenty-six  successive  representations.  This  was 
his  last  opera  written  for  the  Italian  stage.  The 
early  part  of  Mozart's  life  was  the  most  extraordi- 
nary, and  therefore  I  have  been  led  to  speak  of  it 
at  such  length,  though  even  now  much  has  been 
left  unsaid  that  should  have  been  mentioned,  and 
many  of  his  composition  have  been  passed  by 
unnoticed.  The  remainder  of  his  too  short  career 
must  be  treated  even  more  hurriedly. 

At  the  age  of  nineteen  Mozart  had  attained  the 
very  summit  of  his  profession.  He  was  regarded 
•  by  all  Europe  as  the  greatest  living  exponent  of 
»  the  divine  art,  and  wherever  he  went  he  met  only 
■  with  the  greatest  honors  and  the  most  distin- 
guished attention.  To  give  even  an  enumeration 
of  his  compositions  would  require  too  much  space 
for  any  work  save  an  extended  biography.  Most 
of  his  operas  were  composed  in  Vienna,  and  had 
great  success;  the  Zauber-Flote  was  performed 
over  a  hundred  times  in  one  year.  Like  Raphael, 
Mozart  embraced  his  art  to  its  whole  extent; 
1/  there  was  no  department  in  which  he  did  not 
excel:  he  was  great  in  all.  His  sympathy  was 
most  extensive;  he  lived  again  with  Bach  in  the 
fugue,  he  gloried  with  Handel  in  the  grandeur 
L  of  church  music,  while  Gluck  in  serious  opera 
and  Haydn  in  instrumental  music  found  in  him  a 
zealous  and  noble  rival.  His  management  of  the 
orchestra  is,  perhaps,  the  most  surprising  of  ail 
his  developments  in  music.  The  way  in  which 
he  employs  the  wind  instruments  is-at  least  novel; 
the  flute  in  his  hands  becomes  a  marvellous  and 
more  than  beautiful  instrument,  in  which  respect 
he  differs  widely  from  Cimardsa,  who  rarely  used 
it.  Indeed,  in  everything  it  was  originality  that 
attracted  and  kept  his  attention,  and  it  is  tills 
characteristic  that  has  subjested  him  to  the 
charge  of  taking  interest  only  in  his  own  music. 
Of  all  his  works  the  Idomeneo  played  the  most 
important  part  in  raising  its  author  to  eminence, 


and,  indeed,  Mozart  himself  always  considered  it 
his  best  production.    This  work  and  Don  Gio- 
vanni he  esteemed  most  highly,  though  of  the  | 
latter  he  said,  one  day,  "To  tell  the  truth,  I  wrote  \ 

|  it  only  for  myself  and  my  friends."    The  over 
j  ture  to  this  opera,  which  is  generally  thought 
■  lie  best  of  his  overtures,  was  composed  in  little 
more  than  two  hours. 

Of  all  his  sacred  music  the  Requiem  is  the 
most  sublime.    To  its  composition  he  g^ve  all 
the  force  of  his  genius,  all  the  strength  of  his 
inspiration,  for  he  felt  that  this  was  to  be  his  last 
work.    Returning  from  Prague,  where   he  had 
been  engaged  during  the  ceremonies  of  corona- 
tion at  the  accession  of  Leopold,  king  of  Bohemia 
he  devoted  himself  to  the  work  which  he  had 
promised  to  do  prior  to  leaving  Vienna.    A  mys- 
terious   personage    had    one    day  called    up- 
on    him    and     requested     him     to    write     a 
requiem,    for    which     he    paid     one    hundred 
ducats     in     advance.      Mozart     now    was    to 
fulfil  this  engagement.    In  ill  health  when  he 
began  the  work,  he  devoted  so  much  time  to  it 
and  labored  so  incessantly  that  his  strength  soon 
began  to  fail  him.    All  his  efforts  to  discover  the 
name  of  the  person  for  whom  Ire  was  writing  it 
were  futile,  and  he  soon  began  to  imagine  some- 
thing supernatural  in  the  affair.    He  conceived 
the  idea  that  he  should  look  upon  the  appearance 
of  the  mysterious  messenger  as  a  warning  from 
heaven  of  his  own  death,  and  he  could  never  after- 
ward divest  his  mind  of  the  thought.    Repeatedly 
he  observed  to  his  wife  that  he  was  writing  the 
Requiem  for  himself.    In  this  state  of  mind" dis- 
ease seized  upon  him  and  he  could  work  no  more, 
and  he  sank  slowly  away  till  the  morning  of  the' 
5th    of   November,   mi,  when   he    breathed 
his  last. 
It  is  a  little  remarkable  that  the  last  written 
-  words  that  we  have  of  Mozart's  are  those  quoted 
from  his  Zauler  Flute  in  a  letter  to  his  wife : 
"The  hour  strikes!    Farewell!    We  shall  meet 
again!" 


HAYDN. 


When  the  plan  of  a  series  of  sketches  of  great 

;  composers  was  first  projected  by  the  author  of 
these  articles,  he  proposed  to  take  up  in  their 
chronological  order  the  lives  of  those  musicians 

c  whose  names  are  most  familiar  to  the  public  ear, 
thus  extending   the  series   to   perhaps   ten  or 

(f  twelve  numbers ;  but  the  decree  of  our  good 
Traveller  has  gone  forth  against  such  extensive 
preparations,  and  it  is  declared  that  he  can  find 
room  in  his  carpet-bag  for  but  five  articles  upon 
the  subject  before  us.  Many  omissions  must 
therefore  be  made  of  names  that  have  gained  pre- 
eminent and  lasting  fame,  and  only  a  few  can 

'  claim  our  attention  in  a  space  so  limited  as  that 
allotted  to  us.  Passing  by,  then,  Johann  Sebas- 
tian Bach,  who  was  born  only  twenty-six  days 
after  the  birth  of  Handel  and  who  ought,  there- 

i  fore,  to  have  been  the  subject  of  our  second 
sketch,  we  must  turn  at  once  to  the  great  mentor 
in  orchestral  and  chamber  music,—"  the  father 
of  the  modern  quartet  and  of  the  grand  sym- 
phony." 

Joseph  Haydn  was  born  in  Rohrau,  Lower 
Austria,  March  31, 1732.  As  is  the  case  with  so 
many  great  masters  in  the  various  departments 
of  art,  his  genius  manifested  itself  very  early  in 
life.    In  his  fifth  year  his  musical  talents  attracted 

/  the  notice  of  a  relation,  at  whose  intercession  he 
was  sent  to  the  school  at  Haimburg,  where  he  be- 
came familiar  with  all  the  instruments  then  used 

4  in  orchestras  which  his  childish  powers  would 

'  admit  of  his  playing.  His  voice,  which  was  one 
of  remarkable  power  and  sweetness,  gained  the 
attention  of  the  chapel-master  of  the  cathedral 
of  St.  Stephens'  in  Vienna,  through  the  recom- 
mendation of  a  parish  priest  of  Haimburg,  and 
when  he  was  eight  years  old  he  was  received  into 
the  choir  of  the  cathedral,  in  which  situation  he 
remained  eight  years,  learning  much  of  practical 
music  but  almost  nothing  of  its  theory  and 
science.  But  in  all  these  years  the  boy's  genius 
was  constantly  at  work,  in  spite  of  the  many  ad- 


verse  circumstances  under  which  he  labored,  ana 
the  instinct  which  nature  had  riven  him  for  per- 
fect harmony  and  counterpoint,  fostered  as  it  was 
by  constant  practice  in  the  works  of  the  best 
Italian  and  German  ecclesiastical  composers,  en- 
abled him  to  produce  many  a  composition  mar- 
vellous in  conception.and  often,  too,  in  execution, 
for  one  of  his  age. 

It  was  when  he  was  sixteen  years  out,  mat  ins 
master,  Reuter,  enraged  with  him  for  the  perpe- 
tration of  a  practical  joke  upon  one  of  his  fellow 
pupils,  turned  him  into  the  streets  of  Vienna,  with 
only  a  miserable  coat  and  a  few  shirts,  besides 
what  he  was  wearing,  to  seek  for  himself  the 
living  that  the  poverty  of  his  parents  and  the 
mere  goodwill  of  the  very  few  friends  he  had 
could  not  afford  him.    He  found  a  home  in  a 
garret  of  a  five-story  house,  in  a  miserable  room, 
which  he  shared  only  too  freely  with  the  rain  and 
snow,  that  the  cold  blasts  of  winter  blew  in  at 
every  crevice  in  the  roof.    By  careful  saving,  he 
was  enabled  to  buy  a  few  theoretical  books  at 
a  second-hand  shop,  using  for  the  parpose  money 
that  he  should  have  spent  upon  fuel  and  food, 
and  thus  he  acquired  a  knowledge  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  his  art,  studying  with   a  perseverance 
which  could   overcome  all  obstacles.    His  old, 
worm-eaten  harpsichord  and  his  violin  were  com- 
panions of  which  he  never  wearied,  and  often  it 
was  only  by  his  happy  converse  with  them  that 
he  forgot  his  cold  and  hunger  and  could  look 
back  in  after  years  upon  those  days  with  recollec- 
tions of  joy,  greater   than    that  which    he   ex- 
perienced at  any  other  time  of  life.    His  great 
passion  was  love  of  music  rather  than  love  of 
reputation  or  glory,  and  from  his  very  lack  of  am- 
bition he  wrote   with   more   freedom,   seeking 
rather  his  own  gratification  in  the  working  out 
of  the  ideal  of  his  soul,  than  the  favor  to   be 
gained  by  catering  to   the   taste  of  others,  al- 
though they  might  be  those  who  pretended  to 
be  his  superiors.    It  was  about  this  time  that  he 
obtained  in  some  way  the  first  six  sonatas  of 
Emanuel     Bach,   which    he   studied    with    the 
greatest  care,  and  which  had  a   great  influence 
upon  his  style  in  the  compositions  of  his  after 
life.    In  his  old  age  he  said,  "  I  could  not  leave 
my  instrument  until  I  had  played  them  through  ; 
and  whoever  thoroughly  understands  me,  must 
see  that  I  owe  very  much  to  Emanuel  Bach  ;  that 
I  comprehended  and  industriously  studied  him." 
In  a  short  time  he  attracted  the  notice  of  the  poet 
of  music,  Mctastasio,  who  lived  in  the  same  house 
in  which  Haydn  had  his  home,  and  through  him 
he  became  acquainted  with  the  celebrated  Por- 
ra,  who  was  then  giving  lessons  In  Gormany. 
From  the  time  of  his  entering  the  service  of  the 
ce  Esterhazy  till  his  vi  dt  to  London  ie  1790 
labors  at  composition  were  almost  without 
cessation.    It  would  be  impossible  to  enumerate 
the  different  works  of  this  period,  though  some 
of  them  may  be  named.    We  know  of  163  pieces 
for  thebaryton;    there  were  at  least  four  sym- 
phonies per  annum  for  the  full  orchestra;    there 
were  between  thirty  and  forty  masses  and  other 
works  for  the  chapel  service ;  more  than  100  works 
of  chamber  music,  and  many  simpler  composi- 
tions, besides  which  he  wrote  at  least   sixteen 
operas,  the  seven  adagios  for  orchestra  to  which 
the  Seven  Words  of  the  Saviour  were  adapted, 
and  thirteen  concertos. 

On  his  return  to  Vienna  from  his  second  visit 
to  London,  where  he  had  been  received  with  the 
greatest  enthusiasm,  he  began  the  great  work  of 
his  life,  the  "  Creation."    He  began  its  composi- 
tion in  his  sixty-third  year,  and  in  his  six  cy -fifth 
year  completed  it.    It  was  first  produced  in  1799. 
Its  great  success  led  to  the  preparation  of  the 
us,"  but  in  this  last  labor  the  continued 
strain   upon   his  powers  proved  too   much  for 
him,  and  from  this  time  his  health   steadily  de- 
clined.   Only  once  more  did  he  appear  in  public; 
this  was  at  a  performance  of  the  "Creation,"  in 
it  hall  of  the  university.    At   f,he  famous 
,    "And  there  was    light!"    in  the  first 
chorus,    the   applause   was    deafening.     Haydn 
pointed  upward  with  trembling  hand  an  I 
"  It  comes  from  there!" 
He  died  in  May,  1809. 

Haydn  must  ever  claim  a  high  place  in  the  roll 
of  those  great  artists  who  have  left  the  abiding 
marks  of  their  genius  upon  the  world.  His 
mission  was  not  Handel's,  nor  Mozart's,  lie 
wrote  in  accordance  with  his  happy,  genial  dis- 
position, and  although  his  music  often  reached 


the  sublime,  it  was  seldom  mournful  or  tragic. 

Before  he  died,  he  wrote  his  epitaph : 
"Vbni,  8CRIP8I,  VIXI." 

We  who  listen  in  these  days  to  his  grand 
"  Creation"  surely  cannot  err  in  reading  for  the 
last  word,  not  the  past,  not  the  completed  act, 
not  the  life  all  done  with  and  laid  away  forever, 
but  rather  the  present,  the  quick  influence  that 
thrills  our  hearts  to-day,  the  word  that  a  grateful 
posterity  would  have  written  for  him,  not  vixi, 
hut  vivo.  M. 


Beethoven  though  great  was  not,  it 
must  be  confessed,  exactly  a  pretty  man.  lie  looked 
iu  fact  like  a  little  ugly  mulatto ;  he  was  very  sh»rt, 
had  a  yellow  skin,  broad  spread-out  nose,  and  project- 
ing teeth,  over  which  his  heavy  lips  shut.  lie  wore 
his  cheek  bones  like  an  Indian,  and  a  sombre  and  mor- 
bid expression  of  countenance. 

BEETHOVEN. 


The  remark  has  been  made  by  Wegeler  in  his 
biography,  that  the  objects  of  Beethoven's  attach- 
ment were  always  of  the  higher  rank.  Yet  it 
was.  not  because  of  his  desire  to  benefit  himself 
at  the  expense  of  those  persons  who  had  already 
a  high  standing  in  life,  but  it  seemed  to  be  the 
peculiar  lot  to  which  he  was  destined,  that  his 
coble  nature  should  be  fully  developed  and  his 
distinguishing-  qualities  with  which  nature  had 
endowed  him  should  revive  a  rare  cultivation  by 
means  of  his  close  contact  with  those  accustomed 
to  the  advantages  of  the  best  society  and  of  an 
■artistic  education.  A  man  of  surpassing  genius, 
claiming  as  his  friends  the  noble  and  great,  and 
inspired  not  only  by  the  divine  efflatus  but  also 
by  the  sympathetic  praise  of  those  well  able  to 
appreciate  his  efforts,  could  not  but  produce  no- 
ble works  as  the  results  of  his  toil 

Ludwig  von  Beethoven,  born  December  IStli  or 
17th,  1770,  at  Bonn,  was  one  of  the  greatest  of 
musical  composers  that  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
Like  the  subjects  of  our  previous  sketches,  he 
exhibited  at  a  very  early  age  proofs  of  his  musi- 
cal talents,  and  his  father,  a  man  of  somewhat 
loose  habits,  cherished  the  hope  of  deriving  profit 
and  fame  from  the  exhibition  of  his  son,  as  had 
so  recently  been  the  fortune  of  Leopold  Mozart 
with  his  son  Wolfgang.  But  the  boy  was  found 
less  willing  to  devote  his  time  to  the  harpsichord 
than  his  illustrious  predecessor  had  been,  and 
though  his  love  for  music  was  great,  the  re- 
straints imposed  by  his  father  soon  became  irk- 
some to  him,  and  his  father's  wishes,  it  seemed  at 
one  time,  were  not  to  be  fulfilled.  But  still, 
little  Ludwig  was  one  of  the  chosen  ones,  and 
though  sometimes  literally  driven  to  the  harpsi- 
chord, he  often  enough  sought  it  of  his  own 
accord,  and  exhibited  a  sufficient  rapidity  of 
development  to  attract  the  attention  of  influential 
patrons. 

But  we  must  pass  with  haste  the  days  ot  his 

boyhood,  for  we  have  more  to  do  with  a  later 

period  of  his  life.     When  fifteen  years  of  age 

he  was  appointed  organist  to  the  Electoral  Chapel, 

an  office  obtained  through  the  influence  of  Count 

von  Waldstein,  a  patron  of  the  arts,  and  not  only 

a  connoisseur  in  music,  but  himself  a  practical 

musician.    The  four  succeeding  years  were  years 

of  great  exertion.     His  salary  was  small  and  the 

profits  of  teaching  insignificant;  indeed  ho  had 

very  little  patience  as  a  teacher,  and  at  no  time  in 

his  life  was  he  very  successful  in  this  respect. 

For  a  considerable  part  of  this  period,  too,  he 

not  only  had  to  support  himself  but  also  his 

brothers,    since    at    its     commencement     his 

mother  had    died,  and  thus   much    care    that 

should  have  devolved  upon  his  father  came  upon 

him.    At  the  death  of  his  mother  he  had  returned 

from  Vienna  to  Bonn,  but  in  1792  he  again  went 


with  surprising  rapidity,  and  the  fertility  of  his 
genius  gave  promise  to  the  world  that  his  career 
would  be  in  few  respects  behind  those  of  Handel 
and  Bach,  Haydn  and  Mozart.  But  now  an  af- 
fliction came  upon  him,  which  proved  a  source 
of  the  greatest  sorrow  to  him,  inasmuch  ad 
it  prevented  him  from  much  enjoyment,  and 
became  to  some  degree  an  obstacle  in  his  way 
to  success.  But  although  his  deafness  was 
indeed  a  great  calamity,  probably  depriving  the 
world  of  many  a  work  of  genius  that  it  other- 
wise would  possess,  yet  in  one  sense  it  proved 
a  blessing,  fw  it  is  to  this  cause  that  we  may 
trace  much  of  the  depth  of  feeling  and  passion  that 
are  to  be  found  in  Beethoven's  music. 

The  weakness  of  his  hearing,  however,  as  I  have 
said,  was  a  source  of  the  greatest  sorrow  to  him- 
self. We  see  this  particularly  from  a  letter  to  his 
brothers,  in  which  he  says :  "Ah,  how  could  I 
proclaim  the  weakness  of  a  sense  which  I  ought 

to  possess  in  a  higher  degree  than  others,  which 
once  I  did  possess  In  the  highest  perfection— a 
perfection  equalled  by  few  of  my  profession. 
Alas,  I  cannot  do  this !  Forgive  me  then,  if  I  draw 
back  when  I  would  gladly  mingle  with  you.  My 
misfortune  inflicts  upon  me  a  double  woe  in 
causing  me  to  be  misapprehended.  For  me  there 
can  be  no  joining  in  refined  and  intellectual  con- 

i  versation,  no  recreation  in  social  intercourse,  no 
mutual  outpourings  of  the  heart  with  others.  .  . 
Such  incidents  have  brought  me  to  the  verge  of 
despair — a  little  more,  and  I  had  put  an  end  to  my 
life.  One  thing  only,  art— this  restrained  me.  I 
could  not  leave  the  world  until  that  was  accom- 
plished which  I  felt  was  demanded  of  me."  And 
so  he  struggled  on  in  defiance  of  the  great  burden 

,  that  was  weighing  him  down. 

Among  the  many  compositions  of  the  next  few 
years  are  some  of  his  best  works.  The  "Heroic 
Symphony"  was  produced  in  1804;  "Fidelio"  in 
1805;  the  4th,  5th,  and  6th  symphonies,  and  the 
mass  in  C,  during  the  next  four  years.  The  "Bat- 
tle of  Vittoria"  and  the  7th  symphony  appeared 
in  the  autumn  of  1818  and  the  8th  symphony  was 
written  in  1816.  From  this  time  the  intervals  be- 
tween the  productions  of  his  works  were  longer, 
owing  partially  to  the  greater  scope  and  grander 
plan  of  the  compositions  themselves,  and  also  to 
the  fact  that  an  important  lega!  process  now  oc- 
cupied much  of  his  attention  and  caused  him  a 
great  deal  of  anxiety.  Tic  last  six  sonatas,  the 
grand  mass  in  D, — upon  which  he  expeuded]three. 


years' labor,— the  overture  in  C,  op.  115,  the  9U15.C:  3 
symphony,  with  chores,  and  the  lust  grand  quar- "  o  Q 
.  tets,  were  the  productions  of  the  last  ten  years  of  i;  ^.  ' 
'  his  life.  After  the  0th  symphony  was  finished,  S-  §"  ^> 
he  proposed  to  himself  the  composition  of  an  2,  «j  g 
oratorio,  which  should  be  a  work  in  every  respect  *  8  | 
worthy  of  the  powwa  which  he  Kit  that  he  pos-  ^  3q  ^ 
sessed  It  was  to  be  written  to  words  composed  by  §■  2,  g 
a  friend,  C.  Bernard,  entitled  "The  Victory  of  the 
Cross,"  and  had  not  occurrences  prevented  the 
execution  of  his  design,  the  world  would  have 
blessed  by  the  production  of  a  work  rival. 
ling  in  its  grandeur  of  conception  and  1 
composition  the  noblest  works  of  a  kindred  nature 
ever  written.  For  when  Rich  a  genius  as  that  of 
Beethoven  is  pleased  to  devote  Its  energies  to  the  p 
consideration  of  the  grandest  theme  that  thj  P  * 
whole  range  of  possibility  could  offer,  surely  we  p  * 
be  justified  in  expecting  the  greatest  result.  &  » 
Much  has  been  said  of  Beethoven's  petulao 
and  more  stories  have  been  told  of  his  tits  of  an- 
ger than  are  true.  His  deafness  was  undoubtedly 
the  cause  of  much  of  his  quickness  of  temper,  ami 
those  persons  who  are  ever  so  ready  to  pick  the 
motes  flom  their  brother.-'  eyes,  would  do  well  to 
remember  that  often  great  afflictions,  while 
purify  the  soul,  have  an  influence  seeming  to  those 
not  called  upon  to  suffer  them,  to  bo  other  than 


lis 

-    «  a 


£i. 


5  p- 


hack  to  Vienna,  where  he  resided  till  his  death,    «ooa' 

A  marked  trait  in  Beethoven  a  character  was 


&  5' 
to  .5 

Eg 

S'2, 
2,? 


except  during  the  time  necessary  for  one  journey 
to  Berlin  and  two  to  Prague,  and  his  summer  tours 
for  his  health.  The  first  five  years  of  his  stay  in 
Viennawere  the  happiest  of  his  life.  During  this 
time  he  was  a  favorite  in  the  best  socioty,  num- 
bered among  his  friends  people  of  the  highest 


his  total  inability  to  provide  for  the  future.  His 
productions  often  brought  him  large  sums  of 
money,  but  he  was  1  In  difficulty,  often 

making  his  daily  portion  a  can  of  beer  and  some 
bread,  while  the  cases  were  not  seldom  when  he 
,    had  hardly  a  deceat  coat  to  his  back.    Yet  in  all 

first  works  of  importance  which  he  published  P^jjJ^j^his  last  illness,  his  mind  was  constant- 
were  the  three  somites,  op.  2,  and  the  three  trios,  ly  fonmng  new  pians  for  the  future.  The  noblest 
op.  1;  but  the  publications  which  followed  ap-  symphonies  that  had  ever  been  given  to  the  world 
peared  in  such  quick  succession  and  were  all  were  Tet  to  be  comp0sed,  and  in  all  he  appeared 
productions  of  such  merit,  that  his  fame  increased      to  have  no  foreshadowing  of  what  was  to  be.  And 

,  so,  in  the  midst  of  his  great  designs,  while  the 
.mbers  of  his  soul  were  still  ringiug  with  the 


s  i 

-I 

B  2 


-1 


LETTER    FEOM  HEWPOBT. 


NEWPORT. 


Correspotulimco  of  the  Traveller.  „               "          _ 

Newpobt.  E.  I.,  Tuesday,  July  25, 186B. 

i      ,    .  ,        ,    ^        Newport,  June  18,  *6T\  «  0nce  more  to  the  breach"— after  a  long  ab~ 

A  delightful  bu,;bath  finds  me  at  this  delight**  senoe_or  Interval  since  my  last  pennings  for  th« 

watering  place,  in  commoawitb  a  large  multitude  of  Times  from  the  other  aide  of  Jordan.  I  hardly  expect, 

''•Fnends,"  who  have  come  up  t<>  this,  their  spiritual  ed  to  resume  my  duties  as  correspondent  from  a. 

l^S^^^t^rU^^^S  fashionablewatering.place,butasInndmyseUthrown 

and  interest  of  those  attending  is  increasing  every  year  ashore  here  by  the  "  sea  of  circumstance,"  I  win  teH 

All  the  hotels  that  are  open  are  full,  and  the  capacity  of  you  what  of  the  doings  and  goings  on  in  this  most  de- 

inKSlf11  ^"^^  °U  8UCh  0CCaSi0IW  ta  ***    U«htful  •»*  coolest  of  »n  8ea^ide  P1***' 

Let  me  tell  you  how  the  friends  accommodate  them*       Tfle  principal  hotel,  the  Ocean  House,  is  rapidly  fill- 
selves.    After  the  hotels  and  boai  ding-houses  are  filled,    ing  up,  and  nearly  all  the  cottages  and  villas  areoc- 

it  is  quite  common  for  them  to  hire  nouses  and  cater    «„„;„j    «,.  i„Wm.  w„.~~~_* i.^.^   ~*  «.  _>. 

for  themselves.  Perhaps  they  have  an  eye  to  economy  cupied-the  latter  Newport  can  boast  of  the  most 
in  this  arrangement,  but  it  makes  it  very  pleasant  and  numerous  and  costly  in  any  watering-place  in  the 
social.  United  States.    To  one  who  has  been  long  absent  the 

Newport  does  not  alter  much,  especially  that  part  of    «_„,._.„,,  „„mVl„.  „„*   k«„v.*~  «#  «...  a 

the  town  near  the  water.  Some  cottages  auS  resi-  ^creased  number  and  beauty  of  the  Summer  resi- 
dences have  been  built  in  the  fashionable  part  of  the  dences  is  astonishing, and  it  is  a  wonder  where  so  many 
town;  br.r  Swampscott,  Nahant,  Hampton  aud  Bye 
Beach,  are  sharply  contesting  for  the  palm,  and  draw- 
lug  away  many  of  those  who  spend  their  season  at  the 
sea-shore  to  those  attiactive  place?. 

But  to  return  to  the  Friends.  The3e  meetings  hare 
been  fully  attended,  and  the  Baptist  and  Methodist 
Societies  both  threw  open  their  churches  to  the 
Friends,  which  were  filled  to  repletion,  besides  the  Old 
FneEds'  House,  which  alone  will  txcommouate  two 
thousand  people.  Daniel  Hill,  of  the  Philadelphia 
yearly  meetirg,  Zaccheus  Powell,  of  the  New  York,  and 
Rebecc?  Collins,  ministered  here:  while  at  the  Method- 
ist, Caroline  Talbot  of  Ohio,  and  Charles  Coffin  of 
Lynn,  spoke.  Caroline  Talbot  is  a  most  eloquent  and 
effective  picacher;  educated  as  a  Baptist,  and  descent 


wealthy  people  come  from,  who  can  thus  afford  to 
'spend  $50,000  or  a  $100,000  for  a  house  and  grounds 
for  occupancy  for  four  months  of  the  year.  No  place 
in  Europe  can  compare  with  Newport  in  this  respect, 
and  the  amount  of  money  spent  here  during  the  last 
ten  years  should  have  made  the  native  population  all 
rich.  The  Newportcris  by  nature  an  early  bird, 
who  is  lively  in  the  morns  and  does  not  require  many 
hints  on  prices;  he  takes  it  easily,. and  proves  to  you 
that  his  motto  is  that  hay  afiaHHaVmade  while  the 
luminary  fs  brightest.  They  are  a  thrifty  set,  these 
ing from*  the  Episcopacy,  she  brings  ail  the  fervor  of    same  Newporters,  and  are  putting  money  in  their 


the  learning" of  the  other.  She  proceeded  to 
her  task  vi  itliout  text  or  reading  of  the  Scriptures,  the 
key-note  of  her  discourse  being  regeneration,  and  held 
her  large  auoience  in  the  closest  attention  forty-nine 
minute*.  Her  manner  is  both  pleasing  and  convinc- 
ing;  not  so  much  by  the  power  of  her  logic  as  her 
direct  application  of  the  invitations  of  the  gospel. 
Charles  Collin  is  also  an  agreeable  preacher,  divorc- 
ing bis  remarks  from  that  disagreeable,  sing- 
song twang  too  common  to  Quaker  preachers, 
and  presenting  his  topics  with  clearness  and 
that  spiritual  earnestness  which  make  him  at  once  a 
favorite  preacher.  This  eveuing  there  is  to  be  a  meet- 
ing at  the  Atlantic  House.  Opposite  thp  Atlantic  there 
has  been  quite  an  attraction  placed  in  a  most  conspicu- 
ous position,  just  above  the  old  "Stone  Mill"  or  tower, 
a  full-length  bronze  statue  of  Commodore  Mathevr  C. 
'Perry,  with  this  inscription: 

"Commodore  Mathew  C.  Perry.    Died  1853,  aged  64, 
Treaty  with  Africa  1S43,  Mexico  1848,  Japan  1854. 
Erected  1868  by  August  and  Caroline  Belmont." 
Many  people  confound  this  with  Commodore  Oliver 
Hazard  Perry,  the  hero  of  Lake  Erie;  but  all  the 


purse  every  year,  gaining  and  accumulating  and  get- 
ting rich  on  the  follies  of  the  day.  To  one  who  knew 
the  town  in  its  primitive  days,  before  it  was  a  fashion- 
able resort,  the  transition  from  the  prices  of  those 
days  to  tho  present  is  astonishing.  What  was  then  ten 
cents  is  now  a  dollar.  Then  you  could  hire  a  boat  all 
day  for  a  dollar,  now  it  costs  a  likeness  of  Mr.  Ohahk 
for  a  single  hour.  Everything  is  up.  Clams  have 
riz;  bass  bait  that  recently  cost  only  25  cents  a  hun- 
dred now  $2  and  scarce  at  that.  Everything  from  an 
old  broken  down  horse  and  rattling  old  chaise  to 
the  largest  sailing  craft  is  in  requisition.  Everything 
.  pays.  Everybody  busy — down  town— but  go  np  on 
the  hill, the  crest  of  which  is  the  dividing  line  between 
the  town  proper  with  all  of  its  busy  bees  making 
honey,  aud  the  abodes  and  resort*  of  those  who 
spend.  Bellevue-avcnue  is  the  back-bone,  and  the  ribu 


money  of  August  Belmont,  who  married  a  daughter  of  of  radiating  streets  from  it  are  lined  with  beautiful 
the  other  Perry,  can  never^  efface  £?tmJ^me{^j^°rf  shade  trees  and  shrubbery,  behind  which  are  nestled 
Ol^verfl! Perry?  when^urTnf ant  navy  achieved  such  a  the  cosiest  cottages  and  stately  mansions,  with  wind- 
triumphant  victory,  which  at  once  gave  us  prestige  ing  gravely  walks  arbors  and  verandahs,  cool  and 
abroad  and  confidence  at  home.  The  statue )ls  au  orna-  tovlttllg  a  8icsta  ^  one  of  the  many  hammocks 
mentasawork  of  art,  and  is  placed  on  a  handsome  .  ."  .  -  V-....  >.  — 
iTranite  base,  Ue  whole  costing  #20,000.  Newport  may  swinging  in  the  breeze.  Just  thin*  of  the  green 
fiiativ  feci  croud  of  the  renown  which  both   these 


justly  feel  proud  of  the  renown 

sons    of    her's    have   shed    upon    her    history. 


I: 


shades,    cool    breezes    and     cosiness     of 


seTV'the"recent    address  of   the  Mayor,   which,  ^ageat  Newport,   and  all  you  who  are  sweltering 
Ifind  in  the  Mercury,  which  claims  to  be  the  oldest    in  cities,  saying,  "  How  hot  it  is"— come  here,  if  you 

Eaper  in  America,  dating  back  to  1758,  'that  the  feeliryr  ,  clm  get  away.    The  Weather  is  charming,  never  hot, 

be'tmSn^  SacftMghte  *»  6leep" 

Hazard  Perry,  who  was  more  closely  identified  with)  .  ug.  One's  appetite  and  sleepitite  are  astonishing, 
the  citizens  of  Newport  in  a  no  less  conspicuous  spcV*  anci  j^e  poor  8(mi8  wno  board  us  groan  inwardly,  and 
^J«^^^^Sti^5J*'-  consternation  is  written  upon  their  faces  as  they  see 
Col.  JJrancis  Brinley,  formerly  Of  Boston,  and  eaoe  a  ,  the  rapid  and  mysterious  disappearance  of  viandB. 
commander  of  the  "Ancient  and  HonoraDles,"  was,  a  In  tne  matter  of  hats  I  have  been  amazed  at  the  in- 
br^g^pe^  *—  "  womankind-the   numerous    changes.    I 

chusetts   Legislature,  where  yott  Will   remenjfter  he,     have  been  here  ten  days  now,  durmg  which  period 


served  in  both  branches. 

The  Old  Colony  is  reaping  a  harvest  of  travel  from 
this  meeting  of  the  Friends.     The  arrangements  in  the 


seven  distinct  fashions  have  been  aired  in  the  avenue, 
bad  their  day  and  disappeared;  some  turn  up,  some 


wayof  trains  and  cars  are  excellent  and  reflect  credit  turn  down,  and  some  don't  turn  at  all,  but  all  have  the 

on  W.  H.  Bullock,  Esq.,  the  popular  superintendent.  OVorlastiiig  pheasant's  tail  or  goose  wing,  but  not  one 

alfShTT^S  ttaSl'eSlSSKS8  He*  of  them  have  a  vestige  of  protection  to  the  f*ce,  and 

picture  is  to  be  seen  in  the  shop  windows.    She  doe*  the  broad  glare  of  the  sun  falls  full  upon  the  faces  of 

not  make  a  striking  picture,  is  twentjreeyen,  audi  1*  the  wearers,  which  is  particularly  comfortable  when  a 
about  to  be  married,  wkich  will  niaks.au  end  to  ro* 


tmance  and  my  letter.'  Qui  Est* 

A  Marri-gr  by  TtnoiiAPH. — The  Ajfcany 
Standard  of  Wednesday  publishes  the  following: 
I  "A  marriage  by  telegraph  to?k  pkcj  yesterday 
j  afternoon,  between  a  young  lady  in  one  of  the 
principal  villageB  on  the  Oswego  railroad,  and 
au  artillery  soldier  on  duty  near  Washington. 
The  chaplain  of  tho  bridegroom's  regiment,  tel- 
egraphe  1  the  material  question  of  the  marriage 

ceremony  to  the  lady,  viz    '  Dj  you  lake  

to  be  your  husband  f"  directing  her  to  ans«r<  r, 
'I  do  ;'  and  to  suthoriza  him  to  propose  a,  like 
question  to  tho  gentleman.  Two  hours  after  tbef 
lady  received  the  chaplain's  first  message  she 
received  a  Becond  announcing  that  tho  Boldiei 


lady  is  driving  and  cannot  handle  her  sun-shade;  the 
consequence  is  the  contortions  of  countenance  are 
fearful,  disfiguring  the  prettiest  faces  with  frowns  and 
squints  to  such  a  degree  that  their  own  mothers 
would  scarce  know  them.  There  are  any  quantity  of 
teams  driven  by  young  ladies,  and  lots  of  pony  phae- 
tons, conveying,  -at  first  ?glance,  the  idea  of  a  bundle 
of  clothing  going  to  the  wash  in  a  baskets. 

It  seems  to  be  the  thing  for  ladies  to  invite  the  nice 
young  men  to  a  Olive,  and  you  see  a  great  many  young 
ladies  "  doing  the  avenue  "  holding  the  ribbons,  and 
by  their  side  a  young  man  being  "  aired,"  who,  foi 
want  of  occupation  for  his  hands,  in  the  awkwardness- 
of  his  position,  either  carries  the  parasol  in  a  clumss 
manner,  vainly  endeavoring  to  shade  the  delicate  nose 
of  the  lady  and  his  own  eyes,  but  the  more  orthodox 
style  is  to  fold  the  arms,  a  la  Napoleon,  looking  as  i 
they  were  sitting  for  their  pictures  and  had  just  given 
the  word  "  all  ready,"  and  were  also  following  the  art 


and  she  were  man  atd  wife.     This  telegraph  is 

her  marriage  certificate.     It  is  understood  tbat 

the  parents  of   the  lady  were  oppesr-d  to  the  -  tofgngd*""  to  " 

Union,  and  that  this  method  was  taken  to  out-  _,  c*  «  ■* 

wit  them.     The  time  for  the  ceienony  bad  n  n  "  n 

been  fixed  by  correspondscce  beforehand,  and 

the  lady  was  in  waiting  when  the  first  message 

was  receivtd  at  the  telegraph  office." 


co    co    co    co    «»<    t 


of  an  earnest  will 
p  the  lowly-living, 
And  a  terrible  heart  thrill. 

iu  have  no  power  of  giving; 
An  arm  of  aid  to  the  weak, 

A  friendly  hand  to  the  friendless, 
Kind  words,  so  short  to  speak, 

But  whose  echo  is  endless; 
The  world  is  wide,  these  tilings  are  small; 
They  may  be  nothing,  but.  they  are  All. 

Rich  Ulxes.  ' 


l>r.  Carter,  a  distinguished  Philadelphian, 
writes  to  a  friend  in  Rhode  Island  in  a  letter 
dated  Vevey,  Switzerland,  July  8th :  "I  am  con- 
vinced that  Newport  is  the  coolest  and  most 
charming  summer  resort  in  the  world,  and  that 
there  is  noplace  in  Europe  like  it.  It  is  hot 
enough  here,  I  can  tell  you,  and  with  no  panic 
alar  attractions  except  scenery,  and  that  docs 
not  cool  one." 


Our  JNewport  .Letter. 


Newport,  Sept.  1 
To  the  Editor  of  The  Boston  Journal: 

The  fashionable  season  may  be  said  to  be  over, 
though  the  cottagers  show  no  disposition  to  leave,  and 
evidently  intend  to  make  the  most  of  the  snmmer. 
The  public  houses,  with  one  exception,  are  closed,  ex- 
cept those  which  remain  open  all  the  year.  They  have 
enjoyed  a  good  season,  and  most  of  them  have  doubt- 
less paid  handsome  dividends.  With  board  at  five  dol- 
lars a  day,  it  would  be  strange  if  they  did  not;  yot  our 
landlords  are  always  complaining  of  short  commons. 
A  similar  complaint  is  occasionally  made  by  the  board- 
ers. It  is  to  be  hoped  before  another  season  that  we 
shall  have  a  new  roomy  hotel  close  by  the  water. 
Nobody  wants  to  go  to  the  seaside  for  sea  air  and 
views,  and  put  up  a  mile  from  the  shore,  and  be  obliged 
to  pay  from  four  to  six  dollars  for  a  carriage  everv  time 
the>  get  a  sight  of  it.  The  hotel  at  Rocky  Point,  and 
all  the  places  of  resort  along  tne  shores  of 
the  Narragansctt,  are  falling  back  to  their 
period  of  winter  repose.  By  taking  rest  now, 
the  caterers  to  the  pleasure  seeking  public  will 
be  better  prepared  to  receive.their  guests  when,  like 
the  birds  of  spring,  they  shall  come  again.  There  is 
not  much  gayety  just  at  present.  The  wedding  of  Sec- 
retary Fish's  son,  which  took  place  last  week,  has  Detm 
the  chief  topic  of  conversation  among  the  fashionables 
for  some  time.  The  brids,  Miss  Clemence  Bryce,  has 
been  a  belle  here,  and  has  received  much  attention 
abroad.  Many  distinguished  guests  were  preSent,  as 
well  as  all  the  elite  of  this  city,  and  everything  was 
conducted  on  a  magnificent  scale.  It  is  said  the  floral 
decorations  of  the  house  were  the  finest  of  the  kind 
ever  seen  in  Newport.  Julia  Ward  Howe,  Kate  Field 
and  Mary  Clemmer  Annis  are  still  here.  Tuckerman, 
the  poet,  is  to  be  seen  at  the  old  Redwood  Library  at 
all  times  of  the  day.  He  is  growing  old  rapidly,  and 
his  health  seems  poor.  Ida  Lewis  is  very  feeble,  and 
has  been  ordered  by  her  physician  to  see  no  one.  The 
excitement  of  the  past  three  months  has  been  too  much ' 
for  her,  and  the  constant  conversation  she  has  beea 
obliged  to  keep  up  with  callers  has  told  seriously  upon 
her  lungs.  She  will  not  go  to  Philadelphia  as  has  been 
talked  of. 

The  gale  ruined  the  appearance  of  our  city  for  some 
time  to  come.  All  our  foliage  is  dried  up  and  falling, 
and  vegetation  looks  as  if  scorched.  The  crops  are 
spoiled  on  the  island,  and  the  damage  done  everywhere 
is  very  great.  Some  of  the  most  beautiful  trees  on  the 
avenue  are  uprooted,  and  others  are  so  splintered  as  to 
make  it  necessany  to  take  them  down.  The  slate  roofs 
of  the  summer  residences  suffered,  parts  of  them  being 
lifted  bodily  and  carried  away,  the  fishermen  feel 
their  loss  keenly.  To  many  of  them  the  loss  of  their 
boats  has  thrown  them  entirely  out  of  employment. 

The  Good  Will  Fire  Company  of  Trenton,  N.  J., 
passed  through  this  city  on  their  way  from  Boston, 
and  spent  a  day  at  Rocky  Point.  The  Newport  com- 
panies gave  them  a  reception,  and  on  the  evening  of 
their  arrival  formed  a  torchlight  procession,  and,  with 
their  engines  beautifully  decorated,  escorted  thetu 
through  the  principal  streets.    The  o;dest  fire  com- 

Sany  lr  the  United  States  is  the  Torrent,  or  No.  1,  ef 
ew  port.  It  was  organized  in  17o6,  and  the  books  con- 
taining all  the  records  since  that  date  are  still  pre- 
served. A  piece  of  the  first  engine  is  also  carefully 
preserved  and  bears  the  original  lettering— the  date, 
maker's  name,  &c.  It  was  made  in  London  in  1735. 
They  now  have  a  steamer,  but  besides  the  first  and  the 
present  engine  they  have  had  but  one  other. 

The  weather  here  is  delightful  just  now.  -  About  a 
dozen  bathing  houses  have  been  made  of  the  fragments 
of  133,  and  a  few,  loth  to  give  it  up,  bathe  daily.  One 
would  hardly  believe  that  wind  could  ever  produce 
such  an  effect  as  did  the  late  gale  at  the  beach.  The 
loss  to  the  bathing  proprietors  is  about  $2000.  Noth- 
ing will  be  done  there  this  year,  but  by  bathing  time 
next,  season  everything  will  be  in  readiness. 

Our  bridges  are  not  repaired  yet,  and  communication 
with  the  main  land  is  uncertain.  There  being  no  pas- 
senger cars  on  this  side,  passengers  are  carried  to  the 
bridge  on  freight  cars  and  there  are  obliged  to  walk 
across  to  meet  the  train  on  the  other  side.  «The  mails 
are  irregular  and  we  have  no  telegraph  wires  yet. 
Work  is  going  on  rapidly,  however,  and  we  shall  soon 
be  all  right  again.  The  weather-wise  gravely  predict 
that  the  line  storm  will  be  fully  as  violent  as  that  of 
last  week.  A  movement  is  on  foot  among  the  fashion- 
ables to  raise  something  for  the  sufferers  by  the  gale, 
by  private  theatricals  or  in  some  such  manner.  An 
auciion  sale  of  the  household  furniture  and  ornaments 
of  one  of  our  first,  and  at  one  time  wealthiest  families, 
is  taking  place  to-day.  Enthusiasm  runs  high  among 
the  buyers  over  tiny  bits  of  old  china,  worth  their 
weight  in  gold,  and  rare  old  articles,  which  are  bring- 
ing marvelous  prices.  There  is  a  clock  bearing  the 
date  1661;  a  set  of  chairs  bought  in  1775;  another,  once 
belonging  to  Coton  Mather,  and  old  pictures  not  bigger 
than  your  hand,  for  which  the  starting  price  must  b« 
*5C0;  Venetian  glass  dishes  are  selling  at  $20  each- 
such  is  the  passion  for  antiquities.  i'.  p.  p. 


SMUTTED  HANDS. 


that  long  period.  In  addition  to  these  antiquities 
with  their  inventory,  made  in  the  eighth  century, 
are  some  fresh  objects,  added  within  five  or  six  hun- 
dred years,  so  the  whole  exhibition  is  a  curious 
record  of  a  thousand  years  of  national  existence. 


SMUTTED   HANDS. 


BY  THE  SEA. 

mueic  by  the  Baml—A  CSardem  of  Girh~- 
Bye  and  the  »h«als. 

Correspondence  of  The  Republican. 

Oceax  House,  Rye  Beach,  August  20. 

Would  yon  like  a  few  words  from  this  pleasant 
place?  I  presume  not;  but  as  every  one  who 
goes  from  home  in  thene  days,  whether  <o  crws 
the  ocdan  or  climb  a  rrouutain,  fecL<  it !.;,  tnty 
to  tell  the  reading  public  hi*  experience 
follow  the  fashion. 

This  hotel,  one  of  the  test  on  f  ■■■<  -vast,  has 
onlv  180  guests  at  present,  though  c:  ie  of  en- 
tertaining Over  800.  The  cold  weather  keeps 
people  at  home.  The  sunbathing  isdeh;hriul, 
—if  the  water  was  not  so  cold.  I  noticeo  ii. ■  ■. :  on 
the  days  when  I  did  not  try  it  it  was  alwaya  • ;  - 1 
as  warm!"  At  least,  so  the  drenched,  di 
Guvs  assured  me,  as  they  came  shivering  up  I  He 
bath-house;  but  I  never  have  had  any ■  wasoi  » 
accuse  old  ocean  of  the  fault  for  which  .lie  L  - 
diceans  we.e  reproved.  We  have  an  excel,,  i; , 
table  if  a  little  of  the  butter's  strength  could  -e 
transferred  to  the  tea  and  coffee,  and  if  the  mc .,ts 
did  not  have  a  uniform  flavor  oi  stewed-ail  to- 
gethrv-ness,  which  is  so  discouraging  to  one  who 
prefers  a  variety,  and  has  yet  some  little  iaitli  in 
human  natuie  and  a— bill  of  fare.  Then,  toe, 
we  have  a  band.— a  doeen  pieces— with  a  reper- 
toire of  perhaps  the  same  number  of  tunes,  which 
would  be  a  treat  if  we  were  not  afflicted  with 
"Capt  Jinks"  indefinitely.  We  have  music  (or 
breakfast,  dinner  and  tea,  (so  that  we  even  chew 
with  a  gentle  rhythmical  motion),  music  when- 
ever the  stage  comes  in  or  goes  out,  and  for  dan- 
cin<*  all  the  evening.  Yet  those  solemn  men  sit 
with  eyes  fixed  on  their  notes,  as  if  the  dashing 
captain  were  an  entirely  new  acquaintance,  and 
a  mistake  would  be  fatal.  You  have  heard  of 
the  illiterate  minister  who,  when  reading  the 
third  chapter  of  Daniel  to  his  nougregation, 
found  the  names  of  the  numerous  musical  in- 
struments mentioned  there  a  little  tedious  as 
well  as  difficult.  So,  instead  of  stumbling  over 
the  sackbut  and  dulcimer  a  second  time,  he 
merelv  waved  his  hand  in  an  impressive  manner 
and  said,  "The  whole  band  as  before."  That'* 
what  we  have. 

In  regard  to  guests,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  sud- 
denly set  down  in  Mormondom.  V*  in  re  are  all 
the  young  men,  brave,  gallant  and  appreciative, 
who  ought  to  be  here?  It  is  not  cheerful  to  be 
constantly  reminded  of  the  alarming  overplus  of 
women  in  New  England.  Here  is  a  bevy  of 
pretty  girls  charmingly  dressed,  bathing.driving, 
playing  croquet,  danoina  all  by  thcraseives,  and 
hardly  any  one  here  to  see  them  but  their  papas, 
who  doubtless  have  too  fresh  a  recollection  of 
bi---  bills  to  survey  the  effect  with  much  compla- 
cency. It  is  really  too  bad,  and  if  this  doleful 
yet  "attractive  picture  ot  "a  garden  of  girls," 
blooming  and  blushing  all  alone.shall  draw  hither 
even  one  masculine  admirer,  I  shall  feel,  as 
humble  authors  say  in  closing  a  preface,  that  "I 
have  not  written  in  vain!" 

4.nd  now  for  another  conundrum.  Where  are 
all  the  children?  I  see  plenty  of  little  creatures, 
frizzled,  flowered,  and  furbelowed,  who  engage 
the  croquet  ground  and  do  most  of  the  dancing, 
control  society  in  fact;  but  there  are  no  dear 
little  girls  of  the  good  old  times,  simply  dressed 
and  natural.  I  saw,  one  evening  long  alter  ten, 
a  little  tot,  just  able  to  walk,  (not  yet  "out"  I 
suppose)  standing  on  the  stairs  watchiug  the 
dancing,  with  her  nur  e  behind  her.  She  was 
dressed  elaborately, ami  taKing  all.  the  steps  of 
(k.i,nM™  with  Rncli  an  air!     I  win!)  vou    could        of  tht"  Wheeler  &  Wilson  Machine  we  can  speak  with  entire  clearness  and 

he  lancers  with  i        an  air  l       wi     you  cooia   confiden     after  tne  use  of         ei  ht  or  mor    iu  our  feuiily.  We  look 

have  seen  her   courtesy!      I  he  little  specimen  itas'one  of  the  benefactions  of  the  age,  and  one  which  will  constitute 

from  Lilliput,  too,  who  rusned  up  to  me  in  sucu   an  era  in  tUe  history  of  womttn.    its  song  should  be: 
a  patronizing  way,   exclaiming,  ''Oh,  you  must 
help  us  make  up  a  set,"    I  shall    not  soon  for- 
get. 

The  cottages  in  the  neighborhood  are  all 
crowded/— a  much  better  place  for  families  to 
spend  the  summer.  The  little  burying  grounds 
on  one  corner  of  the  farm,  paled  off  from  the 
surrounding  corn  and  potatoes,  form  a  promi- 
nent feature  of  the  place.  Almost  every  family 
has  its  own  graveyard,  and  for  this  reason  the 
farms  aie  handed  down  from  one  generation  to 
another  without  change.  I  saw  a  cow  the  other 
dav  stand  with  head  over  the  enclosure  gazing 
solemnly  at  the  headstones,  as  if  Musing  on  our 
common  mortality. 

The  boatmen  and  fishermen  here  are  very  In- 
telligent and  communicative.  It  cannot  be  the 
fish  they  eat  that  stimulates  their  brins,  for  they 
tell  me  they  scarcely  touch  it.  How  little  we 
value  what  we  can  hafe  freely !  These  people  rare 
ly  take  a  dip  in  the  surf,  and  tie  women  sel- 
dom swim  or  row.  No  doubt  their  "rcatest 
ambition  is  to  get  to  the  mountains.  It  is  the 
fashion  to  go  to  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  this  year. 
The  proprietors  of  the  Appledore  house  hope  to 
make  at  least  830,000  this  summer.  It  may  be 
vcrv  delightful, but  I  do  think  the  glowing,  poetic 
article  in  the  last  Atlantic  will  not  b<i  realized  by 
all  who  go  theie.    It  is  a  little  like  Murray's 

Adirondac  romance;  delightful  to   read,  b.it  not 
auite  literal  enough  for  a  guide-book. 

Butlisteu!  is  that  a  new  tune?  The  band  U 
discoursing  again  to  call  ns  to  dinner,  and  my 
appetite  in  this  health  giving  place  will  not  be 
trifled  with.  Nothing  else  could  induce  me  to 
leave  yon.  Do  you  bless  the  music  that — "car- 
ries me  away?"    Good-by.  Kate  S. 


Through  all  of  life,  the  toughest  task 

Before  mankind  that  stands, 
Is  doing  what  the  world  may  ask, 

Yet  never  soiling  hands  — 
To  be  a  statesman,  and  forego 

The  bribes  of  place  and  power  ; 
To  be  a  priest,  yet  never  know 

Some  weak  and  tempting  hour ; 
To  be  a  merchant,  and  refuse 

Some  quick  unhallowed  gain. 
When  one  could  win  though  others  lose, 

And  profit  hallow  stain. 
All  these  and  many  more  are  hard, 

In  manhood's  tempted  path, 


And  he  must  be  most  lucky  starred 

Who  such  good  fortune  hath. 
Young  Johnny,  left  awhile  alone 

Within  the  kitchen's  bound. 
Though  all  the  truth  he  scarce  has  known, 

The  fatal  hour  has  found. 
The  saucepan's  tempting  sides  have  given 

His  hands  a  grimy  hue. 
That  washings  five  and  scrubbings  seven, 

Can  scarcely  all  undo. 
With  rue  he  scans  those  digits  black, 

And  thinks  of  ways  and  means  ; 
Vet  nothing  in  his  thought,  alack  ! 

Those  Ethiop  fingers  cleans. 
Pray  heaven  that  in  his  older  life 

He  finds  no  fatal  hour, 
When,  fresh  from  scene  of  human  strife, 

He  lacks  that  self-same  power ! 
Pray  heaven,  in  decades  far  away, 

A  stronger  man  he  stands, 
From  having  had  in  childhood's  day 

A  pair  of  smutted  hands. 


Click!  click!  click! 

While  the  cock  crows  loud  and  free, 
And  click !  click !  click  1 

Is  a  merry  sound  to  me. 
With  bodice  trim  and  neat 

I  seam,  and  gusset,  and  band, 
With  my  dainty-slippered  feet, 

And  a  small,  white-fingered  hand. 
Stitch  to  the  click  of  the  steel ; 

And  never  an  aching  head 
While  I  turn  the  gliding  wheel, 

With  the  gleaming  silver  thread. 
Oh.  woman  I  no  more  a  slave 

To  seam,  to  gusset,  and  band, 
Shall  beautiful  grow  and  brave 

In  the  light  of  our  happy  land. 


THE  SEWING  MACHINE. 


BY   SOLON   ROBINSON. 

Set  to  Music,  and  dedicated  to  the 
Wheeler  AJWilson  Sewing  Machine  Co. 

Light  dawns  on  the  world  at  last! 

The  world  of  woman's  labor — 
The  furnace  roars  in  fiery  blast, 

With  steam,  its  working  neighbor ; 
And  both  engage  in  giant  toil, 
And  day  by  day  are  bound  to  moil, 
To  lighten  woman's  labor. 

Light  dawns  ou  the  world  at  last ! 

And  woman's  hope  grows  stronger, 
The  power  of  steam  is  working  fast, 

With  water-power,  its  neighbor; 
And  both  engage  iu  right  good  will, 
To  work  with  men  of  cunning  skill 
To  lighten  woman's  labor. 

Light  dawns  on  the  world  at  last  1 
A  light  that  shows  the  needle, 

At  woman's  will,  now  move  so  fast, 
With  music  like  the  tabor; 

And  stitches  form  so  free  and  fast, 

That  woman's  time  iu  song  is  past, 
To  lighten  woman's  labor. 

Light  dawns  ou  the  world  at  last  1 
Machines  now  drive  the  needle. 

And  seams  arc  mads  so  strong  and  fast, 
'Tis  Heaven's  latest  favor 

To  sew  with  crank,  and  arm,  and  wheel 

Machines  that  toil  ami  never  feel, 

But  lighten  woman's  labor. 


Henry  Ward  Beecher, 


Proper  tfse  et  the  B,ote; 

A  great  many  peap^e  ttfa..^  tnat  the  Bible 
vety  sacred  book.    I  vWM  t*!i'  you  Low  it  is  a.  sa^'  ' 

/  cretf  fcoo'i.    If  you  read  thiv  hook,  and -find  < 

'Iks  in  it,  and  they  ai<e  fir,  msferred  as  living, 
virtues  to  you,  then  to>  you  it  becomes  a  ,  sacred1 
book.  This  book  is  saerSd  to  /ou  just so  far  as 
its  teachings  are  incorporated  £n  vvour  experience 
and  feeMngs,  and  not  a  b.t  fifrtber*  All  *hat  pari 
of  the  fflfofe  is  Bible  to  y«o.s  which  yott-Mve  by, 
,.  So  mweir  of  the  Bible  as"  y«'?' >  vi&ili^e  is  vain able 
to  you;  bit  so  much  of  it  a&ytm  (ki  not  vitalize  is 

-  of  no  use- £<«>  you.  You  put  yolflr  Bible  in  your 
?iook-case.  There  it  stands  aU4hevweek,  perhSprf. 
O  you  read!  it  once  a  day,  or  8ft«e  ■  week,  as  fthe 
cf.se  may  b*.  And  you  do  ifc'  very  decorou-iy. 
The  room  is  still,  and  your  children  sit  around 
the  room  in  a1  stiff  row.  You  p '.£■  on  your  sp-v 
tacles  and  read;  and  as  you  reacuyou  lower  tlsc* •" 
key  of  your  \*oice — for  when  ma,  ^ffaat  to  be  re«- 
ligious,  they  always  take  a  BolennVnOte;  an  1  you 
read  a1!  the  way  through  the  chapWand.  are  lite  j 
a  blind  manwalking  along  the  ro*4 -whore  there 
are  all  s^rts  of  flowers  on  both  sides- merer  seeing 
a  single  one.  Men  read  thus,  and'  feel  a  great 
deal  better  because  they  have  read  Mie  Bible  to  . 
their  family  1:  Now,  I  tell  you,  the  'only  thing 
you  read  in  the  Bible  is  that  which  rfmps  into 
you,  and  which  yon,  cannot  get  out  of  you,  It  is 
the  vital,  lu;r»i«ous> part,  and  not  the  dead  letter  ■% 
that  you  read,  if  you  read  any  part  of  +he  Bible. 
Suppose  I  sl^ild  set  up  housekeepirg  on  the 
same  principle  that  some  people  set  up  their  / 
religious  housekeeping?  A  man  goes  to 
housekeeping,  and  gets  a  Bible,  with  h  s-  name 
on  the  inside,  axfti  his  name  on  the  wteidAJ 
and  puts  it  on  the  table,  in  his  best  roont^  and 
there  it  lies  ior  months  and  years  without  being 
opened— unless  these  is  a  funeral  in  the  f  p.mdly! 
Suppose  I  should  go  so  housekeeping,  and  sbfeuld 
give  an  order  to  the.  grocer  for  three  bo:  es  of 
sperm  caudles,  saying„  '*I  am  eroing  to  have  alu- 
minous house,"  and  should  "put  those  carries 
away  in  the  attic,  and  iwver  light  one  of  the»? 
Wtoat  is  the  use  of  candles  but  to  burn  ?  Thai'is 
the  very  figure  of  our  Master.  He  says,  "No  ir.sn 
puts  a  candle  under  a  bushel,  but  he  lights  it  and 
puts  it  on  a  candlestick."' 


■■"  ■■  ■ 


The  Lesson  of  Mr  Raymond's  Life  and 
Death.— What  are  those  things  which  engaged 
his  days  and  hours?  What  are  the  cares,  the 
frets,  the  petty  ambitions,  the  stinging  annoy- 
ances, the  small  strifes,  the  friction,  the  sweat 
and  fear  of  life?  What  are  those  things,  as  we 
stand  here  and  look  back  upon  them,  measured 
by  this  hour,  that  should  measure  the  worth  of 
all  things?  What  are  those  things  that  are  past? 
How  vain,  how  useless!  What  best  may  we  do 
that,  judged  by  this  hour,  we  shall  stand  by  his 
memory,  who  lived  not  for  himself,  but  so  asso- 
ciated himself  with  the  welfare  of  mankind,  es- 
pecially with  the  community  in  which  he 
was  placed,  that  the  work  he  leaves 
behind  him  shall  be  his  memorial.  For  no 
man  is  great  enough  to  be  remembered 
in  selfishness.  The  things  which  shall  make  our 
names  memorable  are  those  things  which  we  do 
upon  others  and  for  others.  Not  those  who 
have  lived  for  themselves,  but  those  who  have 
lived  for  others,  for  their  country,  for  their  age. 
You  and  I,  too,  ere  long,  shall  come  to  this  hour. 
You  are  strong,  the  blood  beats  now  healthily  in 
your  veins,  but  in  a  short  time  you  shall  be  in 
the  coffin,  and  you  shall  be  followed  by  your 
friends  to  the  tomb.  Could  we,  if  you  were 
called  hence,  to-day,  speak  well  of  vour  history? 
Have  you  earned  the  right  to  be  spoken  of  grate- 
fully in  this  solemn  hour,  and  have  your  name 
handed  down  to  others  ?  Are  you  living  above 
the  world  while  in  it,  cbristianlv,  purely,  and 
nobly  ?  Are  you  liviDg  with  fear  of  God  and 
with  hope  of  immortality?  For,  surely,  it  is  no 
unmeaning  seiwice  of  respect  that  vou  pay  to- 
day.— Mr  Beecher  at  Mr.  Raymond's  Funeral. 


Mr.  Beecher's  Answer  to  the  Pope. 
When  the  mild  and  summery  old  Pope  sends 
his  missive  to  the  Presbyterians  and  Episcopa- 
lians, and  says,  "Brethren,  wandering  in  irregu- 
lar paths,  behold !  we  have  called  an  ecumenical 
council :  come  all,  that  a  universal  Christendom 
may  be  represented  in  this  council:"  I  say  to  the 
Pope,  "God  bless  you,  dear  old  man :  aud  God 
bless  your  bishops,  and  make  them  a  hundred 
times  holier  than  they  are ;  and  God.  bless  all  the 
churches  that  arc  under  your  authority  according 
to  the  arrangements  of  men.  If  it  were  conve- 
nient for  me  to  no  to  Rome,  and  I  could  throw 
any  light  on  the  liberty  of  the  individual,  I  would 
sit  in  your  council.  But  it  matters  very  little 
to  me  whether  I  go  or  stay.  For  the  church  is  not 
with  you.  You  do  not  own  Christ,  and  you  do 
not  own  the  world.  Grace  be  unto  you,  because 
you  are  a  part  of  God's  flock,  with  all  your  faults. 
Grace  be  unto  you  in  all  your  endeavors.  How- 
ever imperfectly  your  priests  and  bishops  may 
preach ;  however  much  they  may  have  brought 
down  from  a  mediaeval  age  of  luggage  on  their 
backs,  nevertheless,  I  will  rejoice  because  Christ 
is  preached." 

Force  ok  Example.-As  I  look  back  on  my 
father's  life,  I  cannot  remember,  in  all  the  retro- 
spect, a  single  act  of  self-seeking  on  his  part.    J 


3  HearttajtdHealthtRemgiov.  We  make 
the  following  extracts  from  a  report  of  a  sermon 
by  the  Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  in  the  New 
York  Evening  Post  : 

The  mind  may  be  influenced  by  fear,  by  cmo- 
andhP^J^^ti011'  bya  sense'of  infiniteness 
and  h£?*L  &.the  apathies,  or  benevolence 
2?  1  ®1  •  v  tl,ese  are  not  alike  desirable;  al- 
though it  is  better  to  be  touched  by  the  lowest 
than  not  at  all.  The  earliest  feeling  towards 
God  was  that  of  fear,  and  this  is  the  most  uni- 
versal. The  fear  of  God  is  of  two  kinds— one  lie- 
longs  to  generous  feelings;  the  other  is  a  shrink- 
ing from  something  that  is  doubtful  or  terrible 
fins  crouching,  servile  fear  of  God,  not  only  de- 
bases God,  but  degrades  the  man  who  acts  un- 
der it;  for  fear,  as  a  general  thing,  never  works 
upon  the  inner  nature  towards  goodness,  but  only 
upon  the  outer,  towards  conduct.  A  man  who 
thus  fears,  is  like  the  man  who  should  go  to- 
wards the  Polar  sea  thinking  to  get  to  the  equa- 
tor. He  is  on  the  wrong  train,  with  the  wrong 
engineer,  and  instead  of  leading  to  life,  the  road 
leads  to  death.    There  is  no  gospel  in  it. 

There  are  many  who  think  this  servile  fear  is  a 
sign  of  grace.  They  are  miserable  without  it. 
ihis  feeling  of  inferiority,  this  shrinking  awe 
is  popularly  understood  as  worship.  To  be  re- 
ligious with  persons  entertaining  it,  is  to  exer- 
cise this  homage— this  crouching  as  a  slave  in 
the  presence  of  his  master.  This  is  the  religion 
of  the  Romish  church,  and  though  Protestant- 
ism has  abandoned  its  forms,  it  has  not  aban- 
doned its  spirit. 

He  did  not  ridicule  this  spirit  in  its  place  but  ' 
pronounced  it  as  false  as  anything  can  be.  There  ; 
are  churches  which  are  built  in  obedience  to  this 
spirit,  with  gloomy  Avails  of  stone  and  coffin-col- 
ored pews,  which  remind  one  of  his  last  narrow 
resting-place;  the  windows  are  darkened  to  shut 
out  the  light  of  heaven;  and  those  building  such  \ 
churches  depend  upon  the  deep,  solemn  music 
rolling  heavily  along  the  shaded  and  gloomy 


cannot  remember  ever  to  have  heard  him  dee^  '  WlS^^&$e?j£gSg 
or  severely  criticise  a  brother  in  the  ministry  V  .  Awe  is  precisely  what  it  is;  it  is  not  worship 
I  cannot  remember  ever  to  have  heard  him  rv/  ■  "•'? /"?  ?.nd  n?th,in*  more-  And  the  man  who 
hearse  his  own  doings  with  euloo-v  or-  ™  i  .  lu        to  these  mnueace*>  and  k  impressed  with 

,  uuiiigs  wnn  eulogy,  or  praise,  -  ,  f,  the  sepulchral  gloom  of  the  place  when  hp  <r™>- 
conscious  pride.  His  life  was  as  simple  as\\;  out  of* the  church  draws  a lon^M!?  breathes 
child's;  and  it  was  as  straightforward,  and  asN  ^dy  once  more,  and  thinks  himself  as  good  a 
honest,  and  as  snirit.mllv  wJL....t...  '     T  Christian  as  the  rest. 


honest,  and  as  spiritually  well-meaning,  as  I  can 
conceive  a  life  to  be.    And  now  I  can  analyze, 
and  see  what  I  could  not  in  my  childhood-that 
I  it  had  a  powerful  influence  on  my  mind.    I  can- 
[  not  express  what  I  owe  to  my  father's  silent  ex- 
I  ample,  and  what  a  power  it  has  been  against 
doubt,  as  confirming  and  intensifying  my  con- 
sciousness of  the  reality  of  true  and  spiritual 
religion.    The  example  of  my  father  and  mother 
are  an  everlasting  bulwark  to  me  against  infidel- 
ity ;  so  that  if  my  reason  were  assaulted,  if  I 
could  not  meet  the  arguments  that  were  raised 
against  religion,  I  should  still  have,  as  it  were 
in  transfiguration,  the  memory  of  my  parents, 
who  were  an  embodiment  of  piety;  and  that 
would  hold  me,  if  other  things  gave  way,  so  that 
I  needed  anything  to  hold  me.    The  vision  has 
clung  to  me  just  as  after  the  Master  was  trans- 
figured on  the  Mount,  the  vision  of  that  scene 
clang  to  the  men  who  witnessed  it.    The  be- 
witchment  of  that  wonderful  occurrence   re- 
mained with  them.    Blessed  are  they  who  have 
had  a  vision  of  transfiguration  in  childhood,  and 
Who  have  never  lost  a  belief  in  the  reality  of 
true  religion.— Iiev.  II.  W.  Beecher. 


Such  worship  is  always  narrow.  It  is  not  to 
see  Christ  smiling  and  saving:—"!  call  you 
friends;  come  unto  me  in  everv  time  of  need  " 
It  always  sent  a  shiver  over  him  to  enter  such  a 
church.  •  There  arc  thousands,"  said  the  speak- 
er, who  would  be  shocked  to  hear  me  talk  as  I 
do  about  it,  but  1  cannot  help  it.  Your  God  is  a 
jailor;  my  God  is  a  Father." 

One  of  the  greatest  obstacles  a  minister  had  to 
contend  with  is  this  spirit  of  servile  fear.  Men 
think  that  in  order  to  be  converted  thev  must  go 
through  the  Inferno,  as  Dante  did;  thev  must 
snuff  the  brimstone.  He  regretted  that  men 
should  be  so  mean  and  grovelling  in  their 
thoughts,  and  not  be  willing  to  come  to  God  as 
a  friend  and  father. 

The  reverend  gentleman  said  that  a  minister 
who  should  study  to  make  an  audience  laugh  by 
a  poor  pun  or  joke,  was  not  fit  to  enter  the  pul- 
pit. But  if  a  spontaneous  smile  arose  from  the 
audience,  he  was  not  disturbed.  He  never  at- 
tempted to  make  them  laugh,  neither  did  he  try 
to  stop  them.  Laughing,  he' thought,  was  just  as 

-  good  as  crying,  and  a  good  deal  better.   'Cheer- 
fulness is  characteristic  of  Christianity. 
If  there  were  present  any  conscientious  liars 

k  in  quest  of  a  paragraph,  he  should  expect  to  see 
it  going  the  rounds  of  the  conscientious  religious 
press  that  he  said  people  should  go  to  church  to 
laugh ;  but  he  called  the  audience  to  witness  that 
it  would  be  a  lie— he  had  said  no  such  thing. 


The  Effect  of  Emigration  on  Our  Home  Life. 

UV  HENKY  WARD  BEECHER. 

The.  advent  of  so  many  people  of  different  na- 
tion* wi.J  tend,  it  seems  to  me,  to  enliven  and 
enrich  the  »od  .1  customs  of  our  land.  We  are 
wont  to  look  mere  upon  the  conflicts,  and  to  be 
more  conscious  of  the  jars,  whrih  manners  and 
customs  bring  upon  us,  than  to  think  how  much 
there  is,  besides  these,  of  gratulation.  We  are  to 
look  particularly  to  the  emigrants  of  northern  \f 
nations  for  social  wealth.  Whether  it  be  some-  '> 
thing  in  race,  or,  more  probably,  the  final  result 
of  climate,  the  fact  is  this :  that  the  northern 
races  are  the  races  of  domestic  and  home  h alii k  4 
There  is  in  Spain  but  little;  in  Italvless;  and  in 
Greece  and  Turkey  there  is  no  such  family  iden 
as  there  is  in  the  north.  Winter,  that  shuts  nan 
up  for  mouths  under  the  roof  and  around  the 
hearth,  is  the  true  patron  of  the  household. 
Open  skies  and  balmy  Januaries  will  never  know 
the  true  flavor  of  household  life.  Such  climates 
are  centrifugal.  They  drive  men  out  from  their 
proper  centre.  But  winter  shuts  up  wood  and 
field,  and  drives  men  and  women  homeward. 
The  long  nights  must  have  occupation.  People 
live  together— not  in  neighborhood,  but  together. 
Household  life  in  a  religious  atmosphere' breeds 
household  virtues  and  family  affections.  It  is  not 
with  the  heart  as  it  is  with  the  purse.  Society 
is  better  off  when  riches  are  not  concentrated, 
but  diffused.  Society  needs  great  riches,  but  it 
needs  them  in  a  great  many  hands.  It  is  average 
wealth  that  determines  their  economic  power  and 
blessing  in  civilized  society.  But  the  heart  needs 
concentration.  Affections  that  are  never  intense, 
but  are  gently  diffused  over  a  wide  space,  are 
always  feeble  and  inoperative.  To  love  our 
neighbors  well,  we  must  love  ourselves  wisylv. 
The  intensity  of  a  few  ^ives  nualitv  aud  flavor  to 
the  general  love  of  the  many.  Only  in  a  com- 
pact household  will  this  love  be  developed,  and 
disciplined,  and  intensified,  and  made  potential 
I  am  so  extreme  on  this  point  that  I  had  almost 
said  that  the  frost-line  marks  the  realm  of  repub- 
licanism. Where  men  do  not  live  in  the  house 
summer  or  winter,  monarchy  will  prevail.  Where 
men  are  shut  up  together  for  long  periods,  and 
are  obi iged  to  develop  household  loves,  they  will 
have  hearts  that  can  take  in  at  length  slues,  and 
form  commonwealths.  Anil  true  republican 
commonwealths  grow  out  of  the  power  which  is 
generated  only  in  the  Christian  household.  It  is 
to  our  northern  emigrants,  coming  fram  the 
household,  and  bringing  household  ideas  with 
them,  and  not  from  southern  plains,  that  we  look 
for  a  gradual  contribution  to  the  social  and  de  •- 
orative  customs  of  our  households,  for  amuse- 
h  ments,  for  graceful  imaginations  and  associations 
Not  always  will  these  peculiar  races  flow  si  lo  by 
side  unmixed.  Not  always  will  they  rigorously 
keep  their  manners  and  their  customs.  We  shall 
remit  something  of  our  ri -or,  and  they  will  add  a 
little  to  theirs.  They  will  learn  self-restraint  and 
we  shall  see  reasons  for  innocent  self-indulgence 
V  e  cannot  invite  the  people  of  the  world  hither' 
and  expect  that  with  foreign  allegiance  thev  will 
also  lay  down  foreign  education.  They  brin •>■  us 
capital;  they  bring  us  labor.  They  brin »•  also 
opinions,  juid  sentiments,  and  customs  which 
are  to  have  a  great  and,  as  I  believe,  enrichin  1 
,  influence  upon  the  coming  American  There 
will,  therefore,  be  a  time  when  the  manners  and 
Tfi?!'  Sl?d  S-?,dal  induteences  of  all  the  nations 

(of  the  earth  will  conspire  to  construct  in  America 
a  household  richer,  purer,  more  inteUigen™"nd 
kirownPOW  thaU  aUy   that    h^   Jet' been 

Your  Heavenly  Father  Knoweth. 
erVSif/ePKanwe  Pl\rase,'  your  twemyFath. 

Uim  with  whom  you  have  to  do.  TherS  no  sar 
rTJ?=deep'  ther,e.  is  uo  ^'kness  so  profound 

telrn0b^??^i?C,ltto,,  °f  cireum^ance?soS 
tangling,  but  that  you  mav  say,  "Well  therein 
nothing  that  affects  me  which  my  heavenly  Fath£ 
does  not  know."  Tf  yon  will  take  notice  of 
will  s#°  ?  ?flSSa^'  (Matthew  vi.  25-34  Wo/ 
"f>i  £♦  Hhat  °^r  Savi0«  *™  saying  to  them 

Do  not  be  anxious;  and  through  a  spirit  of  ex- 
cessive anxiety  do  not  be  saying,  all  the  t*mV 

How  shall  I  get  a  living  ?"-for  that  is  thenH* 

hfllwp'd^r^8'  rWhat  sha11  we  eat'^t 
Lia"  W<?rV  inki  ??d  wherewifhal  shall  we  be  cloth- 
™>Vn .  *•  not'  ^  said  he>  "£ive  }r«urself  any  con- 
h£jJZVTruh?*yen]i'  Fathcr  knoweth  that  ye 
ofC^rf]lf-allthcSeib-in^-  When  men  think 
nL  f^V  taking  care  of  time  and  eternity,  thev  are 

fmnortin    ^  he  has  on  handso  much  more 
important  business  than  our  clothes,  and   our 

Kctd  ?d  b"tter'  that  llc  Ka™*y  c<™  be  ex- 


a 


Thiv  OT. t0  pu:r  muSh  «*«cntion  to  these  things 
«fS  J^aP*  *?  think,  therefore,  that  he  remits tc 


nntiivoi  "  IV  — "f?v""°'  "ua*  "o  renins  to 

natuial  law  the  care  of  physical  things  which 
are  scarcely  worthy  of  his  own  special  bought 
But  God  is  the  most  minute  housekeeper  in  the 
is  «S  ^«hody  else  knows  so  well  as  he  what 
hnMi*1  f°r  the  meal  and  for  the  wardrobe.  No- 
i7\*  knows  »  well  as  he  what  the  till  has  in 
and  ft£i  V  se  knows  so  well  as  he  about  rent 
the  boHv  M°b0t&  elf  kDOWS  so  wel1  as  he  about 
hiscrSn-i6  Hlte"ds  fS  the  physical  wants  of 
spectt  a  «  V  •  -  1S  a-  Father  t0  us  in  these  re- 
was 
eth 


55 

ft 

5 
& 

(-6 


>  creatures     He  is  a  Father  to"  us  in  these  re-       * 
^nip«CS*Uwos<«.iththis  thought  that  Christ  1  #/ 
thi t  vn  lt0  Sa7'  ?  <?r  heavenly  Father  know-  .-  Y _ 
.that  j  e  have  heed  of  all  these  things."  '      ~^ 


Henry  Ward  Beecher, 


I  hold  that  bishop*ar;i  all.  wall  enough.    I  db< 
nut  o\  iect  to  bisbopa.    I  down  say  I  should  like  tw 
be  a  bishop  myself!    Ida m*  object  to  a  pop*;. 
His  place  is  eminently  deai/raM*;  and  I  do  not 
suppose  there  is  a  man  ih.tfri*  congregation  who; 
would  not  be  a  pope  if.  he  could.    It  is  not-  a: 
pope  that  we  object  So.,  hut  it  is  the  Pope  ?/* 
Home.    We  do  not  cbjeet  to.  the  pope  that  lives  in 
us.     Evt  ry  man  has  a  pope  ha  bainv.    There  are  in 
the  ftmfly  hundreds  of  popes,  male  and  female. 
"Wherever  men  can  have  power  over  others,  .and 
they  exercise  it,  and  love  it,  they  are  pope.    And 
I  do  not  object  particulaiy  to   any  church    that 
chooses  to  organize  itself  with  a  pope,  and  cardi- 
nals, and  bishops,  and  priests-,  and  ministers,  pro- 
vided it  savs  that  neither  of  them  is  of  such  di- 
vine ordination  as  to  be  obligatory  on  the  whole 
church.    If  they  merely    say,  "Experience  has, 
taught  us  that  this  kind  of  organization,  this 
method  of  preparing  ministers  and  governors  in 
the  church  is  a  uood  one,  and  leads  to  the  accom-. 
plishment  of  a  good  work,  and  we  prefer  it,"  I 
have  no  more  to  say.    It  is  their  liberty,  and  I 
respect  that  liberty.    I  might  not  like  to  conform 
to  such  a  method,  but  I  hare  no  objection  to  it. 
When,  however,  they  attempt  to  impose  it  on 
me;  when   they  say  to  me,  "You  must  do  so 
and   so;"  when  they  say,  "Unless  the  church 
in  which  you  worship  is  thus  and  thus  organ- 
ized, and  has  just  such  an  order  of  men,  it    is 
not  a  Christian  church;"  when  they  look  benevo- 
lently down  upon  me  from  their  human-built 
walls,  and  say,    "You  may  be  saved  out  of  your 
chur<h;  don't  know;  it  is  possible;  God  is  very 
merciful,  but  it  is  an  uncovenanted  mercy ;  you'll 
have    to    take    your  chance:    we  up    here    are 
uoing  to  be  saved;  but  you  down  there,  that  live 
inviiu.arlv— can't  make  you  any  promises;  you'd 
better  come  in  here,  and  be  safe'' — when  men  take 
this  way  with  me,  I  am  even  wickeder  than  they 
are.     I  have  more  contempt  for  them.than  they 
have  for  me.     They  must  not  attempt  to  force 
their  human-made  institutions  upon  me.    If  they 
say  they  are  good,  and  take  them  of  their  own 
free  choice  because  experience  has  shown  that 
they    are   good,   that   is  fair  and  rational.      I 
make  no  objection  to  that.     But  where  they  un- 
dertake to  sav  that  it  is  the  only  thing  whereby  a 
man  mav  be  "saved,  I  lift  up  my  heart  and  my 
Christ  against    them,  and  say:    "My  salvation 
comes,  not  through  this  medium  or  that,  but 
from  God's  great  love  to  my  soul  through  Jesus 
Christ,  and    I  am    safe,  though   all   the  ocean 
should  lift  against    me  its    mighty   waves,  and 
storms    embattled   should   sweep    the   heavens. 
'If   God  be  for  me,  who  can   be   against   me?' 
I  stand  on    the  verity  of   this    simple  power  of 
God's  heart   on  my    heart.      That    saves   me." 
And  if   they  say,   "You  have  gifts  for  Breach- 
ing, and    you    might    have    been    a    tolerable 
preacher  if  you   had  been  properly  ordained,'' 
I  reply  that  I  icas  properly  ordained.    My  father 
ordained  me.    Ah,  I  was  better  ordained   than 
that:  my   greater  Father  ordained  me.    He  or- 
dained me  twice;  first,  when  he  put  his  hand  on 
my  head  before  I  was  born,  and  said,  "Be  a 
head;"  and  then,  after  I  had  carried  it  around  a 
few  years,  when  he  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
touched  my  heart  rather  than  my  head,  and  said, 
"Be  ordained  again."    First,  he  makes  the  head- 
piece, to  think;   and  then  he  touches  the  heart, 
and  says,  "Go  preach  my  Gospel."    When  a  man 
has  had  that  done  to  him  he  is  ordained.    A  pope 
c -mid  not  make  him  any  better;   a  bishop  could 
not  make  him  any  better;   a  whole  presbytery 
could  not  make  him  any  better.    Yet,  if  a  man 
says,  "I  should  feel  better' if  I  only  thought  that 
this  bishop  had  been  touched  by  that  bishop,  and 
that  bishop  by  that  bishop,  and   that  bishop  by 
that  bishop,  and  that  bishop  by  that  bishop,  clear 
back  to  the  apostolic  battery,  and  that  finally  a 
little  spark  had  come  down  on  me,"  then  that  is 
his   liberty.     Let    him    by  all    means  take  the 
shock!    I  have  no  objection  to  it.    It  is  a  free 
country  not  only,  but  it  is  a  free  ecclesiastical 
economy.    You  have  perfect  liberty  to  take  what- 
ever you  think  will  make  you  feel  better.    If  this 
mode  of  ordination  addresses  itself  to  your  senti- 
ment, to  your  poetical  instincts,  or  even  to  your 
■  ns — which   is  the  last  thing  that  I  can 
imagine— and  if  you  want  it,  that  is  the  rea- 
son  why  you  should   be  at  liberty  to  take  it. 
It  is  not  this  that  I  object  to  in  high  churches. 
It  is  their  domiaation;   it  is  their  arrogance;  it 
is  their  despotism;  it  is  their  declaration  that  they 
are  the  people,  and  that  wisdom  shall  die  with 
them;  it  is  their  assumption  that  there  is  but  one 
order,  and  that  that  is  in  their  church.    I  hold 
that  every  man  who  knows  Christ  Jesus,  and 
loves  him,  and  loves  his  lellow-men,  not  only  has 
a  light  to  preach  what  he  is,  and  what  Christ  has 
done  lor  him,  and  what  life,  and  life  eternal,  is, 
but  has  a  right,  if  he  chooses,  to  gather  those  to 
whom  he  preachy  into  a  brotherhood,  and  call 
them  a  church ;   and  if  he  chooses  to  dispense  the 
bread  and  wine  to  them,  that  is  the  communion 
of  the  Lord's  Supper.    Though   never  priest  saw 
him,  nor  ministir  touched  him,  he  is  ordained, 
and  is  authorized  to  administer  the  sacrament. 

Oh!  that  those  men  who  are  so  fond  of  finding 
the  apostles  could  only  tind  the  inside  as  well  as 
the  outside.  What  they  seem  to  seek  is  the 
apostles'  old  coats,  their  old  linen,  their  cast-oif 
garment*— not  that  glowing  soul  of  catholicity, 
not  that  large  element  of  true  and  manly  love, 
not  that  broad  sense  of  liberty,  not  that  intense 
feeling  of  personal  indept  ndence,  which  was  in 
Paul,  and  which  was  in  tne  Master  before  him. 


'J  he  sooner  it  is  understood  that  ciiurches  and  \ 
sects  aie  just  what  States  are  in  this  govern umaut , 
the  better  it  will  be.  A  man  is  bom  in  Connecti- 
cut,  and  he  thinks  it  is  the  best  State  to  tne 
Union — until  he  sees  some  other.  And  when  he 
goes  out  of  it,  he  does  not  forget  his  native  State. 
He  goes  to  New  York,  and  settles  there;  but  does 
anybody  think  of  saying  to  him,  "Turncoat! 
turncoat !  born  and  brought  up  in  Connecticut, 
and  left  it,  and  gone  to  live  in  another  State  with 
an  entirely  different  organization  ?"  By  and  by, 
on  a  land  specula  don,  he  moves  to  Michigaa; 
but  is  it  said  of  him,  "Capricious  fellow!  always 
changing  his  State ;  born  in  Connecticut,  lived 
in  New  York,  and  now  settled  in  Michigan?" 
What  it  he  goes  next  to  Illinois,  aud  then  to 
Mississippi,  and  then  to  Georgia,  and  then  to  the 
Carolinas,  and  to  Old  Virginia,  does  anybody 
charge  him  with  recreancy?  He  may  think  that 
some  one  of  these  States  is  better  than  any  other, 
and  yet  be  a  true  patriot.  It  is  a  part  of  our 
civic  liberty,  that  a  citizen  of  one  State  is  a  citi- 
zen of  every  State.  And  it  ought  to  be  so  in 
church  organization.  Here  are  the  Methodists, 
the  Baptists,  the  Lutherans,,  the  Presbyterians  of 
different  shades,  the  Episcopalians.,  and  the  diff- 
erent shades  of  Catholics  (for  the  Catholic  church 
is  like  a  chestnut  burr :  the  burr  is  one,  bu  t 
there  are  two  nuts,  and  sometimes  three,  iu- 
side  of  it!)— here  are  all  these  various  denom- 
inations or  sects;  and  I  hold  that  a  person 
ought  to  feel  about  them  as  he  does  about 
States  or  towns.  If  you  are  in  a  place  where  the 
Episcopal  church  is  the  one  that  gives  you  the 
most  food,  do  not  hesitate  to  go  into  that  church. 
There  is  no  inconsistency  in  such  a  coarse.  Or, 
going  from  that  place  to  another,  is  it  a  Presby- 
terian church  that  is  best  calculated  to  do  you 
good?  You  are  perhaps  a  red-hot  Congregation- 
alist ;  but  you  need  not  on  that  account  hesitate 
to  go  into  a  Presbyterian  church.  If  you  find  that 
there  God's  ministrations  best  fit  yon,  go  there. 
These  are  externalities.  They  are  matters  of  per- 
fect indifference,  so  far  as  consistency  is  concerned. 

I  hold  that  there  is  a  preference  among  govern- 
ments; but  I  also  hold  that  the  poorest  govern- 
ment so  far  answers  the  end  of  government,  that 
a  man  can  stand  in  it;  and  that,  however  different 
governments  are,  one  from  another;  a  man  is  not 
inconsistent  that  passes  from  ouc  to  the  other. 
And  as  it  is  with  governments^  so  it  ought  to  be 
with  churches.  There  ought  to  be  a  door  so  wide 
between  sects,  that  when  a  man  is  with  Methodists, 
he  can  be  a  Methodist;  and  when  he  is  with  Bap- 
tists, he  can  be  a  Baptist;  and  when  lie  is  with 
Presbyterians,  he  can  be  a  Presbyterian;  and 
when  he  is  with  Episcopalians*  he  can  bo  an  Epis- 
copalian ;  and  when  he  is  with  Congregational- 
ists,  he  can  be  a  Congregationalism 

God,  that  never  made  twofaces  alike 
—God,  that  never  made  two  leaves  alike— God, 
that  makes  unity  with  infinite  diversity— he  does 
not  mean  that  men  shall  feel  just  alike.  The 
amplitude  of  being  is  expressed  by  variations  of 
being  that  go  back  to  essential  unity,  and  take 
hold  of  a  common  root.  And  the  attempt  to 
bring  the  glowing  and  fervid  Orientals,  the  staid 
and  practical  Occideniuls,  the  mediaeval  minds, 
the  artist  minds,  the  sombre  and  uu irradiating 
natures,  and  the  fight  aud  gay  natures,  all  to 
one  statement  of  speculative  truth,  is  as  wild  and 
preposterous  as  the  boy's  race  alter  the  rainbow. 
It  cannot  be  done.  _  _ 

I  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  man's  sinfulness, 
and  1  state  it  in  my  way  and  language.  I  hear 
other  men,  who  believe  it  just  as  much  as  I  do, 
state  it  in  their  way,  I  canuot  take  their  state- 
ment, and  they  cannot  take  mine;  but  why  should 
we  not  go  along  side  by  side?  Why  should  we 
insist  upon  fighting  each  other?  Why  should 
we  not  recognize  each  other's  liberty?  Why 
ishouldlnot  state  it  as  it  seems  to  me,  and  leave 
him  to  state  it  as  it.  seems  to  him?  Take  the 
question  of  God's  grace  in  the  soul.  It  looks  to 
you  one  way;  and  to  another  man  it  looks  anoth- 
er way;  and  you  give  your  statement,  and  he 
gives  his. 


Beechek's  Idea  of  a  Boy.— At  twelve,  at ' 
fourteen  certainly,  a  boy  is  capable  of  taking 
care  of  himself  out  of  doors.  He  ought  to  be  able 
to  drive  a  horse,  to  climb  the  highest  tree,  to 
swim  skillfully,  to  carry  a  gun  safely  and  to  use 
it  aright,  to  be  of  such  a  manly  disposition  as  not 
to  provoke  attack,  or,  if  wantonly  assailed,  to 
have  such  a  courageous  way  of  using  himself  as 
that  the  same  miscreant  will  not  choose  to  med- 
dle with  him  the  second  time.  Nimble  of  hand, 
quick  of  foot,  strong  of  loins,  patient  of  fatigue, 
loving  action  for  mere  luxury, — this  is  the  boy 
that  a  pious  mother  finds  it  not  hard  to  train 
Christianly,  and  when  to  this  outward  freedom 
is  added  the  self-control  which  a  true  religion 
gives,  he  will  grow  up  such  a  man  as  the  State 
needs,  as  good  men  honor,  and  true  women  fer- 
vently love. —  Christian  Union. 

The  First  Summer  Letter.  Matteawan, 
July  19tfi,  1857.  The  summer  has  broken  forth. 
The  earth  is  filled  with  heat,  and  the  whole  heav- 
en is  hot !  The  morning  greedily  drinks  up  the 
dew.  The  plump  stems,  by  noon,  lose  their 
tenseness,  and  wilt  down.  The  afternoon  rides 
over  the  subdued  flowers.  We  all  seek  the 
shade,  and  hold  open  our  necks  to  the  winds, 
meanwhile  greatly  admiring  the  insects  on  every 
side,  that  grow  more  nimble  with  every  degree 
of  heat.  With  the  thermometer  at  60  deg.,  flies 
are  quite  sedate  and  thoughtful;  at  75  deg.  they 
grow  gay  and  musical ;  but  at  85  deg.  or  90  deg. 
they  become  wild  with  excitement,  and  whirl 
and  dance  through  the  quivering  air  as  if  heat 
was  wine  to  them. 

But  we  have  taken  to  ourselves  the  friendship 
of  mountains,  and  made  league  with  them 
against  the  summer  fervor.  They  lift  up  their 
great  orb  as  a  shield  against  the  morning  sun, 
and  when,  turning  their  flank,  the  sun  comes 
down  from  the  south,  they  breathe  forth  a  cool 
wind  from  their  hidden  places,  and  we  defy  the 
heat! 

Every  summer  has  its  own  portrait  and  pecu- 
liar individualism.  This  summer  has  brought 
around  us  multitudes  of  birds  beyond  any  for- 
mer one.  We  are  living  in  a  pleasant  old  house, 
around  which  fruit  trees  have  grown  in  which 
birds  have  bred  and  lived  unmolested  from  year 
to  year.  It  is  but  a  dozen  wing-heats  from  the 
house  to  the  mountain  woods.  Nothing  can 
please  a  meditative  bird  better  than  to  have  do- 
mestic scenes  on  one  side,  and  the  seclusion  of 
the  wilderness  on  the  other.  A  bird  loyes  a  kind 
of  shy  familiarity.  Here  we  have  a.  garden,  a 
door-yard,  an  orchard,  a  barn,  grouped  together, 
—and  then,  on  the  other,  hand,  the  young  for- 
ests of  scooped  mountain  side.  So  the  birds 
come  down  here  for  fun,  and  go  up  there  for  re- 
flection. This  is  their  world;  that  is  their  ca- 
thedral. I  notice  that  they  are  fond  of  congre- 
gational singing ;  not  only*,  but  every  one  sings 
his  own  tune,  in  his  own  time,  and  to  his  own 
words.  Nevertheless  their  singing  sounds  well. 
They  begin  when  the  stars  fade  iu  the  morning, 
and  not  an  hour  till  star-time  again  do  they  leave 
untremulous  with  music.  The  sweetest  of  them 
all  is  the  song-sparrow  or  song-finch;  and  it  is 
most  numerous  and  most  constant  in  its  music. 
Two  or  three  pairs  seem  to  have  nests  in  the 
yard,  and  apparently  many  neighbors  come  to 
visit  and  have  a  chat  with  them  over  a  social 
worm.  '•  _,  .    „ 

The  Bobolink  has  ceased  his  song.  This  fan- 
tastic fellow  only  sings  during  his  love  season. 
Then  he  takes  to  tho  duties  of  life  with  great 
He  goes  through  his  season,  and  flies 
off  to  "the  South  to  become  a  rice-bird.  The 
song  of  this  bird  sounds  to  mc  as  if  they  were 
trying  to  laugh  and  sing  at  the  same  time.  Their 
song  is  in  snatches,  like  an  old  harper's  prelim- 
inary touches  before  he  sounds  forth  tho  real 
tune";  only,  they  arc  uhmys  preluding,  and  never 
come  to  the  real  subject-matter!  Then  we  have 
goldfinches,  or  "yellow-birds,"  the-  egotistic 
"'phebes,"  that  sit  and  call  their  own  name  for 
amusement;  tho  pert  and  springy  wren,  barn- 
swallows,  and  martins,  robins,  larks,  and  U 
night  -whippowills.  Blessed  bo  the  whippowdl ! 
that  opens  up  so  many  volumes  in  the  mind  and 
sets  one  thinking  backward,— if,  as  I  did,  one 
ever  heard  them  in  their  youth,  waking  in  the 
moonlit  chamber  to  hoar  them  sound  their  notes, 
bold  and  plaintive,  upon  the  rock  that  stood  in 
the  edge  of  tho  wheat-field!  From  that  day  to 
this  the  whippowill  has  had  the  luck  to  gather 


I 


Who  are  the  Patriots  ? 

The  men  and  women  that  are  patriots— who  are 
they?    Mothers  who  are  bringing  up  their  chil- 
dren in  the  nuturc  and  admonition  of  tho  Lord—  | 
they  are  writing  better  Declarations  of  Indepen-  j 
dence    than    ever    Thomas    Jef:'erson    inscribed. 
Humble  fathers  who  are  training  their  children  in 
essential   manliness,  in  self-reliance,  in  indepen-  j  sobriety 
dence,  making  them  ashamed  to  beg,  and  proud 
to  rely  upon  their  own  resources— they  are  patri- 
ots.   They  are  lovers  of  our  country.    The  hum- 
ble  schoolmistress  that  gather;-;  her  summer  brood  <- 
and  pours  her  refined  life  info  the  bosom  of  these 
rustics-she  is  a  patriot.    The  schoolmaster,  who 

stands  nearer  to  the  work  of  God  in  the  world,  J 

and  in  our  age,  than  even  the  minister  himself   , 

does— he  is  the  patriot.    The  editor,  that  is  taking 

knowledge,  and  given  to  it  multiform  wings,  and  > 

setting  it  flying  round  and  round  the  world— ho  - 

is  the  patriot.    Those  men  who  augment  the  sub- 

stanf  ial  qualities  of  manhood— the  preachers  of  tho  y 

Gospel;  the  bnmble  missionary;  the  colporteur;  f 

the  devoted  Christian  in  every  neighborhood— 

those  men  who  are  working  for  the  spiritual  de- 

velopmen  t  of  mau— they  are  God' s  truest  patriots. 

They  of  every  name,  evervwhere,  who  make  men  / 

larger,  are  working  for  liberty;  and  they  who  are    | 

demoralizing  men,  and  making  license  turn  into,     aoout    ],jm   fon(j   associations.      How  little  he 

lust  and  belluine appetites,  are  the  devil  s  instru- >    ]£nowgj   as  ne   gings,   unconscious    messenger, 

ments,  and  are  working  tor  bondage  and  for  dea-      what  lie  is  gayjng  to  mc ! 

potism.  Untamed  birds  there  are,  I  know  not  how 

many.    But  I  have  my  books.    I  shall  find  you 
out,  every  one  of  you,  whose  names  arc  there, 
written ;  and  if  there  be  anything  worth  imparl- 
ing, our  readers   shall  have  the  benefit  the.  ^a 
I  Henry  Ward  Beecher  in  tho  Independent.       <$ 


Useful,  Curious  and  Scientific. 


^> 


A  SPONGE-WHAT  IS  IT? 


I 


"  What  is  sponge  made  of?"  said  George, 
gasping,  snuffing,  and  winking  under  his 
Croton  bath.  No  one  near  could  tell  him; 
and  the  maid  suggested  that  he  "needn't  be 
askin1  such  foolish  questions,  but  just  keep 
stiil  and  get  washt,"  and  so  the  matter  ended. 
Now  listen,  Georgie,  and  I  will  tell  you 
what  a  sponge  is. 

The  very  sponge  which  washe3  your  face 
was  brought  up  from  the  bottom  of  the 
ocean,  ana  was  part  of  a  living  animal.  For 
a  long  time  sponges  was  supposed  to  be 
plants,  but  later  observations  have  decided 
them  to  be  animals;  and  they  are  placed  in 
the  class  Protozoa,  the  class  most  resembling 
plants.   , 

When  first  found  in  the  water  their  appear- 
ance is  very  different  from  this  which  you 
now  see.  This..is  the  skeleton  only,  the  part 
corresponding  to  our  bones.  When  this  was 
a  complete  living  thing,  deep  down  under  tha 
ocean,  it  was  covered  all  over  the  outside,  and 
tilled  in  every  one  of  these  little  holes  with  a 
soft  substance  something  like  the  white  of  an 
egg,  and  this  was  like  our  flesh.  It  was  fast- 
ened tightly  to  a  rock,  and  its  color  was  a  dull 
bluish  black  on  the  upper  side,  and  a  dirty 
white  below.  16  was  formerly  supposed  to  be 
a  plant,  because  it  was  always  fast  in  one 
place  ;  but  for  of  er  reasons  it  is  decidedly  an 
animal.  All  through  this  mass  is  a  regular 
circulation,  like  our  blood  and  food.  It  has 
been  seen  to  absorb  nutritious  matter — that  is, 
to  eat,  or  rather  to  drink.  You  see  all  over 
its  surface  orifices  or  holes;  these  communi- 
cate with  each  other  throughout.  Into  the 
largest  of  these,  called  pores,  the  sea- water  is 
constantly  entering,  and  out  of  the  small  ones, 
called  vents,  it  is  regularly  spouted  out ;  and 
it  doubtless  finds  in  the  sea- water  minute  ani- 
mals which  serve  it  for  food,  and  increase  its 
bulk. 

And  this  strange  animal  produces  others 
like  itself ;  I  will  tell  you  how. 

From  the  soft  part  a  little  globule  is  seen 
to  tloat  off— and  alter  moving  about  a  white 
very  briskly  here  and  there,  as  if  looking  for 
a  place,  it  fastens  itself  to  some  rock.  Next, 
gradually,  begins  to  be  seen  the  more  solid 
skeleton  (what  we  have  here),  the  soft  part 
increases,  and  so  it  grows;  not  very  slowly, 
either,  for  the  divers  find  it  at  tjfleeyd  of  three 
years  large  enough  to  bring  away. 

To  got  ihese  sponges  from  the  bottom  of 
the  ocean  furnishes  occupation  for  a  great 
number  of  people.  One  thousand  men  ate 
busy  in  the  Grecian  Archipelago  alone;  and 
thousands  besides,  with  many  hundred  boa's, 
are  engaged  in  the  Gulf  of  Machri,  on  the 
ijarbary  coast,  and  elsewhere;  so  that  in 
many  villages  there,  from  May  to  (September 
—the  best  diving  time— only  old  men,  women 
and  children  can  be  found. 

The  finest  kind  is  brought  from  the  ^Egean 
Sea.  At  daylight  there  in  the  summer  tune, 
when  the  weather  is  pleasant— for  it,  requires 
smooth  water-  ,   each   with   six   or 

eight  men  and  one  pair  of  oars,  will  leave  the 
shore  and  pro:  ;e  the  water  is  eight 

or  ten,  or  even  thirty  fathoms  deep  ;  for  those 
found  in  shallow  water  are  very  inferior. 

Here  they  stop,  and  the  divers  prepare  to 
descend.  Each  one  puts  a  hoop  around  his 
nee!:,  and  to  this  fastens  a  bag,  in  which  the 
sponges  are  put  as  they  are  gathered.  In 
very  "deep  water  the  diver  uses  a  rope  with  a 
heavy  stone  to  it.  lie  sinks  the  stone  to  the 
spot  he  intends  to  reach,  and  this  holds  the 
rope  steady,  which  he  uses  to_  assist  himself 
in  coming  up  again  to  the  surface. 

After  being  busy  thus  till  noon,  they- return 
to  some  of  those  pleasant  little  nooks  which 
abound  on  the  shores  of  the  Archipelago,  to 
prepare  what  they  have  gathered  fit  for  sale. 
The  first  thing  is  to  press  out  the  soft  part 
of  the  animal,  and  theu  to  bleach  the  remain- 
der in  the  sun  ;  so  they  beat  them,  and  stamp 
on  them,  and   trample  them   till  there  is  no 
more  life  left.     The  skeleton  part  is    then 
washed,  and  spread  in  the  sun  until  it  is  quite 
ma  grows  to   be   this   dull   yellowish 
color;  then  it  is  packed  in   bags  and  sent  to 
sent  to  all   parts  of  Asia, 
>e  and  America. — Selected. 


Curiosities  of  the  British  Post  Office. 

Outof  the'050,000,000  letters  posted  per  annum 
only  about  3,000,000  fail  to  be  delivered.'  in  other 
wools,  less  than  half  per  cent.  The  increase  of 
letters  on  Valentine's  Day  is  not  less  than  500,- 
000  throughout  the  kingdom.  The  book-post 
wis  established  in  1848,  and  80,000,000  book 
packets  and  newspapers  annually  pass  through 
the  post.  Tens  of  thousands  of  tons  weight  of 
newspapers  arc  annually  posted  to  India,  China, 
or  Australia,  at  one  penny  each  paper.  If  a 
copy  of  the  Times  was  charged  by  the  letter 
scale,  the  postage  would  be  tenpencc,  as  it 
weighs  five  ounces. 

The  profits  of  the  money  order  office  are  now 
more  than  .£30,000  a  year.  In  1838  this  depart- 
ment was  carried  on  at  a  loss.  About  8,000,000 
ot  orders  are  now  issued  for   £15,000,000.    Dur- 

'JtfLSS  fiimine  yQai'  <18i7)>  the  sum  of 
•■£.150,000  was  sent  to  Ireland,  and  prin- 
cipally in  small  sums.  During  the  last  few 
years,  a  large  sum  of  money  has  been  saved  in 
this  department,  by  simply  reducing  the  size  of 
the  money-orders  and  advices;  and  by  abolish- 
ing seventy-eight  superfluous  ledgers,  the  labor 
ot  sixty  clerks  has  been  saved.  ' 

The  difficulty  of  delivering  letters  in  many 
parts  of  the  metropolis  is  very  great,  for,  setting  , 
aside  the  fact  that  many  of  the  addresses  rival 
the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics  in  indistinctness, 
there  are  fifty  King  streets,  as  many  Queen 
streets,  sixty  St.  John  streets,  sixty  William? 
streets,  and  upAvards  of  forty  .New  streets.  For  - 
many  years  the  postal  authorities  have  been 
supplying  pillar  and  letter  boxes  at  the  rate  of 
5u0  a  year.  In  1S65, 12,000  letters  were  posted 
in  Great  Britain  without  any  address  at  all,  and 
these  contained  valuables  in  the  form  of  checks 
notes,  and  money  to  the  amount  of  £3,700.  On  ; 
one  occasion  £5000  in  notes  were  sent  improper- 
ly addressed,  open  at  the  ends  like  a  book  packet. 
Coleridge  tells  a  story  which  shows  how  much 
the  post  office  is  open  to  fraud,  inconsequence  of  . 
the  option  as  to  prepayment  which  now  exists. 
The  story  is  as  follows :  "One  day,  when  I  had 
not  a  shilling  which  I  could  spare,  I  was 
passing  by  a  cottage  not  far  from  Keswick, 
where  a  letter-carrier  was  demanding  a  shilling 
for  a  letter,  which  the  woman  of  the  house  was 
unwilling  to  pay,  and  at  last  declined  to  take. 
I  paid  the  postage,  and,  when  the  man  was  out 
of  sight,  she  told  me  that  the  letter  was  from 
her  son,  who  took  that  means  of  letting  her 
know  that  he  was  well;  the  letter  was  not  to  be 
paid  for!  It  was  then  opened  and  found  to  be 
blank."  By  the  xertions  of  Rowland  Hill  a 
uniform  rate  of  one  penny  on  all  inland  letters 
weighing  half  an  ounce,  to  take  effect  from  Oct. 
5, 1840,  was  established  by  2  and  3  Vict.  c.  52 
(August  17, 1839). 

The  present  general  post  office  was  designed  by 
Sir  R.  Srnirke,  R.A.,  and  was  opened  in  1829.  It 
is  400  feet  long  by  130  wide,  and  64  high.  It 
stands  in  the  three  parishes  of   St>,   Anne 

and  Agttf-fy  gf,  Leonard,  and  St.  Mietiaei- 
le-Quern;  wi  houses,  and  nearly  one  thou- 
sand inhabitants  wow  displaced  to  make 
-room'  fof  this  single  edifice.  About  2,500  per- 
sons Were  employed  by  the  general  post  office, 
£528",000  arc  paid  annually  to  railways  for  the 
conveyance  Of  mails'* 

In  1845,  Rowland  Hill  received  a  testimonial 
amottrttibg  to  £13,360.  He  was  made  secretary 
to  the  post  office  in  1854,  arid  in  1860  received 
the  dignity  of  knight  commander  of  the  Bath. 
In  1864,  Sir  Rowland  retired  with  it  pension  ol 
and  £2,000  a  year,  at  the  same  time  receiving  tin 
Albert  gold  medal  of  the  Society  of  Arts,  tin 
honorary  degree  of  D.  C.  L.,  and  last,  but  no 
least,  a  parliamentary  grant  of  £20,000. 

The  stamped  postage  covers   came   into   ns( 
May  6,  l&iO,  but  the  idea  of  a  prepaid  envelope 
is  as  old  as  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.    A  Stokholn 
paper,  Tile  Tryskiifen,  stated  that  as  far  back  as» 
1833,  a  Swedish  officer,  Lieutenant  Trekenber, 
petitioned   the  Chamber  of  Nobles  to  propose  . 
to   the   government   to   issue   stamped   paper} 
specially  destined  to  serve  for  envelopes  for  pre- 
paid letters)  but  the  proposition  was  rejected.— 
Chambers'  Journal, 

''Scyuoling  in  the  Army. — An  army  cor- 
respondent gives  a  new  word  which  has  lately 
been  coined,  .and  which  is  synoymous  with 
"gobble"  and  with  "skedaddle,"  and  is  used 
for  any  other  word  and  for  want  of  any  other 
word.  He  says :  "A  6th  corps  staff  officer 
dismounted  near  me  a  moment  ago.  I  in- 
quired where  he  had  been  riding.  He  inform- 
ed me  that  he  had  been  out  on  a  general 
'scyugle;'  that  he  had  'seyugled'  along  the 
front,  where  the  Johnnies  'seyugled'  a  bullet 
through  his  clothes ;  that  on  his  returned  he 
'seyugled'  an  ice-house;  that  he  should 
'scyugle'  his  servant,  who,  by  the  way,  had 
just  'seyugled'  three  fat  chickens,  for  a  sup- 
ply of  ice ;  that  after  he  had  'seyugled'  his 
dinner  he  proposed  to  'scyugle'  a  nap— and 
closed  by  asking  how  I  'seyugled.' "  The 
correspondent  adds  that  his  new  word,  like 
"skedaddle,"  is  classical,  and  is  derived  from 
two  Greek  words. 


A  String  of  Queer  Texts.— Some  prcaJ 
ersc-f  the  sensational  school  select  texts  tl< 
shell  be  remembered  for  their  sinjnilaritv  Thi' 
in  March,  1858,  Rev  G.  W.  Condfr  pShed 

ft  1S"'  a*  Al1  Samts/  Margaret  street,  Londo 
Dr  W«ff  preached  from  the  one  word  "Sail! 
(Actsix.  1.)  Rowland  Hill  onee  preached  'irn 
the  words,  "Old  cast  clouts  and  rotten  ra^ 
(Jer.     xxxviii.  2;)  and,    on    another  oceasioi 
from  the  words,  "I  can  do  all  things  "  beotrmii 
his  sermon  by  a  flat  denial  of  the  aDostle's  pro 
osition.    In   the  same  stvle  was  Sterne's  ext 
dram,  when   he  preached    from  the  text    "It 
better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning  than 
the  house  of  feasting,"  and   exclaimed,  "that 
deny.     This  secured  the  attention  of  bis  hearer 
and,  tor  a  like  purpose,  Cecil  commenced  a  se 
mon  by  saying,  "A  man  was  ham>ed  at  Tybur 
this  morning."    Whitfield    gave   ont   his  tex 
then  paused,  and  shouted,  "Fire!  fire!  fire'"'" 
a  prelude  to  his  discourse  on  eternal  punishmer 
Rowland  Hill  imitated  this  bv  crving,  "Matcl  c^ 
matches!"  but  he  excused    himself  for  Sirin 
what  he  termed  out-of-the-way   texts  and  ov.  -( 
the-way  observations  because  he  preached  to  cui 
of-the-way  sinners.  It  is  even  said   that  he  calle- 
bis  Wappmg  hearers  wapping  sinners,     "thai 
the  law  and  the  prophets!"  was  the  mutilate 
text  of  a  celebrated   Scotch   divine,  who  bttai 
his  sermon  with  the  words,  "So  savs  practice 
though  profession  says  otherwise."*     Whitflek 
once  gave  as  his  text,  "there  came  unto  Him  eer 
tain  lawyers;"  and  then,  apparent! v^letected  ai 
purposed  misquotation,  and  said,  ""not  certain 
lawyers,  but  a  certain  lawyer.    It  is  wonderfu 
that  even  one  lawyer  should  have  been  found  t< 
do  this;  it  would  have  been    perfectly  incredible 
had  there  been  more;"  the  point  ot  this  lying  ii 
the  circumstance  that  some  lawyers  were  presem 
who  had  expressly  come  there  to  scoff  at  him 
A  Shrewsbury  dissentins    minister  preached  f 
funeral  sermon  for  Rev  John  Angell  James,  o. 
Birmingham,  from  the  combined  texts,  "A  mar 
sent  from  God,  whose    name  was  John, 
the  Angel  fly  in  the  midst   of  heaven.      Jame< 
the  servant  of  God."    "There    is    no  fool  like 
the  fool-hardy,"  was    the  text    of  the  Rev  Dr  i 
Williamson,  who  had  a  quarrel  with  a  parishioner 
named  Hardy.    "Adam,  where  art  thou?"   was 
the  text  of  the  probation   seimon    of  Mr  Low, 
who,  with  a  Mr  Adam,    was  a  candidate  for  a 
lectureship;  "Lo,  here  I  am  I"  was  the  responsive 
text  of  his  rival,  Mr  Adam.    Mr  Joseph,  curate 
ol  the  Isle  of  Man,  reminded  the  lord-lieutenant, 
Butler,  duke  of  Ormonde,  ol  his  forgotten  prom- 
ise to  assist  him  with  preferment,   bv  pre;  ehitg 
befoie  him  from  the  text,  "Yet  did  not  the  chief 
Butler   remember    Joseph,    but   forgot  hini." 
Bishop  Maltby,  of  Durham,  preached  on  the  im- 
portance  of   learning    Greek,    from    the  text, 
"Canst  rhou  speak  Greek?"    and  on   Much  81, 
1853,  Dr  Jacob  preached   the    tercentenary  ser- 
mon  at  Bromsgrove  school  from  the  text.    "It 
was  written  in  Hebrew,  and  Greek,  and  LatiD," 
advocating  the  teaching  of  Greek  and  Latin  in 
foundation  schools.    The  first  sermon    preached 
at  St  Pauls'  for   the   corporttion  of   the  sons 
of    the   clergy  was  on  November  5,  1665,   by 
Rev  George   11  all,  afterward  bishop  of  Chester, 
who  chose  for  his  text  this  verse,  "The  rod   of 
Aaron  budded,  and  bloomed  blossoms  and  yield- 
ed almonds."    The  text  of  a  celebrated  dissent- 
ing minister,  whose  sermon  was  devoted  to  a  de- 
nunciation oi  the  sin  of  borrowing  articles,  es- 
pecially umbrellas,  and  not  returning  them,  was 
taken  from  2  Kings,  vi.  5,    "Alas,  master!  for  it 
was  borrowed." — Once  a  Week. 


The  Sioux  language  is  said  to  be  very  differ- 
ent from  the  Algonquin  and  Iroquois  lan- 
guages, spoke  by  the  Indians  found  by  the  earlj 
.  settlers  in  the  Atlantic  states;  and  to  hear  a  lor 
of  Indians  talking  is  not  only  curiosity  to  MM 
who  never  heard  them,  but  very  amusing.  Th< 
i's  and  n's  used  seem  to  compose  the  greater 
part  of  every  word;  at  least,  it  sounded  so  to 
me,  and  I  think  if  a  cat  were  to  have  pennies 
tied  on  its  feet  and  set  to  dancing  in  a  copper 
kettle  it  would  be  a  very  good  imitatiou  of  the 
Sioux  language,  though  some  of  it  is  sonorous 
and  gutteral.  I  would  like  to  give  your  readers 
a  specimen,  but  the  following  chant  from  one  of 
their  religious  dances  is  all  that  I  am  able  to 
find  already  spelled,  and  I  think  the  letter  n 
does  not  occur  so  often  in  this  as  in  their  ordi- 
nary jabbering: 
"Tunkunixdan  pejihuta  wakan  micage, 

He  wicake. 
Miniyata  oicago  wakan  kin  maqu  ye, 
Tunkanixdan  ite  kin  yuwinta  wo. 
Wahutopa  yuha  ite  yuwinto  wo. 
Which  translated  is : 

"My  grandfather  created  for  me  mysterious  medi- 
cine, 
That  is  true. 
The  mysterious  being  in  the  water  gave  it  to  me, 
Stretch  out  your   nand  before  the  face  of  my 
grandfather. 
Having  a  quadruped,  stretch  out  your  hand  before 
him." 


WATCH-MAXIBG  Iff  GEHEVA, 

From  Frederila  Bremer's  "  Life  In  the  Old  World." 


i   I  was  introduced  into  the  watch- makers'  work- 

l  eps  by  M.  Viande,  one  of  the  merchants  of  Geneva, 

I  man  of  great  humanity,  and  also  of  rare  amiability 

disposition  and  character.     I  could  not  have  had 

J    better  guide,  even  with  regard  to  the  moral  in- 

j  lilies  which  I  wished  to  make. 

j    We  began  with  the  schools  of  pupils,  where  young 

|  rls  learn,  for  a  term  of  three  years,  to  make  every 

I  Lit  of  a  watch.    After  this  time,  they  select  that 

I  kitieular  part  for  which  they  have  most  inclination, 

I    in  the  doing  of  which  they  are  most  expert,     the 

I  pfected  pupil  may  be  sure,  on  leaving  the  school,  of 

I  I'taiiiing  immediate  employment,  amongst  the  watch- 

I  lakers.    Young  girls  from  twelve  to  eighteen  years 

age  appear  very  healthy  and  well  cared  for.    Sach 

lie  has  her  own  little  table  and  her  own   window 

I  che  for  her  work. 

I  The  manufacture  of  pocket-watches  is,  at  the 
llerent  time,  carried  to  a  great  extent  at  Geneva. 
1  In  jrrmense  cumber  aTe  required  for  the  Chinese 
1  laiket.  A  well  equipped  Cninaman,  I  have  been 
Hid,  cames  a  watch  on  each  side  of  his  breast,  that 
In  may  be  able  to  regulate  the  one  by  the  other. 
I  ealtby  Chinese  cover  the  walls  of  their  rooms  with 
Marches.  These  watches  are  of  a  more  ornamental 
I  aracter,  and  have  more  filagree  work  upon  them, 
Has  those  made  for  Europeans.  Long  live  the 
•j  line st  ! 

|  At  one  of  the  greatest  and  best-conducted  manu- 
ctories  of  Geneva  nothing  but  watch- faces  are  pre- 
red,  and  tlderly,  well- dressed,  and  well-looknig 
omen  sat  by  twenties  and  thirties,  in  clean,  well- 
armed  rooms,  working  upon  wa'ch-faces. 
"  Do  you  rot  get  tired  of  always  doing  the  same 
ork  ?"  I  inquired  of  some  of  them. 
"  Oh,  no !"  replied  tuey,  and  showed  me  that  each 
tie  cial  had  to  pass  through  fifty  different  opera- 
>ns  before  it  was  finished.  This  kept  the  attention 
'■ake,  and  prevented  any  sense  of  monotony.  They 
ork  here  from  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  six 
seven  in  the  evening,  and  thus  earn  about  fifty 
ar.es  a  month. 


i-tKt,-..  the  Utile  work- table,  are  to  be  met  wit'i  in 
txny  vim^e  and  small  farm-house  ia  the  neighbor- 
hood ut  Geneva.  The  daughters  of  the  peasants 
w  mk  at  these.  I  have  seen  and  heard  enough  of 
thu  lives  of  these  female  workers,  as  well  in  their 
homes  as  in  their  woik  shops,  to  thank  God  that  so 
g'eut  a  number  of  women  here  are  able,  by  means  of 
a  good  and  inexpensive  tranch  of  industry,  to  pro- 
vide for  themselves,  and  acquire  an  independence, 
which  may  lead  to  great  good  ;  and  many  beautiful 
examples  can  be  given  of  these  young  female  work- 
ers applying  their  earnings  to  the  support  of  their 
aged  patents,  or  for  the  education  of  younger  sisters 
i»r  relatives.  For  the  greater  part  they  seem  to  be- 
con  e  principally  the  means  of  the  indulgences  of 
vanity,  or  even  of  less  allowable  independence. 

The  female  worker,  in  the  full  and  highest  mean- 
ing of  her  vocation,  in  the  complete  [fullness  of  her 
life,  is  a  character  which  I  have  not  met  with  here, 
as  I  have  done  in  Sweden. 

I  remember,  there,  a  little  work-table,  at  which  is 
seated  a  woman,  still  young,  working  from  early 


terprises  in 


Americans  in  Europe. 

The  statistics  of  the  labors  and  enterprise,  _. 
wliieh  our  countrymen  engage  abroad  would  be 
very  curious  and  interesting.  The  Yankee  has 
proven  himself,  according  to  the  familiar  epithet, 
"  universal,"  and  may  be  found  everywhere  under 
the  sun.  In  England  and  on  the  Continent  he  is 
engaged  in  many  important  enterprises.  Horse 
tailways,  life  insurance— the  consolidation  of  the 
banking  and  commission  business— dentistry,  and 
the  exploiting  of  inventions,  seem  his  greatest  suc- 
cesses. The  new  insurance  offices  of  the  New  York 
Mutual  in  London  are  the  finest  in  that  section 
of  the  city  where  situated;  in  Parliament  street  the 
"  Tramway  Company  "  overshadows  all  other  busi- 
ness; and  an  American  lawyer,  only  three  weeks 
ago,  received  a  hundred  guineas  for  an  opinion, 
the  preparation  of  which  he  had  been  selected 
for  in  preference  to  legal  talent  native  to  the 
manor.  The  most  curious  phase  of  American 
ibroad  is  dentistry.    Dr.  Evans  in  Paris 


morning  till  late  in  the  evening — sometimes  even  till 

late  in  the  night— because  work  is  her  delight,  and  /business  abroad 

her  perseverance  and  power  of  work  are   astonish-    and  Dr.  Abbott  in  Berlin  made  very  large  fortunes, 

ing— her  eye  continually  fixed  upon  her  work,  even    and  are  almost  as  great  local  celebrities  as  Nelaton 


during  conversation,  whilst  her  skillful  hand  guides 

ters, 
gold 


or  Von  Graffe,  and  a  host  of  young  Yankees  are 


the  graving-tool,  and  engraves  letters,  numbers,  or   wrenching  jaw  bones  in  nearly  every  European 
tasteful  ornaments,  on  articles  of  gold  or  silver—    capital.  The  American  adapts  himself  easilv  to  all 
chronometers,  pocket-watches,  rings  etc.    But  the  j  thatis  good  in  continental  customs,  and  spurns  the 
inner  life  is  not  occupied  therewith  ;  it  gazes  clearly  ' 
around,  and  comprehends,  with  love,  every  transac- 
tion which  tends  either  to  the  advantage 


of  the 
fatherland  or  the  honor  of  humanity.  She  is  near- 
sighted at  her  work,  but  far-sighted  as  regards  the 
great  woik  in  society  ;  her  heart  beats  warmly  for 
this,  and  the  little  work-table  has  a  place  in  its  realm. 
How  distinguished  a  place  this  is,  her  numerous 
friends  know,  but  not  she  herself— the  unpretending 
artist,  the  good  citizen  and  friend,  the  noble  worker — 
Soj.hie  Ahlborn ! 
.    -^~jr*>^.      ..        s r  < 

THE    ORIGIN    OF    THE    ASTER. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


slowness  and  the  vices  of  the  old  countries;  thus 
he  wins  admirable  success.  Many  of  the  great 
cities  will  yet  be  paved  with  Nicholson's  wooden 
blocks.  Two  Americans  have  secured  the  patent 
for  Europe,  and  have  already  begun  operations  ir 
St.  Petersburg^  The  liberal  admixture  of  Ameri 
can  element  in  the  construction  of  Russian  rail 
roads  is  well  known,  and  one  finds  large  number! 
of  the  *  etarnal  critters  "  thriving  in  business  ii 
small  towns  in  Russia  and  Prussia. 

In  Paris  the  most  astonishing  development 
naturally  occur,  as  that  is  the  first  point  to  whicl 
the  attention  of  an  American  in  tending  to  settl. 
abroad  turns.  Besides  those  numben  of  what  tht 
j  English  call  "mongrel  bankers,"  who  post  office  anc 
At  the  time  when  our  Savior  was  a  child,  the  commission  and  shop  and  letter  of  credit  you  at 

n4l,  A»   ,  n,.i-   «»/r.ln    ■>■*—  — .    *-.-.__    1 *__     i.1 .T fl.*miniiro'o  nftflrtA     «    U^-x^f i 


id  worked  there  with  her  daughter,  side  by  side,  for 
n  y  ears. 

"  Oh,  no  !"  they  replied.  "We  have  no  longer 
en  able  to  do  that,  since  provisions  have  been  so 

-ar." 

"Nor  yet  for  a  little  journey  of  pleasure  or  holiday  ,.Jone  of  his  heavenly  playfellows  into  a  beautiful 

the  summer?" 

"  "We  never  think  of  such  a  thing.    "We 

at  means  lose  not  only  our  money,  but 
me,  and  possibly  our  place," 

"  Is  not  such  a  life  as  this  heavy  and  void  of  in- 
vest?" 

"  We  have  Sundays  for  rest  and  refreshment,  and 
■e  evenings  for  reading,  or  occupation  of  another 
nd.  Besides  which,  we  need  not,  during  our  work, 
i  continually  thinking  about  it." 

Taey  seeme  d  perfectly  satisfied. 

The  woikwomen  who  are  able  to  execute  certain 
iore  difficult  parts  of  the  watch  get  higher  wages, 
nd  can  earn  from  five  to  ten  francs  a  day.    In  the 


"  A  re  y  ou  able  to  lay  by  anything  for  old  age,  or  in 

.ee  of  sickness  ?"  1  inquired  from  a  mother  who  <pather  sent  angels  down  from  heaven  in  the  form  a!minute's  notice,  a  host  of  ~ve"ry~large"commksion 

of  boys,  to  play  with  the  child  Jesus  and  the  other  mercnan«»  have  staited,  and  are  shrewd  enough 
/.pious  children  of  Jerusalem.     One  night  it  chanced  *°  'j?™1**80  liheraily  on  the  borne  plan.    The  Rue 

that  the  little  John,  who  afterwards  became  the  a™?  ""^  Ru*r  Anber  are  almost  given  up  to 

-Lord's  best  beloved  disciple,  had  wandered  with  mrttoL^L^T^™ *? ?°  A^° S*XOn 

/  r  v    v  i       i     *  ii  -x        i        i-K  ,  are  also  numerous  in  the  great  citv.    The  Amer. 

«ne  of  his  heavenly  playfellows  into  a  beautiful  ^  j^^,  the  Continental  Gazem,thltmeri- 

should  by     flower-garden.     Then  said  the  angel  to  John,  "I  can  Tablet,  the  Paris  Echo,  the  European  mm 

also  our  jmust  now  go  away  to  sleep.         But  where  is  thy  arejsome  of  the  most  successful  printed  in  En«-- 

fbed,  dear  stranger  ?"    asked    John.     "  Up   there,  llsh.    They  are  almost  wholly  made  up  of  airivai 
among  the  stars,"  replied  the    angel.     "Ah,  one  and  price  lists,  announcements  and  giddes,  but 

//must  sleep  sweetly  there,"  sighed  the  little  John ;  nearly  every  one  manages  to  live  and  thrive.    The 

"if  I  might  only  go  up  with  thee!"    "Thy  bed  is  uumber  of  unsuccessful  experiments  has  been 

already  made  there;  but  thou  must  be  content  to  ve,7 large>  hovever.    One  fellow  recently  got  as 

lie  weaiily  awhile  longer  down  here,  poor  child !"    far  **  nis  fifta  number,  when  he  found  himself 

The  boy  looked  wonderingly  into  the  angel's  8wamped,  and  desperately  endeavored  to  get  out 

face,  then  plucked  a  bunch  of  roses  and  lilies,  and  °/  h.ls  corner  by  misusing  a  check  which  he  found 

gave  them  to  his  sweet  companion  as  a  re  mem-  'l)iug around"  in  an  American  banking  house. 

branoe  till  the  next  morning.     "There  is  a  nose-  Another  made  out  a  magnificent  prospectus,  but 

leant  me.  this  great  division  of  labor  caHses  the  'gay  for  thee,"  said  he,  "  and  forget  not  to  bring  me  nem*  Kot  ar>y  farther.  Mast  of  them  arc  forbidden 

ieat  part  of  the  women  not  to  earn  much  more  than  j^onc  irom  above  when  thou  comest  again  early  to-  bF  ttie  French  government  to  talk  politics,  and 

morrow,  for  the  flowers  up  there  must  be  far*1'0  therefore  comparatively  uninteresting  so  far 
prettier  and  larger  than  ours."  "  They  are  indeed,"  as  n&l  news  ls  concerned, 
said  the  angel ;  but  I  cannot  bring  them  down  to&  ^he  fashion  of  having  reading  rooms  for  Ameri 
thee.  See'st  thou  the  stars  shining  in  heaven  ?  oap6  1D  the  different  cities  has  lately  sprung  up  al! 
These  are  our  flowers,  but  they  are  so  large  and  over  tne  continent.  To-day  the  gentleman  or  lady 
bright  that  thy  poor,  weak  little  eyes  could  not  atjRome  or  Constantinople,  can  find  all  the  paper, 
look  into  them,  if  I  should  bring  them  as  near  to  ofihis  or  her  San  Francisco  or  Boston  homo  on  the 
thee  as  thy  roses  and  lilies.  They  are  not  planted  tablesjot  a  prominent  banker— only,  at  most,  twenty 
in  the  ground,  hut  in  the  blue  ether,  and  they  drink  days^latc  at  the  remotest  points  of  the  grand  tour 
their  life  not  from  the  sunshine,  but  from  the  light  Throughout  Germany  some  of  the  soundest  ol 
ot  God's  countenance.  But  this  I  will  do:  I  will  German  firms  have  engaged  in  American  banking 
bring  thee  a  seed  from  one  of  these  flowers  to- *ud  have  the  most  clceant  of  apartments  and  otior 
morrow,  and  we  will  ^lant  it  in  thy  earth',  and  see  'nousitroops  of  clerks.  -  At  Berlin  and  Dresden 
what  will  come  of  it."  And  the  angel  kissed  the  he.'e  firms  publish  daily  New  York  market  re 
boy  and  vanished.  iorts,'and  talk  as  much  of  State  and  railway  loan.' 

The  next  mom  ing  he  came  again,  as  he  had  aa'do  those  of  London.  A  traveler  is  always  bored 
promised,  and  in  his  palm  lay  a  glittering  seed,  with  a  thousand  quetions  about  new  Amorican 
And  the  two  little  ones  buried  it  in  the  earth,  ami enterprises,  of  which  he  knows  nothing— which 
every  morning  and  every  evening  the  angel  wateretihavc  started  since  his  exodus,  but  which  these 
it  with  water  brought  iu  the  hollow  of  his  little  sharpjiankers  are  turning  over  as  rapidly  as  hot 
hand.  And  the  little  Jokn  told  all  the  good  chil<cakes. 
dren  in  Jerusalem  that  lie  had  a  star  .sown  in  his 
garden  ;  and  the  children  carne  every  day  to  see 
whether  it  had  yet  come  up.  And  lo !  in  the 
autumn  there  bloomed  a  lovely  flower,  round  inr 
form,  with  a  circlet  of  many  slender  petals,  like  the 
rays  of  a  star.  And  so  it  received  the  name  of 
After,  which  in  English  means  star.  And  win 
stand  in  a  clear  night  by  a  bed  of  asters  and  watehj 
the  (stars  shining  down  over  them  and  me,  it  is  as| 
if  they  whispered  to  each  other  of  their  old  rdi-|;. 
tionship,  and  the  stars  look  downward  and  thctf$| 
asters  look  upward,  as  if  they  would  fain  exchang 
a  kiss  of  love.  Eusebia. 


AWAY  OUT   WEST. 


To  the  End  of  The  Kansas  Pacific  Rail- 
road— Ji. 

EXPERIENCES  OF  BUFFALO  AND  INDIANS — 
A  FRONTIER  TOWN — THE  VERDICT  ABOUT 
KANSAS. 

Correspondence  of  The  Republican. 

St  Louis,  Mo.,  June,  1869. 
We  rode   all  night,  up   hill  most  of  the  way.  ^ 
In  the  morning,  just  before  day  break,  there  oc-  A 
curred  a  tremendous  storm,  thunder,  lightning, 
hail  and  wind,  so  violent  as  actually  to  stop  the 
train, — the   elements   coming   down  as  it  they  / 
thought  there  could  be  nobody  out  there  to  get 
hurt,  and  they  were  at  lull  liberty  to  do   it  their 
own  way.    As  soon  as  it  cleared  off,  which  it  did  1 
suddenly,  revealing  the  most  gorgeous  morning 
twilight  splendors  I  ever  witnessed,  as  if  nature 
had  been  surprised  dressing,  the  cry  was  raised  of 
"Buffalo!"    We  of  the  East,  unhappy  gazers 
hitherto  only  on  calves  and  cows,  rushed  with 
wide   open   eyes    to    the  windows.    Droves  of 
these  famous  animals  containing  from  fifty  to  a 
hundred  were  to  be  seen  through  the  mist.    As 
the    morning   advanced,    however,   they   grew 
more  distinct.    A  small  drove  got  nearly  ahead  . 
of  us  on  the  track,  rushing  first  one  way,  then^ 
the  other,  confused   by   the   shrill  whistle  and 
rattling   wheels;  and  the  train  had  to  slacken ' 
speed  to  avoid  a  collision,  which  it  seems  buffalo 
and  engine  have  about  equal  reasons  to  fear.    It 
was  very  exciting,  and  I  may  as  well  own  to  a  ^ 
clerical  heart  not  yet  so  sanctified  and  released 
from    the  vanity  of  earthly  things,  especially 
when  they  eo  on  four  legs,  as  not  to  be  made  ex- 
ceedingly happy  with  such  a  grand  specimen  of  s 
them  as  "a  live  buffalo.    Between  the  chance  of 
seeing  an  angel  and  one  of  these  shaggy  children 
of  the  prairie,  I  am  afraid  I  never  should  have 
hesitated  a  moment  in  my  choice;  and  here  I 
was,  ecstatic  thought!  looking  on  them  by  the 
hundred,  if  not  face  to  face,  yet, — the  other  way. 
My  emotions,  all  that  glorious  morning  hour, 
were  not  unlike  those  of  a  little  boy  I  knew  of, 
taken  from  the  city  out  into  the  country,  where  i 
three  nights  of  the  week  he  could  go  out  hunting  / 
coons,  who  exclaimed  one  clay,  when  asked  if  he 
was  having  a  good  time,  "0,  uncle!  I  don't  never 
want  to   be   no  happier  than  I  am  now  right 
here." 

The  buffalo  are  plenty  enough  yet,  but  are  be- 
ing rapidly  destroyed.  Their  carcases  were 
strewn  by  the  score  along  the  way,  shot  by 
passengers  from  the  car  windows  in  mere  wanton- 
ness. Rifles  and  revolvers  were  fired  at  them 
frequently  as  we  went  along,  but  I  am  happy  to 
say  with  no  visible  success.  Such  murder  is  too 
bad.  They  are  really  a  noble  animal,  the  grand- 
est we  have  left  on  the  continent.  There  is  am- 
ple room  for  them  and  the  railroad,  too,  on 
these  vast  plains.  The  only  harm  they  do  is  to 
rub  their  shaggy  sides  against  the  telegraph 
poles/which  they  seem  to  fancy  have  been  put  up 
lor  their  convenience,  the  poles  sometimes  get- 
ting the  worst  of  it;  but  what  true  American 
will  not  gladly  pay  them  the  tribute  of  a  scratch 
for  the  privilege  of  running  his  wires  through 
their  domain.  "Ten,  perhaps  rive  years  more,  and 
they  will  all  be  gone.  Let  every  one  who  wants 
to  see  what  is  a  most  characteristic  feature  of 
these  western  landscapes,  before  it  is  a  matter 
of  only  history  and  photographs,  come  soon, 
come  with  his  admiration,  but  leave  his  rifle 
behind. 

The  whole  aspect  of  the  country  we  had  now 
reached  was  utterly  different  from  what  we  had 
left  the  night  before.  It  was  all  one  vast  prairie, 
here  level,  there  rolling,  covered  with  short  buf- 
falo grass,  with  brilliant  flowers  and  a  species 
of  wild  wheat  and  barley.  The  rivers  had  be- 
come brooks.  Not  a  tree  or  shrub 
was  to  be  seen  through  a  ride  of  a 
hundred  miles.  Towns  and  cities  were  not,  even 
in  name,  which  is  the  part  of  them  out  West 
that  is  usually  built  first.  Station  houses  for 
wood  and  water  loomed  up  at  intervals.  We 
were  in  the  genuine  wilderness.  It  was  all,  how- 
ever, wonderfully  impressive  and  beautiful, — did 
not  give  one  the  idea  of  a  waste  at  all.  We 
were  four  thousand  feet  above  the  Mississippi. 
The  air  was  indescribably  pure  and  bracing,  and 
could  be  seen  through  distinctly  for  immense 
distances.  I  went  forward  on  the  engine  as 
soon  as  Isaac,  son  of  Ham, — Ham  refers  to  his 
supposed  ancestor,  not  to  the  article  he  took  de- 
light in  cooking, — had  given  us  breakfast,  and 
got  a  seat  with  the  driver,  learning,  also,  to  hold 
his  iron  reins.  It  was  grand.  We  had  lost  sight 
of  the  buffalo;  but  antelope,  elk  and  deer  started 
up  ever  and  anon  before  us,  giving  our  steed  a 
sharp  trial  of  legs;  and  on  each  side  of  the  road, 
frequent  as  the  villages  of  the  East,  we  rode  by 
the  towns  of  prairie  dogs,  whose  inhabitants  ran 
out  to  see  us  with  faces  as  full  of  wonder  as  those 
of  the  boys  and  men  in  New  England  who  are 
beholding  a  train  of  cars  for  the  first  year,  not 
stopping,  however,  to  loaf  quite  so  long,  but 
after  one  glance  plunging  back  iuto  their  dwell- 
ings, and  as  Washington  Irving  happily  des- 
cribes them,  leaving  only  the  twinkle  of  a  tail 
and  a  pair  of  legs  behind. 

It  is  a  question  what  is  to  be  the  value  of  this 
region.  The  soil  is  not  wanting  in  strength. 
The  buffalo  grass  with  which  it  is  covered  is  ex- 
ceedingly rich,  and  the  wild  barley  and  wheat 
which  appear  on  it  would  seem  to  indicate    a 


de  for  these  grains;  but,  how 
about  rains  sufficient  to  supply  a  cultivated  har- 
vest? Perhaps,  however,  it  is  to  remain  the  coun- 
try's great  pasture.  The  natural  grass  evidently 
stands  the  season.  We  passed  herds  of  cattle 
driven  from  Texas.  They  go  only  a  few  miles 
a  day,  growing  fat  on  the  journey,  and  reach 
shipping  points  about  mid-summer". 

The  stations,  placed  at  long  distances  apart, 
are  used  as  yet  only  for  wood  and  water,  the  first 
brought  from  eastern  Kansas,  the  last  pumped 
up  without  difficulty  from  the  earth.  The  one 
we  stopped  at  early  in  the  morning  was  Ogallah. 
Whence  the  name  ?  I  asked.  The  storv  is  that 
when  ground  was  first  broken  for  the  station- 
house,  an  Indian  looking  on,  asked  what  it  was 
for.  He  was  told  a  new  white  man's  city.  "Oh, 
Golly,"  he  tried  to  exclaim;  but  the  nearest  his 
Indian  throat  could  come  to  it  was  Ogallah; 
and  that  is  the  name  which  has  stuck  ttTit,— of  ? 
which,  O  ye  etymologists,  treading  its  learned 
streets  a  thousand  years  hence,  take  note! 

Noon  brought  us  to  Sheridan,  the  end  of  the 
railroad,  seven  hundred  miles  from  St  Louis,  and 
close  to  the  eastern  border  of  Colorado.  It  proved 
a  perfect  specimen  of  frontier  town,  as  unique  in 
its  way  as  anything  else  we  had  seen  on  the  route, 
the  very  froth  and  foam  which  the  farthest  wave 
of  civilization  had  thrown  up  there  on  the  great  - 
shore  of  the  wilderness.  Its  houses,  except  those 
used  for  storing  freight,  are  mere  huts  of  mud 
and  canvas,  with  now  and  then  a  piece  of  board. 
It  whole  population  cumbers  six  hundred,  a  gain 
of  five  hundred  and  fifty  since  last  winter.  Thev 
are  made  up  of  Americans,  foreigners,  Mexicans, 
blacks  and  whites,  gamblers  and  traders,  ruffians 
and  honest  men,  odds  and  ends  of  humanity 
swept  before  it  by  the  advancing  tide  of  civiliza- 
tion. Society  is  utterly  unorganized.  It  is  un- 
der no  town,  city  or  county  government,  no  civil 
law  and  certainly  no  divine.  Justice,  such  as 
there  is,  is  dispensed  wholly  by  Judge  Lynch 
and  a  vigilance  committee.  Every  man  wore  a 
belt  with  a  couple  of  revolvers  protruding  from 
it.  Fights  are  of  daily  occurrence.  The  night 
before  our  arrival,  one  ruffian  was  disposed  of  by 
hanging,  and  the  week  previous  two  had  suf- 
fered the  same  fate,— hung  to  the  trestle  work  of 
a  bridge,  the  country  affording  no  trees.  In  the 
cemetery  there  are  twenty-eight  graves  whose 
occupants,  all  except  one,  and  that  an  infant  too 
small  to  pull  a  trigger,  had  died  by  violence.  ' 
The  attempt  was  made  to  hold  a  religious  service 
there,  one  Sunday,  not  long  ago;  but  it  was 
found,  on  inquiry,  there  was  not  a  Bible  in  the 
place.  If  any  one  wants  a  new  experience  let 
him  go  to  a  frontier  town  like  this  where  the 

world's  two  great  tides,  one  of  civilization  and 
the  other  of  wild  nature,  meet  together. 

The  importance  of  Sheridan  arises  from  its  be- 
ing the  terminus  of  the  road.  Thousands  of 
teams  drawn  by  mules  and  driven  by  Mexican 
greasers,  center  here  to  load  with  goods  and 
carry  them  to  Santa  Fe  and  New  Mexico.  The 
plan  is  to  extend  the  road  on  to  Denver  imme- 
diately, and  ultimately  to  a  junction  with  the 
Upper  Pacific  road  at  Cheyenne,  making  it  a 
through  route;  and  it  was  with  reference  to  this 
object,  I  suppose,  that  some  of  the  gentlemen  with 
us  had  come  out.  The  climate  is  delicious,  grow- 
ing more  and  more  delightful  as  progress  is  made 
into  Colorado.  Bullets,  bowie  knives,  and  In- 
dian arrows  are  all  that  any  person  ever  dies  of. 
Denver  and  vicinity  are  likely  to  be  the  great 
watering-places  of  the  West.  The  country  there 
is  full  of  mineral  springs,  Saratpgas  in  embryo; 
the  scenery  bold  and  romantic;  and  the  air,  it- 
selLbreath  by  breath,  a  medicine. 

"~      '        '  '         MINNEHAHA     FALLS, 

Of  which  so  much  has  been  written  and  sung, 
and  whose  beauties  have  sb  often  been  painted 
and  photographed,  was  in  my  list  of  places  to 
see,  and  it  is  one  of  those  pieces  of  natural  scene- 
ry whose  beauties  cannot  be  overdrawn.  In 
many  things  which  I  have  had  described  to  me 
I  have  been  disappointed  at  seeing,  but  this  beau- 
tiful cascade  is  perfect  in  loveliness  of  appear- 
ance— every  view  of  it  from  above,  where  the 
placid  waters  leave  their  bed  under  the  drooping 
trees  and  leap  in  a  misty  spray  to  the  pebbly 
basin  below;  from  the  shrubbery  at  the  sides,  or 
from  the  little  foot  bridge  below,  where  one  looks 
up  and  sees  the  silvery  sheet  falling  like  a  beau- 
tiful curtain  and  go  laughing  off  among  the 
rocks  and  down  the  dell  below ;  and  the  traveler 
can  walk  around  under  the  fall  about  half  way 
up,  and  while  there  see  a  beautiful  little  rainbow 
at  the  foot  of  the  fall.  Minnehaha  cannot  be 
seen  without  calling  to  mind  Longfellow's  allu- 
sion to  it  in  "Hiawatha,"  in  fact,  the  two  are  in- 
separably associated. 

Only  once  his  pace  he  slackened, 
Only  once  he  paused  or  halted, 
Paused  to  purchase  heads  of  arrows 
Of  the  ancient  Arrow  maker. 
In  the  land  of  the  Dakotahs, 
Where  the  Falls  of  Minnehaha 
Flash  and  gleam  among  the  oak  trees, 
Laugh  and  leap  iuto  the  valley. 
There  the  ancient  arrow  maker 
Made  his  arrow  heads  of  sandstone, 
Arrow  heads  of  Chilcedony, 
Arrow  heads  of  flint  and  jasper 
Smoothed  and  sharpened  at  the  edges, 
Hard  and  polished,  keen  and  costly. 
With  him  dwelt  his  dark-eyed  daughter, 
Wayward  as  the  Minnehaha; 
Ana  he  named  her  from  the  river, 
From  the  waterfall  he  named  her, 
"Minnehaha"—  Laughing  Water. 


San  Francisco,  June  29. 

What  of  the  Chinese?  Much  that  is  interest- 
ing and  important.  There  are  in  round  num- 
bers one  hundred  thousand  of  them  in  the  Pa- 
cific states,  and  the  new  arrivals  now  average  from 
fifteen  hundred  to  two  thousand  per  month. 
They  abound  as  laborers  along  the  whole  line 
of  the  Central  Pacific  railroad  to  Promontory 
Point,  and  over  this  distance  have  pushed  off 
into  the  towns  as  servants  and  tradesmen,  and 
into  the  mines  wherever  allowed  to  come.  They 
arc  spreading  eastward  slowly;  there  arc  a  few 
in  Omaha,  and  John  Chinaman,  with  his  round 
hat  and  pi<j  tail  coiled  under  it,  or  dangling  be- 
tween his  heel.',  his  long  blue  shirt  which  he 
wears  over  his  Muc  pantaloons,  will  shortly  be 
no  cariosity  in  t;>e  Mississippi  valley.  He  is  on 
bis  way  in  force  to  make  his  future  cistern  em- 
plovers  a  visit. 

Chinatown,  as  the  quarter  of  the  city  in  which 
the  Celestials  live  is  called,  is  certainly  one  of 
the  most  interesting  spots  to  visit  in  California. 
There  arc  af».mt  a  dozen  blocks  whose  four  sides 
swarm  wiiii  them,  and  a  half  dozen  streets  for 
»  distance  of  several  squares  are  filled  with 
their  stores  and  shops.  It  is  a  live  scene.  The 
Chinaman  moves  quick,  and  the  stream  in  the 
streets  s*ems  constant,  though  it  is  the  heaviest 
when  those  employed  over  the  city  pour  out 
from  their  quarters  to  their  places  of  employ- 
ment in  the  morning,  and  return  in  the  flood 
tide  at  night. 

Nearly  all  are  dressed  alike,  in  long  blue  over- 
shirts  and  pants.  The  round  straw  hat  is,  how- 
ever, rapidly  being  abandoned  for  the  American 
felt,  and  the  peculiar  clogs  and  shoes  for  our 
boots.  The  higher  class  of  merchants  wear  a 
similar  dress  in  style,  of  a  dark  and  fine  cloth, 
and  the  rank  and  station  is  shown  by  the  length 
and  thickness  of  the  cue.  The  ladies  may  be 
glad  to  know  that  these  citizens  of  the  Flowery 
Kingdom  brought  with  them  the  art  ofweavin 
most  deceptive  additions  into  their  hair  so  tha 
no  matter  what  the  crop  is  the  ladies  can  hav 
waterfalls  of  any  given  size,  and  the  men 
standin/.  even  of  any  length.  Through  all  the* 
streets  finning  red  and  yellow  handbills, 
covered  with  columns  of  their  peculiar  charac- 
ters, tell  thc.se  multitudes  of  sales,  and  cheap 
goods,  of  letters  and  new  arrivals,  of  theaters 
and  places  where  laborers  pre  wanted.  Every 
store  has  its  Chinese  stou,  and  most  of  them  an 
English  one  also.  Chy,  Lung  &  Co.  arc  old 
merchants  of  wealth  and  standins;  so  are  Hip 
Yik  and  Hip  Wo.  They  sell  silks  and  ivory 
goods,  inlaid  work,  teas,  Chinaware,  table  ware, 
groceries,  cigars,  and  the  countless  other  arti- 
cles which  are  included  In  the  name,  "curios." 
Their  word  or  bond  is  good  as-  gold  among  the 
bankers  and  merchant*  of  the  city.  Hung 
Lung  sells  you  cigars.  Gem  Lee,  Hung  Lee, 
dip  Ho  and  other  firms  with  similar  names, 
make  you  cigars,  mend  boots  or  do  your  wash- 
ing and  ironing.  Their  market  stalls  abound  in 
articles  which  Americans  know  little  about. 
Dried  fish,  from  an  inch  to  two  or  three  in 
length,  arc  brought  from  China  in  great  num- 
bers, many  kinds  of  roots,  a  strong  if  not  fra- 
grant kind  of  butter,  rice  in  large  quantities, 
several  kinds  of  peas  and  beans,  and  a  great 
variety  of  similar  cheap  food.  They  use  pork 
in  all  forms,  and  very  little  of  the  animal  goes 
to  waste.  In  all  of  these  stores  accounts  are 
footed  up  with  a  counting  frame,  strung  with 
parallel  bars,  upon  which  slide  buttons  of  rose- 
wood, and  with  this  their  book-keepers  outstrip 
our  method  of  addition.  The  books  arc  kept 
with  a  brush,  and  with  a  neatness  which  is 
surprising. 

Minnesota  for  Consumptives. 

A  paper  by  Dr.  Brewer  Mattocks,  president  of 
the  Board  of  Health  at  St.  Paul,  is  published  in 
the  Medical  Record,  and  gives  some  very  impor- 
tant suggestions  in  relation  to  the  effect  produced 
upon  the  lungs  by  the  peculiar  climate  of  Minne- 
sota. The  mortality  from  consumption  in  many 
parts  of  this  country  is  so  great  as  almost  to  as- 
sume the  character  of  an  epidemic,  and  justly 
excites  apprehension. 

By  a  table  taken  from  the  census  returns  of 
1860  it  appears  that  the  mortality  from  this  one 
complaint,  in  Massachusetts,  was  one  in  every 
250  inhabitants;  in  Connecticut,  one  in  every 
360;  in  New  York,  one  in  470;  in  Pennsylvania,- 
one  in  580;  in  California,  one  in  720;  in  Tennessee, 
one  in  770 ;  in  Louisiana,  one  in  840 ;  in  Illinois, 
one  in  880;  in  Iowa  and  Missouri,  one  in  900;  in 
Minnesota,  one  in  1,139;  in  North  Carolina,  one 
in  1,300;  in  Florida,  one  in  1,440;  in  South 
Carolina,  one  in  1,720;  and  in  Georgia,  one  in 
2,150. ' 

The  consumptive  states  are  those  extending 
from  the  Atlantic  to  the  westernmost  of  the 
great  lakes,  and  southward  to  the  sub-tropical 
states,  North  and  South  Carolina,  Georgia,  Flor- 
ida, Alabama,  Louisiana,  Mississippi  and 
Texas.  In  this  number  Louisiana  exceeds  the 
others  in  the  frequency  of  consumption — a  fact 
to  be  attributed  to  the  mixture  of  race  so  com- 
mon there;  scrofula  being  the  inheritance  gen- 
erally of  mongrel  peoples.  Yet  locality  evident- 
ly <  loes  more  to  produce  this  disease  than  predis- 
position ;  nevertheless,  the  haunts  of  consump- 
tion are  not  limited  to  certain  districts. 
/  Dr.  Mattocks  places  much  dependence  upon 
climatic  treatment  for  the  phthisis.  The  disease 
being  one  bounden  by  climates  or  isothermal 
lines— one  side  of  the  continent  being  terribly  af- 
flicted with  it,  and  the  other  but  little  subjected 
to  its  ravages — the  treatment  must  have  direct 
regard  to  that  fact. 

First  of  all,  a  dry  climate  is  absolutely  impera- 
tive.   In  the  table  lands    of  Mexico,  and    in 


a  Cl 

Hi 


THE  CLIMATE  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


[From  "Our  New  West,"  by  Samuel  Bowles,  just 
issued  by  the  Hartford  Publishing  Company.] 

With  such  extent  of  territory  and  such  varie- 
ties and  contrasts  of  elevation,  as  she  possesses, 
al]  degrees  of  temperature,  at  every  season  of  the 
year,  are  offered  in  California.  The  general 
facts  are  that  the  winters  are  warmer  and  the 
summers  cooler  than  in  the  same  latitudes  and 
elevations  at  the  East.  The  nights,  even  of  the 
hottest  days  of  summer,  are  always  cool,  whether 
in  mountain  or  valley,  and  it  is  very  rare  that  a 
double  blanket  is  not  necessary  as  bed  covering 
in  any  part  of  the  state.  The  summer  sun  is 
very  fierce,  even  in  the  hills,  but  the  atmos- 
phere is  so  dry  and  always  in  such  brisk  motion 
that  the  heat  is  much  less  oppressive  than  the 
same  degree  of  temperature  in  a  moister  climate 
!  with  stiller  air;  while  the  nights  are  restoring  and 
'  recompensing. 

Along  the  coast,  and  especially  at  San  Fran- 
cisco, the  ocean  wind^  temper  the  summer  heat 
and  the  winter  cold  most  remarkably.     The  cli- 
mate of  San  Francisco  is  almost  an  idiosyucracy ; 
it  is  probably  the  mildest, — that   is,  freest  from 
:  excess  of  heat  or  cold, — and  most  even   of  any 
place  in  the  world.    The  average  temperature  for 
the  year   is  54  degrees;    the  coldest  month   is 
January,  which  averages  49  degrees ;  the   warm- 
est September,  which  averages  58  degrees;  while 
the  other  months  range  between  these  figures. 
Snow  rarely  falls,  water  as  rarely  freezes,  in  the 
Pacific  metropolis  during   the  winter,  which  is 
usually  the  more  equable  and  pleasant  season  of 
the  year  there.    The  ocean  wind  and  mist  pour 
in  sharply  in  the  summer  afternoons,  and,  after 
a  struggle  with  the  dry  atmosphere,   which    re- 
sists the  attack  bravely   for  a  long  time,  they 
generally  gain  a  partial  victory,   and   make  a 
frequently  disagieeable  evening.  Such  a  contrast 
as  97    degrees-  at   noon  and  46  degrees    in    the 
evening  has  been  known   in  San  Francisco  in 
July;  but  the  usual  range  in  July  and  August  is 
from  50  degrees  to  70  degrees.    Woolen  clothing 
of  about  the  same  warmth  is  needed   constantly 
in  that  city,  and  no  matter  how  warm  the  sum- 
mer's morning   may   be,  the   stranger    should 
never  be  tempted  out  for  the   day  without  his 
overcoat.    For  robust,  vigorous  bodies,  there  is 
no  so  favorable  a  climate  as  that  of  that  city;    it 
preserves  health    and   keeps    up   the  tone   and 
strength  of  the  system,  and  secures  more   work- 
ing days  in  the   year  than    that   of  any  other 
town  in  America  or  the  world ;     but  to  a  weak 
constitution,  and  for  a  quiet,  sedentary  life,  it  is 
too  cold.  The  men  like  it  better  than  the  women 
do.    The  doctors  say  it  is   the   easiest   place  to 
keep  well,  but  the  hardest  to   get   well   in;  and 
they  usually  order  their  invalids  into  the  coun- 
try. 

But  it  is  not  difficult,  as  we  have  suggested,  to 
find  any  shade  of  climate  at  short  notice  in  Cal- 
ifornia ;  by  moving  from  one  place  to  another, 
we  may  be  in  perpetual  summer,  or  constant 
winter.  The  southern  coast  of  California  is 
softer  than  South  Carolina;  the  Colorado  desert 
country  in  south-eastern  California  is  warmer 
than  New  Orleans;  many  a  shaded  spot  upon 
the  coast  is  an  improvement  over  southern 
France  or  Italy;  and  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
which  California  holds  to  be  a  half-dependency, 
offer  a  climate  to  which  all  our  tender  invalids 
will  soon  be  hastening,— the  thermometer  at 
Honolulu  rising  neither  to  80°  nor  falling  to  70°. 
in  any  month  of  the  year.  The  great  Sacramento 
basin  escapes  the  San  Francisco  fogs  and  sea- 
breezes,  and  is  four  degrees  colder  in  winter,  and 
16°  to  20°  warmer  in  summer.  The  summer 
days  are  often  quite  hot  there ;  100°  is  not  an  un- 
common report  from  the  thermometer  in  the 
shade;  but  the  cool  nights  are  invariable.  And 
would  we  have  the  tonic  of  frost,  the  High  Sier- 
ras will  give  us  fresh  ice  nearly  every  morning 
the  summer  through.  A  railroad  of  two  hundred 
miles,  running  south-easterly  from  San  Francisco, 
through  Stockton,  Sonora,  the  Mariposa  Big 
Tics,  the  Yo  Semite  Valley,  and  reaching  the 
tops  of  the  Sierras  at  ten  to  twelve  thousand 
feet,  would  offer  any  tolerable  degree  of  heat  and 
cold  on  every  summer's  day. 

The  distinctive  feature  of  the  climate  of  Cali- 
fornia is  dryness.  It  represents  if  it  does  not 
lead  all  our  New  West  in  this  peculiarity.  Out 
of  the  Sierra  Nevada  Mountains,  the  fall  of  rain 
in  all  parts  of  the  state  is  less  than  half  the  aver- 
age of  that  in  the  states  on  the  Atlantic  coast.  It 
amounts  in  San  Francisco  and  Sacramento  to 
about  twenty-one  inches  a  year  azainst  forty  to 
fifty  in  New  England  and  New  York.  Then  it 
all  comes  between  November  and  June;  practi- 
cally there  is  no  rain  in  California  through  six 
months  of  the  year;  and  for  those  six  months, 
at  least  nineteen  out  of  every  twenty  days  are 
days  of  clear  sunshine;  while  for  tho  other  six 
months,  or  rainy  season,  at  least  half  the  days 
are  pleasant.  Absolutely  no  rain  falls  at  Sacra- 
mento in  the  three  summer  months;  while, San 
Francisco  is  only  able  to  roport  the  thirteenth  of 
an  inch  as  the  average  of  many  years.  Thunder 
and  lightning  storm3  are  almost  unknown  in 
California.  The  rain  fall  increases,  however, 
as  we  ascend  the  slopes  of  the  Sierras, 
and  the  excessive  water"  supply  from  the 
rain  and  snow  upon  these  mountains,  com- 
pensates in  some  degree  for  the  scant  fell 
of  the  valleys  and  coast  lines,  and  kieps 
the  streams  full  the  year  through.  Sixty  feet  of 
snow  fell  in  one  winter  on  the  crest  of  the  moun- 
tains near  the  railroad  line;  and  the  rain  fall  of 
the  Sierras  in  the  season  of  1867-8  amounted  to 
one  hundred  inches.  There  are  exceptional  years 


in  the  fall  of  rain  in  the  lower  and  western  parts 
of  the  state;  thus  in  1861-2,  when  there  was  a 
great  flood,  there  were  forty -five  inches  of  rain  at 
San  Francisco  in  the  four  winter  months;  and  at 
the  same  time  nearly  one  hundred  inches  in  the 
foot-hills  of  the  mountains,  and,  reducing  snow 
to  rain,  over  one  hundred  inches  on  the  crest  of 
the  mountains.  By  contrast,  some  winters  have 
passed  without  rain,  and  for  eighteen  months  at 
one  time  the  valleys  and  coast  regions  received 
no  moisture.  But  that  was  before  the  present 
settlement  and  organization  of  the  state. 

The  tendency  of  the  climate  appears  to  be 
toward  gi eater  evenness,  if  not  to  an  increase 
of  moisture.  The  researches  of  Professor  Whit- 
ney indicate  that  at  one  time  the  climate  of  all 
the  Pacific  region  was  as  moist  as  it  now  is  dry  ; 
that  snow  fell  in  the  summer  on  the  mountains, 
as  it  rarely  or  never  does  in  this  era,,  then 
producing  and  feeding  glaciers  that  the  dryness 
of  the  climate  at  present  forbids,  and  that,  in 
fact,  the  now  desert  valleys  of  the  Great  Interior 
I  Basin  of  Utah  and  Nevada  were,  in  the  wet 
ilangsyne,  vast  inland  seas!  The  surrounding 
mountains,  now  utterly  bare  of  forest  life,  would 
then  naturally  have  been  clothed  with  the 
thickest  and  largest  of  trees.  The  contrast  of 
present  facts  with  this  theory  of  the  past  is  almost 
too  great  for  the  imagination  to  comprehend. 
What  mighty  means  created  the  revolution? 


The  BusincsM  of  San  Fraiiciaco. 

San  Francisco,  July  9. — The  semi-annual  i 
review  of  the  commerce  of  San  Francisco  shows  ! 
that  554,000  tonnage  entered  this  port  for  the 
last  six  months,  of  which  279,000  tons  were  en- 
gaged in  the  domestic  Pacific  coast  trade.  The 
value  of  foreign  goods  received  by  the  above 
vessels  approximates  $7,000,000,  while  the  cur- 
rency value  of  free  goods  received  via  Panama  was 
823,500,000.  The  duties  collected  on  imports 
during  the  past  six  months  were  $3,741,000,  and 
for  the  fiscal  year  $8,273,000.  The  mer-  '- 
chandise  exports  for  the  last  six  months  ag-  j 
gregate  $8,745,000,  and  the  coin  and  bullion  ex-  | 
ported  amounted  to  $2,056,000.  During  last  ' 
year  the  merchandise  shipments  amounted  to  ' 
$21,844,000,  the  following  being  the  principal  ar-  j 
tides:  flour  and  wheat,  $10,636,000 ;  wine  $300,-  | 
000;  wool,  $2,378,000;  hides,  $357,000;  leather,  | 
$268,000;  skins  and  furs,  mostly  from  Alaska  j 
and  re-shipped  to  England,  $987,000;  quick-  j 
silver,  $921,000.  I, 

The  Wonders  of  California.  Mr  Sam 
uel  E.  Bowles,  editor  of  the  Springfield 
(Mass.)  Republican,  is  engaged  in  writing  a 
series  of  railroad  articles  for  the  Atlantic 
Monthly.  They  are  full  of  information,  and 
highly  interesting.  j ^ 

"With  such  suddenly  developed,  yet  se- 
curely held  wealth  as  these  few  facts  illus- 
trate, the  future  of  California  looms  before 
the  visitor  with  proportions  that  astound  and 
awe.  Here  nature  is  as  boundless  iu  its  fe- 
cund+ty  and  variety,  as  it  is  strange  and 
startling  in  its  forms.  While  Switzerland  has 
only  four  mountains  that  reach  as  high  as 
13,000  feet,  California  has  a  hundred  or  two, 
and  one,  Mount  Whitney,  that  soars  to  15,000 
feet,  and  is  the  highest  peak  of  the  Republic. 
She  has  a  waterfall  fifteen  times  as  high  as 
Niagara.  All  climates  are  her  own ;  and  va- 
riety which  her  long  stretch  north  and  south 
does  not  prevent,  her  mountains  and  her  val- 
leys introduce.  Dead  volcanoes  and  sunken 
rivers  abound  in  her  mountains ;  the  largest 
animal  of  the  continent  makes  his  covert  in 
her  chapparal ;  the  second  largest  bird  of  the 
world  floats  over  her  plains  for  carrion ;  the 
oldest  man  has  been  dug  out  of  her  depths; 
tho  biggest  nugget  of  gold  (weighing  195 
pounds  and  worth  % 37,400)  has  been  found 
among  her  gold  deposits ;  she  has  lakes  so 
thin  that  a  sheet  of  paper  will  sink  in  her 
waters,  so  voracious  that  they  will  eat  up  a 
man,  boots,  breeches  and  all,  in  thirty  days, 
so  endowed  in  their  fountains  that  they  will 
supply  the  world's  apothecaries  with  borax, 
sulphur  and  soda;  she  has  mud  volcanoes 
and  the  Yosemite  Valley ;  she  grows  beets 
of  120  pounds,  cabbages  of  75,  onions  of  4, 
tnrnips  of  20,  and  watermelons  of  80  pounds, 
and  has  a  grapevine  15  inches  thick,  and 
bearing  6.600  pounds  in  one  season.  Her 
men  are  the  most  enterprising  and  audacious ; 
her  women  the  most  self-reliant  and  the  most 
richly  dressed  ;  and  her  children  the  stoutest, 
sturdiest  and  tho  sauciest  of  any  in  all  the 
known  world!  Let  us  worship  and  move 
on!" 


California. 

The  opening  ot  the  Pacific  Railroad 
opened  tfe  press  and  the  pulpit  in  Califor- 
nia to  dirsrs  reasoning1!  ;  and  many  inter- 
esting facts  in  the  history  of  that  land  have 
been  gathered,  and  are  well  worth  consider- 
ing. This  year-  completes  a  century  Brace  the 
Romanists,  under  Father  St.  Francis,  discovered 
the  bay  and  settled  on  it,  on  ^which  San  Frascisco 
stands.  And  this  year  also  is  the  twentieth  an- 
niversary  of  the  great  American  emigration,,  and 
the  organization  of  the  State  of  California.  That 
year — 1849 — the  first  steamship  came  np  the 
coast  from  Panama;  and  in  September  of  that 
year  the  first  steamboat  ventured!  into  the  Sacra- 
mento River. 

During  the  first  months  of  that  year  10,000' 
people  landed  in  San  Francisco;  The  city  of  cloth 
tents  and  shanties,  uncomfortably  housing  2000i 
people  in  1849,  has  become  a  magnificent  city  of 
150,000  people;  and  sure  to  make  vastly  greater 
and  more  rapid  progress,  now  that  the  Pacific- 
Railroad  makes  it  the  centre  of  such  vast  busi- 
ness operations.  To  within  tWo>  years  ago  the 
mines  had  yielded  $861,300,000,  an  amount  of 
money  that  has  affected  the  currency  and  busi- 
ness enterprise  of  every  people  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  The  port  that  was  surprised)  at  the  arrival 
of  300  vessels  in  a  year,  recorded  3300  arrivals 
the  last  year.  Flour,  to  the  amount  of  eleven 
millions  of  dollars  was  exported  in  1868,  and  the 
manufactures  of  California  have  reached  $30,- 
000,000. 

The  wool  clip  has  gone  up  from  a  few  thou- 
sand to  15,000,000  pounds.  The  assessed  value  of 
property,  created  almost  wholly  in  twenty  years, 
is  $221,000,000.  In  this  time  the  newspapers 
have  swelled  lrom  two  or  three,  to  238.  Having 
no  school  fund  in  1849,  they  have  now  property 
worth  $2,000,000.  From  the  four  ship-load3  of 
that  year,  the  population  has  now  reached  550,- 
000.  From  eight  churches  the  number  has  in- 
creased to  350  of  all  sects,  with  20,000  members. 

Certainly  the  Californians  have  already  a  noble 
record  of  progress,  and  becoming  now  a  thor- 
oughfare of  the  world,  all  the  elements  of  prog- 
ress are  there— a  progress  another  twenty  years 
will  show,  we  believe,  to  have  never  been 
rivalled  in  the  history  of  the  nations. 


San   Francisco. 


A  letter  from  San  Francisco  speaks  of  that  city 
in  the  following  hopeful  terms : 

Here  is  a  city  less  than  twenty  years  old,  and 
several  times  during  its  growth  it  has  been  almost 
reduced  to  ashes  by  fires.  To-day  it  numbers  a 
population  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand, 
embracing  representatives  from  all  parts  of  the 
civilized  world.  Its  noble  bay  presents  a  forest 
of  vessels,  reminding  one  of  New  York.  Its  loug 
water  margin  is  lined  with  wharves  and  piers, 
covered  with  warehouses  and  filled  with  every 
description  of  merchandise.  Its  banking  houses 
and  insurance  offices  vie,  in  number,  and 
extent,  with  those  seen  in  our  oldest  Atlan- 
tic cities.  Its  principal  business  streets  are 
thronged,  like  State  street  in  Boston,  and 
seem  in  hot  haste  to  outstrip  Wall  street  and 
Broadway  m  New  York.  Its  storehouses,  though 
not  in  general  so  high,  or  so  elegant  as  in  those 
cities,  are  capacious  and  all  occupied,  and  exhibit 
unmistakable  evidence  of  substantial  prosperity 
and  a  constantly  increasing  business.  Its  capital, 
however,  Instead  oi  being  salted  down  as  iu  olden 
cities,  is  actively  employed  in  developing  the  va- 
ried resources  of  the  Pacific  coast;  and  the  cuergy 
and  enterprise  of  the  people  impress  one  with 
wonder  and  pride.  And  yet  Sau  Francisco  has 
apparently  made  but  a  beginning  in  her  contest 
with  Atlantic  cities  for  wealth  and  greatness.  In 
the  rivalry  she  possesses  many  advantages.  Her 
position  is  central.  Her  harbor  is  large  enough  to 
float  the  fleets  of  the  world,  and  is  sheltered  as  well 
as  the  handiwork  of  nature  can  do.  In  this  respect 
she  is  singularly  free,  from  competition  on  the  Pa- 
cific coast,  as  there  is  no  good  harbor  tor  a  long 
distance  either  north  or  south  of  her.  What 
Paris  is  to  France,  San  Francisco  is  to  California. 
With  such  natural  advantages,  with  good  means 
of  communication  by  water  up  and  down  the 
coast,  with  railways  stretching  off  into  the  in- 
terior in  every  direction,  and  being  the  focus 
where  is  to  centre  the  resources  of  a  State  in  area 
equal  to  more  than  fifteen  like  Massachusetts, 
furnishing  greater  variety  and  yielding  a  larger 
abundance  of  products  than  any  other  portion  of 
the  continent  of  like  extent,  one  cannot  be  Bur- 
prised  at  the  confidence  and  enthusiasm  with 
which  Californians  speak  of  the  future  of  this 
cosmopolitan  city. 


I — ■■—    ■■ 


A 


The  first  through  train  on  the  Pacific  Railroad, 
from  Sacramento,  arrived  at  Omaha,  on  Sunday 
last,  May  lGth.  There  were  500  passengers. 
West  of  Omaha  the  travel  is  great. 

Crcii.  Sherman  on  the   Completion  of  the 
Pacific  Road. 

Promontory  Point,  Utah,  May  14. — The 

following  message,  just  received,  has  been  fur- 
nished for  publication : 

Washington,  D.  C,  May  11.— Gen.  G.  M. 
Dodge :  Your  dispatch  of  the  10th  has  been  re- 
ceived, in  common  with  millions.  I  sat  yester- 
day and  heard  the  mystic  taps  of  the  telegraphic 
battery  announce  the  nailing  of  the  last  spike  in 
the  great  Pacific  road.  Indeed,  am  I  its  friend. 
Yea,  I  claim  yet  to  be  part  of  it,  for,  as  early  as 
1854, 1  was  vice  president  of  a  company  in  San 
Francisco  which  made  an  effort  to  com- 
mence the  work  under  the  contract  of 
Robinson,  Seymour  &  Company.  As  soon 
as  General  Thomas  makes  certain  preliminary 
inspections  of  his  new  command  on  the  Pacific, 
I  will  go  out,  and  I  need  not  say  with  how  dif- 
ferent a  feeling  from  that  of  1846,  when  the  only 
way  to  California  was  by  sail  around  Cape 
Horn,  taking  our  ship  196  days.  All  honor  to 
you,  Durant,  Jack  and  Dan,  Casement,  Reed, 
and  thousands  of  brave  fellows  who  have  fought 
out  this  glorious  national  problem,  in  spite  of 
deserts,  storms,  Indians,  and  the  doubts  of  the 
incredulous.  AH  obstacles  you  have  now  hap- 
pily surmounted. 

(Signed)  W.  T.  Sherman,  General. 


The  Completion  of  the  Pacific  Railroad. 

Philadelphia,  May  8.— At  a  meeting  of  the 
Commercial  Exchange,  to-day,  J.  H.  Michener, 
president,  called  attention  to  the  completion  of 
the  Pacific  railroad,  and  the  following  resolution 
was  adopted: 

Resolved,  That  the  president  telegraph  to  the 
Merchants'  Exchange  of  San  Francisco,  as  follows- 
'Ihe  Commercial  Exchange  of  Philadelphia  sends 
greeting^  and  extends  to  the  Merchants'  Exchange 
Of  San  Francisco  the  right  hand  of  fellowship,  from 
the  iron  arm  this  day  completed  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Pacific." 

Flags  were  displayed  to-day  on  all  public  and 
many  private  buildings,  in  honor  of  the  comple- 
tion of  the  road.  - 

San  Francisco,  May  8.— The  Pacific  railroad, 
celebration  to-day  was  one  to  be  remembered 
for  all  time  in  San  Francisco.  The  day  was 
ushered  in  by  a  salute  of  one  hundred  guns: 
all  the  federal  forts  of  the  harbor  fired  a  salute, 
the  city  bells  were  rung,  and  steam-whistles 
blown.  At  night  the  whole  city  was  illuminated, 
and  presented  a  brilliant  appearance.  The  pro- 
cession was  the  largest  and  most  enthusiastic 
ever  witnessed  in  San  Francisco.  The  people 
were  eager  and  willing  to  observe  an  event  of 
so  much  importance  to  this  city  and  the  Pacific 
coast,  and  turned  out  en  masse.  Business  was 
generally  suspended;  nearly  every  citizen  ex- 
hibited a  hearty  interest  in  the  demonstration. 

Opening   of  the   Pacific    Road  for  Busi- 
ness—The First  Freight  Sent. 

San  Francisco,  May  11. — At  11  o'clock  45 
minutes,  San  Francisco  time,  the  last  tie  and 
last  rail  were  laid  and  the  last  spike  driven  on 
the  Pacific  railroad.  A  telegraph  wire  running 
from  the  City  Hall,  under  the  streets  of  the  city, 
and  out  to  Fort  Point,  was  attached  to  a  15-inch 
gun,  and  at  the  first  stroke  on  the  last  spike, 
telegraphed  from  Promontory  Point,  the  gun 
was  fired  by  electricity,  and  by  the  same  agent 
all  the  fire  bells  in  the  city  were  rung.  The 
news  of  the  comrletion  of  the  road  created  great 
enthusiasm  in  all  the  cities  of  this  state. 

The  first  invoice  of  tea  from  Japan  for  St.  Lou- 
is over  the  Pacific  railroad  was  shipped  to-day, 
thus  inaugurating  the  overland  trade  with  China 
and  Japan. 


f 


Gen.  Shermaw  and  thb  Pacific  Railroad— The 
following  message  just  received  at  Promontory  Point, 
Utah,  has  been  lurnished  lor  publication: 

"  Washington,  D.  C,  May  11.— Gen.  G.  M.  Dodge: 
Your  despatch  of  the  10th  has  been  receired.  In  com- 
mon with  millions  I  sat  yesterday  and  heard  the  mystio 
taps  of  the  telegraph  announce  the  nailing  of  the  last 
spike  in  the  great  Pacific  Road.  Indeed  am  I  its  friend ; 
yea,  I  claim  yet  to  Depart  of  it,  for  as  early  as  1864 1 
was  Vice  President  oi  a  Company  in  San  Francisco 
which  made  an  effort  to  commence  the  work  under  the 
contract  of  Robinson,  Seymour  &  Co.  As  soon  as  Gen. 
Thomas  makes  certain  preliminary  inspection  of  his 
new  command  on  the  Pacitic,  I  will  go  out,  and  I  need 
not  say  with  how  different  a  feeling  from  that  of  1846, 
when  the  only  way  to  California  was  by  sail  around 
Cape  Horn — taking  our  ship  196  days.  All  honor  to 
you,  Durant,  Jack  and  Dan  Casement,  Keed  and  thou- 
sands of  brave  fellows  who  have  fought  out  this  glori- 
ous national  problem  in  spite  of  deserts,  storms.  Indi- 
ans, and  the  doubts  of  the  incredulous.  All  obstacles 
you  have  now  happily  surmounted. 
/$~6>4- W.  T.  Sherman." 


The  occasion  was  one  that 
■warranted  much  manifestation   of  feeling,  for 
the   enterprise   that   had    been   virtually   com- 
pleted is  one  of  the  very  greatest  ever  conceived 
and  carried  through  by  the  mind  and  energies  of 
man,whether  we  have  regard  to  its  extent,  or  to  the 
rapidity  with  which  it  was  prosecuted,  or  to  its 
certain  effect,  or  to  its  possible  consequences.    It 
is  but  yesterday  that  it  was  planned,  and  here  it 
is  a  completely  realized  conquest  achieved  over 
time  and  nature.     We  may  overrate  the  results 
that  are  to  proceed  from  it  in  some  respects,  but 
on  the  other  hand  it  may  be  fruitful  in  ways  that 
Lave  not  been  much  considered.    That  it  will,  at 
least  soon,  have  much  effect  on  the  course  of  the 
world's   commerce  we  do  not  believe,  for  com- 
merce changes  its  lines  slowly;  but  it  will  be  of 
immense  service  in  the  way  of  promoting  the  set- 
tlement  of   the    West,    and    thus  develop    a 
home   trade— and  home    trade  is   ever   trade's 
beet    form  —  such    as    has  not  been  dreamed 
of;    fer    men  have  been   thinking   too   much 
of   the   East    in    connection    with    the    road 
to    allow    even    their    sleeping     thoughts     to 
remain  in  the  West,— dwelling  on  the  foreign 
trade,  to  the  exclusion  of  domestic  traffic.    Politi- 
cally, the  work  is  one  of  vast  moment,  for  it 
helps  bind  the  old  United  States  to  the  Pacific 
country  indissolubly.    Until  now,  we  never  have 
Been  sure  of  retaining  that  country,  which,  had 
it  chosen  to  secede,  we  could  not  easily  have  sub- 
dued; but  the  Pacific  Railroad  clamps  the  two 
sections  together  forever,  —  as  nations   under- 
stand the  word  forever.     Its  existence  not  only 
removes  the  chief  objection  to  far-reaching  empire, 
tut  it  would  enable  the  old  part  of  the  country 
to  concentrate  forces  in  the  West,  should  rebellion 
ever  break  out  there,— of  which  there  is  not  the 
slightest  prospect.— The  road  was  completed  on 
Monday,    May  the   10th,  at  12,  M.,   the   point 
of  junction   being  Promontory   Point,   in   the 
Territory  of  Utah,  which  lies  1086  miles  from 
the  Missouri  River,  and   690   from   S-icraicen 
to.    Great  were  the  rejoicings  on  the  announce- 
ment of  the  news,  even  the  Mormons  turning  out  \ 
in  large  and  lively  masses,  though  it  has  been 
kindly  told  them  that  the  road  will  be  used  to 
crush  them  out  of  existence  as  a  community.    In 
Chicago  the  procession  formed  was  seven  miles 
in  length,  being  handsomely    proportioned    to 
the  road.    In  the  Eastern  cities  there  were  loud 
rejoicings.    All  are  pleased,  for  all  are  certain 
that  a  work  has  been  done  that  is  as  favorable  to 
the  present  as  it  will  be  fruitful  in  the  future. 

Two  oceans  linked— a  continent  spanned— the 
desert  made  a  human  hive,  and  the  mother- 
mountains  giving  up  their  primeval  treasures 
for  its  use— all  these  things  are  great— but  their 
dwells  in  them  a  more  sublime  result. 

As  the  mind  looks  down  that  broadening  vista, 
the  imagination  lighting  it  with  the  magnifl- 
csnee  of  possible  achievement,  it  seems  that  the 
poet  rightly  framed  the  thought: 
"What    whispers    are    these,   O   lands,    rnnning 

ahead  of  you,  passing  under  the  seas  ? 
Arc  all  nations  communing?  is  there  going  to  be  but 

one  heart  to  the  globe? 
Is  humanity  forming,  en  mass8? 


TO    THE   PACIFIC    RAILROAD*. 


BY  ».  A.  EATON. 


1 


Midway  between  two  asighty  ocean  i#»re3, 
The  orient  and  occidenS- clasp  hands. 
At  sunrise  and  at  sunset  tfeey  set  out, 
To  meet  at  noon  on  the  brr**i  prairie  plan1*. 
After  brief  journey  o'er  the  &-on  zone 
Which  bind3  them  fast,  in  v.  block's  holy  I 
Proud  monument  of  scientiflcsk^lr. 
As  the  tell  liquid  walls  of  Egypffs  sea 
Stood  Vp  on  either  side,  that  Israel's  hosts 
Might  walk  d?y-footed  to  the  proBlfeed  land, 
So  here  the  flinty  mountains  disu 
In  towering  columns,  martially  arra 
Tolet<Ac«passl 

Fierce  iapida  whirl  beneath  thee, 
And  thou  spato'st  tfesp*alleys  anil  ravines, 
Thy  sinowyjBaWendJRce  the  East  and  We3t, 
Aad  those  w>.o  glide  upon  thy  course,  can' hear 
Within  the  circuit  of  a  single  week 
Pacific's  anther*  and  Atlantic's  roar. 
Stern  iron  river.'  neither  wind  nor  tide, 
Nor  ice  nor  drought,  thou  heedest  in  thy  way. 
Nevada's  cliffs,  that  flea*'  their  kingly  heads 
Above  thy  pathway,  in  the  dizzy  air, 
Look  dawn  in  wonder  as  th«  rumbling  cars 
Rush  o^rthy  surface  with  a  whirlwind's  speed  f 
Below  tUf  ponderous  arches  rivers  dash, 
And  upward  stretch  their-  arms  of  spray,  as  though 
They  lain  would  drag  thee  from  thy  lofty  throne. 
But  still  thy  march  is  onw&rdr 

Undismayed1, 
Thou  stalkeet-on,  with  glorious  trophies  crownedr 
High  o'er  thee,  -floating  in  his  pride  of  place, 
Our  emblem  Eagle  flaps  his  wings- and  screams, 
When  the  shrill  'whistle,  piercing  to  &»ear, 
Disturbs  the  haughty  monarch'Of  the  air, 
Stride  on,  young  giant,  in  thy  mountain  path, 
In  peace,  a  nation- s -highway;  andiimuNMr, 
Whene'er  its  gathering  ills  shall  cloud  the  sky, 
Be  thou  a  grand  conductor,  todirect 
The  thunderbolts  of  vengeance  onsthefos!- 


The  earth,  restive,  confronts  a  new  era,  *       * 

-Jo  one  knows  what  will  happen  next— such  por- 
tents till  the  day  and  night; 
.    *  #  *  #  #  * 

Unborn  deeds,  thing3   soon  to   be,   project  their 
shapes  around  me ; 

This  incredible  rush  and  heat— this  strange  extatic 
fever  of  dreams  and  years!" 

Time  is  the  great  solvent  in  modern  travel. 
Men  ask  only  "how  long?"  not  "how  far?" 
The  Pacific  railroad's  advantage  in  this  receives 
its  illustration  from  George  Francis  Train's  prop- 
osition to  make  a  trip  round  the  world  in  ninety 
days,  to  inaugurate  and  celebrate  fittingly  the 
great  enterprise.    He'll  do  it  too. 

The  most  marvelous  result  seem  to  flow  from 


Yokohama  tea  has  been  received  in  St.  Louis 
in  thirty  days.  This  is  owing  to  the  opening  of 
the  Pacific  Railroad.  As  tea  is  much  injured  by 
a  long  sea  transportation,— too  much  water  is 
ever  bad  for  tea,— the  Pacific  Railroad  will  prove 
a  real  blessing  to  all  lovers  of  the  divine  herb. 
Tea  should  be  brought  overland  to  our  farthest 
Northwestern  possessions,  and  then  sent  down, 
still  by  land,  to  San  Francisco,  and  thence  sent 
east  by  rail.  Let 's  have  the  caravan  trade  intro- 
duced into  America,  with  additions,  and  with  lo- 
comotives and  cars  for  horses  and  camels.  The 
cafilah  going  by  steam  at  the  rate  of  twenty 
miles  an  hour  would  astonish  the  gentlemsn  who 
used  to  listen  to  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertain- 

I  mentin  Cairo,  in  Bagdad,  in  Ea^orah,  and  in 

'  Ispahan. 

Mr.  Winston,  President  of  the  Mutual  Life  Insurance 
Company,  with  his  daughter,  arrived  here  yester- 
day morning  from  San  Francfcco,  by  way 
the  Pacinc  Railroad.  They  left  San  Francisco  on 
afternoon  of  the  second,  in  the  fi?st  train  that  came 
through,  and  felt  Salt  Lako  City  on  the  afternoon,  of 
Monday  last,  coming  through,  without  stopping,  in  six 
days  aDd  six  nights.  The  wiiole  timeecenpied  in  tran- 
sition from  San  Francisco  was  eight  days  and  eleven 
and  a  half  hours.  The  Centra?  Pacific  rate*  seemed  in 
pretty  good  order,  and  they  came  very  comfortably  and 
or/ good  time,  althcagh  there  is  some  parted  the  road 
wbareextrzr  engines"  *Sre  used,  aatf  where  a!  tunnel  is 
expected  to  3e  cut.        i/v?&*f  /<  /?  ' 

The  Pacific  Railroad,  from  Bangor  to  Saii  Fran- 
cisco, is  of  the  length  of  S709  miles.  A  long  road, 
that.  But  it  is  a  series  of  roads,  the  Pacific  Rail- 
road proper  not  including  quite  half  of  it,  or 
about  1882  miles,  which  is  more  than  five  tim.3s 
the  length  of  the  Via  Appia,  that  Queen  of  Ways. 

through  ticket,  first  class,  from  New  York  to 


oan  Francisco,   costs  $170;    second    class   $75. 
the  completion  of  the  Pacific  of  railroad,  is  the    Do  n>t  all  start'at  once, 
effect  it  is  bound  to  have  on  Asiatic  peoples,  and  - 

in  all  probability  on  our  own  and  other  western  A  Sacramento,  California,  dispatch,  dated  the 
nations'  intercourse  with  them  Perhn™  the  12th,  announces  the  arrival  in  that  city  of  a  train 
nations  in^rcouThe  witn  tncm.  Perhaps  the  .  of  the  Springf,eld  built  cars,  which  were  the  first 
change  will  only  be  growth  on  our  part;  while      to  cross  the  continent. 


with  others  it  must  be  reversion.  Hitherto  Eu- 
rope,  the  west,  has  gone  to  Asia,  the  east,  as 
conqueror,  absorber,  aggrandizer.  Is  this  to 
continue?  Will  America,  to  be  in  the  near  future 
more  intimate  even  with  China  than  she  is  with 
Europs  outside  of  England  and  France,  follow 
the  same  bold,  cruel  and  reckless  pathway? 
There  are  those  to  1)3  found  who  virtually  urge 
this  course. 


The  telegraph  operator  at  Promontory  Point 
is  evidently  a  man  of  strong  business  instincts, 
and  resembles  Fanny  Dorritt  in  having  "nonon- 
. sense"  about  him.  When  the  Pacific  railroad 
was  completed  he  telegraphed:  "2:40  p.  m.— 
We  have  got  done  praying;  the  spike  is  about 
to  be  presented." 


'*•"•  'I  I  — 


TUE  ALTITUDES  OF  THE  PACIFIC  KaIE- 
IiOAl>. — The  question  of  altitudes  is  one  ol 
the  most  interesting  connected  with  tlie con- 
struction of  this  great  woik.  The  initial 
point  of  the  Union  Pacific  ;it  Omaha  is  937 
feet  above  tide  water:  and  Cheyenne  at  the 
base  of  the  Black  Hills,  517  miles  west  of 
Omaha  is  6,062  feel.  The  difference  in  elc 
vation  between  these  two  points  is  therefore 
5,095  feet,  or  an  average  ol  about  10  iuet  to 
the  mile.  Sherman  at  the  summit  of  the 
Black  Hills  is  S,2'S2  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea,  the  ascent  Iroin  Cheyenne  westwardh 
being  nearly  69  feet  to  the  mile.  The  west- 
ward descent  ol  the  Black  Hiils  i<  in  striking 
•  utrast  to  this,  Echo  Canyon,  423  milee  dis- 
tmt  from  the  summit,  being  6,333  teet  aboA« 
sea  level.  The  summit  of  the  Sierras  on  the 
line  of  the  Central  Pacific  is  7.042  (eet  above 
Ihe  sea.  When  the  question  of  the  road 
over  these  mountains  began  to  be 
seriously  mooted.it  was  doubted  if  a  railroad 
could  be  operated  at  the  ItffJalit  to  which  it 
would  be  accessary  to  cairv  it.  The  atmos- 
phere, it  was  believed,  would  be  raritied  to 
such  an  extent  that,  there  would  not  be  suffi- 
cient oxygen  left  to  support  combustion. 
Even  if  litel  could  be  induced  to  burn  aflei 
much  persuasion,  it  was  declared  that  water 
would  becouverted  into  steam  at  so  low  a 
temperature  as  to  lose  its  expansion  force, 
and  upon  this  theory  a  prediction  was  pre- 
dicated that  the  locomotive  would  stand  still 
in  its  tracks,  or  rush  backward  down  the 
steep  ascents,  i  rged  by  its  own  weight.  But, 
somehow  or  other,  these  scientific  theoiies 
ca'i'e  to  naught,  and  the  iron  horse  of  the 
Black  Hills  rushes  to  me^t  the  iron  horse  ot 
the  Sierras,  and  today  they  meet  on  the  con 
lines  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake,  within  the  ter- 
litories  of  the  Saintly  Brigham.— [JV.  Y. 
Tribune. 


As  very  mucti  ot  tne  business  ot  ttiese  steamers 
derived  from  the  Chinese,  everything  on  board 
made  to  adapt  itself  to  these  people  in  their 
teuliar  wants  and  tastes.  A  cook  is  provided 
kiy  for  them,  and  all  the  Chinamen 
n  board,  crew  and  steerage,  waiters  and  ser- 
ante,  eat  in  their  own  way  tueir  own  food,  which 
nee,  with  a  little  meat  added.  There 
aii-o  a  room  where  opium  intoxication  can  be 
idnlged  In.  It  is  large  enough  to  accommodate 
;ur  at  once,  and  here  we  saw  the  four  stages, 
ne preparing  hispipp  and  drugging  himself,  then 
je  stupid,  dead-gone  condition,  after  this  the 
illy,  laughing,  leering  state,  and  then  conscious- 
ess  mainly  icturning,  when  his  looks  say — if 
othiiifi  else — that  he  is  ashamed  of  this  opera- 
od.  It  takes  him  from  >ix  to  eight  hours  to  go 
hrounh  all  the  stages,  and  it  is  only  achieved  in 
he  daj  time. 

With  all  these  luxuries  and  necessaries  of  a 
aterinj:  place,  which  this  steamer  affords,  it 
n  ikes  me  that  there  could  not  be  a  better  watering 
lace  selected  for  a  family  for  two  months  than 
apt  Doane's  steamer  Amein  a.  ,    ( 

ore  to  be  quite  calm  during  June, 
nly  and  August,  so  that  the  most    sca-sickLh 
ctd  have  but  few  apprehensions  of  nausea;  a 
ea  hath  with  water  Iresh  from  the  middle  of  the 
'aciflc  ocean  is  alwa\  B  at  band,   food  healthful, 
utrlrious  and  delicate  U  always  Ln  readiness, 
nd  every  thing  in   the    shape  of  attention  and 
_re  is  lavishly   bestowed  upon  the  travelers  who 
nder  the  direction  Of  tl  i 
el.    One    word   upon   Simdi 
about  which  this  company  has  been  mali 
"he  rule  is,  that  the  captain  shall  rea  1  the 
opal  senile,  provided  n. 

i  any  denomination,  w  I 
t  best  to  invite  to  conduct  the  - 
nanner.      T  liis     seems     to     put     the     mat- 
er   on    the    ri^ht     foundation,    always      se- 
,ir}ii,r  that      shall       mark 

he  day  and  yet  not  put  the  service  Lu  the  is 
itian'who  calls  himself   a  preacher,  no  matter 
ihether  he  have  any  brains,  heart   or  common 
ense  to  go  with  him  or  not.    As  a  result 
.(ihe  has  peeached  one  sermon  on  each  of  the 
abbat]  .mil  he  now   has  an  in- 

flation from  the  officers  and  \  to  do- 

iver  some  lectures  sahe  may* 

ni,  p01  ■  n-of-war  and  (lying  tish  are 

ow  not  uncommon  sights,  and  the.  captain  in- 
oims  us,  this  morning,  that  we  a:e  more  than 
,alf  of  the  way  between  Lnin   Francisco  and  Yo- 


ohama. 


K.  Hitchcock. 


! 


I«ifip  on  a  Pacific  Steamship— The  V«« 
eel  and  Im  l»aiii«en«er»-Meetiu«  with  ■ 
Homeward  Bound  Wieamcr-lNieasnrea 
of  the  *  oyage.  ™" 

Correspondence  of  The  Republican. 

Steamship  America,  Pacific  Ocean,        j 

2485  miles  west  of  San  Francisco  > 

Monday,  August  12,  1872.   '  J 

We  sailed  from  San  Francisco  at  the  appointed 
day,  hour  and  minute  indicated  in  the  advertised 
tables.  But  our  first  day  was  the  roughest  one 
we  have  as  yet  experienced  during  the  whole  voy- 
age. Nearly  all  the  passengers  were  so  sick  that 
we  kept  our  berths  to  an  unusual  hour  on  Fri- 
day morning.  Our  steamship  America  is  not 
only  the  largest  and  best  vessel  of  the  Pacvlc 
Mail  Steamship  line,  but  is  the  largest  wooden 
steam  vessel  that  floats.  She  is  398  feet  in  length, 
about  £0  across  her  paddle-boxes,  and  55  inex- 
treme  depth,  and  is  of  4^64  tons  burthen.  Her 
engine  is  3000  horse  power,  the  cylinder  102 
inches  in  diameter  (it  being,  at  the  time  it  was 
made,  the  largest  cylinder  on  any  boat),  and  the 
stroke  12  feet,  making  siuce  we  started  an  aver- 
age of  59  revolutions  to  the  paddle-wheel  per 
mile.  Our  captain,  S.  Doane,  is  a  Cape  Cod 
man,  one  under  whom  the  passengers  feel  se- 
cure, because  he  has  everything  at  all  times  and 
in  all  places,  in  order  and  under  the  most  perfect 
discipline;  and  yet  he  is  an  affable,  quiet  man 
;'n  his  corduct  with  the  passengers  at  the  table 
and  elsewhere  as  we  meet  him.  We  advise  all 
our  friends  to  travel  in  the  America,  under  Cap; 
Doane.  Our  first  officer,  too,  is  a  Cape  Codder, 
our  engineer  a  New  Yorker,  and  our  purser  a 
Granite  state  man,  so  that  we  cannot  but  feci 
safe  and  delightfully  comfortable  uuder  such 
home  influences.  The  crew  are  entirely  China- 
men, each  watch  having  its  boatswain,  a  Cliiua 
man,  who  is  aLo  interpreter  for  them.  Our  ta- 
ble waiters,  too,  are  Chinamen,  and  the  most  ex- 
cellent ones  that  it  has  ever  been  our  pleas- 
ure to  find.  Why  can't  we  have  colouies  of  them 
in. ported  to  New  England,  and  help  us  out  there 
iu  the  everlasting  labor  question? 

The  passengers  are  few.  Partly  because  of  the 
system  ot  two  steamers  a  month,  just  intro- 
duced, and  partly  because  of  generally  slack 
travel  at  this  time  of  the  year.  A  baker's  dozen 
only  are  Americans,  eleven  are  Italians  going  t:> 
Japan  to  buy  out  the  market  of  silk  worms'  eggs, 
and  the  balance  are  Spaniards,  French  and  some 
undctcribed  nationalities.  The  cargoes  an  as- 
sorted one,  from  sulphuric  acid  up  to  specie,  the 
latter  of  which  is  on  board  iu  the  shape  of  Mexi- 
can dollars  to  the  amount  of  one  and  one-half 
millions.  The  comforts  which  this  company  se- 
cures for  its  passengers  are  luxurious  and  delici- 
ous. The  state-rooms  are  large,  well  ventilated 
and  most  scrupulously  clean.  A  table  with  every 
style  and  variety  of  food  that  can  be  found  at  our 
best  hotels,  with  a  chance  to  eat  five  times  during 
the  day ,  and  extra  serving  and  attention  furnished 
if  it  is  but  requested.  The  saloon  is  not  only 
supplied  with  the  most  comfortable  of  fnmitnre, 
but  also  with  a  well  selected  library  and  a  Stein- 
way  piano.  A  cold,  warm,  hot  or  shower  bath, 
ol  salt  ot  fresh  water  is  within  a  moment's  call 
of  any  passenger.  If  any  one  fea^s  that  our 
meats  may  not  be  well  preserved  we  have  bat  to 
sicp  forward  and  see  a  stall  of  nice,  clean  and 
comfortably  fed  oxen,  sheep  and  hogs,  (chickens, 
geete,  ducks  and  turkeys,  too,)  all  quietly  eating 
and  waiting  for  the  butcher's  knife  as  the  appe- 
tites of  the  ship's  load  may  demand.  All  the 
water  used  on  board  is  distilled  and  condeused 
from  the  ocean,  so  that  we  need  have  no  fear  of 
organic  Impurities  or  metallic,  salts.  On  go-ii"; 
from  the  cabin  to  the  steerage  it  is  like  stepping 
from  the  western  to  the  eastern  world.  There 
are  177  Chinese  passengers  and  none  else  in  the 
steerage,  so  that  everything  there  is  arranged 
lor  their  comfort  alone.  They  sat  in  squads  on 
mats  on  the  BOOT)  eating  their  rice  and  meat 
with  their  fingers  and  chop-stack*.  A  Chinese 
cook  prepares  all  their  food  in  their  suitable  na- 
tional manner.  Their  gambling  habits  are  so 
ingrained  that  it  is  hardly  possible  to  move 
around  among  then  because  all  the  floor  space 
is  lakin  np  by  their  games.  They  play  with  Im- 
plements very  mnch  resembling  our  dominoes, 
though  by  a  tar  different  game.  The  only  stakes 
in  sight  are  cash  coins  ot  the  valueof  amill,  and 
Initn  I 

(in  Wednesday  night  we  experienced  one.  of 
the  inli.  the  monotonj 

which    was    truly  •delightful,  the    meeting 

;. id  bound    steamer.       We    had  expect  -d 

over  24  hours,  but  us  the  previous  night 

rmy,we  presumed  she  had  gone  by  im- 

l.i.t    at    a    little     past     11     o'clock    our 

polite  steward  tapped  at    our  blinds   saying  that 

the  Japan  was  Ln  Bight  <>f  course  we  all  were 
i  n  on  de<  k,  and  after  a  pfoper  interchange  of 
ligbi  signals  by  the  vessels,  we  came  alongside 
ot  each  other,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  apart. 
Soon  a  small  boat  appeared  and  atUtr  a  line 
was  thrown  to  her,  the  boatswain  said  there  were 
lor  the  captain  and  punier  to  winch  he 
wanted  answers.  He  also  said  they  were  in 
want  of  potatoes,  as  these  esculents  are  carried 
h<ni   Sai  Francisco  for  both  voyages. 

acks  of  these  articles  were  dropped  down 
into  the  boat,  with  a  box  of  apples,  the  mail  de- 
livered and  the  little  boat  dropped  to  the  rear, 
and  all  the  rest  we  saw  w  as  a  rocket  let  off  by  the 
Japan,  as  much  as  to  say  "much  obliged.'  I'ne 
homeward  bound  steamer  does  all  the  boarding, 
and  makes  all  the  demonstration,  as  they  are 
the  ones  most  in  want  of  news. 


"The  Everlasting  God  Fainteth  not, 
Neither  is  Weary." — Did  anybody  ever  try  in 
their  small  measure  to  be  a  Providence — to  do 
in  their  little  spheres  what  God  does  in  his  great 
one, — bear  the  wants  and  carry  the  sorrows, 
counsel,  comfort,  aid  and  guide  the  struggling, 
the  shipwrecked,  the  suffering  and  the  lost? 

We  think  no  one  ever  tries  to  do  this,  as  pas- 
tor, as  city  missionary,  as  Sunday-school  teach- 
er, as  beneficent  benefactor,  without  coming  very 
soon  to  a  sense  that  the  pressure  of  human  want 
and  weakness  and  desire  is  enough  utterly  to 
use  up  every  susceptibility,  and  that,  when  every 
nerve  is  strained  to  the  utmost,  and  every  fibre 
aches,  there  still  remains  the  same  hopeless, 
clamoring,  imploring,  wailing  mass  of  human 
want  and  sorrow. 

For  a  person  with  an  ample  fortune  to  be  ad- 
vertised as  possessing  a  tender  heart  and  open 
band,  is  to  lay  that  person  open  to  a  stream  of 
applications,  entreaties,  urgencies,  revelations  of 
sorrow,  revelations  of  perplexities,  that  might 
soon  exhaust  the  most  copious  fortune. 

A  lady  of  great  benevolence  was  left  at  the 
head  of  an  ample  income,  and  had  a  heart  to  use 
it  to  do  good.  The  writer  once  appealed  to  her 
in  behalf  of  what  seemed  an  urgent  and  peculiar 
sorrow,  and  the  answer  was:  "I  have  already 
gone  over  my  income,  and  spent  of  my  principal 
to  the  amount  of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars, 
and  the  applications  increase  faster  than  the 
money  diminishes.  My  bankers  remonstrate, 
and  I  have  resolved  to  take  no  more  cases  till  I 
have  made  my  affairs  square  with  my  income." 

The  same  is  true  of  some  other  person  who 
has  only  sympathy,  and  time,  and  personal  ef- 
forts to  give.    Mrs.  is  known  in  all  the 

neighborhood.  She  is  pitiful,  tender,  active,— 
one  who  will  stop  to  hear  and  sympathize,  and 
give  time  to  do;  and  so  it  comes  to  pass  that  ev- 
ery neighbor  who  is  too  busy  to  help  sends  every 
unlucky  person  to  Mrs. ;  and  the  poor  wom- 
an's sympathies  are  drawn  on  till  they  are  used 
up;  her  head  aches,  her  back  aches,  her  feet  are 
worn  with  running;  she  is  tired  out;  and  still 
the  great  work  of  relieving  human  pain  and  per- 
plexity is  undone. 

A  warm-hearted,  ardent  young  minister  comes 
into  his  work  full  of  zeal,  and  his  sympathetic 
preaching  and  the  warmth  of  his  Christian  char- 
ity begin  to  tell  on  the  community ;  and  forthwith 
every  one  that  is  in  distress  and  want,  or  iu 
debt,  or  in  perplexity, — every  widow  that  has  a 
mortgage  on  her  homestead,  every  orphan  child, 
every  heart-breaking,  cruel  woe,  want  and  ex- 
igency of  this  most  cruel  life  of  ours  is  poured 
upon  him. 

At  first  he  meets  it  bravely;  he  tries  to  Bee, 
hear  and  talk  with  every  one,— to  give  heart, 
sympathy,  and  even,  bo  far  as  he  can,  material 
aid.  But  he  soon  learns  that  he  is  mortal.  The 
time  comes  when  he  finds  a  limit  to  his  strength. 
A  man  has  only  so  much  power  of  feeling,  and 
that  power  he  must  use  first  and  foremost  in  the 
main  work  he  is  responsible  for;  and  the  minis- 
ter finds  that  if  he  is  to  preach  the  gospel  he  is 
sometime  or  other  absolutely  to  shut  the  door, 
and  Bay  to  the  applicant,  "I  cannot  do  more.  I 
cannot  examine  your  case.    I  cannot  help  you." 

A  celebrated  clergyman  Baid:  "It  is  not  tin- 
work  I  do  that  wears  on  me ;  it  iB  the  work  I  can' t 
do,  and  don't  do,  that  kills  me."  And  we  vent- 
ure now  to  say  that  this  draft  on  sympathy  and 
heart-power  which  the  modern  researches  of  be- 
nevolence lay  on  ministers  in  large  centres  is 
more  wearing  than  all  their  definite  work. 
What  they  Bee  and  cannot  do,  that  is  what  draws 
on  their  very  life. 

"Why  sayestthou,  O  Jacob,  and  speakeBt,  Is- 
rael, my  way  ia  hid  from  the  Lord,  my  judgment 
has  passed  over  from  my  God  ?  Hast  thou  not 
known,  hast  thou  not  heard,  that  the  Everlasting 
God,  the  Lord,  the  Creator  of  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  fainteth  not,  neither  is  weary '.'  He  giveth 
power  to  the  faint,  and  to  them  that  have  no 
might  he  increaseth  strength.  Even  the  youths 
shall  faint  and  be  weary,  and  the  young  men 
shall  utterly  fall.  But  they  that  wait  on  the 
Lord  shall  renew  their  strength;  they  shall 
mount  up  on  wings  as  eagles;  they  shall  run 
and  not  be  weary;  they  shall  walk  and  not  faint." 


THE    LILY    OF    THE    FIELD. 

BY  BEV.  HENRY  S.  OSBOBN. 


than  even  that  of  the  Latin  writers  ;  and,  secnd,  that 
when  in  early  years  the  Greek  was  translated  into 
latin,  or  the  Latin  into  Greek,  the  two  k o(is  were 
interchangable.    Thus,  when  Jerome  translated  into 


/  There  are  no  flowers  which  exhibit  the  various  Lain  the  passages  in  the  Gospels  above  referrel  to, 
dements  of  beauty  to  greater  perfection  than  those  he  changed  the  Greek  generic  word  into  the  Latin 
»f  the  lily.  Nor  are  there  any  wherein  the  mysteries  "lilium,"  wherever  it  occurred,  and  in  doing  so  he 
3f  color  are  more  remarkably  developed.     Imagine,  only  adopted  a  rendering  which  had  been  used  before. 


if  you  can,  that  a  few  atoms  are  traveling  upward  to^ 
form  the  colored  part  of  the  petal  of  a  lily  flower. 
They  start,  perhaps,  from  the  fibrous  rootlets  or  from 


The  Lily  of  the  Old  Testament. 

We  have  said  that  the  English  word  "  lily  "  is  do 

rived  from  the  Latin  "  lilium."    It  is  interesting  to 


the  bulb,  and  pass  by  the  whorled  or  scattered  leaves  inow  that  the  Mter  is  derived  ffom  the  Greek  word 
on  their  course  ;  while  other  atoms,  by  the  side  of  „  Ieiriori(>.  the  specifio  term  in  that  tongue  for  the 
which  they  hitherto  have  traveled,  partcompany,  and,„  white  lily  „  Homer,  we  believe,  is  the  first  classic 
run  into  nearer  channels.  But  onward  these  tiny  author  who  made  use  of  fhe  word)  (Hym  Hom-  Ce^ 
color-atoms  move.  Guided  by  some  mysterious  at-  427))  and  this  is  the  eariiest  known  record  of  the  lily 
traction,  they  turn  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  until,  in  ai)y  ianguage,  if  we  except  the  Hebrew  in  1  KiDgs 
at  the  end  of  their  journey,  they  have  reached  that  Tii.  19j  26.  In  this  chapter  are  described  the  carv-j 
destined  spot,  to  form  a  circle  or  line  of  red  or  brown  ings  for  the  capita!s  of  two  important  pillars,  and  for 
,  or  black,  just  where,  for  a  thousand  years,  their  pro-  the  rim  of  the  .«  molten  sea  »  wMch  were  made  f(J 
"  genitors  did  the  same  for  other  flowers.  There  is  a  g0]om0n's  temple.  The  Hebrew  word  translated 
ftiystery  in  the  coloring  of  all  flowers,  but  of  none'«.lily  »  appears  to  have  originated  in  Persia,  the  landj 
more  so  than  of  lilies.  #f  the  lilyt    In  the  titIe  „  shushan,"  frequently  used 

There  is  no  genus  of  plants  under  the  Natural  Sys-jn  the  Book  of  Estker  in  connection  with  "the  Pal 
tern  which  presents  such  seeming  confusion  of  species  ace)»  wMch  was  the  scene  of  the  trials  and  triumph! 
as  that  to  which  the  lily  belongs.  Yet  the  "  Lily  of  „f  that  queen)  we  have  the  very  Hebrew  word  whict 
Ihe  Field"  may  be  identified  with  less  difficulty  than  is  translated  lily  in  other  places.  In  Persia,  amonj 
■aany  other  of  the  flowers   of  sacred  and  classic^he  ruins  of  Susa,  the  ancient  Shushan,  the  lily  ha; 


writings. 


lilies  Among  the  Ancients. 


lately  been  found  carved  upon  the  remains  of  its  mar- 
ble palaces,  or  reproduced  in  the  form  of  vases  and  h 


The  word  "lily"  is  but  an  abbreviation  of  "lilium,"  other  antique  ornaments.*    (Loftus,   "  Susiana   and- 
ased  by  Latin  writers  long  before  the  Gospels  were'  Chaldea.")    Now  it  is  important  to  remember  that, 


written.    A  Latin  poet,  Propertius,  born  before  the  according  to  two  celebrated  Greek  writers,  (Diosco 


"CONSIDER  THE"  FLOWERS. 

INBCUIBED  TO  REV.  H.  W.  B. 

"In  all  Ms  glory:,  Solomon 

Was  not  like  one  of  these  awayetl !" 
So,  Father,  'twas  Thy  will  to  crown 

With  beauty  e'en  the  flowers  that  fade. 
For  what  but  chemistry  divine 

Could  from  the  chill  and  rayless  sod 
Such  forms  uprear?  and  thus  refine 

To  life  and  loveliness  the  clod? 

Each  curious  petal,  veined  or  white, 

Or  rich  with  life's  ensanguined  hue, 
Or  with  heav'ns  purest  sapphire  bright, 

Or  dropt  with  gold,  as  grass  with  dew,— 
Soft  piled,  as  velvet  monarchs  wear, 

Or  rigid,  rustling  in  the  wind, 
Or  delicate,  like  woven  air, 

Or  downy,  like  the  peach's  rind,— 
Loading  with  balm  the  evening  hours, 

Or  guarding  sweets  with  jealous  care, 
Or  odorless,  like  pictured  flowers, 

Or  faintly  perfuming  the  air,— 
Each  hue,  each  scent,  each  form  of  grace, 

Wrought  wondrous  from  the  self-same  clod; 
That  in  the  oaiidbk  man  may  trace 

Now,  as  at  first,  the  steps  of  God. 
Here,  too,  our  faith,  that  doubts  and  asks, 

"How  shall  the  dead  be  raised  again? 
And  with  what  body  clothed?"  and  t. 

Foor  reason's  subtlest  powers  in  vai 
Meets  her  dear  Lord's  rebuking  eye 

In  every  God- wrought  form  and  hue  ;— 
"If  He  so  clothes  the  grass,  oh  why 

Can  He  not  thus,  much  more,  clothe  you?" 

E1BDT    TO    TES    FLOWERS. 

[Tub  following  exquisite  verses  from  the  pen  of  Horace  Ss 


i  ► 


which   was    applied 


to   the    light    of    the   moon, 


It  is  noticeable  that  the  Arabs  of  Syria  call  the  vari- 
{"  candentia  luns,"  Viirumus.)    Virgil  calls  it  the.  0us  colored  lilies,  but  especially  the  white  lily,  "  soo-  Ye  matin  worshipers !  who,  bending  lowly 
"  large  or  noble  lily,"  (•'  grandiahlia,"  Ec.  x.  24,)  and;  gan»  a  name  radically  the  same  as  that  by  which,  inrnuBefore  thejupriaen  sun,  God's  lidless  eye', 
speaks  of  the  lily  as  growing  freely  among  thorns,  (Song  the  Hebrew,  it  was  known  in  the  days  of  Solomon, 
•f  Sol.  ii.  2,)  and  inviting  the  bees  which  yielded  deli-;     Thus  we  have  an  interesting  series  of  links  in  the 


Throw  from  yo'ur  chalices  a  sweet  and  holy- 
Incense  on  high  ! 


cious  honey  first  to  that  farmer  who  had  planted  lilies  evidence  which  leads  us  to  the  conclusion,  that  theYo  bri*M  mosaics !  that  with  sto 
upon  a  sterile  farm.    (Gecrg.  iv.  130-140.)    Pliny,  iny  of  the  Old  Testament  and  that  of  the  New  w^ce^llt ^S'roJtSbl^of?iMti 


says  that  one  lily  root  would  in  his  time  bear  fifiy'lhe  same 
bulbs,  "  than  which,"  he  thought,  "  no  plant  could  be 
more  fruitful,"  (N.  H.,  Lib.  21,  c.  5.)    Horace  writes 
•f  lilies  scattered  upon  the  feast-tables  in  honor  of  a 
friend  returned  to  his  home,  and  calls  them 


ried  beauty 
sselate, 
strucdve  duty 
Your  forms  create  ! 


The  Probable  "Lily  of  the  Field/ 


'Neath  clustered  boughs,  each  floral  bell  that  swbjret] 


Of  all  writers,  the  Greeks  were  most  explicit  andM4nd  q01!^  itsuP.erf"me  °«  tne  Pasting  air, 
.....  ...  lttaa.es  Sabbath  in  the  fields,  and  ever  ringeth 


the  elo<luent  in  their  description  of  the  lily.     The  poet  A  call  for  prayer  ! 

Aortrlived  ly.""    The"  poets  "whose"  feast-tables  i  Mos^hus' wno  wrote  200  b.c,  represents  the  beauti- 
ful Europa  as 

3  whose  glory  theyf  "  Pluckine  the  ***&*&  white  lilies  on  the  soft  meadow-lands,"  But  to  that  faue"mosVcaThoTic  andVolemn, 
extolled  has  crumbled  and  perished  ;  but  that  "  short- \ which  line  more  is  told  of  the  m?  than  in  anJ  Wt,lch  God  hath  Planned~ 

©ther  classic  line  of  equal  shortness.    Another  Greek Tojhat  cathedral,  boundless  a 
writer,  (Dionysius,)  about  the  commencement  of  the 
Christian  era,  prettily  describes  the  same  flower  ic 
beside  fallen  blocks  and  pillars,  the  shattered  aud,an  eP'gram>  as  " the  white-skinned  lily,"  using  the 

•orroded  fragments  of  ruined  halls    and   temples,  *?™e  word  for  li!y  which  is  found  in  the  Gospels  ™«e>; ^^n,h™nariVhade  l  warLd8J 
which  in  its  unaltered  beauty  it  has  survived.     These  t^^f-T^*  bef,uteous  similes  lrawi\f™  Awed  b^he  sifence,  re  trerZy  ponder 

The  ways  of  God — 


were  strewn  with  its  flowers,  have  long  since  re-^ 

•y  they 
short- 
lived lily''  still  decks  the  fields  and  perfumes  the  air 
•f  Italy  with  undiminished  beauty  and  fragrance. 
In  that  country  and  further  East  it  may  be  seen 


Not  to  the  domes,  where  crumbling  arch  and  column 
Attest  the  feebleness  of  mortal  hand  ; 


3  our  wonder, 
Whose  quencn!es3  lamps  the  sun.  and  in  jon  supply— 
Its  choir  me  winds  and  waves— its  organ  thund< 
Its  dome  the  sky  ! 

wander 

upon  the  sad, 


bright  lilies,  quietly  blooming  around  the  scattered  J";  ^  or  in  interesting  allusions  to  it.    (Pind.  N. 

116  ;  Polyb.  Crat.  Matth.  1 ;  Ar.  Nub.  911.) 


ruins  of  the  East,  seem  like  constant  though  feeble 
stars,  shining  out  unceasingly  upon  the  dark  night  of 


From  all  this  it  is  evident  that  the  same  flowe: 


Your  voiceless  lips,  O  flowers,  are  living  preachers 
Each  cup  a  puipir,  every  leaf  a  book, 


desolation  which  has  followed  the  sunset  of  Roman  Which  is  so  wel1  known  to  us> was  known  and  value<  Supplying  to  my  fancy  numerous  teachers, 
grandeur.  3n  earMe8t  limes>  but>  as  we  have  already  remarked  Fro''n  io^liest  nook. 

What  has  been  said  of  the  Latin  word  for  lily  may™1"16  lhe  wbite  was  valued  most  in  other  lands,  th<  Floral  apostles!  that  in  dewy  splendor 
-even  more  emphatically  be  asserted  of  the  Greekied  Md  PurPle  were  be^r  known  and  more  highly     "  * 'eeP  without  woe ,ai,d  blush  without  a  cr 
word.    There  were  two  words  in  the  Greek  tonguefstfmed  in  Syria.    The  term  used  by  our  Savior,  i**1  may  J  ^l^&^V™™1" 
fer  this  flower,  either  of  which  was  applicable  to  the"  p.laiI)' referred  to  a"  "lies  as  a  class,  and  the  effort; 

white  lilv       One    however    designated  the  lilv  ira*0  Iimit  *fs  meaning  to  any  particular  variety  of  flowe:  '  \hon  wert  not,  Solomon,  In  all  thy  glory, 
wnue  my.      une,  nowever,   aesignatea  xne  my  *"  hl        .  H.,      ,  f  /  .  J.  Arrayed,"  the  hSies  cry,  ''io.  sobes  like  ours ; 

general,  the  other  the  white  lily  particularly.    The,  r^  Dlooming  on  the  oihs  of  Syria,  especially  of  <•  How  vain  your  grardeur !  ab  !  how  transitory 

Are  Human  Flowers !" 

In  the  sweet-scented  pictures,  Heavenly  Artist ! 
With  which  thou  paintest  Nature's  wide-sprea 
What  a  delightful  lesson  thou  impartesfc 
Of  love  to  all ! 

Not  useless  are  yte,  flowers,  though  made  for  tleasire,. 
Blooming  o'er  field  and  wave,  by  day  and  night ; 
amnion  bids  me  treasure 


MISCELLANEOUS  SELECTIONS. 
"What  thou  lovest,  that  thou  art,  and  that 
thou  livest."—  Fichte.  ■ 


former  was  the  word  used  by  our  Savior  in  the  sen-J!jnd  not  known  as  the  li]y>  can  onl?  8ive  rise  to  con 

4ence,  "  Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field."    This  dis-^       n'    , 

tinction  was  made  use  of  before  the  commencement 
of  the  Christian  era,  as  is  seen  in  the  writings  of  the 
celebrated  Greek  botanist,  Theophrastus,  (H.  P.  6, 6, 3.) 
We  may  therefore  reasonably  infer  that  it  was  known 
in  the  time  of  our  Savior.  In  Syria  there  were  red' 
and  purple  as  well  as  white  liles,  and  Pliny,  the 
naturalist,  says  that  in  that  land  the  white  was  heM 
in  less  esteem  than  the  red.  In  the  passage  making 
mention  of  this  fact,  he  includes  all  the  varieties 
under  the  generic  term  "  lilia."  So  that  the  lily  o£- 
the  Latin  included  the  red  and  purple  as  well  as  the 
white. 

If  It  be  asked  how  we  know  that  the  flower  intend- 
ed by  our  Savior  was  the  "  lilium  "  of  which  we  have 


^     .     .  A  '  Prom  every  source  your 

As  for  death,  no  one  except  a  fool  or  a  cowai  d  Harmless  delight . 

fears  that;  the  real  evil,  and  the  greatest  of  all 
evils,  is  to  pass  into  Haden  with  a  corrupt  and  L  Ephemeral  sages !  what  iostructors  hoary 

For  such  a  world  of  thought  could  furnish  scope? 


polluted  mind. — Plato. 


Each  fad  ins 


Our  life  i»  determined  for  us;  and  it  makes 
the  mind  very  free  when  we  give  up  wishing, 
and  only  think  of  bearing  what  is  put  upon  us, 
and  doing  what  is  given  us  to  do.— George  Eliot. 
The  following,  which  is  suggestive  to  coffee- 
spoken,  we  answer— first,  that  the  description  of  the  drinkers,  is  from  a  tombstone  in  Connecticut: — 
flower  by  the  Greek  writers  is  more  true  to  nature  "Here  lies,  cut  down  like  unripe  fruit, 

-      >  The  wife  of  Deacon  Amos  Shute : 

She  died  of  drinking  too  much  coffee, 
Anno  Domlny  eighteen  forty." 


Calyx  a  memento  mori, 
Yet  fount  of  hope  t 


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,  0  God !  in  cburohless  lands  remaining, 

Far  from  all  voice  of  teachers  and  divines, 
My  voice  would  fin*,  in  flowers  of  thy  ordaining, 
Priests,  sermons,  shrines ! 


" 


t 


The  IVmn'ber  8rv«n  In  Scripture. 
FROM   TDK    WASIK  BKAWKR  OF  A    CLKBGYMAH. 


Flowers  Supposed  to  be  "  the  Lily  of  the  Field  " 
It  may,  however,  prove  interesting,  in  passing,  * 
notice  the  opinions  on  this  subject.    Even  tulips, 
white,  red,  blue,  and  otherwise  colored,  have  been 
offered  as  "  the  lilies  of  the  field,"  simply  because  they 
bloomed  on  the  fields  of  Palestine,  although  their  name 
has  always  been  distinct,  and  they  exhale  no  such 
fragrance  as  did  the  lilies  of  Solomon's  imagery.  ^ 
(Song  v.  13.)    Sir  J.  E.  Smith  has  urged  a  golden 
liliaceous    flower   called,    formerly,    the    Amaryllis  _ 
lutea,  now  Oporanthus  luteus.    Prof.  Lindley  thinks  - 
that  it  was  a  flower  which  now  blooms  in  Palestine,  A 
(the  Ixiolirion  Montanum,)  with  slender  stem  and£ 
clusters  of  delicate  violet  flowers,  allied  to  the  Ama- 
ryllis.   Nor  does  the  fact  that  it  is  chiefly  found  upon^ 
the  mountains  lessen  the  faith  of  that  botanist  in  the  ' 
supposed  identity.    The  "  Crown  Imperial,"  (Fritella- 
ria  Imperialis,)  a  large  red  and  yellow  pendent  flower,  ^ 
a  native  of  Persia,  seldom  seen  in  Syria,  is  supposed  by 
others  to  be  the  lily  in  question.   Dr.  Royle,  in  Kitto"sK| 
Cyclopedia,  feels  confident  that  it  is  the  brilliant  red^| 
flower,  half  the  size  of  the  common  "  tiger  lily,"  (sup-,  j 
posed  to  be  the  lilium  Chalcedmicum,  or  scarlet  j 
Martagon,)  which  blooms  in  April  and  May  near  the 
Sea  of  Galilee,  as  seen  by  Dr.  Bowring.  Jj 

This  probably  completes  the  list,  so  far  as  any1; 
intelligible  description  of  flowers  has  been  offered. 
"  Consider  the  Lilies  of  the  Field." 
Our  Savior  was  sitting  on  the  side  of  one  of  the  hills 
near  the  western  shore  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee.    These  J 
hills  were  on  the  southern  border  of  a  broad  and  fer- 
tile meadow,  stretching  inland  for  more  than  a  mile. 
The  red  and  purple  lilies  were  well  known  there,  as 
Pliny  has  told  us,  and  they  readily  suggested,  by  their 
colors,  the  robes  which  in  those  days  were  a  part  of 
the  insignia  of  monarchs  ;  whence  the  fitness  of  the 
allusion  to  the  apparel  of  "  Solomon  in  all  his  glory."  - 
There  could  have  been  no  flower  more  appropriately 
"  considered,"  none  more  forcibly  associated  with 
Solomon  arid  the  times  of  his  "  glory."    It  was  at 
once  a  roy  al  and  a  sacred  flower.  It  had  been  wrought 
upon  the  molten  sea,  and  carved  upon  the  two  noted 
pillars  of  the  temple  porch.    It  was  the  favorite  in 
the  flower  imagery  of  the  Song  of  Solomon,  and  now 
these  lilies  were  blooming  upon  the  plains  and  fields 
before  them.    Their  grace  and  beauty  were  the  more 
remarkable  in  that  they  grew  so  freely.    They  sprang 
up  upon  every  field,  shedding  their  fragrance  upon 
every  passing  breeze,  decorating  the  thorn  as  well  as 
the  olive,  indebted  to  no  one's  care  but  God's,  to  his 
sunshine  and  his  rains  alone,  for  their  existence  and 
their  beauty.    They  had  survived  the  rending  apart 
of  the  kingdom.    They  had  remained  upon  the  fields, 
and  had  been  "  clothed"  and  renewed  in  their  weak- 
ness, while  strong  ones  had  been  carried  into  cap- 
tivity, or    scourged    by  sword    and    by  pestilence. 
"  Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field."    In  all  this,  every 
lily  had  its  duty  to  perform— its  place  to  fill  in  the 
cycles  of  the  Creator's  great  and  various  purposes. 
Every  lily-stalk  was  gifted  with  its  minute  channel^ 
up  which  it  drew  the  life- sap  God  had  provided— it" 
opened  its  petals  in  due  season,  and  lavishly  gave  to., 
_the  passing  breeze  its  grateful  incense  of  fragrance, 
.  or  it  smiled  in  its  beauty  under  the  warm  rays  of  a 
.  •  spring-time  sun.    There  it  stood,  quietly  working  out 
its  duty  and  its  history—"  toiling  not  nor  spinning"— 
a  never- failing  witness  to  God's  condescending  care  and 
mysterious  providence— a  picture  of  a  sublime  truth 
enfolded  in  its  petal,  that  God's  eternal  power  may  be 
felt  and  known  in  a  leaf  as  in  a  world,  and  that  the 
footprints  of  God's  loving  presence  may  be  very  near 
us,  while  to  find  them  we  are  wandering  far  away. 

A      l  e  water-lilies  take  root,  and  grow  silen  1 
amid  the  slime  an d  mud  in  low  waters,  anvil  in  r" 
midsummer  thev  open  their  jrreat  creamy  \ 
J(.  |  suasions  <>'  i  '  ""  "' 

snowy  flotillas  on  the  bosoms  of  stream*,  the  gl  ry 
nvd  idealization  of  h1!  flo  aid  the  1  t* 

lards  o»  life,  among  1  b  shad  >ws  and  mis  »,  ba»e 

i-ppti.-   aid  generous  deeds,. no*  knowiqg  wn»'n 
they  tajse  root,  or  expecting  (0  ben  >ld  theirua  ol 
ing  into  i'1  :  ,im(>> 

BUR1KD    PliAOBS. 

1.  I  know  I  have  nice  gloves.  2.  Is  it  true  that  hens 
¥  hatch  ducks'  eggs?  3.  Did  you  see  papa  rise  in  thej 
midst  of  them  ?  4.  Don't  wake  Nap,  lest  he  bite  you. 
5.  Yes,  I  am  going  to  start  for  Europe  to-morrow.  6. 
A  clever  artisan,  Francis  Conway  by  name.  7.  That 
naughty  boy  with  arms  akimbo  stoned  a  cat.  8.  Gol- 
conda  has  a  large  trade  in  diamonds. 


That  there  was  some  mystic  idea  attached  to  the 
number  of  seven  is  plain  by  its  being  made  the 
number  of  perfection  among  the  Jews.  The  rab- 
bins maintain  that  seven  things  were  created  before 
the  foundation  of  the  world— the  law,  repentance, 
paradise,  hell,  the  throne  of  God,  the  temple,  the 
name  of  the  Messiah.  The  reason  which  Philo 
and  Josephus  give  for  the  number  seven  having 
been  held  sacred  by  the  sect  of  the  Essenes  may 
have  been  very  satisfactory  to  themselves ;  but  to 
us  it  conveys  no  meaning.  "It  is,"  say  they,  be- 
cause it  results  from  the  sides  of  a  square  added  to 
those  of  a  triangle." 

Cicero  is  not  more  explicit,  when  he  says  tnat  , 
seven  "is  the  knot  and  cement  of  all  things,  as 
being  that  by  which  the  natural  and  spiritual  are 
comprehended  in  one  idea."  That  the  Creator 
rested  on  the  seventh  day  after  the  world  was 
formed,  and  ordained  that  the  seventh  day  in  every 
week  from  thence  should  be  kept  in  holy  commem- 
oration of  the  glorious  work,  seems  to  have  invested 
the  number  with  peculiar  sanctity,  and  accounts 
for  its  being  bo  often  connected  with  matters  per- 
taining to  religious  worship.  This  connection  is  . 
so  striking,  that,  in  reading  the  Bible,  it  cannot 
escape  observation.  - 

Not  onlv-  was  a  Sabbath  ordained  m  every  week, 
but  Sabbatical  vears  were  instituted.  Every 
seventh  year  was  a  Sabbath  of  rest,  and  set  apart 
for  leaving  the  giound  untilled,  "  to  maintain,  a* 
far  as  possible,"  Calmet  observes,  "an  equality  of 
rendition  among  the  people,  in  setting  the  slave  at 
liberty,  and  permitting  all,  as  ohildron  of  the  fam- 
ily, to  have  the  free  and  indiscriminate  use  of 
whatever  1  ho  earth  produced;  to  inspire  the  peo- 
ple with  sentiments  of  humanity,  by  making  it 
their  dutv  to  give  rest  and  proper  and  sufn  cient 
nourishment  to  the  poor,  the  slave,  and  the  stran- 
ger, and  even  the  cattle ;  to  accustom  the  people  to 
submit  and  depend  on  the  divine  providence,  and 
expect  their  support  from  that  in  the  seventh  year, 
bvan  extraordinary  provision  on  the  sixth"— a 
blessing  which  the  Creator  promised  and  miracu- 
lously fulfilled.  In  like  manner  were  the  Israelites 
provided  with  a  double  portion  of  manna  in  the 
wilderness  on  the  sixth  dav.  for  a  supply  for  the 
seventh  day.  Every  seven  times  seventh  year  was 
a  jubilee.  The  great  feast  of  unleavened  bread  and 
tabernacles  were  observed  for  seven  days.  The 
seventh  day  of  the  seventh  month  was  ordained  a 
feast  for  seven  days;  and  the  Israelites  remained 
in  their  tents  for  seven  days.  Seven  days  of 
mourning  was  the  alloted  observance.  The  men 
of  Jabesh  Gilead,  after  they  had  performed  the 
funeral  rites  of  Saul  and  his  sons,  fasted  seven 
days.  Joseph  mourned  for  his  father  seven  days. 
Miriam  was  shut  up  6even  days  to  be  healed  of 
leprosy;  the  number  of  animals,  in  many  of  their 
oblations,  was  restricted  to  seven. 

Balaam  prepared  seven  bullocks  and  seven  rams 
for  a  sacrifice.  In  cleansing  the  temple,  King  Hez- 
ekiah  offered  a  sin  offering  of  seven  bullocks,  seven 
rams,  and  seven  he-goats.  The  friends  of  Job, 
who  eat  by  him  for  seven  days  and  for  seven  nights, 
offered,  as  an  atonement  for  their  sins,  seven  bul- 
locks and  seven  rams.  Seven  bullocks  and  seven 
rams  were  also  David's  offering,  when  he  was 
bringing  up  the  ark;  but  the  most  inhuman  sacri- 
fice which  is  noticed  is  that  of  Saul's  seven  *ons, 
who  were  offered  to  avert  a  famine. 

Abraham  gave  seven  ewe  lambs  to  Abimelech, 
as  a  memorial  of  his  right  to  a  well.    The  law  was 
ordered  to  be  read  to  the  people  every  seventh  yew. 
The  young  animals  were  not  to  be  taken  from 
their  dams  for  seven  days.     By  the  law,  man  was 
commanded  to  forgive  his  offending  brother  seven 
times.     Among  the  ceremonies  enjoined  at  the 
consecration  of  Aaron  and  his  sons  for  the  priest- 
hood, we  find  that  the  priest  was  to  abide  seven 
days  aDd  seven  nights  at  the  door  of'  the  taberna- 
cle.    Seven  priests,  bearing  seven  trumpets  for 
seven  days,  encompassed  the  walis  of  Jericho  sever 
times,  and  on  the  seventh  day  the  walls  fell.  Sever 
days  were  decreed  for  an  atonement  on  the  altar 
and  for  seven  days  the  priest's  son  was  to  wear  his 
father's  garments.    In  the  religious  ceremonies  ol 
purification  and  consecration,  the  oil  or  water  was 
to  be  sprinkled  seven  rimes;    and  the  offering  of 
blood  was  to  be  sprinkled  seven  times  before  the 
altar.    Naaman  was  to  be  dipped  seven  times  id 
Jordan.    If  the  walls  of  a  house  appeared  to  bear 
any  traces  of  the  infection  of  leprosy,  trie  owner 
was  to  be  commanded  by  the  priest  to  leave  it, 
and  it  was  to  be  locked  up  for  seven  days.    It 
there  wore  any  suspicion  of  infection  in  clothes 
they  were  to  be  brought  to  the  priest,  arid  locked 
t  up  for  seven  davs.     If,  on  the  seveuth  day,  the 
supposed  mark  of  infection  had  increased  on  the 
house,  it  was  to  be  destroyed.     If  the  marks  ol 
vin/ection  on   the    clothes    were   plainer  on  the 
"  seventh  day,  they  were  to  be  burned.     The  ark  ex 
God  remained    with    the    Philistines    for  seven 
months.    Solomon  was  6even  years  in  buildiug  the 
temple.      At  its   dedication,   he     feasted    seven 
days.    In  the  tabernacle  .thero  wcre  seven  lamps. 
The  house  of  wisdom,  in  Proverbs    had  seven 
pillars.    There  were  seven  elders  of  Israel.     Jacob 
served  seven  years  lor  the  sake  of  Rachol,  and 
Beven  years  more  did  ho  serve  for  her,  for  the  love 
which  he  bore  to  htr.    On  the  seventh  day  of 
Laban's  pursuit  he  overtook  Jacob.    Samuel  com- 
manded Saul  to  sojoarn  at  GUgal  for  seven  days. 
Jesse  made  seven  of-his  sons  to  pass  before  Samuel. 
The  elders  of  Jabesh  entreated  Nahash  the  Ammo- 
nite seven  days'  respite.    Tiie  son  of  the  Shumamte 
sneezed  seven  times  when  restored  to  life  by  Elisha. 
Noah  had  seven  days'  warning  of  the  flood.    Ac- 
cordirg  to  divine  comniand,  lie  took  the  fowls  of 
the  air  and  clean  beasts  by  sevens  into  the  ark. 
The  ark  rested  on  Mount  Ararat  on  the  seventeenth 
day  of  the  seventh  month.    In  seven  days  Noah 
sent  out  a  dove,  and  waited  seven  davs  after  her 


return,  to  send  her  out  again.  Seven  years  of 
abundance  and  seven  years  of  famine  were  fore- 
told in  Pharaoh's  dream  of  the  seven  well-favored 
and  the  seven  ill-favored  kine — the  Beven  fall  ears  j 
of  corn,  and  the  seven  blighted  ears  of  corn.  Seven  ' 
times  did  Elijah  send  his  servant  to  look  for  the 
cloud.  King  Ahasuerus  had  seven  maids,  seven 
days'  feast,  and  sent  for  the  queen  on  the  seventh 
day.  In  the  seventh  year  of  his  reign,  Esther  was 
brought  to  him.  The  fiery  furnace  into  whicti 
Shadrach,  Mesbach,  and  Abednego  were  cast,  had  , 
been  made  seven  times  hotter.  Nebuchadnezzar, 
ate  the  grass  of  the  field  seven  years.  The  vision 
of  Daniel  was  seventy  weeks.  -  Enoch  was  the 
seventh  after  Ad ara.  The  psalmist  offered  praiss 
to  God  sevtn  times  a  day,  Our  Saviour  was  the 
seventy-seventh  flom  Adam  in  a  direct  line.  He 
taught  that  forgiveness  of  offending  brothers  should 
not  be  restricted  to  seven  times,  but  should  extend 
to  seveDtv  times  seven.  On  one  occasion  he  ex- 
emplified'his  discourse  with  seven  parables.  Seven 
loaves  were  all  that  the  disciples  supplied  him  with, 
when  he  miraculously  fed  the  multitude,  who  took 
up  seven  baskets  of  the  fragments  which  remained 
after  they  were  satisfied.  Out  of  Mary  Magdalene 
he  cast  seven  devils.  The  Apostles  planted  seven  | 
churches,  and  appointed  seven  deacons.  Sceva's 
seven  sons  were  oveicome  by  the  evil  spirits  which 
they  were  endeavoring  to  cast  out. 

Through  every  part  of  Scripture  we  find  the 
number  seven  brought  forward  in  a  remarkable  , 
manner;  in  the  declarations  of  the  Creator;  in  the 
precepts  cf  our  Saviour,  and  in  proverbs  and 
prophecies;  in  feastings  and  fastings;  in  oblations 
and  visions;  and  in  all  the  historical  details,  and 
in  all  the  foreshadowitigs  of  futurity. 

God  threatened  to  smite  his  people  seven  time3 
for  their  transgressions.  If  the  slayer  of  Cain  was 
to  be  punished  seven  times,  the  slayer  of  Lamech 
was  to  be  punished  seventy  times  seven.  Perfection 
is  con) pared  in  Scripture  to  gold  seven  times  pnri-  < 
fied  in  ihe  fire,  "The  Revelation  tells  of  seven  jrold- 1 
en  candlesticks,  of  seven  stars,  of  the  Lamb  with 
seven  horns  and  seven  eyes,  of  the  book  with  seven 
seals,  of  seven  spirits,  of  seven  angels,  of  seven 
kings,  of  seven  thunders,  of  seven  thousand  men 
slain,  of  seven  vials  of  wrath,  and  seven  plagues. 

When  the  years  of  the  world  shall  have  num- 
bered seven  thousand,  many  commentators  bulieve 
that  a  new  dispensation  will  be  disclosed.  The  im- 
portance of  the  number  seven  is  not  lost  sigl 
when  we  close  ihe  sacred  volume.  Rome,  seated 
on  he"r  seven  hills,  professes  in  her  religious  creed 
to  acknowledge  seven  sacraments  and  seven  dead- 
ly sins.  In  some  of  their  most  solemn  processions, 
we  find  that  seven  acolytes,  bearing  seven  tapers, 
precede  seven  deacons,  who  are  followed  by  seven 
priests.  Mahomet  has  his  seventh  heaven.  Among 
our  superstitions  we  find  that  the  seventh  son  of  a 
seventh  son  was  to  be  dedicated  to  the  medical  pro- 
fession. We  have  heard  the  phrase  of  being  fright- 
ened out  of  our  seven  senses,  though  we  cannot 
tell  what  they  are. 

Nursery  lore  treats  largely  of  seven.     Ponsett 
and  his  seven  brothers  we  remember  as  special 
favorites,  and  we  recollect  the  high  consideration 
in  which  the  seven  champions,  the  seven  wise  men  j 
of  Gotham,  the  seven-ltagued  boots,  and  the  seven, 
wonders  of  the  world,  were  held ;  and  the  myste- 1 
rious  awe  in  which  the  legend  of  the  seven  sleep- 
ers was  involved.    A  little  while,  and  tliev  tuJttaoilj 
of  life  begins.    We  hear  of  tho  squabbles  of  fam- 
ilies, and  the  strife  of  men;  and  we  learn,  htj^H 
that  those  of  a  house  are  sometimes  at  sixes  and 
sevens,  and  are  told  of  the  seven  years'  of  war. 
We  turn  from  such  things  to  the  blessings  of 
peace— the  cultivation  of  the  fine  arts;  and  we  | 
remember  that  music  owes  all  its  charms  to  seven 
notes ;  and  that  painting  is  indebted  for  all  its  vari- 
ety of  tints  to  seven  colors. 


listppy  shall  we  be  if  we  le.vo  behind  us  aname 
that  is  deservedly  loved  and  honored,  Happy  if 
the  world  is  better  for  our  having  livSlh  it-    The 

the  Lord,  and  in  obedience  to  His  commandments, 
me  rot  too  humble  to  exist  and  to  transmit  an 
influence  for  good.  Happy,  above  all,  shall  we  be 
if  we  learn  to  rely  with  cuildliKe  trust  on  the  good 
and  wise  Providence  of  our  Heavenly  Father;— if 
we  are  made  interior1}-  and  truly  conscious  of  tho 
"  tender  mercy  of  our  God,  whereby  the  day 
spring  from  on  high  hath  visited  us,  to  give  light 
to  them  that  sit  in  darkness  and  the  shadow 
death,  to  guide  onr  feet  into  the  way  of  peac*. 
f  t' 


\ 


v-^ 


\u 


Doino  Good— Taere  is  nothing  makes  earth 
so  much  like  heaven  as  doing  goo  I.  Ha  left  the 
joys  and  adorations  of  heaven,  to  coma  dowa 
and  show  what  the  spirit  of  heaven  was;  and 
what  was  it?  He  went  about  doioi;  good,  ana 
turned  away  from  no  case  that  ap Dialed  to  hi9 
humanity.  When  they  crowded  around  him  ia 
the  wilderness,  he  raa^nifiel  a  few  loaves,  and  fed 
thousands.  The  lepar  came  and  was  cleaased. 
His  delight  was  in  ministering  to  the  waats  of 
tho  poor  and  needy.  N.*y,  if  we.  tnif  ^  allowed 
to  speak  of  the  upp^r  sanctuary,  G  >d  niraself 
is  gratified  to  stat.d  in  the  attitude  of  iufiaita  \ 
benevolence,  and  show  his  creatures  that  he  da- 
lights  in  doing  good. 


' 


A   Oift  by  the    Way-Side. 

From   Harper's  Weekly. 
The  old    farm-house  clock  has  just  struck 
seven,  and  over  all  the  hills  the  purple  vapors 
of  twilight  were  coming  down,    waking   spicy 
odors  among  the   sweet-fern    in  the   pastures 
and  the    blue   wild    grapes   ripening  in    the 
woods,  while  the    whip-poor-will    sang  sadly, 
on  the  mossy  rails  of  the    hroken-down  rence^ 
that    skirted    the    ravine,  and    the    katydids 
chirped    shrilly   through    the    morning  glory 
leaves  above  the  window. 

"Seven  o'clock!"  echoed  Silas  Miller,  just 
as  though  he  had  not  been  watching  that  slow 
creeping  minute-hand  for    the  last  halt  hour, 
•"lie  will  soon  be  here  now— my  hoy  will  soon  , 
be  here."  i 

What  a  strange  softening  of  the  rugged  fea- 
tures, what  an  unwonted  quiver  of  the  harsh  f 
voice  there  was,  when  he  uttered  the  two  sim- 
ple words  "my  boy."     Yes,    it   was    his    boy,; 
who  was  coming  back  from  the  smoke  of  half? 
a  score  of   battle- fields  {  no   wonder  that  the 
thought   sent  a   thrill   through  his    iron    na- 
ture.    His  soldier — his  hero. 

"Surely  I  ought  to  hear  the  stage-horn,"  he 
said,  feverishly  pacing  up  and   down  the  nar- 
row path,  where  the   maple  leaves  lay    like  a- 
carpet  of   pale    gold.     "Listen,  Sybil,    don't 
you  hear  it?" 

"It's  too  early  yet,  father."  t 

The    light  figure  came  stealing   out  to  his 
side,  and  both  together    leaned  over    the  gar-) 
den  gate,  gazing  into  the    opal  gloom  of  twi-I 
light  with  wistful,  searching  gaze. 

Shu  was  not  prettier  than  many  another 
New  England  girl,  yet  there  was  a  delicate 
type  of  beauty  in  her  face  and  form  that  be- 
longs as  much  to  the  "frozen  north"  as  its 
pine  forests  and  cliffs  of  eternal  snow.  Pale 
brown  hair,  with  aureate  lights  crossing  its 
surface  at  times,  eyes  like  the  blue  larkspur, 
and  lips  that  had  stolen  the  dewey  crimson  of 
the  wild  rose;  in  pearls  and  blue  crape  Sybil 
Miller  would  have  been  "a  beauty;"  in  her"1 
dress  of  gray  gingham,  she  was  something  far-^ 
better  and  nobler. 

Suddenly  the  old  man  started  and  uttered 
an  indistinct,  glad  cry. 

"It's  he,  Sybil;  don't  you  see  beyond  the 
elder  bushes.  Child,  don't  hold  me  back,  let 
uio  go  and  meet  my  boy." 

•'No,  father,  you  are  mistaken;  it  is  not 
Laurence;  Laurence  is  shorter  by  half  a  head 
and  that  is  not  his  quick,   buoyant    step."         ' 

"You  are  right,  Sybil,"  said  Silas  Miller, 
almost  petulantly.  "Why  do  these  vagrant 
soldiers  go  wandering  by,  giving  honest  folks, 
such  a  start?" 

"I  suppose  he  did  not  know  we  were  watch- 
ing for  Laurence,"  said  Sybil,  half  smiling  in* 
the  dusk. 

"It  was  only  this  morning  that  a  beggar,' 
disgracing — I  won't  say  wearing — the  United 
States  uniform,  came  by  and  had  the  audaci- 
ty to  ask  me  for  money." 

"Did  you  give  him  something?" 
"Give  him  something?"  repeated  Silas  an- 
grily, "I'd  have  seen  him  starving  lirst.  I 
have  no  patience  with  these  strolling  beggars. 
Here's  another  specimen  of  the  kind,  I  sup- 
pose. No,  my  man,  you  need'nt  trouble 
yourself  to  recite  your  pitiful  story." 

For  the  tall  figure,  with  halting  step  and 
coat  thickly  powdered  with  dust,  had  paused 
in  front  of  the  gate,  and  Sybil  could  just  dis- 
cern dark,  piercing  eyes,  and  a  forehead  cu- 
riously traversed  by  a  cresent-shaped  scar, 
apparently  neatly  healed. 

"I  have  nothing  for  you,"  said  Silas  sharp- 
ly. "Yes,  yes,  I  know  what  you  would  say, 
bin  it's  no  use.  If  you  are  deserving  the  pro- 
per authorities  will  take  care  of  you,  and  if 
you  are  not,  the  county  jail  is  the  best  place 
for  you.  Don't  tell  me  about  want,  what 
have  you  done  with  your  bounty  money  and 
your  pay,  if  you  are  really  what  you  pretend 
to  be — a  soldier?" 

Even  through  the  twilight  Sybil  could  see 
the  scarlet  flush  rising  to  the  scarred  fore- 
head. 

"Sir,  you  are  mistaken.     I  did  not  beg." 
"No,  you'd  prefer  to  play  the  bully,  I've  no 
doubt.     But  I'm  noli  a  proper  subject  for  you, 
so  be  about  your  business,  my  man." 

The  soldier  turned  silently  away  with  a 
step  more  halting  perhaps  and  a  head  more 
depressed,  and  passed  slowly  into  the  gather- 
ing dusk. 

"Father,"  whispered  Sybil,  reproachfully, 
"had  you  forgotten  thai,  our  Laurence  too  is 
a  soldier?"' 

"No,"  returned  Silas,  abruptly,  "I  remem- 
bered it,  and  it  convinced  me  all  the  more  that 
a  man,  paid  and  pensioned  like  our  Laurence, 
lias  no  need  to  beg  on    the  public   highways." 


"Hut,  father,  he  did  not  beg.'*  i 

"Because  I   would   not  allow   it,    child,     I 
pay  taxes  lor  the  support  of  such  as  he,  and  I  { 
swear  I  will  do  no  more.  I" 

lie  spoke  in  the  sharp,  high-pitched  accents 
of  passion,  and  when  he  looked  round  again 
Sybil  was  gone. 

Footsore  and  weary,  the  travel-worn  ped- 
estrian had  sat  himself  down  on  a  mossy 
boulder  by  the  road-side,  when  a  quick,  light 
footstep  came  up  a  littie  by-path,  leading  from 
the  back  door  of  the  farm-house,  through 
blackberry  pastures  and  mown  fields,  and  a 
slight  figure  bent  above  him. 

"Do  not  mind  my  father's  words;  ho  was 
angry  and  unreasonable,"  she  said,  hurriedly. 
"1  have  little  to  give,  but  I  want  you  to  take 
it  for  the  sake  of  my  soldier-brother. 

Before  he  could  speak  she  had  unfastened 
from  her  neck  a  blue  ribbon  with  a  tiny  gold 
piece  suspended  from  it,  placed  it  in  his  hand, 
and  was  gliding  away  across  the  fields  like 
some  gray  nun,  in  her  sober-hued  dress.  He 
rose  up,  as  if  to  follow  and  overtake  her,  but 
it  was  too  late,  and  as  he  bent  his  head  over 
the  gleaming  token  something  very  like  a  tear 
dropped  upon  its  circlet  of  tiny  stars. 

"And  now  tell  us  everything  that  has  hap- 
pened   to   you,    Laurence?     Oh,    Laurence,  "* 
when  I  waked  this    morning    it  seemed  all  a^ 
dream  that  you  had  come  back  to  us  again  in' 
very  truth." 

The  bronzed,  handsome  young  soldier 
looked    smilingly  djwn   into   the  radiant  fane 


"My  Sybil  going  to  be  married  among  the 
fine  folks  down  in  Boston!  Well,  I  s'pose  I 
might  have  expected  it,  and  yet  it  does  seem 
kind  o'  hard,"  soliloquized  Silas  Miller,  drop- 
ping the  happy,  timid  letter  in  his  lap,  and 
looking  out  through  dimmed  spectacles  upon 
the  snowy,  sun-bright  hills.  "I  wonder  who 
it  is.  I  should  like  to  see  the  man  that's  go- 
ing to  marry  Sybil  Miller." 

Silas  would  have  Deen  a  proud  man  could 
he  have  beheld  his  pretty  daughter  that  self- 
same night  in  her  white  evening  dress,  with 
scarlet  geraniums  lighting  up  her  brown  hair 
and  glowing  on  her  bosom.  No  wonder  that 
Capt.  Leslie's  face  brightened  with  grave, 
quiet  pride  as  he  looked  down  on  his  fair  be- 
trothed. 

"Sit  down  here,  dearest,  in  this  quiet  little 
music-room,"  he  said,  with  caressing  author- 
ity. "I  can't  share  your  sweet  eyes  and 
sweeter  words  with  all  the  world  any  longer. 
I  must  have  you  all  to  myself  for  a  while." 

She  looked  up  with  a  blushing  smile,  then 
down  again. 

"Well?"  he  asked,  as  if  she  had  spoken. 

"I  was  wondering,  Allen — that  scar  on  your 
forehead  I" 

"What  of  it?" 


THE  FIEST  SEW  BOOTS. 


,.v  ......in  ...=>  »«..  ,.£„i  ,«,««.  une  cay  in  early  spring  a  pair  of  boots  were  given 

^^HSt-ed  eyl°!*I  would  f\  *  ™  S°  **  ^  J*  *****  »»**"« 

•st  wheat  field  for  a  chance  to  grasp  for  aU  th?  boot  makers  in  the  world.    You  can'tguess 


Litjxi  Henry  wanted  a  pair  of  boots  more  than 
that  nestled  against  ins  shoulder,  and  a  serf-  anything  else.  But  his  mamma  thought  shoes  would 
ous  shadow  stole  into  his  eyes.  do  for  such  small  feet.    He  did  not  tease  and  cry, 

"I  can  tell  you,  Sybil,    it   came    very  near  though  he  thought  they  would  be  jo  nice. 
being  'nothing  more  than  a  dream'  once  or     Many  times  during  the  long  winter  he  would  try  on 
twice.     1  have  had  more  hair-breadth  'scapes  his  older  brother's.    They  made  him  look  like  "Puss 
than  you  know  of,  little  sister.     I  did  not  tell,,    -n     *    „  *     x.       v.    *         •  i 

you.  did  I,  of  that  skirmish  along  the  Potomac!111  B°0ts>  f°r  th^  ***  COnUnS  0n  and  0n  Until  **Y 
where  I  stood  face  to  face  with  death,  an  ugly  almost  reached  his  waist.  Then  he  would  take  a 
death,  too,  at  the  point  of  rebel  bayonets,  cane  and  go  clatter,  clatter  all  around  the  room.  He 
when  some  brave  fellow  charged  down  on  'em  wished  many  times  his  feet  just  filled  those  big  boots. 
and  saved  my  life  with  his  own  right  hand."         One  day  in  early  spring  a  pair  of  boots  were  given 

"Who  was   it,  Laurence!"   - 
with  trembl 
give  my  bet 
that  hand."  ""  "'""*'  how  quickly  he  pulled  off  the  old  shoes,  and  tried  on 

"I  don't  know— I  never  came  across  him  first  one  boot> tuen  he  Pulled  and  P«Hed  and  tugged  at 
again.  Probably  he  was  in  sumo  of  the  the  °*lier  boot>  but  ifc  wouldn't  come  on.  At  last  he 
other  regiments.  All  that  I  know  is  that  he  k"6^  down  and  prayed,  "  Oh  God,  do  please  make  my 
had  fiery  black  eyes,  and  an  odd  sear  upon  b«°t  a  lit'.le  bigger,  SO  I  can  get  it  on." 
his  forehead,  shaped  exactly  like  a  Moorish  A  lady  heard  the  little  boy's  prayer,  and  repeated 
crescent."  it  to  a  kind  gentleman,  who  called  the  next  morning 

"And  a  straight  nose,  and  a  heavy  black  and  invited  little  Henry  to  take  a  walk  with  him. 
mustache  ?"  interrupted  his  sisters.  Henry's  mamma  gave  hirn  his  warm  red  mittens,  put 

"Exactly."  on  hj8  0-veicoat  and  cap,  and  they  started  off". 

Jj  ather,    said  Sybil,   turning  round,  with      The  gentleman  took  him  to  a  large  "  boot  and  shoe 

2!ffrS2FiieyM  *nd„cIrin,son   d,eek;  «9  wut,'e  s<ore."    Henry  tried  first  one   pair  of  boots,  then 

Sua.  Miller  sat        the  poor    wandering  sol-  another,   until  he  found  some  that  just  fitted  him. 

uier  who  n  you  turned  from  vour    door      isr  -rrru        tun     tt  ,     j  x,       ,       "«"•<<  j««>i  mreu  mm. 

night  was  the  mtm  who  saved  on Laurence's  Z^fT  ST  ^  **?"*?»  fod  gentleman, 
]i£,_»  u  b  he  took  the  old  shoes  and  started  for  home. 

Silas  rose  up  from  his  chair  and  tooklm  un-  .,  The  first  *"?«  henry's  mamma  heard  was  the  ball- 
easy  turn  across  the  room  and  back,  his  fea-  S£°r  0pen  and  shutr~then  some  great  heavy  steps, 
tures  working  strangely.  WbY>   wbo   can  that  be?  she    thought.     But  what 

"It  can't  be    helped    now,"  he    said,  in  a  shouJ(i  em*er  but  >ne  new  pair  of  boots ! 
tremulous  voice;  "but  it  is  the   last  soldier      "There,  mamma!"  said  little  Henry,  "  God  did  hear 
I'll  ever  send    with    empty  hands   from  this  my  prayer,for  see !  these  are  just  big  enough." 
door.     The  man   who  saved   our   Laurence's      God  has  continued  to  answer  that  prayer.     Every 
life.    Oh,  Sybil !  if  I  had  only  listened  to  your  winter  when  the  snow  has  come,  and  boys  are  ready 
words  I"  to  slide  downhill  on  their  sleds,  Henry  has  a  bran 

But  she  never   spoke   of  the   little   lucky-' ntw  pair  of  boots  given  hirn, 
piece  of  gold.     She  fancied  it  might  seem  like     ,,  t  i      ,,      • ,  t      ,?...       ,-,   "". 

ostentation,   this  shy,   fastidious"  litl  wild'     "  I  wonder,"  sard  he,  "  if  mother  is  over  there." 
flower  of  the  hills.     *  *  *  His  aunt  Kachel  was  astonished. 

"  Over  where?"  she  asked,  "and  whl     >^e  you 

"Why,  it  is  such  a  singular   shape— almost  think  of  such  a  thing,  Willie  ?" 
a  half  circle.     I  never  saw  but  one  like  it  be-      "Why,"  said  he,  "those  clouds  look  <?  .   flight,  it 
fore."  seems  as  if  it  was  a  gate  leading  right  into  heaven, 

"Did  not  you?    And  where  was  that?"         and  I  was  wondering,  if  I  was  there,  if  I  could  see 

"A  poor  soldier  passed  our  gale    onee  with  her." 
just  such  a  sear  on  his  forehead,  and"—  «  Willie,  would  you  like  to  see  your  mother  ?" 

She  paused,   for  Allen  Leslie    had  quietly      «  0h,  yes  indeed,"  he  answered,  while  the  tears 
taken  from  some  inner  receptacle  in  his    coat  stood  in  his  e  u  j  wjsh  e  d       ^  j       M 

a  tiny  piece    of  gold  with  a    narrow   blue  rib-  gee  her>     Q  d  T  &m  SQ    .     d  > 

bon  passed  through    it.     He  held  it  sm.hngty  T  wjsh  T  knew  ^  where  8he  fa  „  <=> 

"I  don't  think  she  is  over  there  among  those 
clouds." 


up 


"Do  you  know  who  gave  this  to  me?" 

"Gave  it  to  you,  Allen?" 

"To  me,  a   footsore,  weary  wanderer,  wlu  Xt°  t   v°Ui* 

had  missed  his  way    among   your   tanglet        ^°» I  tmnk  she  Js  nearer  to  her  little  boy  than 

roads.     You  fancied  me  a  beggar — it  was  nol  that. 

so.     I    had    money,    friends,    position  ;  yet  I      "  Why,  how  ?"  said  he,  looking  up  into  aunt  Rachel's 

stood  sorely  in  need  of  a  kind  word  just  then  face  with  unusual  eagerness.     "  Where  do  you  think 

for  my  brain  was  throbbing,  my  limbs  weary  she  is  ?" 

my  wounds  scarce  healed.     That  foot  marcl      "  I  think  she  is  often  so  near  her  little  boy  that  she 

cost  me  a  weary  fever.     Yet  J.  do  not  regre  could  put  her  arm  around  him  as  I  am  doing  now, 

it,  for"—  and  kiss  his  cheek  just  as  she  used  to." 

He   took   her   hand  tenderly  into  his,  anc      «  I  can't  see  her  nor  feel  her." 
added — 

"For    although 
my  Sybil  was    be 

for  that  blue-ribbone 

i      i  »  i  i  i  ii.  i    angeis  are    ministering  spirits  sent  forth  to  minister 

should  have   known    how   good  and  true  sin  in  «,rtc_  „v„  .v.irk„  it    u  •       J     ,     ..      .  mmi°lf r 
wtm  »  t0  ^ose  wno  shall  die  the  heirs  of  salvation.'    And  in 

^»>  w  7  v     ^nf 


another  place  he  says  that  his  angela  '  encamp  round 
about  them  that  fear  him,  to  deliver  them '  from  evil. 
Now  if  oar  kind  heav  *'ly  Father  sends  any  angels  to 
take  care  of  a  little  boy  like  you,  I  think  -Yr  -»wiiid 
most  likely  send  his  own  dear  mother  If  she"-- 
heaven.    Don't  you?"  '■>-; 

Willie's  face  brightened  up  with  a  beautiful  smile^'ai, 
he  answered,  "  Oh,  aunt  Rachel,  I  like  that.  Nobody 
ever  told  me  about  it  before." 

"  I  think  it  will  be  very  pleasant  for  you  to  feel  that 
your  dear  mother  is  one  of  the  holy  angels  watching 
around  your  bed  when  you  go  to  sleep  at  night. 
Don't  ycu  remember  the  hymn  she  used  to  sing  to 
you  so  often : 

'  Hush,  my  dear,  lie  still  and  si  amber, 
Holy  angels  guard  thy  bed?' 

And  I  will  tell  you  when  also  I  think  she  is  with  you 
— when  you  are  tempted  to  do  wrong.  Then  she 
stands  by  aEd  hopes  and  wishes  you  may  overcome 
the  temptation  and  do  right." 

"  I  wonder  if  that  is  what  makes  me  feel  so  bad 
When  I  am  going  to  do  anything  naughty,"  said 
Willie.  "  There  seems  to  be  somebody  saying  '  don't 
you  !  don't  you !'  all  the  time." 


TWIOE  WON. 


"Ellen!" 

It  was  certainly  no  very  gentle  tone  in  which 
the  name  was  spoken ;  and  so  the  lady  to  whom 
it  belonged  probably  thought;  for  an  angry  flush 
came  to  her  cheek,  and  she  answered,  from  an 
^joining  room,  somewhat  sharply,  "Well,  Dud- 
Icy,  what  is  it  now?" 

'•'What  is  it  now?  Why,  the  old  trie,  of  course. 
ISTot  a  stocking  can  I  find ;  and  those  P  have  on 
are  thoroughly  soaked." 

"If  you  cannot  find  a  pair  of  stockings,  where 
there  pre  a  half-dozen,  at  least,  it  is  ycifr  fault, 
not  mine,"  returned  the  lady,  rising  slowly  from 
her  seat,  and  advancing  into  the  bedroom.  A 
sorry  sight  met  her  eyes.  The  contents  of  one 
drawer  were' heaped  on  the  carpet,  in  strange  con- 
fusion, while  her  husband  was  elbow  deep  in  an- 
other, crushing,  in  his  vigorous  search,  sundry 
snow-white  shift-bosoms,  fresh  from  the  ircning 
table. 

^  "Ob,  Dudley!  pray  stop.  You.knoio  I  den'; 
keep  your  stockings  in  the  shirt-drawer,  nor  with 
these  things,  either,"  she  continued,  gathering  up 

f  the  crumpled  articles  from  the  floor,  and  begin- 
ning to  smooth  fh'eto  preparatory  to  laying  then* 

/  back  in  their  place. 

■{  Mr.  Grey  looked  en  impatiently.  "Well,  I  sup- 
pose I  am  I  ■  the  rest  of  the  day,  in  these 


one  tl  sheui  aside.     When   she  did   so, 

it  was  with  a  bursting  heart  and  a  moistened  eye. 
"My  noble  husband!"  she  exclaimed  aloud;  "a 
heart  that  could  dictate  such  generous  and  exalted 
sentiments  as  these  is  too  precious  to  be  used  as 
I  have  used  it;"  and  memory  once  roused  to  the 
task,  there  came  back  to  her  the  unnumbered  in- 
stances of  pettish  and  wilful  ways,  on  her  part, 
that  had  each  had  its  share  in  loosening  the  bonds 
of  union  between  them  and  producing  the  present 
state  of  almost  daily  discord  in  their  intercourse. 
Her  husband  was  not  naturally  either  impatient 
or  imperious  in  his  disposition.  His  indulgence 
had  been  unlimited,  and  his  wife,  presuming  too 
far  on  his  native  kindness  and  goodness  of  heart, 
the  effect  had  been  a  legitimate  one.  His  patience, 
so  sorely  tried,  had  become  exhausted,  and  his  af- 
fection, so  lightly  trifled  with,  had  begun  to  fail. 
No  doubt  he  had  not  been  wholly  blameless,  but 
his  wife  did  not  once  admit  this,  in  the  bitterness 
of  her  self-upbraiding.  She  only  saw,  what  was 
really  the  case,  that  had  she  by  gentleness  and 
sweetness  of  manner  striven  to  retain  the  heart 
that  her  attractive  qualities  had  once  won,  there 
had  been  no  need  of  this  hour  of  bitter  self-reproach, 
and  occasion  for  these  repentant  tears  that  brim- 
med her  eyes. 

As  she  sat  pondering  thus,  in  the  midst  of  her 
gloomy  reflections,  a  sudden  thought  stole  to  her 
heart,  and  a  happy  smile  broke  through  her  tears. 
"Can  I  not  win  him  a  second  time?"  she  murmur* 

prl.      "Will  Tint  thr*   cwAntnpcs    ond    ffontlonoao    ♦>.«+ 


CATHEDRAL,     FLORENCE,     ITALY. 


t  no,. 
;        no... 

no  pain  <^ __ -— m 
mo7e;  and  there  she  ~ 

heid  shall  lead  her  little  lamb,  too,  up  to  those  green 
pastures  of  life.  You  must  love  this  dear  Friend, 
Willie,  with  all  your  heart,  and  try  to  do  as  he  wants 
ycu  to  in  every  word  and  action,  and  then  you  will 
re  a  happy  boy  here,  and  by- and  by  he  will  take  you 
to  his  blight  home  above,  where  you  will  surely  see 
your  mother  and  be  with  her." 

Aunt  Rachel  kissed  the  little  cheek  where  the  tears 
were  streaming  down,  just  as  his  new  mother  came 
to  say  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  to  bed. 

"  I  shall  go  to  bed  happier  to-night  than  I  have  for 
a  gcod  while,"  he  whispered,  as  he  said  good-night. 


low  sweet  a.  thing  is  the  love  of  home  !  It  is  not 
acquired — it  is  a  feeling  that  has  its  origin  else- 
where. It  is  born  with  us,  brought  from  another 
world  to  carry  us  on  with  joy  in  this.  It  attaches 
to  the  humblest  heart  thai  ever  throbbed. 


dinner  had  placed,  the  meal  commenced 

in  silence,  Mr.  I  boy  merely  looking  up  in  surprise 
that  his  wife  offered  no  reply  to  his  provoking 
speech,  and  looking  down  again,  a  little  ashamed 
that  he  had  made-  it. 

Dinner  was  over.  The  street  door  had  closed 
after  the  young  merchant,  and  Mrs.  Grey?  with  a 
heart  heavy  and  a  conscience  ill  at  ease,  resumed 
her  sewing",  and  with  it  the    serious  reflections  of 

'the  morning.    'She  thought  of  the  happy  hours 
that  had  marked  their  short  but  blissful  engagc- 

I  meat;  of  her  car*  to  phase  Dudley  in  everything, 
even  to  the  arrangement  of  her  hair,  and  the  choice 

i  of  a  ribbon  or  glove-;  how  b  tones,  and 

brightest  smile  wore  his,  and  how  earnest  had  beon 
her  hope  and  her  belief  that  once  the  sharer  of  his 
home,  she  she  .lelitfht  in  rendering  him 

that  love  IS  80  quick  to  sug- 
gest and  so  prompt  to  offer.  And  once  he  had 
he  city  for  three  weeks,  and  sho 
remembered  the  letters  that  passed  between  thena, 
so  full  of  affectionate  confidence  in  the  perfect 
adaptation  of  each  to  the  other,— so  lavish  of  pro- 
•  bear  and  forbear  with  each  other's  faults; 
to  help  each  other  in  gaining  more  perfect  control 
over  self,  and  in  cultivating  all  those  qualities  of 
mind  and  heart  that  should  cause  each  to  retain 
for  the  other  the  love  and  respect  already  so  swe3tly 
and  completely  won.  As  these  remembrances  of 
happier  days  came  over  her,  Mrs.  Grey  instinc- 
tively arose,  and  unlocked  a  small  writin: 
on  a  mosaic  tabic  near  by,  she  took  out  a  package 
of  letters,  and  ran  her  eye  over  the  familiar  hand- 
writing. Presently  she  became  absorbed  in  the 
contests,  and  it  wes  not  until  she  had  perused  every 


wricn  ins  KUgpwa  aim  panei  wweam 
his  coming;  and  taking  them  from 


.ays. 

ready  at 

r    hapd,    he 


exclaimed,  "Nice  and  warm?  Indeed  they  are, 
Nellie.  It  makes  me  think  of  old  times."  lie 
looked  up  as  he  spoke,  and  for  the  first  time 
noticed  the  flowers  in  her  hair.  As  he  gazed,  ft, 
/  smile  and  blush  overspread  the  really  beau- 
tiful'hue  of  the  young  rtite. 

harming]  Why,  Nellie,  upon  my  word  yon 
are  looking  as  young  and  handsome  to-night  as 
you  did  three  yean  aso,  or  more.  I  shall  have  to 
make  love  to  you  all  over  again,  I'm  afraid,— 
Should  you  like  it?"  and  he  caught  her  playfully 
in  his  arms,  and  imprinted   a   kiss  on   her  check 

'  more  fond  and  lover-liko  than  he  had  offered  her 

'forme 

„     "Likoit?"  echoed  the  blushing  littlo  lady,  hah 
nestling  in  his  embrace;  "of  course   I  should  like 

'it,  of  all  things;  but  there  is  the  tea-bell.      She 
waa  afraid  to  trust  herself  to  say  any  moro ;  tor 

.  -was  not  this  old  love  making  to  which  her  husband 
playfully  alluded,  the  verv  end  to  the  accomplisii- 

ment  of  which,  henceforth,  her  whole  heart  was 
pledged.  ,    i      ... 

The  clock  on  the  dining-room  mantel,  struck  tuo 
hour  just  as  they  entered  the  apartment. 

"That's  it!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Grey-  rmc  t0  a 
minute.  There's  nothing  like  punctuality  in  home 
arrangements,  to  men  of  business." 

Mr.  Grey  had  indeed  been  severely  tried  in  tins 
matter  of  punctuality,  and  his  wife  knew  it,  but 
had  never  given  it  much  thought  before.  Now 
she  was  beginning  to  see  her  duty  in  a  new  light, 
and  she  mentally  resolved  that  he  should  never  | 


A   OM  toy  the    Way-SUle. 

From  H»rpor'«  AVeekly.  _ 
The  old  farm-house  clock  has  just  struck 
seven,  and  over  all  the  hills  the  purple  vapors 
of  twilight  were  coining  down,  waking  spicy 
odors  alaong  the  sweet-fern  in  the  pastures 
and  the  blue  wild  grapes  ripening  in  the 
woods,  while  the  whip-poor-will  sang  sadly 
on  the  mossy  rails  of  the  broken-down  ience 
that  skirted  the  ravine,  and  the  katydids 
chirped  shrilly  through  the  rooming  glory 
leaves  above  the  window.  _       - 

"Seven  o'clock!"  echoed  Silas  Miller,  just 
as  though  he  had  not  been  watching  that  slow 
creeping  minute-hand  tor    the  last  halt  hour, 
"lie  will  soon  be  here  now— my  hoy  will  soon  . 
he  here."  i 

What  a  strange  softening  of  the  rugged  fea- 
tures, what  an  unwonted  quiver  of  the  harsh 
voice  there  was,  when  he  uttered  the  two  sim- 
ple words  "my  boy."     Yes,    it  was    his    boy,- 
who  was  coming  back  from  the  smoke  of  half  I 
a  score  of   battle- fields (  no   wonder  that  the 
thought   sent  a    thrill    through  his    iron    na- 
ture.    His  soldier— his  hero.  ; 
'•Surely  I  ought  to  hear  the  stage-horn,"  he 


'•But,  father,  he  did  not  beg.'' 

"Because  I    would    not   allow    it,    child,     I 
pay  taxes  tor  the  support  of  such  as  he,  and  I  ' 
■wear  I  will  do  no  more.  I" 

lie  spoke  in  tiie  siiarp,  high-pitched  accents 
of  passion,  and  when  he  looked  round  again 
Sybil  was  gone. 

Footsore  and  weary,  the  travel-worn  ped- 
estrian had  sat  himself  down  on  a  mossy 
boulder  by  the  road-side,  when  a  quick,  ligilt 
footstep  came  up  a  little  by-path,  leading  from 
the  back  door  of  the  farm-house,  through 
blackberry  pastures  and  mown  fields,  and  a 
alight  figure  bent  above  him. 

"Do  not  mind  my  father's  words;  ho  was 
angry  and  unreasonable,"  she  said,  hurriedly. 
"1  have  little  to  give,  hut  I  want  you  to  take 
it  for  the  sake  of  my  soldier-brother. 

Before  he  could  speak  she  had  unfastened 
from  her  neck  a  blue  ribbon  with  a  tiny  gold 
piece  suspended  from  it,  placed  it  in  his  hand, 
and  was  gliding  away  across  the  fields  like 
some  gray  nun,  in  her  sober-hued  dress.  He 
rose  up,  as  if  to  follow  and  overtake  her,  but 
it  was  too  late,  and  as  he  bent  his  head  over 
the  gleaming  token  something  very  like  a  tear 

dtOOPe'd  UilUfl  its  circlet  of   tinv  atiuea 


"My  Sybil  going  to  be  married  among  the 
fine  folks  down  in  Boston  !  Well,  I  s'pose  I 
might  have  expected  it,  and  yet  it  does  seem 
kind  o'  hard,"  soliloquized  Silas  Miller,  drop- 
ping the  happy,  timid  letter  in  his  lap,  and 
looking  out  through  dimmed  spectacles  upon 
the  snowy,  sort-bright  hills.  "I  wonder  who 
it  is.  I  should  like  to  see  the  man  that's  go- 
ing to  marry  Sybil  Miller." 

Silas  would  have' been  a  proud  man  could 
he  have  beheld  his  pretty  daughter  that  self- 
same night  in  her  white  evening  dress,  with 
scarlet  geraniums  lighting  up  her  brown  hair 
and  glowing  on  her  bosom.  No  wonder  that 
Capt.  Leslie's  face  brightened  with  grave, 
quiet  pride  as  he  looked  down  on  his  fair  be- 
trothed. 

'•Sit  down  here,  dearest,  in  this  quiet  little 
music-room,"  he  said,  with  caressing  author- 
ity. "I  can't  share  your  sweet  eyes  and 
sweeter  words  with  all  the  world  any  longer. 
I  must  have  you  ail  to  myself  for  a  while." 

She  looked  up  with  a  blushing  smile,  then 
down  again. 

"Well?"  he  asked,  as  it  she  had  spoken. 

"I  was  wondering,  Allen — that  scar  on  your 


riousty  traversed  by  a  cresent-shaped  scar, 
apparently  nearly  healed. 

"I  have  nothing  for  you,"  said  Silas  sharp- 
ly. "'Yes,  yes,  I  know  what  you  would  say, 
but  it's  no  use.  If  you  arc  deservingthe  pro- 
per authorities  will  take  care  of  you,  and  if 
yon  are  not,  the  county  jail  is  the  best  place 
for  you.  Don't  tell  me  about  want,  what 
have  yov.  done  with  your  bounty  money  and 
your  pay,  if  you  are  really  what  you  pretend 
to  be — a  soldier  ?" 

Even  through  the  twilight  Sybil  could  see 
the  scarlet  flush  rising  to  the  scarred  fore- 
head. 

"Sir,  you  are  mistaken.     I  did  not  beg." 

"No,  you'd  prefer  to  play  the  bully,  I've  no 
doubt.  But  I'm  noli  a  proper  subject  for  you, 
so  be  about  your  business,  my  man." 

The  soldier  turned  silently  away  with  a 
step  more  halting  perhaps  and  a  head  more 
depressed,  and  passed  slowly  into  the  gather- 
ing dusk. 

"Father,"  whispered  Sybil,  reproachfully, 
"had  you  forgotten  that  our  Laurence  too  is 
a  soldier?" 

"No,"  returned  Silas,  abruptly,  "I  remem- 
bered it,  and  it  convinced  me  all  the  more  that 
a  ma:i,  paid  and  pensioned  like  our  Laurence, 
has  no  need  to  beg  on    the  public   highways." 


_— ^^_-^^^^__— -  -  )  -- wer  wnerer"  she  asked,"  and  whi1    ->z&e  you 

"Why,  it  is  such  a  singular   shape— alnio&t  think  of  such  a  thing,  Willie  ?" 
a  half  circle.     1  never  saw  but  one  like  it  be-      "Why,"  said  he,  "those  clouds  look  *-  ■   ^ight,  it 
fore."  seems  as  if  it  was  a  gate  leading  right  into  heaven, 

"Lid  not  you?    And  where  was  that?"         and  I  was  wondering,  if  I  was  there,  if  I  could  see 

"A  poor  soldier  passed  our  galo    once  with  her." 
just  such  a  sear  on  his  forehead,  and"—  "  Willie,  would  you  like  to  see  your  mother?" 

She  paused,  for  Allen  Leslie  had  quietly  «  q^  yes  indeed,"  he  answered,  while  the  tears 
taken  from  some  inner  receptacle  in  his  coat  stood  jn  his  eyes#  «  j  wish  eve  d  ^  j  could 
a  tiny  piece  of  gold  with  a  narrow  blue  nb-  gee  her.  0  d  j  &m  SQ  ^^  of  j.  .  ^fe  fc  her 
bon  passed  through    it.     He  held  it  smilingly  j  wjsh  j  knew  ^  wherg  she  fa  „ 

UP'Do  you  know  who  gave  this  to  me?"  c^?11'*  ^^   ***  *"   0TOT  therG   am°Dg   th0Se 

"Gave  it  to  you,  Allen  ?"  „      * 

"To  me,  a   footsore,  weary  wanderer,  win  ""' '/, r' 

had  missed  his  way  among  your  tanglec  ®°>  *  tlunk  she  »  nearer  to  her  little  boy  than 
roads.     You  fancied  me  a  beggar — it  was  nol  that. 

so.  I  had  money,  friends,  position  ;  yet  I  "  Why,  how  ?"  said  he,  looking  up  into  aunt  Rachel's 
stood  sorely  in  need  of  a  kind  word  just  then  face  with  unusual  eagerness.  "  Where  do  you  think 
for  my  brain  was  throbbing,  my  limbs  weary  she  is  ?" 

my  wounds  scarce  healed.  That  foot  marcl  "  I  think  she  is  often  so  near  her  little  boy  that  she 
cost  me  a  weary  fever.  Yet  J.  do  not  regre  could  put  her  arm  around  him  as  I  am  doing  now, 
jt,  for"—  and  hiss  his  cheek  just  as  she  used  to." 

lie   took   her  hand  tenderly  into  his,  anc      «  I  can't  see  her  nor  feel  her." 
added—  «]So,  because  she  is  now  only  a  spirit,  and  we 

"* or  although  I  might  have  known  tha  can't  see  spirits  with  these  eyes,  nor  perceive  them 
my  Syb.l  was  beautiful,  yet  had  it  not  beet:  by  any  of  our  senges  But  God  ha/gaid  ^  t  hfa 
tor  that  blue-ribboned  piece  of  gold  I  neve!  ls  are  ,  ^stering  spirits  sent  forth  to  minister 
Bhobld  have   known    how   good  and  true  sl>,  to  ^  who  ^ . e  ^^  of  ^^  ^  in 


another  place  he  says  that  his  angela  '  encamp  round 
about  them  that  fear  him,  to  deliver  them '  from  evil. 
Now  if  our  kindheav  '-:ly  Father  sends  any  angels  to 
take  care  of  a  little  boy  like  you,  I  think  >.?  '*v>>iild 
most  likely  send  his  own  dear  mother  if  she"', 
heaven.    Don't  you?"  /. 

Willie's  face  brightened  up  with  a  beautiful  smiltf'a*.. 
he  answered,  "  Oh,  aunt  Rachel,  I  like  that.  Nobody 
ever  told  me  about  it  before."  \ 

"  I  think  it  will  be  very  pleasant  for  you  to  feel  that  { 
your  dear  mother  is  one  of  the  holy  angels  watching 
around  your  bed  when  you  go  to  sleep  at  night.  j 
Don't  ycu  remember  the  hymn  she  used  to  sing  to 
you  so  often : 

'  Hush,  my  dear,  lie  still  and  si  amber,  j, 

Holy  angels  guard  thy  bed  V 

And  I  will  tell  you  when  also  I  think  she  is  with  you 
— when  you   are  tempted  to  do  wrong.    Then  she  t 
stands  by  and  hopes  and  wishes  you  may  overcome 
the  temptation  and  do  right." 

:'  I  wonder  if  that  is  what  makes  me  feel  so  bad  t 
"when  I  am  going  to  do  anything  naughty,"  said 
Willie.     "  There  seems  to  be  somebody  saying  '  don't  £ 
you  !  don't  you  !'  all  the  time." 

"  That,  my  dear,  is  your  conscience — Go&s  voice 
within  you.    That  always  warns  and  entreats  you 
not  to  do  wrong.    It  is  that  holy  voice  that  your  dear  > 
mother  would  wish  you  to  heed."  ^ 

Willie  stood  silently  looking  out  of  'he  window  a  ' 
few  moments ;    he  was  thinking.     Then  he  spoke 
again. 

"  Aunt  Eachel,"  said  he,  "  do  you  think  my  mother 
knows  when  I  try  to  do  right?  for  I  do  try  real  hard 
sometimes."  $ 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  and  nothing  can  give  her  greater  \ 
pleasure  than  to  see  her  little  son  trying  to  be  good. 
I  think  you  may  always  feel  that  she  smiles  upon  you 
with  a  pleasant  smile  when  you  do  right." 

"  I  love  my  mother  now  a  great  deal  better  than  I 
used  to.  I  am  sure  I  do,  though  I  can't  see  her," 
said  the  child,  with  a  trembling  in  his  voice.  ^ 

"  But,  Willie,  do  you  ever  think  of  that  other  unseen  | 
friend  you  have,  who  is  with  you  more,  and  loves  you 
a  great  deal  better  than  even  your  mother  does  ?    I 
mean  Jesus,  the  dear  Savior." 

"Sometimes,  but  I  don't  know  much  about  him. 
I  don't  have  anybody  to  talk  to  me  about  him.  Once 
I  went  to  see  Henry  Sanford,  and  his  mother  told  me 
something  about  Jesus,  and  I've  remembered  it  ever 
since." 

Aunt  Rachel's  heart  ached  for  the  dear  little  fellow, 
whose  feelings  were  so  tender,  whose  soul  was  asking 
to  be  led  in  the  way  of  life.  He  appeared  to  her  just 
like  a  starving  child,  and  she  longed  to  feed  and 
nourish  him. 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  "  that  Jesus  came  on  earth 
and  lived,  and  at  last  suffered  and  died,  that  we  might 
become  good  and  happy.  Now  he  is  in  heaven,  and 
we  cannot  see  him,  but  we  know  he  is  ever  near  us, 
because  he  has  left  this  word,  '  I  will  never  leave  you 
nor  forsake  you.'  And  he  loves  and  pities  none  more 
than  those  who  are  sad  and  in  trouble.  He  knows 
all  about  you,  and  loves  you  very  much.  Every 
moment  of  every  day  and  night  he  is  by  your  side, 
waf  cldrg  over  you,  and  anxious  that  you  should  over- 
come every  naughty  thought  and  feeling  and  be  al- 
ways good.  And  he  can  help  you  too,  and  if  you 
pray  to  him  and  ask  him  to  give  you  strength  to 
plecse  him,  he  will.  And  he  will  not  let  anything 
trouble  or  hurt  jou.  It  is  he  that  is  keeping  your 
dear  rr  other  safe  for  you  in  his  beautiful  home,  where 
no  pain  or  sickness  or  distress  can  ever  reach  her 
mere ;  and  there  she  is  waiting  until  the  good  Shep- 
herd shall  lead  her  little  lamb,  too,  up  to  those  green 
pastures  of  life.  You  must  love  this  dear  Friend, 
Willie,  with  all  your  heart,  and  try  to  do  as  he  wants 
ycu  to  in  every  word  and  action,  and  then  you  will 
he  a  happy  boy  here,  and  by- and  by  he  will  take  you 
to  his  bright  home  above,  where  you  will  surely  see 
your  mother  and  be  with  her." 

Aunt  Rachel  kissed  the  little  cheek  where  the  tears 
were  streaming  down,  just  as  his  new  mother  came 
to  say  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  to  bed. 

"  I  shall  go  to  bed  happier  to-night  than  I  have  for 
a  good  while,"  he  whispered,  as  he  said  good-night. 


TWICE  WON. 


lowsweeta  thing  is  the  love  of  home  !     It  is  not 

acquired — it  is  a  feeling  that  has  its  origin 
where.  It  is  born  with  us,  brought  from  ai 
world  to  carry  ns  on  with  joy  in  this.  It  at 
-1      to  the  humblest  heart  thai  ever  throbbed. 

r 


■     "Ellen!" 

It  was  certainly  no  very  gentle  tone  in  which 
the  name  was  spoken ;  and  so  thg  lady  to  whom 
ft  belonged  probably  thought ;  for  an  angry  flush 
came  to  her  cheek,  and  she  answered,  from  an 
ivfjoining  room,  somewhat  sharply,  "Well,  Dud- 
Icy,  what  is  it  now?" 

'"What  is  it  now?  Why,  the  old  tare,  of  course. 
Not  a  stocking  can  I  find;  and  those  P  have  on 
arc  thoroughly  soaked." 

"If  you  cansot  find  a  pair  of  stockings,  where 
there  are  a  half-dozen,  at  least,  it  is  yetir  fault, 
not  mine,"  returned  the  lady,  rising  slowly  from 
her  seat,  and  advancing  into  the  bedroom.  A 
sorry  sight  rhet  her  eyes.  The  contents  of  one 
drawer  were' heaped  on  the  carpet,  in  strange  con- 
fusion, while  her  husband  was  elbow  deep  in  an- 
other, crushing,  in  his  vigorous  search,  sundry 
snow-white  skirt-bosoms,  fresh  from  the  ironing 
table. 

"Oh,  Dudley!  pray  stop.  You.know  I  don't 
keep  your  stockings  in  the  shirt-drawer,  nor  with 
these  things,  either,"  she  continued,  gathering  up 
the  crumpled  articles  from  the  floor,  and  begin- 
ning to  smooth  fhein  preparatory  to  laying  then? 
back  in  their  place: 

Mr.  Grey  looked  on  impatiently.  "Well,  I  sup- 
pose I  am  to  wait  hsre  the  rest  of  the  day,  in  these 
wet  hose,  while  you  arrange  the  drawers,  am  I  T* 

Mrs.  Grey  rose,  flushed  and  troubled.  "Dear 
me!  no.  I  forgot  your- wet  feet.  But  you  are  so 
provoking,  Dudley.  Why  couldn't  you  have  come 
to  me  for  dry  stockings,  and  not  have  made  all 
this  fuss  for  nothing?  There;"  and  she  opened 
a  side-drawer,  as  she  speke,  and  tossed  him  a  pair 
of  hose;  "and  if  you  will  only  stretch  your  memory 
another  time,  sufficiently  t&  recollect  where  your 
stockings  are  kept,  or  else  call  on  me  to  get  them 
for  you,  I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you."  "" 

She  left  the  room  with  a*  hasty'  step ;  and  yet 
there  was  something  in  the  expresssion  of  her  face 
which  betokened  more  of  sorrow  than  of  anger, 
as  she  seated  herself  again  at  the  sewing,  which 
had  been  interrupted  by  her  husband's  impatient 
;and  slightly  imperious  call  upon  her;  for  sad 
thoughts  troubled  her.  Scenes  like  the  above  were 
getting  to  be  of  frequent  occurrence,  and  the  young 
wife  was  beginning  to  yearn  for  the  old  endear- 
ments and  kindly  words  that  were  the  bliss  of  her 
earlier  wedded  life.  And  yet  she  had  been  mar- 
ried but  three  years.  A  shade  of  deep  sadness 
came  over  her  face,  as  she  recalled  the  fact.  "Oh, 
dear'!:  I  never  thought  we  would  speak  to  each 
other  in  such  a  way,"  sue  sighed,  taking  up  her 
wovk,     "Is  it  my  fault,  I  wonder."' 

Mm  Grey'*  mind  ran  hastily  over  the  past  three 
years.  It  was  not  a  long  process,  and  by.  the  time 
Mr.  Grey  had  made  his  appearance  in  the  room, 
holding  daintily  by  the  tips  of  his  thumb  and  finger, 
the  almost  dripping  hose,  she  had  got  far  enough 
in  her  mental  survey  to  be  able  to  rise,  with  all 
traces  of  her  anger  gone,  and  a  repentant  tear  half 
struggling  for  tfce  mastery  over  the  gentle  smile 
withwSieh  she  advanced  towards  her  husband. 
Mr.  Grey  however  was  not  looking  at  her;  and 
merely  waving  her  aside,  rang  the  bell. 

"Here,  Jane,"  he  said  to  the  servant  in  wait- 
ing, "taro  these  stockings,  and  bring  up  dinner 
immediately."  He  looked  at  his  watch,  as  the  girl 
left  the  room.  "Ellen,  it  is  past  the  dinner  hour 
by  fifteen  minutes.  It  seems  to  me  there  might 
be  more  punctuality  about  the  meals.  It  wasn't 
so  when  v-envere firs*  married.  Then  I  was  always 
sure  of  regular- hours-,  and — but,  heigh-ho!  nothing 
seems  as  it  did  then. 

Mrs.  Grey's  heart  beat  rapidly  and  her  color 
rose.  "That  is  true,  Dudley,  I  was  just  thinking 
so  myself." 

"Well,  whose  fault  is  it?"  returned  her  hus- 
band, moodily.  lam  not  conscious  of  any  par- 
ticular change  as  far  a3  lam  concerned." 

The  implication  on  herself  was  so  pointed  that 
Mrs.  Grey  could  not  but  understand  it,  and  the 
usual  angry  rejoinder  was  rising  to  her  lips;  but 
with  a  great  effort  she  repressed  it.  She  only  sigh- 
ed, and  taking  her  place  at  the  table,  on  which 
dinner  had  just  been  placed,,  the  meal  commenced 
in  silence,  Mr.  Grey  merely  looking  up  in  surprise 
that  his  wife  ottered  no  reply  to  his  provoking 
speech,  and  looking  down  again,  a  little  ashamed 
that  he  had  made  it. 

Dinner  was  over.  The  street  door  had  closed 
after  the  young.merchant,  and  Mrs.  Grey?  wfth  a 
heart  heavy  and  a  conscience  ill  at  ease,  resumed 
her  sewing,  and  with  it  the  serious  reflections  of 
the  morning.  The  thought  of  the  happy  hours 
that  had  marked  their  short  but  blissful  engage- 
ment; of  her  care  to  please  Dudley  in  everything, 
even  to  the  arrangement  of  her  hair,  and  the  choice 
of  a  ribbon  or  glove;  how  her  sweetest  tones-  and 
brightest  smile  were  his,  and  how  earnest  had  been 
her  hope  and  her  belief  that  once  the  sharer  of  his 
home,  she  should  always  delight  in  rendering,  him 
those  little  services  that  love  is  so  quick  to  sug- 
gest and  so  prompt  to  offer.  And  once  he  had 
been  absent  from  the  city  for  three  weeks,  and  she 
remembered  the  letters  that  passed  between  them, 
so  full  of  affectionate  confidence  in  the  perfect 
adaptation  of  each  to  the  other, — so  lavish  of  pro- 
mises to  bear  and  forbear  with  each  other's  faults; 
to  help  each  other  in  gaining  more  perfect  control 
over  self,  and  in  cultivating  all  those  qualities  of 
mind  and  heart  that  should  cause  each  to  retain 
for  the  other  the  love  and  respect  already  so  sweatly 
and  completely  won.  As  these  remembrances  of 
happier  days  came  over  her,  Mrs.  Grey  instinc- 
tively arose,  and  unlocked  a  small  writing  desk, 
on  a  mosaic  table  near  by,  she  took  out  a  package 
of  letters,  and  ran  her  eye  over  the  familiar  hand- 
writing. Presently  she  l>ccamc  absorbed  in  the 
contents,  and  it  was  not  until  she  had  perused  every 


one  that  she  laid  them  aside.     When  she  did  bo, 
it  was  with  a  bursting  heart  and  a  moistened  eye.' 
"My  noble  husband r"  she  exclaimed  aloud;  "a 
heart  that  could  dictate  such  generous  and  exalted 
sentiments  as  these  is  too  precious  to  be  used  as 
I  have  used  it;"  and  memory  once  roused  to  the 
task,  there  came  back  to  her  the  unu umbered  in- 
stances of  pettish  and  wilful  ways,  on  her  part, 
that  had  each  had  its  share  in  loosening  the  bonds 
.  of  union  between  them  and  producing  the  present 
state  of  almost  daily  discord  in  their  intercourse. 
Her  husband  was  not  naturally  either  impatient 
or  imperious  in  his  disposition.     His  indulgence 
had  been  unlimited,  and  his  wife,  presuming  too 
far  on  his  native  kindness  and  goodness  of  heart, 
the  effect  had  been  a  legitimate  one.    His  patience, 
so  sorely  tried,  had  become  exhausted,  and  his  af- 
fection, so  lightly  trifled  with,  had  begun  to  fail. 
No  doubt  he  had  not  been  wholly  blameless,  but    ' 
his  wife  did  not  once  admit  this,  in  the  bitterness 
'  of  her  self-upbraiding.    She  only    saw,  what  was 
really  the  case,  that  had  she  by  gentleness  and 
i  sweetness  of  manner  striven  to  retain  the   heart 
«  that  her  attractive  qualities  had  once  won,  there 
,  had  been  no  need  of  this  hour  of  bitter  self-reproach, 
1  and  occasion  for  these  repentant  tears  that  brim- 
med her  eyes, 
i      As  she  sat  pondering  thus,  in  the  midst  of  her 
j  gloomy  reflections,  a  sudden  thought  stole  to  her 
|  heart,  and  a.  happy  smile  broke  through  her  tears. 
;  "Can  I  not  win  him  a  second  time  ?"  she  murmur* 
"  ed.    "Will  not  the  sweetness  and  gentleness  that 
he  used  to  call  so  attractive  in  his   poor  little  Nel- 
t  lie,  and  which  was   really   genuine,— for  I  loved 
him  so,  and  was  so  happy  then,— will  they  not 
come  back  once  more  to  me,  and  cause  him  to  love 
„  me  again  with  the  old  love?    Oh,  if  it   could   only 
,  be  so?    And  why  may  it  not?    It  must— it  shall 
•  be  so.    I  see  my  fault,  and  I  will  begin  to  amend 

it  from  this  very  day,  from  this  very  moment." 

'      She  glanced  at  her  watch.    It  wanted  j  ust  thirty- 

'  five  minutes  of  the  usual  tea  hour.    With  a  quick, 

light  step,  she  passed   out  of  the  room,  and  went 

to   the  kitchen.    A   brisk  fire   and   a   hot   oven 

1  awaited  her. 

"I  am  going  to  make  some  hot  muffins,  Kittie. 
Get  me  the  flour  as  quick  as  you  can;  for  it  is 
getting  late." 

Kittie  looked  surprised  at  this  strange  move- 
ment on  the  part  of  her  young  mistress,  but 
obeyed.  While  she  was  getting  the  necessary  • 
'  materials,  Mrs.  Grey  pinned  up  the  flowing  drapery 
of  her  silk  sleeves,  washed  her  hands  in  a  plen- 
tiful supply  of  pure,  soft  water,  donned  an  apron, 
and,  in  an  incredibly  short  time,  with  the  assis- 
tance of  Kittie,  who  buttered  the  rings,  the  creamy 
compound  was  committed  to  the  oven.  With 
strict  charge  to  Kittie  to  watch  the  baking,  and 
an  order  to  Jane  to  lay  the  table  immediately, 
Mrs.  Grey  left  the  kitchen,  and  again  entered  the 
parlor.  Now  for  Dudley's  slippers  and  the  even- 
ing paper,"  she  said;  and  placing  the  former  near 
the  register,  and  procuring  the  latter  from  the  hall 
table  to  lay  it  invitingly  under  the  soft  light  of  the 
shaded  astral-lamp,  she  sat  down  to  await  her 
husband's  coming. 

The  next  moment  she  was  up  again.  "He  used 
to  like  me  with  flowers  in  my  hair,"  she  murmured; 
and  selecting  a  simple  white  rosebud  and  a  sprig 
of  myrtle,  from  a  vase  of  flowers  that  were  shed- 
ding their  fragrance  through  the  room,  she  wove  J 
them  into  her  dark  curls  with  so  happy  an  effect 
that  she  could  not  help  blushing  at  the  heightened 
loveliness  which  the  mirror  gave  back,  as  she 
stood  before  it.  Just  then  her  husband's  step  was 
heard  in  the  hall,  and  she  flew  back  to  the  sofa. 

"Ellen,"  he  said,  the  next  moment,  half  open- 
ing the  door,  "where  is  the  paper?  It  isn't  on 
the  hall  table,  as  it  usually  is." 

"Here  it  is,"  answered  Mrs.  Grey,  advancing 
with  it  in  her  hand. 

"He  took  it  fromiher  with  a  kind  "Thank  you,"  j 
and  went  to  the  closet  for  his  slippers. 

"They  are  ovar   the   register,     said    his   wife,  " 
divining  his  errand.    "See    how   nice    and  warm 
they  are;"  and  she   handed   thens  to  him  as  she  / 
spoke. 

Mr.  Grey  this  time  looked  surprised,  as  indeed 
he  might,  at  this  return  to  the  usage  of  other  days, 
when  ln's  slippers  and  paper  were  always  ready  at 
his  coming;  and  taking  them  from  her  hand,  he 
exclaimed,.  "Nice  and  warm?  Indeed  they  are, 
Nellie.  It  makes  me  think  of  old  times."  He 
looked  up  as  he  spoke,  and  for  the  first  time 
noticed  the  flowers  in  her  hair.  Aa  he  gazed,  a, 
happy  smile  and  blush  overspread  the  really  beau- 
tiful' face  of  the  young  wife. 

'Charming!  Why,  Nellie,  upon  my  word  you 
arc  looking  as  young  and  handsome  to-night  as 
you  did  three  years  ago,  or  more.  I  shall  have  to 
make  love  to  you  all  over  again,  I'm  afraid, — 
Should  you  like  it?"  and  he  caught  her  playfully 
m  his  arms,  and  imprinted  a  kiss  on  her  cheek 
more  fond  and  lover-like  than  he  had  offered  her 
'  for  montbs. 

.  "Like- it?"  echoed  the  blushing  little  lady,  half 
nestliag  in  his  embrace;  "of  course  I  should  like 
'it,  of  all  things;  but  there  is  the  tea-bell."  She 
was  afraid  to  trust  herself  to  say  anymoro;  for 
-  Was  not  this  old  love  making  to  which  her  husband 
playfully  alluded,  the  verv end  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  which,  henceforth,  her  whole  heart  was 
pledged.  , 

The  clock  on  the  dining-room  mantel,  struck  the 
hour  just  as  they  entered  the  apartment. 

"That's  it!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Grey.  "True  to  a 
minute.  There's  nothing  like  punctuality  in  home 
arrangements,  to  men  of  business." 

Mr.  Grey  had  indeed  been  severely  tried  in  this 
matter  of  punctuality,  and  his  wife  knew  it,  but 
had  never  given  it  much  thought  before  Now 
she  was  beginning  to  see  her  duty  in  a  new  light, 
and  she  mentally  resolved  that  he  should  never 


ave  reason  to  complain  on  this  score  again.    The  ! 

ipper  was  a  pleasant  one.    Mr.  Grey  praised  the  ; 

elicate,  spongy  muffins;   and  when  Kittic  came  ! 

ato  the  room,  to  supply  something  which  had 
been  forgotten,  he  complimented  her  on  the  un- 
usual success. 

"Sure,   sir,   and   it's  the   mistress   that   made 
them,"  was  the  ingenuous  reply,  as  Kittic  bustled  / 
out  of  the  room. 

"I  knew  I  could  make  them  better  than  Kittie," 
said  Mrs.  Grey,  "and  I  had  an  idea  that  you  would 
like  to  taste  some  of  my  own  manufacture  again, 
it  is  so  long  since  I  attempted  the  feat." 

"I  might  have  known  you  made  them,  my  dear," 
answered  Mr.  Grey,  evidently  pleased  at  the  atten- 
tion. "No  one  ever  gave  them  just  the  taste  that 
yours  have.  But  it  is  so  long,  as  you  say,  since 
you  made  any,  that  I  wonder  y»u  retain  your  skill 
so  admirably.  Yes,  they  taste  just  as  they  used  to 
in  old  times,"  he  continued,  transferring  a  fresh 
muffin  to  his  plate. 

Had  Mr.  Grey  also  been  thinking  of  the  old 
times  of  love  and  confidence,  that  he  had  thus 
referred,  once  and  yet  again,  to  them?  Yes;  for 
the  hasty  remark  which  he  had  made  before  din- 
ner, and  the  unusually  gentle  spirit  in  which  his 
wife  had  received  it,  had  led  him  also  to  reflect  on 
the  existing  state  of  things,  and  to  long  most  ear- 
nestly for  a  return  to  the  endearments  and  joys  of 
other  days.  "It  is  partly  my  fault,"  he  said  to 
himself,  in  the  generosity  of  his  loving  heart.  "I 
was  certainly  to  blame  this  morning.  I  ought  to 
have  been  more  patient  with  Nellie.  She  is  young, 
poor  thing,  and  perhaps  the  cares  of  a  household 
are  too  much  for  her."  With  such  thoughts  in 
his  mind,  he  was  disposed  to  view  everything,  on 
his  return  that  evening,  iu  the  most  favorable 
light;  resolved  to  say  nothing,  even  in  the  event 
of  waiting  half  an  hour  for  supper— a  circum- 
stance not  unusual;  and  to  find  everything  so 
different  from  the  common  order — so  like  the  old 
times  of  which  he  had  been  thinking— was  cheer- 
ing in  the  extreme.  It  puzzled  him  also.  What 
good  fairy  had  been  at  work,  during  his  absence, 
to  bring  about  this  pleasing  metamorphosis?  And 
would  he  stay?  While  he  was  deep  in  this  ques- 
tion the  door-bell  rang.  Some  one  called  to  see 
Mr.  Grey  on  business;  aud  having  finished  supper, 
he  went  immediately  to  the  door.  Meanwhile 
Mrs.  Grey  proceeded  to  the  parlor,  and  wheeling 
out  a  work-table,  she  spread  over  it  a  crimson 
damask  cover,  and  placed  the  astral  lamp  in  the 
centre;  laid  the  evening  journal  and  the  last  ne*v 
book,  which  neither  cf  them  had  read,  beside  it, 
and  then,  drawing  two  crimsoned-cushioned  rock- 
ing-chairs invitingly  near,  she  took  her  work  from 
her  basket,  and  seated  herself  in  one  of  them,  a 
faint  hope  dawning  in  her  heart,  and  growing 
brighter  and  brighter  as  she  glanced  at  the  cosy 
look  of  the  room,  that  her  husband  would  offer  to 
stay  at  home  and  read  to  her-,  as  he  used  to  do  so 
long  ago.  She  remembered  with  a  sigh  how  seldom, 
for  the  last  year  or  two,  they  had  passed  an  even- 
ing together  thus;  and  she  tried  to  think  that  an 
unusual  press  of  business,  consequent  upon  his 
having  become  a  partner  in  the  firm  with  which  he 
was  connected,  was  the  cause.  And  so  it  was,  in 
part;  but  conscience  added,  "Not  entirely."  She 
bethought  her  of  tardy  tea  hours,  a  source  of 
irritation  to  her  husband,  which  a  reasonable  care 
on  her  part  might  have  prevented;  the  conse- 
quent expostulations  on  his  side,  and  the  in- 
different or  sullen  retort  .on  hers;  resulting  in  his 
departure  frpm  the  house  as  soon  as  tea  was  over, 
when  often  he  had  previously  intended  to  pass 
the  evening  at  home.  Sometimes,  too,  she  had 
objected  to  the  book  he  wished  to  read  to  her, 
and  petulantly  accused  him  of  want  of  sympathy 
with  her  taste  in  his  selection,  or  else  had  com- 
plained of  weariness,  and,  retiring  to  the  sofa,  had 
dozed  away  the  hours,  leaving  1dm  to  the 
communion  of  his  own  thoughts,  or  the  solitary 
perusal  of  a  book  which  he  had  perhaps  selected 
with  a  special  reference,  to  her  taste.  And  all 
this,  too,  from  no  unnatural  sourness  of  dis- 
position or  studied  design  to  cause  her  husband 
unhappiness,  but  from  sheer  petulance  and  selfish  / 
thoughtlessness.  These  things  the  young  wife 
recalled,  and  her  face  was  beginning  to  look  / 
very  sad,  but  she  heard  her  husband's"  hand  on 
the  door-knob,  and  calling  up  all  her  brave  and 
loving  heart  to  the  rescue,  she  greeted  his  entrance 
with  her  brightest  smile. 

"On  my  word,  Nellie,  this  looks  cosy.  Wish 
I  could  stay  and  enjoy  it;  but  one  look  at  the 
paper  and  I'm  off.  Pity!  I  never  was  so  driv- 
en in  my  life;  but  I  hope  business  will  be  easier 
soon." 

He  looked  over  the  paper,  and  was  so  absorbed 
in  its  details  that  be  did  not  hear  the  sigh  that 
his  wife  breathed,  nor  notice  the  look  of  disap- 
pointment on  her  face.  She  was  not  aware  till 
then  how  much  she  had  counted  on  u'.re  success 
of  her  loving,  womanly  device  to  detain  him  at 
her  side.  But  it  was  some  comfort  that  he  had 
expressed  a  wish  to  remain,  and  that  it  was  only 
business  which  prevented  it.  So,  clearing  the 
shadow  from  her  brow,  she  looked  up  and  re- 
plied cheerfully,  as,  having  laid  the  paper  aside, 
and  exchanged  slippers  for  boots,  her  husband 
bade  her  good  night. 

"I'll  be  back  as  early  as  possible,  Nellie,  he 
added;  "but if  lam  detained  beyond  ten  do  not 
sit  up  for  me." 

As  he  spoke  he  made  a  slight  forward  move- 
ment, as  though  he  would  fain  have  kissed,  in- 
stead of  spoken,  his  good  night;  at  least  so  Nel- 
lie thought,  but  perhaps  she  mistook.  Ah,  con- 
science was  at  work  again!  How  well  she  re- 
membered the  last  time  he  had  kissed  her  good- 
bye on  leaving  her  for  the  evening.  It  was 
months  ago,  and  formed  a  sad  episode  in  her 
married    life;    one    which    we    will    not   record, 


and  one  wtncii  sue  wouiu  iam  nave  iorgotten 
forever.  But  that  could  not  be;  and  it  came  back 
upon  her  now  with  a  conviction  of  her  own  blame 
in  the  transaction  which  startled  her.  She  raised 
her  eyes  to  her  husband  imploringly.  He  was 
about  leaving  the  room,  but  she  sprang  to  his  side 
and  buried  her  face  in  his  bosom. 

"Dudley,  dear  husband,"  she  murmured.  "I 
was  very  foolish  and  wicked;  will  you  forgive 
mo?" 

He  understood  her  at  once,  and,  stooping,  kiss- 
ed her  affectionately.  "Forgive  you?  Yes,  darl- 
ing, with  all  my  heart.  And  now  let  us  never 
think  of  that  again."  He  added  a  few  words,  at 
once  fond  and  hopeful,  and  left  the  room. 

How  relieved  and  comforted  Nellie  felt!  She 
returned  to  her  sewing,  hardly  regretting  the 
lonely  evening  in  prospect.  A  new  life  seemed 
opening  before  her.  She  had  tasted  once  more 
the  sweets  of  wedded  love,  aud  with  a  keener 
relish  than  in  her  happiest  bridal  hours,  and  the 
evening  passed  rapidly  away,  while  she  wove  anew 
the  old  dreams,  and  filled  the  future  with  the 
radiant  hopes  that  had  mocked  the  past. 

At  nine  her  husband  returned,  so  the  crimsoned- 
cushjoned  rocking-chair  had  not  been  brought 
out  quite  in  vain.  He  threw  himself  into  it,  and 
taking  up  the  new  book  which  still  lay  upon  the 
table,  a  happy  hour  was  spent  in  reading  aloud 
from  its  contents;  while  Nellie  sat  by,  plying  her 
busy  needle,  and  nursing  in  her  heart  bright  hopes 
so  newly  born  there.  Once  or  twice  Mr.  Grey 
looked  up  from  his  book  to  watch  her  glowing 
face,  so  unconscious  of  his  gaze;  he  was  still 
more  confirmed  in  his  former  conviction  that 
some  good  fairy  had  taken  possession  of  his 
home,  and  that  the  bright  sunshine  was  fast  com- 
ing back  into  it,  radiant  as  ever.  But  even  as 
he  gazed  a  scheme  entered  into  his  mind,  which, 
though  it  seemed  almost  cruel,  he  determined  to 
carry  out.  "I  will  be  in  no  haste,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "to  notice  this  change  in  my  wayward 
little  wife.  I  will  feign  blindness;  and  if  it  be 
genuine  it  will  stand  the  test,  nay,  bo  all  the 
firmer  for  it.  If  otherwise"— and  the  sigh  that 
followed  told  how  deeply  his  heart  was  interest- 
ed in  the  result. 

Days  passed  on,  each  bringing  its  joys  and  its 
trials  to  the  heart  of  Nellie  Grey.  Yes,  trials; 
for  it  was  not  easy  to  break  at  once  the  habits 
of  petulance  and  waywardness  which  had  been 
growing  upon  her  for  months.  It  was  not  al- 
ways easy  to  repress  an  irritating  remark,  or  curb 
an  impatient  emotion,  amid  the  inevitable  emo- 
tions attendant  upon  even  the  most  smoothly- 
gliding  household  lot.  Yet  Nellie  bore  bravely 
on,  neither  discouraged,  nor  yet  unduly  elated, 
as  at  the  outset  she  had  been.  She  had  learned 
that  faults  once  harbored  are  tenacious  of  their 
place;  and  in  her  weakness  she  had  gone  humbly 
to  the  great  Source  of  strength  for  light  and 
grace.  So  daily  her  brow  grew  calmer  and  her 
smile  sweeter.  Still  she  could  not  see  that  her 
husband  noticed  her  altered  manner,  and  this 
was  her  greatest  trial.  True,  he  had  shown  her 
peculiar  tenderness  on  the  night  from  which  she 
dated  her  determination  to  become  a  better  wife; 
but  since  then  there  had  been  no  marked  de- 
monstration of  his  awakened  regard.  0,  how 
she  longed  to  throw  herself  into  his  arms  and 
tell  him  the  yearnings  of  her  heart  for  the  old 
days!  But  something  in  his  manner  deterred 
her  strangely.  It  was  not  coldness,  nor  in- 
difference even,  but  a  sort  of  hurried,  abstracted 
mood,  not  altogether  unusual  with  him  when 
business  was  particularly  pressing,  and  the  poor 
little  wife  wondered  how  long  it  would  last,  and 
when  the  time  would  come  that  he  would  repay 
her  earnest  efforts  with  the  loving  appreciation 
of  the  old  times.  She  never  thought  to  blame  < 
him  for  this  apparent  absorption,  for  her  peni-  J 
tence  was  too  thorough  to  admit  of  this  feeling. 
So  she  went  on  her  way,  content  to  wait,  and 
sure,  in  her  wifely  heart  of  a  happy  issue  at 
last. 

And  her  husband  ?  At  first  he  rather  enjoyed 
!  the  part  he  was  acting.  It  was  pleasant  to  come 
home  at  noon,  and  at  night,  to  find  every  want  an- 
ticipated— sure  of  a  smiling  welcome  and  a  cheer- 
ful room,  though  it  must  be  confessed  that  some-  j 
times  he  entered  the  house  dreading  lest  the  spell 
should  have  dissolved  during  his  absence.  But 
when  nearly  a  month  had  passed  and  there  was 
no  abatement  in  the  loving  care  and  patient  devo- 
tion of  his  wife,  his  heart  began  to  reproach  him 
for  bis  project  of  feigned" indifference,  and  he 
determined  to  bring  this  trial,  becoming  even 
more  painful  to  himself  than  to  the  unconscious 
object  of  it,  to  a  close.  So  that  very  evening,  on 
leaving  the  tea-table,  he  followed  his  wife  into 
the  parlor,  and,  instead  of  one  look  at  the  paper 
and  a  hurried  retreat  from  the  house,  he  de- 
liberately took  off  his  coat  and  donned  his  dress- 
ing-gown, took  possession  of  his  crimson-cush- 
ioned rocking  chair,  and  stretching  his  slippered 
feet  over  the  register,  uttered  an  emphatic  "there" 
— as  if  defying  the  very  fates  to  entice  him  from 
his  comfortable  position— and  directed  a  meaning 
look  at  his  wife. 

Poor  little  Nellie!  Her  heart  beat  high  with 
hope.  Was  he  really  intending  to  pass  the  even- 
ing at  home?  She  longed  to  ask  the  question, 
but  a  strange,  choking  sensation  in  her  throat 
prevented  it.  So  she  fluttered  about  the  room 
like  a  trembling  bird  over  its  nest,  her  heart  beat- 
ing so  very  fast  that  it  almost  suffocated  her. 
Her  husband  watched  her  awhile  with  a  puzzled 
air. 

"Come  here,  you  flighty  little  thing,"  at  length 
he  said,  laughing  merrily.    "Don't  you  want  me 


to  stay  home  with  you  to-night  that  you  are 
keeping  up  such  a  mighty  fuss  and  flutter  as  this? 
Come,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you."  He 
caught  her  hand  as  she  advanced,  and  drawing  her 
into  her  old  accustomed  seat  upon  his  knees,  cover- 
ed her  face  with  kisses.  "My  darling  wife,"  he 
whispered,  "you  have  conquered." 

lie  was  proceeding,  when  a  sob  from  Nellie 
startled  him.  It  was  very  foolish  in  the  young 
wife,  but,  try  as  hard  as  she  could,  she  was  not 
able  to  keep  back  the  swelling  tears  that  almost 
burst  her  heart,  and  burying  her  face  in  her  hus- 
band's bosom,  she  fau-ly  sobbed  aloud.  Mr.  Grey 
was  not  prepared  for  a  demonstration  like  this, 
and  his  heart  reproached  him  bitterly  for  the 
trial  he  had  imposed  upon  his  beloved  wife. 
True,  he  had  not  dreamed  how  hard  this  trial 
had  been,  and  his  motive  from  the  first  had  been 
a  worthy  one,  but  he  felt  almost  self-reproved  in 
the  result.  He  soothed  her  with  the  tenderest 
expressions  that  his  lips  could  frame,  and  when 
she  was  sufficiently  calm  to  hear  his  confession, 
he  told  her  of  the  part  he  had  been  acting  for 
the  last  three  weeks,  and  besought  her  forgive- 
ness. 

"Indeed,  Nellie,"  he  continued,  "I  did  it  from 
the  best  of  motives.  I  thought  it  would  be  bet- 
ter in  the  end  for  both  of  us,  but  if  I  had  known 
the  degree  of  suffering  I  was  inflicting,  nothing 
would  have  tempted  me  to  resort  to  it.  But, 
Nellie,  you  have  not  been  the  only  sufferer.  It 
has  been  a  hard  trial  to  me  also.  If  you  knew 
how  I  had  longed  to  tell  you  the  effect  of  your 
constant  and  successful  efforts  to  make  our  home 
happy  and  attractive,  and  yourself  the  most 
loveable  little  mortal  that  ever  breathed,  you 
would  wonder  how  I  could  keep  silent  and 
seemingly  apathetic  so  long.  When  I  have  be- 
held, day  after  day,  your  unceasing  care  for  my 
comfort,  your  devoted,  untiring  attention  to  my 
wants,  your  victories  over  domestic  difficulties 
and  discouragements,  and,  more  than  all,  the 
quiet,  sweet-tempered  spirit  in  which  you  have 
held  on  your  way,  notwithstanding  you  could 
see  no  appreciation  of  your  efforts  where  you 
had  a  right  to  expect  a  cordial  response  to  them, 
I  have  looked  upon  you  with  a  wonder  and  ad- 
miration that  you  little  dreamed.  Nellie,  I  am 
proud  of  my  wife!" — he  drew  her  closer  to  his 
bosom — "nay,  more,  words  cannot  tell  how  ten- 
derly I  love  her;  not  with  the  old  love,  it  is  true, 
for  that  was  faint  and  cold  compared  with  the 
regard,  the  devotion,  which  now  sways  and  mas- 
ters my  whole  soul.  Before,  I  did  not  know 
you  or  your  boundless  capacity  to  make  me  habny. 
Now,  I  know  and  trust  both." 

Happy  Nellie  Grey !— too  happy  by  far  to  speak 
her  gladness,  but  the  warm,  beaming  glance  of 
her  dark  eyes,  as  she  lifted  them  for  an  instant  to 
!kt  husband's  face,  and  then  dropped  them  as 
,  with  the  blushing  bashfulness  of  the  old 
times  gathering  over  her  beautiful  features,  said 
more  than  words.    At  length  her  emotions  found 

e,  and  touching  indeed  were  the  words  of  | 
penitence  and  love  that  flowed  from  her  lips. 
Thoughts  that  had  brooded  in  her  heart  for  weeks 
now  found  utterance,  while  her  husband  listened 
with  a  heart  in  which  love  and  sympathy  were 
equally  blended. 

"And  now,  dear  Dudley,"  she  added,  in  con- 
clusion, "say  a:;ain  that  you  have  forgiven 
your  wilful,  petulant  little  wife,  and  1  think 
she  may  safely  promise  never  to  be  so  naughty 
again." 

"She  has  already  began  to  fulfil  that  promise 
most  richly,"  answered  the  husband,  sealing  his 
piedgc  of  forgiveness  on  the  lips  of  the  smiling 
pkadcr.  "Nellie,  you  have  the  start  of  vour 
husband  in  this  matter.  You  were  the  first  to 
see  the  evil  clearly,  and  resolutely  to  try  the 
cure;  so,  if  you  will  insist  on  taking  all  the 
blame  for  whatever  has  gone  wrong  between  us 
for  the  last  year  or  so,  you  shall'  have  all  the 
credit  of  settling  things  right  again." 

"Not  all,  Dudley.  You  know  it  was  something 
you  said  that  day  that  led  me  to  think  of  these 
things  so  seriously.  You  recollect  the  remark  you 
made  at  dinner  about  the  old  times,"  aud  how 
nothing  seemed  as  it  used  to  then." 

"Yes,  and  I  recollect,  also,  blaming  you  for  it. 
Nellie,  I  was  a  brute." 

"You  were  nothing  of  the  sort,"  answered 
Nellie,  smiling;  "only,  as  I  told  you,  it  did  me 
good;  for  I  resolved,  from  that  day,  to  bring  the 
old  times  back.  In  short,  I  determined  to  win 
you  a  second  time.    Do  you  see  ?" 

"Yes,  I  see,"  returned  Mr.  Grey,  demurely; 
"not  content  with  courting  me  once,  you  must  go 
all  over  it  again— victimize  me  afresh,"  and  he 
heaved  a  mocked  sigh. 

"Now,  that's  too  bad,"  answered  Mrs.  Grey, 
laughing  in  spite  of  herself,  for  she  felt  very 
serious;  "listen  to  me  now,  and  joke  afterwards 
to  your  heart's  content.  For  the  first  few  days, 
it  was  easy  and  pleasant  to  keep  my  resolution; 
but,  after  a  while,  when  I  could  not  see  that  you 
noticed  my  efforts  in  the  slightest  degree,  and 
things  went  wrong  in  the  kitchen,  and  Jane  left 
in  such  a  hurry,  and  that  dreadful  headache  of 
mine  came  on,  I  was  tempted  to  give  it  up  and 
go  back  to  the  old  course  again.  I  did  speak 
impatiently  to  you  once  or  twice  one  day;  but, 
when  evening  came,  I  felt  so  unhappy  about  it 
that  I  determined  to  persevere,  cost  what  it 
might.  It  was  not  in  my  own  strength  that  I 
was  able  to  do  this,  for,  Dudley;"  she  continued, 
lowering  her  voice,  "every  morning  and  evening, 
and  many  times  through  the  day,  I  have  asked 
God  to  help  me  and  strengthen  me.  At  first  I 
was  not  sure  that  my  motive  was  exactly  a  right 
one,  for  I  cared  more  about  pleasing  you,  and 
winning  your  love,  than  about  his  approbation 
or  blessing.  But  I  felt  that  my  heart  was  open 
■^  all  kindly  influences  just  then,  and  that  per- 
is I  should  come  to  a  right  feeling  in  regard 


to  it,  and  it  was  even  so.  in  striving  to  become 
niorc  worthy  of  your  love,  ray  dearest  husband, 
!  trust  1  have  obtained,  also,  the  love  and  blessing 
of  that  Heavenly  Triend."  . 

She  paused  suddenly,  for  she  did  not  know 
how  her  husband  would  receive  her  words.  Ho 
looked  at  her  a  moment  in  deep  silence;  then, 
bowing  his  head  reverently  over  the  clasped 
hands"  which  he  held  in  his  own,  he  rep  bed— 
•'Thank  you,  dear  Nellie,  for  this  confidence. 
Be  assured  I  prize  you  all  the  more  for  it,  and 
God  grant  that  your  new  found  joy  may  be  mine 
also" 

Very  sweet  and  full  was  the  communion  of  the 
husband  and  wife  in  that  hour  of  blessed  re- 
union, but  we  draw  a  veil  over  its  sacred  reveal- 
ings.  Only  God  and  his  angels  are  worthy  wit- 
nesses of  a  scene  so  hushed  and  holy.  We  will 
only  add  that,  from  that  hour,  a  heavenly  bless- 
ing came  down  and  rested  in  the  house  of  Dud- 
lev  and  Ellen  Grey.  And  so,  blest  and  blessing, 
loving  and  beloved,  they  passed  their  days.  And 
when,  at  length,  God's  angel,  death,  called  them 
away,  each  within  a  few  hours  of  the  other,  it 
was  to  them  only  the  gracious  summons—  Gome 
up  higher!"  'and  they  went,  nothing  doubting 
that  the  earthlv  love,  so  sweet  and  holy  here,  would 
be  renewed  arid  cemented  there;  for,  through  it, 
each  had  been  led  into  that  heavenly  love  which  is 
the  only  passport  to  the  land  where  "they  neither 
marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage,  but  are  as  the 
angels  of  God.'' 

Talklne:  about  the  tropics,  "eternal  Spring"  is 
only  found  in  a  rubber  factory. 

As  Sweden  keeps  her  Stockholm  she  needn't 
send  hither  for  horses  or  cattle. 

Hooo  called  the  slamming  of  a  door  by  a  person 
In  a  passion,  "  a  wooden  oath." 

11  Why  am  I  like  a  campass?  "  asked  a  little  fel- 
low.   "  'Cause  I'm  boxed  so  often." 

"  reople  never  cough  after  taking  my  medicine," 
advertises  a  Pennsylvania  doctor.  Is  it  so  fatal 
as  that?  


D«   IT    WITH    ALL   THY    MIGHT.       ■  I  HU r|  ?!  I«  1  %tl  \*\ 

ft<*  WZ  B  ?£•  5§o-|S»S 


"  Wkll.  well,  that  new  bridge  has  gone  jast  as 

was  afeared  it  would,"  said  old  Isaac  Baker,  return  n 

vem  a  walk  down  to  the  river's  side  one  brigut  San 

day  morning,  while  breakfast  was  preparing 

"Ton  don't   say,  father,"  said  a%  bright  cheers 

woman  who  had  oome  out  to  announce* that  the  morn 

lag  meal  wu  prepared ;  **  it's  only  two  years  thi- 

spring  since  it  was  built,  and  there  was  not  sash  a, 

terrible  flood  either  now."  S  e  fi:   "  _»  g 

.     •'  No,  there  ain't  much  of  a  swell ;  the  water  has'  £ | «  %  %  ~  |  | '  ^  »  ,| 

scarcely  covered  the  flats  ;  if  the  bridge  had  been  anv    g 

BMre'n  half  made,  it  would  not  ha'  gone.    I  toid  e  « 

how  it  would  be  when  that  Jackson  offered  to  baud  v.,  jj 

ler  a  third  less  than  anybody  else ;  but  they  would 
i  give  it  to  the  cheapest     I  guess  they'll  see  now  it 

fays  'em  now." 
The  conversation  at  the  breakfast  tabla  turnei 


c  *  «  3  5-  Z 


3    9 
B    B    S 

2      1?  ?  B  £      p  _,      a  s  < 


H.  *  O 


&  § 
«-•    r^at        to  ».  ;?  «. 

—  .s,    — ■    r. 


»S9 


O    43 


3    P. 


S  o- 


cr  2 


A  CITEL  CUT  OFF  WITH  Atf  AX. 

A  TRUE  INCIDENT. 

said  an  old  man 


"Did  you  ever  see  the  Catskill  Mountains?" 
asked  a  young  lady  of  her  lover.  "  No,"  said  he, 
•' but  I've  sei  b  'em  kill  mice." 

An  exchange  paper  begins  a  forcible  appeal  to 
Its  delinquent  subscribers  by  this  touching  sen- 
tence :  "  We  must  dun,  or  we  must  be  done." 


*  ?  ^  ~  -* 

11  H.  S~fe-  4 


p 


"  Do  you  see  this  lock  of  hair?' 
to  me. 

"  Yes  ;  but  what  of  it  ?  It  is,  I  suppose,  the  curl 
from  the  head  of  a  dear  child  long  since  gone  to 
God." 

"  It  is  not.  It  is  a  lock  of  my  own  hair  ;  and  it  is 
now  nearly  seventy  years  since  it  was  cut  from  this 
head." 

"But  why  do  you  prize  a  lock  of  your  hair  so 
much  V 

"  It  has  a  story  belonging  to  it,  and  a  strange  one. 
I  keep  it  thus  with  care  because  it  speaks  to  me 
moie  of  God  and  of  his  special  care  than  anything 
else  I  possess. 

"I  was  a  little  child  of  four  years  old,  with  long, 
curly  locks,  which,  in  sun,  or  rain,  or  wind,  hung 
down  my  cheeks  uncovered.  One  day  my  father 
went  into  the  woods  to  cut  up  a  log,  and  I  went  with 
him.  I  was  standing  a  little  way  behind  him,  or 
rather  at  his  sice,  watching  with  interest  the  strokes 
of  the  heavy  ax,  as  it  went  up  and  came  do  vn  upon 
the  wood,  sending  off  splinters  with  every  stroke,  in 
all  directions.  Some  of  the  splinters  fell  at  rny  feet, 
and  I  eagerly  stuoped  to  pick  them  up.  In  doing  so 
I  stumbled  forward,  and  in  a  moment  my  curly  head 
lay  upon  the  log.  I  had  fallen  just  at  the  moment 
when  the  ax  was  coming  down  with  all  its  force 
It  was  too  late  to  stop  the  blow.  Down  came  the 
ax.  I  screamed,  and  my  father  fell  to  the  ground 
in  terror.  He  could  not  stay  the  stroke,  and  in  the 
blindness  which  the  sudden  horror  caused,  he  thought 
he  had  killed  his  boy.  We  soon  recovered  ;  I  from 
my  fright,  and  he  from  his  terror.  He  caught  me  in 
his  arms  and  looked  at  me  from  head  to  foot,  to  find 
out  the  deadly  wound  whieh  he  was  sure  he  had  in- 
flicted. Kot  a  drop  of  blood  nor  a  scar  was  to  be 
seen.  He  knelt  upon  the  grass  and  gave  thanks  to  a 
gracious  God.  Having  done  so,  he  took  up  his  ax 
and  found  a  few  hairs  upon  its  edge.  He  turned  to  the 
log  he  had  been  splitting,  and  there  was  a  single  curl 
of  his  boy's  hair,  sharply  cut  through  and  laid  upon 
the  wood.  How  great  the  escape !  It  was  as  if  an 
angel  had  turned  aside  the  edge  at  the  moment  when 
it  was  descending  on  rny  hsad.  With  renewed 
thanks  upon  his  lips  he  took  up  the  curl,  and  went 
home  with  me  in  his  arms. 

"  That  lock  he  kept  all  his  days,  as  a  memorial  of 
5od*s  care  and  love.  That  lock  he  left  te  me  on  his 
rjeath-bed." 


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principally  on  the  washed-away  bridge  and  tae  ram-   p  J  g  jj  |  »  g  *•»  '£,  e 
•as  effects  of  half-done  work  generally.     Little  Awl, 
i«ld  Isaac's  favorite  grandchild,  sat  beside  him  and 
fistened  attentively  to  the  numerous  stories  told  of 
property  lost,  lives  endangered,  etc  ,  all  resuming  from, 
jeekk  ss  mclffcrence  to  the  quality  of  work,  only  pro  ■ 
Tiding  for  the  quantity.    H;s  head  was  full  of  it  as  he 
walked  off  to  Sunday-school  immediately  after  ttreat- 
fest,  having  a  mile  and  a  bait  farther  to  go  tbroagtr 
muddy  lanes  on  account  of  the  impossibility  of  cross- 
1b g  the  river  at  the  nsual  bridge. 

.By  a  Btrange  coincidence.  Abel  thought,  the  super- 
intendent took  as  his  matter  for  tne  closing  address 
the  text,  "  Whatsoever  thy  hand  fiadeth  to  do,  do  it 
with  all  thy  might  "  He  enlarged  considerably  upon 
the  importance,  both  temporally  and  sjiritually,  of 
taking  the  wise  man's  advice,  and  he  had  at  lwaat  one 
lnten  sted  listener  that  morning  Aoel  was  a  q  aet, 
steacy  httle  ftllow,  fond  enough  of  fun  too  ia  his  own 
fuiet  way,  but  havtog  in  his  heart  a  hearty  disliko  of 
»fudv.  As  Abel  listened  to  the  supenntend«nt.  and 
««ollected  how  often  mother  had  chided  bjrn  for  jast 
half-doing  thing?,  he  resolved  that  he  Bh  )ald  jjivm  her 
©eca«ion  to  do  so  no  more ;  but  tben  hts  fessons,  ho 
had  not  thought  of  them.  Ha  was  nor,  a  wy  a*t 
scholar,  arid  it  took  him  a  long  time  to  get  his  fessms 
ao  sb  to  pass  at  school  at  all,  and  if  he  was  to  f  o  it 
with  all  hi*  might,  he  thonght  ho'd  have  no  time  tor 
a»y thing  else;  but  his  teacher's  ad v.*ce  pressed  ha'd 
•n  him,  and  as  he  walked  slowly  homeward  ne  re-j 
peated  tr.e  text  aloud  to  confirm  the  resolaaon  he  nad 
made  :  "  Whatsoever  lessons,  geography,  shoqs,  and 
All  my  hand  fiiideth  to  d>,  I  wi'l  do  it  well." 

Ten  yeatB  bad  passed,  and  A.  >el  was  a  ta'l, 'aok,l 
Imily  knit  youth  of  eighteen,  hammering  at  a  nUcfc 
emith's  forge.      See  how  black  bis  facJ.  is,  and  h  >w 
hard  and  black  his  hanis  bave  got ;  bat  there  is  a 

•bee'ful,  deterujin^d  look  on  hi*  face  that  tells,  even  tf 

you  fiid  not  see  how  his  atms  go,  that  h^s  Is  ham  nor- 

hig  tba*;  pieae  of  iron  with  all  hts  might.    Th-ro  is 

Bot  an  irch  of  kzittefs  about  htm  every  sinew  \s  o> 

•opied,  and  by  the  Jeep  though  ful  look  in  his  eyes 

we  wonld  judge  that  he  Is  thinking  wi'h  all  nis  mi«hc 

as  well  as  working.     A'.el  ha*  done  a  great  maov 

Ikfngs  with  all  his  might  eb.ee  we  first  saw  bun.    He 

has  gone  to  Christ  with  all  his  might,  earnestly,  oriy 

erfully,  and  he  will  tell  you  joyfully  that  Christ  wav 

as  ever,  true  to  his  promt**,  '  H*m  that  c  >naeth  one  > 

sie  I  will  in  no  wise,  cast  out"     II*  s-uoied  welt  roec 

he  went  to  school  stragfllng  maofalty  ug^mst,  the  ol<i 

dista8te ;  and  if  he  did  not  get  the  fi-st  pnzw  at  the  nx- 

aniination,  he  got  honorable  mention  as  oel  lg  tue 

hett  behaved    steadiest  boy  in  school — ano   he.  wt- 

■ore  than  repaid.     Wiebing  to  be  a  ilacksmtb 

was  bound  to  the  master  wi'.n  whom  ho  nu<v  w.i 

Goe-feering,  consistent  man.    With  h;m  as  also 

soon  with  willing  Abel,  for  now  iooUnation  and 

went  hand  la  band. 


**  m*  S 

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Ifuis  i'^  **  *  "  ?  — 

The  Glory  of  the  Pines.— Magnilic?ntl 
nay,  sometimes  almost  terrible  !  Other  trees, 
tufting  crag  or  hill,  yield  to  the  form  and  sway 
of  the  ground,  clothe  it  with  soft  compliance, 
are  partly  its  comforters.  But  the  piue  rises 
in  serene  resistance,  sell-contained  ;  nor  can  I 
ever  without  awe  stay  under  a  great  Alpine 
cliff,  far  from  all  houses  or  works  of  men, 
looking  up  to  its  companies  of  pines,  as  they 
stand  on  the  inaccessible  juts  and  prions 
ledge  of  the  enormous  wall  ;  its  quiet  ivulti- 
tudes,  each  like  the  shadow  of  the  one  beside 
it— upright,  fixed,  spectral  as  troops  of  ghosts 
standing  on  the  wall  of  Hades,  not  knowing 
each  other,  dumb  lorever. 

You  cannot  reach  them,  cannot  cry  to  them 

those   trees  never  hear  human  voice;  they 

are  tar  above  all  sounds  but  the  winds.  No 
foot  ever  stirred  fallen  leaves  of  theirs.  All 
comfortless  they  stand  between  the  two  eter- 
nities of  the  vacancy  and  the  rocks;  yet  with 
such  an  iron  will  that  the  rock  itself  looks 
bent  and  shattered  beside  them — fragile,  weak 
inconsistent,  compared  to  their  dark  energy  of 
delicate  life  and  monotony  of  enchanted  pride, 
unnumbered,  unconquerable. — Raskin. 


"  Each  morning  saw  «omo  U»k  begun, 
b  «»ening  »»«  it«  c'ose, 
ilng  *',  empicl,  souictbkg  done, 
Bad  earin.il  a  night*  rep< 

And  now  the  fame  of  «h^  honest  macksni'fh  and  hi-« 
thorough  apprentice  became  knovn  from  tne  ex vl 
lenee  ef  their  work.     I'  has  reacted  the  riur 
missionary  board,  who  have  resolved  to  bj  Id  a-id  ti 
out  a  mission  ebip.     And  they  reiolve  (ha',  mis  0  vns 
tlan  blucksmilh  shall  have  as  niuco  of  the  worn  to  <J'» 
as  he  can  do.    And  now  with  what  a  z*at  does 
work ;  he  has  a  fiouble  motive  to  work  with  a'l  h  a 
might,  for  it  is  God's  work  as  w.  11  ai  his  mas', »r'# 
As  he  welds  the  linns  of  the  chain,  ha  takes  parlcaUr 
care  that  be  does  it  well ;  for  may  not  the  lives  of  t'w 
■lisBionaTifs  who  are  to  sail  in  it  deoend  on  theii 
strength,  and  one  of  them  ia  h's  own  mucn  love.) 
Saboaih  school  teacher  r   And  as  he  hammers  h  <  does 
not  forget  to  pray  that  Ood  may  guard  the  lv«s  of 
thoFe  missionaries  and  make  tne m  a  blessing  in  the 
Southern  itlee  for  which  they  a^e  boand. 


O  ye  who  si  h  to  set  v  •"'  lives  wlthfbs  >'> 
besques  of  great  and  noble  HeeHs,  who  pint  for 
broader  JjotTzodb, and  higher  opportunities  (/on 
?HM  appointed  von  a  work  where  you  are. 

Every  dav  lif*  no  m  white  cnabee  out  or  tb'3 
DiL'fct,  and  is  held  down  10  you  taroutrh  all  ir.s-*  > 
lemn  silent- tooted  hours  tor  those,  smi'l  l»DOW 
of  love  whose  irue  tigaiflcsaoa  and  relations  we 
shall  only  understand  ia  eternity. 

And  ia  this  ^i»n  daily  labor  Ben  mum  oi  wo- 
man's  work,  «mi  her  sweet  home  infl  >  »nces 
the  sunshine  and  the  •  veuing  dew,  upon  th«  char- 
:ir>  and  her. 

Sbe  u-^v  little  comprehend  what  a  iilnnt  force  oi 

tteallng,  restraining,  strengthening  lnflaes.ee  jheU 

and  periods  of   anrost  and  d«sp'»ndeocy 

may  fill  many  hoars  tdth  shadows,  which  wool  I  M 

vim  j  y  and  thanksgiving,  if  she  could 

only  "know  as  she  is  known."  , 

But  the  pictures  of  all  lives  am  lock  n  up  in  'h- 
«,i<rt'ni  galleries,  and  the  antrels  h->ld  t.h»  keys, and 
-whf  i.  God's  voice  speaks  the  word,  the  doors  sh  dl 
beoptned,  nr.d  wher  we  tr<>  in  w.?  shall  all  "banoU 
auA  understand."— jBbme  Magazine 

Even  in  the  harem  where  they  are  cap 
lives*  women  busy  themselves  constantly  with 
that  beauty  whieh  alone  keeps  them  in  slavery 
— Bourdon. 

....  Birds  have  often  seemed  to  mo  like  the 
messengers  from  earth  to  heaven-charged  with 
the  homage  and  gratitude  of  nature,  and  g  dec 
with  the  most  eloquent  of  created  voices  to  fuln 
the  mission. — Bvivoer. 


c 


BL'BXIHQ     0?     THK    CHURCH   OF   T  □  .    WITH 

TWO    THOUSAND   WOMEN   AND    CUILDIiXN. 

of  the  most  horrible   calamities   that   has 
■  upon  any  people  occurred  in  the   city 
of  Santiago,  the  capital  of  the  republic  of  Chili, 
on  the  night  of  the  8th  of  December  last 

The  Church  of  the  Jesuits,  in  which  was  being 
celebrated  the  Immaculate  Conception  of  the  Vir- 
gin, was  destroyed!);."  fire,  and  with  itwere  burned 
and  s.i  tildren. 

A 'few  minutes  before  seven,  and  when  the 
religious  performance  was  about  to  commence, 
they  were  still  lighting  the  last  lights  in  the  chan- 
cel, when  the  portable  gas  in  the  half  moon  of 
canvas  and  wood  that  formed  the  pedestal  of  a 
coloisal  image  of  the  Virgin  Mary  began  to  burn 
of  the   exiivmi'ii  atus.    Some 

one  rushed  on  the  rising  flame  and  succeeded  in 
smothering  it,  but  by  a  fatal  rebound  the  gas, 
compressed  by  the  effort,  burst  out  with  redoub- 
led vigor  at  the  other  extremity  of  the  false 
half-moon.  Immediately  a  fierce  flame  rushed 
up.  The  persons  who  thronged  the  chancel  flew 
towards  the  sacristy  crying  '  water,  water,'  whilst 
the  women,  who  filled  the  nave,  arose  in  tumult- 
uous confusion  screaming  for  help. 

The  fire  spread  with  wonderful  rapidity  to  the 
reredos  of  wood  and  hangings,  and  thence  at- 
tracted by  the  current  of  air  that  always  circulates 
between  the  upper  boarding  and  the  roof,  rolled 
through  the  church.  In  a  few  moments  all  over 
head  was  a  mass  of  flames.  In  the  meantime  the 
men  had  succeeded  in  escaping  ;  for  in  this  church 
the  sexes  were  separated  by  an  iron  grating,  and 
the  women  had  fled  as  far  as  the  middle  of  the 
church  in  a  state  of  the  most  terrible  confusion. 
Bnt  the  headlong  hurry,  the  fainting,  fee  ob- 
struction of  the  bell-shaped  dresses,  and  the 
c  eagerness  to  gain  the  street,  formed  an 
impenetrable  barrier  before  the  two  doors,  which, 
by  a  culpable  imprudence,  gave  access  to  the  free 
air  only  towards  the  open  space  in  front  and  the 
small  court  of  the  west  side  of  the  church.  That 
obstJcle  was  the  barrier  of  death. 

'And  now  what  appeared  most  horrible  was  that, 
seeing  the  salvation  of  lives  within  reach  of  our 
arms,  it  was  impossible  to  save  even  one  of  the 
vfetims  piled  one  upon  another  on  the  very  thresh- 
old. 

Hardly  had  the  noble  men  who  devoted  them- 
selvs  to  save  lives  at  the  peril  of  their  own,  seized 
by  the  arms  or  the  clothes  a  prostrate  form  than 
the  other  women,  mad  with  terror,  from  the 
nearness  of  the  tire,  clutched  the  victim  about  to 
be  saved,  and  in  some  cases  dragged  those  who 
came  to  help  them  into  the  fiery  vortex. 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  extricate  even  one 
from  that  heap  of  despairing  wretches  and  undo 
that  ghostly  knot.  But  the  lire  accomplished 
that  which  baffled  man,  and  the  passage  into  "the 
doomed  church  was  not  cleared  until  that  impen- 
etrable phalanx  of  precious,  beautiful  life  was  a 
handful  of  cinders. 

At  midnight  the  smoking  ruins  of  the  fatal 
temple,  so  soon  a  silent  eharnel  house,  was  visited, 
and  by  the  light  of  a  lantern  every  slip  showed  to 
the  appalled  gaze  fearful  groups  of  carbonized 
corpses,  that  preserved  still  the  supplicating  or 
despairing  attitude  of  their  frightful  martyrdom. 

In  another  account  from  the  same  paper  is 
f  jund  more  of  the  sickening  details  and  fuller  par- 
ticulars.    We  give  it  entire  : 

A  dreadful  visitation  has  fallen  upon  us.  Tru- 
ly this  is  a  day  of  trouble  and  rebuke  for  bkv 
rny.  The  voice  of  lamentation  is  heard  all  over 
the  land  ;  the  bitter  weeping  of  fathers,  husbands, 
brothers  and  lovers,  for  those  who  were  the  joy 
and  brightness  of  their  life,  that  refuses  to  be 
comforted  because  they  are  not.  Hundreds  of 
oung  girls,  only  yesterday  radiant  and  beautiful 
m  the  luxuriant  bloom  of  the  fresh,  hopeful  spring 
of  life,  are  to-day  calcined,  hideous  corpses,  hor- 
rible, loathsome  to  the  sight,  impossible  to  be 
recognized. 

The  8th  of  December  was  a  great  triumph  for 
tha  clergy  of  the  Church  of  the  Jesuits  in  Santia- 
go. An  enthusiastic  audience  filled  every  nook. 
There  were  hardly  any  men  there  ;  but  three  thou- 
sand women,  comprising  the  flower  of  the  beauty 
and  fashion  of  the  capital,  were  at  the  feet  of  the 
ecclesiastics,  very  many  against  the  will  of  fathers 
and  husbands  ;  but  that,  of  course,  only  showed 
forth  the  power  and  might  of  the  Gospel.  Never 
had  such  pyrotechny  been  seen  before  ;  twenty 
thousand  lights,  mostly  camphene,  in  long  fes- 
toons of  colored  globes,  blazed  the  church  into  a 
.jail  of  fire.  But  the  performance  had  not  yet 
begun  when  the  crescent  of  fire  at  the  foot  of  the 
gigantic  image  of  the  Virgin  over  the  high  altar 
overflowed,  and,  climbing  up  the  muslin  draperies, 
and  paste-board  devices  to  the  wooden  roof, 
rolled  a  torrent  of  flan 

The  suddenness  of   the   fire    was   awful.     The 

dense  mass   of  women,    frightened  out    of  their 

.  numbers  fainting,  and  all  entangled    by 


their  long  swelling  dresses,  rushed,  as  tnose  wu 
knew  that  death  was  at  their  heels,  to  the  one 
door,  which  soon  became  choked  up.  Fire  -was 
every  where.  S  treaming  along  the  wooden  ceiling, 
it  flung  the  camphene  lamps,  huug  in  rows  there, 
among  the  struggling  women 


TIBK 


PIRATE!      SHENANDOAH    IN 
THE    ARCTIC    OCEAN. 


Terrible  Blow   to    New    Redford. 


A  dispatch  from  San  Francisco,  dated  20th 

inst.,  reports  the  arrival  at  that  port  of  shin 

In  a  moment  the  gorgeous  church  was  a  sea  of    Milo    of  this  port,  Capt.  Hawes,  Cnty-eS 

ime.     Minimal   \.vtcre\n'a  toorfnl  ninfnu  r\V T>n1l  *™«       a <'..,*.~  xi...     a     '..•  .    i ..,'    .,  J   v*oUI' 


days  from  the  Arctic  ocean,  with  the  crews' of 
several  whaleshlps,  which  were  destroyed  by  the 
pirate  Shenaudoah  in  June.  The  Shenandoah 
was  continuing  her  wholesale  destruction  of 
whalers,  and  would  probably  soon  destroy  the 
fleet,  numbering  sixty  vessels.  Her  commander 
was  informed  of  Lee's  surrender  and  of  the  col- 


flame.  Michael  Angeio's  fearful  picture  of  hell  was 

there,  butexcee.  ed.     Help  was  all  but  impossible; 

a  Hercules  might  have  strained  his  strength  in 
,  vain  to  pull  one  from  the  serried  mass  of  frenzied 
'  wretches,  who,  piled  one  above  another,  as  they 

climbed  over  to  reach  the  air,  wildly  fastened  the 
£  grip  of  death  upon  any  one  escaping,  in  order  that  -  7a>i  m*?Te   ?\rCC  S.  gender  and.  of  the  col- 
be  Lggecfout  with  them/  Those  who  '  feel  f  ffSS^XSSOZ  *  he 

I  he  bhenandoah  coaled   last  at 

She  was  manned  by  English  and 

lucu,  —  uidu  Duuy/iB.    Some  of  the  captured  whalemen 

dying  that  dreadful  death,  that  appalled  the  stout-    joined  her. 

est  heart  of  man,  within  one  yard  of  salvation,  >  The  following  vessels  are  reported  captured, 
fr  within  one  yard  of  men  who   would  have  given  -'and    "most  of  them  burned:"    Ships  Hector, 

their  lives  over  and  over  again  for  them.  It  was  '  £apt'  T9hase'  Abigail,  Capt.  Nye;  Euphrates, 
/  maddening— the  screaming  and  wringing  of  hands  Capt.  Hathaway;  Wilham  Thompson  Captain 
r  for  hfilnri»  th«  rAinorn«1«'af  flamAa  «o™f/«,  .  Z  ,' Smith;  Sophia  .Thornton,  Capt.  Tucker;  and 
Kw    liSi otmT^  f  ,r^rJLT£  £J  and    barkJireh  Swift,  Capt.  Williams,  of  this  port- 

then,  whil .  aome<  already  dead  with  fright  were  and  ship  Edward  Cary  and  brig  Susan  Abigail  of 
r  burned  in  ghastly  indifference,  others  in  their  hor--  San  Francisco.  The  above  is  probably  but  a 
\U  nble  agony— some  in  prayer— were  tearing  their    small  portion  of  the  number  destroyed,  and  if  no 

hair  and  battering  their  faces.     Women,  seized  in    others  have  been  destroyed,  their  loss  is  but  small 

the  embraces  of  the  flames,  were  seen  to  undergo    compared  with  the  dispersal  of  tho  entire  north- 

a  transformation  as  though  by  an  optical  delusion :  «■ era  rieet  and  tlie  loss  °f the  season's  catch,  which 

first   dazzlinglv  bright,    then  horribly   lean   and  -is  incalculable  not  only  to  our  merchants  but  to 

shrunk  up,  then  black  statues,  rigidly  fixed  in  a  f?e  ^^  ^"""VW"  ,  Pis  is  a  •murc1  *overe 
\j  writhina  atHtudfl  \  blow  than  New  Bedford  has  experienced  since 

6     tTu7!  aU'tUab-         .,  - .  the  British  invasion  and  destruction  of  the  ship. 

ihe  nre,  imprisoned  by  tne  immense  thickness    pinK  and  business  part  of  the  town  in  178S     It 
tf  ot  the  wails,  had  devoured  everything  combustible  f  took  many  years  for  the  place  to  recover  from  the 
,  oy  ten  o'clock  ;  and  then,  defying  the  sickening  'effect  of  that  wanton  raid,  and  now,  our  city  be- 
stench,  people  came  to  look  for  their  lost  ones. -ing  on  the  decline,. this  second  act  of  British  van- 
Oh,  what  a  sight  the  fair,    placid  moon  looked    dalism  is  doubly  severe. 
i  down  upon  !     Closely  packed  crowds  of  calcined,        Some  months  ago  a  communication  was  ad- 
distorted  forms,  wearing  the  fearful  expression  of    dressedby  Messrs.  Wuliams  &  Haven  of  New 

,  the  last  pang,  whose  smile  was  once  a  heaven;  the,  J^ifc™ %„Urltbe/a^c  w^a!i,1fI!nt!Jrest8' ' 

.  ffha»tlv  tihabui*  nf  lil-.r-ir  ut,t„™   +.. ■\<i^A  i„  A-c  ~J  *°  tue  nayy  department,  setting  forth  the  danger 

'  v»Sv  E?fiL     f    <  . btatuts;  *;  lbted  m  b"  ei7    of  the  fleet  being  attacked  by  the  Shenandoah, 

f  variety  of  agony,  stretching  out  their  arms  as  it    and  answer  was  received  that  several  naval  ves^ 

imploring  mercy ;  and  then,  ot  the  heap  that  had    sels  were  then  in  the  Pacific  ocean,and  others  were 

choked  up  the  door,  multitudes  with  their  lower*  on  their  way  to  join  the  squadron,  and  no  danger 

parts  entirely  untouched,  ami  some  all  a  shapeless"  need  be  apprehended.    Many  war  risks  have  been 

mass,  but  with  an  arm  or  foot  unscathed.  cancelled  by  the  owners  of  vessels  on  this  assur- 

The  silence,  after  those  piercing  screams  were i  ance  of  safety.    Still  there  is  no  available  force 

hushed  in  death,  was  horrible.     It  was  the  silence -^\^^1^T  twith  *he  P1™*6-.,,  P» P|» 

of  the  grave,  unbroken  but  by  the  bitter  wail  or    SoS^^^S^ fnlf^Xl*0?^ 

tnrougn  mat  ordeal  oi  lire  to  the  judgment  seat  ot  •■■ 
God. 


i^y 


'we  have  confidence  that  the  Pacific  will  in  a  few 
months  swarm  with  our  cruisers,  and  the  pirates 
will  either  be  driven  from  the  seas  or  run  up  to 
*  the  yard  arm. 

The  total  value  of  the  vessels  belonging  to  this 
port  was  $237,000,  and  the  total  insurance 
amounts  to  but  $116,425.  War  policies  had 
been  cancelled  and  ceased  by  limitation  amount" 
mg  to  about  $80,000.  There  is  much  excitement 
among  our  merchants  and  at  the  insurance  of- 
fices, and  no  more  war  risks  wiU  be  taken  on  ves- 
sels cruising  in  the  Pacific  and  Arctic  oceans  un- 
til further  advices  are  received.    We  hope  the 


„,£  *"»S.  Storm  in  August.— Lieut.  Gov. 
tfioss  of  Illinois  thus  describes  in  the  Chicago 
J  nbiuie  one  of  the  novel  experiences  of  the  Col- 
lax  party  in  their  Colorado  trip: 

We  had  a  delightful  ride  of  75  miles  on  Mon- 
day and  spent  the  night  at  Camp  Witters,  di- 
rectly under  the  Boulder  Pass.    The  early  morn- 
mo-  touud  ns  climbing  the  range,  but  within  an      51  ^r1ther  advices  are  received.    We  hope  the 
hour  after  starting  a  driving  snow  storm  envel-  r  ^n°hsl1  government,  which  has  for  more  than 
oped  us  for  two  boms  or  more,  continuing  till       ou?  years  Deen  a  most  damaging  foe  to  the  pros- 
we  reached    the  summit.     Of  course  we  were  f  Pe^fty  of  this  nation,  will  at  some  future  dav  be  ; 
cheated  out  of  the  magnificent  views  to  be  had   i  obll=cd  to  make  good  our  losses  by  these  pseiido- 
from  this  pass,  for,  being  nearly  13,000  feet  high        confederate,  but  really  British  freebooters,  with  ■ 
the  timber  land  is  far  below,  and  one  can  get  a      comP°'*ind  interest.  ,  -, 

view  from  this  pass    much   more  extensive  and  L     .J         .  latek.      y  cf^  ^ 

grand  than  from   the  Berthoud.    But  to  be  for  —  f  A  dispatch  received  by  Messrs.  Swift  &  Allen, 
three  or  four  hours  in  a  severe  snow  storm  on       ^r„0"1i  o    Pt*    Williams,  _  of  barque  Jirch  Swift] 
the  18th  day  of  August,  was  an  incident  which  ' 
seldom  if  ever  occurs  in  a  lifetime,  and  in  some 
measure  compensates  for  our  otherloss.    About 
1500  feet  below  the  summit  on   the  east  side,  we 
came  on  a  ridge  not  more  than  a  rod  or  two  wdde 
between  the  north  and  south    Boulder  creeks; 
the  sun  came  out  in  all  his  grandeur  and  a  halt 
was  called  for  lunch.    This  is  certainly  one  of 


the  most  delightful  spots  on  the  mountains. 
Right  below  a  thousand  feet,  nestling  amid 
grassy  and  pebbh-  shores,  was  a  beautiful  lake, 
forming  the  head  of  the  South  Boulder  creek. 
The  everlasting  mountains  were  above  and  be- 
neath us,  while  the  angry  storm  clouds  seemed 
to  roil  away,  willing  to  give  us  a  view  of  this 
magnificent  scene.  Here  we  rested  for  an  hour, 
and,  admonished  by  the  blackness  of  the  heav- 
ens gathering  before  us  not  to  be  in  a  thunder  > 
cloud  on  the  naked  spur  of  the  mountain  o>er  5 
which  we  had  next  to  pass,  we  rode  forward; 
but  scarcely  had  we  begun  to  descend  when  a 
severe  snow  storm  again  fell  upon  us  for  the 
next  hour.  Lower  down  it  turned  into  rain, 
which  for  the  next  ten  miles  made  our  ride  de- 
cidedly hard  and  most  uncomfortable,  in  strik- 
ing contrast  to  that  rest  and  pleasure  after 
which  our  party  supposed  themselves  to  be  seek- 
ing. Col.  Dodge,  the  agent  of  the  Rollins  Min- 
ing Company,  at  the  town  of  Boulder,  received  4 


--C--        ••- ,      "i       ™i4«v    oucu    OMUL 

dated  San  Francisco  20th,  states  that  his  vessel 
was  burned  by,,the  pirate  off  Cape  Thaddeus  22d 
June.    She  had  taken  400  barrels  whale  oil  thus  "~ 
early  in  the  season. 

Oxe  Hundred  Years  Ago.  —  One  hundred 
and  ten  years  ago,  there  was  not  a  single  white 
man  in  Kentucky,  Ohio,  Indiana  and  Illinois.- 
Then,  wdiat  is   the  most  flourishing  part  of 
America  was  as  little  known  as  the   country 
around  the  mysterious  mountains  of  the  moon. 
It  was  not  until  1767  that  Boone  left  his  home' 
in  North  Carolina  to  become  the  first  settler  in 
Kentucky.     The  first  pioneers  of  Ohio  did  not 
settle   until   twenty  years  after  this  time.     A 
hundred  years  ago  Canada  belonged  to  France, 
and  the  population  did  not  exceed  a  million 
and  a  half  of  people.     A  hundred  years  ago  the 
great  Frederick  of  Prussia  was  performing  those 
grand  exploits  which  have  made  him  immortal 
in  military  annals,  and  with  his  little  monarchy 
was   sustaining   a  single-handed   contest  with 
Russia,   Austria  and  France,    the  three  great     •' 
powers  of  Europe  combined.     Washington  was     , 
a  modest  Virginia  colonel,  and  the  great  events 
in  history  of  the  two  worlds  in  which  these  great 
but  dissimilar  men  took  leading  parts  were  then 
scarcely  foreshadowed.    A  hundred  years  ago 
the  United  States  were  the  most  loval  part  of 
the  British  Empire,  and  on  the  political  horizon 
no  speck  indicated  the  struggle  which  within  a 
score  of  years  thereafter  established  the  great 
republic  of  the  world.     A  hundred  years  ago 
there   were  but  four  newspapers  in  America! 
Steam-engines  had  not  !  .xn  imagined,  and  rail- 
roads and  telegraphs  had  not  entered  into  the 
remotest  conception  of  men.     When  we  come 
to  look  back  at  it  through  the  vista  of  history 
we  find  that  to  the  century  just  passed  has  been 
allotted  more  important  events,  in  their  bearing 
upon  the  happiness  of  the   world,   than  almost 
any  other  which  has  elapsed  since  the  creation 


Frightful  Calamity  in  Pennsylvania, 

A.  Coal  Mine  at  Plymouth  on  Fire. 

Two  Hundred  and  Two  Men  Shut  Up  in 
the    Mine. 


/ 


Fears  that  all  of  them  have  been  Suffocated. 

There  is  great  excitement  at  Seranton,  Pa.,  in 
consequence  of  the  burning  of  a  coal  breaker  at 
the  Avondale  mine  in  Plymouth,  about  20  miles 
sou Ui  of  Seranton.  There  are  about  200  mj;i  and 
boys  in  the  mine,  and  the  shaft,  which  is  t!icir 
only  means  for  escape,  is  choked  up  by  forty  feet 
of  burning  coal  and  rubbish.  Ventilation  is  to- 
tally stoped. 

A  despatch  from  Plymouth  gives  the  following 
account  of  the  disaster : 

A  fire  broke  out  this  (Monday)  morning  in  a 
flue  in  the  bottom  of  the  Stuben  shaft,  owned  by 
the  Delaware,  Lackawanua  and  Western  Railroad 
Company,  in  this  place,  and  in  a  short  time  the 
whole  breaker  and  outbuddings  were  in  flames, 
and  the  hoisting  apparatus,  the  only  avenue  of 
escape  for  the  miners,  was  destroyed.  All  efforts 
to  stay  the  flames  were  unavailing  and  the  whole 
structure  fell,  partly  filling  up  the  shaft.  Over 
200  men  are  in  the  shaft  and  have  no  communi- 
cation out,  with  no  chance  for  air,  as  the  only 
way  of  getting  air  into  the  shaft  was  through  the 
main  opening,  and  that  was  filled  with  burning 
timbers  and  debris. 

It  is  feared  that  the  whole  number  have  been 
suffocated  by  smoke  or  perished  for  want  of  air. 
The  fire  departments  of  Seranton,  Wilkesbarre 
and  Kingston  are  on  hand  and  are  playing  streams 
down  the  shaft  for  the  purpose  of  quenching  the 
fire  there,  so  that  the  rubbish  can  be  cleared  out 
and  the  condition  of  the  men  ascertained.  It  will 
probably  take  until  to-morrow  morning  before 
any  tidings  can  be  received  from  there.  The 
scene  at  the  shaft  is  heart-rending. 

Miners  from  all  parts  of  the  country  are  there 
at  work,  and  in  fact  the  whole  population  of  the 
town  have  turned  out  to  assist.  The  loss  by  the 
fire  will  amount  to  about  $100,000,  which  is  partly 
covered  by  insurance.  All  the  physicians  in  this 
vicinity  have  been  summoned  to  attend  when  the 
condition  of  the  men  is  ascertained.  The  affair 
has  cast  a  gloom  upon  the  whole  community  and 
business  is  almost  entirely  suspended.  The  min- 
ers only  resumed  work  to-day,  after  a  suspension 
of  about  three  months.  Among  the  men  in  the 
mines  is  Mr.  Hughes,  Superintendent. 

After  the  rubbish  from  the  bottom  of  the  shaft 
was  cleared  away  two  miners  descended  in  a 
bucket  and  sent  word  up  to  send  down  a  pick  and 
shovel  to  clear  the  doors  with. 

The  bucket  was  brought  up  and  two  men 
started  down  with  the  tools.  As  they  started  the 
men  at  the  bottom  requested  them  to  hurry,  and 
on  their  reaching  the  bottom  both  were  found 
dead.  No  hopes  are  entertained  for  the  men  in 
the  shaft.  All  are  supposed  to  have  perished.  The 
black  damp  is  very  bad  here. 

A  despatch  from  Seranton  dated  at  10  P.  M. 
yesterday  says  : 

The  latest  information  from  the  Avondale  mines 
states  that  the  sbaft  was  cleared,  and  two  msn 
went  down  and  penetrated  sixty  and  seventy 
yards  to  the  closed  gangway  door,  which  they 
could  not  force  open.  They  found  three  dead 
mules  outside  the  door,  and  sulphurous  fumes 
were  pouring  out  through  the  door.  No  sigaa  of 
life  were  discovered,  and  it  is  feared  all  ace  deal. 

Experts  agree  that  the  fire  must  have  commu- 
nicated from  the  ventilating  furnace  to  the  wood 
work  at  the  bottom  of  the  shaft,  which  is  327  feet 
below  the  surface.  The  engineer  barely  escaped 
with  his  life.  The  buildings  covering  the  mouth 
of  the  shaft  were  100  feet  high  and  200  feet  long, 
all  of  wood  and  dry  as  tinder.  They  were  almost 
instantly  enveloped  in  flames,  and  it  was  impos- 
reach  the  mouth  of  the  shaft  to  help  the 
men  below.  All  who  attempted  to  go  down  are 
now  out  alive,  except  Williams  and  Jones.  No 
further  attempt  will  be  made  to  go  down  until  a 
small  engine  is  rigged. 

This  mine  has  been  involved  in  a  strike  for  over 
three  months,  but  resumed  work  last  Thursday, 
and  was  producing  450  tons  of  coal  per  day. 
The  works  were  built  in  18G7,  and  it  will  take 
from  four  to  six  months  to  rebnild.  It  will  take 
until  5  A.  M.  to-morrow  (Tuesday)  to  get  the 
small  engine  at  work  at  the  mouth  of  the  shaft 
and  force  air  in  through  a  canvas  hose.  All 
who  have  been  down  say  it  is  very  hot,  and  loud 
calls  have  failed  to  elicit  an  answer.  The  only 
hope  for  202  men  in  the  mine  is  that  they  may 
have  shut  themselves  in  a  remote  part  of  the 
workings,  entirely  away  from  tbe  draft.  Several 
hundred  men  with  tools  were  taken  from  here  this 
evening,  with  the  idea  of  driving  the  gangway 
from  the  neighboring  mine  into  the  Avondale  work- 
ings, but  as  it  must  be  a  solid  rock  cutting,  this 
means  would  probably  not  release  the  imprisoned 
men  in  time.  The  distance  to  be  cut  is  variously 
estimated  from  twenty  to  sixty  feet,  and  the  time 
required  two  or  three  days.  It  has  been  feared 
that  the  ventilating  furnace  at  Avondale  would 
some  day  tire  the  shaft,  as  it  was  a  very  dry  mine. 
The  danger  to  life  is  very  great  in  a  mine  which 
has  but  one  means  of  entrance  and  exit.    It  is 

thought  that  the  Avondale  is  but  one  of  many 

mines  in  tbe  same  condition.  , 


A  New  England  Earthquake. — Aboutfive 
o  clock  yesterday  morning  a  distinct  shock  of 
earthquake  was  experienced  in  this  city.  Vari- 
ous persons,  who  noticed  the  phenomenon,  have 
given  different  descriptions  of  the  sensation  or 
effect;  some  stating  that  they  were  aroused  from 
sleep  by  a  dull,  heavy  sound,  like  the  result  of 
an  explosion,  followed  by  a  perceptible  jarring 
j  of  the  earth.  There  seemed  to  be  two  separate 
'  shocks,  the  first  being  the  heavier,  and  accom- 
panied by  a  slight  rocking  motion,  similar  to 
that  produced  by  slight  waves  upon  a  boat, 
lasting  about  three  seconds,  and  followed  by  a 
weaker,  although  readily  perceptible,  one  of 
shorter  duration.  The  vibrations  seemed  to  be  I 
from  east  to  west,     (j  Q^T  2-  *-  v  /  V  £  9 

The  earthquake  was  still  more  sensibly  felt 
in  some  other  portions  of  New  England,  and  is 
described  as  having  been  accompanied  by  mani- 
festations of  a  most  decided  character  in  Boston 
and  vicinity,  being  attended  by  the  shaking  of 
doors,  windows,  &c. 

Our  dispatches  also  state  that  the  phenome- 
non was  observed,  as  being  a  most  unusual  oc- 
^  currence,  in  nearly  all  parts  of  New  England, 
^Jut  nothing  is  said  of  its  having  been  noticed  , 
in  other  parts  of  the  country.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  it  is  just  about  a  year  since  the  de- 
structive earthquake  occurred  in  California,  and 
a  similar  occurrence  has  been  predicted  by  some 
writer  within  a  few  months,  as  likely  to  take  I 
place  about  this  time. 

This  prediction^or  theory  was  founded  on  the  I 
fact  that  the  earthquakes  which  occurred  in 
1727  and  1755  were  preceded  by  terrible  storms, 
such  as  visited  portions  of  the  country  some 
weeks  ago.  However  much  of  reason  there 
may  have  been  in  this  method  of  prophecy,  it 
seems  that  those  portions  of  New  England 
which  were  most  affected  by  the  recent  great 
storm  received  the  most  noticeable  "shaking" 
yesterday  morning.  In  Augusta,  Me.,  for  in- 
stance, the  shock  was  so  marked  that,  in  the 
words  of  the  dispatch,  "Nearly  every  one  was 
awakened,  door  bells  rang  and  buddings  were 
shaken,"  while  at  Eockland,  in  the  same  state, 
"In  many  cases,  dwellings  were  Shaken  so  as  to 
rattle  doors,  windows  and  furniture."  A  Con- 
cord dispatch  says: 

"A  shock  of  earthquake,  pronounced  the  sever- 
est ever  felt  in  Concord,  occurred  here  at  half- 
past  five,  railroad  time,  this  morning.   It  passed 
from  north  to  south,  and  lasted  about  thirty  sec- 
onds.   No  damage  was  done,  although  beds  and 
other  articles  of  furniture,   and  even  buildings 
themselves,  were  shaken.    Children  generally 
were  frightened  from  their  beds,  and  in  several 
instances  adults  were  seized  with  terror. 
The  Story  of  a  Wreck. 
The  number  of  shipwrecks  and  disasters  water-Ilow  began  to  press  tbe  deck  and  sides 
at  sea  is  relatively  far  below  what  it  for-  a8U,,d<>i\  and  the  peril  was  imminent  that 
meriy  was.    Improved  marine  architecture,  the  ^""Mioff  would  goto  pieces.    At  this  mo- 
more   accurate   instruments,   and   superior  uient  tlie  bawser  came  into  play.    It  was 
knowledge  of  the  art  of  navigation,  assist  in  la8bed  seven  times  around  the  entire  hull  of 
keeping  down  the  average  of  calamity;  and  tbebr'S.a«d  tbe  threatened  danger  was  thus 
the  application  of  steam,  the  use  of  iron  in  warded  oft-    Yet,  although  safe  for  the  time 
ship-building-especially   on   tbe   compart-  from  dlown,n«.  the  crew  were  now  torn.ont,- 
ment  principle— and  the   increasing   stores  ed  by  tbir8t-    In   ™in  the  Captain  begged 
of  meteorological  and  topographical  infor-  tbem  Dot  to  drink  salt  water-    8»™e  of  the 
mation  within  reach  of  the  seaman,  all  tend  ,nisprable  men  swallowed  quantities  of  it. 
to  safety.    Now  and  then,  however,  we  hear  Tben    great    boil8    burst    out    °Q    their 
of  a  catastrophe  that  recalls  the  dismal  ex-  bodie9'    they     were     attacked    by    dysen- 
perience  of    the    past.     Such  an    instance  terjr'     and      nrosently      died      in      raging 


the  Captain,  two  mates,  a  steward,  and  four 
sailors.    There  were  likewise   lour  passen- 
gers.    Bough,  but  not  dangerous,  weather 
attended  the  beginning  of  the  passage,  but 
on  the  1st  of  July  there  was  a  dead  calm. 
The  master  employed  this  in  a  way  com- 
mon on  shipboard,  by  painting  hi  a   boats 
and  otherwise   setting  things  in  order.    In 
clearing  away  for  the  purpose  he  had  the 
hawser  coiled  up  and  stowed  in  the  forecas- 
tle;   and  this  act   was   providentially  the 
means  of  saving  the  Captain's  life  and  of 
prolonging  the  lives  of  others.    On  the  Sri 
of  July  the  ship  was  overtaken  by  heavy 
squalls.    Canvas  was  rapidly  shortened,  un- 
til at  last  by  nightfall  the  Skdekof  was  un- 
der hare  poles.    But  even  this  brought  no 
safety.      The   wind   and  sea  increased  to 
prodigious  violence,  and  it  became  evident 
that    the  vessel  was  caught  m  a  cyclone. 
On    the  morning   of   the  4th  of   July  the 
SheleJtof  was   on    her   beam  ends,  the  sea 
making  a  clean  breach  right  over  her.    It 
seemed  certain  that  she  would  founder,  and. 
but  for  the  lumber,  she   doubtless   would 
have  done  so.    By  night,  with  infinite  labor, 
the    masts   were   cut   away,  and  the  ship 
partially  righted.     But  the  lumber  on  tb« 
"  tween "  decks  had  got  loose,  and  carried 
away  the  sky-lights,  wheel-house,  and  com- 
panion-way, and  had  jammed  up  the  en- 
trance to  the  cabin.     It  was  found  that  this 
was  quite  immovable,  and  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  get  at  either  provisions  or  water. 
.Meaawhile  the,  bri^  was  fijjed  by  theses 
and  bor  stern,  where  there  was  less  lumber, 
bad   settled   deeply,   and    was   completely 
washed  by  every  wave. 

In  this  desperate  condition,  without  food 
or  drink,  or  control  over  their  vessel,  and 
out  ot  tbe  track  of  any  probable  passing 
sail,  it  is  little  wonder  that  the  luckless 
mariners  thought  their  case  hopeless.  Still, 
they  battled  vigorously  for  life.  A  barrel  j 
of  tongues  and  sounds  floated  up  to  them. 
They  managed  to  get  from  the  hold  two 
half  barrels  of  salmon  and  a  box  of  starch. 
The  wator-butts  were  stove  in,  and  not  a 
arop  could  be  had  from  them.  A  sail  was. 
however,  rigged  in  such  a  way  that  some  rain 
water  could  be  caught.  The  lumber  being 
lighter  than  tbe  vessel,  and  the  latter  full  of 


is     that     of    the 


Such  an   instance 
ill-fated    brig    Shclehoff, 


madness.      In  spite  of    all    tho  privations 


which  was  found  floating  water-logged  in  ell(Iu^(■,,'  U  was  not  until  the  17th 
the  Pacific,  near  the  Sandwich  Islands,  some01'  0cto1"*1-  nearly  four  months  from  tbe 
weeks  ago.  Tbe  wreck  was  seen  one  morn-  time  the  Sheli  /">7/'  w:w  thrown  on  her  beam- 
ing by  tbe  look-out  on  board  the  steam-ship  end8' that  fche  ,!,H,  s'"  vlvor-  «°«*  tbe  CaP" 
Mo*es  Taylor,  from  Japan,  bound  tot  9m  Ud"-  t,x"ir,'d-  1  i"8  w;'8  a  PMsftenger  by  the 
Francisco.  A  solitary  man  was  taken  oil  thr  "iU"R  ot"  AsI,u  v  (:,{AN,;-  After  his  death 
brig,  the  only  Btavivel  ot  her  ere*  and  pas-  tbe  Cwtam  aW  up  all  hope,  and  lay  down, 
sengers.  He  was  the  Captain  of  the  SiithUff  hopln«  8°ou  to  folW  bi»  !a«*  companion. 
l.r,,:,i;  Ho.'Kkn.  and  although,  when  res-  lt  was  ™\nmrt  otherwise,  for  be  was  saved 
cued,  lie  was  at   ti.- very  door  of  death.  he  bv.tbe    POOP*    <>*    the     Mom   Ta;lJor,  who 


lias  recovered  so  far  as  fcd  be  able  totelHiif 
storv. 
The   Shelfhoff  cleared  from  San  Fraricrsei 


found  him  !n  a  state  of  insensibility.  The 
story  of  the  wreck  of  the  Shelehoff  is  a  very 
pitiful  One.  and  kas *  resemblance  to  those 
old-fashioned    chronicles,    which,    for   the 


for  Callao  on  the  22d  of   July  last.     Hei 
car/M  consisted  of  lumhatt.  andJwr  erew  oi  reas0l»«  named,  seldom  find  parallels  in  out- 
own  daw 


»•*•■    '■*-' 


■»  r0n 


WASHINGTON. 


IS  WASHINGTON'S  MEMORY 


277#  DA  T  OF  HIS  BIRTH  D  TIL  7  KEPT 
AS  A  EOLIDA  7. 


BY  REV.   8.  F.  SMITH,  D.  D. 


Hduored  and  loved— the  patriot  and  the  sage, 
J?drn  for  *hy  own  and  every  coming  age, 
Thv  until,     o  champion — Freedom's  chosen  son,— 
W  u  ba  1 1  v  Dirthday,— glorious  Washington. 

tiurtu.    * '"-  courage,  industry  and  truth, 
3lhy  noble  childhood  and  thy  generous  youth, 
Jjke  spring's  sweet  blossoms  on  the  sturdy  tree, 
Cave  early  promise  of  the  fruit  to  be; 
JLnd  well  it  ripened,  as  the  yean  rolled  on,— 
And  stood  in  manhood,  glorious  Washington.  ^ 

Park  was  the  storm  that  gathered  far  and  wide, 
When  rose  in  threatening  might  the  oppressor's  pride : 
laxd  men,  brave-hearted,  stood,  in  battle  strong, 
JJesolved  to  avenge  the  right,  and  smite  the  wrong, 
fierce  was  the  fight,  and  many  a  hero  fell ; 
Green  are  their  laurels,  and  they  earned  them  well ; 
JNursed  in  the  lap  of  hardship,— sternly  taught 
Jo  value  great  ideas  and  high,  free  thought,— 
Witfi  noble  sacrifice  they  staked  their  all, 
H'o  stand  with  Freedom,  or  with  her  to  fall ; 
And  many  a  patriot-mother  gave  her  son, 
But  one  alone  gave  glorious  Washington. 

Keep  ye  his  memory  green— preserve  his  fame : 

Jive  in  his  spirit ;  love  his  honored  name ; 

Tench  lisping  childhood  how  the  warrior  stood— 

iV  tower  of  strength,  'mid  scenes  of  strife  and  blood ; 

let  men  and  mothers  to  their  infanta  tell 

How  freedom  triumphed  and  oppression  fell, 

When  he— the  Chieftain  of  the  brave  and  free— 

J.ed  out  our  troops  to  joy  and  victory. 

tfo  son  was  his,  to  bear  his  cherished  name,— 

Is o  eon,  thank  God !  to  bring  his  father  shame ; 

But  every  patriot  is  a  worthy  son 

3"o  bear  thy  name  and  title— Washington, 

They  bear  their  honors  well— these  sons  of  ours— 
Trained  by  fierce  fight  to  show  sublimer  powers ; 
Xaught,  like  the  eagle,  when  the  storm  beats  high, 
With  stronger  wing  t«  cleave  the  threatening  sky, 
And  reach  thrcugh  raging  winds  the  cliffs  above, 
Where  dwell  serenely  liberty  and  love;— 
Crow  strong,  through  toil,  to  bear  our  banners  on, 
As  he  once  bore  them— glorious  Washington. 

This  storm  will  pass.  The  flag,  in  battle  torn, 
Will  wear  new  honors,  by  our  sons  upborne; 
Tast  anchored  on  the  right,— a  glorious  Rock,— 
The  cause  of  Freedom  shall  not  feel  the  shock 
That  aims  its  force  against  the  Ship  of  State  ;• 


The  Fwneral  or  Washington. 

A  copy  of  the  Ulster  county  (N.  Y.)  Gatette,  of 
January  4th,  180G,  contain*  an  account  of  the 
funeral  of  Washington,  from  which,  we  take  the 
following  extract,  which  will  be  read  with  interest 
at  this  time  :— 

"A  multitude  of 'persons  assembled;  for  many 
miles  round,  at  Mount  Vernon,  the  cboice  abode 
and  last  residence  of  the  illustrious  chief/'  *  * 
"In  the  long  anl  lofty  Portico,  where  the  Hera 
walked  in  all  his  glory,  now  lay  the  shrouded 
corpse.  The  countenance,  still  composed  and  se- 
rene, seemed  to  depress  tae  dignity  of  the  spirit, 
which  lately  dwelt  in  that  lifeless  form.  There 
those  who  paid  the  last  sad  honors  to  .the  benefac- 
tor of  his  country,  took  an  impressive — a  farewell 
view. 

On  the  ornament,  at  the  head  of  the  coffin,  ws» 
incribed  Surge  ad  Judcium — about  the  middle  of 
the  c<  ffln,  olohia  dbo — and  on. the  silver  plate, 
GENERAL 
GEORGE  WASHINGTON, 
Departed  this  life,  on  the  19th  December, 
1799,  Mt.  68. 
Between  three  and  fonr  o'clock,  the  sound  of  ar- 
tillery from  a  vessel  in  the  river  firing  minute  guns, 
awoke  afresh  our  solemn  sorrow— the  corps  was 
moved— a  band  of  music  with  mournful  melody 
melted  the  soul  into  all  the  tenderness  of  woe. 

The  procesnon  was  formed  and  moved  in  the 
following  order: 

Cavalry,  ) 

Infantry,  S  With  arms  rerersed. 

Ouard,     ) 

Music, 

Clergy, 

The  GeDeral'3  horw  with  his  saddle,  holsters,  and 
pisto'a. 

1 


More  patriot-mothers  have  more  sons  to  send; 
More  noble  hearts  have  treasures  still  to  spend ; 
■tore  patriot  sinews  have  more  strength  to  give ; 
More  loving  hearts  have  loving  lives  to  live ; 
And  Freedom  shall  not  lack  a  faithful  son 
To  track  thy  steps,  0!  glorious  Washington. 


Cols. 

Simms, 
Ramsay, 
Payne, 


i  2 

I 
IS 


Cols. 

Gilpin, 
Mars  teller, 
Little. 


Mourners. 
Masonic  Brethren, 
Citizens. 


J 

Wnen  the  Procefsion  had  arrived  at  tke  bottom 
of  the  elevated  lawn,  on  the  banks  of  the  P®tomac,   / 
where  the  family  vault  is  placed,  the  cavalry  halt- 
ed, the  infantry  marched  towards  the  Mount  and 
formed  their  lines— the  Clergy,  the  Masonic  Broth-  > 
<  rs,  and  the  Citizens,  descended  to  tbe  Vault,  and  ~ 
tbe  Juneial  service  of  the  Church  was  performed. 
The  flung  was  repeated  from  tbe  vessel  in  the   '; 
river,  s,nd  the  sounds  echoed  from  the  woods  and 
hills  around. 
Three  general  discharges  by  the  infantry— the 


r 


Gifts  to  our  Soldiers  by  the  Patriotic 
Women  of  the  North. — Letter  from  General 
Washington.— The  U.  S.  Sanitary  Committee,  in 
speaking  of  the  contributions  of  the  women  of 
the  North,  state  that  the  gifts  which,  especially 
when  sick  and  wounded,  the  men  have  sent  to 
them  from  the  women  at  home,  can  but  have  an 
ennobling  influence  upon  them,  and  the  aid  given 
in  this  manner  to  the  army,  must  create  in  all  those 
from  whom  it  proceeds,  an  interest  in  and  sym- 
pathy with  the  army,  and  with  its  objects,  which 
will  prepare  them  constantly  for  greater  sacrifices 
and  more  resolute  devotion  to  the  Government, 
should  it  be  needed.  How  well  Washington  un- 
derstood this,  the  following  letter,  written  by  his 
own  hand  at  the  time  when  he  must  have  been 
overloaded  with  business  of  the  grandest  import- 
ance, gives  evidence.  It  has  never  before  been 
published : 

Copy  of  a  Letter  from  Gen.  Washington  to  Mrs. 
Bache,  (Daughter  of  Franklin.) 
Head  Q'ks  is  Bergen,  N.  J.,  lith  of  July,  1780. 

Madam  :  I  have  received  with  much  pleasure— but 
not  till  last  night— your  favor  of  the  4th,  specifying 
the  amount  of  the  subscriptions  already  collected  for 
the  use  of  the  American  soldiery. 

This  fresh  mark  of  the  patriotism  of  the  Ladies  enti- 
tles them  to  the  highest  applause  of  their  country.  It  is 
impossible  for  the  army  not  to  feel  a  superior  gratitude 
on  such  an  instance  of  goodness.  If  I  am  happy  in 
having  the  concurrence  of  the  Ladies,  1  would  pro- 
pose the  purchasing  of  coarse  linen,  to  be  made  into 
shirts,  with  the  whole  amount  of  their  subscription. 
A  shirt  extraordinary  to  the  soldier  will  be  of  more 
service  to  him  than  any  other  thing  that  could  be  pro- 
cured him ;  while  it  is  not  intended  to,  nor  shall,  ex- 
clude him  from  the  usual  supply  which  he  draws  from 
the  public. 

This  appears  to  me  to  be  the  best  mode  for  its  appli- 
cation, provided  it  is  approved  of  by  the  Ladies.  I  am 
happy  to  find  you  have  been  good  enough  to  give  us  a 
Claim  on  your  endeavors  to  complete  the  execution  of 
the  design.  An  example  so  laudable  will  certainly  be 
nurtured,  and  must  be  productive  of  a  favorable 
issue  in  the  bosoms  of  the  fair,  in  the  sister  States. 

Let  me  congratulate  our  benefactors  on  the  arrivnl 
of*  the  French  fleet  off  the  harbor  of  Newport  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  10th.  It  is  this  moment  announced, 
but  without  any  particulars,  as  an  interchange  of  sig- 
nals had  only  taken  place. 

I  pray  the  Ladies  of  your  family  to  receive,  with  my 
compliments,  my  liveliest  thanks  for  the  interest  they 
take  in  my  favor. 

With  the  most  perfect  respect  and  esteem,  I  have 
the  honor  to  be,  madam, 

Your  obedient  and  humble  servant, 

Geo.  Washington. 


Weak  billows,  vain  your  vengeance ;  vain  your  hate  1 *  cavalry,  and  11  preces  of  artihery,  which  lined  the 

narks  of  tbe  Potomac  back  of  the  Vault,  paid  rte 
last  tribute  to  tbe  entombed  Commander  m  Chief 
of  the  armies  of  the  United  States  and  to  the  ufe- 
<■  parted  Hero." 


Washington's  Prayer.  In  the  summer  of 
1779,  Washington,  exploring  alone  one  day  the  po- 
sition of  the  British  forces  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson,  ventured  too  far  from  his  own  camp,  and 
was  compelled  by  a  sudden  storm  and  the  fatigue  of 
his  horse,  to  seek  shelter  for  the  night  in  the  cot- 
tage of  a  pious  American  peasant,  who,  greatly 
struck  with  the  language  and  manner  of  his  guest, 
and  listening  at  the  door  of  his  chamber,  over- 
heard the  following  prayer  from  the  father  of  his 
country : 

And  now,  Almighty  Father,  if  it  is  Thy  holy 
will  that  we  shall  obtain  a  place  and  name  among 
the  nations  of  the  earth,  grant  that  we  may  be  en- 
abled to  show  our  gratitude  for  Thy  goodness,  by 
our  endeavors  to  fear  and  obey  Thee.  Bless  us 
with  wisdom  in  our  councils,  success  in  battle, 
and  let  all  our  victories  be  tempered  with  human- 
ity. Endow,  also,  our  enemies  with  enlightened 
minds,  that  they  become  sensible  of  their  injustice, 
and  willing  to  restore  our  liberty  and  pea^e.  Grant 
the  petition  of  thy  servant,  for  the  sake  of  Him 
whom  Thou  hast  called  Thy  beloved  Son;  never- 
theless, not  my  will  but  Thine  be  done. — STGuire't 
"  ReKgious  Opinions  and  Character  of  Wash- 
ington." 


7 


WASHINGTON  AND  THE  C0KP0EAI. 

During  the  American  Revolution,  it  is  said,  the 
commander  of  a  little  squad  was  giving  orders  to  those 
I  under  him  relative  to  a  log  of  timber,  which  they 
were  endeavoring  to  raise  to  the  top  of  some  military 
works  they  were  repairing.  The  timber  went  up 
with  difficulty,  and  on  this  account  the  voice  of  the 
little  man  was  often  heard  in  regular  vociferations  of  s 

"  Heave  away  !  there  she  goes  !  heave  ho  !" 

An  officer,  not  in  military  costume,  was  passings 
and  asked  the  commander  why  he  did  not  take  hold 
and  render  a  little  aid.  The  latter,  astonished,  turn- 
ing  round  with  all  the  pomp  of  an  emperor,  said  : 

"  Sir,  I  am  Corporal." 

"  You  are,  are  you  f"  replied  the  officer.  "  I  was 
not  aware  of  that ;"  and  taking  off  his  hat  and  bo  wing, 
the  officer  said,  "  I  ask  your  pardon,  Mr.  Corporal,'' 
and  then  dismounted,  and  lifted  till  the  sweat  stood 
in  drops  on  his  forehead. 

When  the  work  was  finished,  turning  to  the  com- 
mander, he  said  i 

"Mr.  Corporal,  when  you  have  another  such  job, 
and  have  not  men  enough,  send  for  your  Commander- 
in-chief,  and  I  will  come  and  help  you  a  second  time." 

The  corporal  was  astonished.  It  was  Washington 
who  thus  addressed  him! 


Zo 


The  mercury  in  Boston  early  yesterday  morning  | 
fell  to  4°  below  zero;  at  7  A.  M.  it  was  at  zero;  I 
at  2  P.  M.  15°  above,  and  at  mid- 1 
night  31° — 27°  warmer  than  at  miduightj 
Monday,    f 

He  maintained  a  grand  and  stately  manner  ot 
living  such  as  no  president  since  his  day  has 
ventured  upon.  His  own  letters  and  the  me- 
moirs of  the  time  show  this.  Of  the  house  lie 
occupied  in  Philadelphia  while  that  city  was  the 
seat  of  government  he  said  in  a  letter  to  his 
secretary: 

"It  is  I  believe  the  best  single  house  in  the 
city.  Yet  without  additions  it  is  inadequate  to 
the  commodious  accommodation  of  my  fam- 
ily. These  additions  I  believe  will  be  made. 
*  *  *  There  are  good  stables,  but  for  twelve 
horses  only;  and  a  coach  house  which  will  hold 
all  my  carriages." 

He  habitually  used  a  coach  and  six  on  state 
occasions.  His  receptions  were  formal  and 
ceremonious  to  a  degree  that  would  provoke  a 
storm  of  indignation  against  a  president  nowa- 
days. His  Philadelphia  levees  are  thus  des- 
cribed : 

"At  three  o'clock,  all  the  chairs  having  been 
removed,  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  presi- 
dent, usually  surrounded  by  members  of  his 
cabinet  or  other  distinguished  men,  was  seen 
by  the  approaching  visitor  standing  before  the 
fire-place,  his  hair  powdered  and  gathered  be- 
hind in  a  silk  bag,  coat  and  breeches  of  plain 
black  velvet,  white  or  pearl-colored  vest,  yellow 
gloves,  a  cocked  hat  in  his  hand,  and  a  long 
sword,  with  a  finely  wrought  and  glittering 
steel  hilt,  the  coat  worn  over  it,  and  its  scab- 
bard of  polished  white  leather.  On  these  oc- 
casions he  never  shook  hands,  even  with  his 
most  intimate  friends.  The  name  of  every  one 
was  distinctly  announced,  and  he  rarely  forgot 
a  person  who  had  been  once  introduced  to  him. 
The  visitor  was  received  with  a  dignified  bow 
and  passed  on  to  another  part  of  the  room.  At 
a  quarter  past  three  the  door  was  closed,  the 
gentlemen  present  moved  into  a  circle,  and  he 
proceeded,  beginning  at  his  right  hand,  to  ex- 
change a  few  words  with  each.  When  the  cir- 
cuit was  completed  he  resumed  his  first  position 
and  the  visitors  approached  him  in  succession, 
bowed,  and  retired." 


WASHINGTON'S  OPINION  OF  NORTHERN 
SOLDIERS. 

In  a  letter  of  Washington  to  his  friend  Lund,  in 
June,  1776,  occurs  the  following  passage,  in  which  he 
most  graphically  describes  the  peculiarities  of  North- 
ern and  Southern  men  as  soldiers,  and  gives  a  prefer- 
ence for  the  qualities  of  the  Northern  men,  the  justice 
of  which  the  present  campaign  is  likely  to  verify  : 

"  "We  have  lately  had  a  general  review,  and  I  have 
much  pleasure  in  informing  you  that  we  made  a  better 
appearance,  and  went  through  our  exercises  more 
like  soldiers,  than  I  had  expected.  The  Southern 
states  are  rash  and  blameable  in  the  judgment  they 
form  of  their  brethren  of  the  four  New  England  states. 
I  do  assure  you,  with  all  my  partiality  for  my  own 


'  Washington's  Birthday  in  Koine. 

The  birthday  of  Washington  was  celebrated  in 
Rome  by  about  fifty  Americans  and  several  in- 
vited guests,  in  a  truly  patriotic  manner,  who 
enjoyed  a  dinner  party  at  the  rooms  of  the  Amer- 
ican Club.  Tliomas  Buchanan  Reed,  the  artist- 
poet,  presided,  and  opened  the  intellectual  fes- 
tivities of  the  evening  with  a  brief  speech,  in 
which  he  drew  a  parallel  between  the  ancient 
republican  institutions  of  Rome  and  those  of 
our  own  country.  The  first  regular  toast  of  the 
evening  was:  "The  Memory  of  Washington,";, 
which  was  responded  to  by  Dr.  C.  F.  Winslow,  of 
Boston,  in  a  speech  of  great  interest,  which  was 
heartily  a]  plaaded.    The  second  regular  toast,  j  countrymen,  and  prejudices  against  them,  I  can  but 


most  respect  d  American  artists  now  living  in 
Rome.  The  third  toast  was,  "The  Memory  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,"  responded  to  by  Dr.  Sharp- 
less,  of  P.  iladelphia.  The  fourth  toast,  "The 
I*ope—  the  government  which  protects  us,"  was 
responded  to  by  the  celebrated  artist,  George 
Healey.    The  tilth  toast  was,  "The  Army  of  the 


though  our  hot  and  eager  spirits  may  suit  better  in  a 
sudden  and  desperate  enterprise,  yet,  in  the  way  in 
which  waTS  are  now  carried  on,  you  must  look  for 
permanent  advantages  only  from  that  patient  and 
persevering  temper  which  is  the  result  of  labor.  The 
New  Englanders  are  cool,  considerate,  and  sensible, 
whilst  we  are  all  fire  and  fury.  Like  their  climate, 
they  maintain  an  equal  temperature,  whereas  we 


United  Stafcs ,»  ponded  ,o  fcy  Mr    FarreU,,,  irS^wC.    Th^  have  aTn  or^ity 

lof-o    TTTiittvl  £<ntf>.i    Pnnsnl  at    Cadiz.      Mr.     S.    B.     '  n*A    „+«K51!4„  „<•   „i a a lij    j.. ,          ,.      J 


late  United  States  Consul  at  Cadiz.  Mr.  S.  B 
kM.  Sands,  a  son  of  Admiral  Sands,  responded 
for  the  Navy.  The  seventh  toast  was,  "The 
Fine  Arts,"  to  which  the  well  known  sculptor, 
Randolph  Rogers,  spoke;  and  the  eighth  and 
last  of  the  re;  ular  toasts  was,  "Our  Country- 
women," which  wet  with  a  general  response,  the 
President  reciting  the  following  poem: 

An  angel  wandered  out  of  heaven, 
And  all  too  bright  for  Eden  even, 
Once  through  the  paths  of  paradise 

Made  luminous  the  auroral  air; 
And,  walking  in  his  awful  guise, 
Met  the  Eternal  Father  there; 
Who,  v.  hen  He  saw  the  truant  sprite, 
Smiled  love  through  all  those  bowers  of  light. 
While  Seep  within  his  tranced  spell, 
Our  Eden  tire  lay  slumbering  near, 
God  saw,  and  said :    "It  is  not  well 

For  njan  alone  to  linger  here." 
Then  took  that  angel  by  the  hand, 

And  with  a  kiss  its  brow  He  prest, 
And  whispering  8-1  His  mild  command, 
He  laid  it  on  the  sleeper's  breast; 
With  earh  enough  to  make  it  human, 
He  chained  its  wings  and  called  it  WoitAH. 


0^"  Let  a  person  take  up  and  read  through 
Irving's  Life  of  Washington,  and  get  his  glimpses 
of  the  revolution  through  that  life,  and  it  will  cer- 
tainly give  him  courage  and  strength.  Ho  will  find 
that  no  man  connected  with  the  government  to-day 
is  half  so  much  maligned  and  abused  as  Washing- 
ton was  by  the  men  of  his  time— that  rancor  and 
hatred,  such  as  were  leveled  at  him,  are  to-day 
unknown  out  of  the  precincts  of  treason,  lie  will 
find  prcYalent  eveywhere  the  same  impatience,  the 
same  caviling  spirit,  the  same  cursing  and  scolding. 
There  were  men,  then,  as  now,  who  could  see 
nothing  good  in  public  men,  and  nothing  laudable 
in  public  policy.  There  were  men  then,  as  now, 
who  assumed  the  censorship  of  all  movements, 
and  could  find  nothing  good  in  any.  Yet  Wash- 
ington and  his  associates  stand  to-day  the  glorified 
objects  of  our  reverend  love;  and  we  have  no  doubt 
that  .he  men  who  are  at  the  head  of  affairs  to  day 
are  to  take  their  place  among  the  canonized  im- 
mortals whom  grateful  patriotism  will  never  per- 
mit to  die.  We  say  this  none  the  less  heartily 
because  the  common  scolds  will  turn  up  their 
noses  at  the  bare  suggestion. 

It  is  easy  to  sit  at  home  and  scold.  It  is  easy  to 
do  nothing  while  others  are  crushed  down  by  carej 
of  state,  or  are  sacrificing  case  and  comfort  in  the 
camp,  and  periling  life  and  limb  in  deadly  conflict. 
We  say  it  is  easy  to  sit  at  home— nay,  it  may  bo 
easier  still  to  sit  in  the  editor's  chair—  and  scold; 
but  it  is  meaner  than  any  oth«r  thing  mentionable. 
It  there  ever  lived  a  set  of  men  who  deserved  tho 
sympathy  and  the  moral  support  of  their  fellow 
countrymen,  then  those  who  are  engaged  in  putting 
down  this  great  rebellion  deserve  thorn.  The  largest 
iy  should  be  extended  to  them,  and  tbe 
firmest  trust  reposed  in  them.  Our  hops, 
under  God,  must  be  in  them ;  and  even  if  they 
should  not  all  t>e  what  they  ought  to  be,  they 
are  the  best  wo  have,  and  it  is  impossible  to  decide 
impartially  upon  their  fitness  for  their  posts 
to-day.  No  man  to-day  is  in  possession  of  the  facts 
that  will  enable  him  to  decide  fully  as  to  the 
merits  of^hoFC  who  arc  at  the  head  of  the  civil  and 
military    affairs  of  this  country.— Springfield  lie- 

A  Westmoreland  (Va.)  correspondent  of  the 
Richmond  Whiir  has  seen  an  authentic  copy  of 
an  entry  of  the  birth  of  Washington  in  the  Bible 
of  his  mother,  in  the  following  words:  "George 
Washington,  son  to  Augustine  and  Mary  his 
wile,  was  born  ye  11th  day  of  February,  1782, 
about  10  in  the  niorninir,  and  was  baptized  the 
3d  of  April  following,  Mr  Beverly  Whiting  and 
Captain  Christopher  Brooks,  godfathers,  and 
Mrs  Mildred  Gregory,  godmother." 


and  stability  of  character  to  which  the  people  of  no 
other  states  have  any  pretensions ;  hence  they  must 
and  will  always  preserve  their  influence  in  this  great 
empire.    Were  it  not  for  the  drawbacks  and  disad- 
vantage which  the  influence  of  their  popular  opinions 
on  the  subject  of  government  have  on  their  army,  they 
soon  might,  and  probably  will,  give  law  to  it." 
Jefferson's  Sketch  of  Washino.tox.    His 
mind  was  great    and    powerful,  without  being 
of  the  very  first  order;  his  penetration  strong, 
though  not  so  acute  as  that  of  Newton,  Bacon, 
or  Locke;  and  as  far  as  he  saw  no  judgment  was 
ever  sounder.    It  was  slow  in  operation,  being 
little  aided    by  invention  or  imagination,  but 
sure  in  conclusion.    Hence  the  common  remark 
of  his  officers,  of  the  advantages  he  derived 
from  councils  of  war,   where,  hearing  all  sug- 
gestions, he  selected   whatever  was  best,  and 
certainly  no  general  ever  planned  his  battles 
more  judiciously.    But  if  deranged  during  tho 
course  of  the  action,  if  any  member  of  his  plan 
was  dislocated  by  sudden  circumstances,  he  was 
slow  in  a  readjustment.    The  consequence  was 
that  he  often  failed  in  the    field,  and  rarely 
against  an  enemy  in  station,  as  at  Boston  and 
York.    He  was  incapable  of  fear,  meeting  per- 
sonal dangers   with   the   calmest   unconcern. 
Perhaps  the  strongest  feature  in  his  character 
was  piudenco,  never  acting  until  every  circum- 
stance,   every    consideration,    was     maturely 
weighed;    refraining   if   he    saw  a  doubt,  but 
when  once  decided,  going  through  with  his  pur- 
pose, whatever  obstacles  opposed. 

His  integrity  was  most  pure,  his  justice  the 
most  inflexible  I  have  ever  known;  no  motives 
of  consanguinity,  of  friendship,  or  hatred,  be- 
ing able  to  bias  his  decision.  He  was,  indeed, 
in  every  sense  of  the  word,  a  wise,  a  good,  and 
a  great  man.  His  temper  was  naturally  irrita- 
ble and  high-toned ;  but  reflection  and  resolu- 
tion had  obtained  a  firm  and  habitual  ascen- 
dancy over  it.  If  ever,  however,  it  broke  its 
bonds,  he  was  most  tremendous  in  his  wrath. 
In  his  expenses  he  was  honorablo,  but  exact; 
liberal  in  contributions  to  whatever  prom- 
ised utility,  but  frowning  and  unyielding  on  all 
visionarv  projects,  and  all  unworthy  calls  on 
his  chanty.  His  heart  was  not  warm  in  its  af- 
fections, but  he  exactly  calculated  every  man's 
value,  and  Rave  him  a  solid  esteem  proportioned 
to  it.  His  person,  you  know,  was  fine;  his 
stature  exactly  what  one  would  wish;  his  de- 
portment easy,  erect  and  noble,  the  best  horse- 
man of  his  age,  and  the  most  graceful  figure 
that  could  be  seen  on  horseback.  Although  in 
the  circle  of  his  friends,  where  ho  might  bo  un- 
reserved with  safety,  ho  took  a  free  share  in 
conversation,  his  colloquial  talents  were  not 
ubovo  mediocrity,  possessing  neither  copiousness 
of  ideas  nor  fluency  of  words.  In  public,  when 
called  on  for  a  sudden  opinion,  be  was  unready, 
short,  and  embarrassed.  Yet  ho  wrote  readily, 
rather  diffusely,  in  an  easy  and  correct 
style.  This  no  had  accmired  by  con- 
versation with  tho  world,  for  his  education  was 
merely  reading,  writing,  and  common  arithme- 
tic, to  which  he  added  surveying  at  a  later  day. 
His  time  was  employed  in  action  chiefly,  read- 
ing little,  and  that  only  in  agriculture  and  Eng- 
lish histoiy.  His  correspondence  became  nec- 
essarily extensive,  and,  with  journalizing  his 
agricultural  proceedings,  occupied  most  of  his 
leisure  lours  within  doors.  On  the  whole,  his 
character  was,  in  its  mass,  perfect,  in  nothing 
bad,  in  a  few  points  indifferent;  and  it  may 
truly  be  said,  that  never  did  nature  and  fortune 
combine  mote  perfectly  tO  make  a  man  great, 
and  to  place  him  in  the  same  constellation  with 

whatever  worthies  have  merited  from  man  an 

everlasting  remembrance.  For  his  was  tho  sin- 
gular destiny  and  merit  of  leading  the  armies 
of  his  country  successfully  through  an  arduous 
war,  for  the  establishment  of  its  independence: 
of  conducting  its  councils  through  the  birth  of  a 
government,  new  in  its  form  and  principles  un- 
til it  hail  settled  down  into  a.  quiet  and  orderly 
train;  and  of  scrupulously  obeying  tho  laws 
through  the  whole  of  hi;;  career,  civil  ami  mili- 
tary, of  which  the  history  of  the  world  fur- 
ni-'|i(  s  lUkjitherexainplo.     [.Jefferson's 


PrcMidcut  WnnhinK.on'ft  ttcw  Yenr'n  »ay 

I  From  the  New  York  Evening  Post.] 
The  levees  of  President  Washington  were  far 
more  select  and  rational  that  those  of  his  suc- 
cessors have  beeu  for  the  last  few  years.  They 
were  numerously  attended  by  all  who  were  fash- 
ionable and  refined  of  society;  but  there  were  no 
places  for  the  intrusion  of  the  rabble  in  crowds, 
or  for  the  more  coarse  and  boisterous  partisan, 
the  vulgar  electioncerer,  or  the  impudent  place 
hunter,  with  boots  and  frock  coat,  or  with 
patched  knees  and  holes  at  bdtti  elbows.  On  the 
contrary,  they  were  ielect  and  more  courtly  than 
have  been  given  by  >ny  one  holding  the  same 
office  since.  Proud  of  her  husband's  exalted 
fame,  and  jealous  of  the  honors  due  not  only  to 
his  own  lofty  character,  but  *o  the  dignified  sta- 
tion to  which  a  grateful  country  had  called  him, 
Mrs.  Washington  was  careful  in  her  drawing 
rooms  to  exact  those  courtesies  to  which  she 
knew  the  president  was  entitled. 

Fortunately,  moreover,  the  rudeness  of  the 
present  day  had  not  then  so  far  gained  the  as- 
cendancy as  to  banish  good  manners,  and  the 
charms  of  social  intercourse  were  heightened  by 
a  reasonable  attention  in  the  best  circles  to  those 
forms  and  usages  which  indicate  the  well  bred 
assemblage,  and  throw  around  it  an  air  of  ele- 
gance and  grace  which  only  the  envious  affect 
to  decry  and  only  the  vulgar  ridicule  and  con- 
temn.   None,  therefore,  were  admitted  to  the 
levees  but  those  who  had  either  a  right  by  offi- 
cial station  to  be  there,  or  were  entitled  to  the 
privilege  by  established  merit  and  character; 
and  full  dress  was  required  of  all.    Some  show, 
if  not  of  state,  at  least  of  respect,  for  the  high 
officer  to  be  visited,  was  exacted  down  to  the 
close   of  Mr.   Madison's  administration.    Mr. 
Monroe  required  less  formality  and  attention  to 
dress,  and  the  second  President  Adams  less  still. 
Mrs.Washington'was  a  pleasing  and  agreeable 
rather  than  a  brilliant  woman.     Her  figure  was 
not  commanding,  but  her  manners  were  easy, 
conciliatory  and  attractive.    Her   domestic   ar- 
rangements were  always   concerted  under  her 
own  eye,  and  everything  within  her  household 
moved  forward  with  the  regularity  of  machinery. 
No  daughter  of  Eve  ever  worshipped  her  lord 
with  more  sincere  and  affectionate  veneration ; 
and  none  had  ever  greater  cause  to  render  hom- 
age.   When  absent  he  was  ever  in  her  thoughts 
and  her  mild  eyes  kindled  at  his  presence,    Bhe 
was  well  educated,  and  possessed  strong  native 
sense,  guided  by  all  necessary  prudence  and  dis- 
cretion.   She   rarelv   conversed   upon  political 
subjects,  and  when  the  mostexpertdiplomatists 
would  attempt  to  draw  her  out,  she  had  the  (ac- 
uity of  turning  the  conversation  with  equal  dex- 
terity land  politeness.    At   all    the   pres  elent  s 
Sainments,  whether  at  the  table  or  in  the 
drawing  room,  notwithstanding  the  regard  to 
Xeue   l^etofore    adverted    to     there     was 
neverVheles/  so   much  kindness  of  feeling  dis- 
played, and  such  an  unaffected  desree  of  gen- 
uine hospitality,  that  golden  opinions  were  won 
alike  from  the  foreign  and  domestic  visit™*. 

In  those  days,  also,  late  hours  were  not  neces- 
sary, and  many  of  our  fair  metropolitan  readers, 
who'are  in  the  habit  of  dressing  at  10  to  enter  a 
drawing  room  at  11,  will  doubtless  be  surprised 
to  learn  that  Mrs.  Washington'-  Vvees  closed 

al  Tins'  was  a  rule  which  thtt  -Anguished  lady 
established  on  the  occasion  cl  holding  her  first 
levee,  on  the  evening  of  January  1st,  17»0.  i  ne 
president's  residence  was  in  the  old  Franklin 
bouse,  in  this  city,  at  the  head  of  Cherry  street. 
The  day  was  uncommonly  mild  and  pleasant. 
Tbe  moon  was  full,  and  the  air  was  so  band 
and  serene  that  the  ladies  attended  in  their  light 
summer  dresses.  Having  been  introduced .by 
the  aides  and  gentlemen  in  waiting,  tea,  coffee, 
plain  and  plum  cake  were  handed  round,  i  a- 
niiliar  and  friendly  conversation  ensued,  and 
kind  inquiries  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Washington 
after  ths  families  of  the  exiles,  with  whom  she 
had  been  acquainted  during  the  revolutionary 
war  and  who  always  received  marked  attention 
from  Gen  Washington.  Mrs.  Washington  stood 
by  the  side  of  the  general  in  receiving  tin  re- 
spects of  the  visitors.  Amid  the  social  chit-chat 
of  tbe  evening  the  clock  struck  nine.  Mrs. 
Washiggton  the  reupon  rose  with  dignity,  and, 
looking  around  the  circle  with  a  complacent 
mile,  observed:  "The  general  always  re:  *.  a 
nine  and  I  usual  y  precede  him.'  At  this  hint 
"lie !  ladies  instantly  rose,  adjusted  their  dresses, 
made  their  salutations  and  retired. 

Gen  Washington  had  on  that  day  been 
waited  upon  bv  the  principal  gentlemen  of  the 
SS  according  to  the  ancient  New  York  custom 
of  social  and  convivial  New  Year's  visiting. 
After  having  been  severally  introduced,  and 
havin^  paid  the  usual  compliments  of  the  sea- 
son The  citizens  interchanged  greetings  and 
withdrew,  highly  gratified  by  the  friendly  notice 
of  tho  president,  to  most  of  whom  he  .vas  per- 
sonally a  stranger.  In,  the  course  of  the  eve- 
ning, while  speaking  of  the  occurrence  o  the 
day  Mrs.  Washington  remarked:  Of  all  the 
incidents  of  the  day,  none  so  pleased  the  gen- 
erap— by  which  title  she  always  designated  turn 
the  friendly  greetings  of  the  gentlemen 
, sited  him  at  noon."  To  the  inquiry  ot 
the  president  whether  it  was  casual  or  custom- 
ary, he  was  answered  thar,  it  was  an  annual 
custom  derived  from  our  Dutch  forefathers, 
had  always  been  commemorated  from  tne 
i  beginnings  of  New  Amsterdam. 


THE    UNITED    STATES. 


of  the  United  States.— Oji  the  fehir- 
b  of  September,  1SG3,  the  debt  of  the  United 
s  was  twelve  hundred  and   twenty-two  mil- 
one  hundred  and  thiveen  thousand  five  hun- 
i  and  fifty-nine  dollars.    Average  rate  of  inter- 
B795  per  cent. 


Among  Uncle  Sam's  Gold  Chests.— The 
vaults  of  the  sub-treasury  are  two  in  number, 
and  situated  on  the  main  floor  of  the  building. 
The  sides  and  roof  of  each  are  of  eight  feet  gran- 
ite masonry  and  two  feet  of  iron  plates.  Between 
the  plates  are  musket  balls  hud  in  loose.  The 
floor  is  thirty  feet  of  masonry  aud  two  feet  of 
iron  plates,  also  with  a  layer  of  musket  balls. 
Each  vault  is  closed  by  four  iron  doors  weigh- 
ing two  tons  each,  and  fastened  by  two*  combi- 
nation locks  to  each  door.  The  three  inner  doors 
are  locked  without  a  key,  while  the  lock  on  the 
outer  ones  are  operated  by  means  of  an  instru- 
ment about  an  inch  long  by  half  an  inch-wide 
which  may  be  carried  in  a  vest  pocket.  Each 
vault  is  about  twelve  feet  square.  On  the  sides 
of  each  apartment  are  built  120  chests  of  iron, 
each  of  the  capacity  of  a  quarter  of  a  million  in 
gold  coin.  Each  chest  when  full  is  closed  by  an 
iron  door,  and  fastened  with  a  lock  which  is 
sealed  so  that  the  door  cannot  be  tampered  with 
without  breaking  the  seal.  At  present  there  are 
about  $75,000,000  in  gold  coin,  and  about  $10,000 
in  silver  contained  in  about  150  of  the  240  chests. 
The  "loose  cash"  is  in  boxes,  placed  by  the  re- 
spective tellers  in  the  vaults  each  night  after 
the  close  of  the  day's  business,  The  cash- 
coin  as  well  as  currency— in  the  vaults  is  in 
Charge  of  Mr.  E.  H.  Birdsall,  who,  with  the 
cashier,  only  has  access  to  them  for  the  purpose 
of  drawing  funds  out,  aud  the  latter  only  in  the 
absence  0I"  ***•  Birdsall.  At  the  present  time,  as 
(stated  abov'C-  Mr.  Guthrie  has  charge  of  the 
vaults  Many  pCPple  are  under  the  impression 
that  each  piece  of  coin,  is  counted  separately  in 
examinations,  but  a  little  reflection  will  convince 
them  that  this  is  an  error,  One  man  could 
scarcely  count  $100,000  on  an  average  in  a  day, 
and'o  examine  at  this  rate  would  cousume  too 
much  time,  nor  would  it  be  necessary.  Each 
.•enomimvtion  of  gold  is  packed  separately,  and 
tv.p  ^a"1  labeled  with  a  tag,  showing  the  character 
nfthfl  c"'in,  and  the  amouut.  In  the  process  of 
1,  Hno-  ore  of  the  sealed  chests  will  be  opened, 
tho  contents  cabled  on  trucks  to  the  gold  room, 
nnd  then  one  bao-  will  be  counted  and  the  re 
main  ei  of  tliV  same  denomination  weighed 
S  it  in  accurately  adjusted  scales  Should 
any  perceptible  difference  in  weight  be  no  ed 
the  contents  of  the  deficient  bag  will  be  counted 
and  thus  any  error  will  be  guarded  against. 
Should  nothing  occur  to  prevent,  the  examina- 
tion will  ptog*^  at  the  rate  of  $10,000,000  per 
dav  When  the  contents  of  one  chest  have  been 
pxamin^d  the  coin  will  be  returned  to  it,  the 
chest  locked  and  sealed  with  the  initials  of  the 
committee  and  the  representatives  of  both 
Senator  Folger  and  General  Butterueld.-iVeic 
fork  Times, 


There  are  now  seventy-two  postmistresses  in 
the  United  States,  who  receive  salaries  of  $1000 
and  upward,  beside  women  in  minor  post  offices. 
The  postmistress  at  Biddeford,  Me.,  receives  a 
a  salary  of  $2500,  the  one  at  New  London,  Ct., 
$2900,  at  Louisville,  Kv.,  $4000,  at  Richmond, 
Va.,  $4000,  at  Springfield,  O.,  $3000,  at  Logans- 
port,  Ind.,  $2800,  at  Fort  Madison,  la.,  $2000, 
and  at  Jackson,  Tenn  ,  $2000.  The  offices  filled 
by  women  are  reported  at  Washington  as  among 
the  best  managed  uuder  the  government. 

// '  •   ' "  '    " 

CLAsriNG  Bands  Ackoss  the  Bloody 
Chasm.— This  has  been  done  at  last,  al- 
though not  in  the  way  that  Mr.  Greeley  ex- 
pected.  Massachusetts,  with  75,000  major! 


Our    "Anglo-Saxon"    People. 

In  the  year  1800,  according  to  the  census,  the 
population  of  the  United  States  was  numbered 
and  described  as  follows: — Native  Americans, 
23,353,386;  foreign  born,  4,136,175;  slaves, 
3,953,760.  But  those  classed  as  native  Ameri- 
cans were  not  all  of  English  descent.  A  portion 
of  them  were  children  of  immigrants  from  Eu- 
rope who  arrived  here  in  years  previous  to  that 
date.  During  the  years  from  1850  to  1858,  the 
average  number  of  immigrants  landed  annually 
at  ports  of  the  United  States,  was  about  353,000. 
In  1854,  the  whole  number  was  427,883.  From 
1858  to  1868,  the  annual  average  was  about  250,- 
000;  from  1840  to  1850,  142,000;  from  1830  to 
1840,  53,000;  and  from  1820  to  1830, 13,000.  A 
very  great  majority  of  the  immigrants  have 
come  from  Ireland  and  Germany;  but  maivy  of 
tlwsin  are  Scandinavians,  and  many  have 
come  from  England,  Scotland,  Wales,  Switzer- 
land, and  other  European  countries.  At  the 
present  frme,  the  immigation  from  Germany  is 
much  larger  than  that  from  Ireland ;  and  the  Scan- 
dinavian immigration,  which  goes  chiefly  to  Min- 
nesota, Wisconsin,  and  other  northwestern 
states,  is  increasing.  The  immigrants  from 
England  are  now  becoming  more  numerous  than 
those  from  Ireland.  But  the  figures  we  have 
given  do  not  present  the  whole  case.  It  is  esti- 
mated that  four-fifths  of  the  immigrants  who 
land  in  the  British  provinces,  come  to  the  United 
States;  and  many  native  Canadians  come  also, 
especially  those  of  French  descent. 

The  Irish  immigrants  remain  oiiicfly  in  the 
states  on  the  Atlantic  coast.  Some  of  them  go 
west;  some  are  found  in  California;  but  the 
great  body  of  them  stop  in  the  cities  and  manu- 
facturing towns  of  the  Atlantic  states.  The 
Germans  go  largely  to  the  western  states ;  and 
most  of  them  become  thrifty  farmers  and  land- 
owners. The  following  table  will  show  the  pro- 
portion of  each  nationality  in  some  of  the  east- 
ern and  western  states.  The  figures  are  taken 
from  the  census  of  1860 : 

Irish.  German- 
Massachusetts 185,432  9,961 

New  York 493,072  250,252 

New  Jersey 62,006  33,772 

Ohio 76,326  168,210 

Indiana 24,495  66,705 

Illinois 87,573  130,304 

We  arc  becoming  more  and  more  a  mixed 
people,  although  a  very  large  majority  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  United  States  arc  those  usual- 
ly described  as  "people  of  English  descent." 
The  first  colonists  of  the  country,  however, 
were  not  all  from  England.  Hollanders,  Swedes, 
Germans,  and  Irish,  settled  in  New  York,  New 
Jersey,  Pennsylvania,  Delaware,  and  Maryland. 
The  oldest  church  edifice  in  the  count}',  is  that 
at  Wilmington,  Delaware,  known  as  "the  Old 
Swedes'  Church,"  a  remarkable  stone  structure 
now  used  by  Episcopalians.  French  Huguenots 
settled  in  South  Carolina;  and  we  annexed 
Spaniards  and  Frenchmen,  when  Louisiana  and 
Florida  were  transferred  to>s.  We  use  the  Eng- 
lish language,  and  the  controlling  English  cle- 
ment has  given  the  country  its  institutions  and 
character;  but  we  arc  not  Englishmen.  We 
have  an  individuality  of  our  own,  which  is  be- 
coming more  and  more  developed;  an  American 
individuality,  which  will  make  the  hundred 
million  people,  who  will  soon  fill  our  territory, 
different  from  every  other  people  on  the  face  of 
the  earth. 
A  Custom  of  the  Country.  One  of  the 
Wise  Men  of  the  East— was  it  Louis  Agassiz?- 


„  j     i        u~„a    +™  dnuth  wise  iMcn  oi  tiic  i^ 

ty  for  Grant,  extends  her  hand  to  houm  ^  wheQ  be  6l3t  Qame  here,  that  one  of  the 

Carolina  who  meets   her   with   35,000;  ana  amazing  things  which  he  found  in  America  was, 

both  unite  in  cordial  support  of  the  soldier  that  no  set  of  men  could  get  together  to  do  any 

t_  ^  .  «oo™  in  tim  fipl.i    ind  the  thing,  though  there  were  but  five  of  them,  un- 

who  conquered  a  peace  in  the  helu,  ana  we  lm^liey  ^  „drew  up  &  Constitution.'1    If 

statesman  who  preserved  peace  in  the  oaoi-    ten  men  of  ^tany  met  in  a  hotel  in   Switzer- 
net     Throughout  the  broad  land,  the  south    Jand  to  hear  a  paper  on  the  habits  of  T.dlia 
■  responds  to  the  north;  the  States  that  stood    Guilielmensis,  they   sat  down   and   heard   it. 

itcyuu  o  v  . ,.,  ,      .     But  if  nine  men  of  botany  here  meet  to  hear  a 

LI  by  the  Union  and  the  States  that  vainly  at-   papcr  rcad  Qn  SheImania  Rogerjanft>  they  have 

tempted  to  break  it  up,   and  that  new,  by   to  spend  the  first  day,  first  in  a  temporary  or- 
their  votes,  accept  the  situation.  gamzation,  then  in  appointing  a  committee  to 

draw    a  constitution,    then    in  correcting  the 

draft  made  by  them;  then  in  appointing  a  com- 

1\  mittee  to  nominate  officers,  and  then  in  choos- 

'  ing  a  president,  vice-president,  two  secretaries, 

and  a  treasurer.    This  takes  all  the  first  day. 

If  any  of  these  people  are  fools  enough,  or  wise 

enough  ("persistent"  is   the   modern  word)  to 

H  come  a  second  time,  all  will  be  well,   and  they  , 

V  will  hear  about  the  Shermania.     [From   "Ten 

Times  One  is  Ten,"  by  Edward  E.    Huh:,    pub- 
V-*-  lished  by  Roberts  Brothers. 


<3. 


' 


\ 

STATISTICS    OF  EMIGRATION. 

The  bureau  of  statistics  furnishes  in  its  la, 
report  comparative  statements  of  a  valnabl 
character,  relating  to  the  immigration  t'nn 
1856  to  1868.  It  appears  that  the  total  numbs 
arriving  during  the  specified  twelve  years  wd 
2,938,296;  of  which  total,  1,215,600  were  froi  1 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland,— much  more  thai  I 
half  being  from  the  last  named.  From  Scot  I 
land  only  25,829  are  set  down.  Germany  is  m 
down  as  furnishing  911,426,  and  the  Scandl 
navian  countries  as  sending  only  71,332.  I  wa 
informed  in  New  York  that  the  Swedes  and  Noi  . 
wegians  compose  about  one-fifth  of  the  immi 
gration  now  entering.  During  the  last  tare 
years  over  one-half  of  these  emigrants  have  en 
tered.  It  appears  that  emigrants  from  Grea 
Britain,  Ireland,  the  German  States,  Sweden,  Nor 
way  ajid  Denmark  have  during  the  period  erabr* 
l  ed  in  these  tables  numbered  2,198,358,  leavin-. 
to  all  other  countries,  only  739,838,  which  wi\ 
have  to  be  reduced  more  than  one-half,  as  it-ap 
pears.  Of  the  total  of  arriving  passengers 
872,652  were  citizens  of  the  United  States,  s< 
that  only  the  remainder  of  353,786  arrive. 
from  the  remainder  of  the  seventy  conn 
tries  from  which  our  emigration  came 
of  this  number,  Holland  is  credited 
with  11,205;  France,  with  49,383;  Swit/.er 
land,  with  24,539;  Spain,  with  10,340;  Italy, 
with  18,425,  of  whom  some  must  be  tour- 
ists. British  America  is  set  down  as  giving 
108,581,  which  is  doubtless  very  much  below  the 
real  figures,  as  there  can  be  no  account  kept  of 
the  arrivals  by  way  of  the  ordinary  railroad 
traffic.  From  countries  not  specified,  46,532  are 
set  down,  and  four  are  stated  as  born  at 
China  figures  to  the  number  of  65,943,  which  is 
considerably  below  the  figures  usually  given  for 
the  Chinese  population  on  the  Pacific  coast,  or 
else  it  shows  they  have  increased  more  than  over 
half.  In  1868, 10,684  arrived,  against  4,738,  ia 
1856.  In  1861  and  '62,  the  emigration  was  over 
7000  each  year.  In  1866,  it  went  down  to 
Only  89  are  set  down  from  Japan,  and  seven 
from  other  portions  of  Asia. 

The  occupations  of  this  large  body  of  emi- 
gration is  not  as  diversified  as  the  countries 
from  which  they  come.  Only  thirty-one  em- 
ployments are  named.  These  "  are  set  down  as, 
laborers  515,217,  as  farmers  264,949,  as  mechan- 
ics 196,503,  and  as  merchants  138,214.  The  ser- 
vants arc  sht  down  as  68,628.  Clergymen  figure 
at  3,322,  and  artists  at  3,561— probably  some  of 
these  latter  were  "artists"  in  hair,  or  other  ma- 
terial not  strictly  within  the  term  "art"— in  its 
true  sense. 

The  Resources  of  New  Eng 
England  has  an  area  of  62,383  squa; 
large  as  either  the  State  of  Missouri  or    « 
She  lias  a  population  of  3,135,000— not  so  nu^Hp  I 
the  single  State  of  New  York.     15 

she  is  far  richer  than 
which  has  a  total  valuation  of 
Massachusetts  alone    pc 
nearly  two  thirds  of  that  sum. 
dies  in  the  United  States,   New  E 
3,960,000.  *  Of  $116,187,000  w< 
•produced  in  1860,  New  England  pr 
300,000.    Of  $68,866,000  worl 
produced  in  1860,  New  England  ; 
509,000.    She  also  owns  abou, 
ping  of  the  nation,  which  in  round  v. 
amounts  to  5,000,000  tons.-     And  in  popi 
as  in  ail  other  material 
creasing, 

Bufus  Choate's  description  of  the  climate  o't 
New  England,  viz: 

"Cold    today,    hot    tomorrow ;    mercury   at 
eighty  degrees  in  the  morning,  with  a  wind  at 
southwest,  and  in  three  hours  more  a  sea-tun 
wind  at  east,  a  thick  fog  from  the  very-  hotter 
of  the  ocean,«and  a  fall  of  forty  degrees  I 
Fahrenheit;  now  so  dry  as  to  kill  all  the  bea 
in  NewHamsphire,  then  floods  carrying  off  ti  • 
bridges  and  dams  off  the  Penobscot  and  Coi 
necticut;  snow,  in  Portsmouth  in  July,  and  thf 
next  day  a  man  and  a  yoke  of  oxen  killed  M 
lightning  in  Rhode  Island— you  would  think 
the  world  was  twenty  times  coming  to  an  end!' 
Eut  I  don't  know  how  it  is;  we  go  along;  the 
early  and  the  latter  rain  falls  each  in  his  season, 
seed  time  and  harvest  do  not  fail;  the  sixty 
days  of  hot  corn  weather  are  pretty  sure  to  be 
measured  out  to  us;  the  Indian  summer  witifi 
its  bland    southwest    and   mitigated  sunshine* 
brings  all  up;  and  on  the  25th  of  November,  or] 
thereabouts,  being  Thursday,  three  milli 
prateful  people,  in  meeting  houses,  or  around 
the    family  board,  give  thanks  for  a   year  of 
health,  plenty  and  happiness." 


In  1860  the  United  States  contained  a  total  population 
of  41,433,321,  of  whom  4,441,830,  or  more  than  fourteen  a, 
in  every  hundred,  were  of  African  birth  or  African  de- 
scent. 


Twenty  Leading  Cm»fe  -The   following 

i  a  list  ot  twenty  leading  ct.es  ol  the  TJn  ted 
tates  as  shown  by  official  figures  ot  the  last. 
?nsus.  For  the  sake  of  comparison,  the 
onulat.on  of  the  same  cities  is  also  given, 
)gether  with  the  rate  per  cent,  ot  increase  in 
in  years: — 


Cities. 
New  York, 
Pnlladelptiia, 
Brooklyn. 
St.  Louis, 
Chicago, 
Baltimore, 
Boston, 
Cincinnati, 
New  Orleans 
San  Francisco, 
Buffalo, 

:  jjton, 


1870. 
922,531 

674,022 
390,300 


i'    A'.uany, 


la  18  due  of  the  real  and  person 

al  estates  of  the  Uuiou  was  $7,000,000,000. 
By  1850  it  had  increased  to  over  $16,000,' 
000,000/  In  1S70,  it  went  over  $30,000,- 
000.000.  This  is  more  than  quadrupling  in 
two-thirds  of  a  generation. 


Dirty  and  Ragged  Currency.— Congress  failed 
I  to  get  rid  o£  the  dirty  and  ragged  na- 
tes, but  everybody,  according  to  the 
editor  of  an  exchangers  not  aware 
ould  require  5,603,224  sheets  of  paper  to  re- 
-  ".it  dilapidated  bank  circulation.    This, 
pounds  per  one  thousand  sheets,  the  weight 
•  ,1,  would  be  100,858  pounds.    The  aver- 
of  the  paper  used  for  the  circulation  of  na- 
nks  is  78  cents  per  pound,  or  a  total  cost  of 
The  number  ef  pounds  of  paper  manufac- 
to  legal-tenders  or  greenback  notes  is  given 
T  pounds,  costing  8175,341;   manufactured 
into  fractional  currency,  316,170 pounds,  costing  §243,- 
407;  manufactured  into  bonds,  110,873  pounds,  cost- 
ing §91,388;    manufactured  into    internal    revenue 
IKHinds,  costing  36,689.    The  account 
pounds  of  paper  at  a   cost  of 
i  addition  a  reserve  of  paper,  to 
be  manufactured  into  greenbacks,  fractional  curren- 
I   reveuue  stamps,  which  amounts  to 
ting  §204,812;  so  that  the  grand 
vised  or  to  be  used  in  our  paper  money 
inds,  costing  $830,307.    It  will  give  the 
Idea  of  the  amazing  bulk  of  our  paper 
.  etc.,  to  know  that  535  tons  of  paper  are 
I  iction.    Add  to  these  items  the 
Tinting,  etc.,  and  the  aggregate  cost  of 
eur  paper  liabilities  are  found  to  greatly  exceed  what 
i, erally  supposed. 

In  an  elaborate  pnper  by  Behm  and  Wagner, 
published  in  Petermann's MUtheilungen,  we  have 
the  result  of  a  careful  inquiry  iuto  the  present 
population  of  the  globe,  the  summation  of  their 
results  beintr  as  follows:  Europe,  301,600,000; 
Asia,  7M,000,000 ;  Australia  and  Polynesia, 
000;  Africa,  192,520.000;  America,  84,524,- 
000;  or  a  total  of  1,377,000,000.  These  figures 
nre  derived  from  the  estimates  or  statistics  of 
population  for  the  years  1869,  1870,  and  1871. 

In  the  enumeration  of  the  population  of 
towns,  London  stands  at  the  head,  with  3,251,- 
000;  next  Su-tchoo,  in  China,  with  2,000,000; 
Paris,  1,835,000;  Pekin,  1,648,000;  Jeddo,  1,554,- 
i  000;  Canton,  1,236,000;  Constantinople,  1,075,- 
000;  Siang-tnn.  China,  1,000,000;  Tchnng-tchou- 
foo,  China,  1,000,000;  New  York,  942,29^;  Vien- 
na, 833,855;  Berlin,  825,389. 


The  Population  of  the  United  States. 

The  following  table,  compiled  from  the  latest 
official  returns,  which,  so  far  as  the  first  sched- 
ule, that  of  population,  is  concerned,  arc  now 
substantially  complete,  makes  important  chang- 
es in  the  population  and  in  the  relative  rank  of 
several  states,  and  the  total  population  is  some- 
what smaller  than  it  has  been  represented  in 
previous  tables : 

Rankin 
States.  I860. 

New  York 1 

Pennsylvania 2 

Ohio 3 

Illinois | 

Missouri 3 

Indiana 6 

Virginia,  ™t-.  J   6 

Massachusetts 7 

Kentucky 9 

Tennessee 10 

Iowa 20 

Michigan 16 

Georgia U 

North  Carolina 12 

Wisconsin 15 

Alabama 13 

New  Jersey 21 

Mississippi .....14 

Texas 23 

Maryland 19 

Louisiana 17 

South  Carolina 18 

Maine 22 

California 26 

Connecticut 24 

Arkansas 25 

Kansas 83 

Minnesota 39 

Vermont 28 

New  Hampshire... 27 

Rhode  Island 29 

Florida 31 

Delaware 32 

Nebraska — 

Oregon 33 

Nevada — 

Dist.  of  Columbia.  .— 

Territories — 

Total 31,443,321 


Popula-  Rank  in 

Popula'n 
1870. 

tion  1860. 

1870. 

3,830,735 

1 

4,370,846 

2,906,215 

2 

3,617,272 

2,339,511 

3 

2,652,302 

1,711,951 

4 

2.527,674 

1,182,012 

5 

1,703,000 

1,360,428 

6 

1,676,046 

1,596,318  } 

10 
28 

1,209,607 
450,000 

1,231,066 

7 

1,457,351 

1,155,684 

3 

1,323,037 

1,109,801 

9 

1,268,326 

674,913 

11 

1,190,846 

749,113 

12 

1,134,296 

1,057,286 

18 

1,179,886 

992,622 

14 

1,085,600 

775,331 

15 

1,055,296 

1)64,201 

16 

997,500 

672,035 

17 

906,614 

791,305 

18 

934,190 

604,215 

19 

797,600 

687,049 

20 

731,055 

70S.002 

21 

723,000 

703,703 

22 

726,000 

628,279 

23 

630,423 

379,994 

24 

556,203 

460,147 

25 

537,836 

535,450 

26 

486,103 

107,206 

27 

362,307 

172.028 

29 

335,C00 

315,093 

80 

330,585 

326,073 

31 

318,300 

174,620 

32 

217,306 

140,424 

33 

189,995 

112,216 

34 

125,015 

23,341 

35 

123,000 

52,466 

36 

90,922 

6,857 

37 

42,491 

76,080 

— 

131,706 

150,229 

— 

819,059 

33,307,399 


The  Ninth  Census.  The  following  table, 
prepared  for  the  New  York  Evening  Post,  shows 
approximately  the  population  of  each  State,  as 
determined  this  year,  in  comparison  with  the 
census  of  I860.  The  States  are  given  in  the 
order  of  their  present  rank  in  the  scale  of  total 
population: 

Rank  in  Populat'n.    Rank  in  Populat'n. 
Stat*.  I860.  1800. 

3,880,735 

2,906,215 

2,339,511 

1,711,961 

1,182,012 

1,350,428 

1,596,318  | 

1,231,066 

1,155,684 

1.109,801 

749,113 


New  York 1 

Pennsylvania.. .  2 

Ohio 3 

Illinois f 

Missouri 8 

Indiana 6 

Virginia,  °»&  }  5 
Massachusetts..     7 

Kentucky 9 

Tennessee 10 

Michigan 16 

Iowa 20 

Georgia H 

Wisconsin 15 

North  Carolina.    12 

Alabama 13 

New  Jersey 21 

Texas 23 

Mississippi 14 

Maryland 19 

.South  Carolina.    18 

Louisiana 17 

Malre 22 

California 26 

Connecticut 24 

Arkansas 25 

Minnesota 30 

Kansas 33 

Vermont 28 

New  Hampshire    27 
Rhode  Island.. .    29 

Florida 31 

Delaware 32 

Nebraska 89 

|  Oregon 36 

Nevada 'u 

Dist.  Columbia 
Territories 


Total. 


674,913 

1,057.286 

775,881 

992.622 

964,201 

672,035 

604,215 

791,305 

687,049 

703,708 

708.002 

628,279 

379,994 

460,147 

535,460 

172,023 

107,206 

315,098 

326,073 

174,620 

140,424 

112,216 

28,841 

52,465 

6,857 

75,080 

150,220 

31,443,321 


1870. 

1870. 

1 

4,370,346 

2 

3,467,484 

3 

2,652,302 

4 

2,540,216 

5 

1,714,102 

6 

1,688,169 

10 

1,209,607 

28 

447,943 

7 

1,448,055 

8 

1,323,264 

9 

1,258,326 

11 

1,184,158 

12 

1,182,933 

13 

1,179,886 

14 

1,052,166 

15 

1,041,000 

16 

l,002,00o 

17 

895,672 

18 

850,000 

19 

831,190 

20 

775,279 

21 

735,000 

22 

715,384 

23 

630,426 

24 

550,208 

25 

537,998 

20 

486,103 

27 

460,037 

29 

353,182 

30 

338,235 

31 

317,976 

32 

217,319 

33 

189,995 

34 

132,252 

35 

116,888 

36 

90,776 

37 

44,686 

38,038,463 


4P* 


VtiL 

ar- 


,     York 942,250 

idelphi* 673,01,0 

klyn 4t  .0,0110 

Louis 311,000 

Hiicago 899,000 
lthnore 267,000 

ston 251,000 

ncinnati 215,(00 

>w  Orleans 191,000 

n  Fraucisco 149.000 

uTalo 117.000 

HADingtou 109,(00 

wark 106,0  U 

uisville 101,000 

.veland 03,<  00 

■dmrgh 86. ooo 

;. ,»y  City 82,000 


Population  of  Principal  Cities  in  i870. 


Detroit 80.000 

Milwaukee 71,000 

Albany 69.000 

1  'rovidenoe 69,000 

Rochester 62,000 

Alleghany 53,000 

Richmond 57,000 

New  Haven 51,000 

Charleston 49,000 

Jroy 46^000 

Brraeuse 43,000 

Worcester 41  000 

Eowell 41,000 

Memphis 40,ooo 

Cambridge 40,000 

Hartford 37.000 

Indianapolis 37,000 


Scran  ton 35,000 

Reading 34,000 

Columbus 34.MW 

Paterson 33,000 

Dayton 33,000 

Kansas  City 33,000 

Mobile 33.000 

Portland 31,000 

Wilmington 31,000 

Lawrence 29,000 

Toledo 29,000 

Charleston 28,500 

Lynn 28,000 

Fall  River 27.000 

Springfield 27,000 

Nashville 26, 000 

TJtica 26  000 


Teoria 26.000 

Covington 24.500 

Salem    M.OOl 

Quincy 25,00J 

Manchester 23,500 

Harrisburgh - 


After  saying  that  we  are  naturally  apt  to  imagine 
that  the  Fourth  of  July,  1776,  was  a  day  of 
excitement  and  rejoicing  in  Philadelphia,  he  inform 
us  that  it  was  far  otherwise.  Here  is  the  statement  :— 
"The  day  was  in  fact  quite  dull.  There  was  n 
crowd  of  excited  citizens,  no  booming  of  canuon,  n 
open-air  meeting,  no  bonfires  and  illumination! 
Patriotic  songs  they  could  not  have  sung,  if  the 
had  desired  4*>,  £w  they  U»d  none  to  sing— those  no' 
standard  with  us  all  being  then  unwritten.  They  did 
not  fling  out  the  flag  of  the  new  nation  from  th 
house-tops ;  and  if  they  had  made  such  a  display,  i 
would  not  have  been  the  flag  we  now  glorify,  for  i 
made  its  first  appearance  more  than  a  year  later,  a 
the  "battle  of  Saratoga.  Every  church  bell  in  the  cit 
was  silent;  the  Episcopal  clergy  wore  King  George'i 
collar,  the  Quakers  were  opposed  to  war  on  any  ac- 
count, and  the  Methodists  were  busy  with  a  revival 
under  the  management  of  one  Captain  Webb.  And 
no  matter  what  might  have  happened,  it  would  not 
have  got  into  print  the  next  day,  for  there  wa3 
then  a  daily  paper  in  the  country,  and  only  one  sen 
weekly  and  thirty-six  weeklies." 

In  another  part  of  the  number,  the  editor  contrii 
utes  a  paper  showing  the   order  of  succession 
which  many  American  flags  were  finally  merged 
rAeflag: 

"In  an  article  on  the  National  Anniversary, 
another  part  of  this  number  of  our  Magazine,  it  is 
stated  that  the  "stars  and  stripes"  first  floated  at  the 
battle  of  Saratoga,  in  the  autumn  of  1777,  more  than 
a  year  after  the  adoption  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. It  should  not  be  inferred  from  this  that 
the  country  was  without  a  flag  up  to  that  period,  for 
such  was  not  the  case.  On  the  contrary,  it  hai  an 
abundance  of  them.  When  the  first  sounds  of  war 
were  heard,  and  the  Colonists  began  to  organize  mili- 
tary companies,  there  was,  as  poor  Halpine  sung, 

"A  bloom  of  banners  in  the  air,"— 
bannors  of  various  shapes,  sizes  and  colors,  and  bear 
ing  all  sorts  of  emblematic  words  and  figures.  Every 
Colony,  and  almost  every  regiment,  had  one  of  its 
own.  The  one  that  the  troops  carried  at  Breed's  Hill 
was  a  red  flag,  with  a  pine  tree  on  a  white  field  In  the 
corner.  The  one  that  Putnam  unfurled  on  Prospect 
Hill,  a  month  later  was  also  red,  bearing  on  one  side 
the  motto  Qui  transtulet  sustinef,  and  on  the  other 
the  inscription,  "An  appeal  to  Heaven."  As  the  war 
progressed,  most  of  the  regiments  and  divisions  of  the 
army  had  their  names  and  numbers  put  on  their  flagsji 
with  three-word  mottoes,  such  as  "Liberty  or  Death" 
(the  one  used  by  the  troops  which  Patrick  Henry  re- 
cruited) and  "Conquer  or  Die"  (the  one  adopted  bj 
Washington's  Life  Guard.)  The  floating  batteriei 
first  used  a  white  flag,  with  the  words  "An  appeal  t 
Heaven"  upon  it.  And  the  first  flag  used  in  battle  at 
the  South— the  one  which  Sergeant  Jasper  heroically 
placed  on  the  summit  of  the  merlon  at  Moultrie  tC 
the  thickest  of  the  fight,  on  the  very  day  that  t^ 
Declaration  of  Independence  was  reported  to  the  Coi| 
tinental  Congress  at  Philadelphia— was  a  blue  one, 
with  a  crescent  in  the* corner. 

"The  Colonies  had  a  general  flag,  however,  before 
the  beginning  of  the  Revolution,  although  it  was 
rarely  used  on  public  occasions.  It  was  the  ancient 
national  flag  of  England,  the  banner  of  St.  George— a 
white  field  with  a  red  cross.  It  was  decided  to  dis- 
card this,  and  adopt  a  new  and  distinct  flag,  In  the 
latter  part  of  1775;  and  Congress  appointed  Dr. 
Franklin,  Mr.  Harrison  and  Mr.  Lynch  a  committee 
to  attend  to  the  matter.  They  went  at  once  to  the 
military  headquarters  at  Cambridge,  and  after  con- 
sulting with  the  ofliceis  there,  agreed  upon  apian; 
and  the  new  flag  was  first  displayed  to  the  army, 
January  2d,  1776— a  flag  of  thirteen  stripes  of  alter- 
nate red  and  white,  having  upon  one  of  its  corners 
the  red  and  white  crosses  of  St.  George  and  St.  An- 
drew, on  a  field  of  blue.  This  union  of  the  former 
Colonial  flag  and  the  then  national  flag  of  England 
was  intended  to  signify  that  the  Colonists  did  not  yet 
desire  to  separate  from  the  mother  country  if  they 
could  secure  their  rights  without  it,  while  the  thir- 
teen stripes  wen  meant  to  be  symbolical  of  the  union 
of  the  thirteen  Colonies  in  demanding  justice  and  de- 
fying wrong  and  oppression. 

"The  flag  was  not  changed  until  the  14th  day  of  the 
following  June,  when  Congress  resolved  •That  the 
flag  of  the  thirteen  United  States  be  thirteen  stripes, 
alternate  red  and  white;  and  that  the  union  be  thir- 
teen white  stars  in  a  blue  field,  representing  a  new 
constellation.  This  resolution  was  not  made  public 
until  September,  3, 1777,  and  the  first  flag  manufac- 
tured according  to  its  requirements  (the  thirteen  stars 
being  arranged  in  a  circle)  was  that  which  led  the 
American  forces  to  victory  at  Saratoga.  A  Tory 
newspaper,  alluding  to  the  flag,  said  that  Mrs.  Wash- 
ington had  a  mottled  tom-cat  with  thirteen  yellow 
rings  around  his  tail,  and  that  his  flauntiug  it  sug- 


Trouton  . 

Evansvillo  »,«• 

New  Bedford 21 ,300 

Oswego  21,000 

Elizabeth  ai.000 

Lancaster 20.000 

Savannah  20,0t.0 

Camden 20,500 

Davenport 

St.    Paul -"•00l) 

Minneapolis 20, COO 


23,000    gested  to  Congress  the  same  number  of  stripes  for  the 


new  standard— which  indicates  that  back-alley  jour- 
nalism is  not  a  creation  of  our  times." 


• 


"  ICE  TKEE,"  MIDDLE  TEMPLE. 
The  subject  of  our  Engraving  represents  one  of 
the  most  curious  effects  of  the  late  frost,  in  the  me- 
tropolis. A  great  portion  of  our  readers  must  remember 
the  solitary  little  fountain  in  one  of  the  courts  of  the 
Middle  Temple — a  spot  enshrined  in  the  amber  of  Miss 
Landon's  poetry,*  and  in  the  humour  of  Mr.  Dickens' 
"Martin  Chuzzlewit."  Upon  the  north  side  of  the 
fountain  pool  stood  a  low  tree ;  and,  during  the  severe 
weather,  the  spray  from  the  jet  of  water,  as  it  fell  upon 
the  branches,  became  incrusted  into  icicles,  and  a  kind 
of  fairy  frost-work,  which  had  a  very  beautiful  appear- 
ance. The  phenomenon  (for  such  it  really  was) 
attracted  the  notice  of  several  persons  5  but,  in  the 
(y  midst  of  their  admiration,  the  tree  broke  down  with 
the  weight  of  its  incrustations. 

Our  Engraving  is  from  a  Daguerr6otype,  taken  for 
this  journal  :  it  shows  the  beautifully  frozen  tree,  with 
the  wintry  background,  and  a  portion  of  the  Middle 
Temple  buildings.  Whilst  the  artist  was  operating 
for  a  second  Daguerreotype,  the  tree  fell,  as  we 
have  described. 

In  the  "  Illuminated  Magazine"  for  the  present  month, 
we  find  the  following  graceful  lyrical  address  to  this 
tree; — 

Gelidis  Itueuriosa  comis. 
Exotic  stranger,  whence  and  what  art  thou  ? 
A  spectre  rais'd  from  Flora's  winter  tomb, 

In  ghostly  bloom  ! — 
Fair  Beauty  sits  upon  thy  snowy  brow 
As  gracefully  as  e'er  was  seen 
In  summer  woodland  green, 
Where  weeping  willow  o'er  some  gentle  brook 
Hath  seem'd  to  look 

Into  its  mirror  for  the  memory 
Of  happy  hours  that  long  have  ceas'd  to  be — 
(Alas! 
No  glass 
Can  show  us  what  we  once  could  see, 

And  well  descry, 
Through  Nature's  own  intending  eye  !) 
Thou  dost  appear 
A  love  lorn  Dryad  come 
From  northern  forest  drear, 
To  weep  a  tear 

Over  the  wat'ry  tomb 


"  I  am  weary,"  sobs  Canary, 

"  I  am  all  outdone  ; 
'T  was  the  trial  test  between  us,  — 

Bobolink  has  won. 

"  Even  my  mistress,  she  who  fancied 

My  poor  song  divine,  — 
See,  how  eagerly  she  listens 

To  his  song,  —  not  mine. 

"  Knows  she  why  in  happy  music 

He  surpasses  me  ? 
I  am  but  a  caged  Canary  ;  — 

Bobolink  is  free." 


Mrs.  A.  M.  Wells. 


JSJB.G. 


BOBOLINK    AND    CANARY. 

AT  the  window  hangs  Canary, 
Singer  sweet  and  true  ; 
Bobolink,  from  out  the  hedge-row, 
He  is  singing  too. 

Now  his  liquid  notes  Canary 

Pours  like  music  rain  ; 
Now  the  voice  from  out  the  hedge-row, 

Bobolink  again. 

Stints  his  song  awhile  Canary  ;  — 
"  Who  may  this  bird  be, 
•     That  with  ever-answering  carol 
Strives  to  vie  with  me  ?  " 

"  Only  Bobolink,  the  singer  ; 

Merry  bird  am  I. 
Through  the  wood  and  fields  and  meadows 

Back  and  forth  I  fly." 

Now  his  bravest  song  Canary, 

Now  his  finest  trill  ; 
Bobolink's  from  out  the  hedge-row 

Braver,  finer  still  ! 


LOOK !     LOOK !     LOOK ! 


Then  the  tender-voiced  Canary, 
Wondering,  paused  in  pain, 

And  the  careless  hedge-row  singer 
Trilled  his  lay  again. 


' 


I.        1.  First 
II.       2.  Second 

III.  3.  Third 

IV.  4.  Fourth 
V.       5.  Fifth 

VI.      6.  Sixth 

VII.       7.  Seventh 

VIII.       8.  Eighth 

IX.       9.  Ninth 

X.     10.  Tenth 

XI.     11.  Eleventh 

XII.     12.  Twelfth 

XIII.  13.  Thirteenth 

XIV.  14.  Fourteentt 
XV.     15.  Fifteenth 

XVI.     16.  Sixteenth 
XVII.     17.  Seventeenth 
XVIII.     is.  Eighteenth 
XIX.     19.  Nineteenth 
XX.     29.  Twentieth 
XXI.     21.  Twenty-first 
XXII.     22.  Twenty-second 

XXIII.  23.  Twenty-third 

XXIV.  24.  Twenty-fourth 
XXV.     25.  Twenty-fifth 

XXVI.     26.  Twenty-sixth 
XXVII.     27.  Twenty-seventl 
XXVIII.     28.  Twenty-eighth 
XXIX.     29.  Twenty-ninth 
XXX.     30.  Thirtieth 
XL.     40.  Fortieth 
L.     50.  Fiftieth 
LX.     60.  Sixtieth 
LXX.     70.  Seventieth 
LXXX.     80.  Eightieth 
XC.     90.  Ninetieth 

C.  100.  One  Hundredth 

CC.  200.  Two  Hundredth 

CCC.  300.  ThreeHundredtb 

CCCC.  400.  Four  Hundredtl 


tTftrxopjeo  s<x\Pkones  wxmie  xiwmcAorcm 


1  One 

2  Two 

3  Three 

4  Four 

5  Five 

6  Six 

7  Seven 

8  Eight 

9  Nine 

10  Ten 

11  Eleven 

12  Twelve 

13  Thirteen 

14  Fourteen 

15  Fifteen 

16  Sixteen 

17  Seventeen 

18  Eighteen 

19  Nineteen 

20  Twenty 

21  Twenty-one 

22  Twenty-two 

23  Twenty-three 

24  Twenty-four 

25  Twenty-five 

26  Twenty-six 

27  Twenty-seven 

28  Twenty-eight 

29  Twenty-nine 

30  Thirty 
40  Forty 
50  Fifty 
60  Sixty 
70  Seventy 
80  Eighty 
90  Ninety 

100  One  Hundred 
200  Two  Hundred 
300  Three  Hundrei 
400  Four  Hundred 


THE  HAYES  MEDAL,. 

Wb  give  herewith  an 
engraving  of  the  gold 
medal  recently  awarded 
to  Dr.  1. 1.  Hayes  by  the 
Geographical  Society  of 
Paris,  which  is  the  sixth 
compliment  our  country- 
man has  received  from 
foreign  governments  and 
societies  for  his  Arctic 
explorations  and  services ' 
— the  former  ones  being 
the  British  "Arctic  Med- 
al ;"  a  special  medal  from 
the  British  Government 
to  the  members  of  the 
Kane  Expedition  for  their 
"generous  services"  in 
the  search  for  Sir  John 
Franklin  ;  the  Patron's 
Medal  of  the  Koyal  Geo- 
graphical Society  of  Lon- 
don for  1$67;   honorary 

membership  of  the  Koyal 

creograpfjical  Society  ot 

3erlin  ;  and  the  decoration  of  Officer  of  the  Or- 

ler  of  Guadalupe  from  the  late  chivalric  though 

mfortunate  Emperor  Maximilian  of  Mexico. 

The  ceremony  of  the  presentation  of  the  French 
nedal  appears  to  have  been  attended  witli  all  that 
lelicacy  for  which  the  French  are  so  eminently 
listinguisbed.  It  took  place  in  a  full  meeting 
j{  the  society  April  .'!<),  to  which  the  American 
Minister,  General  Dix,  was  specially  invited,  with 
the  assurance  of  the  members  that  it  would  be 
very  agreeable  to  them  if  he  would  receive  the 
medal  in  behalf  of  Pr.  Hayes. 

The  reply  of  General  Dix  on  this  occasion, 
made  in  French,  which  the  General  speaks  with 
the  case  of  a  native,  was  peculiarly  happy,  and 
was  received  with  great  cordiality. 


Ayer's  Pills 


MEDAL  PRESENTED  TO  DK.  I.  I.  HAYES  BY  THE  GEOGRAPHICAL 
SOCIETY  OP  PARIS. 


ll  i:  M  K 


Annie's  Savings  Box. — -'There  is  one  of 
my  glove-buttons  gone,"  said  sister  Kate,  as 
she  was  preparing  to  go  out.  "How  provok- 
ing it  is !  A  glove  looks  so  untidy  unfas- 
tened." 

"Just  wait  a  minute,  sister,"  said  Annie, 
"I  believe  I  have  some  glove-buttons  in  my 
box,"  and  opening  the  lid  she  took  out  a  little 
tin  mustard  box,  and,  pouring  the  contents  in 
her  apron,  .soon  found  the  required  article. 
Her  handy  little  needle  andsilk  quickly  sewed 
it  on,  and  she  was  well  repaid  by  a  kiss  from 
her  sister,  and  a  hearty  "thank  you,  Annie, 
dear;  your  little  cabinet  of  curiosities  is  a 
perfect  gold  mine.  You  can  always  find  the 
right  thing  there,"  and  she  tripped  down  the 
steps  now  quite  satisfied  that  all  was  right. 

"How  long  have  you  had  that  box,  cousin 
Annie?"  asked  Ned,  who  was  spending  a 
week  at  the  house. 

"Ever  since  she  'can  remember,  I  guess," 
said  her  mother,  laughing.  "She  always  was 
a  careful,  little  thing  fVom  the  time  she  could 
toddle  about  the  floor.  She  used  to  make  lit- 
tle collections  of  buttons  and  tamarind  stones, 
and  1  do  not  know  what  all,  when  she  was 
four  and  five  years  old.  It  is  a  good  habit, 
though,  and  I  am  sure  we  are  all  indebted  to 
her  every  day  of  our  lives.  It  would  be  a  cu- 
riosity to  keep  an  account,  some  day,  of  the 
calls  she  has." 

"I  think  I  will  do  it,"  said  Ned.  "Where 
can  I  find  a  paper  and  pencil?" 

Annie  opened  her  little  box  again  and  took 
out  the  half  of  an  old  envelope  she  had  saved, 
cutting  off  the  torn  side,  and  a  little  piece  of 
pencil  some  one  had  swept  out  doors. 

"You  can  set  down  three  things,  to  begin 
■with,"  she  said,  laughing — "a  glove  button, 
piece  of  paper,  and  pencil." 

Just  then  little  Martha  came  running  in,  the 
string  off  her  bonnet,  and  she  in  "such  a 
hurry." 

"Kun  to  Annie,"  said  her  mother,  who  was 
busy  making  mince  pies. 

Up  went  the  box  lid,  and  this  time  a  little 
hag,  containing  all  sorts  of  odd*  and  ends  of 
old  stringa  and  ribbons,  was  overhauled.  The 
right  thing  was  sure  to  be  there,  and  taking  a 
threaded  needle  from  a  cushion,  it  was  sewed 
on  in  a  minute's  time,  and  Mattie  was  dancing 
off  to  her  play. 

"Number  four,"  said  Ned,  just  as  lather 
came  in  and  asked  Annie  if  she  could  find 
him  "  a  good  strong  tow  string.  He  wanted 
to  mend  his  harness  enough  to  drive  to  the 
harness  maker's  and  have  .it  repaired."  An- 
other little  bag  was  produced,  which  contained 
just  what  was  wanted,  and  with  a  "Thank 
you,  daughter,  ymi  are  a  treasure  and  so  is 
your  box,"  he  went  his  way. 

"  Just  take  your  work  and  don't  stir  from 
that  corner  to-day,"  said  Ned,  "  you'll  be 
wanted.  You  might  set  up  a  store.  If  they 
all  had  as  many  customers  these  hard  times, 
they  wo94d  thrive.  Well,  Tommy,  what  can 
we  do  for  you?" 

Tommy  did  not  deign  to  glance  at  his  cous- 
in, but  went  straight  to  Annie. 

"  I  have  lost  my  mitten,  sister,  and  I  can't 
make  a  snow  man  without  it.  Can't  I  have 
another/* 

"  Now  I  guess  you  ar«  at  a  stand,  Annie,' 
said  Ned;  "  your  resources  will  fail  for  once." 

Annie  .smiled  and  said  to  Tommy,  "If  sister 
will  give  you  another  mitten,  will  you  go  out 
and  look  hard  for  the  lost  one?" 

The  little  fellow  promised,  and  was  bid  to 
go  and  warm  his  feet  by  the  fire  a  little  while. 
Annie  took  out  a  paper  pattern  and  a  bit  of 
thick  cloth,  which  was  quickly  cut  into  a  mit- 
ten shape  and  sewed  up,  all  in  fifteen  min- 
utes' time.  Ned  looked  on,  dumb  with  ad- 
miration, and  secretly  resolved  to  learn  a  les- 
son. 

Who  else  would  like  to  set  up  such  a  sav- 
ings box?  It  is  very  easy  and  very  delight- 
ful, and  what  is  more,  will  be  very  useful,  not 
only  to  yourself,  but  to  those  around  you.  It 
will  help,  too,  to  form  a  good  habit,  which  will 
i  of  life-long  advantage  to  you. — Chronicle. 


Jor  ijjt  § auitg. 

THE   BAG    OF    BEANS. 


A  TRUE  INCIDENT. 


little  poem  by  Bret  Harte:  — 
JESSIE. 
Jessie  is  both  young  and  fair, 
Dewy  eyes  and  sunny  hair; 
Sunny  hair  and  dewy  eyes 
Are  not  where  her  beauty  lies. 

Jessie  is  both  fond  and  true. 
Heart  of  gold  and  will  of  yew; 
Will  of  yew  and  heart  ol  gold- 
Still  her  charms  are  scarcely  told. 

If  she  yet  remain  unsung, 
Pretty,  constant,  docile,  young. 
What  remains  not  here  compiled? 
.T.^sip  is  a  littlfi  pliiUI  i 


the  other  went  well  together.  Tneir  kindly  interest 
and  good  advice  cheered  on  the  straggling  toy. 
Books  he  had  in  ar-mdance;   and  when  the  ti»e 

In  a  country  village  of  New  England  there  dwelt  came  for  nim  to  beg{,i  his  student  career  amiagst 
not  many  years  since  a  lawyer  and  a  physician,  both  E€W  ecenes  and  facci.  their  influence  found  him  a 
intelligent,  educated  men  ;  both  members  of  the  same  P^ce  where  his  nat»:  powers  could  begin  to  carve 
church.    They  have  both  passed  away,  but  not  with-  out  nis  destiny.       T 
out  doing  some  good  in  the  world.  That  desdny  is  now  well  assured.    The  forlorn 

JuBt  ten  years  ago  this  month,  one  frosty  morning,  distrusting  chore  boy  is  now  ths  self  possessed,  hoa' 
there  walked  into  that  village  a  little  boy,  looking  ored  professor.  Nature  had  given  him  a  comely  per- 
very  tired  and  desolate.  His  garments  were  old,  but  SOD>  arm  the  graces  have  been  kind  to  him,  Hta  home 
neatly  patched ;  his  hands  and  face  were  clean,  and  is  amongst  the  educated,  the  polished,  and  the  re- 
his  hair  smoothly  combed ;  withal,  there  was  about  tiat  d  ;  Jei  **  ne  Hot  now  uatrue  to  his  mother's 
him  a  most  attractive  air  of  decent  poverty.  teachings  ;  and  now  even  he  graaps  her  homely  hand 

So  thought  Dr.  A.  as  he  drew  near  the  lad,  who  ■J'f*  as  warmly  as  he  did  on  the  day  when  he  toofc 
had  seated  himself  upon  a  stone  opposite  his  gate.        froai  it  the  bag  °f  beans  wherewith  to  buy  his  first 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  my  little  man  ?"  he  grammar, 
kindly  asked.  FIRST'  LESSONS1.      ' 

The  boy  started,  stared  at  the  doctor  with  his  great  

brown  eyes,  as  much  as  to  say,  Can  it  be  that  such  "See,  this  is  the  way  she  walks  !"  said  Miss 
as  you  take  any  interest  in  me?  then  the  tears  began  Carrie  Little,  drawing  herself  up  and  marching 
to  trickle  over  his  bronzed  cheeks,  and  fell  fast  upon  around  with  a  ridiculous  gait,  in  mockery  of  her 
his  patched  garments.  'teacher ;  whereupon  three  or  four  other  little  girls, 

The  doctor  was  moved.  He  patted  the  boy  gently  seated  around  their  dinner-baskets  at  the  noon  re- 
o*  his  head,  and  again  asked  what  he  was  thinking  kess,  laughed  applause. 

of.  Tne  child  seemed  reassured,  and,  despite  his  "  Wait,  Carrie,  let  me  reprove  you  now.  See 
choking  sobs,  exclaimed,  'girls,  I'm  going  to  give  her  a  severe  reproof  for  talk- 

"  I  was  thinking,  if  God  would  only  open  a  way  for  mS  ;"  and  piping  her  pretty  voice  into  a  squeal,  she 
me  to  become  great  and  good  like  you,  how  I  might  continued,  "  '  Miss  Little,  Miss  Little  !  is  it pausible 
help  my  dear  mother,  who  is  working  her  life  out  to  I  can't  rely  on  you?  Where's  your  prcenceple, 
get  bread  for  her  children."  Mas?  T*i|tte?'    I  can  always  see  Cal.  laughing  out 

The  doctor  himself  now  brushed  a  tear  from  hh,,0I'tne  corner  of  her  mouth." 
eye,  and  softly  said,  still  keeping  his  hand  upon  tne^     "  ^°^'i  you  wish  she'd  leave  those  ridiculous 
boy's  head,  "  Good  you  can  certainly  become  ;  great  bows  he  ;ne  ?    Ma  says  she's  a  perfect  old  ma 
too  in  virtue ;  and  all  other  greatness  God  is  able  to  added  A^ce  Manners,  whose  beautiful  rosy  mouth 
add  thereto.    Take  heart,  my  son— act  if  you  would  should  b >>»ve  spoken  pleasanter  things.     "  And  her 
be."  collars,  $ie  makes  'em  out  of  scraps,  I'll  bet." 

"  Ob,  sir,  if  you  would  only  help  me,"  exclaimed  the  "  *  kn^w  it,"  resumed  Carrie.  "  Don't  you  think 
lad,  springing  up  and  confronting  his  new-found  last  wcex  when  I  had  a  cold  and  stayed  home,  she 
friend  with  glowing  face  and  sparkling  eyes.  mt,st  call  to  see  me  !     Ma  says  she  don't  care  about 

The  graceful  attitude  of  the  child,  the  vigor  of  his  everybody s  calling  on  her— she's  very  particular 
expression,  the  seeming  firmness  of  his   purpose,   about  her  acquaintances." 

turned  the  scale  with  the  doctor.  "I  do  not  need  "I  guess  Miss  Tyler's  equal  to  any  one ,  Carrie 
you,  child,"  he  said,  "  but  I  will  take  you  and  give^Little,"  spoke  up  a  larger  girl  from  beside  the  book- 
you  a  start ;  may  God  help  yon  do  the  rest  You  .case,  in  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  where  she  had 
may  be  my  chore-boy.  I  will  board,  clothe,  and  teach^heen  standing  while  the  others  were  having  "  such 
you  till  you  can  do  better.  No  thanks,  lad  ;  but  take  fun,"  as  girls' term  this  sort  of  scandal.  "Her 
my  horse  there  to  the  stable,  and  tend  him  carefully."  father  was  a  governor,  and  she's  had  a  splendid 

The  boy  silently  obeyed,  and  his  benefactor  turned  education,  fit  for  any  society." 
away.    The  hearts  of  both  were  full  of  gratitude— the      "  Well,  she's  poor  anyhow,  or  she  wouldn't  have 
child's  for  his  new  found  home,  and  its  donor's  for  *°  keep  school." 

the  rich  assurance  that  he  was  but  doing  his  Maker's  "  What  of  that  ?  Mother  says  noone  is  fit  for  my. 
bidding.  teacher  who  Isn't  as  good  as  she  is  ;  you  ought  to 

Neither  the  boy  nor  his  patron  had  ever  reason  to  he  ashamed  to:make  fun  of  such  a  faithful  teacher, 
regret  the  decision  of  that  morning.    The  one  proved  who  does  so  much  for  us." 

a  kind  a»d  considerate  master,  the  other  a  careful,  "  Isn't  she  paid  for  it  ?  I  guess  she  does  not  do 
diligent  servant.  His  evenings  the  boy  eagerly  spent. any  more  than  she's  paid  for,"  retorted  Carrie. 
in  study,  and  quickly  mastered  all  the  branches  taught  "  Is  she  paid  for  taking  as  much  interest  in  us  as 
in  district  schools,  Here  he  might  have  stopped,  our  own  mothers?  She  isn't  paid  for  giving  us 
despite  his  longings,  and  have  passed  the  rest  of  his  rambles  and  rides,  and  pleasure  parties,  and  for 
days  in  humble,  honest  poverty,  had  not  a  most  offering  prizes  to  make  us  study,  and  for  being  more 
trivial  incident  turned  the  whole  current  of  his  life,      patient  and  gentle  than  even  our  mothers  are  with 

One  morning  the  good  doctor,  in  his  daily  visit  to  our  faults,  I  know.  If  Miss  Tyler  only  did  what 
his  stable,  while  rummaging  in  his  hay- mow,  atum- 'she's  'paid  for,  we  might  have  a  different  sort  of 
bled  upon  a  bag  full  of  beans— a  half-bushel  of  nice,  school.  For  my  part,  I  think  we  owe  a  great  deal 
fresh  beans.  Here  was  a  mystery.  How  came  they  of  gratitude  to  oar  teachfrs,  and  that  that  is  the 
there  ?  To  whom  did  they  belong  ?  Was  there  any-  onlv  way  we  can  pay  them.  I've  heard  it  said  that 
thing  wrong  about  it  ?  His  wife  could  tell  him  noth-  some  people  owe  all  their  character  and  good  wr- 
ing;  so  he  next  had  recourse  to  James.    Tne  boy  col-  tune  to  their  teachers." 

ored,  hesitated,  stammered,  and  then  was  silent  alto-  "  Well,  we  would  be  more  grateful  if  she  didn't 
gether.  weax  her  hair  so  horridly  and  keep  on  those  great 

A  faint  suspicion  flashed  across  the  doctor's  mind,  bows  J"  replied  Alice,  striving  to  renew  the  former 
Could  it  be  ?    No !   he  flung  the  idea  from  him  at  theme ;  but  her  sally  was  faintly  responded  to— 
once.    Honesty  was  stamped  upon  every  feature  of  scandal's  spell  was  broken. 
that  manly  face.  "Just  as  if  character  depended  on  any  such  thing. 

The  boy  seemed  to  read,  by  intention,  his  every  For  my  part,  I  never  improved  so  much  under  any 
jthoiight,  againheputhimselfinthehalf-tragic  attitude  one  as  I  do  under  Miss  Tyler,  and  I've  had  teachers 
Vfhisfbv.t  appeal  to  the  doctor,  and  exclaimed,  "A  ^;e/;  that  were  selfish  as  could  be,  and  didn't  take  the 
No;  I'd  sooner  die  than  touch  what  did  not  belong ^east  pains.  You  ought  to  have  too  much  princi- 
to  me.  Those  beans  my  mother  saved  to  help  me  J»lc  to  laugh  at  one  of  your  best  friends." 
buy  a  Latin  grammar  with.  Do  you  think  I  could  be  Here,  to  end  the  talk,  the  young  Mentor  took  her 
untrue  to  such  a  mother's  teachings  T '  book  and  left  the  room. 

"No,  my  lad,"  said  the  doctor,  firmly  grasping  hi*  "Anna  Miller's  always  trying  to  teach  her  bet- 
hand,  "and  your  mother  may  well  be  proud  of  .meters'"  said  Clara  spitefully. 

a  son.  Henceforth  the  way  to  learning  shall  be  no  "Come,  girls,  let's  go  out  and  play ;"— and  with 
thorny  one  to  you,  if  friends  can  help  yon."  their  departure  falls  the  curtain  on  this  little  scene 

So  it  proved.  The  physician  and  lawyer  went  of  young  life— mere  reflection  of  parlor  social 
hand  in  hand  in  such  works  of  benevolence;  the*ceiies>  where  the  thoughtless  gossip  of  mothers  and 
larse  heart  of  the  one  and  tne  aoundant  meins  ousters  fall*  on  minds  open  and  ready.  Oak.    | 


I 


r^^^^tf^^^^ 


Having  with  me  in  a  lr  >e-car  the  other 
Sunday  a  beautiful  bouqittt«whieh  had  been 
handed  me  as  I  went  int(F\jurch,  and  which 
had  attracted  the  admirations!  all  classes  and 
ages  as  they  took  their  seats  in  the  car,  a  gen- 
tleman suddenly  asked  me  if  I  saw  anything^ 
written  on  it.  As  my  brain  had  been  some- 
what puzzled  as  to  the  giver,  and  supposing 
he  had  heard  me  say  so  to  a  friend,  I  eagerly 
turned  it  over,  thinking  some  hidden  card  or 
note  might  give  the  solution  of  the  secrete 
There  was  nothing  there,  and  a  little  perplex- 
ed I  said  I  saw  nothing.  To  his  reply  that  he 
did,  again,  in  some  sort  of  dumb  wonder,  I 
turned  it  over,  supposing  that  the  arrangement 
of  the  tlowers  conveyed  in  ilower-language 
some  sentiment  or  name.  Unsatisfied  and 
puzzled  still,  he  said  he  saw  the  words  "God 
is  love."  Then  "I  took,"  and  answered  that 
I  saw  that  everywhere.  And  yet,  that  is  more 
true  in  sentiment  than  in  reality.  One  knows 
that  that  brief  phrase  is  written  every  where  — 
in  life  as  in  ilowers — but  we  walk  with  holden 
eyes,  and  only  now  and  then  see  it  dimly  as 
the  blind  man  saw.  This  sea,  whose  voice  is 
never  still,  whose  waters  never  sleep,  some- 
time sluggish  as  the  gorged  king  of  forest, 
sometimes  lashed  to  fury  as  that  king  roused ; 
now  blue,  now  green,  now  mottled,  now  gray, 
now  laughing  and  now  growling;  now  your 
plaything  and  now  your  fear ;  why  it  speaks 
of  the  great  Divine  love  all  the  time,  yet  only 
now  and  then,  in  some  moment  of  tender 
thought  or  of  rare  and  quiet  beauty  does  it 
say  out  to  you  so  as  to  be  heard  over  the  or- 
dinary noises  and  stir  of  life,  that  God  is  love. 
I  think  I  have  before  told  of  the  woman  who 
was  vexed  because  all  things  were  not  drab, 


but  to  how  many  of  us  are  all  God's  things 
draped  in  a  darker  livery,  and  never  show 
themselves  in  the  varied  colors  in  which  he 
chooses  to  paint  in  the  love  that  never  fails, 
changes  or  fades.  There  are  many  who  never 
name  the  name  of  God  without  a  pucker  of 
the  mouth,  a  drawing  out  of  the  features,  a 
nasality  of  tone,  a  putting  off  of  everything 
natural  and  a  putting  on  of  everything  unna- 
tural, which  shows  that  they  have  as  little  idea 
of  the  love  that  God  is  as  of  the  love  that 
God  asks. 

I  dare  say  that  somewhere  away  in  the  vil-^ 
lages  that  nook  themselves   among  the    hills, 
may  yetbe  found  the  good  wife  who  ties  her  calash, 
as  with  stocking  in  hand  she   starts  to  spend 
the  afternoon,  and    "tea"  with  her  neighbor, 
but  how  completely  has  that  once  brave  article 
of  female  apparel  faded  from  the  view  of  this 
generation.   Once  it  was  as  momentous  a  thing 
in  the  village  fashion-world  as  a  to-day  bonnet, 
and  cost  as  much  talk,  and  as  much  "going  to' 
the  store,"  and  as  much   anxiety  that  it  should 
be  "becoming."     What  taste  it  was  that  saw^j 
the  becoming,  or  the  convenient,  in  those  ohH 
bellows-tops!     How  feeble  were  the  resources" 
as  the  results  of  fashion  in  the  days  when  Paris - 
was  farther  away  than  Japan  is  now,  and  a 
city  bonnet  in  a  village  church  was  enough  to 
put  the  village  in  a  ferment  for   a  week,  let 
alone  the  effect  upon  the  parson's  "seventhly / 
and   finally   and   to   conclude    with."      What, 
pranks  fashion  has  played  with  the  female  head/ 
since  then,  and  what  a  marvel  of  shades,  shapes 
covers  and  uncovers  have  been   born  and  set 
aside  since  the  days  of  the  calash,  and  what 
tortuous  ways  have  heads   been  tortured   into 
following  till  now  not  the  cavernous  depths  01 
the  calash  and  smooth  hair,  but  each  particular 


hair,  as  if  charged  with  some  individual  elec- 
tric repulsion,  straggles  and  scatters   not   so 
much  within  as  without  the  tiny  bonnet  or  the 
nobby  Hat.     I  proposed  to  some  one  the  other 
day,  anxious  to  get  up  a  sea-side  garden,  that 
she  should  plant  the  off-cast  ladies'  hats.     Such 
a  glory  do  they  now  put  on,  as  Solomon   was 
never  arrayed  with — that  a  very  various  par- 
terre might  be  got  up  not  so  much  regardless 
of  expense  as  of  drought  and  weed.     I  think 
in  the  Crimea  they  made  fair  gardens  out  of 
discarded  crutches,  frying-pans,    kettles    and 
the  like,  with  a  few  fir-trees,  and  well  selected 
paints  judiciously  laid  on,  and  if  rude  art  so 
triumphed  over  nature  then,  and  made  a  coun- 
terfeit to  amaze  as  amuse,  much  as  one  shrinks 
from  counterfeits,  he  feels  that  a  more  various 
and  delicate  effect  could  be  produced  by  the 
millinery  than  by  the  military.     And  for  those 
with  whom  the  love  of  show  is  all  and  the  love 
of  nature  nothing,  the  thing  were  an  economy 
as  a  convenience. 

To  whom  shall  be  given  the  honor  of  these 
eye-glasses — nippers,    are   they  ?  \ — which   so 
comfortably  bestride  the  nose  of  growing  years, 
and   make  second   childhood's  second   sight? 
We  who  must  grow  old  mayhap  grow  old  no 
more  gracefully  but  surely  more  comfortably. 
Is  he  known,  or  must  he  like  the  true  benefac- 
tor he  is,  as  so  many  benefactors  before  him, 
retire  "unhonored  and  unsung?"    How  much 
time,  temper,   discomfort  does  he  daily  save 
us!     None  of  those  weary  hunts  for  "specs" 
in  which  households  used  to  indulge,  when  all 
the  youngsters,  at  least,  were  routed  out  by 
the  well  known  inquiry,  "Have  you  seen  my 
specs,"  or  the   equally  well  known   order   to 
find  them.     We  used  to  think  "grandma'ams" 
were  a    species  always  in  search  of  spectacles, 
and  that  with  them  our  "grand-sirs''  donned 
wisdom.     Dear  me !    after   a  flurry   that  has 
convulsed  the  house,  and  heated  the  faces  and 
tempers,  how  many  of  us  can  remember  the 
sudden  exclamation,   "Why,  grandma,  there 
they  are — on  your  own  head,"  just  as  tbimbles^tft^ 
and  scissors  much-hunted-after  are  invariably 
found  in  pocket  or  on  finger.     And  then  as 
soon  as  a  man  made  the  turn,  and  could  no  V* 

K 


9 


BOBBY  EOB'S  LITTLE  SERMON. 
Yesterday  morning  Bobby  Robb   climbed 
up   into    his    grandmother's    arm-chair,    and 
preached  this  little  sermon  to  the  children  in 
the  nursery : — 

"Beloved  HHearers  and  Chil'ren: — I'm 
a  goin'  to  preach  to  you  about  shoes.     It  was 
what  my  aunty  told  me  oncet,  and  it  is  true. 
Every  mornin',  beloved  hearers   and  chil'ren, 
there's  two  pair  of  shoes  a  standin'  by  every 
boy's  and  girl's  bed, — not  by  the  cradles,  coz 
babies  don't  know  enough.     Well,  one  pair  of 
these  shoes  is  nice,  and  makes  you  good-na- 
tured and  pleasant,  and  the  other  pair  is  all  ty 
wrong,  and  makes  you  just  as  cross  as  tigers. 
If  you  put  on  the  good  pair,  you'll  walk  through 
the  day  just  as  good  and  cheerful  as  a  birdy- 
bird,  and  everybody'll  like  to  hear  you  comin', 
and  your  step'll  be  just  like   the  music  of  a 
beautiful  hand-organ,  with  little  men  and  wo- 
men all  dancing  round  and  round ;  and  every- 
where's  you  go,  things  will  seem  all  right  and 
nice,  and  you  won't  even  mind  having  your 
face   washed,   nor  your  hair   curled,  if  they 
don't  pull  too  awful.     But  if  you  put  on  the 
other  pair,  you  won't  have  any  comfort,  and 
nobody  won't  want  you,  and  everything  will 
kind  o'  creak.     Now,  my  hearers  and  chil'ren, 
(O,   Mary  Ann !   mamma  said  you    mustn't 
jump  your  witch-box  while  any  of  us  was  a 
preachin' !)      Now,     my    hearers,    'emember 
I  these  two  kind  o'  shoes  is  by  everybody's  bed 
every  morning.  You  can't  see  'em;  but  they're 
there,  and  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  say,  I'll 
put  my  feet  in  the  good-natured  shoes,  and 
wear  'em  all  day,  and  not  forget  it,  and  you'll 
do  bully.     But  just  as  sure  as  you  don't,  your 
feet'll  slip  into  the  bad  shoes  afore  you  know 

|  it ;  and  then  look  out ! 

"Now,  my  hearers  and  chil'ren,  1  must  get 

down.  The  breakfass-bell  is  a  riugin'.  I  want 
you  all  to  'emember  what  I  just  said  to  you, — 
and  another  thing:  if  you've  got  on  your 
good-natured  shoes  this  morning,  you'll  wait 
for  me  till  I  get  my  hair  brushed,  coz  I've  been 
preachin',  an'  we  all  ought  to  start  fair  if 
there's  griddle-cakes. — Hearth  and  Home. 


\ 


longer  depend  on  his  own  eyes,  what  a  circuin-  y, 
stance  it  was  getting  out  the  case,  laying  that 
one  side,  getting  out  the  silk  handkerchief  for 
a  preliminary  wipe,  preceded  or  succeeded  by 
the  preliminary  or  supplementary  blow  of  the; 
nose,  then  both  hands  to  adjust,  and  at  last  a 
settling  down  to  a  reading  that  always  seemed! 
unsatisfactory  and   slow.     I  often  think  of  a 
scene  one  night  at  West  Point.     A  very  conse- 
quential, ordinary  looking  man  with  wife  and:' 
daughters,    more    offensively    both,    had    at- 
tracted attention  on  the  boat,  and  I  found  him 
at  the  office-record  just  before  me.     It  took 
some  time  to  lay  duly  down  on  the  counter ' 
cane  and  umbrella,  then  to  get  out  a  big  silk 
handkerchief  and  give  the  preliminary  twist  j 
to  the  prominent   feature  of  his   face,  then  to 
fish  up,  wipe,    adjust  the  spectacles,  then  «^\ 
square  round  the  book,  occupy  the  rest  of  the 
counter  with  his  elbows,   and   then  with  the 
slow   motion   of  a   school-boy  and  the   well- 
known  accompaniment  of  head  and   tongue, 
painfully  in  large  round  hand,  to  write  it  outv 
that  we  had  before  us  "Alderman   So-and-so, 
and  family,  of  New  York."    I   have   seldom 
seen  more  that  was  portentous  crowded  into 
the  same  space  and  with  the  same  result. 


}. 


*v*\ 


»ur 


»pice 


I0X. 


Douglas  Jerrold's  Ready  Wit.— One 
evening,  in  a  mixed  company,  Jerrold 
and  some  friends  were  playing  a  game  to 
test  their  knowledge  of  Shakespeare. 
Each  person  was  to  name  an  Object,  it 
mattered  not  what,  to  the  gnest  next  to 
him,  and  the  latter,  under  pain  of  a  forfeit, 
was  to  give  some  quotation  from  the  poet 
to  illustrate  it.  To  Jerrold  was  given  the 
word  "treadmill,"  and  he  hardly  hesi- 
tated a  moment  before  replying,  in  the 
well-known  language  of  Lear,  "Down, 
thou  climbing  sorrow  !  " 

The  Empress  on  the  Stage.— One  of 
the  pleasantest  incidents  of  the  French 
court  stage  occurred  when  the  Emperor 
Napoleon  jokingly  hissed  the  Empress 
Josephine,  who  was  acting  a  little  opera- 
tic part  in  the  theater  in  the  palace  at  St. 
Cloud.  She  demurely  stepped  forward 
and  remarked  that  any  one  of  the  audi- 
ence, who  was  dissatisfied  with  the  per- 
formance might  retire,  and  have  his 
money  returned  to  him  at  the  doors. 
The  consequent  laughter  was  uproar- 
ious. 

Beating  Barnum.—  Orator  Henley  ex- 
celled Barnuni  in  his  way.  Once  he  at- 
tracted together  to  his  chapel  an  immense 
number  of  shoemakers,  by  advertising 
that  on  the  following  Sunday  he  would 
lay  open  to  the  public  a  mode  by  which  a 
pair  of  shoes  might  be  made  in  four  min- 
utes, and  demonstrate  the  ease  and  cer- 
tainty of  this  new  method  by  doing  it  in 
the  face  of  the  audience.  He  did  so  by 
producing  a  pair  of  boots,  and  cutting  the 
feet  off! 


gMM 


THE  MINISTER'S  WIFE. 

—        ■ » » 

EY    ELIZA    RODMAN. 

The  Rev.  Sydney  Saybrook  preached 
his  first  sermon  to  an  admiring  congrega- 
tion. The  people  of  L were  astonish- 
ed {  old  men  dwelt  on  the  expedient  home 
truths  introduced,  as  it  were,  amid  a  bed 
of  flowers — young  men  admired  the  elo- 
quence and  frank  bearing  of  the  speaker — 
and  young  ladies,  ah!  that  was  the  thing. 
They,  disdaining  the  matter  of  fact  admi- 
ration of  the  rougher  sex,  looked  forward 
into  futurity,  and,  as  the  young  minister 
was  reported  free  of  encumbrances,  they 
thought  of  putting  an  end  to  his  season  of 
bliss  by  providing  him  with  one  as  soon  as 
possible. 

This,  however,  is  in  strict  confidence — 
they  would  not  have  acknowledged  it  for 
the  world,  and  yet  many  of  the  brains  per- 
taining to  those  attentive  faces  were  busi- 
ly at  work  within  the  pretty  parsonage",  al- 
tering, remodeling,  arranging  things  to 
their  own  particular  tastes.  One  would 
have  that  rose-vine  taken  away — it  obscur- 
ed the  view;  another  would  not  only  leave 
the  rose,  but  would  add  a  honey-suckle, 
too — it  looked  pretty  and  romantic  ;  while 
a  third  had  recarpeted  the  stairs  to  the  last 
flight  by  the  time  that  Mr.  Saybrook  ar- 
rived at  "  thirteenthly." 

Milly  Ellsworth  was  a  very  pretty  girl, 
and,  therefore,  what  might,  perhaps  have 
been  vanity  in  one  more  plain,  was  with  her 
only  a  pleasant  consciousness  of  her  own 
charms:  as,  in  apparent  forgetfulness  of 
the  saying  that  it  takes  two  to  make  a  bar- 
gain, she  exclaimed  : 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  captivate 
Mr.  Saybrook — it  must  be  so  beautiful  to 
be  a  minister's  wife." 

The  last  remark  was  intended  as  a  sort 
of  compliment  to  their  visitor,  who  enjoyed 

the  enviable   distinction,  but    Mrs.   S- 

merely  smiled  as  Milly's  earnest  face  was 
raised  towards  her. 

"  Only  think  of  it,"  continued  the  young 
enthusiast. 

"I  do  think  of  it,"  replied  Mrs.   S , 

quietly  ;  "  but  the  thought  to  me  bring  up 
some  scenes  that  are  anything  but  agreea- 
ble. If  I  cannot  tell  'tales  that  would 
freeze  your  very  blood,'  I  can  relate  some 
that  ttw/Wfreeeze  a  little  of  that  enthusi- 
asm. A  minister's  wife!  You  little  know 
what  is  comprised  in  that  title." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Milly,  with  a  de- 
mure face,  "  it  is  a  station  of  great  respons- 
ibility, and  has  its  peculiar  duties.  A  min- 
ister's wife,  too,  is  a  sort  of  pattern,  and 
should  be  a — a — in  short,  just  the  thing." 
"  Exactly,"  returned  Mrs.  S ,  smil- 
ing at  this  very  satisfactory  explanation, 
"  but  for  '  pattern'  read  '  mirror' — a  reflec- 
tion of  every  body's  own  particular  ideas; 
in  which,  of  course,  no  two  agree.  But 
let  me  hear  your  ideas  on  the  subject,  Mil- 
ly— I  wish  to  know  what  you  consider 
•  just  the  thing.'  " 


adoring  subjects.  Mr.  S —  is  not  very 
communicative,  and  as  he  did  not  pull 
down  my  castle-in-the-air  with  any  descrip- 
tion of  realities,  I  was  rather  disappoint- 
ed to  find  no  roses  or  honeysuckles;  but 
a  verv  substati  il  looking  house,  with  an 
immense  corn-t'<.  don  onesideanda  kitch- 
en-garden on/  ;  other.  I  could  scarcely 
repress  my  tears  ;  but  Mr.  S — ,  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  the  prospect  all  his  life, 
welcomed  me  to  my  future  home  as  though 
it  were  all  that  could  be  desired. 

"The  congregation  soon  flocked,  not 
'  to  pay  their  respects,'  but  to  take  an  iu- 
.  ventory  of  my  person  and  manners.  I  was 
quite  young  and  naturally  lively,  and  old 
Ji  people  shook  their  heads  disapprovingly  at 
the  minister's  choice, while  grave  spinsters 
disappointed  ones  perhaps,  tossed  their 
heads  at  the  idea  of  '  such  a  chit.'  The 
very  rigid  ones  black-balled  me  from  their 
community  as  unworthy  to  enter,  while  the 
gay  ones  regarded  me  as  a  sort  of  amphibi- 
ous animal,  neither  one  thing  nor  the 
other. 

"  Before  long,  the  gifts  of  which  von 
speak  thronged  in.  I  was  pleased  attheat- 
tention — not  dreaming,  in  my  innoceice, 
that  twice  as  much  would  be  requir 
me  in  return.  My  ignorance  on  \, 
j  many  subjects  excited  the  contempt,  u»d 
often  the  indignation  of  my  country  neirh- 
bors  ;  they  made  not  the  least  allowance^ 
my  city  education. 

"  I  was  standing  in  the  kitchen  one  day, 
with  a  delusive  notion  of  making  cake — 
for  my  attempts  in  the  cookery  line  always 
placed  me  in  a  state  of  delightful  uncer- 
tainty as  to  the  end,  it  was  quite  a  puzzle 
what  thing  tvould  turn  out — when  a  middle 
aged  woman  made  her  appearance,  and, 
without  being  invited,  seated  herself  near 
me.  A  basket  accompanied  her  :  and  after 
remarking  it  was  'awful  hot !'  she  asked  me 
"  if  I  wouldn't  like  some  turnpike-cakesll 
"  Previous  unpalatable  messes  had  been 
sent  in  to  the  table,  and  afraid  that  I  might 
be  drawn  in  to  taste  some  nauseous  com- 
pound, I  replied  rather  hastily,  'No  J 
thank  you — I  do  not  think  that  I  am  very 
fond  of  them.' 

"  Mrs.  Badger,  for  that  was  my  visitor's 
name,  placed  a  hand  on  each  hip,  and  look- 
ing me  full  in  the  face,  burst  forth  into  a 
laugh  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a 
back  woods-man.  I  trembled,  and  felt  my- 
self coloring  to  the  tips  of  my  ears.  To 
this  day  I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  the 
Milly  sighed;  she  was  not  fond  of  work,  impression  made  upon  me  by  that  woman's 
and  had  vague  visions  of  meals  of  fruit  and    contempt. 

milk,  and  interminable  seams    accomplish-      "  Well,  wherever  was  you  brou"hten  up," 
ing  themselves  with  neatness  and  dispatch,    said  my  visitor  at   length,  "  to  'spose   that 
"Now,    that  you    look  more    rational,"    turnpike  cakes  was  made   to  eat/      Why, 
said  Mrs.  S — ,  with   a  smile,  "  I  will    give<  bless  your  heart,    child/  they're  to  make 
[  you  little  of  my  own  experience,  that  you    bread  with!"  • 

■i  may  not  walk  into  these  responsibilities^  "  I  caught  eagerly  at  the  idea-  Mr.  S 
with  your  eyes  half  shut,  as  I  did.  Myjvvas  partial  to  home  made  bread— Mrs. 
ideas  upon  the  subject  of  minister's  wives,  Badger,  who  was  by  no  means  ill-natured 
(  were  very  much  like  your  own,  and  when  willingly  left  the  turnpike  cakes,  and  I  was 
I  left  my  father's  house  in  the  city  to  ac-j  soon  plunged  up  to  the  eibows  in  my  labor 
company  Mr.  S —  to  his  home  in  a  distant  of  love.  I  had  very  mistaken  ideas, though 
country  village,  it  was  with  the  impression  upon  the  subject  of  bread  and  its  capabili- ^ 
that  I  was  to  become  a  sort  of  queen — over  ties  of  rising;  I  supposed  that  a  very  minute 
a  small  territory,  it  is  true,  but  filled  with  piece  of  dough  would   bake    into   a    pretty 


"  Why,"  continued  Milly,  warming  with 
her  subject,  "  her  dress,  in  the  first  place, 
should  be  scrupulously  plain — not  an  ar- 
ticle of  jewelry — a  simple  straw  hat,  per- 
haps, tied  down  with  a  single  ribbon — 
and  a  white  dress,  with  no  ornament  but 
natural  flowers." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Mrs.  S ,  "  as  far 

as  it  goes  ;  but  the  beauty  of  this  "  simple 
straw  hat"  is,  of  course,  to  consist  in  its 
shape  and  style,  and  country  village  are 
not  proverbial  for  taste  in  this  respect.  It 
would  never  do  for  a  minister's  wife  to 
spend  her  time  in  searching  for  a  tasty  bon- 
net, and  with  a  limited  purse  this  is  no 
light  labor.  Then,  too,  she  is  obliged  to 
encourage  the  manufactures  of  the  town 
in  which  she  resides.  If  you  could  have 
seen  some  of  the  hats  I  had  to  wear  !" 

Milly  shuddered  ;  she  could  have  borne 
the  reverses  of  fortune,  could  even  have 
stood  at  the  stake  unflinchingly,  supported 
by  the  glories  of  martyrdom  ;  but  an  unbe- 
coming bonnet  is  one  of  those  petty  trials 
for  which  one  gains  no  credit  but  that  of 
bad  taste. 

"  As  to  the  white  dress,  continued  Mrs. 

g t  **  you  must  intend  it  to  be  made  of 

some  material  from  which  dirt  will  glance 
harmlessly   off  on   one  side.     Or   perhaps 
you  have  one  already— a  legacy,  vfrom   one 
of  those  everlastingly  white-robed  heroines 
in  the   old  novels.     Those  most  assuredly 
have  been  spectre    woods   that   they    wan- 
dered in,  for  in  our  days  brambles  and   un- 
derwood  save  their  marks.     I  was  obliged 
to  give  up  white  dresses." 
Milly  looked  thoughtful. 
"  Oh,  well,"  said  she  after  a  short  pause, 
'  dress  is  very  little, after  all.  I  should    like 
the  idea  of   being  a    minister's    wife;  you 
are  so  looked  up  to  by    the   congregation  , 
i,  and  then  they  bring  you  presents,  and  think 
so  much  of  you." 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  S— ,  "there  is 
something  in  that  ;  1  had  seven  thimbles 
given  to  me  once." 

"  Well,  that  must  have  been  pleasant,  I 
am  sure." 

"  It  would  have  done  very  well,  had 
.hey  not  expected  me  to  use  the  whole  sevei/ 

at  once.     Don't  look  so  frightened,  Milly  ;£ 
I  don't  mean  in  a  literal  sense;  but  I  was  , 
certainly  expected  to  accomplish   as  much 
work  as    would  have  kept  the  seven   well 
employed.     This,    with    my  household   af- 
fairs, was  somewhat  impossible." 


loaf,  and  was  extremely  surprised  when 
I  beheld"  only  an  extensive  tea  cake. 
Mr.  S.  laughed  good-naturedly  at  my  bak- 
ing, and  pronounced  it  very  well,  what 
there  was  of  it.  Anxious  to  distinguish 
myself  in  his  eyes  as  a  r  jd  housekeeper, 
I  toiled  over  pies,  ca|*}and  everything 
eatable  that  I  could  thii.,\>f  ;  but,  alas// 
the  meed  of  praise  always  fell  short  of  my 
expectations.  Pie  despatched  the  pies  with 
a  mournful  air,  as  he  assured  me  that  •  he^ 
never  expected  to  taste  any  equal  to  his 
mothers  ;'  and  after  trying  in  vain  to  reach  c 
this  standard  of  perfection.  I  crave  un  in 
"  Auxious  lo  put  an  end  to  this  perpetu- 
al state  of  surprise  I  went  into  the  kitchen 
to  oversee  the  girl's  performance — know- 
ing about  as  much  of  the  matter  as  she  did. 
Her  request,  "  and  would  ye  plaze,  ma'am, 
to  be  afther  showin'  me,"  just  meant  to  do 
it  myself.     The  sensations  that  Mr.  S.  ex- 


possessed  the  elastic  properties  of  India- 
rubber,  and  mildly  disregarded  my  ignor- 
ance   when  I    asserted    that   it    would  not 

sjrejch  to  any  extent. 

"A  convention  ot  ministers  was  to  meet 

in  the  village,  for  some  purpose  or  other, 
and  the  visitors,  like  British  soldiers  dur- 
ing the  revolution,  were  to  be  quartered 
upon  the  inhabitants — with  only  this  dif- 
ference, they  were  to  be  invited  before 
they    entered    a    house.     I    was   seated  in 

Mr.  S 's  study  when  he   mentioned  the 

ministers. 

"I  spoke  for  you,  too,  my  dear,'  snid  he 
coolly,  and  said  that  we  could  accommo- 
date six.' 

"Mr.  S !"  I    exclaimed,  roused    past 

all  endurance  ;  'are  you  really  crazy  !" 

"Anna!'  replied  my  husband,  as  he 
turned  his  eyes    upon  me.     Mr.  S was 


usually   very  mild,  and    appeared   to  think 

that  a    look   was    sufficient   to   subdue    re- 
perienced  on   finding  me    thus    employed    frfl  ppirits      Re    |1<JW   undertook    (o 


were  almost  tod  deep  to  vent  themselves  in 
words,  but  he  positively  forbade  my  doing 
it  again  ;  so,  whenever  I  knew  lhat  he  was 
off  on  some  lengthy  visit,  I  continued  my 
mysterious  occupation  unsuspected;  while 
he  rejoiced  ut  Biddy's  improvement,  and  in 
the  innocence  of  his  heart,  ex,  '/iimed, 

"  '  Don't  tell  me,"  my  dc-i-%  that  these 
Irish  cannot  be  taught — look  at  Biddy." 

"  I  did  look  art  her,  and  encountered  so 
hopelessly  vacant  a  visage  that  I  laughed 
to  myself  at  his  credulity. 

"I  was  invited,  rather  commanded,  to  join 
'The  Dorcas  Society  for  the  Relief  of  In- 
digent Females,'  which  met  every  week, 
and  where  the  members  always  sewed  on 
unbleached  muslin  and  sixpenny  calico; 
they  made  me  president,  and  in  conse- 
quence I  was  expected,  at  each  meeting  to 
take  home  the  unfinished  work  and  do  it  up 
during  the  week.  I  was  collector  for  the 
poor — and  in  my  rounds  some  gave  me 
sixpence,  some  nothing,  and  some  im- 
pudence. I  was  superintendent  of  the 
Sunday  school,  besides  teacher  of  a  Bible 
class  of  middle-aged  young  ladies  who 
were  not  quite  grown  up.  I  was  a  member 
of  a 'Society  for  the  Diffusion  of  Useful 
Reading,'  which  also  met  every  week  ; 
and  where,  had  I  -not  been  a  minister's 
wife,  I  should  certainly  have  fallen  asleep 
over  the  'Exhortations,'  'Helps,' Aids,'  and 
'Addresses'  that  were  showered  upon  us 
poor  women  ;  while  I  wondered  that  no- 
body took  the  trouble  to  write  to  men. 

"You  must  acknowledge  that  my  time 
was  pretty  well    employed;  but,  besides  all 


ways  made  our  house  their  stopping-place  ; 
and  it  must  have  been  conveniently  on  the 
route  to  almost  every  place  in  the  Union  ; 
for  some  were  going  North,  some  East, 
and  some  West,  but  that  was  always  the 
halting-place.     Their    I  >urs    of    arriving 


■look  me  into  reason  ;  while  I  fairly  boil- 
ing at  the  idea  of  being  treated  like  a 
naughty  child,  and  yet  struggling  with  a 
sense  of  right  and  wrong,  sat  with  down- 
cast eyes  trying  in  vain  to  get  cool. 

"I    hope,'  continued     Mr.  S ,  'that 

my  wife  has  not  forgotten  the  rules  of 
hospitality,  or  the  precepts  of  the  Bible  ?" 

"But  it  is  so  impossible  !"  I  pleaded. — 
'Neither "beds  nor  anything  else  will  hold 
out  under  such  an  inundation.' 

"Remember  the  widow's  cruse  of  oil,' 
replied  my  husband. 

"Yes,'  said  I,  for  I  felt  just  the  least  bit 
termagantish,'but  such  things  do  not  hap- 
pen now  a  days.' 

"Mr.  S looked    again,   and     I    was 

quieted,  though  I  felt  very  much  like  laugh- 
ing. 

"One  can  sleep  on  the  sofa,'  continued 
my  husband,  after  a  pause. 

"It  was  the  nearest  approach  toward 
calculating  probabilities  that  I  had  ever 
known  him  to  make ;  but  I  took  some- 
what of  a  wicked  pleasure  in  replying. 

"Not  if  he  is  very  tall  — and  then  he 
would  probably  roll  out,  it  is  so  narrow; 
and,  after  all,  that  is  only  one.' 

"Chairs!'  suggested  Mr.  S . 

"Don't  you  think,'  said  I,  rather  hesi- 
tatingly, 'that  they  would  rather  go  where 
they  could  be  better  accommodated?' 

"Anna,'  said  Mr.  S ,  as  he  deli- 
berately laid  down  his  pen,  '  I  am  really 
sorry  to  see  you  so  unwilling  to  contribute 
your  mite  toward  entertaining  those  who 
should  be  welcome  guests  in  every  house.' 

"Mr.  S ,'  said  I,  in  a  sort  of  frantic 


this,  I  was  expected  to  entertain  innumer 

,  -      .,:,;,„,„      T..„.,„ir..~      i  i   !  hope  of  reducing  him  to  reason, 'there  are 

able    visitors.      l  ravelling    clergymen    al-        '  * 


exactly  two  spare  beds   in  the   house — and 
these  divided    among  six  full   grown    men 

"  I  s'Mrvfik'e"oneirew1l(lere<T,"nfiu  Ufought. 
Mr.  S would  not  imagine  the  possi- 
bility of  our  not  being  able  to  accommo- 
date them  ;  and    I    foresaw    that    all    the 


were    various  and    unexpected  ;  but   I  was    blame  of  a  failure  would  fall  upon    me. 


expected  to  furnish  banquets  at  the  short- 
est notice — to  drag  forth  inexhaustible 
stores  of  linen  and  bedding — and  throw 
open  airy  apartments  that  had  hitherto 
been  concealed  by  secret  springs.  Mr. 
S was  firmly    convinced  that  the  house 


Had  they  only  been  girls,  I  could  have 
disposed  of  them  somehow  ;  but  the  idea 
of  packing  away  six  grave  ministers,  like 
so  many  bundles,  was  quite  repugnant  to 
my  feelings  of  reverence.  I  thought, how- 
ever, in  vain  — there  was  no  conclusion  to 
come  to  ;  nothing  left  for  me  but    inglori- 


ous retreat.  In  spite  61  having  taken  him 
'  for  Letter  or  for  worse' — notwithstanding 
that  I  had  vowed  to  cling  to  him  through 
everything — I  deserted  him  in  his  hour  of 
need.  Yes,  I  thought  that  a  good,  practi- 
cal lesson  might  be  of  benefit  both  to  him 
and  me  ;  so  I  went  off  on  a  visit,ostensibIy 
to  spend  the  day,  but  I  contrived  to  be  gone 
all  night — the  very  night  that  the ministefcf 
were  to  arrive. 

"  They  arrived  about    dinner-time,  and 
rather    disconcerted    at   my   absence,  Mr. 

^ did  the  honors  of  the  house  with  all 

the  egregious  mistakes  that  usually  fall  to 
the  lot  of  absent-minded  people.  No  extra 
provision  had  been  made  for  the  six  guests  ; 

and  Mr.  S helped  the  oldest   minister 

so  liberally  that  the  others  were  in  danger 
of  falling  short.     As  he  proceeded   in    his 
employment   the    alarming    scantiness   of 
the  viands  st.ru<He  sent  to  the     neighbors',) 
and  soon  supplied  deficiencies  ; 

"  The  hour  for  retiring  approached,  and 
then,  indeed,  came  the  '  tug  of  war.'     Mr. 

S examined     the     accommodations 

again  and  again,  but  no  more  beds  grew 
beneath  his  eye  ;  and  at  length,  in  despair 
he  concluded  to  marshal  them  up  stairs  m 
the  order  of  precedence, and  see  how  things 

turned    out.       Brother    A took     the 

liifht  from  his  hand,  and  bade  him  "  good 
night' in  an  imposing  manner,  but  without 
a  single  hint  that  the  company  of  Brother 
B or  Brother  C would  be  accept- 
able ;  and  somewhat  desparingly  he  des- 
cended to  his    other   visitors.     Brother    B 

,    being    of   a    convenient    size,  was 

bestowed  upon  the  sofa  ;  but  there  now 
remained  four  others    for  one    bed    and    n 

half,  for  Mr.  S bad  concluded  to  take 

one  in  with  him.  Two  were  dispatched  to 
the  remaining  room  ;  one  was  invited  to 
share  his  apartment,  and,  after  giving 
brother  A abundance  of  time  to  es- 
tablish   himself   comfortably,    Mr.    S 

presented  himself  at  his  door  with 
the  remaining  visitor,  and  aroused  him 
from  a  sound  sleep  with  a  request  to   take 

him  in.     No  wonder  that  Brother  A 

looked  dignified  at  this  miserable  manage- 
ment, or  that  Mr.  S began    to    think 

that  I  might  be  half  right,  after  all. 

"  The  next  morning  matters   drew  to  a 

crisis.  The  coffee,  manufactured  by  Mr. 
S was  execrable  ;  and  this,  with  a  ban- 
quet of  burned  beef  and  something  that 
Biddy  termed  'short  cake,'  lumps  of  dough, 
scorched  without  and  raw  within,  utterly 
failed  to  satisfy  the  appetites  of  the  six 
visitors,  who  were  going  upon  a  long 
journey  ;  and  they  departed  with  a  convic- 
tion that  my  husband's  invitation  had  beet) 
extremely  ill-timed,  and  prevented  them 
from  accepting  others  that  might  have 
proved  pleasant. 

"  My  dear,"  said    Mr.  S to  me  one 

day,  after  I  had  been  home  some  little 
time,  "  are  you  not  making  an  uncommon 
quantity  of  cake  ?  Do  you  expect  any 
visitors  ?" 

"  I  do  not  expect  any,"  I  replied.     "But 
they  may  come   without    expecting.     Per- 
haps the  six  ministers  may   stop   here   on 
**  It'was  very  foolish  of   me  to  be  un- 
reasonable— but  I  have  had  a  lesson    that 
will  not  be  soon  forgotten."  WF 


r 


George  Pcabody, 

I  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  world's  benefactors',  has 
been  gathered  to  his  fathers.  The  melancholy  in- 
telligence reaches  us  that  at  half-past  eleven  on 
the  night  of  the  fourth  instant,  in  the  complete 
possession  of  all  his  faculties,  and  full  of  years 
and  honors,  lie  gave  up  the  trials  and  tribulations 
of  life  and  entered  upon  that  immortality  which, 
though  in  the  reach  of  all,  is  only  achieved  by  the 
just  made  perfect. 

Mr.  Peabody  was  born  in  the  neighboring  town 
/Of  Danvers,  in  Essex .  county,  on  the  18th  of 
February,  1795.  He  came  from  the  Pilgrim  stock, 
and  was  the  descendant  of  a  family  settled  for- 
merly in  Leicestershire,  England.  His  parents 
were  poor,  and  his  early  education  was  acquired  in 
the  district-schools.  A  t  the  age  of  eleven  years  he 
was  apprenticed  to  a  grocer  in  his  native  town,  but 
left  him  in  his  fifteenth  year,  and  after  spending  a 
year  with  his  grandfather,  in  Thetford,  Vt.,  went 
to  Newburyport  as  a  clerk  for  his  elder  brother, 
who  was  in  the  dry  goods  business  there.  The 
next  year,  m  1812,  he  went  with  his  uncle  John 
Peabody  to  Georgetown,  D.  ft,  and  entered  into 
business  with  him;  the  business  being  conducted 
in  the  name  of  George,  although  he  was  a  mi- 
nor. After  two  years,  finding  himself  in  danger 
if  he  continued  the  relation,  of  being  held  respon- 
sible for  debts  he  had  not  contracted,  he  with- 
drew in  18U,  and  entered  into  partnership  in 
the  wholesale  dry  goods  business  with  Mr. 
Elisha  Riggs,  who  furnished  the  capital, 
but  entrusted  the  management  of  affairs 
to  Mr.  Peabody.  In  the  following  year  the  house 
was  removed  to  Baltimore,  and  prospering  great- 
ly, branches  were  established  in  Philadelphia  and 
New  York.  In  1827  Mr.  Peabody  crossed  the  At- 
lantic for  the  first  time  for  the  purpose  of  buying 
goods,  and  in  1829,  by  the  retirement  of  Mr. 
Riggs,  he  became  the  senior  partner  of  the  house. 
During  his  subsequent  visits  to  Europe,  he  was 
entrusted  with  many  important  negotiations  by 
the  State  of  Maryland,  which  he  always  brought  to 
a  successful  issue.  In  1867  he  took  up  apermanent 
■residence  in  England,  and  in  1843,  having  with- 
drawn from  the  firm  of  Peabody,  Riggs  &  Co.,  he 
established  himself  in  London  as  a  merchant  and 
banker,  and  through  his  exertions,  confidence  in 
American  securities, which  was  greatly  shaken  by 
the  disastrous  period  of  1837,  was  fully  restored. 
The  house  which  he  established  in  London  has 
ever  been  the  headquarters  of  Americans  in  that 
city,  and  the  centre  of  American  news  and  intel- 
ligence. Mr.  Peabody  was  essentially  a  man  with 
"a  hand  open  as  day  to  melting  charity,"  and  he 
was  foremost  in  all  good  works,  giving  lavishly 
of  those  means  which  he  had  acquired  by  years  of 
honorable  industry.  In  his  benefactions  he  was  uni- 
versal.and  he  knew  no  creed  or  nation.  He  supplied 
at  his  own  cost  the  arranging  and  decoration  of 
the  United  States  department  of  the  great  Exhibi- 
tion of  1851;  and  in  1852  contributed  largely 
($10,000)  to  Dr.  Kane's  expedition  in  search  of 
Sir  John  Franklin  and  his  fellows ;  in  the  same 
year,  at  the  bi-centennial  celebration  of  his  native 
town  of  Danvers,  he  sent  a  toast  in  a  sealed  en- 
Telope,  with  the  injunction  not  to  be  opened  until 
the  day  of  the  anniversary.  That  toast  was — 
^'Education,  a  debt  from  the  present  to  fu- 
ture generations,"  and  to  pay  hi&  share  of 
that  debt,  a  check  for  $20,000  was  enclosed, 
to  be  expended  in  the  founding  of  an 
institute,  lyceum,  and  library  for  the  town, 
which  is  known  as  the  Peabody  Institute;  sub- 
sequent gifts  increased  the  amount  to  $60,000, 
and  an  additional  $10,000  was  bestowed  upon 
North  Danvers  for  a  branch  library.  In  1866-7 
he  gave  $300,000  to  the  city  of  Baltimore, 
with  a  pledge  to  increase  it  to  $500,000,  (after* 
wards  increased  to  $1,000,000).  for  the  pur- 
pose of  founding  an  institution  for  the  promo- 
tion of  science,  literature  and  the  fine  arts.  In 
1862  Mr.  Peabody  retired  from  business,  and  on 
the  12th  of  March  of  that  year  he  presented 
the  city  of  London  with  the  princely  sum  of 
£150,000,  to  be  applied  to  the  benefit  of  the 
working-classes,  and  expended  In  the  erection  of 
confortable  and  convenient  lodging-houses ;  and 
in  1866  this  sum  was  increased  by  an  additional 
£150,000.  For  this  munificent  act  Mr.  Peabody 
received  the  freedom  of  the  city  of  London,  and 
M<e  Queen  sent  him  a  letter  of  thanks  and  pre- 


sented him  with  her  portrait  which  is  deposited 
in  the  Peabody  Institute  at  Danvers.  His  statue 
was  also  erected  in  London  and  unveiled  by  the 
Prince  of  Wales.  The  first  block  of  buildings  built 
from  this  endowment  was  opened  in  Spitalfields  in 
1864.  In  October,  1866,  he  presented  to  Harvard 
College  the  sum  of  $150,000,  to  establish  a  Mu- 
seum and  Professorship  of  American  Archaeology, 
and  Ethnology.  His  crowning  gift,  however, 
made  in  March,  1867,  was  the  placing  of  upwards 
Of  two  millions  of  dollars  at  the  disposal  of  a 
number  of  trustees,  for  the  promotion  and  en- 
couragement of  the  moral  and  industrial  edu- 
cation of  the  youth  of  the  destitute  portion  of 
the  southwestern  part  of  the  Union.  The 
trustees  included  a  number  of  the  most  emi- 
nent gentlemen  of  the  country,  from  all  ranks 
Of  life.  This  donation  of  Mr.  Peabody  as« 
tonished  the  world.  The  President  personally 
expressed  the  thanks  of  the  nation;  and  in  the 
national  Senate,  Mr.  Sumner  offered  a  resolution 
Of  thanks,  with  a  proviso  that  a  gold  medal  should 
be  struck  and  presented  the  donor  in  the  name  of 
the  American  nation.  Early  in  1867  Mr.  Peabody 
made  preparations  for  his  return  to  England,  and 
took  his  departure  on  the  first  of  May  following. 

On  reaching  England  he  was  the  recipient  of  f  «-"«*» «-*-.  mm  »  suming  ior  iare.  ±ie  maae  corn- 
many  tokens  of  esteem,  all  classes  of  the  commu-  '  p,laint  ,t0  .V1?  di>'ectors  and  h»d  the  man  dis- 
*,,  .eeting  „*,  M,»  „„„„,  Oxford  hadprcvi-  -£!?W  &*S£&JS?i2S.'S£ 
onsly  oonterred  on  him  the  degree  of  Doctor  of      ing  many  travelers  to  whom  the  swindle  would 

ibe  oppressive" 


Anecdotes  of  Ocorgc  Peabody. 

Mr.  Peabody's  great   interest   in    education 
doubtless  partially  arose  from  the  fact  that  he 
wns  taken  from  school  at  the  early  a»-e  of  eleven 
years,  and  was  thus  deprived  of  what,  in  that 
day,  was  known  as  grairn]  ir  school  instruction. 
Tut;  first  money  he  carnl a  jutside  of  the  small 
pittance  he  received  as/.,  clerk,  was  for  writing 
ballots  for   the  federal  party  in  Newburyport. 
This  was  before  the  day  of  printed  votes.  When 
Mr.  Riggs  invited  Mr.  Peabody  to  be  a  partner, 
the  latter  said  there  was  one  insuperable  objec- 
tion, as  he  was  only  nineteen  vcars  of  age.   This 
'was  no  objection  in  the  mind  of  the  shrewd  mer- 
chant, who  wanted  a  young  and  active  assis- 
tant.   James  Read  of  Boston  was  the  first  mer- 
chant who  gave  George  Peabody  credit.    The 
purchase  was  for  a  thousand  dollars,  half  of  it 
on  credit.    The  amount  was  promptlv  paid,  and 
the  transaction  led  to  a  long  business  relation  and 
lilfe-iong  friendship-.    Two  gentlemen  are  living 
Who  were  friends  of  Mr.  Peabody  in  boyhood, 
J^aud  who  willingly  paid  his  share  of  the  cost  of 
sailing  and  fishing  parties,  ten-pins,  etc.,  during 
the  war  of  1812-14— his  excellent  company  being 
considered  more  than  an  offset  to  his  lack  of 
funds. 

Mr.  Peabody  did  not  bestow  many  gifts  to  re- 
lie ve  individual  poverty  or  distress.  He  thought  i 
that  much  of  the  money  thus  contributed  only 
tended  to  increase  the  evil  it  sought  to  alleviate. 
He  was  a  beautiful  penman,  and  his  letters  were 
usually  brief  and  to  the  point.  Mr.  Peabody  was 
strongly  opposed  to  fraud  in  little  matters. '  The 
conductor- on  an  English  railway  once  over- 
charged him  a  shillinjr  for  fare.    He  made  com 


Civil  Law,  and  In  the  following  June  our 
own  Harvard  College  made  him  an  LL.  D.  In 
December,  1865,  he  made  another  special  bequest 


When  Mr.  Peabody  first  resided  in  London  he 
lived  very  frugally,  taking  breakfast  at  his  lodg- 
es and  dining  at  a  club  house.    His  personal 


•         •  ~r~~~~  ^n^o.,       iu8o  auu  turnup  ui  u  emo  nouse.    his  personal 

to  the  poor  of  London,  making  his  gilts  in  all  to  expenses,  for  ten   years,  did   not   average   six 

that  city  amount  to   £350,000.      He  remained       hundred  pounds  oer  annum.    Mr.  Penhn3v  i.n,i 


abroad  two  years,  unci  on  the  8th  of  Juno  of  the 
present  year,  arrived  again  in  this  country.  The 
Queen  was  desirous  of  conferring  Knighthood 
upon  him,  but  this  honor  Mr.  Peabody  with  his 
Characteristic  modesty,  declined.  On  the  first  of 
July,  1869,  at  a  special  meeting  of  the  trustees  of 
the  educational  fund  holden  in  Newport,  R.  I.,  Mr. 
Peabody  increased  bin  gift  by  the  addition  of 
another  million  dollars.  On  the  14th  of  July  he 
attended  the  ceremonies  at  the  dedication  of  the 
Peabody  Institute  at  Danvers,  and  on  the 
17th  left  for  the  White  Sulphur  Springs  in  Vir- 
ginia, with  the  hope  of  enjoying  a  restoration  of 
health.  But  no  permanent  advantage  was  de- 
rived; and  but  a  few  weeks  since  he  sailed  once 
more  for  England.  He  reached  London  with  iin- 
1  paired  health,  which  gradually  declined  Until 
his  life  terminated.  The  number  and  amount  of 
Mr.  Peabody's  benefactions  will,  perhaps,  never 
be  accurately  ascertained,  ior  he  was  one  of  those 
men  who  never  let  his  left  hand  know  what  his 
right  hand  did.  The  more  prominent  of  his  dona- 
tions, however,  may  be  summed  up  as  follows ; 
For  institutes  at  Danvers  and  Peabody,  $250,000; 
Peabody  Museum  at  Salem,  $150,000;  Newbury- 
port, for  a  library,  $30,000;  Memorial  Church 
in  Georgetown,  Massachusetts,  to  the  memory 
Of  his  mother,  and  free  public  library  at  the 
flame  place,  $100,000;  Phillips  Academy,  Andover, 
$80,000;  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  $20,* 
000;  Harvard  College,  for  museum  and  professor- 
Ship  of  American  Archaeology  and  Ethnology; 
$150,000;  Yale  College,  for  Museum  of  Natural 
History,  $150,000;  Peabody  Institute  at  Balti- 
more, $1,000,000;  Maryland  Historical  Society, 
$20,000;  Kenyon  College,  $25,000;  Public  Library 
at  Post  Mills,  Thetford,  Vt.,  $10,000;  Southern 
Educational  fund,  $3,000,000;  London  Poor,  $1,- 
750,000.  His  kindred,  $1,500,000.  Mr.  Peabody 
was  one  of  the  noblest  of  men,  and  his  fame  wili 
endure  longer  than  the  monumental  effigies  that 
have  been  made  of  him.  He  was  essentially  one 
who  loved  his  fellow  men.  Let  us  trust  that  his 
loss  is  not  irre  parable,  but  that  his  example  wilL 
induce  others  to  follow  where  he  has  led  the  way. 
His  life  throughout  was  a  grand  one 

"And  to  add  greater  honors  to  his  age 
Than  man  could  give  him,  he  died  fearing  God." 


hundred  pounds  per  annum.  Mr.  Peabody  had 
a  ver>  retentive  memory,  particularly  in  regard 
to  namci  and  places.  He  would  give  the  most 
minute  particulars  of  events  that  occurred  be- 
tween fifty  and  sixty  years  ago.  Mr.  Peabody 
first  appeared  in  print  as  the  champion  of  Ameri- 
can credit  in  England,  at  the  time  our  state  se- 
ciuitijs  were  depressed  on  account  of  the  non- 
payment of  interest  by  Pennsylvania. 

Essex  county,  where  Mr.  Peabody  was  bora, 
has  five  public  buildings  erected  by  his  liberal- 
ity. They  are  consecrated  to  the  uses  of  educa- 
tion, science  and  religion.  Mr.  Peabody  leaves 
a  sister,  Mrs.  Daniels,  formerly  Mrs.  Russell  of. 
•Georgetown.  He  has  several  nephews  and 
nieces,  to  all  of  whom  he  has  been  verj  .r 
oiis.  Mr.  Peabody  was  Very  foud  of  shudnjr 
ii  songs  being  his  favorites.  The  favorite 
gjmies  of  Mr.  Peabody  were  backgammon  after 
umncr  andMvlust  in  the  evening.  He  was  as 
of  the  latter  and  as  vigorous  a  player  as 
Charles  Lamb's  friend,  Sarah  Battle,  who 
neither  gave  nor  took  quarter.  About  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century  ago  Mr.  Peabody  was  so  much 
pleased  with  an  American  lady  visiting  London 
that  he  offered  her  his  hand  and  fortune,  which 
were  accepted.  Learning  a  short  time  afterward 
that  sue  was  already  engaged,  a  fact  of  which 
sue  had  kept  him  in  ignorance,  he  rebuked  her 
lack  ol  sincerity  and  broke  off  the  engagement 
.  Mr.  Peabody  visited,  incognito,  the  houses 
erected  by  his  munificence  for  the  poor  of  Lon- 
don, to  see  if  those  in  charge  of  tne  charity 
properly  attended  to  their  duties.  He  asked  the 
wife  of  the  superintendent  the  name  or  her  child 
and  was  answered,  "George  Peabody."  This' 
prompted  a  present  to  the  infant,  which  the 
mother  quickly  interpreted,  and  announced  to 
her  neighbors  the  presence  of  their  distinguished 
benefactor,  who  gladly  took  refuge  in  a  cab  tc 
be  rid  of  their  benedictions. 

Letters  by  the  hundred  were  daily,  received  by 
Mr  Peabody  of  late  years.  They  were  first 
looked  over  by  the  secretary  and  only  a  few 
ever  reached  the  eyes  of  the  great  banker.  He 
received  one  of  thirty-six  foolscap  pages  from  a 
decayed  English  gentleman  who  solicited  a  loan 
of  a  few  thousand  pounds  to  establish  the  claims 
of  his  family  to  an  estate.  Mr.  P.  wrote  m 
reply  substantially  this :  "That  you  should  have 
written  such  a  letter,  would  surprise  your 
Mends;  that  I  should  have  read  it,  would  indeed 
surprise  mine."  Chief  Justice  Shaw  paid  Mr, 
Peabody  the  compliment  of  remarking  that  •< 
business  document,  written  by  him,  was  one  o, 
the  clearest  and  most  comprehensive  paoer; 
that  had  ever  been  presented  to  our  supremi 
court.  By  temperament,  religious  training 
early  education,  political  bias  and  business  con 
nections,  Mr.  Peabody  was  conservative.  Thi 
last  time  Mr.  Peabody  spoke  in  public  was  ai 
the  national  peace  jubilee  in  Boston.  It  was  a 
fitting  place  and  occasion  for  one  whose  lon« 
J  and  useful  life  had  done  so  much  for  peace  and 


concord.      Several    years     ago    Mr."  Peabody 
selected  his  grave  in  the  beautiful  cemetery  near 

One  of  the  best  things  said  by  the  late  George  Pea- 1  SLJfllP.jfiSS;  rSUled     "Ha™ony  g™™*" 

body  is  this,  spoken  at  a  reunion  at  his  native  town :  w, !  .aVfte„r emjuns  of  many  of  his  kindred  are 

"It  is  sometimes  hard  far  one  who  lias  devoted  the  J  ,nuiea.— Uoston  Transcript. 
best  part  of  his  life  to  the  accumulation  of  money  to  ' 
gpena  it  for  others;  but  practise  it,  and  keep  on  prac- 
tising it,  and  I  assure  you  it  comes  to  be  a  pleasure. 


George  Peabody,  the  Amu 
ican,  amassing  a  T>rincely  fortune  to  be- 
queath to  the  poor  of  Great  Britain; 
George  Peabody,  the  American,  buried 
with  a  nation's  lamentation  among  her 
princes  and  statesmen  in  Westminster  Ab- , 
bey ;  George  Peabody,  his  body,  after  the  ; 
highest  honors  Great  Britain  could  pay  it, 
carried  across  the  ocean  in  a  British  ship 
of  war,  there  to  be  interred,  for  its  final 
resting-place,  in  his  own  land ;  George  Pea- 
body is  a  link  of  peace  and  love  between 
the  two  nations  which  mu3t  never  be 
broken.  And,  as  American  and  British 
statesmen  stood  around  that  open  grave ; 
as  American  and  British  citizens  blended 
their  voices  in  the  prayer  to  "  Our  Father 
in  Heaven"  to  forgive  us  our  trespasses  as 
we  forgive  each  other ;  as  at  tbe  same  hour 


A  few  days  ago  wc  went  to  see  some  of  the 
houses  built  by  Mr.  Peabody  for  the  poor  of 
London.  We  found  four  large,  nice  brick 
blocks,  surrounding  an  open  square,  each  five 
stories  high,  and  constructed  upon  the  same 
general  plan  for  the  accommodation  of  poor 
families.  On  each  floor  there  is  a  hall  extend- 
ing through  the  centre  of  the  long  diameter  of 
the  building,  upon  both  sides  of  which  are  situ- 
ated the  different  sized  rooms.  These  are  rented 
at  a  very  low  figure,  The  price  of  one  room  is 
about  sixty  cents  in  gold  per  week,  two  rooms 
ninety-six  cents,  and  three  rooms  one  dollar  and 
twenty  cents.  At  these  prices  the  homes  arc 
full,  and  many  families  are  now  waiting  their 
turn  to  take  a  vacancy.  These  four  blocks  are, 
at  present,  occupied  by  one  hundred  and  fifty 
families.  In  looking  at  these  comfortable  houses, 
many  of  whose  windows  arc  a  garden  of  flowers, 
one  cannot  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the  amount 


7 


we  iorsrive  eacu  uiuoi ,  «=  ««  •*»*/ «•*»"■«  — —  •  «...* 

whonthis  solemn  service  was  performing  f  of  good  accomplished  by  the  unparalleled  be- 


in  Westminster  Abbey,  the  cradle  of  both 
nations,  similar  services  were  being  con- 
ducted in  America,  while  flags  were  low- 
ered and  bells  were  tolled,  I  felt  that, 
whether  diplomacy  has  yet  finally  and 
formally  completed  its  business  or  not, 
there  never  again  can  be  a  question  about 
the  maintenance  of  friendship ;  all  thoughts 


nevolence  of  this  nrince  of  charity  irivers. 


CHAKITV. 

When  thou  lookest  upon  the  imperfections  of 

others,  allow  one    eye    tor  what   is  laudable  iu 

them,  and  the  balance   they  have  from  some 

.^.v^  ^n„.«.0lfr.nrf   fhrpvpr     excellency,  which  may  render  them  considera- 
of  the  possibility  of  quarret  aw  lorever    ^    Wfa.. ^  we  ]ook  wjth  feat  or  hatred  apon 

nass  awav  and  in  the  grave  of  Peabody,  |  tne  teeth  0f  the  viper,  we  may  behold  his  eye 
both  at  Westminster  and  at  Danvers,  must  ^wkh  love.    in.  venomous  natures  something 


J  every  remaining  suspicion  and  memory  of 
evil  be  buried;  both  nations  resolving 
that  no  deeds  or  words  of  menace 
i  or  ill-will  shall  again  be  exchanged,  and 
that  not  mere  rigid  justice,  but  generous 
love,  shall  settle  all  matters  still  in  debate. 


may  be  amiable;  poisons  affords  anti-poisi  ns  . 
nothing  is  totally  or  altog£ther  uselessly  bad. 
—[Sir  Thomas  Bbowne. 


Peabody,  Feb.  8.— The  final  obsequies  over 
the  remains  of  George  Peabody  were  attended  to- 
dav  by  between  eight  and  ten  thousand  people, 
and  the  programme  was  carried  despite  the  se- 
vere snow  storm. 

The  casket  containing  the  remains  had  been 
quietly  removed  at  dead  of  night  by  the  guard 
of  honor  from  the  Peabody  institute  to  the  South 
Con<Te"-ational  church,  and  when  the  populace 
arrived  at  early  morninsr  and  during  the  after- 
noon to  view  the  remains,  the  funeral  decora- 
tions in  the  buildings  and  on  the  fronts  of  pub- 
lic buildings  and  many  private  residences  only 
met  their  curious  gaze. 

The  interior  of  the  church  was  appropriately 
decorated  and  darkened,  the  few  gas  jets  that 
were  lighted  giving  a  sombre  effect  to  the  sur- 
roundings. The  casket  as  it  lay  in  front  of  the 
nulpit  was  elaborately  strewn  with  the  choicest 
flowers  in  the  most  exquisite  funeral  designs. 
The  Sutton  guard  stood  sentinel  over  the  re- 
mains At  eleven  o'clock  the  relatives  and  inti- 
mate friends  of  the  deceased  took  their  seats  in 
the  church,  the  ticket  holding  public  having 
been  seated  in  the  galleries. 

The  first  among  the  distinguished  guests  to 
arrive  were  Prince  Arthur  and  Mr.  Thornton 
The  eovernors  of  Massachusetts  and  Maine  with 
their  staffs  came  next,  officers  of  the  British  and 
American  armies  and  navies,  including  Captain 
rommerelLftf  the  Monarch,  Captain  McComb  of 
<  hpTymolrh,  and  the  staff  of  Admiral  Farra- 
uut  followed.    President  Eliot,  ot  Harvard  uni- 
versity  and  representatives  of  various  cd 
tionaHnstitutions,  Mayor   Shnrtleff  of  B 
and  delegations  from  several  other  cities  were 
included  in  the  congregation. 

At  half  past  eleven  o'clock  the  services  began 
with  a  voluntary  upon  the  organ.  Scripture 
Sections  were  read  by  Rev.  Daniel  Mawh, 
naSor  of  the  Peabody  memorial  church  in 
Pvoriretown.  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop  then 
kUvereda  eulogy  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
ildrcs  the  beautiful  trio  of  Tuckerman  "Their 
Sn  shall  no  more  go  down/'was  sung  by  ladies 
of  the  choir,  and  was  followed  by  a  prayer,  and 

tt  SmiliS-  escort  consisted  of  five  compa- 
nies o?  the  fifth  United  States  artillery  the 
Salem  Cadets,  and  five  companies  of  militia. 
ThPDall  bearers  were  Robert  C.  Winthrop, 
CharfcsF.  Adams,  John  H.  Clifford, Rev.  Milton 
P  BramLm  D.  D.  Alfred  A.  Abbott,  James  M. 
Beetle,  Nathaniel  Thayer,  Henry  Poor,  George 
A  Osborne,  Lewis  Allen,  L  yah  W-  Lpton, 
Fitch  Poole  Samuel  F.  Dana,  Otis  P.  Lord  and 
F  en  Kin-.  Funeral  car,  by  the  sides  of  which 
nuchedfhc  Sutton  Guards.  Next  came  the 
re  atives,  Prince  Arthur  and  suite  Admiral 
Farragut's  staff,  the  governors,  Capt  Commerell 
of  thc°Monarch,  and  others. 

The  procession,  which  comprised  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  carriages,  proceeded  to  the  music 
of  tour  bands,  through  the  drifting  snow,  to  the 
Peabody  tomb  in  Harmony  grove.  The  remains 
were  deposited  in  the  tomb  at  three  o  clock,  and 
the  procession  went  back  to  the  town  through 
the  deep  snow.  


The    Pilgrim's    Progress— New    Edition.  _j 

The  following,  which  was  first  published  we 
believe,  last  year,  now  appears  with  some  va-    j 
nations  from  the  original  text,  in  the  Hartford 
Courant  Almanac  for  1876.    The  author  is  J. 
Hammond  Trumbull  of  Hartford: 

1620.  Lands  on  Plymouth  Rock,   and  sets  up 
for  himself.  .  .  f 

1621.  Keeps  Thanksgivin?— in  no  danger  ol 

over-eatiug. 

1622.  Builds  a  Meeting  House. 

1623.  Proclaims  a  Fast  Day. 
1628.  Cuts  down  a  May  Pole  at  Merry  Mount, 

as  a  rebuke  to  vain  recreations. 

1635.  Is  crowded  for  accommodations,  and 
stakes  out  a  new  farm  at  Connecticut. 

1637.  Makes  war  on  the  Antinomians,  and 
the  Pequot  Indians,  and  whips  both. 

1638.  Starts  a  College,  and 
1640.  Sets  up  a  Printing  Press.  . 
1643.  Goes  into  a  Confederacy— the  first  Colo- 
nial Congress.                          '             „,■.,- 

1648.  Lays  down  the  Cambridge  Platform. 
Hangs  a  Witch. 

1649.  Sets  his  face  against  the  unchristian 
custom  of  wearing  long  hair,  "a  thing  uncivil 
and  uncomely." 

1651.  Is  rebuked  for  "intolerable  excess  and 
bravery  of  apparel,"  and  is  forbidden  to  wear 
-old  aud  silver  lace,  or  other  such  gew-gaws. 
°  1652.  Coins  Pine  Tree  Shillings,   and  makes 
the  business  profitable. 

1G63.  Prints  a  Bible  for  the  Indians. 

1680.  Buys  a  "hang-up"  Clock,  and  occasion- 
ally carries  a  silver  watch  that  helps  him  guess    f 
the,  time  of  day.    About  this  period  learns  to  | 
,hse  Forks  at  table;  a  new  fashion. 

1692.  Is  scared  by  Witches  again,  at  Salem; 
but  gets  the  better  of  them. 

1701.  Founds  another  College,  which,  alter  a 
while,  settles  down  at  New  Haven. 

1704.  Prints  bis  first  Newspaper,  in  Boston. 

1705.  Tastes  Coffee,  as  a  luxury,  and  at  his 
own  table. 

1707.  Constructs  another  Platform— this  tune 
at  Saybrook.  .     ,       .. 

17io.  Begins  to  sip  Tea— very  sparingly.  It 
does  not  come  into  family  use  till  five  and 
twenty  years  later. 

1711    Puts  a  letter  into  his  first  Post  Office. 

1720'.  Eats  a  Potato— and  takes  one  home  to 
nlant  in  his  garden  as  a  curiosity. 
1  17-1  is  Inoculated  for  the  Small  Pox-  -not 
without  grave  remonstrance  from  bis  conserva- 
tive neighbors.  Begins  to  Sing  by  note  on  Sun- 
days, thereby  encountering  much  opposition  anfl 
opening  a  ten  years'  quarrel. 

1740.  Manufactures  tinned  ware,  aud  starts 
the  first  Tin  Pedler  on  his  travels. 

1742.  Sees  Faneuil  Hall  built.  The  cradle  of 
I  iberty  is  ready  to  be  rocked. 

1745  Builds  an  Organ;  but  does  not  yet  per- 
mit it  to  be  played  In  the  Meeting  House. 

1750  Buys  a  bushel  of  Potato**  for  winters 
use— all  his  friends  wondering  what  he  will  do 

W11755.J  Puts  up  a  Franklin  Stove  in  Ids  best 

room;    and   tries   one   of     the    newly    invented 
Llfihtninfl  Rods. 


1760.  About  this  time  begins  to  wear  a  couar 
to  his  shirt.  When  he  can  afford  it,  takes  his 
wife  to  meeting  in  a  Chaise,  instead  of  on  a  pil- 
lion, as  heretofore. 

1765.  Shows  bis  dislike  to  stamped  Paper, 
and  joins  the  "Sons  of  Liberty." 

1768.  Tries  his  hand  at  Type  Founding—not 
yet  successfully— iu  Connecticut. 

1770.  Bujs  a  home-made  Wooden  Clock. 

1773.  Waters  his  Tea  in  Boston  harbor.  Plants 
Liberty  Trees,  wherever  he  fiuds  good  soil. 

1774.  Lights  Boston  streets  with  oil  lamp*: 
a  uovelty  (though  "New  Lights"  had  been  plen- 
ty, some  years  before). 

*  1775.  Shows  Lord  Percy  how  to  march  to 
"Yankee  Doodle."  Calls  at  Ticonderoga,  to 
take  lodgings  for  the  season.  Sends  Gen.  Put- 
nam (under  the  command  of  several  colonels) 
with  a  small  party,  to  select  a  site  for  Bunker 
Hill  monument. 

1776.  Brother  Jonathan— as  he  begins  to  be 
called  in  the  family— declares  himself  Free  and 
Independent. 

1780.  Buys  au  "Umbrillo,"  for  Sundays;  and 
whenever  lie  shows  it  is  laughed  at  for  his  effem- 
inacy. 

1791.  Starts  a  Cotton  Spinning  factory. 

1792.  Has  been  raising  Silk  Worms,  iu  Con- 
necticut; and  now  gives  his  minister  (not  his 
wife)  a  home-made  silk  gown.  Buys  a  Carpet, 
for  the  middle  of  the  parlor  floor. 

1793.  Invents  the  Cotton  Gin—&nd  thereby 
trebles  the  value  of  southern  plantations. 

1795-1800.  Wears  Pantaloons  occasionally, 
but  not  when  in  full  dress.  Begins  to  use  Plates 
on  the  breakfast  and  tea  table. 

1802.  Has  the  boys  and  girls  vaccinated. 

1806.  Tries  to  burn  a  piece  of  Hard  Coal  from 
Philadelphia;  a  failure. 

,     1807.  Sees  a  boat  go  by  Steam,  on  the  Hud- 
son. 

1815.  Holds  a  little  Convention  at  Hartlord, 
but  doesn't  propose  to  dissolve  the  Union.  Buys 
one  of  Terry's  patent  "Shelf  Clocks,"  for  $36.00, 
and  regulates  his  watch  by  it. 

1817.  Sets  up  a  Stove  in  the  Meeting  House, 
and  builds  a  fire  in  it  on  Sunday;  an  innova- 
tion which  is  stoutly  resisted  by  many. 

1817.  Begins  to  run  a  Steamboat  on  Long 
Island  Sound— and  takes  passage  on  it  to  New 
York,  after  making  his  will. 

1819.  Grown  bolder,  be  crosses  the  Atlantic  in 
a  steamship. 

1822.  Lights  Gas  in  Boston  (but  doesn't  light 
Boston  with  gas,  till  1829).  At  last,  learns  how 
to  make  Hard  Coal  burn,  and  sets  a  grate  in 
his  parlor.  Buys  a  Steel  Pen  (one  of  i'Mlott's, 
sold  at  $33  per  gross).  Has  his  every-day  Shirts 
made  without  Ruffies. 

1825.  About  this  time,  putsaPem<.s.s*o».  Lock- 
on  his  old  musket. 

1826.  Buys  his  wife  a  oair  of  queer-shaped  In- 
dia Rubber  overshoes.  Puts  on  his  first  False 
Collar.  Tries  an  "Experimental"  railroad,  \r, 
horse  power.  .     .,.'..■', 

1828.  Tastes  his  first  Tomato— doubtingly.  Is 
told  that  it  is  unfashionable  to  feed  himself  with 
his  knife— and  buys  Silver  Forks,  for  great  oc- 
casions. "  .        '    ^  ,     ,, 

1833.  Buys  bis  first  Friction  Match— then 
called  a  "Lucifer,"  and  afterwards  "Loco 
Foco."  Throws  away  the  old  Tinder  Box,  with 
its  flint  and  steel. 

1835.  Invents  the  Revolver,  and  sets  aoeut 
supplying  the  world  with  it,  as  a  peace-maker. 
Tries  a  Cold  Pen,  but  cannot  rind  a  good  one 
yet— n  «  till  1844.  Builds  a  real  Railroad,  and 
rides  on  it. 

1837.  Gets  in  a  panic— aud  out  again,  alter 
free  use  of  "shin-plasters." 

1838.  Adopts  the  new  fashion  of  putting  his 
letters  in  Envelope?  (a  fashion  which  does  not 
fairly  prevail  till  seven  years  later.) 

1840.  Sits  for  his  Daguerreotype,  and  gets  a 
picture  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made.  Be- 
gins to  blow  himself  up  with  "Camphene"  and 
"Burning  Fluid;"  and  continues  the  process  for 
years  with  changes  of  name  of  the  active 
agent',  down  to  and  including  "Non-Explosive 
Kerosene."  . 

1844.  Sends  his  first  message  by  the  Electric 
Telegraph. 

1847.  Buys  bis  wife  a  Sewing  Machine— ui  the 
vain  hope  that  somehow  it  will  keep  the  but- 
tons on   his  shirts.     Begins   to  receive  advices 


from  "the  "Spirit  World.' 
18.",:..  Begins 


jii,s    to    bore  and  be  bored   by  the 
Hoosac  Tunnel, 

)858.  Celebrates  the  laying  of  the  Gee«H  (.» 
We,  and  sends  a  friendly  message  to  Johu  Bull, 
Next  week  begins  to  doubt  whether  the  cable 
has  been  laid  at  all.  , 

1861.  Goes  south  to  help  compose  a   family 
miaiTcl.    Takes  to  using  Paper  Money. 

1861-1865.  Climbs  the  Hill  Difficulty— r< 
of  his  pack  after  Jan.  1,  1864;  but  loses  Great- 
Heart,  April  14,  1865. 
186;>    Gets    the    Atlautic   Cable    in   \v< 

•  last,  iq  seagQp  jq  send  word  to  I)  is  Brt- 
isli  cousins  (who  have  qeeu  waiting  for 
latUm  to  his  funeral)  that  he  ''lives  - 

1865-7"..  Is  reconstructing  and  talking  about 
Resumption.  Sends  his  boys  to  the  »  nseura  to 
see  au  Old  fashion  Silver  Dollar. 

1875,  Goes  to  Bunker  Hill  to  pay  honor  to 
the  illustrious  men  who  commanded  Gen.  Put- 
nam. Thinks  lie  won't  inflate- and  helps 
spangle  a  western  rag  baby.    Gets  ready  roc«l- 


^^ 


THE  WOMAN  QUESTION. 

Opinions  of  Mrs  Stowe  and  the  Poet  Whit- 
ticr. 

At  a  women  suffrage  convention  in  New- 
port on  Wednesday,  at  which  Mrs  Stanton 
presided,  and  said  a  good  word  for  Lady 
Byron,  Theodore  Tilton  made  a  speech.  It 
was  understood  that  Mrs  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe  would  have  been  present  to  address  the 
meeting,  but  she  was  not  able  to  attend.  Her 
sister,  Mrs  Isabella  Beecher  Hooker,  was  intro- 
duced to  the  audience,  and  read  the  following 
extracts  from  a  private  letter  sent  by  Mrs  Stowe 
to  a  lady  in  Providence : — 

Will  you  allow  me  now  to  write  some  sugges- 
tions  which  I  bops  the  dear  frienos  and  sisters 
who  may  meet  about  a  work  so  great  may  re- 
ceive for  what  they  are  worth.  First,  let  us  all 
argue  together  in  the  spirit  of  the  gospel,  and 
not  (rive  the  world  occasion  to  say  that  women 
never  can  unite,  and  let  us  avoid  singularities 
that  shock  the  taste  aud  established  feelings  of 
society  unnecessarily.  Sins  against  taste  are 
never  pardoned.  They  bring  nothing  but  loath- 
ing and  disgust  toward  the  whole  subject,  and 
you  cannot  reason  with  disgusts.  We  ought  to 
love  the  main  cause  so  well  as  to  be  unwilling  to 
compromise  ii  by  giving  offense  on  minor  points. 
I  hear  that  Mrs  Stanton  is  an  elegant  wom*m, and 
I  doubt  not  that  her  house  is  charmingly  kept, 
and  that  she  does  not,  as  is  generally  reported, 
despise  the  ordinary  domestic  duties.  I  have 
heard  everywhere  that  she  says  her  daughters 
shall  never  learn  to  sew,  and  I  disbelieve  it.  [ 
want  a  chance  to  contradict  it  trom  herself  it 
ever  I  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  her  person- 
ally. It  seems  to  me  that  we  should  make  very 
prominent  in  the  foreground  that  we  seek  above 
all  things  the  peace,  edification  and  honor  of  the 
family  state,  and  that  we  only  seek  to  elevate  it 
to  a  higher  place,  and  have  its  duties  better  per- 
formed. Finally,  I  feel  that  the  New  Testament 
lays  down  the  only  safe  and  certain  ground  by 
which  to  regulate  the  position  of  woman,  and  I 
am  anxious  one  reform  should  wear  a  reverential 
and  Christian  aspect,  and  not  a  lawless  infidel 
one.  I  should  like  to  embody  this  idea  in  one  or 
two  resolutions  like  this: — 

Resolved,  That  the  New  Testament  states  the  true 
relations  and  duties  of  men  and  women  in  the  sen- 
tences "The  man  is  the  head  of  the  woman  even  as 
Christ  is  the  head  of  the  church,  and  he  is  the  savior 
of  the  body." 

H^olved,  That,  as  it  is  elsewhere  stated  that  the 
church  of  Christ  is  to  sit  with  him  on  his  tlirone,  that 
the  saints  are  to  judge  angels,  and  to  be  made  kinzs 
and  priests  unto  God,  and  to  reign  with  Chnst,  so  in 
Chnstian  society,  when  fully  developed,  man  is  to 
welcome  woman  to  full  equality  with  himself  in  all 
the  cares  of  government  and  legislation  by  which 
society  is  perfected. 

A  letter  from  Mr  Whittier  was  also  read,  as 
follows: — 

Amesbury,  Mass.,  12th,  8ih  mo.,  1869. 
My  Dear  i'riend :  I  have  received  thy  letter  in- 
viting me  to  attend  the  conventiop  in  behalf  of 
woman  s suffrage  at  Newport,  R.  I.,  on  the  25th 
mst.    I  do  not  see  how  it  is  possible  for  me  to 
accept  the  invitation,  and,  were  I  to  do  so  the 
state  of  my  health  would  relieve  me  from  the 
responsibility  of  seeming  to  sanction  anything 
in  its  action  which  might  conflict  with  my  own 
views  of  duty  or  policy;  yet  I  should  do  mvself 
great  injustice  if  I  did  not  embrace  this  occasion 
to  express  my  general  sympathy  with  the  move- 
ment.   I  have  seen  no  good  reason  why  mothers, 
wives  and  daughters  should  not  have  the  same 
rights  of  person,  property  and  citizenship  which 
lathers,  husbands  and  brothers  have.    The  sa- 
crrd  memory  of  mother  and  sister,  the  wisdom 
and  dignity  of  women  of  my  own  religious  con- 
nection, who  have  been  accustomed    to  some- 
i  thing  like  equality  in  rights,  as  well  as  dnty  my 
|  experience  as  a  co-worshipper   with  noble  and 
self-sacrificing  women,  as  graceful  and  helpful 
in  their  household  duties  as  they  are  firm   and 
courageous  in  their  public  advocacv  of  unpopu- 
lar truths,  the  steady  friendships  "which  have 
inspired  and  strengthened  men,  and  the  rever- 
ence  and   respect   I    feel   for   human   nature 
n-respective      of       sex-all       these       compel 
me     to     look     with     something     more  than 
acquiescence  upon  the  efforts  you  are  makin°-     I 
frankly  confess  that  I  am  not  able  to  foresee  all 
the  consequences  of  the  great  social  and  political 
change  proposed,  but  of  this  I  am  at  least  sure:  it 
is  always  safe  to  do  right,  and  the  truest  expedi- 
ency is  simple  justice.    I  can  understand  without 
sharing  the  rmsgivi.gs  of  those  who  fear  that 
when  the  vote  drops  from  woman's  hand  into  the 
ballot-box,  the  beauty  and  sentiment,  the  bloom 
and  sweetness  of  womanhood  go  with  it.    But  in 
this  matter  it  seems  to  me  we  can  trust  nature. 
Mronger  than  statutes  or  conventions,  she  will 
be  conservative  of  all  that  true  men  lave  and  hon- 
or in  woman.    Here  and  there  may  be  found  an 
equivocal,  unsexed  Chevalier  Deon,  but  the  eter- 
nal order  and  fitness  of  things  will  remain     I 
have  no  fear  that  man  will  be  less  manly  or  wo- 
man less  womanly  when  they  meet  on  terms  of 
equality  before  the  law.    On  the  other  hand  I  do 
not  see  that  the  exercise  of  the  ballot  by  women 
will  prove  a  remedy  tor  nil  the  evils  of  which  she 
justly  complains     It  is  her  right,  as  truly  mine 
and  when  she  asks  for  it  it  is   something  less 


[,than  manhood  to  withhold  it.  But  unsupported 
by  a  moie  practical  education,  higher  aims  and 
a  deeper  sense  of  the  responsibility  of  life  and 
duty,  it  is  not  likely  to  prove  a  blessing  in  her 
hands  any  more  than  in  minors.  With  great  ic- 
spect  and  hearty  sympathy,  I  am,  verv  truly  thy 
fr'end,     Johj*  G.  Whittibb. 


A  PAIR  OF  UUITAEIAN  PHOTOGBAPHS. 
Robert   Collyer,   of  Chicago,   I  mean  the 
apostle  Robert,  that  loving,  lovable,  earnest 
Englishman,    whose    printed    sermons     have 
touched  my  heart  more  than  any  words  but 
those  of  Fenelon,  is  one  of  the  greatest  men  of 
Unitarianism  to-day.     His  sympathy  and  sin- 
cerity, his  piety,  his  charity,  commend   him 
more  to  the  hyper-cultivated  congregations  of 
the  East  than  the  fastidious  negatives  from  the 
library  cloisters,  with  the  dew  of  Harvard  and 
the  linden  dust  of  Germany  on  their  brows. 
In  looking  at  these  specimens  of  culture  one 
feels  that  their  hearts  have  shrunken  to   give 
blood   to   their   brains;  but    when   this    man 
speaks,  the  great  heart  of  love  is  there,  with  a 
noble  brain  for  its  servant.     His  appearance 
is  that  of  a  strong,  broad-shouldered  English- 
man,   with   iron-gray  hair  and  whiskers*;  his 
head,  a  little  bowed  as  if  meditating  on  a  life 
stored   with   experiences,  as  if  the   Master's 
hand  had  laid  there  often  traces  of  softened 
suffering,  that  had  yielded  rich  accounts  in  his 
expression,  which  is  wholly  one  that  children 
love.     He  has  studied  well  in  the  university  of 
life.     He  is  gentle  and  fearless,  in  equal  de- 
gree.    His  action  was  characteristic,  when,  in 
a  plea  for  churches  where  the  poor  might  find 
entrance,  he  crossed  the  platform,  and,  put- 
ting his  arm  around  the  shoulder  of  Edward 
Everett  Hale,  he  said : — 

"Brothsr  Hale,  you  have  a  beautiful  church, 
and  the  music  is  like  heaven,  but,  I  am  told, 
the  price  of  seats  is  so  high  that  a  poor  man 
can't  come  there ;"  and  in  a  tone  that  was  more 
than  a  reproof,  in  its  gentleness,  "Is  it  so?  I 
think  if  a  poor  creature  who  beats  his  wife 
could  come  there  and  see  the  beautiful  interior, 
and  hear  that  young  lady  sing  whom  I  heard 
there  last  Sunday,  he  would  go  home  and  for- 
get to  beat  his  wife  that  night.  But  your 
rich  people  have  all  these  things  at  home, 
books,  music,  and  crimson  furniture,  and  they 
don't  need  them  at  church  so  much." 


OLD   AGE. 

Old  age  is  the  majestic  and  imposing  dome 
of  human  life.  God  makes  it  the  sanctuary 
of  all  wisdom  and  justice;  the  tabernacle  of 
the  purest  virtues.  Experience  has  taught 
the  old  man  all  things ;  and  his  personal  en- 
deavors have  reduced  his  acquirements  to 
that  simple  state — that  perfect  unity — where 
each  conviction  has  its  proof  and  counter- 
proof.  His  are  the  treasures  of  tradition, 
and  those  of  acquired  knowledge — ancient 
lore  and  modern  facts,  in  their  order,  practi- 
cal truth,  and  eternal  verity,  the  relative  and 
the  absolute — that  which  helps  our  conduct 
in  this  world,  and  that  which  leads  ns  to 
another.  If  death  were  only  the  blossoming 
of   life — the  sublime  flower  of  that  plant 

whose  spreading  roots  underlie  the  earth if, 

as  saith  the  apostle,  death  merely  clothed  us 
with  immortality  :  old  age  would  be  the  apo- 
gee of  life— its  culminating  point,  its  epoch 
of  wealth   and  power.    But  it  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  death  is  the  wages  of  sin  ;  and, 
as  such,  it  causes  the  weight  of  our  condem- 
nation to  fall  heavily  upon  old  age.     Old  age 
is  the  term  of  grace — sometimes  a  little  pro- 
tracted— when  all  accounts  must  be  audited 
all  allowances  confirmed,  and  when  the  in- 
visible Creditor  exacts  his  dues.     Of  all  the 
seasons  of  life,  old  age  is  that  in  which  the 
sentence  with   which   man  is   weighted   is 
most  keenly  felt.    The  forecast  shadow  of 
death  overspreads  the  close    of   life.    But 
death  has  been  redeemed,  like  all  things  else. 
Old   age  is  the  central  point.     Night  is  on 
one  side,  and  dawn  on  the  other.    Ransomed 
death  permits  a  passage  to  the  beams  of  the 
true  life,  and  our 'last  twilights  are  nearer 
than  any  others  to  the  eternal  light.  ■f 

Things  to  Give. — 
Our  hearts  to  God.     Prov.  xxiii.  26. 
Praise  to  Him.     Psalms  xcvi.  7,  8. 
Thanks  to  Him.     1  Thess.  v.  18. 
Our  bodies  a  living  sacrifice.     Rom.  xxi.  1. 
God  loves  the  cheerful  giver.     2  Cor.  ix.  7. 
More  blessed  to  give  than  receive.    Acts  xx.  35. 

Things  to  Keep. — 
Our  hearts  with  diligence.     Prov.  iv.  23. 
The  commands  of  God.     1  John  iii.  24. 
The  truth.     Prov.  xxiii.  23. 
A  good  conscience.     1  Tim  i.  19. 
The  tongue  from  evil.     Ps.  xxxiv.  13. 
Ourselves  unspotted.     James  i.  27. 
The  Sabbath  day.    Ex.  xx.  8. 


Mr.  Hale  is  of  an  opposite  type  from  Mr. 

collyer.     Your  readers  will   know  him  best,  ,™>^s!^«^|^^ 

as  the  writer  of  the  finest  stories  in  the  land— 

"The  Man  Without  a  Country/'  for  instance; 

stories  touching  with  pathos,  or  lurking  with 

wit,  like  "My  Double,  or  How  he  Undid  me." 

From  the  complete  strength  of  his  writings,  I  

expected  to  see  an  athletic  Christian,  with  short  £°\  ^\  not  FoROET.-Haye  friends, 

•p      ,-  ,      ,  •  ,                                      "'  wuu  aao™  cherished  and  loved,  grown  oistant  and  cola 

English  whiskers  and  a  jolly  smile,  something  they  seem  to  forget  their  former  kindness  and 

on    the    Kincrslpv    r.™W      Tn0f„„^            e      I  friendship?   It  is  a  thought  full  of  comfoicand 

tne    jungsley    order.     Instead,    a    form  happuies£  that  God  does  not  forget.    He  a 

scarcely  more  than  slight,  with  the  studious  neglects  his  children.  "I  will  never  leave  thee 
stoop  in  his  shoulders,  clad  in  a  gown,  ad- 
vanced to  the  desk.  It  would  seem  that  his 
frame  was  originally  robust,  but  cloistered  in 
a  study,  had  given  spareness  to  the  whitened 
cheeks  ;  had  sunken  the  large,  meditative  eye, 
and  given  the  slight  trace  of  severity  to  "his 
face,  which  is  really  beautiful,  reminding  one 
at  once  of  the  Christian,  in  Henri  Le  Jennis' 
picture  of  "Jesus  Blessing  Children."  But  the 
hair  is  thin  on  his  temples  now,  worn  with 
thought,  and  the  face  is  one  that  might  be 
stern  when  defending  the  faith  in  ecclesiastical 
council,  but  would  soften  unutterably  to  the 
ehildren  round  his  table.— "Shirley  Dore"  in 
the  Chicago  Republican. 


He  never 
nor 

forsake    thee,"  are    His   words,   sure  and  true. 
1  Others  may  cease  to  regard,  but  His  love  is  ever  ^    Zj 
abiciDg.    '  ' 

Havo  those  whom  you  once  aided  when  needy 
aDd  helpless,  whom  you  raised  up  from  the  depths 
of  c degradation  and  despondency,  forgotten  y.,ur 
acts  of  kindness  and  mercy?    Do  you  feel  ill- re- 
quited for  the  pain  and  toil  you  have  taken  ?    God 
does  not  forget.    Even  the  cup  of  water  He  re- 
wards.   The  recipient  of  your  bounty  may  never 
give  you  a  thank.    Your  labors  of  love  may  never 
be  appreciated.    But  He  who  loves  the  cheerful 
/giver  treasures  up  a  remembrance  of  every  act, 
'<  and  gives  in  this  life,  at  least,  tiic  sweet  peace  and 
j  joy  of  heart  at  tiomg.a  gooi  deed,  and  in  the  life 
to  come  a  reward  unspeakable  aud  full  of  glory. 

God  does  not  foi  get.  No,  no.  The  kind  word 
spoken  to  the  little  child;  the  mite  given  to  the  ,_ 7 
, poverty  stricken  old  man;  the  little  delicacy  car-^  /* 
_ried  to  the  invalid ;  the  hour  spent  in  reading  to_  ~r 
the  aped  or  blind;  the  prayer  offered  for  those  in 
bonds,  aiid  every  effort  in  their  behalf;  all  thesei  J 
things  are  registered  above.  J    <-- 


A  Sweet  WmU-A  gentleman  re-        HATDN  A1SD  THE_ MUSIC-SELLER 

ports  that  he  once  found  Mr.  Wilberforce  Haydn  used  to  relate  with  much  pleasure  a  dis- 
m  the  greatest  agitation,  looking  for  a  dis-  £nte  which  he  had  with  a  music- seller  in  London, 
patch  which  he  had  mislaid  ;  one  of  the  Amusing  himseli  one  morning,  after  the  Eoglish 
royal  family  was  waiting  for  ir-^hp  had  fashifif'  m  £hoPPing'  he -inquired  of  a  music  seller  if 
nVh,™ I  i h  \  h        i        V-?8  v     ,  he  had  any  seleut  aud  beautiful  music.    "  Certainly," 

delayed  the  search  until  the  last  moment  replied  the  shopman;  «I  have  just  printed  some 
— he  seemed  at  length  quite  vexed  and  sublime  music  of  Haydn's."  "  Oh,"  returned  Haydn, 
flurried.     At  this  unlucky  instant  a  dis-*'ru  have  nothing  to  do  with  that."    "How,  sir, 

turbance  in  the  nursery  overhead  oc-  y01^  wL1  h!ve  ^°9'?e  to  do  with  Haydn's  music ! 
r».„.~  i  Ar  c  •  i  i  "TC111,;ttU  Y^  and  pray  what  fault  have  you  to  find  with  it?"  "  Oa. 
eurred.  My  friend  who  was  with  h.m,pier^;  but  it  is  useless  talking  about  it,  sines  it 
sam  to  himself : — •'  Now,  for  once,  Wil-  does  not  suit  me  ;  show  me  some  other."  The 
berforce's  temper  will  give  way."  He  music-seller,  who  was  a  warm  Haydnist,  replisd, 
had  hardly  thought  thus  when  Wilber-  ,l]ls'0>sir;  I  have  music,  it  is  true,  but  not  for  such 
force  turned  to  him  and  said  :— "  What  «  -  3'CU'  '•  ■"*-  tUmed  ™s-  back  uPon.nim-  As  Haydn 
bless 


know  they  are  well !  " 


THE  KING  OF   PRUSSIA. 


the  shop  :  "Haydn  !— ay,  here's  a  fellow  who  says 
he  does  not  like  that  great  man's  music."  The 
Englishman  laughed— an  explanation  took  place— 
and  the  music-  seller  was  made  acquainted  with  the 
man  who  found  fault  with  Haydn's  music. 


Patience  and  Liberality. — Now  I  know  not  whether 

Distinguished    Honors  Conferred  on  Him  by  the  man  who  hath  not  determined  to  bear  with  firm- 

ths  Russian  Czar.  ness  the  loss  of  any  of  bis  goods  either  by  theft  or  by 

violence,  or  even  by  slothfulness,  could,  easily  or  with 

He  Keceiveu  the  Grand  cross  or  the  Order  his  whole  heart,  himself  lay  hands  on  his  goods  for 

or  st.  George.  the  sake  of  alms-giving.    For  who  that  cannot  at  all 

bear  to  be  cut  by  another,  applieth  the  steel  to  his  own 

social  Despatch  to  the  Traveller.  hoA^  ?    Patience  under  losses  is  an  exercise  in  the  act 

of  giving  and  communicating.    He  is  not  unwilling  to 
*ew  York,  Dec.  31.-A  despatch   from  Prussia,  give  who  feareth  not  to  lose.— Tertullian. 
-reived  In  tbts  city  to-day,  makes  the  following  very 
interesting  announcement: 

Berlin,  Dec.  31.— The  Emperor  of  Russia  has  con- 
ferred the  grand  crocs  of  the  Order  of  St.  George  on 
His  Majesty  the  King  of  Prussia.  This  distinction  i3 
the  highest  military  honor  that  the  Russian  Emperor 
can  bestow,  and  it  is  accorded  exclusively  to  those  who 
have  commanded  an  army  and  gained  some  decisive  / 


Invocation. 

Oh  Spirit  of  Mercy,  of  Justice  and  Love,         a 
O'ershadow  thy  children  with  peace  from  above, 
Let  the  phantoms  of  fear,  of  doubt  and  despair, 
Be  lost  in  the  radiance  of  spiritual  air; 
Let  the  songs  of  the  angels  be  heard  in  the  skies, 


victory,  or  who  have  fought  through  twenty  land  ^Proclaiming  the  truth  that  the  soul  never  dies; 

_  *  mi_  _i    .ii    ii    • —  _~    «.«  „,,t,i,ll  n    ,»n«  **A  e\A    VtTT   I  hna 


c  mpaigns  or  been  present  in  eighteen  engagements  by 
sea. 

In  presenting  the  grand  crocs  to  the  King  of  Prussia, 
his  Russian  Majesty  intended  to  convey  a  compliment 
on  the  Prussian  victory  gained  at  Koniggratz  over  the 
Austrian  armies. 

The  military  order  was  instituted  on  the  7th  of  De- 
cember, 1769,  by  the  Empress  Catherine  the  Second. 


That  all  things  are  carefully  guarded  by  thee, 
But  the  soul  in  its  beauty  at  death  is  set  free. 
May  15. 


May  15. 


The  Protestant  churchman  says  the  venerable 
Rev.  Thus.  Williams,  of  Providence,  and 
familarily  known  as  Father  Williams,  is  no?ed 
for  his  ready  wit  and  sharp  retort.  A  devoted 
ritualist  was  discussing  the  subject  of  liturgy 
with  him  and  claimed  that  tlu?  whole  Bible  fur* 
nished  DO  instance  of  any  other  than  written 
prayers — "No,  sir;  not  a  single  one,  sir."  "Do 
you  really  think  so?"  "Yes  sir.  I  defy  you  to 
point  to  a  Scripture  prayer  that  was  not  writ- 
ten—you cannot  do  it."  "Well,  can  I  ask  you 
a  question?"  "Certainly."  "Tell  me  then, 
who  held  the  candle  when  Jonah  prayed  in  the 
whale's  belly?" 


THE    SUNSET    OF    LIFE. 

When,  towaid  the  close  of  some  long  summer  day, 
we  come  suddenly,  and,  as  we  think,  before  his  time, 
upon  the  broad  sun,  "  sinking  down  in  his  tranquillity" 
into  the  unclouded  west,  we  cannot  keep  our  eyes 
from  the  great  spectacle ;  and  when  he  is  gone  the 
shadow  of  him  haunts  our  sight ;  we  see  everywhere, 
nr  on  the  spotless  heaven,  upon  the  distant  mountains, 
upon  the  fields,  and  upon  the  road  at  our  feet,  that 
dim,  strange,  changeful  image  ;  and  if  our  eyes  shut, 
to  recover  themselves,  we  still  find  in  them,  like  a 
dying  flame,  or  like  a  gleam  in  a  dark  place,  the  un- 
mistakable phantom  of  ths  mighty  orb  that  has  set ; 
and  were  we  to  sit  down,  as  we  have  often  done,  and 
tiy  to  rtcord  by  pencil  or  by  pen  our  impression  of 
that  supreme  hour,  still  would  it  be  there.  We  must 
have  patience  with  our  eye,  it  would  not  let  the  im- 
pression go  ;  that  spot  on  which  the  radiant  disc  was 
impiesstd,  is  insensible  to  all  other  outward  things 
for  a  time  ;  its  best  relief  is,  to  let  the  eye  wander 
vaguely  over  eaith  and  sky,  ami  repose  itself  on  the 
mild  shatowy  distance.  So  it  is  when  a  great,  good, 
and  beloved  man  departs,  sets,  it  may  be,  suddenly, 
and  to  us  who  know  not  the  times  and  the  seasons, 
too  soon.  We  gaze  eagerly  at  his  last  hours,  and 
when  he  is  gone,  never  to  me  again  on  our  sight,  we 
see  his  image  wherever  we  go,  and  in  whatsoever  we 
aie  engaged  ;  and  if  we  try  to  record  by  words  our 
wonder,  our  sorrow,  and  our  affection,  we  cannot  see 
to  do  it,  for  the  "  idea  of  his  litis''  is  for  ever  coming 
into  our  "study  of  imagination"  —  into  all  our 
tboogbto,  and  we  can  do  little  else  than  let  our  mind, 
in  a  wise  passiveness,  hush  itself  to  rest. — Hone  Sub- 
saica,  by  John  Broun,  M.  I  ■.  # 


Pressing  Curiosity  of  an  Old  Man.— A 
well-known  citizen  of  Hartford,  a  few  days  ago 
had  taken  his  seat  in  the  afternoon  train  for 
Providence,  when  a  small,  weazened-faced, 
elderly  man,  having  the  appearance  of  a  well- 
to-do  farmer,  came  into  the  car  looking  for  a 
seat.  The  gentleman  good-naturedly  made  room 
|  for  him  by  his  side,  and  the  old  man  looked 
<T  him  over  from  head  to  fooi. 

"Going  to  Providence?"  he  said  at  length. 
"No,  sir,"  the  stranger  answered,  politely;  "I 
stop  at  Andover." 

"I  want  to  know !    I  belong  out  that  way  my- 
self.   Expect  to  stay  long?" 
"Only  over  night,  sir.  , 
A  short  pause. 

"Did  you  cal'late  to  put  up  at  the  tavern?" 

"No,  sir,  I  expect  to  stop  with  Mr.  Skinner." 

"What,  Job  Skinner's?    Deacon  Job  lives  in 

a   little   brown   house   on  the   old   pike?    Or 

mebbc  it's  his  brother?    Was  it  Tim  Skinner's 

— Squire  Tim's — where  you  was  goin'?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  gentleman,  smiling;  "it  was 
Squire  Tim's." 

"Dew  tell  if  you  are  goin' there  to  stop  over 
night!       Any  connection  of  his'n?"., 
"No,  sir." 

"Well,  now,  that's  curus !  The  old  man  ain't 
got  into  trouble  nor  nothin',  has  he?"  lowering 
his  voice;  "ain't  goin'  to  serve  a  writ  on  to  him, 
beyc?" 
"Oh  no,  nothing  of  the  kind." 
"Glad  on't.  No  harm  in  askin'  I  s'posc.  I 
reckon  Miss  Skinner's  some  connection  of 
yourn?" 

"Nof"  said  the  gentleman.  Then,  seeing  the 
amused  expression  on  the  faces  of  two  or  three 
acquaintances  in  the  neighboring  scats,  he 
added,  In  a  confidential  tone:, 

"I  am  going  to  see  Squire  Skinner's  daugh- 
ter." 

"Law  sakes!"  said  the  old  man,  his  face  quiv- 
ering w it ii  curiosity.  "That's  it,  is  it?  I  want 
to  know  1  Goin'  to  see  Mirandy  Skinner,  be  ye? 
Well,  Mirandy's  a  nice  gal— kinder  hombly,  and 
long  favored,  but  smart  to  work,  they  say,  and 
1  guess  you're  about  the  right  age  for  her,  too. 
Hep'  company  together  long?" 
"1  never  saw  her  in  my  life,  sir." 
"How  vou  talk!  Somebody's  gin  her  a  recom- 
mend, I  s'posc,  and  you're  a  goin' clear  out  their 
to  take  a  squint  at  her!  Wa'ai,  I  must  say 
there's  as  likely  gals  In  Andover  as  Mirandy 
Skinner.  1'ce  got  a  family  of  grown  up  darters 
myself.  Never  was  married  afore,  was  ye? 
Don't  see  no'wecd  on  your  hat," 

"I  have  been  married  about  fifteen  years,  sir. 
1  have  a  wife  and  five  children."  And  then,  as 
the  long  restrained  mirth  of  the  listeners  to  this 
dialogue  burst  forth  at  the  old  man's  open- 
mouthed  astonishment,  he  hastened  to  explain: 
"I  am  a  doctor,  my  good  friend,  and  Squire 
Skinner  called  at  my  office  this  morning  to  re- 
quest my  professional  services  for  bis  sick 
daughter." 

"  Wa'al,  now !"  And  the  old  bore  waddled  off 
into  the  next  car.— Harper's. 


A 


Keif  in  Good-Humok.— It  is  not  great 
calamities  that  embitter  existence ;  it  is 
the  potty  vexations,  the  small  jealousies, 
the  little  disappointments,  the  minor 
miseries  that  make  the  heart  heavy  aud 
the  temper  sour.  Don't  let  them.  Anger 
is  a  pure  waste  of  vitality;  it  is  always 
foolish  and  always  disgraceful,  except  in 
some  very  rare  cases,  when  it  is  kindled 
by  seeing  wrong  done  to  another.  But 
even  that  noble  rage  seldom  mends  the 
matter. 

Love.— Love  is  the  purification  of  the 
heart  from  self;  it  strengthens  and  enno- 
bles the  character,  gives  a  higher  motive 
and  a  nobler  aim  to  every  action  of  life, 
and  makes  both  man  and  woman  strong, 
noble,  and  courageous ;  and  the  power  to 
love  truly  and  devotedly  is  the  noblest 
gift  with  which  a  human  being  can  be 
endowed ;  but  it  is  a  sacred  fire  that  must 
not  be  burnt  to  idols. 

Idleness  Gkows  upon  Us.— It  is  an 
undoubted  truth  that  the  less  one  has  to 
do,  the  less  one  finds  time  to  do  it  in. 
One  yawns,  one  procrastinates.  One  can 
do  it  when  one  will,  and,  therefore,  one  sel- 
dom does  it  at  all ;  whereas,  those  who 
have  a  great  deal  of  business  must  (to  use 
a  vulgar  expression)  buckle  to  it ;  and  then 
they  always  find  time  enough  to  do  it  in. 

Common-Sense.— Many,  if  not  most, 
of  the  evils  which  the  impatient  and 
irritated  sufferer  charges  to  his  ill-fortune, 
to  accident,  to  the  misconduct  of  others, 
to  the  injustice  or  neglect  of  the  world, 
will  be  found,  when  honestly  traced  to 
their  true  source,  to  have  arisen  from  a 
defect  in  the  person  himself— to  his  own 
want  of  common-sense. 

Excelsior.— To  work  worthily,  man 
must  aspire  worthily.  His  theory  of 
human  attainment  must  be  lofty.  It  must 
ever  be  lifting  him  above  the  low  plane 
of  custom  and  convention,  in  which  the 
senses  confine  him,  into  the  high  mount 
of  vision  and  of  renovating  ideas. 

A  Brotherly  Grasp.— There  is  sym- 
pathy in  the  true  brotherly  hand-grasp. 
It  is  the  touch  of  friendship,  whose  sen- 
sation is  so  undefinable,  but  so  well  under- 
stood—that natural  Freemasonry  which 
springs  from  and  is  recognized  by  the 
heart. 

Great  Sacrifices.— Some  persons  are 
capable  of  making  great  sacrifices ;  but 
few  are  capable  of  concealing  how  much 
the  effort  has  cost  them ;  and  it  is  this  con- 
cealment that  constitutes  their  value. 

Always  Sunshine  Somewhere.— The 
sun  is  always  shining:  the  flowers  are 
always  blooming;  the  birds  are  always 
singing ;  the  golden  grain  is  always  wav- 
ing somewhere  in  this  wicked  world. 

It  is  harder  for  a  penurious  man  to  be 
honest  than  for  a  gourmand  to  keep  a 
last. 

There  are  more  sensible  people  who 
are  smart  than  smart  ones  who  arc  sensl- 
.  ble. 

Kicu  men  fool  misfortunes  that  pass 
over  poor  men's  heads. 

Learning   makes  a  man  fit  company 

for  himself. 

I  love  you  well,  but  touch  not  my 
pocket. 

One  man's  fault  is  another  man's  lesson. 

<  loos  words  cost  no  more  than  bad. 

Put  no  faith  in  tale-bearers. 

Second  thoughts  are  best. 

A  Witty  Kefly.— We  have  heard  of 
the  witty  reply  of  a  slave  who  had  stolen 
and  eaten  one  of  his  master's  turkeys, 
when  he  was  accused  of  the  crime.  Ho 
repelled  all  idea  of  wrong,  saying  that 
■  BCura's  property  only  changed  form;  he 

has  less  turkey,  but  more  nigger." 

The  Difference.—  "  What  is  the  differ- 
ence 'twixt  a  watch  and  a  fodder  bed, 
Sam?" — "Duiino,  gin  it  up."— "  Because 

<!c  ticken  ob  de  watch  is  on  ilc  inside, 
and  de  ticken  ob  de  bed  is  on  de  out- 
side." 

An  old  lady  lately  refused  to  let  her 
niece  dance  with  .i  young  graduate,  be- 
cause' she  heard  that  he  was  a  bachelor  of 
arts,  whereby  she  understood  him  to  be 

an  artful  bachelor. 

A  country  editor  thinks  that  Colum- 
bus is  not  entitled  to  much  credit  for  dis- 
covering America,  as  the  country  is  so 
large  he  coidd  not  well  huvc  missed  it. 


The  Dark  Day  of  1780. 

The  12tli  of  May,  1780y  was  a  remarkable  one 
in  the  annals  of  New  England,  on  account  of 
the  thick  darkness  that  overspread  the  land, 'ike 
a  funeral  pall.  It  was  a  d:.„-  tang  to  be  rervem- 
bcml  and  talked  of  by  those  who  witnesses  the  ' 

|  strange,  and  at  that  time  fearful,  phenomenon. 
There  was  much  writing  upon  and  discussion  of 
the  subject  at  the  time  and  afterward,  but  I  be- 
lieve no  satisfactory  conclusion  was  ever  arrived 
at  as  to  its  cause.  There  were  some  who  thought 
that  it  must  have  proceeded  from  a  total  eclipse 
of  the  sun,  that  had  from  some  cause  escaped 
the  calculations  of  mathematicians  and  astrono- 
mers, but  that  was  easily  shown  to  be  impossi- 
ble by  facts  and  figures. 

It  was  then  the  darkest  and  most  hopeless 
period  of  the  war  of  the  revolution,  and  it  was 
thought  by  many  of  the  desponding  and  dis- 
couraged to  be  significant  of  the  end  of  that 
which  then  appeared  to  them  a  hopeless  strug- 
gle. Some  of  the  more  sanguine  insisted  that 
as  the  hour  before  the  dawn  was  always  the 
darkest,  so  this  strange  and  portentous  gloom 
was  but  the  prelude  to  the  bright  dawn  of  liber- 
ty and  independence  that  was  soon  to  follow. 

The  father  of  the  writer  was  then  a  boy  of  13 
years,  and  was  at  work  with  his  father  and 
brother,  planting  or  preparing  the  ground.  It 
was  a  dull,  hazy  morning,  and  as  the  time 
passed  it  gradually  thickened,  and  by  10 
o'clock  the  increasing  darkness  began  to  be 
quite  apparent.  They  kept  on  with  their  work, 
and  as  the  gloom  increased  they  observed  that 
he  w;uld  pause  once  in  a  while  and  look  intent- 
ly all  around  the  horizon  and  overhead,  but 
made  no  remark  until  he  directed  the  eldest  boy 
to  go  to  the  barn  and  turn  the  horse  and  all  the 
cattle  that  were  inside  out  into  an  open  lot,  and 
to  close  and  secure  every  door  and  window.  It 
appeared  that  he  was  apprehensive  some  sudden 
and  furious  gust  or  squall  would  soon  manifest 
itself,  and  that  the  animals  would  be  in  less 
danger  out  in  the  field  than  inside  the  build- 
ing. 

Still  the  darkness  grew  thicker  and  deeper, 
till  presently  he  said  thev  might  as  well  quit 
work  for  the  present.  On  reaching  the  house 
the  mother  and  sister  were  about  their  usual  du- 
ties, pale  and  silent.  Little,  was  said  except  an 
occasional  remark  or  direction  in  a  low  tone. 
No  one  seemed  inclined  to  conversation  or 
demonstration  of  any  kind.  Soon  dinner  was 
ready,  with  candles  lighted  the  same  as  night, 
but  not  a  morsel  was  eaten.  A  dead  silence  seem- 
ed to  pervade  all  nature,  broken  only  by  occa- 
sional bleating  of  a  lamb,  or  the  distant  lowing 
of  the  kine,  which  wandered  about  restless  and 
uneasy. 

The  domestic  fowls  seemed  to  be  inclined  to 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  if  it  was  not  night, 
they  could  put  no  other  construction  upon  it,  so, 
after  clucking  over  the  matter  for  a  while,  they 
went  to  roost.  And  thus  the  long  and  dreary 
hours  passed  away.  Along  in  the  afternoon  the 
veil  was  lifted  in  some  degree,  and  at  the  time 
of  sunset  it  was  about  the  same  as  in  an  ordinary 
dull  and  cloudy  day. 

The  night  which  followed,  was,  it  is  said,  as 
dark  proportionately  as  was  the  day.  It  was 
the  perfect  "blackness  of  darkness."  Not  the 
faintest  outline  of  any  object  could  be  discerned 
against  the  sky.  A  light  would  penetrate  it 
but  a  little  way,  and  then  seem  to  disclose  but  a 
solid  wall  of  blackness  around.— Cape  Ann 
Advertiser. 


A  Good  Came.— There  is  a  simple  but  inter- 
esting play,  to  which  our  ydltiig  folks  have  given 
the  name  of  "Verbarium,"  and  which  has  had  a 
remarkable  effect,  within  our    observation,  in 
stimulating  the   faculty   of  language  in   many 
somewhat    sluggish  brains.    A  number  of  per- 
sons—the more  the  merrier—are  provkled  with 
pencils,  and  a  word    chttsen  as    the  verbarium, 
which  each  writes  at  the  head  of  his  sheet.    The 
object  of  the  game  is  to  draw  out  the  vast  num- 
ber ot  words  which  lie  folded  up,  as  it  were,  in 
the  verbarium,  and  this  is  accomplished,  amid 
v?  much  excitement  and  amusement,  in  the  follow- 
ing manner:  Let   us  suppose,  for  instance,  that 
the  word  chosori  is  "treason.-      One  of  the  com- 
pany is  appointed  tiine-keep'cr i  and  the  signal 
being  given,  each  writes   as  rapidly  as"  possible 
all  the  words  beginning  with  a  "t"  which  call 
J  be  spelled  with  the  letters  of  the  verbarium. 
/       At  the  end  off  two  minutes  the  time-keeper 
calls  "tittle!"  arid  the  eager  pencils  arc  obliged 
(     to  stop.    The  company  fheit  redd,  in  order,  the 
^  words  they  have  written.    As^ach  word  is  read, 
those  who  have  not  written  it  call  out  "no,"  and 
those  who  have  it  cross  it  out  from  their  lists, 
>. ,  and  place  opposite  to   it   a  number  ot   credits, 
*    equal  to  the  number  of  defaulters.    If  three  per- 
sons, for  instance,  fail  to  have  the  word  "tea," 
the  rest  take  three   credits.    Two   minutes  arc 
then  devoted  to  words  beginning  with  "R,"  and 
so  on,  until  the  whole  verbarium  is  exhausted, 
when  each  player  counts  the  aggregate  number 
of  credits,  and  the  one  who  has  the  largest  num- 
ber is  declared  the  winner. 

The  possibilities  of  fun  in  this  game  do  not 
all  appear  from  a  dry  description  like  the  fore- 
going. 

The  lamentation*  of  those  who,  in  their  zeal- 
ous pursuit  of  complicated  anagrams,  have  over- 
looked the  simplest  combinations;  the  shouts  of 
laughter  that  attend  the  defeat  of  an  attempt  to 
impose  triumphantly  some  word  that  "isn't  in 
it;"  the  appeals  to  the  dictionary  to  settle  dis- 
puted questions,  and  a  hundred  other  lively  in- 
cidents of  the  game,  render  it  the  most  popular 
with  old  and  young  that  has  ever  been  introduc- 
ed into  the  parlor, 

To  illustrate  the  extensive  range  of  language 
which  this  simple  amusement  covers,  it  is  only, 
necessaiy  to  say  that  not  less  than  one  hundred 
words  may  be  derived  in  this  way  from  "treason," 
which  is,  after  all,  not  a  good  verbarium. 

Try  verbarium,  and  you  will  find  it  infallibly 
successful  as  a  means  of  amusement,  while  it  is,  ■ 
as  we  have  pointed  out,  highly  useful.— Ameri- 
can Builder.  ■  » 


CJU^M/ 


/"** 


The  Effect  of  Railroads  on  the  Weath- 
er.—The  opinion  seems  to  be  gaining  strength, 
that  the  Pacific  Railroad  is  working  a  great 
change  in  the  climate  of  the  Plains.  Instead  of 
continuous  droughts,  all  along  the  railroad  rain 
now  falls  in  refreshing  abundance.  This  result 
has  been  remarkc  1  upon  in  other  sections  of  the 
JVest.  In  central  Ohio,  for  example,  it  is  said, 
the  climate  has  been  completely  revolutionized 
since  iron  rails  have  forme :1  a  net  work  all  over 
that  region.  Ins'eadof  the  destructive  droughts 
formerly  sufierci  there,  for  some  tonr  or  "five 
years  there  has  been  rain  in  abundance— even 
more  than  enough  to  satisfy  all  the  wants  of 
farmers.  This  change  is  thought  to  be  the  result 
of  an  equilibrium  produced  in  the  electrical  cur- 
rents, which  has  brought  about  a  more  uniform 


A  large  gift  strikes  our  imagination,  be- 
cause its  obvious  benefit  is  large.  Thus 
man  judges  of  beneficence.  But  God  looks 
to  the  motive,  measures  the  means,  sees 
the  amount  of  self-sacrifice,  and  approves 
and  rewards  accordingly.  He  who  has 
only  a  shilling  in  the  world,  and  gives 
away  sixpence,  thereby  depriving  himself 
of  half  a  meal,  may  be  as  acceptable  in  the 
eye  of  God  as  he  who  gives  half  a  million, 
but  has  half  a  million  left.  Jesus  said  that 
the  poor  widow  who  threw  into  the  treas- 
ury her  two  mites  had  actually  given  more 
than  the  rich  who  cast  in  liberally,  but  did 
it  out  of  their  abundance.  This  is  not  to 
disparage  great  and  liberal  benefactors. 
But  it  is  to  encourage  all,  however  poor, 
even  so  that  they  can  give  merely  a  cup  of 
cold  water,  that  they  shall  not  be  unre- 
warded ;  and  that  if  the  smallest  sum  is 
given  in  a  right  spirit,  and  in  proportion  to 
our  ability  and  with  self-sacrifice,  as  he 
that  receiveth  a  prophet  in  the  name  of  a 
prophet  shall  receive  a  prophet's  reward, 
so  he  that  gives  away  a  penny  in  the  spirit 
of  a  benevolent  millionaire  shall  receive  a 
benevolent  millionaire's  reward. 

JUSTICE  TO  THE  DEAD. 


The  Lesson  of  Life. 

[From  an  Address  Delivered  at  the  Funeral  m  Henru 
J.  Raymond,]  "       ' 

What  are  the  cares,  the  frets,  the  petty  ambi- 
tions, the  stinging annoyances,  the  small  strife 
the  friction,  the  sweat  and  tear  of  life  ?    What  are 
those  things  as  we  stand  here  and  look  back  upon 
them,  measured  by  this  hour,  that  should  meas 
■are  the  worth  of  all  things?    What  are  those 
things  that  are  past?    How  vain,  how  useless' 
What  best  may  one  do  that,  judged  by  this  hour 
shall  stand  by  his  memory?    No  man  is  o-reat 
enough  to  be  remembered   in  selfishness.  "The 
things  which  shall  make  our  names  memorable 
are  those  things  which  we  do  upon  others  and  tor 
others.    Not  those  who  have  lived  for  themselves 
but  those  who  have  lived  for  others,  for  their 
country,  for  their  age.    You  and  I,  too,  ere'  lou" 
shall    come    to    this    hour.     You  are   stron  ? 
the  blood   beats  now  healthily  in  your  veins' 
but  in  a  short  time  you  too  shall  be  in  the  coffin* 
and  you  shall  be  followed  by  your  friends  to  the 
tomb.    Could  we,  if  you  were  called  hence  to-day 
speak  well  of  your  history?    Have  you  earned' 
the  right  to  be   spoken   of  gratefully   in    this 
solemn   hour,   and    have    your   name   handed 
down   to   others?     Are   you   living   above    the 
world  while   in   it,  christianly,  pure'y,  nobly? 
Are  you  living  with  fear  of.  God  and  with  bops  of 
immortality?    For  surely,  it  is  no.  anmea  riin  - 
service  of  respect  that  you  pay  to-day.    You  e 
here  to  wear  a  nobler  manliness,  to , take  on  tie 
vows  of  a  higher  fidelity,  and  to  retain,  a  sens;  of 
the  urgency  and  imposfemce  of  life.    You  come 
here  to  rebuke  your  pas  nons,  to.  seek  the  truth 
as  it  is  in  Jesus  Christ,  to  chock  the  ■uprising  of 
pride  and  selfishness,  and  to  take  upon  you'the 
puipose  and  vows  q£  fidelity  to. God  and  man 
Blessed  are  they  whc>  when  passing  away,  need  not 
the  adventitious  cruras  ta»cc  of  place.    Blessed 
are  they  whose  mourners  are  those  who,  have  been 
the  recipients  of  their  coaftnued  kindness1  they' 
who  have  made  their;  saemories.  dear  to  hearts 
whicn  they  haye  enriched  and  blessed.  And  now,' 
to-morrow*  and  next  week  Ms  name  will'  be  fa- 
m^mr,  and  aiany  of  us  will  cherish  it  as  lono-  as 
w«  live..   $nt  this.  great  thundering  city  is  like 
We  ocean*  and  as  when,  one  falls  overboard  and 
give  one;  outcry,  and  the  fiying  water  is  disturbedv' 
out  the  huge  warces  pass  over,  the  wrinkles"  are 
smoothed  out  and  the  sea  is  no  fuller  than  before 
so  th*  great  EDulta.tu.de  will  forget  lum  and  pass 
on.    You  who  are  so  important  t,Orday  may  he 
insignificant  to-morrow.     You  who  are  taking 
hold  of  the  very  springs  of  life  will  drop  then 
irom  your  fingers.    Oh,  that  God  may  grant  to 
us  all  such  a  sense  of  our  weakness  here  and  re- 
sponsibility there,  that  w«  may  go,  improve  life, 
that  when  we  lay  it  down  we  shall  take  it  up 
again  beyond  the  grave  in  a  land  where  death  is 

bl0eSSedneS8?d  ^^  th6r§  *8   tawWi"  au<* 


dispensation  o*  the  ram.     It  is  a  fact  within  the   citizen-Who's  dead,  good  sexton?    Why  these 


observation  of  all  who  remember  ante-railroad 
times,  that  we  have  now  few  or  no  such  thunder 
storms  as  we  formerly  had  in  New  England.  The 
iron  rails  which  touch  and  cross  each  other  in 
every  direction,  serve  as  conductors  and  equal- 
izers of  the  electric  currents,  and  so  prevent  tba 
terrible  explosions  which  used  to  terrify  us  in 
former  years.  The  telegraphic  wires  which  ac- 
company the  iron  rails  everywhere,  also  act  an 
important  part  in  diffusing  electricity  equally 
through  the  atmosphere,  thus  preventing  the 
occurrence  of  severe  thunder  storms. 


chimes  ? 
You've  struck  the  bell  a  hundred  times. 

Sexton— Puir  mon!  puir  mon!  the  church's  pil- 
lar- 
No  less  than  Peter  Grist,  the  miller. 

Citizen — Not  Peter!    Then  your  bell  is  wrong; 
He  was  but  fifty — for  as  long 
As  I  have  lived  I  always  knew 
How  old  be  was,  and 

Sexton —  Yes,  'tis  true; 

But  then,  in  ringin'  him  awa' 
I  gav'  him  more  than  was  the  law, 
'Twill  please  him,  for  the  goody  soul 
Was  fond  of  takin'  double  toll. 


'*  Don't  Hurry. 

,      No,  don't  hurry.     It  's  no  sort  of  use*     You 

-won't  get  along  lialf  so  fast.  We  never  knew 
a  fellow  who  was  always  in  a  hurry  that 
was  n't  always  behind  hand.  They  are  pro- 
verbial the  world  over  for  bringing  nothing  at 
all  to  pas«.  And  it  *s  just  what  may  be  ex- 
pected. Hurry,  skurry,  bluster,  putter — what 
does  it  all  amount  to?  Not  a  straw — not  a 
shadow. 

Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  we  repeat  If  you  want 
to  accomplish  anything*  as  it  should  be  ac- 
complished— do  a  thing  as  it  should   be  done, 

'  you'must  go  about  it  coolly,  moderately,  firm- 
ly, faithfully,  heartily.  Hurrying,  fretting, 
fuming,  sputtering  will  do  no  good — not  the 
least. 

Are  great  works  or  great    men   made  in  a 

'hurry'?  Not  at  all.  <They  me  the  product 
of  time,  patience — the  result  of  slow,  solid 
developemeut.  Nothing  of  moment  is  made  • 
in  a  hurry.  Nothing  can  be — nothing  ought 
to  he.  It  's  contrary  to  nature,  reason,  rev- 
elation, right,  justice,  philosophy,  common 
sense. 

Your  man  of  hurry  is  no  sort  of  a  charac- 
ter— or  rather  a  very  shiftless  one.  Always 
in  confusion;  loose  at  every  point,  unhinged 
and  unjointed,  blowing  and  puffing  here  and 
there;  racing,  ranting,  staving,  but  all  ending 
in  smoke  and  gas.  No,  my  dear  sir,  if  you 
have  anything  to  do,  don't  in  the  great  Mogul, 
get  at  it  iu  a  hurry.  Be  sure  if  you  do  you'll  u 
have  the  matter  all  to  go  over  again.  Be 
quiet,  calm,  reasonable  and  plan  and  act  like 
a  man.  Then  you'll  bring  something  about — 
and  in  no  other  way. 


Vermont.— It  is  generally  said  that  Vermont 
was  named  from  its  Green  Mountains.  But  how 
the  name  comes  is  not  so  generally  understood. 
A  writer  in  the  American  Gazetteer  gives  a  Latin 
etymology,  "  Ver  Mons,  Green  Mountain/'  But 
in  "A  History  of  the  Rev.  Hugh  Peters,  A.  M.  & 
C.,'*  by  Rev.  Samuel  Peters,  LL.  D.,  New  York» 
1807,  is  found  this  very  interesting  account:— 

"Verdmont  was  a  name  given  to  the  Green 
Mountains,  in  October,  1768,  by  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Peters,  the  first  clergyman  who  paid  a  visit  to 
the  thirty  thousand  settlers  in  that  country,  in 
rhe  presence  of  Col.  Taplin,  Col.  Willes,  Col. 
Peters,  Judge  Peters,  and  many  others,  who  were 
proprietors  of  a  large  number  of  townships  in 
tnat  colony.  The  ceremony  was  performed  on 
the  top  of  a  rock,  standing  on  a  high  moun- 
tain, then  named  Pisgah,  because  it  provided  to 
the  company  a  clear  sight  of  Lake  Champlain 
to  the  west,  and  of  Connecticut  river  to  the  east; 
and  overlooked  all  the  trees  and  hills  in  the  vast 
wilderness  at  the  north  and  south. 

"The  baptism  was  performed  in  the  following 
manner  and  form,  viz:  Priest  Peters  stood  on 
the  pinnacle  of  the  rock,  when  he  received  a 
a  bottle  of  spirits  from  Col.  Taplin;  then 
haranguing  the  company  with  a  short  history 
of  the  infant  settlement,  and  the  prospect  of  its 
becoming  an  impregnable  barrier  between  the 
British  colonies  in  the  south,  and  the  late  colo- 
nies of  the  French  in  tf.^  north,  he  continued: 
'We  have  here  met  on  the  rock  of  Etam,  stand- 
ing on  Mount  Pisgah,  which  makes  a  part  of 
the  everlasting  hill,  the  spine  of  Africa,  Asia 
and  America,  holding  together  the  terrestial 
ball,  and  dividing  the  Atlantic  from  the  Pacific 
ocean,  to  dedicate  and  consecrate  this  extensive 
wddcrness  to  God,  manifested  in  the  flesh,  and 
to  give  it  a  new  name,  worthy  of  the  Athenians 
and  ancient  Spartans;  which  new  name  is  Verd 
Mont,  in  token  that  her  mountains  and  hills 
shall  be  ever  green  and  never  die/  And  then 
poured  the  spirits  around  him,  and  cast  the  bot- 
tle at  the  rock  of  Etam. 

"The  ceremony  being  over,  the  company  de- 
scended Mount  Pisgah  and  took  refreshments  in 
a  log  house,  kept  by  Captain  Otley,  where  they 
spent  the  night  with  great  pleasure. 

"After  this,  Priest  Peters  passed  through  most 
of  the  settlements,  preaching  and  baptizing,  for 
the  space  of  eight  weeks,  in  which  time  he  bap- 
tised nearly  1200  children  and  adults. 

"Since  Verdmont  became  a  state,  its  general 
assembly  have  seen  proper  to  change  the  spell- 
ing of  Verdmont,  green  mountain,  to  that  of 
Fer-mont,  mountain  of  maggots/' 


Origin  of  Dartmouth  College.— It  is  now 
nearly  a  century  since  Dr.  Eleazar  Wheeler  went 
up  from  Lebanon  to  Hanover,  N.  H.,  carrying 
with  him  Moor's  Indian  Charity  School.  He  went 
to  plant  this  institution  in  the  wilderness,  where 
the  dusky  tribes,  for  whose  education  the  school 
was  started,  were  yet  lingering.  Dr.  Wheelock 
had  been  settled  over  a  small  parish  in  the  north- 
ern part  of  Lebanon,  Ct.,  which  has  since  been 


It  does  not  seem  to  me,  voung  women,  that 
your  "sphere"  is  a  narrow  one,  even  as  society 
is  at  present  constituted.  Putting  together  its 
two  hemispheres  of  industry  and  charity,  it  ap- 
pears to  be  about  as  large  as  most  of  you  can 
worthily  fill.  And  now  let  me  finish  this  talk 
with  words  that  were  written  several  years  aeo 
for  The  Republican  by  one  who  was  at  that  time, 
I  believe,  an  operative  in  a  New  England  mill,- 


HerehehH  a%L ?, It  .ffiE'  *>"?„  ?££0LU.m^  ^  fi*i5?2*  ™e  trai,ned  »  som?  Purpose,' as 


\ 


Cohtikkntal  Monet.  For  the  purpose  of 
providing  pecuniary  means  to  carry  on  the  Revo- 
lutionary War,  the  Continental  Congress  issued 
bills  in  different  sizes,  the  faith  of  the  Confeder- 
ate Colonies  pledged  for  their  redemption.  The 
first  issue  was  June  22, 1775,  of  $2,000,000,  and 
from  time  to  time  other  emissions  were  author- 
ized, till  the  beginning  of  1780,  when  $200,000,000 
had  been  issued  and  none  redeemed. 

Mr.JLossing,  in  his  Field  Book  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, gives  a  scale  of  the^depreciation  of  the  Con- 
tinental money.  In  January,  1777,  the  paper 
currency  was  at  5  per  cent,  discount.  In  July  it 
was  at  25  per  cent,  discount,  and  before  the  end 
of  the  year  three  dollars  in  paper  would  not  com- 
mand a  silver  dollar.  In  1778  the  paper  currency 
continued  to  depreciate,  so  that  in  April  four 
dollars  in  paper  were  equal  to  one  in  coin.  In 
September  the  ratio  was  as  Jive  to  one,  and  at  the 
close  of  the  year  was  six  and  a  half  to  one.  In 
1779  the  depreciation  rapidly  continued.  In 
February  the  ratio  was  eight  dollars  and  a  half 
Of  paper  to  one  of  silver,  in  May  it  was  twelve  to 
one,  in  September  eighteen  to  one,  and  before 
the  close  of  the  year  a  papor  dollar  was  only 
worth  four  cents.  In  March,  1780,  a  paper  dollar 
was  worth  three  cents,  in  May  it  was  worth  two 
cents,  and  in  December  seventy-four  dollars  in 
paper  was  worth  one  dollar  in  silver.  At  this 
point  the  historian  stops. 

0^"  The  power  of  money  is  on  the  whole  over- 
estimated. The  trrcatcst  things  which  have  boon 
done  for  the  world  have  not  been  accomplished  by 
rich  men,  or  by  subscription  lists,  but  by  men  gen- 
erally of  small  pecuniary  means.  Christianity  was 
propagated  over  half  the  world  by  men  of  the 
poorest  class;  and  the  greatest  thinkers,  discover- 
ers, inventors,  and  artists,  have  been  men  of  mod- 
erate wealth,  many  of  them  little  raised  above  the 
condition  of  manual  laborers  in  point  of  worldly 
circumstances.  And  it  will  always  be  so.  Riches 
are  oftener  an  impediment  than  a  stimulus  for  act- 
ion; and  in  many  cases  they  arc  quite  as  much  a 
misfortune  as  a  blessing.  The  youth  who  inherits 
wealth,  is  apt  to  have  life  made  too  easy  for  him, 
and  he  soon  grows  sated  with  it,  because  he  has 
nothing  left  to  desire.  Having  no  special  object 
to  struggle  for,  he  finds  time  hang  heavily  on  his 
hands;  he  remains  morally  and  spiritually  asleep; 
nd  his  position  in  society  is  often  no  higher 
■an  that  of  a  polypus  over  which  the  tide  floats. 


Here  he  had  received  into  his  family  Indian  youth 
tor  the  purpose  of  preparing  them  to  be  teachers 
and  preachers  to  their  own  race.  With  oneof  these 
he  had  remarkable  success.  This  was  Samson 
Occom,  for  some  time  quite  a  distinguished 
preacher,  and  the  author  of  the  welUknown 
hymn  be? inning,  "Awaked  by  Sinai's  awful 
sound.  So  promising  did  the  work  of  Indian 
education  appear,  especially  in  the  light  of  this 
example,  that  Joshua  Moor,  living  in  Mansfield, 
Conn.,  had  siven  a  house  and  two  acres  of  land 
in  Lebanon  as  an  endowment  for  theschool.  and 
the  institution  itself  was  honored  with  his  name 
This  was  in  1754. 

Soon  after  this,  Rev.  Samuel  Occom,  in  com- 
pany with  Rev.  Nathaniel  Whitaker,  went  to 
England,  and  so  powerfully  were  the  good  peo- 
ple of  England  affected  by  seeing  and  hearing 
this  eloquent  Indian  preacher  from  the  western 
wilds,  that  the  money  came  in  freely,  and  the 
sum  of  about  £10,000  was  raised  and  vested  in  , 
trustees  in  London,  of  which  board  Lord  Dan-  ' 
mouth  was  president,  for  the  use  of  the  school. 

Then  it  was  thought  best  to  remove  the  school 
to  some  part  of  the  country  where  red  men  more 
abounded,  and  after  various  inquiries,  Hanover,   i 
N.  H.,  was  fixed  upon,  being  then  in  the  wilder-  J 
ness.    A  charter  was  obtained  from  the  Legisla-  - 
tureof  New  Hampshire  in  1769,  as  also  a  large 
donation  in  land,  and  in  1770,  the  school  travel- 
ed up  to  its   new   home.    This  was  in  August. 
From  the  language  of  Dr.  Allen,  afterwards  pres- 
ident of  the  college,  we  may  see  that  this  was  a 
rough  and  primitive  operation. 

"The pine  trees  on  a  few  acres  had  been  cut 
down.  Without  nails  or  glass,  he  (Dr.  W.) 
built  a  log  cabin,  eighteen  feet  square,  and  di- 
rected the  operations  of  forty  or  fifty  laborers, 
who  were  employed  digging  a  well  and  in  build- 
ing, for  his  family,  a  house  of  one  story,  and  an- 
other of  two  stories,  eighty  feet  long,  for  his 
scholars.  As  his  family  arrived  before  these  hab- 
itations were  prepared,  his  wife  and  daughters 
lived  for  about  a  month  iirhishut,  and  his  sons 
and  students  made  them  booths  and  beds  of 
hemlock  Boughs."  By  the  last  of  October  the 
buildings  were  done  and  possession  taken.  This 
was  the  way  in  which  Dartmouth  College  was 
started,  and  when  the  century  comes  round,  as  ' 
it  soon  will,  ther;  will  be  an  abundance  of  mate-  ' 
rial  to  make  the  occasion  one  of  great  public  in-  * 
terest  in  the  way  of  public  commemoration.         ; 

Dr.  Wheelock,  the  founder,  was  a  remarkable 
man — of  fine  personal  appearance  and  bearing — 
of  a  most  commanding  and  attractive  eloquence. 
— a  warm  friend  and  associate  of  Whitefield,  and 
earnestly  engaged  in  personal  labors  to  promote 
the  New  Light  revivals  of  the  middle  of  the  last 
cen  t  u  i  y . — Congrega  tionalist. 


Wintering  on  the  White  Mountains. 
Two  observers  who  have  spent  the  winter  upon 
Mount  Moosilauk — Professor  Huntington  and 
Mr.  Clough — came  down  to  stay  down  on  the 
1st.  Their  observations  are  soon  to  be  made 
known,  and  the  results  attained  by  them.  It  is 
reported  that  they  here  proved  tliat  the  ocean 
is  visible.  The  temperature  they  found  to  be, 
for  weeks  together,  higher  than  it  w.^.s  at  the 
base  of  the  mountain,  which  they  visited  twice 
a  week  to  obtain  their  supplies  and  mail  matter. 
The  highest  rate  of  speed  of  the  wind  which 
they  measured  was  ninety  miles  an  hour,  which 
blew  in  their  glass  window.  The  lowest  point 
which  the  mercury  reached  was  seventeen  de- 
grees below  zero.  During  the  first  pari  of  the 
winter  there  was  not  any  more  snow  on  the 
summit  than  at  the  base  of  the  mountain,  but. 
for  the  last  few  weeks  there  was  about;  one-half 
more.  The  only  sign  of  a  wild  animal  which 
they  discovered  was  the  track  of  a  wolf  recent- 
it  distance  below  the  house.  They  oc- 
cupied the  middle  room  of  a  house  ninety  i>.y 
forty  feet,  and  got  alonj;  comfortably. 


The  double  bronze  doors  for  the  Capitol  at 
Washington,  which  have,  been  in  the  hands  of 
the  Ames  Company  at  Chicopee  for  the  past 
three  years,  are  nearly  completed.  Early  in 
the  autumn  they  will  be  in  their  destined  place. 
On  one  side  the  panels  represent  "Peace/'  the 
"Ovation  to  Washington  at  Trenton,"  the  "In- 
auguration of  Washington,"  and  the  "Masonic 
ceremony  of  laying  the  corner-stone  of  the  Cap- 
itol, September  18,  1793."  On  the  other  side, 
the  panels  represent  "War,"  the  "Charge  ;it, 
Yorktown,"  the  "Rebuke  of  Lee  by  Washington 
at  Monmouth,"  and  the  "Death  of  Warren  at 
Bunker  Hill."  Crawford  is  the  artist,  and  his 
designs  have  been  executed  with  great  skill. 
Each  of  the  doors  weighs  4000  pounds ;  yet  they 
will  swing  with  comparative  case,  as  has  been 
proved  by  trial. 


the  words  ttiemselves  well  witness,  by  the  disci- 
pline of  work,  and  who  has  now  passed,  I  hear, 
to  her  proper  throne  in  the  center  of  a  happy 
household  :— 

Work,  while  thy  pulse  with  full  vigor  is  beating, 
Toil  and  temptations  with  cheerfulness  meeting; 
Work,  for  the  day  lie  has  given  thee  is  fleeting :  ' 

All  the  stood  angels  will  smile  on  thy  toil ; 
When  thou  wouidpt  stumble   their  strength   shall 
uphold  thee ; 
<  Lovingly  will  their  white  pinions  enfold  thee; 
(iod  from  his  bright  throne  will  leau  to  behold  thee  • 

Sunshine  and  shower  he  will  send  on  the  soil. 

''Honor  and  shame  from  no  conditions  rise- 
Act  well  your  part,  there  all  the  honor  lies." 
And  yet  I  dare  say  there  are  many  youn»  wo- 
men, who  would  not  be  ashamed  of  teachin<>-  as 
a  calling,  but  who  would  be  ashamed  to  have  it 
known  that  by  sewing  or  by  any  other  kind  of 
manual  labor  they  gained  a  livelihood.  What  & 
foolish  shame!  And  I  am  sorry  to  believe  that 
there  are  others  who  are  even  ashamed  to  let 
people  know  that  they  follow  for  a  livelihood  a 
calling  so  respectable  as  that  of  teaching  I 
know  a  young  lady,  who  e  father  failed  in  "busi- 
ness and  who  was  obliged  partly  to  support  her- 
self by  teaching,  and  yet  she  so  carefully  corer- 
ed  her  tracks,  and  so  equivocated,  when  ques- 
tioned about  her  whereabouts  durin"  the  day- 
time, that  many  of  her  friends  did  not  find  out 
the  fact  for  months.  Perhaps  there  are  few 
young  women  in  New  England  who  have  such 
falee  notions  concerning  work,  but  in  other  parts 
of  the  land  there  are  too  many  of  them.  Al- 
though they  are  compelled  to  work,  they  are  un- 
willing that  people  should  know  that  tbey  do 
not  hve  in  idleness,  fed  and  clothed  and  support- 
er entirely  by  money  earned  for  them  by  the 
hard  labor  of  somebody  else— parent  or  ancestor 
or  husband. 

Ashamed  of  work!  Ashamed  to  have  it  known 
that  you  earn  your  own  living!  I  tell  vou, young 
women,  that  of  all  the  wicked  and  contemptible 
notions  society  puts  into  your  heads,  this  is  the 
wickedest  and  most  contemptible.  Who  sent 
you  into  this  wm-ld  to  s;t  in  idleness,  while  all 
the  rest  of  God's  universe  are  at  work?  Who 
authorised  you  to  live  at  your  ease  upon  the 
toils  ot  other  people?  Who  gave  you  permission 
to  suffer  tho-e  natural  powers  o(  yours,  whi^h 
can  only  be  developed  bv  work,  to  be  dwarfed 
and  withered  bv  disease?  Instead  of  its  bein"- 
a  disgrace  to  you  to  earn  your  living  by  work,  it 
is  a  burning  shame  to  you  if  you  do  not. 

Yon  think  1  use  pretty  strong  language.  Per- 
haps I  do.  But  I  know  I  only  half  express  my- 
self. For  it  is  impossible  lor  me  to  find  in  the 
English  lansuaie,  or  any  other  languaze,  any 
words  that  begin  to  set  forth  the  contempt,!  feel 
for  any  able-bodied  human  being,  male  or  female, 
who  attempts  to  live  in  this  world  without  earn- 
ing a  living,  either  by  brain  or  muscle. 

There  are  thousands  of  persona  wno '  are'aopb 
out  of  the  kingdom  of  God  because  they  are  such 
enormous  eaters.  You  are  gluttons,  a  great  many 
times,  many  of  you,  long  before  men  call  you  glut- 
tons. Who  is  a  glutton?  That  man  who  eats  so 
much  that  he  cannot  think  clearly;  that  man  who 
eats  so  much  that  his  disposition  is  effected — he  is 
a  glutton.  If  you  eat  those  things  and  drink  those 
things  which  lower  your  power  to  act  as  an  intel- 
ligent moral  being;  or  if  you  eat  so  much  an* 
drink  so  much  as  to  incapacitate  yourself  to  act  as 
an  intelligent  moral  being — you  are  a  glutton. 
Some  men  are  gluttons  occasionally ;  some  are 
gmttors  in  spots;  and  some  are  gluttons  at  the 
close  of  the  day.  There  are  some  men  who  will 
not  eat  much  in  the  morning,  because  they  know 
that  excessive  eating  then  will  unfit  them  for  the 
duties  of  the  day;  but  who,  at  night,  swamp 
down  their  whole  nature  with  inordinate  gorman- 
dizing. And  what  is  it  that  hmderB  such  men 
from  becoming  Christian?    It  is  gluttony. 

Other  persons  are  kept  out  of  the  kingdom  of 
God  by  excessive  laziness  and  semi-Bleep.  Many 
persons  sleep  eight  or  ten  hours  during  the  twenty- 
four,  p.nd  then  are  half  asleep  six  or  eight  more. 
That  man  is  substantially  asleep  who  is  not  suf- 
ficient! v  awake  to  know  the  direction  he  is  going, 
to  have  a  clear  discernment  of  the»  condition  ne  is 
in,  and  to  have  control  of  himself.  For  not  that 
man  alone  is  in  darkness  who  has  no  lamp,  but 
that  man  also  whose  lamp  burns  so  feebly  as  to  be 
of  no  service,  so  that  he  might  as  well  be  without 
a  li&ht.  And,  in  the  use  of  the  reason,  that  man  ia 
not  awake  who  is  biinply  not  asleep.  I  beliexe 
there  are  a  great  many  here  to-night  for  whom  it 
is  impossible  to  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God,  on 
account  of  the»e  low  physical  conditions  of  life. 
There  are  things  that  it  is  unusual  and  improper  to 
state  in  public  which  ai  e  destroying  men,  body  and 
soul.  I  know  that  there  we  many  men  who  are 
waiting  their  lives,  who  are  draining  out  the  very 
lift-blood  of  their  being.  No  parent  teaches  them : 
no  physician  warns  thorn;  and  no  minister  dare, 
out  of  a  respectable  pulpit,  say  the  things  that 
they  need  to  have  said  to  them. 


J 


I 


w~\ 





HUMORS  OF  THE  DAY. 

A  RinnM?.— "  I  will  consent  to  all  you  desire,"  said 
a  facetious  lady  to  her  lover,  "on  condition  that  yon 
give  me  what  you  have  not,  what  you  never  can  have, 
and  yet  what  you  can  give  me."  What  did  she  ask  for  ? 
,  —A  husband. 


Why  Is  the  President  like  an  American  gift  ?— Be- 
cause he  is  a  U.  S.  Grant. 


At  an  auction  of  miscellaneous  articles  out  of  doors 
it  began  to  sprinkle,  when  a  by-stander  advised  the 
auctioneer  that  the  next  article  he  had  better  put  up 
should  be  an  umbrella. 


Why  should  womankind  be  considered  insane  r— Be- 
anse  they  are  all  mad-dames. 


-  Judge  B.,  whose  house  has  been  burglarized  no  less 
than  three  times  within  the  last  six  months,  had  the 
top  story  of  the  aforesaid  house  burned  off  last  week. 
In  a  P.S.  to  a  letter  announcing  the  fact,  he  philosoph- 
ically adds :  "  The  dearest  place  on  earth  to  me  Is  Home, 
sweet  home !" 

What  fairs  should  young  men  shun  most?— Fair- 
deceivers. 


"That  is  rather  hard  on  Grant,  that  remark  by  Col- 
fax." "What?"  says  a  credulous  listener.  "'Wjhv, 
Colfax  says  Grant  will  turn  out  the  worst  President  we 
ever  had."    The  turn-out  was  on  March  4. 


Changs  or  Name — By  the  use  of  an  Auricomous 
Something -or -other,  Miss  Hannah  Brown  has  suc- 
ceeded in  turning  her  brown  locks  to  a  dusky  gold. 
Jones  says  that  she  ought  to  be  re-christened  I)ye- 
Hannah.    Jones  is  a  wag. 


Lord  Lovell  he  stood  by  the  garden-gate, 

With  his  shining  velocipede, 
And  whispered  farewell  to  his  Lady  Bell, 
Who  wished  for  his  Lordship  good -speed,  speed, 
speed. 

Who  wished  for  his  Lordship  good-speed. 

"When  will  you  be  back,  Lord  Lovell?"  she  said, 

But  he  gave  her  question  no  heed- 
Placed  his  feet  in  .he  stirrups  and  galloped  away 
On  his  famous  velocipede,  pede,  pede. 
On  his  famous,  etc. 

Then  Lady  Bell  cried,  in  frantic  alarm, 
"What  a  monster  my  Lord  is,  indeed, 
To  ride  thus  away  from  his  loving  youug  wife, 
^      On  that  horrid  velocipede,  pede,  pede!" 
On  that  horrid,  etc. 

Lord  Lovell  returned,  broken-hearted  and  sore, 
Bro.ken-armed  and,  alasl  broken-kneed; 
4For  he  struck  on  a  post,  nearly  gave  up  the  ghost, 
^ncl  smashed  his  velocipede,  pede,  pede. 
And  smashed,  etc. 

MOEAI,. 

Remember  the  fate  Lord  Lovell  has  met, 
Let  this  be  your  warning  and  creed; 

Stay  at  home  with  your  wife  for  the  rest  of  your  life, 
And  beware  of  the  velocipede,  pede,  pede. 
And  beware,  etc. 

"  This  is  capital  ale  1"  said  an  old  toper;  "see  how 
,  long  it  keeps  its  head!"  "Ay,"  said  a  by-stauder; 
J  "  but  consider  how  soon  it  takes  away  yours !" 

A  Stable  Secret— A  Mare's  Nest. 


"My  lord !"  said  the  foreman  of  a  Welsh  jury  when 
giving  in  the  verdict,  "  we  rind  the  man  who  stole  the 
mare  not  guilty !" 

\  A  good  Northampton  lady  who  had  never  cooked 
■oysters  but  knew  they  were  delicious,  decided  to 
firratify  the  family  on  their  return  from  a  visit  with  a 
Tlish  of  the  bivalves.  She  explained  her  perplexities 
thus :  "I  found  it  very  difficult  to  dress  them,"  said 
she,  "so  I  just  held  on  to  their  wings  and  cut  the 
stomachs  off.    I  guess  they'll  be  good." 

An  old  lady  in  New  Jersey,  having  read  an  account 
of  the  bursting  of  a  grindstone  in  a  manufacturing 
establishment,  Decame  terribly  alarmed  less  a  grind- 
stone which  was  standing  in  her  cellar  should  burst 
and  blow  the  house  up. 

■ ^ 

Ifa  bird  can  sing  and  won't  sing,  what's  to  be  done? 
—Why,  take  it  to  a  c/u'roj>-odist ! 

A  New  Orleans  lady,  wishing  to  surprise  her  hus- 
band with  the  present  of  a  dozen  shirts,  went  to  a  fur- 
nishing store,  asked  if  they  could  "make  her  a  dozen 
shirts,"  and  ordered  them  sent  nome  without  his 
knowledge.  The  clerk  took  the  order,  but  requested 
her  to  "  step  this  way  a  moment."  She  did  so,  when 
the  furnisher  whipped  out  a  tape-measure,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  take  the  breadth  of  her  shoulders:  "Why, 
what  are  you  doing,  Sir?"  demanded  the  astonished 
lady.  "Why,  taking  your  measure,  to  be  sure  !"  was 
the  confident  reply ;  "  how  else  are  we  to  make  your 
shirts?"  "My  shirts!  Why,  didn't  I  tell  you  the 
shirts  were  for  my  husband?"  "No,  Madam;  / 
thought  they  were  for  you"  was  the  reply. 

A  Lone  Man — The  pawnbroker. 


"Very  good,  but  rather  too  pointed,"  as  the  cod- 
fish said  when  he  swallowed  the  bait. 


Burning  Words— A  dictionary  in  flames. 

"What  branch  of  edutation  do  you  have  chiefly  in 
iyonr  school  ?" 

"A  willow  branch,  Sir ;  the  master  has  used  up  al- 
most a  whole  tree." 


What  noble  work  have 
the  railroad  companies 
done?— Distributed  tracks 
about  the  city. 


What  tent  would  it  be 
well  if  we  could  all  dwell 
in?— Con-tent. 


KP^  Have  we  a  Watts  araong  vssj?  it  is  a 
familiar  anecdote  that  when  the  great  p3a\tR<> 
dist  was  very  little  his  father  threatened  to  aUI 
ish.  him  for  turning  everything  infca.Ehymc,  -when, 
his  piteou i  appeal  was  : 

"  Oh,  father,  on  taapity  \i&% 
And  I  will  nx>  more  veases  mak\** 
Whereupon  the  chastisements  was  despairinn-lr 
omitted.    But  to  car  home  case.    A.  teacher °in 
one  of  our  public,  schools  was  recently  the  victim 
of  a  poetic  ]oke   by  a  similar  inciment  poet— art 
eight-years  o\d.  Irish  student— which  runs  thus; 
"  A.  l\ttte  mouse  ran  up  the  stairs 
AQr  hear  Miss  Blodgett  say  her  prayer3." 
And  on  Vteing  threatened  with  a  severe  wnmpln> 
if  not  able-to  produce  another  stanza  within  fiva 
mui14tes,  he  again  sung  out : 

*  Here  I  stand  before  Miss  Blodgett, 
She's  goin'  to  strike,  and  I'm  gain'  to  dodge  it.'* 
After  which  the  "poet"  was  flowed  to  escape 
unpunished,  and  repaired  criumphantly  to  his 
seat,  followed  by  peals  of  daughter  from  the  whole  ' 
school,  the  teacher  ii&tuded,  as  «  reward  for  his. 
genius. 


(#  <rzc£c?zz£z^c<f?t4 ', 


Why  is  a  combat  in  a  play  like  fourteen  days  ? 
—Because  it  is  fought  nightly. 

The    foot-and-mouth    disease. — A    man  who 
swears  at  and  kicks  his  wile. 

What  tree  should  we  consult  to  find  out  when 
important  events  took  place  ?— The  date-palm. 

Holding  a  Government  post.— Clinging  on  to 
the  street  lamp. 

When  is  a  fisherman  most  in  the  way  ?— When 
he's  out  of  plaice. 

What  is  the  greatest  mistake  a  man  can  make  ? 
— Let  himself  be  misstaken. 

When  does  a  ship  die?— When  she's  keel'd, 
stupid,  to  be  sure. 

What  is  a  Parrot's  natural  language  ?— Polly- 
glot,  we  suppose. 


A  Washington  official  noticed  in  that  city  a 
few  days  since  a  sign  which  read  thus : 

WoDNcoL, 

which  hieroglyphics  were  meant  to  inform  people 
at  the  Federal  capital  that  wood  and  coal  were 
for  sale  by  the  intelligent  freedman  who  occupied 
the  premises.  The  stock  of  the  "  house"  con- 
sisted of  two  barrels  of  anthracite,  and  about  an 
eighth  of  a  cord  of  bass-wood. 

From  a  long  list  of  Danish  Proverbs  we  select  a  few 
choice  ones  : 

All  wish  to  live  long,  but  none  to  be  called  old. 

Take  help  of  many,  advice  of  few. 

He  who  builds  according  to  every  man's  advice  will 
have  a  crooked  house. 

God  gives  every  bird  its  food,  but  does  not  throw  it 
into  the  nest. 

He  who  says  what  he  likes  must  hear  what  he  does 
not  like. 

Empty  wagons  make  most  noise. 

If  God  bids  thee  draw,  He  will  find  thee  a  rope ;  if 
He  bids  thee  ride,  He  will  find  thee  a  horse. 

Better  suffer  for  truth  than  prosper  by  falsehood. 


Fun. — Figuratively  speaking,  a  fine  woman 
may  be  said  to  XL  at  forty. 

A  lady  teacher  was  endeavoring  to  impress 
upon  her  pupils  the  terrible  effect  of  the  punish- 
ment of  Nebuchadnezzar,  saying:  "Seven  years 
he  ate  grass  like  a  cow,"  when  a  boy  asked : 
"Did  he  give  milk  ?" 

Brother  W ,  a  Presbyterian  minister,  said 

that  early  in  his  ministiy  he  and  Brother  H 

were  conducting  a  meeting  in  which  there  was 
much  religions  interest.  An  old  man  gave  ex- 
pression to  hisjoy  by  shouting,  and  continued  it 
until  it  began  to  interrupt  the  service.    Brother 

H said  to    Brother  W :  "Go    stop    that 

old  man's  noise."  He  went  to  him  and  spoke  a 
few  words,  and  the  shouting  man  at  once  be- 
came  quiet.      Brother   W asked   Brother 

H :  "What  did  you  say  to  the  old  man  that 

quieted  him  so   promptly?"'      Brother   H 

replied;  "1  asked  him  for  $1  for  foreign  mis- 
sions.''^ ^       ^^ 

It  is  related  of  Rev.  Dr.  McPheeters  of 


s 


BUBBLES 


When  is  a  woman  not  a  woman?  When  she  la 
abed.    This  con.  is  old ;  but,  nevertheless,  true. 

Which  individual  of  the  feathered  tribes  is  the 
greatest  croaker?    Why,  the  rooster,  to  be  sure. 

Why  are  tears  always  briny  ?  Because  they  have 
"attix  salt "  in  them. 

German  Proverbs.  —  Little  and  often 
make  a  heap  in  time. 

When  God  means  to  punish  a  nation,  he 
deprives  the  rulers  of  wisdom. 

He  who  blackens  others  does  not  whiten 
himself. 

Take  care  of  your  plough  and  your  plough 
will  take  care  of  you. 

He  who  saves  in  little  things  can  be  liber- 
al in  great  ones. 

He  who  avoids  small  sins  does  not  fall  into 
large  ones. 

He  that  pelts  every  barking  dog  must 
pick  up  a  great  many  stones. 

Would  you  be  strong  conquer  yourself. 

Where  the  hedge  is  lowest  the  devil  leaps 
over. 


Raleigh,  N.  C.,  that  he  once  administered  a  very 
adroit  rebuke  to  a  brother  clergyman  who  was 
too  much  inclined  to  hasty  judgment  and  censo- 
rious utterance.  Standing  in  the  street  together, 
some  rather  gay  equipages  passed  on  their  way 
to  church.  His  friend,  watching  them  as  they 
rumbled  by,  remarked:  "  They  will  scarcely  get 
to  heaven  in  their  coaches."  "  I  don't  know,"  re- 
plied Dr.  McPhet-ters,  "  we  have  the  best  au- 
thority for  believing  that  Elijah  went  up  in  a 
f.hariot!  " 

—  A  clergyman  was  warning  a  usurer 
againat  the  immense  interest  which  the  lat- 
ter was  in  the  habit  of  demanding  from  his 
debtors.  "  Do  you  not  know,  unhappy  one," 
said  the  faithful  pastor,  "  that  if  you  always 
insist  on  receiving  nine  per  cent,  interest, 
you  will  shut  the  door  of  heaven  against 


Scriptural  Enigma. 

A  country  near  to  Palestine, 

A  beast  of  Babylon  the  sign, 

A  nation  favored  of  the  Lord, 

An  aged  saint  who  Christ  adored, 

A  son  rebellious  in  his  way, 

A  town  where  Jesus  oft  did  stay, 

A  prophet  heavenward  deathless  borne, 

A  port  of  refuge  from  a  storm, 

A  praying  matron  who  was  heard, 

A  man  who  spake  Jehovah's  word, 

A  valley  full  of  trouble  deep, 

A  seer  who  caused  a  king  to  weep, 

A  man  whose  beard  was  once  perfumed, 

A  prophet  by  the  sword  consumed, 

A  woman  learned  in  Wisdom's  way, 

A  daughter  who  did  God  obey : — 

When  all  these  names  you  fully  know, 
Place  their  initials  in  a  row, 
Then  from  them  you  may  quick  declare 
A  name  to  many  children  dear.        n. 


A  Pointed  Anecdote. — Rev.  Dr.  Barnes  being  in- 
yourself  forever  ?"    "  Oh,''  replied  the  usurer,  cline<1  to  sleep  duiing  a  dull  sermon,  a  friend  who 
,     ,     .  j.        v.  .,     c  .  was  with  him  ioked  him  on  having  nodded  "now  and 

«  looked  at  from  heaven,  the  figure  nine  pre-  then.  Barnes  insisted  that  he  had  been  awake  all 
sent3  the  appearance  of  a  six,  and  that  much  the  time.  "  Well,  then,'-'  said  his  friend,  *'  can  you 
per  centage  is  quite  lawful  !»  ^n  me  wha< ;the  sermon  was  about  ?"    "  Yes,  I  can," 

v  °  he  answered,  "  it  was  about  an  hour  to*  long." 

An  Arab's  Mode  op  Cursing. — A  Frenchman, 
residing  in  one  of  the  Oriential  cities,  while  ocme 
watering  some  flowers  in  the  window,  accidentally 
filled,  the  pots  too  profusely,  so  that  a  quantity  of 
water  happened  to  fall  on  an  Arab  who  was  below 
backing  in  the  sun.  The  man  started  up,  shook  his 
clothes,  and  thus  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  respecting 

*S-  A  "hotel  train"  runs  through  from  New  Vork  to  the  "ffenf]er  :  "  If  U  is  an  old  m8n  who  ha8  r?one  thi3 
San  Francisco.  The  passengers  are  led  on  the  tram-  and/I  despise  him  ;  if  it  is  an  old  woman  I  forgive  her; 
the  extra  charge  therefor  is  $25.  if  it  is  a  y0Ung  man  I  curse  him  ;  if  it  is  a  young 

woman  I  thank  her."  The  young  Frenchman,  who 
had  managed  to  keep  out  of  sight,  laughed  heartily  on 
hearing  the  malediction  that  fell  to  his  share  for  his 
oai<?-h:^.siiess ,. 


A  PHIZE  ENIGMA. 

My  first  is  ft  troublesome  thing  to  possess, 
Though  many  I  know  who  possess  it; 

The  beasts  of  the  field  have  it  also  I  know, 
;Tis  true  1  so  I'm  bound  to  confess  it. 

tike  riches,  it  never  can  happiness  bring, 
But  its  owner  torments  and  distracts ; 

Gives  days  of  anxiety,  nights  of  distress, 
And  constant  attention  exacts. 

My  second,  the  lawyer  well  skill'd  in  the  law 

Will  help  his  hard  case  to  unravel ; 
For  it  he  will  search  in  the  mustiest  tomes, 

Through  mustier  precedents  travel. 

Experts  and  professors,  wherever  they  be, 

Are  delighted  to  have  it  in  view ; 
Am  I  a  physician  ?  'tis  needful  for  me ; 

And  if  you  are,  I  doubt  not  for  you. 

My  whole,  how  it  comforts  in  chilly  North  climes, 
While  it  tempers  the  sun's  southern  heat. 

With  the  Turk  in  his  harem  hidden  from  view  ; 
Yet,  I've  seen  it  for  sale  in  the  street  I 

Exposed  to  the  fire  it  disdaineth  to  shrink, 

Tet  in  water  is  constantly  found ; 
It's  improved  in  passing  the  fiery  ordeal, 

But  far  lovelier  still  when  'tis  drowned. 

A  PRIZE  ENIGMA  FOR  THE  GIRLS. 
Nine  letters  just  there  are  in  me, 
As  when  you  know  me  you  will  see ; 
My  1,  7,  and  8  is  everywhere, 
Where  living  human  beings  are ; 
My  2  and  9  are,  happy  fellows,  always  in  glee, 
My  6,  4,  3,  and  5,  is  what  we  all  should  be ; 
Vy  3'and  4,  the  little  imps,  are  always  round, 
My  whole  an  angel,  wheresoever  found. 
As  some  of  you  may  know  me  very  well, 
I'll  thank*you,  if  you  please,  my  name  to  tell. 
Whoever  shall  respond  in  style  the  best, 
Shall  have  two  pounds  of  Java -the  very  best. 


The  following  scrap  from  a  newspaper  appar- 
ently sixty  or  seventy  years  old,  has  been  hand- 
ed to  us  with  a  request  for  its  publication: 

The  following  certificate  of  a  marriage  was 
found  among  the  papers  of  an  old  clergyman : 
"This  is  to  certify  to  whom  it  may  concern,  thai 
Arthur  Topp  and  Mary  Hill  were  lawfully  mar- 
ried by  me  Caleb  Conwav,  on  the  fourth  day  ol 
August  1711." 

"I,  Arthur,  on  Monday, 

"Take  thee,  Mary,  'till  Tuesday, 

"To  have  and  to  hold  'till  Wednesday, 

"For  better  or  worse  till  Thursday, 

"I'll  kiss  thee  on  Friday, 

"If  we  don't  agree  on  Saturday, 

"We'll  part  again  upon  Sunday." 

TfTlf  MOST  POWERFUL   FORCE  IN 
NATURE. 
Oxe  day,  when  the  late  George  Stephen- 
son was  at  dinner,  a  scientific  lady  asked 
him  :i  question—"  Mr.  Stephenson,  what 
do  you  consider  the  most  powerful  force 
in  nature?"—"  Oh,"  said  he.  in  a  gallant 
spirit,"  I  will  soon  ans%ver  that  question. 
It  is  the  eye  of  a  woman  for  the  man  who 
loves  her ;  for  if  a  woman  look  with  affec- 
tion on  a  young  man,  and  he  should  go  to 
the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth,  the  recol- 
lection of  that  look  will  bring  him  hack. 
J  There  is  no  other  force  in  nature  which 
I  conkl  do  that." 
During  a  long  career  of  public  service  in  the 
Senate,  Mr.  John  F.  Hale,  our  present  Minister 
to  Spain,  was  noted  for  the  faculty  of  apt  and 
good-natured  repartee.     Soon  after  his  admission 
to  the  Senate  he  delivered  a  speech  on  the  Slav- 
ery question,  and  was  answered  by  Mr.  Toombs, 
of  Georgia,  who  said  that,  judging  from  the  tenor 
of  his  speech,  he  must  be  the  character  of  whom 
Shakspeare  spoke :    "Hail!  horrors — hail!" 

"  However  that  might  be, "  replied  Hale, ' '  there 
was  no  question  but  the  gentleman  from  Georgia 
was  the  one  to  whom  Watts  refers  when  he  says : 

"'Hark!  from  the  Tombs  a  doleful  sound, 
Mine  ears  attend  the  cry '.'  " 


In  the  Berkshire  (iazette,  published  at  l'itts- 
field  in  1799,  is  the  following  advertisement:— 
Shall  Pox. — Ladies  and  gentlemen  desirous  of 
taking  the  small  pox  by  iunoculation  will  be  at- 
tended to  and  accommodated  in  the  best  manner 
possible  by  applying  to  their  humble  servant. 
A     —  A  recent  writer  throws  out  this  consoling  re- 
flection :  "No  man  is  ever  left  so  poor  in  oppor- 
tunities that  he  does  not   see  the  face  of  some 
uuth  as  it  passes  by  his  place  of  business  and  in- 
vites him  out  upon  God's  highway." 

r&-  Every  kindly  word  and  feeling,  every  good 
deed  and  thought,  every  noble  action  and  im- 
pulse, is  like  the  ark-sent  dove,  and  returns  from 
the  troubled  waters  of  life  bearing  a  groon  olive 
j  branch  to  the  soul. 

Rev.  Dr.  Ciiavix  has  said  "he  believed  the 
^church  consisted  of  the  good,  and  the  pure,  and 
the  true  men  of  the  world,  let  them  be  where 
they  might." 


I 


Oriental  Scissors. 

Can  you  descry  the  reason  why 

A  hypocrite's  eye  can  well  disclose 

On  how  many  toes  a  pussy  cat  goes  ? 

A  hypocrite  can  counterfeit  (count  her  feet) ; 

And  it's  fair  to  suppose  can  count  her  toes  ! 

Why  is  your  nose  in  the  middle  of  your  face  ? 
Because  it  is  the  scenter. 

What  was  the  first  thing  that  Adam  planted  in 
the  Garden  of  Eden  ?    His  foot. 
Why  is  life  the  greatest  of  riddles  ? 
Because  all  must  give  it  up. 

There  is  a  plant  in  a  distant  clime 

That  is  grown  for  you  and  me, 
And  it  loses  not  its  fragrance  sweet, 

While  it  sails  across  the  sea. 

It  cools  us  when  warm,  and  warms  when  cool, 
It  sends  strength  through  every  nerve ; 

/And  while  wo  drink  it,  we  never  need 
From  straightforward  lines  to  swerve. 
There  is  a  place  in  the  old  "  Bay  .State 
Where  you  find  the  choicest  kind ; 
If  you  don't  know,  it  is  on  Court  Street, 
Numbers  Eighty-five  to  nine. 
WANTED. 
A  padlock  to  match  a 
circular  quay. 
A   ladder   to   scale    the 
'  height  of  the  ridiculous." 
To  know  the  breadth  of 
,he  broadest  hints. 

Books  to  stock  a  "brown 
study." 

To  know  how  many 
Scotch  lochs  make  a  full 
head  of  hair.  . 

To  know  how  many  putts 
are  contained  in  a  reef  of 
Truukey  quartz. 

Apropos  of  the  above, 
sleep  roan  kuown  to  the 
ancient0. 

The  Romans  as  a  people 
were  very  fond  of  spec- 
tacles. Their  Emperors 
used  to  give  them  as  many 
as  possible.  This  has  been 
considered  a  short-sighted 
policy. 

Puns  were  not  unknown 

to  the  ancients.    Cicero  sat 

a  2  "-g-ffl   .  up  all  night  with  a  wet 

:  ffJ5?*S     .9  a   towel     round     his     head 

■  ■-:*■£'?  g  5   making  one,  and  then  he 

S  ;S«^5   couldn't  do  it.    This  was  at 

tmas  time. 

Why  is  the  horae  the  most  humane  of  all 
anmals?  He  gives  the  bis  oat  of  bis  mouth  and  He. 
tens  to  every  woe. 


Venice  is  built  on  177  islands.  The  grand 
canal  was  cut  over  the  flats,  and  makes  the 
Corso  of  the  city,  or  the  grand  boulevard  of 
Venice.  It  cuts  the  city  into  two  equal  parts, 
and  is  serpentine  in  its  course.  From  these  start 
out  a  great  number  of  smaller  canals,  which 
correspond  to  streets  in  other  cities.  There  are 
150  small  canals;  add  to  these  the  small  roads  or 
streets  of  the  citv,  and  the  whole  amount  to  2480. 
Religiously,  Venice  is  divided  into  thirty  par- 
ishes, with  100  churches. 

;'I  say,  Mr.  Pilot,  aintyou  going  to  start 
soon  ?"  said  a  nervous  traveler  on  a  steam- 
boat lying-to  during  a  fog.  "As  soon  as  the 
fog  cl  ;ars  up,"  replied  the  captain.  "Well, 
it's  starlight  now  overhead,"'  said  the  man 
"Oh,  yes!  but  we  are  not  going  that  way," 
said  the  captain. 


2  i"2i?2 


d 
o 
a 

2xM3 


So 


S -5  « 

-  gs^.tig 
>•■  a «-  *  2 

3  2  w  sz  "Z 
S        3  « 

o  2rs  o. 


Rev.  E.  E.  Hale,  on  being  asked  if  his 
church  was  used  for  the  parting  words  ot 
Nnvman  Hall  last  week,  because  it  was 
the  biggest,  replied :  "  No  ;  but  because 
it  is  the  broadest." 

An  Artistic  Alliteration.    As  an  altogeth- 
ertdmSle  and  amusing  attempt  at  allUerat  on 
an  anonymous  author  astonished  -ail  admirers  01 
amSfvT  ability,  some  seasons  since,  by  the  sub- 
joined  singularly  successful  specimen: 
Surousfing  sweet,  seraphic  strains  she  sings, 
Sofuniiig  sad  spirits  sympathetic  str.n^i 
Such  b  u1  subduing  sounds,  so  strangcy  soot  h  ng, 
Sta  seems  some  Minti^apirtt,  wrrow  smoothing. 

Mr  J.  W.  (iunn  bus  handed  us  a  letter  fromhj 
brother  a  Chaplain  in  the  anny  ot  the  Urn  be  - 
land  who  gave  this  Interesting  anecdote  of  Gen. 

^Hm*  Wednesday,  while  we  were  sttttanfid L  as 
guard  to  the  ford,  Gen.  RoBecrtM  came  up  to  Col. 
Price,  commanding  the  brigade,  an,  is: i.d. 

"You're  Col.  Price, commanding  the  -  -a  brigade, 
are  yon?" 

"Ye 


The  smile  upon  the  old  man's  lip,  like  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  pierces  the  heart 
with  a  sweet  and  sad  emotion.  There  is 
still  a  ray,  there  is  still  a  smile ;  bat  they 
may  be  the  last. 

Courtesy,  in  the  mistress  of  a  house,  con- 
sists in  feeding  conversation — never  in  usurp- 
ing it.  She  is  the  guardian  of  this  species  of 
sacred  fire,  but  it  must  be  accessible  to  all. 

Leisure  Houjik. — A  man  who  has  worked  | 
for  years  in  the  Brooklyn  navy  yard  as  a  ma-   / 
chinist  has  learned,  in  his  leisure  hours,  to  speak, 
read,  and  write  Hebrew,  French,  German,  and  — 
Italian,  and  obtained  a  thorough  knowledge  of  , 
geology  and  botany.    Out  of  his  savings  he  ha-; 
purchased  a  library  of  1200  volumes. 

The  most  dangerous  of  all  flattery  is  the 
inferiority  of  those  about  us. 

The  chains  which  cramp  us  most  are  those 
which  weigh  on  us  least. 

There  are  people  who  never  give  their 
hearts:  they  lend  them,  and  always  at  high 
interest. 

Attention  is  a  silent  and  perpetual  flattery. 

In  youth  we  feel  the  richer  for  every  new 
illusion;  in  mature  years,  for  everyone  we 
lose. 

Always  be  good  natural  if  you  can.  A 
few  drops  of  oil  will  do  more  t<>  facilitate! 
the  movement  of  the  most  stubborn  ma- 
chinery than  rivers  of  vinegar. 

_  It  is  just  now  told  of  the  Kev.  Charles  Town- 
send,  the  recently  deceased  octogenarian  rector  ol 
Kingston-toy  Sea,  England,  and  the  friend  of  Scot  , 
Byron  and  Wordsworth,  that  he  penned  the  fol- 
lowing wi«y  epigram  apropos  of  the  invasion  of  a 
rectorv  toy  thieves : 
"111*  y  came  and  prigg'd  my  stockings,  my  linen 

Butt\evXnldii'i  prig  my  sermons,  for  they  were 
prigg'd  before. 

TrmTfYRTPAT,  FACTS.  Caps  were  invented  early 

HlblOKlL-AL  1  alio.  English  history.    They 

After     writing     several   £  £nfl »  b>  fools.  J- 

books  to  prove  the  conga-      eTne  j^g^  m~cn  are  in. 

t  simple- 
fficiilt  to 


o 

Til 

> 


Til 


ry,  I  think  I  may  now  tan-  ,  bfr  thc  most  Bimpia 

ly  assert  that  p"Pl>w«cr  ™M\J.    It  is  difficult  tc 

was  uuknowu  to  the  Ho-  mcn>  0!1    .my   011C    6ingie 

mans.  case  in  point. 

Art  was  not  unknown  to  {.  Ghwna.  ..Xeno- 
the  Greeto  ApeUeS  made  .n  wmte  his  tomoU8 
a  portrait  BO  like  somebody  ■ ,  E,K.,.cU)piCaia  Uritanni- 
that  he  was  obliged  to  quit  ca„  .i(Vix  >vi,.u.s  ol(,    H„m. 

the  city.                      .  boldtinslstednponremaJn- 

The  celebrated  poet  Tas-  ^     ,;|)  (hc  a..ldle  muU  hc 

ho  obtained  his  reputation  h  *, mj  i(ihe(1 his  "Kosmos," 

entirely  by  poems.    1  men-  fc  ()f  much  ]nbm.  ,uul 

tion  this  as  an  example  ol  est(Mlsivc   research.      Pra 

application  Angellco  was  still  In  frocka 

What  milk  Istothe  mod-  n|n  „,.     .,illle(l  nig  Inosl 

ems,  it  was,  though   per-  celulmlU,d   pictures.     The 

haps  In  a  less  (lcgiec,  to  lk,m.ul   who    invented 

the.  ancients.     Cows           I  ^:inting  pavc  proofs  of  his 


»vou''"  the  ancieius.    vawo  w«»  \>,i j , t iia ir  cave  proofs  ol  Ins 

-Ve     .ir"  f>mn«l  i"  'It^Lv  as  early  .^  1^       ;»- Kc;Ul'e88    ln     luc 

•oloncl,  will  you  hold  I  6  a.m     A  so ,111     arthage,  »             ,h(,K>         ^  he 

»W       « leneral    I  will  If  I  '  ""•"  .,,...  v()U    "'K'gSeS  ^e  a  Mar-  fu"8equentlv  corrected  for 

"That  won't  do,  sir,"  said  Itosecvan..  \,  ill  you       TheG «•*•              „,  thepress. 


Wnatereat  events  sprlu 

C°"^mi  won't  do,  sir.     Will  U<m  h<M  thU  M*  ?" 
»j [  wiir  "aid  the  Colonel,  tinnly,  and  Geneva 
BosecranB  rode  off  without  another  word,  and  left 
the  Sn''  to  fulfill  his  promise." 


oxiifval  Assortment. 


It  was 

ma'1-  ;„  an    unwearied    Plucnician 

Modern  «••»&  ^t^St  discovered  Arc  by 
most     Instances     dc  nu\  jeces  nf  gt    k 

from    .Greek  >j  i. lis.  f  totta^t    The  dis- 

Jones  is  evidently  Ion.    I  .  ,       provea  iuvalu- 

can't  think  of  any  more  in-  cowry  nas^p  j^^ 

st;,l,MCt'S'     ,      rnunnwnl       Charlenia-ne  introduced 
The  uncle  of  the  present  „,„.^;n, „,;,,, m.inv.  pawn 

late. 
going 
,„.,,,.  to  bed  when  you're  tired 
before  bun.      Ihink  ovei         .         attributed  to  the 
this  if  u  has  "ever  occurred  gjjgn  a]S8,    15nt, 
to  you  before;  and  don  t  let    »  L  helievei 


The  uncle  of   he  presen     c„^s  i]1I(l(;;:1,na,iy.  Paw 
Emperor    of    the    Jjiencii   li(.ket<  wt,,.e  0f  a  later  dat^ 

was  not  the  first  Napoleon.  "^^SSSiSm,  of  coin 

There  were  a  tot  of  them  Jt^Tyon'u,  tl« 


> 


ifiii 


-*.  l.\ 


,■  again. 


as  is  now 
neously. 


believed,  erro- 


I 


Lament  (of  One  of  the  Old  Itcginic). 

0,  the  times  will  never  be  again 
As  they  were  when  we  were  young: 

When  Scott  was  writing  "Waverleys," 
And  Moore  and  Byron  sung ; 

When  Harolds,  Giaours  and  Corsairs  came 
To  charm  us  every  year, 

A?5J'.f°^s"  ,of  "Ange]s"  kissed  Tom's  cup, 
While  Wardsworth  sipped  small  beer; 

When  Campbell  drank  of  Helioon, 

And  didn't  mix  his  liquor; 
When  Wilson's  strong  and  steady  light 

Had  not  begun  to  flicker; 
When  Southey,  climbing  piles  of  books, 

Mouthed  "Curses  of  Rehama," 
And  Coleridge  in  his  dreams  began 

Strange  oracles  to  stammer; 

When  Rogers  sent  his  "Memory," 

Thus  hoping  to  delight  us, 
Before  he  learned  his  mission  was 

To  give  feed,  and  invite  us; 
When  James  Montgomery's  "weak  tea"  strains 

Enchanted  pious  people, 
Who  didn't  mind  poetic  haze, 

If  through  it  loomed  a  steeple ; 

When  first  reviewers  learned  to  show 

Their  judgment  without  mercy  • 
When  "Blackwood"  was  as  young'  and  lithe 

As  now  he's  old  and  pursy; 
When  Gifford,  Jeffrey  and  their  clan 

Could  fix  an  author's  doom, 
And  Keats  was  taught  how  well  they  knew 
To  kill,  '<a  coup  de  plume." 

No  women  folk  were  rushing  then 

Up  the  Parnassian  mount, 
And  seldom  was  a  teacup  dipped 

In  the  Castalian  fount ; 
Apollo  kept  no  pursuivant 

To  cry  out  "Piaoe  ftux  Dames !" 
In  life's  round  game  they  held  good  hands, 
And  dld't  strive  for  palms. 

0,  the  world  will  never  be  again 

What  it  was  when  we  were  young, 
And  shattered  are  the  idols  now 

To  which  our  boyhood  clung ; 
Gone  ara  the  giants  of  those  days 

For  whom  our  bays  we  twined, 
And  pigmies  now  kick  up  a  dust 

To  show  the"maroh  of  mind." 

Emma  C.  Embury. 


THE  TWO  VOICES. 

The  way  seems  dark  that  thou  haB  trod, 
The  silent  grave— the  voiceless  sod— 

And  so  I  mourn;        » 
I  miss  thy  light  step  on  the  stair. 
Thy  voice  soft  floating  on  the  air. 

Thy  gay  "Good  morn." 

I  miss  thy  gracious  words  and  deeds. 
Scarce  counted  when  my  spirit's  needs 

Seemed  less  than  now  : 
And  so  beneath  a  cloud  I  wend 
My  weary  way,  and  miss  my  friend. 

And  veil  my  brow. 

The  way  seems  bright  that  thou  hast  trod, 
For,  lo  !  it  leadeth  up  *o  God 

And  perfect  rest; 
And  through  the  cloud  that  dims  my  day, 
There  llghteth  at  my  feet  the  ray 

Th  it  makes  me  blessed. 

For  that  pure  light  encircled  thee 
Ere  on  its  downward  course  to  me 

It  brought  relief; 
Since  then  its  steady  radiance  glows. 
And  like  a  stream  of  mercy  flows 

To  heal  my  grief.  B 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Christian  Register  :— 

I  find  among  my  papers  these  curious  old  Latin  vers* 
upon  the  Weathercock,  alluded  to  in  a  recent  Itegiste 
They  were  copied  from  one  of  the  numbers  ot  littell's  Li 
ing  A  ge  for  the  year  1858.  p.  w.  x. 

WEATHEROOOKS. 

[The  mystical  explanation  which  mediaeval  times  at- 
tached to  a  weathercock  may  be  learnt  from  the  following 
verses  of  a  poem  taken  from  i  M.3.  "circa,"  lfiO,  preserved 
in  the  cathedral  of  Oehringen,  published  by  M.  Eidlestand 
duMeril.] 

Multi  sunt  Presbyter!  qui  ignorant  quare 
Super  donum  Domini  Gallu's  solet  stare; 
Quod  propono  breviter  vobis  explanare, 
8i  vulti's  benevolas  aures  mihi  dare. 

GalluS  estralrabills  Dei  creatura, 
Et  rara  Presbyterl  illius  est  flgura, 
Qui  proeest  parochise  animarum  enra, 
Stans  pro  suis  subditis  contra  nocitura. 


Do  the  Duty  that  Lieth  Nearest  Thy 
Hand.. 

Do  the  duty  that  lieth  the  nearest  thy  hand, 

And  seek  not  thy  missionVer  all  the  wide  land. 
Thy  field  lies  before  thee,  around  thee,  and   thine 
is  the  hand  that  should  open  that  field's  precious 
mine — 
Whether  country  or  city,  qrreen  fieldR  or  grand 
hall, 
Shall  claim  thee,  that  claim  is  thy  mission's  loud 
call. 

O,  would  I  could  tell  thee,  in  words  that  should 
burn, 
Of  chances  now  lost  that  will  never  return. 
And    lost    while    fhou'rt     searching,    with     sad, 
anxious  mind, 
In  some  distant  vineyard  thy  life  work  to  rind, 
Do  the  duty  that  lieth  the  nearest  thy  hand— 
Tl*  the  faithful  in  little  that  much  shall  command. 

Where  now  thou'rt   abiding,  seek  work  for  the 
Lord, 
While  thy  heart  aud  thy  hands  move  in  cheerful 
ac  ord. 
Give  the  kind  word  that's  needed,  the  smile  that 
will  cheer. 
And  a  hand  to  relieve  the  tired  laborer,  near. 
In  the  mart,  in  the  field,  hi   the  dearer  home  band, 
Do  the  duty  that  lieth  the  nearest  thy  hand. 


rV   a  S,/f 


Supra  ecelesiam  positus  gallus  contra  ventum 
Caput  dfligentitis  erigit  externum ; 
Sic  Saeerdos,  ubi  scit  dasmonis  adventum, 
Illuc,  se  obj  iciat  pro  grege  bidentum. 

Gallus  inter  caBteros  alites  ceeloraw 
Audit  supra  auhera  cantum  Angelorum; 
Tunc  monet  excutere  nos  verba  malorum, 
Guatare  et  percipere  arcana  supernorum. 

Quasi  rexiucapite  Gallus  coronatur; 
In  pede  calcaribus,  ut  miles,  armatur; 
Quanto  plus  fit  senior  pennis  deau.atjjr ; 
In  nocte  dum  concinit,  leo  conturbatur. 

Gallus  regit  p'.urimam  turbam  gallinarum, 
Et  soliettudines  magnas  habet  harum ; 
81c  Saeerdos,  concipiens  curam  animarum, 
Doceat  et  faciat  quod  Deo  sit  carum. 

Gallug  gramen  rcperit,  convocat  uxcres, 
Et  illud  distribuit  inter  cariorcs; 
Tales  discunt  cleric!  pietatis  mores, 
Dando  suis  subditis  scripturarum  flores; 

Sic  aua  distribuere  cunctis  derelictis, 
Atque  curam  gerere  nudis  et  afflictis. 

****** 
Gallus  vobis  preedlcat  omnes  vos  audlte 
Sacerdotes,  Domini  servi,  et  Levit®, 
Ut  vobis  ad  ctelestia  dicatur,  Venite. 
Prsesta  nobis  gaudia,  Pater,  aelernse  vitee. 


The  following  lines  are  by  Durandus  :— 

"Vultis  nunc,  Presbyterl,  gupremau  ralionem 

Scire  quare,  nitens  are  Gallus,  Aquilouem 

Dividit  in  apico  Ecclesiffi,  latronera 

Errantemque  spectans  quemque  ?    Omnibus  sermonem 

Canlt  Fcenitentiw.    Nam  Pe'rum  ad  dolorem 

Imprimis  clvit  efflcax ;  cum  lapsus  in  soporem 

Hie  Dominum  negasset  tu  Galium  digniorem 

Ad  elevatam  crucem  revocare  pecc  itorem. 

There's  a  wondrous  charm 
In  these  heart-bestow'd  looke  !  they  cheer;  they  soothe; 

They  help;  they  half-disarm 
Adversity;  they  make  rough  places  smooth. 


GODSENDS. 

EYLUCYLAKCOM. 

Not  the  windfall  makes  us  rich, 
But  the  slowly  ripened  fruit, 

Full  of  sun -warmed  nectar,  which 
Drops,  a  patient  need  to  suit. 

Mean  is  every  bauble  brought, 

Favor  of  the  mean  to  buy. 
Offer  us  no  gift  unfraught 

With  the  largess  of  the  sky. 

Offer  but  the  breadth  of  love ; 

Narrower  boon  is  none  at  all. 
Search  for  us  the  deeps  above ; 

Not  the  soil  where  earth  worms  crawl. 
Give  the  glory  of  a  flower; 

Kadiant  leaf-bough;  blooming  thorn; 
Light  that  seas  and  mountains  shower; 

Rosy  cheer  of  days  new-born. 

God  sends  what  the  true  heart  brings : 

Stranger  or  familiar  land, 
Priest  among  his  holy  things, 

Only  bears  the  gift  He  planned. 

And  the  best  of  all  He  sends 
Is  no  measured  dole,  but  love; 

Is  not  cumbering  goods  but  friends ; 
Winged  souls  with  ours  to  move. 

Soon  we  tire  of  pleasure's  toy; 

Flashes  o'er  us,  while  we  grope, 
Glory  of  remoter  joy; 

Beckoning  of  a  larger  hope : 

Far  as  dreams,  yet  close  at  hand ; 

Worlds  unveiled  in  one  soul's  bound,— 
Riches  of  the  sun-vaults  grand 

At  your  threshold  may  be  found. 
Learn  the  fools'  gold  to  despise; 

Coinage  of  heaven's  mint  to  know 
In  the  home-illuming  eyes ; 

In  the  fireside's  quiet  glow; 

In  the  roof-tree's  timid  bud ; 

Hues  that  near  horizons  wear ; 
Planets  your  own  sky  that  stud ; 

Your  own  window's  breath  of  air. 
Naught  but  light  from  loftiest  star; 

Naught  than  life  more  rare  or  new, 
All  the  real  Godsends  are 
_  Common  as  the  daily  dew. 


DECORATING   SOLDIERS'  GRAVES. 

The  following  beautiful  poem  is  ascribed  to  Gen 
Charles  C.  Van  Zandt,  and  we  print  it  as  a  tender  com 
inemoration  of  "Decoration  Day:" 

With  tolling  bells,  and  booming  guns, 

And  muffled  drum-beat's  throb ; 
With  heavy  step  and  shrouded  flags, 

Each  half-drawn  breath  a  sob: 

The  solemn  army  marches  through 

The  quiet,  listening  town ; 
To  deck  with  memory's  flowery  stars 

The  green  turned  up  with  brown— 

The  little  mounds  of  dew-wet  grass, 

The  chiselled  blocks  of  stone,— 
Where  soldiers  rest,  where  heroes  sleep 

Wrapped  in  the  flag— alone ! 

Ho!  comrade  with  the  single  arm, 

Give  me  a  wreath  of  green 
To  hang  upon  this  snowy  slab ; 

The  rain-drop's  silvery  sheen 


Upon  its  glossy  laurel  leaves 
Are  tears  our  Mother  weeps— 

Now  some  Immortelles  for  a  crown, 
For  here  our  General  sleeps. 

This  is  a  very  little  mound, 

He  was  so  young  to  die,— 
Give  roe  some  Rosebuds  and  those  sprigs 

Ot  fragrant  Rosemary. 

Now,  brother  with  the  shattered  leg 
Hand  me  those  Hyacinths  blue ; 

To  place  upon  this  grasssy  hill, 
For  he  was  always  true. 

White,  sunrise-flushed  Arbutus  buds 
Are  just  the  very  thing 

To  sweetly  serve  the  drummer  boy- 
He  sleeps  in  life's  young  spring. 

That  Passion-flower  of  glorious  bloom 

Like  Him  who  died  to  save ; 
With  those  white  Lilies,  stainless,  sweet 

Rest  on  the  Chaplain's  grave. 

Those  bright  Verbenas'  perfect  red. 
Those  Valley  Lilies  white, 

TIicfe  B1Jle  .Bells  and  Forget-me-nots, 
lhose  Daisies  starred  with  bright, 

D??£§?,tncred  from  fhe  rainbow  tints 
Old  Glory's  stripes  and  gold— 
™  VoloJ  Sergeant's  grave  shall  bear 
These  fruits  of  wounds  untold. 

Some  Lavender,— his  memory 

Is  fragrant— and  a  spray 
Of  that  green  Cassia  let  us  place 

Upon  his  tomb  to-day, 
He  was  a  Christian,  and  hp  loved 

To  teach  his  men  to  pray. 

This  man  was  old,  fuil  threescore  years,  * 

W  hen  he  went  forth  to  li  srti  t  • 
Bring  me  some  Ivy's  glossy°leave3 

And  fulMblown  Roses  white. 

Some  scarlet  Holly  berries  herp 
And  M;stletoe's  green  sprav' 

This  soldier  fell  in  the  wild  light 
We  had  on  Christmas  day. 

A  branch  of  that  sweet  Orange  bloom 
And  one  red  flower,— the  tfle 
»  Is  y?un£  ,ife  P01"-ed  out  and  left 
A  broken-hearted  bride. 

Scatter  the  flowers  we  bear  around 

The  white  tents  of  the  dead- 
The  night  comes  down,  the  day  is  done. 

The  old  Flag  overhead 

Hangs  silently  and  wearily; 

The  rain  iail3  on  the  sod; 
Our  loved  ones  sleep;  how  well  they  died 

For  Freedom  and  for  God ! 


1  Attic  Deeds. 

BY  MRS.  E.  B.  BROWNIXG. 

Let  us  be  content,  in  work, 
To  do  the  thing  we  can,  and  not  presume 
To  fret  because  it's  little.    'Twill  employ 
Seven  men,  they  say,  to  make  a  perfect  pin. 
Who  makes  the  head,  consents  to  miss  the  point ; 
Who  makes  the  point,  agrees  to  leave  the  head ; 
And  If  a  man  should  cry,  "I  want  a  pin, 
Aud  I  must  make  it  straightway,  head  and  p< 
His  wisdom  is  not  worth  the  pin  he  wants. 


GENTLE  WOKDS.---LOVING  SMILES. 

The  sun  may  warm  the  grass  to  light. 

The  dew  the  drooping  flower, 
And  eyes  grow  bright  and  watch  the  light, 

Of  Autumn's  opening  hour— 
But  words  that  breathe  of  tenderness 

And  smiles  we  know  are  true. 
Are  warmer  than  the  summer  time, 

And  brighter  than  the  dew. 

It  is  not  much  the  world  can  give. 

With  all  its  subtle  art, 
And  gold  and  qems  are  not  the  thing. 

To  satisfy  the  heart ; 
But  0,  if  those  who  cluster  round 

The  altar  and  the  hearth, 
Have  gentle  words  and  loving  smiles 

How  beautiful  is  earth  1 


THE    UNSOCIABLE    COLT. 

HY  little  Colt,  here  's  a  handful  of  clover  ; 
Let  us  be  friends,  and  begin  from  to-day. 
ok,  I  am  tall,  and  can  reach  the  bars  over,  — 
Pretty  .brown  frisker,  don't  gallop  away  ! 

know  if  you  'd  wait  but  a  minute  to  hear  me, 
Without  shooting  off  in  such  terrified  style, 
)u  would  very  soon  make  up  your  mind  not  to  fear  me, 
But  listen  until  I  had  gossiped  awhile. 

lere  's  shaggy  old  Neptune,  he  thinks  it  no  danger 
To  come  when  I  calL  but  a  matter  of  course, 
amma  says  it 's  naughty  to  run  from  a  stranger, 
As  I  hope  you  '11  agree,  sir,  before  you  're  a  horse. 

that  your  mamma  by  the  lily-pool  yonder  ? 
She  is  sleeker  than  you,  and  more  gentle-eyed, 
i  she  scolding  you  now  for  bad  conduct,  I  wonder, 
In  the  whinny  she  gives,  as  you  bound  to  her  side  ? 

Veil,  Nep.,  let 's  be  ofF  in  the  woods  for  a  ramble, 
And  leave  Master  Colt  to  his  own  ugly  mood, 
dare  say  he  '11  canter  and  frolic  and  gambol, 
Without  the  least  sorrow  at  having  been  rude. 

Jut  one  of  these  days,  when  his  play-time  is  over, 
When  he  's  broken  to  harness  and  whipped  till  he  goes, 

'erhaps  he  '11  remember  the  handful  of  clover, 
And  think  what  a  blessing  is  kindness,  —  who  knows  ? 

Edgar  Fawcett, 


A  Young  Wife's  Studies. 

I  drove  to  Mudie's,  and  I  brought 

A  carriage  full  of  steady  books; 
"I'll  telllilm  about«these,"  I  thought, 

And  see  how  pleased  my  master  looks ; 
He  will  not  ask  me  what  I  do, 

So  I'll  take  courage  and  converse ; 
I  don't  talk  very  weU,  'tis  true, 

But  I've  known  women  do  it  worse. 

"Oh,  John,"  I  cried,  "my  studies  see- 
Science,  philosophy— that's  best, 

And— what's  the  horrid  word!  dear  me— 
Theology,  and  all  the  rest. 

Here's  'Ecce  Homo'— take  a  look— 
A  serious  thing,  and  yet  so  light ; 

Colenso  on  the  Tentateuch, 
A  bishop,  John,  so  he's  all  right. 

'■  'Maurice  on  Future  Punishment,' 


THE  CHILD  OF  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

The  lighthousc-kefeper  said  to  his  child, 
"  I  must  go  to  the  mainland,  dear; 

Can  you  stay  alone  till  afternoon  ? 
Quite  early  I  hope  to  be  here." 

She  tossed  back  her  hair  with  a  girlish  grace, 

A  i  she  lifted  to  his  a  brightening  face, 
"  Yes,  father,  I've  nothing  to  fear. 

"  With  Kit  and  Fide  I'll  have  fine  play, 
When  I've  seen  your  boat  glide  by ; 

Then  I'll  gather  shells  and  seaweed  bright, 
And  watch  the  cloud-fleets  in  the  sky. 

Oh '.  time  will  merrily  glide  away, 

And  when  you  come  ere  close  of  day, 
To  get  a  good  supper  I'll  try." 

"God  keep  thee,  daughter,"  the  father  said, 
As  he  drew  her  close  to  his  side ; 

His  sun-browned  hand  on  her  golden  head, 
While  the  light  skiff  waited  its  guide. 

Then  in  he  sprung,  and  with  arrowy  flight 


That's  nice,  and  proves  there's  none,  you  know    Tne  little  boat  sped,  like  a  sea-bird  bright. 


And  'Darwin  on  Development,' 
That's  charming,  and  amused  me  so— 

And  here's  a  poem  full  of  force, 
Swinburne,  a  Cambridge  man,  you  see, 
i  That  won't  be  very  deep,  of  course, 
But  surely  deep  enough  for  me." 

John  looked  a  little  pale,  I  thought, 

And  said,  Ids  voice  a  little  low, 
"Pray,  have  you  read  them?"— that  I  ought 

He  nieant-I  bravely  answered,  "No, 
I've  only  glanced  at  them  as  yet, 

They're  long,  you  see,  and  I  preferred 
To  study  them  and  not  forget— 

I  mean  to  read  them,  every  word." 

Paper  and  string  he  slowly  took, 

Tied  up  my  books  in  parcel  neat, 
Directed  them,  with  steady  look, 

To  Mr.  Mudie,  Oxford  street, 
Then  rang  the  bell— the  man  addrest, 

"Take  this,"  he  said,  in  icy  tone, 
Drew  a  deep  breath  like  one  opprest, 

And  cried,  "I'm  glad  the  poison's  gone." 

But  when  he  saw  my  frightened  stare, 
He  smiled,  and  all  his  looks  unfroze, 

Close  to  my  own  he  drew  his  chair, 
And  said,  "I'll  choose  your  books,  dear  Rose." 


O'er  the  sparkling,  shimmering  tide. 

The  child  stood  still  on  the  wave-washed  sand, 

Baptized  in  sunlight  clear; 
The  fuhe.r  thought  as  he  waved  his  hand, 

Of  another  yet  more  dear, 
Who  watched  him  erst  from  that  gleaming  strand, 
Wrhose  life-bark  sped  to  the  better  land, 

But  leaving  her  image  here. 

Quietly,  cheerily,  fled  the  hours 

Of  that  kmg,  bright  summer  day ; 
But  lo  1  far  westward  a  storm-cloud  lowers, 

Its  shadow  Is  on  the  bay. 
"Oh,  father  I  hope  will  not  set  sail 
In  rash  attempt  to  weather  the  gale !" 

She  thought  as  she  knelt  to  pray. 

"  Then  what  if  a  ship  should  pass  to-night  ?" 

In  anxious  tone  she  said; 
"  But  can  I  ?  yes,  I  must  strike  the  light." 

She  climbed  wiih  cautious  tread, 
Up  and  still  up  the  circling  tower; 
And  full  and  clear  till  dawnlight  hour, 

The  lantern's  radiance  spread. 


BOTH  SIDES. 

BY    Ci.lL    HAMILTON. 

'  Kitty,  Kitty,  you  mischievous  elf, 

What  have  you,  pray,  to  say  tor  yourself?" 

But  Kitty  was  now 
Asleep  on  the  mow. 
And  only  drawled  dreamily,  "Ma-e-ow  !" 
■  Kitty,  Kitty,  come  hore  to  me,— 
The  naughtiest  Kitty  I  ever  did  see  ! 
I  know  v.-ry  well  what  you've  been  about; 
Don't  tr.  i,  murder  will  out. 

Why  do  you  lie  so  lazily  there?" 
"0, 1  have  had  a  breakfast  rare ! ' ' 
"Why  don't  you  go  and  hunt  for  a  mouse?" 
"0,  there's  nothing  fit  to  eat  in  the  house !" 
Dear  me!  Miss  Kitty, 
This  is  a  pity; 
"But  I  guess  the  cause  of  your  change  of  ditty. 
Wli   t  lias  become  of  the  beautiful  thrush 
That  built  her  nest  in  the  heap  of  brush  '.' 
A  brace  of  young  robins  as  good  as  the  best; 
A  round  little,  brown  little,  snug  little  nest; 
Four  little  eggs  all  green  and  gay, 
Four  little  birds  all  bare  and  gray, 
And  l'apa  Bobin  went  foraging  round. 
Aloft  on  the  tree*  and  alight  on  the  ground. 
N'orth  wind,  or  south  wind,  he  cared  not  a  groat, 
So  he  popped  a  fat  worm  down  each  wide-open  throat 
And  Mamma  Robin,  through  sun  and  storm. 
Hogged  thein  up  close  and  kept  them  all  warm  ; 
|  And  me,  I  watched  th«  dear  little  things 
Till  the  feathers  pricked  out  on  their  pretty  wings. 
Anil  their  eyes  peeped  up  o'er  the  rim  of  the  nest 
Kitty,  Kitty, yon  know  the  rest. 

t  is  empty,  ami  silent,  and  lone; 
I  Where  ire  the  four  little  robins  gone  f 
1 1  Puts  !  you  have  done  ■  cruel  derd  ! 
Your  eyes,  lo  they  weep  f  your  heart,  does  it  bleed  'f 
Do  you  not  feel  your  bold  cheeks  turning  pole  ? 
Not  you  !    Yon  arc  chasing  your  wicked  tail, 
Or  you  just  cuddle  down  In  the  hay  and  purr. 
Curl  up  in  a  ball  and  refuse  to  stir.  — 
lint  you  need  not  try  to  look  good  and  wise; 

I  robins,  old  Tush,  in  your  eyCH, 
And  this  morning,  just  as  the  clock  struck  four, 
There  was  some  one  opening  the  kitchen  door, 
hi  you  creeping  the  wood-pile  over,— 
Make  a  clean  breast  of  It,  Kilty  Clover!" 


; 


Then  Kitty  arose, 

Rubbed  up  her  B 
An  I  looked  very  much  as  if  coming  to  blows; 

Rounded  her  back. 

Looped  from  the  stack, 
(In  her  feet,  at  my  feet,  came  down  with  a  whack. 
Then,  fairly  awake,  she  stretched  out  her  paws, 
Smoolh'ddowu  her  whiskers,  and  iinshi  -ath'd  her  claw?, 

Winked  her  green  eves. 


With  an  air  of  surprise, 
And  spoke  rather  plainly  for  one  of  her  size. 

"Killed  a  few  robins;  well,  what  of  that? 
What's  virtue  in  man  can't  be  vice  In  a  cat. 
There's  a  thing  or  two  /should  like  to  know. 
Who  killed  the  chicken  a  week  ago. 
For  not  bins  at  all  that  I  could  spy, 
But  to  make  an  overgrown  chicken-pie? 

'Twixt  you  and  me, 

' Tis  plain  to  see, 
The  odds  is,  you  like  frieasee, 

While  my  brave  maw 

Owns  no  such  law, 
Content  with  viands  a-7a-raw. 

"Who  killed  the  robins  ?    O,  yes !  O,  yes ! 
I  would  get  the  cat  now  into  a  jness ! 

Who  was  it  put 

An  old  stocking-foot. 

Tied  up  with  strings 

And  such  shabby  things, 
On  to  the  end  of  a  sharp,  slender  pole. 
Dipped  it  in  oil  and  set  Are  to  the  whole, 
And  burnt  all  the  way  from  here  to  the  miller's, 
The  nests  of  the  sweet  young  caterpillars  ? 

Grilled  fowl,  Indeed! 

Why,  as  I  read, 
Von  had  not  even  the  plcaof  need; 

For  all  yen  boast 

Such  wholesale  roast, 
I  saw  no  sign,  at  tea  or  toast, 
Of  even  a  caterpillar's  ghost. 

"Who  killed  the  robins?    Well,  I  should  think ! 

Hadn't  somebody  better  wink 

At  my  peccadilloes.  If  hou-es  of  glass 

Won't  do  to  throw  stones  from  at  those  who  pass  ? 

I  had  four  little  kittens  a  month  ago,— 

Black,  and  Malta,  and  white  as  snow  ; 

And  not  a  very  long  while  before, 

I  could  have  shown  you  three  kittens  more. 

And  10  in  hatches  of  fours  and  threes, 

Looking  hack  as  long  as  you  plfl 

Von  would  find,  if  you  read  my  story  all. 

There  were  kittens  from  time  immemorial. 

"Hut  what  am  I  now?    A  cat  bereft. 
Of  all  my  kittens,  but  one  is  left. 
1  make  no  cliarg-s.  but  this  1  ask,— 
What  :  iplarge  In  the  waste-water  cask'.' 

Vou  are  quite  tender-hearted.     O,  not  a  doubt! 
Bat  only  suppose  old  Black  Pond  could  speak  out. 
O,  bother!  don't  mutter  excuses  to  me  : 
Qtti/acit  per  alium,/acit  per  se." 

"Well,  Kitty,  1  think  full  enough  has  been  said, 

And  the  best  thing  for  you  is  to  go  straight  back  10 bed 

A  very  fine  pass 

Things  have  come  to,  my  lass, 

If  men  must  be  meek 

While  pussy-cats  speak 
Crave  moral  refactions  in  Latin  and  Creek  !" 
-Our  rvtiiKJ  Folks. 


"  The  mist  is  thick,  the  bell  must  be  rung," 

The  girlish  arm  was  slight; 
But  the  woman's  heart  to  effort  sprung. 

And  out  through  dreary  night 
The  bell  pealed  forth  again  and  again ; 
While  an  anxious  crew  on  raging  main 

Were  toiling  with  all  their  might. 

The  morning  breaks  and  the  storm  Is  past ; 

The  keeper  sets  sail  for  home; 
His  heart  throbs  deep  as  bis  boat  tlies  fast, 

Amid  dashing  spray  and  foam. 
She  touches  land,  and  the  chamber  stairs 
Echo  his  footfalls  as  hearts  echo  prayers; 

lie  turns  to  his  daughter's  room. 

No  shame  to  his  manhood  that  tears  fall  fast 

bunds  o'er  the  little  bed; 
And  wild  kisses  bedew  the  tiny  hands, 

Thrown  wearily  over  her  head. 
For  those  hands  have  wrought  a  mightier  deed 

Than  were  b.azoned  in  story  or  song; 
And  the  ship,  with  its  wealth  of  human  life, 
To-dav  safely  rides  o'er  the  billows  strife, 

Because  the  child's  heart  was  strong  ! 


"Make  thyself  lovely  in  spirit,  by  growth  in  pu rity,  */ 
deeds  of  love;  this  is  worshipping  God  in  spirit  and  m  truth. 

Labor  on  with  hearts  undaunted— 

God  himself  will  lead  the  way; 
In  the  strength  of  glorious  manhood. 

Press  thou  onward,  watch  and  pray. 

Make  thy  heart  a  crystal  fountain 

Whence  the  purest  waters  flow; 
Robe  thy  soul  in  whitened  garments; 

Fuel  another's  want  and  woe. 

Be  thyself  a  living  poem. 

That  whoever  wills  may  read; 
Words  of  courage,  l»Ve  and  duty, 

Human  hearts  will  ever  need. 

Make  thine  own  heart  richer,  grander; 

Take  the  joys  and  cares  of  life ; 
Thus,  to  make  thine  own  life  sweeter, 

Purge  it  of  all  hate  and  btrifo. 

'IT  uth's  clear  light  will  shine  upon  yon, 

If  you  thus  obey  Cod's  will; 

And  when  tossed  on  life's  dark  billows. 
He  will  bid  them— "Peace !  bo  still." 

Do  thy  duty,  never  failing; 

r.od,  the  Father,  asks  no  more; 
This  the  worship  he  rcqulreth, 

Learn  to  love  him  and  adore.  C.  T.  IRISH. 


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,—  I    ■   - 


CHINESE  WAB  IMPLEMENT. 


Chinese  War  Implement. 

!    The  implement  of  which  we  give  an  illustration 
Wn  hardly  be  called  a  weapon,  because  it  ia  not 
intended  tor  offense  or  defense,  ita  only  use  being 
to  make  a  noise  for  the  nurpose  of  frigntening  the 
(enemy.    A  noise  it  certainly  does  make,  but  what 
ikind  of  enemy  would  be  frightened  by  it  is  an- 
other question.    It  consists  first  of   a    bamboo 
handle  four  feet  six  inches  in  length,  and  next  of 
v   a  series  of  steel  cymbals  strung  on  iron  links,  and 
*  ^on  each  link  are  loosely  strung  twelve  little  cym- 
bals.   The  mode  of  using  the  machine  ia  by  hold- 
ing  it  in  the  middle,  the  right  hand  grasping  the 
I  bamboo,  and  the  left  an  iron  handle  which  con- 
nects the  two  centre  limbs.    It  is  then  violently 
shaken,  and  gives  out  a  deafening  noise,  quite  un- 
line  anything  else  in  t   a  world. 


Bon.  William  Claflin, 

<^¥,  .Governor  of  Massachusetts. 

Hon.  William  Claflin,   the  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor of  Massachusetts,  was  born   at  Milltord,  in 
that  State,  March  6, 1818.    His  father  was  a  tan- 
ner, and  he  says  facetiously  of  himself,  that  he 
was  "  born  in  a  tan-yard  and  baptized  in  a  hme- 
vat."     At  an   early  period   he  evinced  a  great 
aptitude  for  business,  and  true  to  the  peculiarity 
of  the  New  England  young  men,  in  his  twenty-first 
year  went  abroad  to  seek  his  fortune.    Believing 
that  not  only  the  "star  of  empire,"  but  of  trade, 
was  taking  its  way  Westward,  m  18o9   he  pro- 
ceeded to  St.  Louis,  where  he  established  him- 
self in  the  boot,  shoe,  and  leather  trade,     ine 
business  of  St.  Louis  at  that  time  in  these  articles 
was  only  some  two  or  three  hundred  thousand 
dollars  annually,  but  by  the  enterprise  of  William 
Claflin   and   others,  it    now    amounts  to  some 
fifteen  millions.     Mr.  Claflin  lived  in  St.  Louis 
until  1845,  when  he  removed  to  Boston,  to  give 
his  attention  more  particularly  to  the  manufacture 
of  boots  and  shoes  and  tanning.      • 

He  has  a  number  of  boot  and  shoe  factories  and 
tanneries  in  different  parts  of  Massachusetts,  and 
employs  about  five  hundred  hands.    The  sales  of  . 
his  firm  amount  to  one  and  a  half  millions  of  j 
dollars.    Men,  women,  boys,  and  girls  ara  em-  | 
ploved  in  the  factories,  and  receive  from  one  to  i 
three  dollars  per  day,  working  ten  hours.    Mr.  , 
Claflin  has  made  a  splendid  fortune,  having  an  in- 
come of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

Mr  Claflin  returned  from  Missouri  an  ardent  | 
advocate  for  free  soil.  From  1849  to  1852  he  was  : 
a  member  of  the  House  of  Bepresentatiyes  ot  | 
Massachusetts,  being  elected  from  Hopkmton  on 
thie  particular  issue.  He  served  in  the  Senate 
in  1860  and  1861,  and  was  President  of  the  body  in  , 
1861  He  was  Chairman  of  the  Bepublican  btate 
Central  Committee  of  Massachusetts  for  seven 
years.  At  the  State  election  in  November,  1865, 
he  was  elected  Lieutenant-Governor  of  the  Com- 
monwealth, on  the  Bepublican  ticket,  and  is  now 
in  the  discharge  of  the  functions  of  the  office. 

Mr.  Claflin  looks  like  "a  man  in  the  right 
place  "  if  you  see  him  in  the  discharge  of  his 
public  duties,  or  in  his  office  attending  to  business 
aflairs.  He  has  evidently  a  talent  for  both  posi- 
tions, and,  as  he  has  shown,  is  capable  of  distin- 
guishing himself  in  either.  The  common  idea 
that  business  men  are  not  of  the  right  stamp  tor 
the  public  councils  is  being  rapidly  proved  falla- 
cious in  this  country.  In  the  Senate  and  House 
of  Bepresentatives  of  the  United  States,  m  the 
different  legislative  bodies,  and,  in  fact,  in  all 
uublic  bodies,  men  are  to  be  found  who  have  made 
fortunes  in  commerce  and  manufactures,  and  who 


have  the  intellectual  capacity  ana  sounu  juclg 
ment  necessary  in  legislators.  All  this  is  highly 
beneficial  to  the  interests  of  the  people.  Busi- 
ness men  are  practical  men.  They  have  every- 
thing at  stake  in  the  prosperity  and  tranquillity  of 
the  country ;  and,  while  they  may  not  nave  the 
higher  perceptions  of  statesmanship,  are  none 
the  less  fitted  to  deal  with  the  ordinary  aflairs  of 
States  and  Municipalities. 

Mr.  Claflin  has  brought  just  this  kind  of  ex- 
perience and  common  sense  into  his  public  life. 

f  j-  *■ 

I  A  decided  party  man,  and  always  working  with 
I  zeal  to  establish  its  power  and  principles,  yel 
!  a  legislator,  he  has  always  been  found  one  of  the 
most  clear-headed  and  sensible  of  men  in  regard 
to  all  questions  bearing  upon  the  interests  of  his 
constituents. 
r  He  has  fostered  every  enterprise  which  was  cal- 
culated to  add  to  the  prosperity  and  happi- 
ness of  the  people  ;  and4  he  has  done  it  without 
the  least  shadow  iof  demagogism,  or  any  con- 
sideration save  that  of  the  public  vrcal.  His  pen- 
etrating and  practical  mind  has  turned  from  alT 
visionary  schemes  of  legislation,  while  it  has 
originated  many  plans  Dy  which  the  resources 
and  energies  of  the  Commonwealth  have  been  em- 
ployed to  advantage.  While  he  may  not  be  classed 
*  among  the  more  showy,  demonstrative  men  in 
Massachusetts  public  fife,  he  certainly  is  entitled 
to  the  first  rank  among  those  who  have  distin- 
guished themselves  for  their  practical  wisdom  in 
State  affairs. 

Mr.  Claflin  is  about  of  the  average  height,  of 
compact  person,  and  full  of  strength  and  activity. 
His  head  is  rather  long  than  round,  with  promi- 
nent, though  well-made  features.  He  has  "large, 
clear-looking  eyes,  and  his  brow  is  high  and 
square.  He  wears  a  short  growth  of  whiskers 
round  his  face.  In  his  manners  he  is  quiet  and 
undemonstrative,  but  particularly  courteous  and 
genial.  You  see  at  once  that  he  is  a  man  not  at 
all  likely  to  thrust  himself  on  other  people's  notice, 
but  who  will  show  himself,  on  all  occasions, 
worthy  of  every  politeness  and  consideration.  He 
is  a  close  observer  and  a  good  judge  of  character ; 
and,  be  it  in  business  or  public  life,  he  exhibits 
these  peculiarities  in  the  highest  degree.  Neither 
his  observation  nor  men  ever  deceive  him.  and  it 
is  this  training  in  the  school  of  self-reliance  which 
has  made  his  judgment  so  far-seeing  and  accu- 
rate. 

Mr.  Claflin  has  now  reached  the  second  place  in 
his  native  Commonwealth.  He  is  still  inthe  prime 
of  life  and  in  the  vigor  of  his  usefulness  ;  and, 
should  he  live,  even  more  exalted  honors  are 
likely  to  fall  to  ins  share.  Inflexible  in  his  princi- 
ples, soaring  in  his  patriotism,  devoted  to  the 
welfare  of  the  people,  it  is  not  unreasonable  to 
suppose  that  a  public  career,  already  brilliant,  will 
culminate  in  increased  splendor. 


J 


y  " 


4 

v. 

s  * 

\ 

^ 

s 

\ 

\ 

- 

_  f 

, 

\ 

^ 

\ 

DR.  LIVINGSTONE, 

THE    GREAT    EXPLORE!*    OF   CENTRAL   AFRICA. 

David  Livingstone  is  a  native  of  the  little 
village  of  Blantyre,  in  Scotland,  and  in  early 
life  was  employed  in  a  cotton-mill,  as  a  piecer- 
boy.  But  in  the  midst  of  his  daily  labor  he  was 
smitten  with  a  desire  to  learn  from  books,  and 
earning  money  as  a  spinner  in  the  summer 
months,  he  went  to  Glasgow  to  school  in  the 
winter,  and  there  laid  the  foundation  for  those 
studies  that  have  had  such  splendid  fruits  in  his 
matnrer  life.  It  is  wonderful  to  know  that  the 
man  whose  name  is  now  a  household  word  in 
Great  Britain,  and  is  mentioned  with  praise  in 
every  part  of  the  civilized  world,  was  engaged 
in  the  spinning  business  up  to  the  year  1840! 
What  a  work  he  has  accomplished  since  !  At 
.  that  period,  with  a  mind  improved  by  education, 

/  ;<:  and  a  heart  filled  with  a  burning  desire  to  be 

useful  to  hi3  fellow-men  in  dark  parts  of  the 
earth,  he  entered  into  the  service  of  the  London 
Missionary  Society.  His  studies  had  been  med- 
1  as  well  as  religious,  and,  like  Parker  in 
China,  House  iu  Siam,  and  Grant  in  Persia,  he 
aimed  at  doing  good  to  the  bodies  as  well  as  the 
souls  of  his  fellow-men.  The  former  often  opens 
the  door  most  happily  and  widely  to  the  latter. 
The  Society  sent  him  out  to  Africa,  and  he 
stopped  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  where  he 
was  at  first  employed  in  astronomical  pursuits. 
For  in  the  circum- 
scribed sphere  of  missionary  labor  at  a  sin- 
gle station,  he  began  to  contemplate  the  con- 
quest of  Africa  to  civilization  and  Christian- 
ity. For  eight  years  he  had  toiled  on  with- 
in a  limited  circle,  now  and  then  making  a 
tour  into  the  wilderness  beyond,  and  thus  feel- 
ing his  way  for  more  distant  and  dangerous 
expeditions.  His  father-in-law  listened  to  his 
plans  and  daring  purposes,  and  while  he  gave 


R.  rz/nXOSTONE.  THE   ATUICAX   EXTLCBER,  IX   HIS  TRAVELING   COSTUME. 


him  the  assurance  of  his  own  approval,  it  was 
his  conviction  that  duty  to  the  work  on  which 
he  was  engaged,  as  a  translator  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, required  him  to  remain  at  home.     But 
on  the  1st  of  June,  1849,  he  set  off  with  Messrs. 
Oswald  and  Murray  from  Kolobeng,  in  South- 
ern Africa,  two  hundred  miles  north  of  the  sta- 
tion of  the  Kuruman,  and  struck  into  the  des- 
ert in  search  of  a  lake,  which  was  reported  to 
lie  beyond,  in  the  midst  of  a  fertile  country, 
surrounded  by  a  large  population  in  the  heart 
'  of  Africa.     The  sufferings  of  the  party  in  this 
first  expedition  were  terrible,  especially  from 
thirst,  the  native  chief,  Sekomi,  having  driven 
off  the  Bushmen,  who  alone  could  point  out  the 
places  where  springs  of  water  could  be  found. 
In  spite  of  these  distresses  they  held  on  their 
way  until  the  Fourth  of  July,  when  they  were 
delivered  from  death  by  reaching  the  magnifi- 
cent River  Zouga.     Along  its  winding  banks 
they  pursued  their  journey  for  three  hundred 
miles,  and  at  last  their  eyes  and  hearts  were 
y  gladdened  by  the  sight  of  the  Lake  Noami. 
Just  now  this  lake,  and  the  region  of  country 
in  which  it  lies,  has  been  made  familiar  by  the 
..  publication  of  Andcrsson's  Travels  (Harper  & 
Brothers,   1856),  a  volume  of  more  than   ro- 
/  mantic  charm.     Dr.  Livingstone  reached  the 
J  eLhth  degree  of  south  latitude,  that  is,  twenty- 
1  six  degrees  north  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
and  far  beyond  the  range  of  any  former  traveler. 
This  Lake  Ngami  is  away  to  the  west  of  the 
hunting-grounds  of  Gordon  Cumming,  the  lion- 
killer,  who  is  now,  with  a  beard  like  the  mane 
of  the  king  of  beasts,  exhibiting  himself  and  his 
exploits  to  the  Londoners  nightly  at  half-a- 

crown  a  head. 

This  p;reat  traveler  has  traced  the  course  ot 
the  river  Zambesi,  and  penetrated  the  country 
of  the  true  Negro  race.  Many  of  them  had 
never  seen  a  white  man  before.  But  they  all 
had  a  religion  of  their  own.  believed  in  a  state 


of  existence  after  death,  worshiped  idols,  and 
performed  religious  ceremonies  in  the  woods. 
One  of  these  natives  accompanied  the  Doctor 
to  the  coast  and  was  coming  to  England  with 
him,  but  when  he  got  to  the  Mauritius,  he  was 
so  excited  with  the  steamships  and  other  evi- 
dences of  civilization,  that  he  went  mad,  leaped 
into  the  sea,  and  was  drowned. 

"While  traveling  In  the  desert  with  a  friendly 
tribe  of  Africans,  a  herd  of  lions  broke  into  their 
camp  and  carried  off  some  of  their  cattle.  The 
natives  were  panic-struck,  but  the  Doctor  call- 
ed them  on  to  pursue  the  enemy.  He  shot  down 
a  lion,  but  in  its  death-struggles  it  turned  upon, 
him  and  seized  him  by  the  arm,  crushing  it  be- 
low the  shoulder.  The  natives  drew  the  beast 
from  him,  and  it  fell  dead. 


DOCTOR  DAVID  LIVINGSTONE.    THE  CELEBRATED 
AFRICAN    EXPLORER.- 


r 


THE  THEEE   OCELOTS.—"  I  HAD  NO  TIME  TO  LOAD,  AND  CLUBBING  MY  IUFLE,    FOUGHT  IT  OUT,    PARRYING 
HEE  LEAPS,   TILL,   AT  LAST,   A  WELL-AIMED  BLOW  STUNNED  IT." — SEE  PAGE  359. 


Well,  I  set  out  to  locate  my  plantation  ;  and 
after  riding  till  I  was  pretty  well  tired,  in  search 
of  landmarks  to  begin  my  rough  survey,  and  see 
what  wealth,  time,  patience  and  industry  might 
trust  to  wring  from  its  entrails.  At  last  I  resolved 
to  treat  myself  to  a  meal,  and,  unsaddling  my 
horse,  fastened  him  with  a  long  lariat,  that  he 
should  not  stray  off,  and  then  proceeded  to  attack 
the  provisions  I  had  brought  along.  My  meal 
was'  not  a  long  one.  My  only  companions  were  my 
own  thoughts,  and  they  were  not  so  gay  as  to 
make  one  spend  too  much  time  at  table. 

I  finally  leaned  against  a  tree  behind  me,  and 
fell  into  an  uneasy  sleep.  How  long  this  lasted  I 
do  not  precisely  know,  but  I  was  roused  by  a  snarl, 
and,  opening  my  eyes,  saw  three  fine  ocelots, 
attracted  by  the  remnants  of  my  meal  before  me. 
They  had  disposed  of  that,  and  while  two  were 
snarling  over  the  last  morsel,  the  largest  of  all 
was  making  her  stealthy  approaches  to  me,  and 
already  preparing  to  make  her  leap.  In  a  mo- 
ment my  rifle  was  seized  andnaehed  ;  over  rolled 
the  tiger-cat,  yelling  with  pain,  and  helpless  for 
all  but  cries.  One  of  the  others  bounded  away, 
but  the  third,  with  a  pluck  that  I  could  not  but 
admire,  made  a  bold  spring  at  me.  I  had  no 
time  to  load,  and  clubbing  my  rifle,  fought  it  out, 
parrying  her  leaps,  till,  at  last,  a  well-aimea  blow 
stunned  it.  Then  my  foot  on  the  throat  fixed  it 
till  my  hunting-knife  settled  its  account. 
■  The  skins  arc  all  the  trophies  of  my  Mexican 
campaign.  I  left  my  precious  ^rant  to  ocelots 
and  their  companions,  and  am  trying  the  old  buil 
with  a  cheerier  heart. 


GEAND  PIPE  STEM 


INDIAN  CALUMET. 


Tiie  Indian  Calumet. 

The  heralds  among  the  Greeks  were  sacred 
and  religion  threw  its  protection  around  them! 
The  8avage"j|ribes  of  America  were  not  without  s 
.similar  institution,  but  the  sanctity  attached, 
strangely  enough,  not  to  the  person,  but  to  tht 
implement,  and  that  implement,  a  pipe.  The 
calumet  originated  with  the  tribes  on  the  Mis- 
sissippi ;  its  bowl  was  carved  of  stone,  often  with 
great  skill ;  the  long  stom%of  wood  was  trimmed 
with  feathers  of  the  eagle,  and  other  noble  buds. 
It  was  prepared  with  a  perfect  ritual  of  ceremony, 
and  was  regarded  as  a  sort  of  divinity.  Placed  on 
a  mat  in  the  centre,  it  became  the  object  of  wor- 
ship, in  the  forms  of  dances,  incense,  if  we  may  so 
call  puffing  tobacco-smoke,  and  other  similar  ob- 
servances. 

Supplied  with  this,  the  stranger  ventured  fear- 
lessly amid  the  fiercest  tribes.  As  the  braves 
came  on  yelling  and  brandishing  their  weapons, 
they  would  stop  in  their  wild  fury  as  the  new 
comer  waved  aloft  the  mystic  calumet. 

The  earliest  French  explorers  heard  of  the  cal- 
umet ;  but  Marquette,  in  exploring  the  then  un- 
known Mississippi,  first  teste.u  Uiiu  made  Known 
the  real  value  of  this  ps,sspor  j;  and  safeguard  of 
the  wilderness.  As  the  intercourse  with  the  West 
increased,  the  calumet  became  as  potent  in  the 
East  as  in  the  West. 

The  word  calumet  is  not  an  Indian  word  ;  it  is 
merely  an  old  French  form  of  the  word  chalumeau 
(pipe),  used  by  the  sailors  and  trappers  who  first 
Visited  the  St.  Lawrence. 


111.11"" 

AN  OLD  APPLE-WOMAN. 


Us 


She  lived  in  a  small  room,  on  the  top-floor  of  an 
old  rickety  house  at  the  North  End ;  and  as  he 
went  up  the  stairs,  the  gentleman  was  in  mortal 
fear  of  their  tumbling  down,  and  spilling  both 
him  and  the  apples.  At  last,  however,  he 
reached  the  room,  and  setting  down  the  basket, 
sat  himself  down  to  rest  his  tired  legs  and  shoul- 
ders. It  was  a  narrow,  mean  apartment,  and 
so  low  that,  when  he  stood  upright,  his  head 
almost  hit  the  ceiling.  ■  Two  young  children, 
a  boy  and  a  girl,  who  were  spreading  the  table 
for  the  evening  meal,  and  a  thin,  emaciated 
woman,  with  sunken  eyes  and  pallid  features, 
who  was  lying  on  a  bed  in  the  corner,  were  its 
occupants.  The  floor  was  bare,  the  furniture 
plain  and  poor,  and  every  thing  indicated  that 
its  tenants  lived  on  the  very  verge  of  starvation  ; 
but  on  all  their  faces  was  a  cheerful  look,  that 
showed  that  somehow  they  had  imbibed  of  that 
divine  elixir  which  gives  to  the  most  wretched 
comfort  and  contentment.  Curious  to  get  at 
the  secret  of  their  happiness,  the  stranger  asked 
the  old  woman  about  her  history. 

Twenty  years  before,  she  said,  her  two  sons 
and  her  husband  had  died,  leaving  her  desti- 
tute and  alone  with  one  remaining  child — a  lit- 
tle daughter.  Too  weak  to  work  and  unwilling 
to  beg  she  then  resorted  to  street  vending,  and, 
by  twelve  hours  of  daily  toil,  managed  to  sup- 
port herself  and  bring  up  her  daughter.  At 
twenty  the  latter  married  a  worthless  fellow, 
wlio  broke  her  heart,  and  then  cast  her  penni- 
less upon  the  world  witli  a  young  son,  the  little 
boy  who  was  then  setting  the  table.  The  old 
woman  took  them  in,  and  about  this  time  also 
adopted  the  little  girl,  who  was  the  orphan  child 
of  a  poor  neighbor. 

So  three  years  went  away,  and  then  Fort 
Sumter  fell,  and  President  Lincoln  called  for 
.-five  thousand  volunteers  to  suppress  the 
Rebellious  When  Tommy  went  home  that  night 
with  the  news  his  grandmother  was  thoughtful 
for  a  time  ;  then,  looking  in  his  face,  si 
"  Tommy,  the  country  has  done  every  thing  for 
you  ;  hadn't  you  ought  to  dc  something  lor  the 
country  ?" 

"You   mean   I  ought   to   volunteer?"  said 
Tommy. 

•  Yes  ;  if  Mr.  Speegle  is  willing." 
Mr.  Speegle  was  willing;  and  sp,  soon  after- 
ne  was  witnessed  on  the  ('(mi- 
nion. The  whole  parade-ground  was  in  com- 
motion. A  regiment,  which  had  been  under 
review,  was  marching  out  of  one  of  the  gate- 
ways, and  the  old  woman,  perched  on  her  three- 
legged  stool,  was  wildly  waving  her  umbrella, 
and,  at  the  top  of  her  lungs,  cheering  the  de- 
parting soldiers.  At  her  back  sat  a  little  maid- 
en holding  her  head  in  her  hands,  and  trying 
to  hide  her  tears  in  her  handkerchief.  This 
was  Hose;  and  Tommy  was  going  away  with 
the  regiment.     He  was  the  onlv  stav  of  his 


own  weight  in  silver. 


Lisrlit 


Catisaya  or  King's  Bark  was  unknown  until  the  middle  of  the  17th 
century.  Humboldt  makes  favorable  mention  of  its  febrifuge  qualities  as 
an  antidote  to  Fever  and  Ague,  Intermittent  and  Malarious  Fevers,  in  his 
extensive  South  American  travels. 

,  "  .,      «.,        ,    ,  »v    *  .  ,:  In  1640  it  was  used  by  the  Jesuits,  who 

grandmother,  the  only  hope  of  her  eighty  years  ;  ^  _  ■> 

but  cheerfully,  and  at  her  own  prompting,  she  alone   at  that  time  possessed  the  secret  of  its 
had  given  him  up  to  the  country.     "Thecoun-  3 — ~  .  ., 

try  had  done  every  thing  for  him  ;  he  ought  to  w°™erful  tonic  properties,  and   it  was  sold 
do  something  for  the  country."  by  them    foi  •  + 

He  was  away  several  months,  and  then  came 
back,  re-enlisted,  and  went  away  again,  leaving 
his  bounty  with  his  grandmother.  After  this 
he  was  often  heard  from,  and  always  with  hon- 
or ;  and  the  old  woman  seemed  to  grow  young 
again,  in  recounting  his  daring  deeds  to  some 
patient  listener  at  her  apple-stand.  "Just  to 
think,"  she  would  say,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
"  that  a  poor  woman  like  me  should  rear  such  a 
brave  boy  for  the  country!" 

At  last  news  came  of  a  great  battle.  Thou- 
sands, it  was  said,  had  fallen  on  both  sides ; 
and  every  morning,  with  a  beating  heart,  the 
old  woman  went  to  the  mail  for  a  letter  from 
Tommy.  But  no  letter  came,  and  a  few  days 
later  she  found  his  name  among  the  list  of  those, 
who,  in  the  great  struggle,  had  given  up  their 
lives  for  their  country. 

She  went  home  that  night,  and  the  next 
morning  did  not  go  as  usual  upon  the  Common. 
Noticing  her  absence,  Mr.  Speegle  went  to  her 
humble  home  at  nightfall.  The  curtains  were 
down  ;  but  in  the  dim  light  he  saw  her  stretched 
upon  her  bed,  and  Rose  kneeling  by  her  side 
weeping.  He  took  her  hand,  but  something  in  | 
her  face  kept  back  the  words  he  would  have 
spoken.  After  a  moment  she  said:  "Mr. 
JSpeegle,  I'm  glad  you're  come.  I  owe  you, 
jand  you  owe  me;  but,  I  guess,  the  balance  is 
in  my  favor.  Pay  it  to  Rosy." 
I     "I  will,"  said  the  man,  his  voice  husky. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  lay  for  many  min- 
utes without  speaking.  Then,  clutching  the 
jyoung  girl's  hand,  she  said  :  "  Rosy,  I'm  going ; 
but  love  the  Lord,  and  °j?inc  day  you  will  be  to- 
gether again  forever." 

Then  her  head  sank  back,  and  she  went — 
went  to  live  in  a  home  even  higher  above  the 
(earth  than  the  top-floor  of  that  dingy  old  house 
at  the  North  End  of  Boston. 

And  now,  all  of  her  that  was  ugly,  and  all 
that  was  old,  is  at  rest  in  a  narrow  grave  not  a 
hundred  rods  from  where  I  am  writing.  At  its 
head  stands  a  simple  stone,  and  on  it  is  this  in- 
'scription : 

BETSEY  SANDERS, 

A<JB» 

She  was  Poor.   un>  FBHtMDMtSS;    BBS  Sue  loved 
God  and  II r.r.  CoTOTRT. 


Ilsrfit ! 


GLASS  LAMPS  BREAK 


FIRE  AND  DEATH. 


HOW  IT  CAKE  TO"  PASS. 


A     GOOD      3TO'ft'V 


They  ware  having  such  a  splendid  time,  I  know; 
everybody  was  enjoying  themselves— everybody— 
everybody  bnt  me!  I  could  bear  it  no  longer— the 
feelings  I  had  been  struggling-  to  repress  all  day 
must  have  Jheir  vent  at  last;  and,  springing  up,  I 
flew  like  a  startled  hare  out  through  the  frontdoor, 
down  the  long  avenue,  past  the  ilower  garden, 
across  the  orchard,  till  1  reached  my  own  little 
arbor,  which  from  earliest  childhood,  had  been  my 
hiding  place  and  refuge  in  every  trouble  and 
vexation,  and  there,  flinging  myself  upon  the 
soft,  green  grass,  [  gave  way  to  a  passionate  hurst 
of  tears. 

"It  was  so  hard— so  hard,"  i  sobbed,  while  my 
slight  frame  shook  like  a  leaf.  "I  did  want  moth- 
er to  go.  I  didn't  want  to  be  selfish,  and  ugly,  and 
hateful.  But  indeed,  indeed,  I  could  not  help  it !  — 
1  had  wanted  to  go  so  badly— had  thoutrht  about 
it  so  much.  Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  oh  dear!"  And! 
cried  till,  worn  out  by  the  violence  of  my  grief,  I 
could  only  lie  and  sob,  with  now  and  then  a  long- 
drawn  tremulous  sigh. 

Just  then  I  heard,  right  at  my  side,  the  sound  of 
an  approaching  step.  Before  I  could  spring  up, 
before  1  could  even  raise  my  head,  I  felt  myself 
lifted  by  a  pair  of  strong  arms  and  seated— of  all 
strange  places  in  the  wori '  on  a  gentleman's 
knee.  The  next  moment,  mu .  a  startled  glance  at 
my  face,  the  stranger  (for  he  was  a  stranger)  sud- 
denly loosened  his  hold,  and,  springing  to  my  feet, 
we  stood  facing  each  other. 

"Pray,  pardon  me,"  he  said,  his  handsome  face 
flushing  crimson.    "You  seemed  in  such  distress 


"Nay,  excuse  me.     two  niuei  ,ui  in- 

terminable distance  to  on< 

I  am."     And  he  threw  back  his  head  with  a  htdi- 

,  cvous  attempt  at  an  air  of  complete  exhaustion. 

■  "I  don't  believe  I  could  walk  two  steps  without 

m  tiie  exertion.    And  please,   Miss 

Device,  be  seated;  it  fatigues  me  just  to  see  pou 

-  so  read,)  for  motion." 

implied  with  his  request,  ho  went  on: 
"But,  may  I   ask,  as  this  picnic  was  to  be  so 
splendid  an  affair,  and  as  everybody  was  going, 
why  Mka  Devinc  staid  away  ?    It  can't  be  possl- 
takes  no  interest  in  such  vanities;  no 
she  spoke  with  too  mach  enthusiasm  just  now. 
then  keeps  her  at  home— might   I   know?" 
and  looked  down   in  confusion.     It 
seemed  so  foolish  not  to  tell  him  the  plain  truth. 
But  then,  to  do  so  would  look  like  praising  one's 
self:  so  I  faltered  out. 
"I  could  not— I  had  to 
"You  wanted  to  go,  then .'" 
"Indeed  I  did,  so  much." 
"And   why  couldn't    some   one  elf 
grandma';'  There  are  eight  other  members  "of  the 
family,  I  believe,  arc  there  not?" 

"Yes,  bnt  there  was  no  one  else  that  << 
eept  Bessie  or  mother— and— and— -I  did  n< 
cither  of  them  to  miss  the  pleasure." 
"Why  not  Bessie  as  well  as— pardon  me*  what 

name  I" 
"Faith,  &  you  please.    Oh-'  it   wouldn't  have 
done  at  all  to  have  Bessie  stay.    She  is  the  l.elle 
of  the  county,  you  know,  so  pretty  and  agreeable; 
the  celebration  would  have  boon  nothing  without 
her.     lather  would  not  have  allowed  it  either,  he 
is  so  proud  of  her.    I  am,  too-}, we  all  arc.    And  I 
think  you  will  admire  her  when  you  see  her;  iu- 
deed  you  can't  help  it.    Everybody  does." 
lie  seemed  slightly  amused  at  my  enthusiasm. 
"No  doubt;  bnt  I  must  caution  you  that,  as  a 


of 


urled  up 

-  the  leaves,  1  took  you  for  a  grieved  child."  ^  general  rule,  1  don't  like  beauties.    And  to  return 

His  confusion  was  so  very  evident,  his  dismay  /  to  the  picnic.   Why  couldn't  votus  mother  stav  ?" 

50  annarermv     Wmiinc       Hint       fm-o-oN-irnr     mr  nrn  ~*  "CI.,,    -,„. .,»,*„,!    ..,*         T..J„„Jl     T    i..j   i j    ,      J 


so  apparently  genuine,  that",  forgetting  my  own 
embarrassment,  I  could  onlv  blush,  and  - 
a  smile: 

"7  am  not  much  more." 

"it  was  very  foolish  of  me,"  he  continued;  "but 
I  always  feci  a  great  dislike  to  letting  people  alone 
when  they  seem  in  trouble.  Can  you  tell  mo 
whether  I  am  trespassing  or  no?  I  am  looking-  for 
Mr.  Devine's  house,  and,  having  a  natural  propen- 
short  cuts,  I  was  making,  I  imagined,  a 
bee-line  for  the  chimneys  of  the  mansion  pointed 
out  to  me.    Have  I  lost  my  bearings?" 

"No,  you  were  right.    Yoii  are  upon  Mr.  l)e- 
_  round  now.     I  am  his  daughter.'' 

Ilo  bowed  in  acknowedgement  of  the  introduc- 
tion. 

"My  visit  is  more  especially  to  Mrs.  Devine. 
She  was  one  of  my  mother's  dearest  friends,  and 
I  have,  heard  so  much  of  her  that  I  love  her  already 
without  ever  even  having  seen  her." 

"she  is  the  dearest,  best  mother  in  the  world.— 
No  one  can  help  loving  her."  1  said,  warmly. 

He  smiled,  a  quid,  little  smile. 

"I  could  not  have  it  from  better  author!: 
you  the  only  child?" 

1  laughed  at  the  idea. 

d,  no!  There  arc  seven  of  us,  and  I  am 
fliird  upon  the  list.  They  tell  me,  though,  that  I 
am  the  only  Weston  among  diem.  I  have  my 
mother's  hsir  and  eyes;  you  i. .."■'it  almost  know- 
he.- by  me.  But,"  1  said,  abr;  v.ly,  struck  by  a 
sudden  thought,  "if  you  have  never  seen  her,  and 
yet  know  her  so  well,  by  report,  you  muse  be—" 

"Harry  Liston,  he  interrupted,  with  a  smile. — 
"Harry  Liston,  of  New  York,  at  your  service.  At 
present  on  my  way  to  the  renowned  Captain  Cross, 
where,  I  am  sadly  afraid,  I  was  expected  this 
morning;  but,  being  a  shockingly  lazy  individual, 
I  did  not  arrive  at  the  village  till  this  afternoon, 
and  finding,  upon  inquiry,  that  your  mother's  lav 
between  me  and  my  destination,  I  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  linger  still  longer  by  the  way." 

"Oh!  then  you  have  missed  the  picnic!"  I  cried 
in  dismay. 

In  some  way,  1  had  entirely  forgotten  the  awe 
that  I  expected  to  feel  in  the  presence  of  that  most 
terrible  of  "lions,"  a  real  live  author,  and  looked 
up  into  his  face  quite  fearless  as  I  announced 
this— in  my  eyes — extraordinary  misfortune. 

"And  they  counted  upon  you,"  too,  so  much!  I'm 
very  sorry." 

"The  picnic— what  picnic?  Oh!  yes,  to  be  sure 
—I  did  hear  something  of  a  grand  Fourth  of  July 
celebration;  but  I  don't  particularly  care  for  that 
sort  of  thing,  as  a  general  rule,  and,  to  tell  the 
truth  I  am  just  a  little  pleased  at  escaping  it. 
Have  i  missed  any  very  great  pleasure?" 

"Indeed  you  have !  They  have  been  planning  it 
here  for  weeks,  and  the  arrangements  were  all  ad- 
mirable, I'. very  one  has  gone  in  the  neighborhood 
—every  one  from  our  house  except  grandma  and 
I.  So,  you  sec.  you  have  made  your  visit  at  an 
unfortunate  time." 

Not  at  all,"  he  said  gravely.  "But,  as  they  are 
all  gOEC  away,  there  is  no  need  of  our  adjourning 
to  the  house  just  yet,  is  there?"  he  queried,  quietly 
seating  himself  upon  the  bench  of  the  arbor.  "It 
is  so  pleasant  out  here,  especially  to  a  way-worn 
traveller.   T 


"She  wanted  to.     Indeed,  I  had  hard  work  per- 
.     s-uading  her  to  go;  but  1  knew  she  needed  the  rest 
/  and  refreshment.    She  works  so  hard  for  us  all." 
"Then  it  was  at  your  own    request  that  you 
were  left  at  home?  It  was  a- voluntary  sacrifice?" 
"it  is  hardly  worth  calling  a  sacrifice/'  I  said, 
hanging  my  head  with  a  thrill  of  shame  at  the  re- 
membrance of  the  outbreak  he  had  witnessed. 
He  mast  have  remembered  it  too,  for,  bending 
.  over  to  look  into  my  flushing  face,  he  said,  "Was 
£  that  what  you  were  crying  about?" 

"I  was  very  silly  and  wicked;  but  Iliad  strug- 
gle against  it  all  day.    I  couldn't  help  it,  indeed," 
■^      And  I  glanced  up  timidly.    What  was  it  in  his 
/,  eyes  that  made  my  own  fall  abashed  before  them, 
and  caused  the  blood  to  flush  so  rosily  in  my  cheek  ? 
I  could  not  tell ;  he  only  said,  very  softlv,  "Poor 
—  child!"  Yet  I  felt  Shat  another  moment    Would 
"~  bring  a  repetition  of  the  outburst,  so  springing  up 

nly,  I  said: 
f        "I  must  go  to  the  house  now,  and  see  if  grandma 
^  has  waked.     Will  you  come?  Lean,  give  yon  some 
cold  ham,  biscuit,  and  a  cup  of  tea  for  your    -up- 
per, and  a  little  music  after  ward**  if  you  will  frfay 
4  and  wait  for  the  party." 

"I  don't  know  but  that  I;  ought  to  say  'No,  thank 
tou,'  but  I  am  particularly  fond  of  cold  ban,  and 
biscuit  and  fonder  stillof  a  litt-Se  music  afterwards," 
he  added,  rising  to  follow  me. 

"It  -«ill  be  a  very  ordinary  performance,  i  warn 
you,"  1  said  doubtfully,  as  we  went  on.  "I  am 
not  a  bit  talented,  yon  know.     Lutry  is  tha  smart 

CUV." 

"And  Bessie  the  beauty.'  What  department, 
then,  do  you  clan 

"Oh,  lam  nothing  in  particular.  Charles  calls; 
me  a  Jack-of-all-traues.  i  think  pie-making  is  u  :■: 
peculiar  accomplishment.  You  shall  have  a  piece 
of  my  cherry  pj#  for  your  supper,  that;  is,  if  you 
ever  indulge  in  the  article  at  that  meal.  I  know 
it  isn't  just  the  thing." 

lie  laughed. 

"I  think  I  will  try  a  niece,  at  all  haaard 
is  the  house,  is.it  uotV    And  is, thai  grand 
the  windov. 

"Yes  " 

And  I  hurrid  in,  to  ask,  aiwouslv,  if  she  had 
long  awake,  and  if  she  had  wanted  ree. 

"No,  child  not  at  all.  But  what  gent'e-man  is 
that  you  have  with  you?  Seems  to  me  Sknownis 
face;  anyhow,  he's  as  handsome  as  a  picture." 

Before  I  could  answer,  ho  was  at  m  y  side,  hat  in 
hand . 

"Grandma,  this  is  M*.  Liston  -other's, 

old  friend,  don't  you  knoj 

"Yes,  yes,  I  remember.  Marv  Scvmour's  son, 
—Well,  I  might  have  known.  lie's  her  very  im- 
age. Do  set  down,  and  tell  me  how  ytmr  mother's 
health  is  now.  And  where  are  von'  living?"  she 
asked .  with  a  face  full  of  inter 

And  knowing  that  grandma,  once  roused  to  con- 
vcrsation,  would  make  a  most  admirable  hostess,  I 
A  slipped  away  to  perform  one  or  two  highly  impor- 
]  tant  duties,  First,  I  must  spread  the  supper  table 
with  a  delicate  damask  cloth,  and  the  daintv,  "best 
china.  Then  cut  the  ham;  set  the  tea  to'  (haw; 
bring  from  the  spring  house  a  pet  of  fresh,  delici- 
ous batter;  select  from  the  pantrv  a  plato  of  moth- 


You  have  no  duties  calling  you,  Miss  1  )c-     j  erg  snow  white  biscuit,  and  mv  own  "nice  fookin 
:y,  seeing  a  shade  of  embar-  yl  cherry  pie;  — 


rassni 

"No,  oh,  no!  not  just  now,  at  all  events.  Grand- 
ma's nap  willlast  af  least  for  an  hour  longer;  but 
you  will  think  me  very  rude— hadn't  yoi 
goon  to  the  grove  V  It  is  only  two  miles  further, 
in  time  yet  for  the  pleasantest 
part  of  the  entertainment.    They  will  like  it  so, 


J- 


,  and  then,  after  having  given  an  approv- 
ing glance  at  the  toutc  ensemble  of  the  dining-room 
fly  up-stairs  to  brush  my  disordered  cutis*  bathe 
my  red  eyes,  and  exchange  my  chintz   ra 
or  the  more  appropriate  blue  lawn. 

ding  again  to  the  parlor  I  found  grandma 
ng,  after  a  fashion  of  her  own,  upi 
virtues  of  each  member  of  the  family;  enfie 
fact,  jusl  hear  her  -a 


st/Cv? 


V 


"Well,  I  don't  care  what  other  folks  sa^  '[  *?*.}& 
part,  I  think  little  Fay  the  'flower  of  the  irk  "ck! 

And-to  catch  the  stranger's  grave — 

"I  do  not  doubt  it." 

That  would  not  do  at  all,  I  thought;  so  I  i.  *™*. 
rupted  the  conversation  by  the  announcement 
supper. 
*••***  ■* 

It  was  certainly  the  pleasanteat  of  all  pleasant 
meals.  We  lingered  around  the  table  till  we  cauld 
no  longer  distinguish  each  other's  features  in  the 
growing  twilight,  and  grandma  declared  that  her 
bed-time  had  slipped  past  unnoticed.  Th'jH,  con- 
ducting our  gaest  tothe  parlor,  I  left  hirn  ttntil  1 
had  seen  her  comfortably  settled  for  the  nig**t,  and 
heard  her  say,  with  her  good  night  kiss 

"This  has  been  a- very  pleasant  evening,  ?«»  sn't 
if,  Faith?  Ue'sarsal  noble  fellow,  just  like;  his 
mother.    Bless  him-." 

Descending  to  the  drawing-reom  again,  I  s|H  't»t 
a  happy  hour  with  ortr  guest.    He  conversed  A  >• 
lightfully.    He  requested  me  to  sing,  with  w 
request  I  complied,  With  such  talent  as  I  possessed,  . 
and  received  his  earnest  thanks,    He,  in  return, 
sang  three  sweet  songs,  w:th  a  fullness  and  richness 
of  expression  that  I  never  heard  before.    WheiK 
the  last  words  had  died  upon  his  lips,  he  said  d 
cisively : 

"No  more  music  to-night.    You  are  as  sensiti- 
as  a  little  wind-flower,  Miss  Faith." 

Then  rising  to  go,  he  took  my  hand,  and  holdiuj 
it  with  a  soft  yet  close  pressure,  he  added : 

"You  need  some  one  to  care  for  and  cherish  you 
as  they  would  a  bird  or  gem— anything  that  was 
more  rare  and  precious,  do  you  know  it,  little- 
Fay?" 

I  think  it  was  his  tone  more  than  his  words  that 

made  my  heart  thrill  with  a  new,  yet  strangely 

sweet  sensation  of  great  joy  and  gladness;  yet  1 

id,  very  quietly: 

"But  you  are  not  going  yet,  Mr.  Liston  ?   T  tlii 
t  can  hear  the  sound  of  the  carriages   in  the  di 
tancc  already.  Surely  vou  will  star  and  Bee  moth 
cr?" 

"Not  to-night,"  he  answered. 

Then,  with  a  seriousness  of  manner  that  made 
his  words  seem  too  deep    for  mere  coi 
he  added : 

"This  evening  has  been  to  me  one  of  such  rave 
enjoyment,  that  I  cannot  bear  to  mar  it  with  the 
sight  of  another  face,  or  the  sound  of' another 
■\  oil  e.  Good  night.  I  shall  take  the  road  back  to 
the  village,  I  think,  sleep  at  the  hotel,  and  not 
dawn  upon  the  gallant  captain's  tili  to-morrow; 
by  which  time,  I  trust,  the  storm  caused  by  my 
non-appearance  will  have  had  time  to  blow  over. 
Is  not  that  the  'better  part  of  valor?'  Myresp 
to  your  mother,  Miss  Faith.  I  shall  call  upon  her 
very  soon.    Once  more,  good  night." 

And,  with  a  smile,  a  bow,  one  last  pre. 
the  hand,  he  was  down  the  steps  and  aw. 

The  sound  of  his  retreating  footfalkvwas  l03t  in 
the  noise  of  the  approaching  carriages,  and,  as 
they  drew  up  at  the  door,  I  decended  in  time  to 
receive  into  my  arms  Carrie's  little  figt 
with  sleep,  and  to  feel  the  tightening  clasp  of  her  ' 
arms  about  my  neck,  as  she  awoke  to  the  con- 
sness  of  my  presence. 

"O,  darlin'  Fay !  she  murmured,  drowsily,  "I'm 
so  glad.    1  wanted  you  so  all  day." 

But -as  I  bore  her  in  and  laid  her  down  upon  the 
parlor  sofa,  she  sank  again  into  the  heavy  si  urn  bet 
of  complete  exhaustion.    Then  I  ran  back  a 
to  the  door. 

"Well,  what  kind  of  a  time  did  you  have  ?  Who 

.ill  were  there?  What  did  you  do?"  Was  the  music 

? — and  the  oration?  Do  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"0,  Faith!"  exclaimed  Charlie,  a  little  impatient- 
ly, "for  mercy's  sake  don't  ask  so  many  questions 
all  in  a  breath,  or,  rather,  don't  ask  any  at  all  un- 
tii  to-morrow.  We  are  a  little  the  forloVncst  party 
yon  ever  encountered.  Wilhelm,  Lucie  an  t  Darrie 
have  slept  in  concert  for  the  last  mile,  and  Bess 
and  Will  have  quarrelled  tne  whole  way." 

"Quarrelled!  O  Bess!"  I  exclaimed,  in  astonish- 
meiit.  "It  seems  so  strange  to  me  that  a  day  of 
such  pleasure  should  end  in  a  quarrel." 

"Well,  Faith,"  said  Bess,  with  a  slight  shade  of 
self-reproach  in  her  touc,  "he's  been  too  cross  for 
ain- thing  in  this  world.  Come  into  the  parlor, 
that's  a  good  girl,  and  help  me  off  with  my  things. 
Bother  this  hat!  the  strings  are  in  a  knot  of  course. 
Well,  I  had  a  right  pleasant  time  after  all.  But,  0 
Faith!  just  thiiik,  the  young  lawyer — Liston  his. 
name  is— didn't  come  after  all.  Wasn't  it  too  pfo- 
vokiy- 

"Indccd,  I  should  think  it  was!"  I  tried  to  say. 
sympathising!}' :  "And  he  so  very  pleasant,  too?' 

"  Pleasant!  "she  cried,  turning  suddenly  with  a 
look  of  amazement.  "Why,  Fay  Devine,  how  do 
you  know?  You  have  never  laid  eyes  on  hirn!" 

"Yes,  but  I  have  though.    He  spent  the  ai 
noo  and  evening  here." 

"Well,  I  never!    Mother,  just  hear  this.    W 
we've  been  fretting  ourselves  to  death  over  the 
non-arrival  of  our  distinguished  guest,   Faith  has 
been  quietly  entertaining  him  at  home.    I  declair, 
it  is  enough  to  provoke  a  saint." 

And  by  way  of  establishing  her  claim  to 
title,  Bessy  went  oil  to  bf-d,  iu  a  decided  fit  of  tbo 
sulks. 

"Y<  ttit    in   the   morning, 

my  daughter,"  said  our  mother,  coming  into  the 
parlor,  and  noticing  the  hurt  expression  on  ray 
lace.  "Just  now  we  are  all  tired  and  cross  and 
want  to  get  to  bed  as  soon  a*  possible.  Here,  Will, 
•  sister.  Don't  Fay,  she's 
too  in  tt.    'lake  charge  of  these  wrap- 

!  y'ou,  my  child  '   1  have  my  hands  full. 


— 


iron  thai  ''■■•J,   thetn-clves   up 

''But,  mother,  dear,"  f  md,  pausing  at  my  door 
;o  await  her  approach,  "do  tell  me,  have  \ou  had 
ant  timer' 
"A  delightful  time,  my  daughter,"  she  said  soft- 
tbly  so  by  the  reawnabrance  of  her 
to  whose  filial  leVe  I  '1.    And  you— yoa 

anhappv?" 
'Oh,moth«r,  dear,   1  cried>.  throwing  ray  arms 
ct  hiding  my  blushing  face  on 
her  shoulder,  "it  has  been 

life.    And  now  I  know  y  joyed  it,  I  am 

aid  for  my  sacrifice.' 

Not  only   because  the 
Lai  of  this  morning  had.  been  my  firat 
sooner  or  la- 
o  feet  must  learn  to  tread— not  only 
my  mother's  heart  and  mine 
ion — not  only 
d  taught  me  that  our  greatest  trials 
may  often  pre  e,  and,  there- 

fore, alwi  hope  and  trust;   but  be- 

en not  guessed-    it  already?)  the 
mienccd  that  morning   beneath   the 
•f  the  old  arbor  ripened,  in  time,  into  the 
i  tceting  love  which  make--   \  ae 
rient  the  very  happiest  little  wife  upon 
n 

MISS  DEEWENT'S  DIAMOND, 

"No,  mother,  let  me  go,  it's  too  had  for  Lizzie, 

it  Is  inrifififl  ^ 

Mrs.  Graham  looked  up  from  the  velvet  robe 
she  was  trimming,  with  an  anxious  expression  on 
her  wan  and  faded  face.  . 

"  Tis  bad,  I  know,"  she  replied,  shuddering 
slightly  as  she  heard  the  sletft  tinkling  against 
the  window;  "but  I  thought  Miss  Derwent  might 
pav  Lizzie — and  you  know,  Tom  we  must  hare 
the  money  to-night;  and  besides,  cKM,  how  could 
vou  ever  get  along  on  the  ice?" 

The  boy  looked  down  at  his  defornsed  feet,  and 
tears  rushed  to  his  eyes. 

"0,  mother!"  he  sobbed;  but  Lizzie?*  kisses 
silenced  him. 

"There,  you  dear,  brave  little  brother;,"'  she 
said,  kissing  him  again  and  again,  "don't  fret 
about, me,  Lean  run  up  there  ever  so  soon;  but  it 
pleases  me  to  see  you  so  careful  of  me.  1  will 
take  the  will  for  the  deed  this  time,  Tom,  diur- 

She  put  on  her  shawl,  and  her  scarlet  hood— a 
simple,  woolen  thing,  that  she  had  knit  at  odd' 
moments;  yet  how  its  vivid  hues  brought  outt 
reasay,  clear-cut  face.  A  sweet  face  it  was, 
full  of  truth,  and  trust,  and  tenderness.  Little 
Tom  watched  her  with  fond  pride. 

"  Oh,  sis,"  he  said,  "  you  are  so  beautiful— ten 
times  handsomer  than  any  of  the  fine  ladies  I  see 
on  the  street.    You  remind  me  of  the  princess  my 
book  tells  about." 
Lizzie  laughed  gaily. 

"Poor  little  Tom !'f  she  said,  patting  his  cheek. 
"Well,  I'm  glad  some  one  admires  me.    But  let 
bs,  mother— how  handsome  it  is. 
•  Dei  went  glitter  to-night?" 

am    finished  and  folded  the  robe; 
red  velvet  it  was,  radiant  with  bugles 
and  1.  ■ 

"Don't  tumble  it,  Lizzie,"  she  said,  "or  Mis3 
Derwent  will  be  sure  to  find  fault— we  must  have 
some  coal  and  a  little  tea,  Lizzie;  and  you  might 
get  a  sausage  for  Tom." 

"Yes,  mother;  and  I'll  be  back  as  soon  aslean. 
Goodbve."  ,     . 

She  took  the  bundle  in  her  arms  and  tripped 

lightly  down  the  creaking  stairs.    Tom  went  to 

the  window  and  looked  down  to  see  her  cross  the 

street  ,       ,      . 

"1'oor  sis!"  be  sighed,  "she  has  to  work  so  hard, 

and  she  I   and  beautiful.      Is  it    true, 

i  in  my   book   about  fit 

coining  to  help  poor  people  like  us?    Will 

rand  prince  come  and  marry  Lizzie,  by- 

"I'm  afraid  not,  lorn,"  she^  replied,  "such 
things  rarely  happen  in  real  life." 

But  while  she  spoke  a  faint  smile  glimmered 
over  her  faded  face;  the  last  hope  of  her  waning 
life  was  centered  in  Lizzie's  future. 

they    do,    mother,"    Tom    maintained 
"my  book  doesn't  tell  stories.     Lizzie 
will  find  her  prince  by-and-by." 
In  the  meantime  Lizzie  made  her  way  over  the 
t  icy  pavements  in   the  direction  of  the   Derwent 
mansion.    The  wind  and  b  and 

kalmost  took  awav  her  breath ;  but  she  burn 
bravely,  her    cheeks   all    arlow   and  her   ft] 
ling  with  the   cold.    When  she  reached 

lie  found  the   lofty  mansion  In  a 

plendor.    Mrs.  Derwent  gave  a  grand 

;  and  her  dear  five  hundred  friends 

W"  Give  me  the  bundle,  and  let  me  runup;  my 
vou,  n  a  fine  passion  because  you've 

kept  her  waiting  so  long.  She  ought  to  have  been 
dressed  an  hour  ago.  Why  didn't  you  come 
sooner?"  said  the  maid,  as  she  let  her  come  in. 

"I came  the  moment  the  dress  was  finished; 
say  so  to  Miss  Derwent,  and  ask  her  to  send  me 
the  pay  for  making." 

Tl  e  girl  laughed. 

"I  dare  not,  indeed,"  she  said.  "I  should  lose 
my  place  if  I  carried  such  a  message  to  Miss  Der- 
went. She's  very  much  excited  now.  You'll 
have  to  call  another  time." 

"That  won't  do.  I  must  have  the  money  to- 
night." 

"Then  you  must  come  up  and  ask  for  it. 

"I  will." 


And,  as  good  as  her  word,  sue  ionowea,  passea 
the  grand  reception  rooms,  up  the  broad  stairway, 
to  the  very  door  of  the  young  heiress's  dressing- 
room.  A  young  man  buttoned  to  the  throat  in  a 
heavy  overcoat,  who  had  been  an  unobserved  lis- 
tener to  this  little  conversation  between  Lizzie  and 
the  maid,  followed  also,  his  keen  grey  eyes  flash- 
ing with  amused  interest. 

Miss  Derwent  sat  in  the  centre  of  her  chamber, 
wrapped  in  an  elegant  cashmere  gown,  her  mag- 
nificent hair,  and  the  coronet  of  jewels  on  her 
brow,  giving  her  the  air  and  mean  of  an  empress. 
But  her  handsome  face  was  distorted  by  impa- 
tient anger. 

"Hasn't  the  dress  come  yet,  Lucille?"  she 
cried,  as  the  girl  entered.  "You  will  have  to 
send  after  it,  and  apologize  to  the  company,  for  I 
will  not  be  disappointed." 
"  You  shall  not,  my  lady ;  here  it  is." 
She  snatched  the  paekage  eagerly,  and  began 
to  tear  off  the  wrapping. 

"  To  think  that  I  must  be  kept  waiting  in  this 
manner,"  she  continued.  "  I  won't  put  up  with 
it — they  shan't  have  another  stitch  of  mv  work." 
"My  mother  finished  the  dress  as  soon  as  she 
could,"  Lizzie  said,  advancing  to  the  door  of  the 
drawing-room.  "  You  only  sent  it  on  Wednes- 
day ;  my  mother  had  to  work  day  and  night  to 
eet  it  done  as  soon  as  she  did — and  she's  sick, 
too."  .    .   .      ,         .  i 

"I  can't  help  that;  Fm  not  to  be  Kept  waiting. 
Here,  assist  me  now — doesn't  the  dress  look  su- 
perbly? I  told  mamma  how  it  would  make  up. 
What  shall  I  wear?  Let  me  see— the  Valencien- 
nes collar  and  the  diamond— where  is  it  ?" 

The  maid  raised  the  lid  of  a  mother  of  pearl 
casket  that  stood  upon  the  dressing-case,  disclos- 
ing a  brooch  of  rare  device,  set  with  a  single  dia- 
mond of  such  magnificent  size  and  splendor  that 
the  whole  room  seemed  ablaze  with  dazzling  re- 
flections. Miss  Derwent's  fine  eyes  flashed  with 
triumph  and  gratification. 

"That's  it,  Lucille,  nothing  could  be  more  ele- 
gant than  that  splendid  soiltaire.  Come,  now, 
dress  me  quickly." 

The  girl  stepped  forward  to  shut  the  door,  but 
Lizzie  put  her  aside. 

"Miss  Derwent,"  she  said,  "one  moment,  if  you 
please;  let  me  have  the  money  you  owe  my 
mother.  I  would  not  ask  for  it  if  we  were  not  in 
such  urgent  need." 

Miss  Derwent  made  an  impatient  gesture. 
"Lucille,  will  you  close  the  door  and  dress  me, 
or  am  I  to  be  kept  waiting  all  night?  I  will  send 
the  money  to-morrow;  don't  trouble  me  now." 

Lizzie  pressed  in  as  she  made  her  appeal,  and 
stood  beside  the  dressing  case,  her  hand  resting 
upon  the  casket  that  contained  the  jewel.  Its 
lustre  caught  her  attention,  and,  looking  down 
upon  it,  a  swift  thought  shot  through  her  mind. 
Was  it  just  that  Isabel  Derwent  should  have  so 
much  and  she  so  little  ?  What  untold  joy 
and  comfort  the  value  of  that  one  bauble 
would  bring  to  her  mother  and  little  Tom! 
But  then  came  the  old  |command,  which  had 
been  taught  her  at  the  Sabbath  school,  "Thou 
shalt  not  covet  thy  neighbor's  goods,"  and  she 
put  the  thought  from  her  mind.  Miss  Derwent 
turned  upon  her  red  with  anger. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  trouble  me  to-night? 
I'm  too  late  now.  Put  her  out,  Lucille,  and  dress 
me  at  once,  or  I  will  discharge  you  this  instant." 
Lucille  caught  up  the  velvet  robe,  and  Lizzie 
turned  away  in  despair.  Descending  the  stairs 
the  wearer  of  the  heavy  overcoat  confronted  her. 

"Excuse  me— hut  may  I  ask  if  Miss  Derwent 
paid  you?"  he  said  abruptly. 

Lizzie's  eyes  were  dim  with  tears  of  disappoint- 
ment; but  she  flashed  an  amused  glance  at  this 
fellow's  bearded  face,  and  then  answered  can- 
didly : 
"No,  sir,  she  did  not.' 

He  stood  silent  a  moment,  still  barring  her 
way;  and  then  he  drew  out  his  pocket-book, 
which,  like  his  overcoat,  was  very  heavy. 

"Little  girl,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  "will  you  let 
me  pay  your  bill  ?" 

But  Lizzie  shot  by  him  like  an  arrow— her  heart 
was  too  proud  to  accept  his  offer.  He  looked  after 
her,  and  she  disappeared  down  the  long  hall,with 
half  a  sigh.  .   A 

"Poor  little  thing!"  he  murmured;  "and  what 
a  face  she  has— it  reminds  me  of  Raphael's  Ma- 
donna. And  Belle  Derwent,  with  her  many  thou- 
sands, could  not  find  a  few  pennies  to  pay  her. 
I'll  not  forget  that." 

Lizzie  ran  until  she  reached  the  street,  and  felt 
the  sharp  sting  of  the  ice  against  her  feet.  Then 
she  thought  of  her  mother  and  little  Tom.  How 
could  she  go  back  to  them  with  nothing?  She 
stopped,  looking  back  at  the  blazimr  windows, 
and  ball  regretting  that  she  did  not  accept  of  the 
gentleman's  kindness.  What  would  become 
of  them  all  that  dreary  night  without 
food  or  tucl,  ond  poor  Tom  so  hungry 
lor  bis  sausage?  She  stood  quite  still  for  a 
moment  or  two  in  deep  thought;  then  the  crossed 
over  to  a  lamp,  and  drawing  a  slender  gold  chain 
from  her  bosom,  examined  it  closely.  Years  be- 
fore, when  she  was  a  wee  ^irl,  with  violet  eyes 
and  gloss;  curls,  her  father  gave  it  to  her  as  a 
birthday  gift,  and  the  tiny  locket,  suspended  from 
it,  contained  hi*  miniature.  He  was  dead,  and  it 
was  very  hard  to  part  with  this  precious  memen- 
to—the very  thought  of  it  made  her  sob  outright. 
But  she  could  not  let  her  sick  mother  sit  in  that 
chill  room  all  night  without  thecupof  tea  she  had 
craved  all  day.  And  a  poor  little  face  seemed  to 
rise  up  before  her  eyes.  It  was  the  only  treasure 
she  possessed  on  earth !— but  it  must  go.  -She.  re- 
moved it  from  her  neck  and  started  off  at  a  rapid 
pace,  clutching  it  in  her  hand.  She  would  sell  it, 
but  her  mother  and  Tom  should  never  know;  and 
by-and-by,  may  be,  she  mightraise  money  enough 
to  redeem  it. 

uneed,  flushed  and  breathless,  at  the  door 
iewelrv    store.      The.    windows 


&S. 


■'»■■»    • 

,  were  radient  with  precious  gems,  and  everything 
looked  so  bright  and  wonderful  that  the  poor  girl 
was  half  afraid  to  go  in.  She  leaned  against  the 
windows,  striving  ta  rvcover  her  courage,  when  a 
heavy  hand  was  laid  on  her  arm. 

"Not  so  fast,  my  pretty  bird!"  said  a  gruff 
voice;  "you  must  come  with  me." 

Lizzie  turned  in  indignant  surprise,  and  made 
an  effort  to  shake  off  his  grasp,  but  he  held  her. 

"1  arrest  you,  Lizzie  Graham,"  he  said,  "in  the 
name  of  the  law." 

"Arrest  Hie! — and  fcr  what,  pray?" 

"For  stealing  Miss  Derwent's  diamond."  ' 

The  trial  at  the  magistrate's  office  was  brief—  , 
the  evidence  conclusive.  Of  course  the  girl  w  is 
found  guilty.  Did  not  Miss  Derwent  herself  ob- 
serve her  standing  by  the  dressing  case,  wit  a  her 
*  hand  upon  the  casket  that  contained  tha  Jewell? 
and  five  minutes  after  the  diamond  was  gone.  And, 
to  clinch  the  evidence,  the  officers  sent  in  pursuit 
of  her  found  her  lurking  around  a  jewelry  store, 
waiting  to  sell  the  diamond  of  course.  There  was 
no  mistake  about  the  matter.  So  Lnfcie  Graham 
was  committed  to  the  county  prison  to*  await  far- 
ther trial.  A  considerable  crowd  fol/owed  her, 
though  the  storm  was  severe:  and  as  the  grated 
door  was  about  to  shut  her  in,  looking  from  one 
face  to  another  with  a  vain  hope  of  help,  she  re- 
cognized.the  young  man  who  had  proffered  her  a 
kindness  before.  She  made  a  gesture  and  he  was 
at  her  side  in  an  instant. 

"Stop,"  he  commanded,  "let  her  speak  to  me. 

And  the  Warden  obeyed,  for  Dick  RenshaWK 
was  the  first  man  in  the  city. 

"Poor  mother  and  little  Tom,"  she  said,  her  lips 
quivering.  "If  you  could  only  send  them  word — 
they  will  be  so  uneasy." 

"I  will.    Where  do  they  live?" 

She  named  the  street.  Then  he  stooped,  and 
laid  hi*  hand  on  her  head. 

"Little  girl,  what  can  I  do  for  you?  You  are 
not  guilty  of  this  charge." 

Her  teaJful  eyes  brightened. 

"Don't  trouble  about  that,  sir,"  she  said  quietly. 
"God  will  dear  me  I" 

Throusrh  *11  the  weary  day  that  intervened  be- 
fore the  trial,  Dick  Renshawe  worked  and  waited. 
Never  was  a  man's  soul  io  full  of  his  work.  Day 
and  night  th*  girl's  white  fare  and  dove  eves 
were  before  hisu.  He  engaged  the  most  eminent 
counsel  for  the  *ase,  but  every  one  told  him  it  was 
useless.  Of  course  the  girl  would  be  Cooad  guii  j 
ty— was  the  assurance  of  all. 

On  the  day  of  the  trial,  he  went  to  see  Mies 
Derwent  herself.  She  camedown  readily  eno j^h, 
but  with  a  look  of  resentment  in  her  fine  eyes, 
for  Mr.  Renshawe  was  an  old  admirer  of  hei;, 
and  he  had  been  rather  neglectful  of  late.  Eut, 
unconscious  or  careless  of  this,  the  young  man 
plunged  into  business  at  once. 

"Miss  Derwent,  Lizzie  Graham?  will  be  convict- 
ed to-morrow,"  he  said.  £, 

Miss  Derwent  raised  her  brows  m  well-bred  sur-     g 
prise.  3 

"So  I  suppose,  Mr.  Renshawe. 

"Yon  believe  her  guilty  ?"'  .  3 

"I  do!"  S 

He  rose  to  depart. 

"And  you  intend  to    send  her  to  the   State     §■ 


- 


p 

"1 

ts 

B 

p. 

1* 

3 

re 

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a" 

E 

p 

B 

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5*. 

:&8 


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&S 


prison :'  .  re  3  ^ 

"The  law  will  send  her  there.  ;  --  £  < 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Derwent..  g 

"Good  moraine,  Mr.  Renshawe."  J-  o  2 

And  they  had  been  almost  lovers.    Dick  went     a     g 
to  consult  with  his  counsel,  and  Miss  Derwent,    '£» 
cut  to  the onick,  despatched  a  message  to  Count   |Mg'£ 
Gerdass  to  attend  her  to  the  opera  that  night.  At 
a  late  hour  Renshawe  dropped  in,  hoping  that  theg  a  £<» 
music  might  soothe  his  excited  neirves.     His  in-|  re  n  3 
terest    in   the     impending     trial    amounted    to^,S.S"v! 
madness.      He    chanced    into    a    box  just     op-£|  -c 
posite     Miss    Derwent's.       She    was     looking*  Z  £* 
best    as   she    always    did   when    she   wore    theT  §  S  S- 
wine-colored    velvet;     and    when  site  arose  tog  g  &r: 
depart,  the  young  man,  more  from  habit  thauq  g  a 
anj  thing  else,  raised  bis  glass  to  inspect  her.    A%  g  0  ^  j 
stream  of  light  almost  blinding  him,  a  glowing'   g-  P  3 
star,  as  it  were,  in  the  folds  of  her  sweeping  tram     wg- 
The  next  instant  he  was  at  her  side,  di'-.engagin      0  «^ 
the  glittering  diamond  from  its  hiding  place.      ^  g.  g  §  ! 

"Look  here,  Miss  Derwent,"  he  crie-.t,  hokhn     upg 
it  before  her  astonished  eyes,  "see  your  diamond  ^  gs  «  J 
and  vou  have  carried  it  in  your  robe  all  the  tam.-  ^o  -  * 
white  the  poor  child  has  been  lying  in  pnsoig  g*    « 
Oh!  shame!  shame!  ■■       ,  ^  g  re  3 

"Mr.  Renshawe,  I  am  sorry,"  she  began;  MS8  £§3 
he  was  cone  bc.ore  she  had  finished  her  sentence   5  g-® 
Lizzie  Graham,  sitting  all  alone  in  her  gloomy  £>  £ 
!  cell,  reading  her  Bible  by  the  light  of  a  prise  ^  re^g 
I  lamp,  heard    the  heavy  door  swing  open    at  S   ^  v  z 
swift  steps  ring  down  the  corridor.    She  loolq  ;  p  3  •> 
up  in  wondering  alarm.    Dick  Renshawe  stoc 
before  her,  his  bearded  face  as  happy  and  tremi 
Ions  as  a  woman's. 

'•Little  girl,"  he  said,  "I  offered  to  do  you  a 
kindness  once  and  you  refused  to  accept  it.  I 
come  to  give  you  your  freedom  now— you  are  clear. 
Miss  Derwent  has  found  her  diamond;  it  was 
stuck  in  the  velvet  robe  she  wore  that  night. 

"I  knew  that  God  would  clear  me,"  she  whis- 
pered softly. 

Three  months  later,  when  the  skies  were  blue 
and  the  fields  green,  and  all  the  hedges  white  and 
sweet  with  hawthorn  bloom,  Lizzie  and  her 
mother  and  little  Tom,  were  all  down  at  a  little 
seaside  cottage— not  a  fashionable  resort,  but  a 
quiet,  happy  little  place  that  Mr.  Renshawhad  se- 
lected for  its  rural  beauty.  Mrs.  Graham's  health 
was  failing,  and  Tom  needed  country  air,  he  said. 
So  they  all  went  down  there.  Lizzie  had  been  out 
all  the  afternoon,  gathering  strawberries,  and 
came  home  at  sunset,  her  lips  and  fingers  dyed 
rosy-red,  and  her  eyes  bright  with  joy.  Dick  met 
her"  out  on  the  lawn,  with  his  fishing  tackle  across 
his  shoulders.  He  threw  it  down  and  took  the 
basket  from  her  arm.    They  had  walked  on  si-      . 


DEATH  OF  CHARLSS  D1QKE  <! 

[To  Associated  Press.] 
New  Yokk,  June  10—  By  cable,  just  received- 
Charles  Dickens  is  dead. 

London,  June  10—3  A.  M.— Charles  Dickens 
died  at  twenty  minutes  past  6  o'clock,  last  even- 
ing, of  paralysis. 
Special  Despatch  to  the  Traveller. 

New  York,  June  10.— The  following  despatch 
has  just  been  received: 

London,  June  10—2  A.  M.— Charles  Dickens, 
the  great  novelist,  is  dead. 

He  was  entertaining  a  party  at  dinner,  at  his 
residence  at  Gad's  Hill,  on  Wednesday,  when  | 
he  was  suddenly  seized    with  alarming  symp- 
toms of  illness,  depriving   him  of  speech    and 
volition,  and  was.  thought  to  be  dying. 

He  was  immediately  conveyed  to  his  chamber, 
and  medical  assistance  summoned. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  the  physician  he  was  pro- 
nounced to  be  under  the  influence  of  a  stroke  of 
apoplexy. 

Remedies  were  immediately  prescribed  and 
everything  done  to  alleviate  his  sufferings, 
but  all  was  useless,  as  the  great  novelist  still  re- 
mained in  a  comatose  state,  from  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  rouse  him. 

A  consultation  of  physicians  failed  to  develop 
any  remedy. 

Mr.  Dickens  still  lay  in  that  dangerous  state 
of  insensibility,  and  from  the  time  he  was 
attacked  till  6  o'clock  last  evening  he  lay  motion- 
less, betraying  no  signs  of  life. 

The  physicians,  alarmed  at  his  condition,  at  6 
o'clock  examined  him  to  detect  signs  of  breathing, 
but  the  last  flickering  spark  of  life  had  expired, 
and  shortly  after  6  o'clock  the  great  novelist 
was  pronounced  dead,  having  given  no  signs  of 
life,  and  remaining  almost  utterly  insensible  un- 
til the  hour  of  his  death. 


' 


CHARLES 


J?1  co<i^Lrzfy^faj^n&---^— , 


Charles  Dickens. 

CHAKLES  DICKENS-Died  at  Ills  residence,  G;ul\s 
Hill,  Kent,  Thursday,  June  9, 1870,  aged  58  years. 

"Dead,  your  Majesty.  Dead,  my  lords 
and  gentlemen.  Dead,  Right  Reverends 
and  Wrong  Reverends,  of  every  order. 
Dead,  men  and  women  born  with  Heaven- 
ly Compassion  in  your  hearts.  And  dying 
thus  around  us  every  day." — Bleak  House, 
chap.  67. 

"The  golden  ripple  on  the  wall  came 
back  again,  and  nothing  else  stirred  in  the 
room.  The  old,  old  fashion.  The  fashion 
that  came  in  with  our  first  garments,  and 
will  last  unchanged  until  our  race  has  run 
its  course,  and  the  wide  firmament  is  rolled 
up  like  a  scroll.  The  old,  old  fashion — 
Death !  O,  thank  God,  all  who  see  it,  for 
that  older  fashion  yet  of  immortality  !  And 
look  upon  us,  angels  of  young  children, 
with  regards  not  quite  estranged  when  the 
Swift  River  bears  us  to  the  Ocean." — Bom- 
bey,  chap.  17. 

"The  spirit  of  the  child,  returning,  inno- 
cent and  radiant,  touched  the  old  man  with 
its  hand,  and  beckoned  him  away. "  — 
Chimes,  2d  quarter. 

'  'The  star  had  shown  him  the  way  to  find 
the  God  of  the  poor ;  and  through  humility, 
and  sorrow,  and  forgiveness,  he  had  gone 
to  his  Redeemer's  rest."  —  Hard  Times, 
'Rook  8,  chap.  6. 


DICKENS.  Mr-  Sickens  was 

born  at  Portsmouth,  Eng.,  or  near  that  place, 
in  February,  1812.  Consequently,  he  was  58 
years  old,  last  February.  He  began  life  as  a  re- 
porter, and  became  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
literary  men  of  his  time,  whose  death  will  be 
felt  by  millions  as  a  loss.  He  will  wiitcno 
more;  and,  perhaps,  like  Thackeray,  he  has  left , 

his  last  work  unfinished.  

His  father,  John  Dickens,  was  not  a  turning, 
man;  he  tried  his  hand  at  many  things,  and  it 
is  specially  mentioned  that  be  served  as  a  gov- 1 
crnment  clerk  and  as  a  reporter  for  a  morning 
paper;  it  is  said  that  John  Dickens  was  the 
original  Wilkins  Micawber.  He  intended  that 
his"son  should  be  a  lawyer;  and,  consequently, 
Charles  Dickens  was  articled  to  an  attorney,  in 
whose  office  a  portion  of  his  youth  was  spent. 
But  this  profession  did  not  suit  his  tastes,  and 
he  quietly  took  measures  to  qualify  himself  for 
the  business  of  reportiug.  Soon  after  he  be- 
came established  as  a  reporter,  he  began  the 
scries  of  ske>  *c*  undr-the  signature  of  "Bo/,," 
which  nrst  drew  attention  to  his  remarkable 
genius  for  such  work.  His  next  production,  the 
"Pickwick  Tapers,"  completed  when  he  was 
scarcely  twenty-six  years  old,  gave  him  the 
great  reputation  which  he  maintained  during 
his  life. 

Mr.  Dickens  now  devoted  himself  wholly  to 
literature,  and  became  connected  with  "Bent- 
ley's  Miscellany,"  for  which  he  wrote  "Oliver 
Twist."  Next  came  "Nicholas  Nickleby,"  one 
of  his  best  works.  He  worked  industriously, 
and  produced  a  series  of  works  that  will  keep 
their  place  in  English  literature,  until  English 
shall  become  a  dead  language,  and  other  forms 
of  speech,  not  yet  apparent,  shall  be  developed 
and  used  for  literary  purposes.  There  would  be 
differences  of  opinions  expressed,  we  presume, 
if  any  score  of  his  admirers  should  be  required 


LATER. 

London,  June  10—3  A.  M.— The  following  par- 
ticulars of  the  distressing  calamity  have  been  ob- 
tained : 

As  Mr.  Dickens  was  entertaining  a  dinnerparty 
at  his  house  at  Gad's  Hill,  Miss  Hoga-th, 
who  was  seated  near  him,  observed  evident  signs 
of  distress  upon  his  countenance.  She  then 
made  the  remark  to  him  that  he  must  be  ill. 

To  this  Mr.  Dickens  replied,  "Oh,  no,  I  have 
only  got  a  headache.  I  shall  be  better  presently." 

He  then  asked  that  the  open  window  be  shut. 
Almost  immediately  he  became  unconscious  and 
fell  back  into  his  chair,  insensible. 

He  was  immediately  conveyed  to  his"  room,  and 
medical  attendance  summoned,  but  Mr.  Dickens 
still  remained  unconscious  and  never  recovered 
animation. 

His  son  and  daughter  remained  steadfastly  at 
his  bedside  until  his  decease. 

The  ladies  manifested  many  demonstrations  of 
grief  at  the  sad  event,  and  the  scene  is  described 
as  mournful  in  the  extreme. 

Various  reminiscences  of  the  eminent  author 
have  been  recalled  by  bis  sudden  death. 

It  is  stated  that  Mr.  Dickens  has  several  times 
of  late  complained  that  he  experienced  considera- 
ble difficulty  in  working  because  his  powers  of 
application  were  becoming  impotent.  He  also 
said  that  his  thoughts  no  longer  came  to  him 
spontaneously,  as  in  former  times. 

While  at  Preston  he  had  need  of  medical  aid, 
and  called  upon  a  physician,  who  warned  him 
not  to  continue  reading,  because  he  was  doing  so 
at  the  peril  of  his  life. 

The  sad  news  of  the  decease  of  Charles  Dickens 
has  the  warmest  expressions  of  universal  sorrow 
and  regret,  and  the  columns  of  the  morning 
press  abound  with  mournful  articles  upon  the 

event. 

j. '  — 

"I  felt  for  my  old  self  as  the  dead  may 

feel  if  they  ever  revisit  these  scenes.     I 

A  was  glad  to  be  tenderly  remembered,  to  be 

gently  pitied,  not  to  be  quite  forgotten." — 

Bleak  House,  chap.  45. 

"From  these  garish  lights  I  vanish  now 
forevermore ;  with  a  heartful,  grateful,  re- 
spectful and  affectionate  farewell — and  I 
pray  God  bless  us  every  one." — Last  read- 
ing, London,  March  6,  1870. 


SATURDAY,    JULY   22,   1865. 


HARVARD  UNIVERSITY. 


THE  COMMEMOEATIOIT  DIMES,. 

Yesterday  was  a  proud  day  for  Old  Harvard,  for 
Vlma  Mater  gathered  together  under  her  shadowing 
Tings  two  hundred  and  thirty  of  her  gallant  sons, 
resh  from  the  dread  fields  of  war,  and  welcomed  them 
Tith  ardor  and  enthusiasm  such  as  has  characterized 
ew  other  days  in  her  history.  We  have  before  given 
in  account  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  day,  with  the 
>eautifui  and  affecting  oration  of  Dr.  Putnam,  a  pa- 
)«••  which  will  be  read  with  feeling  and  admiration  so 
on*  &?  *he  records  of  the  University  shall  endure. 

It  wad  not  IU1  2  o'clock  that  the  guests  filed  into  the 
linner  pavilion  and  took"  their  ?eats  at  the  different  ta- 
»les,  fourteen  hundred  persons  in  ^  bein«  pref^l' 
vhile  five  hundred  ladies,  from  the  gallery  wn,cn 
kirts  Harvard  Hall,  witnessed  the  proceedings,  and 
tdded  beauty  and  grace  to  the  brilliant  galaxy  of  be* 
•oism  beneath  the  canvassed  roof.  Many  of  these  la- 
lies  were  the  wives,  mothers,  sisters,  or  lovers  of  the 
'fficers  or  soldiers  present,  and  the  scene  forcibly  re- 
ailed  the  lines  of  the  British  poet, 

"For"  Harvard's  "halls  had  gathered  there 
Her  beftuty  and  her  chivalry." 

When  ail  had  taken  their  places  the  chief  guests 
ntered  with  the  Preeidentof  the  Day,  and  took  post 
it  the  upper  table.    One  of  these,  was  General  Meade,   ! 
irhoee  appearance  at  the  right  of  the  obair,  with  Gov.  | 
Andrew,  caused  great  applause.  .  I 

The  arrangements  of  Col.  Lee,  the  chief  marshal, 
worked  to  a  charm,  and  though  a  little  late,  gave  uni- 
versal satisfaction.  The  dinner,  too,  provided  by 
smith,  was  in  profuse  abundance,  excellent  and  sub- 
stantial, and  in  view  of  the  warmth  of  the  day,  was 
much  improved  by  the  abundance  of  sparkling,  foam- 
me,  ice-cold  Weld  farm  cider,  with  which  the  tables 
were  kept  supplied.  The  dinner  was  preceded  by  the 
invocation  of  the  blessing  by  Eev.  Dr.  Allen  of  North- 

lo'ward  the  close  of  the  dinner,  a  dozen  ladles  were 
Mcorted  to  seats  on  the  President's  platform,  just  be- 
hind the  invited  guests.  Among  these  were  Mrs.  Har- 
rison Gray  Otis,  the.  mother  of  Gen.  Barlow,  and  the 
wife  of  Lieut.  Col.  Theo.  Lyman  of  Gen.  Meade's 
!  staff.  Abo,  Mrs.  General  Jleade,  and  the  widow  of 
the  late  Brig.  Gen.  Isaac  F.  Stevens,  of  the  U.  !s.  Ar- 
mv,  who  graduated  at  Harvard  with  the  Erst  honors 
of  his  class,  and  fell  on  the  same  field  with  the  lament- 
6*1  H.Gflru6y. 

Gen.  Barlow  was' also  escorted  to  a  similar  position, 
and  as  soon  as  he  appeared  on  the  platform  was  hailed 
with  great  applause,  and  welcomed  by  Gen.  Meade. 
who  rose  from  his  seat  and  stepped  hurriedly  to  meet 
him,  giving  him  a  eordial  grasp  of  the  hand. 

General  Barlow,  as  the  applause  continued,  rose 
and  said : 

"Gentlemen— No  man  can  feel  this  welcome  more 
than  I  do,  and  I  cannot  but  be  deeply  grateful.  But  I 
can  hardly  be  expected  to  speak  in  term3  befitting 
your  kindness,  and  I  therefore  beg  that  you  will  ex- 
cuse me  from  making  the  attempt." 
Renewed  applause  followed  his  modest  speech. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  feast,  the  President  of  the 
Day,  Hon.  Charles  G.  Loring,  called  the  company  to 
order,  and  made  an  address  of  welcome. 

Mr.  Loring  spoke  of  the  combination  of  joy  and 
gladness  which  this  hour  afforded,  regretted  the  loss 
of  that  distinguished  scholar,  Everett,  who  best  could 
do  justice  to  the  occasion,  and  then  greeted  the  re- 
turned soldiers  and  officers.  After  alluding  to  the 
early  history  of  Harvard,  to  Samuel  Adams,  Otis, 
John  Adams,  Hartcoek,  Quincy,  Gen.  Warren  and 
other  eniion  .  Utssa'chu setts,  graduates 

0f  jj,  ,g  said  that  of  the  whole 

number  of  c  'nts,  living  at  the  break- 

iV„  .  .  estimated  to  be  about  2400,  it 

is  ascertain!  d  in  the  army  or 

navy  at  the  call  of  their  country.  Of  them  about  93 
have  fallen  in  battle  or  died  from  wounds,  or  from  ill- 
ness induced  by  hardship  or  exposure;  while,  many 
life  i '■!  the  mutilated  frame, 
or  „  titution,  enduring 

p.  alike  claiming 

eloquent  re- 

liis  speech. 

-  made  the  second  speech.    He 

ih  which  the  sons  ot   Harvard 

id  a  noble  tribute  to  Gov.  An- 

-polte  of  Meade  as 

ion  on 

nrg  '  [Applau  o,is   of 

tmeftts 

them 

lass  ••";.  '!'  with  his 

,   dy- 

•  ■  great  father  was 

For  those  who  return  to-day, 

•'k-v  were  the  sons 

unworthy  of  her 

VfiiK-iuixr*  1,    il»"     c. ..Jit  well  say, 

ilause.] 

C.  T. 

Vndrew,  the 


-   - 


General  Meade  had  desired  to  remam  oniy  a  suern. 
spectator.  He  came  here  simply  to  pay  respect  to  the 
memory  of  their  fallen  soldiers,  with  many  of  whose 
names  he  was  familiar.  On  learning  that  the  alumni 
d"f  the  College  were  about  to  extend  this  tribute  to 
their  brave  comrades,  he  felt  it  to  be  an  imperative 
duty  to  be  present  on  the  occasion.  But  he  felt  op- 
pressed in  this  presence  of  so  many  learned  individ- 
uals, and  in  presence  of  so  many  of  his  fair  country- 
women, somewhat  embarrassed.  He  spoke  of  the 
brave  men  the  University  had  given  to  the  army,  and 
of  the  grief  he  felt  at  the  death  of  so  many;  two  of 
them,  he  said,  Were  on  his  personal  staff,  and  were 
stricken  down  almost  within  his  sight;  but  when  he 
saw  so  many  of  bis  comrades  alive  before  him,  he 
thanked  God  for  His  goodness  in  being  so  merciful. 
As  the  commander  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  he 
felt  that  he  could  but  express  the  opinion  that  no 
troops  had  so  distinguished  themselves  for  gallantry, 
bravery  and  endurance  as  the  troops  of  Massachusetts. 

The  band  played  "Hail  Columbia,"  and  Professor 
Samuel  Eliot  read  a  fine  poem  written  for  the  occasion 
by  Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe. 

Mr.  Emerson  spoke  of  the  feelings  which  were 
called  up  in  every  neart  by  the  presence  of  the  tried 
and  true  soldier,  and  showed  that  it  was  the  war  that 
had  made  our  generals,  and  developed  our  manhood. 
The  enthusiasm,  the  spirit  which  had  pervaded  the 
people  all  through  was  sketched  in  glowing  terms, 
ana  he  argued  that  the  enthusiasm  and  energy  pro- 
ceeding from  Massachusetts  culture  and  Massachusetts 
life  had  exerted  irresistible  power  in  moulding  the  sen- 
timents of  the  country.  He  ended  by  an  expression 
of  thanks  to  the  Harvard  soldiers. 

The  band  played  "America,"  and  a  fine  poem  was 
read  by  Prof.  O.  W.  Holmes,  after  which  the  hymn, 
"  Union  and  Liberty,"  words  also  by  Dr.  Holmes,  was 
sung  by  the  choir. 

Rear  Admiral  Davis  was  introduced  as  the  oldest 
graduate  of  (he  College  in  the  Navy,  and  as  having 
Been  second  in  command  at  the  attack  on  Port  Royal. 
He  was  hailed  with  great  applause,  and  in  the  course 
of  bis  remarks  gave  some  interesting  reminiscences  of 
college  days. 

Brig.  Major  General  Peter  Force  of  Ohio,  a  gradu- 
ate of  Harvard,  Rev.  Dr.  J.  P.  Thompson  of  New 
York,  of  Yale,  and  Rev.  Mr.  Hosmer  of  the  49th,  also 
spCke,  and  Prof.  Jas.  Russell  Lowell  read  an  eloquent 
poem. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  proceedings  the  name  of 
Brigadier  General  Bartlett  called  forth  tremendous 
applause,  to  which  he  rose  and  bowed,  but  the  ap- 
plause still  continued,  and  as  the  young  hero  of  Ball's 
Bluff,  and  of  the  glacis  at  Port  Hudson,  and  of  the 
Petersburg  mine  stood  blushing  and  uncertain  iu  the 
midst  of  the  storm,  Col.  Henry  Lee,  Jr.,  the  chief  mar- 
shal of  the  day,exclaimed :  "General,  as  Congress  said 
to  Washington,  'General,  sit  down!  Your  modesty  is 
equal  to  your  valor!'"    This  happy  thought  of  Col. 


iDTed  up  tue  lower 


Lee  was  received  with  warm  applause. 

At  the  end  of  the  speaking,  all  present  joined  hands 
and  sang  "Auld  Lang  Syne,"  and  thus  closed  a  most 
successful  and  brilliant  dav.  

HARVARD    COLLEGE. 


INAUGURATION  OF  PRESIDENT  ELIOT. 

The  Processicn  and  Exercises  in  the  Church. 

Address   of  the    President  of  the    Board  of 
Overseers.  /  c>  /* 


/$■(> 


marks  i 

mm 

referret 

haderd 


two  br 

Abbott,    Dwight    and    .- 

Brown  who  ' 

Russell,  now  coloi 

men  ted.     i  > 

in  the  loss  of  ten  of  ( 


1 1  bravery  and 
of  every  position,  of 

•m  were 

vere,  Lowell, 

late   Sergeant 

tin,  and  Capt. 

MHln,  were   corn  pi  i- 

Alumni 

Gettysburg 


atAntietaiii.fi  irtrg.  live  at  Ge- 

three  nt  <  h  He,  three  at  the 

ii  1  three  at  Fort  Wagner. 
■tfent  Hill  of  Harvard  College  was  the  next 
er,  and  returned  all  honor  to  the  men  who  went 
,n  in  the  dark  hours  of  the  past,  and  he  welcomed 
earnestly  the  survivors.  He  spoke  of  the  character  of 
the  day,  and  invoked  blessings  on  the  future. 

Major  General  Meade  was  then  introduced,  and 
was  received  with  three  times  three  cheers,  three 
heart  v  cheers  also  being  given  for  Mrs.  Meade. 


The  inauguration  of  Charles  William  Eliot/Presi- 
dent of  Harvard  College,  as  successor  ot  Rev.  Thomas 
Hill,  D.D..  took  place  this  afternoon  at  Cambridge,  in 
accordant*  with  the  programme  previously  published. 
The  occasion  being  one  of  unusual  interest  to  the 
alumni  and  to  the  friends  of  the  institution,  the  crowd 
in  attendance  was  large.  The  cool  weather,  too,  con- 
spired to  add  to  the  pleasure  of  the  event,  the  "doings 
at  Harvard  usually  occurring  during  the  warm  months, 
when  comfort  is  at  u  premium. 

At  ar  early  hour  many  strange  as  well  as  (amiliar 
faces  were  seen  in  the  precincts  of  the  college  grounds. 
The  BOlbmrj  Horse  Guard,  under  Capo.  Geo.  Curtis. 
94 full  uniforms  ot  scarlet,  with  plumes  of  flowing  white, 
arrived  in  Harvard  square  precisely  at  2  o'clock,  escort- 
iip  three (bur-borse  barouches.    These  barouches c.m- 
;  6cv.  Claflin,  three  of  his  aids,  Gen.-  Canning- 
to.    The  cartage  presented  a  brilliant 
.,, , ,  |  drew  up  in  the  square,  rani  the  Gov- 

ernor and  suit  dismounted  at  the  main  gate  of  the  «*■ 
'..    After  a  parting  salute,  the  military  rc- 
tm,;,  id  pta.Ting  a  lively  air. 

Governor  Claflin  and  suite  cutered  Gore  Hall  (the 
Library),  where  were  assembled  a  most  distlnguljhed1 
company.  Among  the  familiar  faces  we  noticed  those 
Of  Hoii.  Charles  Francis  Adam*,  Hon.  George  S. 
HUlard,  lion.  Marabou  P.  Wikter,  ex-Governor  Clif- 
ford, ex'-'  Bigolow,  Dr.  Parker,  formerly 
i  ina,  Dr.  George  B.  Lorinjr,  Robert 
Treat  Paine,  Esq.,  ex-Mayor  Lincoln,  Hon.  David 
Kdmund  Qainey,  llou.  Ginery 
Xv.ichell,  Id.  0,  Hon.  Join  8.  Philbrlck,  Rev.  Dr. 
Jffcale,  fii  nam,  D.  D.,  of  the  Highlands, 
Rev.  Freeman  Clarke,  D.D.,  Chiei  .Justice  Bacon,  May- 

ora  of  Cambridge    Judge  Thomas,  and  many 
OttM  n  Of  equal  note,  besides  the  Faculty  and  officers  ot 

it  e  colli  ce,  etc. 
At  twenty  minutes  before   ,'i   o'clock   the  procession 

was  formed  at  the  right  of  the  main  entrancs  ot  Gore 

Hall,  in  the  order  indicated  in  the  advertisement,  and 
soon  alter  the  column  moved  to  the  music  of  Selwyn's 
orchestra,  Arbuckle  leader. 

The  procession  numbered  some  live  hundred  per- 
sons, marchinsr  in  couples.    Tlie  four  college  classes 
b  some  seventy  or  more  representatives  present 
and  the  law,  scientific  and  divinity  schools  as  many 
more. 


The  procession,  however,  pretty  wi 
floor  and  scats. 

Outside  of  those  wc  have  referred  to  there  were  but 
tew  persons  in  Harvard  square,  the  occasion  proving  a 

very  ciuiet  one. 

The  church  exercises  were  conducted  by  ex-Governor 
John  Henry  Clifford,  President  of  the  Board  of  Over- 
seers and  opened  with  music  by  the  orchestra,  singing 
of  a  choral,  "Let  us  with  a  gladsome  mind,"  etc.; 
waver  by  Rev.  Or.  Peabody:  and  a  congratulatory 
address  in  Latin,  by  John  Silas  White,  of  tee  senior 

01  The  induction  into  office,  by  Hon.  J.  H.  Clifford,  was 
of  course  one  of  the  main  features  of  the  occasion. 
Address  oi  Ex-Gov.  Clifford. 

Hon  John  H.  Clifford  then  addressed  the  Presrdeat 
elStta  behalf  of  the  Board  ol  Overseers.  vVe  give  an 
abstract  ot  his  address,  as  follows : 

^fSSmglhe  honorable  duty  it  has  pleased  the 
fjorooration  of  Harvard  College  to  assign  to  me  on  this 
oecK  1  am  not  unmindful  that  any  participation  of 
Sin  these  interesting  services  is  of  a  purely  official 
Sn  it  arises  from  the  change  tnat  has  taken 
Saceta  the  government  of  the  college  since  the  last 
of  vour  predecessors  was  invested  with  the  authority 
of  tee  hfgtn office  to  which  you  have  been  called,  and 
tee  weighty  responsiuilities  of  which  you  are  now  tor- 

"KS? w^ich  h™selv  taken  from  the  Legis- 
later?  and  confided  to  the  Alumni  of  the  Col  ego.  the 
chofceof  the  Board  of  Overseers,  of  which  His  Bxoel- 
hmcv  the  Governor  had  been  previously  the  President 
bTvIrtue  of  his  office,  terminated  his  connection  with 
the  Board,  and  required  tee  election  of  a  presiding 

frr^theBState  we  are  deprived  on  this  occasion  ot  the 
accustomed  aid  of  the  Executive  of  the  Commonwealth, 
bv  whom?  tor  the  time  being,  each  of  the  twenty-one 
Preliuents  of  the  College  who  have  preceded  you.  dor- 
infthl  whole  period  of  the  Colonial,  Provincial,  and 
C^nstitutionyhistoryof  Massachusetts,  has  been  in- 

^Ktei^-mfnation  of  its  official  reliiions  to  the  C  om- 
™™ith  bv  depriving  us  of  the  services  of  its  non- 
X*mef  iB5S»  m  these  ceremonials  has  taken 
twav  from  them  something  of  external  state  and  di*- 

nItvythevYertainly  lose  nothing  of  their  impressiveness 
and'.Sst  by  assaimng  a  more  simple  and  less  osten- 

t0  When* luMhT  far-reaching  issues  teat  are  involved 
in  tee  great  trust  now  to  be  confided  to  you,  and  the 
nfluenceits  wise,  faithful,  and  efficient  performance  i 
to  exert  upon  the  country  and  the  world,  are  measured 
■and  understood:  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say,    that 
this  cemnony  surpasses  in  interest  aud  Importance i  any 
teat  accompanies  the  investiture  of  ruler  or  magistrate 
'.with  the .functions  of  civil  government,  however  im- 
nosine  or  significant  they  may  be. 
i P  Of  the  long  procession  of  those  who  are  to  enter  these 
halls    to  pass  through  the  prescribed  curriculum  of 
'studv  and Pbe  subject  to  the  conditions  of  the  discipline 
here 7to *be  adm mistered,  under  your  eye,  and  with  your 
^notion  and  approval,   there  will  not  be  one  whose 
S    Me  may  ro  be  made  or  marred  by  the  exercise 
ot  tee  authority  which  is  this  day  conferred  upon  you 
Mav  it  be  the  proud  boast  of  this  Institution,  under 
vom ^auspicious  and  conscientious  administration,  that 
lwLXPbriehtest  genius  shall  here  find  fit  nurture  tor 
tb f hfahest  power?  no  well-intentioned  effort  tor  im- 
IvSKm  the  humblest  capacity,  shall  tail  ot 
reSgaUw  hands  all  practicable  encouragement 

"uhomd  Ml  short  of  my  duty  on  this  occasion  to  that 
hrnv.o'1  of  the  government  as  whose  organ  it  is  my 
privilege  to .  adK  you.  if  I  did  not  add  to  these  re- 
in™ upon   the  training  the  college  is  to  give,  a  brief 

W^ben.Wve^W°gffle«.the  Fathers  of  New 
England,  inscribed  the  simple  motto  "Veritas"  upon 
the  college  seal,  and  when  their  immediate  successors 


* 


o  O  1     ^. 


S.W 

i-1  _,.  n  ° 

"o  o  o  2     | 

'     g  B*0 

g  ~>  -. 

g  wS3 " 

P"-  SO 

c-a  < 

v<   D-S5 

a-fijc! 

en  ui  »" 


press? uie    w««'"      «"" rr_„*i,    i,    one— "vital   m 

and  ot    pbvsical    science.   ^a&J}%i" '*&  ** 
every  pari  H  cannot,  but  by  ftim»..'a?nK,      -       whQ 

is  but   poorly  armed  in   its   panopi? 


^^S-Kto^tB  of  etliical 
P^'^J?.^  0Mb±T\ruth    is    one-"vitai,  in 

ftunj.''1' 
is  but"  poorly  armed  in  its  pan*>P^  "; „  '  Vroli  can 
fears   that   any   speculation,  study   or   tc^.  f 

Slish  a  want  ot  harmony  between  the  revelation-  ?* 
(od  through  the  spirit  he  has  breathed  into  his  noblest 
creation?  ana  those  he  has  imparted  through  his  im- 
prints upon  the  insensate  rocks. 

Idle  too.  is  the  boast,  or  the  dread,  that  if  such  a 
conflict  is  to  come  its  predestined  and  ignoble  issue 
wtUbe  that  the  highest  and  most  precious  truth 
man  can  comprehend  and  which  ennobles  human 
He  and  all  its  acquisitions  and  accomplishments 
with  teeir  chief  dignity  and  value,  shall  surrender 
to  the  hasty  generalizations  and  unwarranted  and 
unchaltened  f  peculations  of  the  presumptuous 
^olist^vhose.  "mind  has  b?en  subdued  to  what  it 
works  in,  like  the  dyer's  hand."  Were  such  to  be 
tee  result  of  what  is  called  the  progress  of  science, 
as  taught  within  these  walls,  that  fcj  is  to .  to  ig- 
nored to  whose  glory  they  were  reared,  of  what  signi- 
ficance arc  these  idle  ceremonials,  from  winch  we 
St  as  well  turn  away,  "one  to  hi ...  farm  and  another 
to  bis  merchandise,"  contenting  ourselves  only  with 
the "reflection  that,  like  tee  beasts  that  perish,  we  can 
"eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die?" 

Having  thus  given  a  brlei  and  very  inadequate  ex- 
pression of  some  thoughts  respecting  the  training  and 
the  teaching  of  the  fjnivorsity,  which  are  entertained 
„?  its  wisest  and  truest  friends,  and  which 
seem  to  me  not  inappropriate  to  an  occasion  like  this, 
i  onlv  remains  tor  me  to  place  in  your  charge  these 
iLwf  this  ancient  Charter,  and  this  &al  of  the  College, 
the  symbols  and  the  warrant  of  the  authority  now  con- 
ferred upon  you  as  its  oilicial  Head.  ■ 

As  one  of  her  adopted  children,  who  would  tain 
make  his  devotion  to  the  best  interests  of  the  Univer- 
sitvin  some  humble  degree  oonnwnrante  with  her 
prodigal  bestowal  upon  him  of  the  honors  he  has  re- 
ceived at  her  hands,  f  perform  this  grateful  service.  I 
do  it  with  an  abounding  confidence,  teat,  in  your  ad- 
ministration of  the  great  trust  which,  by  your  accep- 
tance of  these  symbols,  you  now  assume,  the  tond  ana 
fervent  hopes  of  all  the  friends  of  the  University,  that 
cluster  around  your  entrance  upon  this  ii"w  Held  ot 
laboi  and  honor,  will  be  amply  justified  and  realized. 

Tendering  to  you,  therefore,  the  awaiting  eonndendB, 
the  cordial  sympathies,  and  the  ready  co-operation  ot 
tee  Fellows  and  Overseers—in  their  name,  and  on  their 
behalf,  1  now  greet  and  welcome  you  as  the  President 


* 


A  BOSTON  NOTION.  /IP ATI 

Boston  is  a  city  of  notions,  everybody  knows.  Amer- 
ica can  show  no  other  city  so  fall  of  matured  sys- 
tems, useful  contrivances  and  odd  conveniences  as  this 
same  Bteton.  The  city  maxim  seems  to  be,  that  "there's 
a  best  way  of  doing  all  things."  In  public  and  in  do- 
mestic affairs,  the  "solid  men  of  Boston"  are  not  con- 
tent with  simple  achievement,  but  they  must  have 
achievement  by  the  best  methods. 

The  latest  illustration  of  this  is  their  scientific  way  of 
giving  a  fire  alarm,  and  calling  out  and  guiding  their 
fire  department.  A  very  simple  matter,  one  would 
think,  to  raise  the  window  sash  and  shout  fi-er  two  or 
three  times,  and  leave  the  alarm  to  spread.  Every  vil- 
lager knows  how  to  pull  a  bell  rope,  and  ring  till  he's 
tired.  Every  New  Yorker  knows  how  to  count  the 
booming  strokes  of  the  big  bells,  as  they  tell  off  the 
district  number.  A  very  simple  thing!  One  way  just 
as  good  as  another,  so  long  as  a  rousing  alarm  is  started. 
By  no  means.  These  Boston  men  have  found  out  a 
best  way. 

If  your  house  takes  fire,  and  gets  past  domestic  con- 
trol, and  you  feel  it  necessary  to  appeal  to  the  munici- 
pal authorities  for  help,  do  not  be  at  all  excited  or 
alarmed.  Do  not  make  yourself  red  in  the  face,  and 
hoarse  with  shouting.  Put  on  yourtat  and  run  to  yon- 
der.corner,  where  you  see  that  little  iron  box  fastened 
up  against  the  wall ;  step  into  the  store,  ask  quietly  for 
the  key,  adding,  "My  house  is  on  fire,"  by  way  of 
apology  for  the  intrusion ;  now  unlock  the  little  iron 
door,  and,  remembering  that  the  longest  way  round  is 
sometimes  the  shortest  way  home,  obey  the  inscription 
and  "turn  six  times  slowly."  Your  responsibility  is 
ended.  You  have  done  all  yonneed  do.  Boston  will 
take  care  of  your  House.  Shut  U»  the  little  door.  Hurry 
home  or  the  engines  will  be  there  before  you! 

Every  bell  in  the  city,  and  several  more  across  the 
water  are  telling  people  where  you  live,  and  that  your 
house  is  on  fire.  In  other  parts  of  the  city,  men  with 
glazed  hats  and  brass  trumpets  may  be  seen  running  to 
these  same  little  iron  boaes;  they  seem  to  whisper  a 
moment,  then  they  listen,  and  then  they  look  very 
knowing,  and  slap  the  dorjr  to;  and  here  they  come,  all 
pellmell  to  your  help.  How  much  time  has  elapsed 
since  you  needed  help?  Perhaps  three  minutes.  There 
is  a  best  way  of  giving  an  alarm,  that's  a  fact. 
But  how  was  it  done? 

That  little  iron  box  you  opened  was  a  telegraph  sta- 
tion; you  can  see  the  wires  where  they  come  down 
through  those  two  iron  pipes  into  the  box.  The  erank 
you  turned  is  merely  a  contrivance  that  enables  an  in- 
experienced person  to  send  the  only  message  ever  sent 
from  this  box— its  own  number.  Just  so  a  hand-organ 
enables  the  grinder  to  play  one  tune  well,  even  though 
he  be  no  organist.  You  turned  it  six  times.  Once 
would  have  been  enough,  but  six  times  over,  and  every 
time  the  same  number,  there  could  be  no  mistake. 
The  central  office  know  in  an  instant  of  your  distress, 
Yes,  but  how  did  that  make  the  bells  ring  all  over 
the  city,  and  East  Boston,  too?  Do  they  keep  a  sexton 
at  every  bell-rope  all  the  time,  ready  to  pull  when  any 
body  telegraphs? 

No;  that  would  be  full  as  bad  as  the  New  York  plan 
of  keeping  watchmen  up  in  the  fire  towers,  on  a  perpet- 
ual look-out.  That  would  not  be  scientific  enough  for 
a  "best"  way.  But  you  know  a  church  clock  strikes 
the  hours  without  any  help  from  the  sexton  except  to 
wind  it  up.  Just  so  the  bells  are  rung  for  fire ;  in  every 
steeple  there  is  a  machine  like  the  striking  of  a  clock. 
These  machines  will  strike  several  hundred  blows  each 
with  their  heavy  hammers,  by  being  wound  up  once. 
When  you  sent  off  your  despatch,  it  went  direct  to  a 
third  story  room  on  Court  Square,  and  was  road  by  a 
man  whose  business  it  is  to  attend  to  such  messages. 
From  this  Bame  room  he  can,  by  touching  a  key,  send 
by  another  set  of  wires,  a  current  of  galvanism  to  every 
steeple  in  the  city.  If  you  look,  you  can  see  these 
wires  entering  every  steeple  that  holds  a  good  bell. 
When  this  galvanic  current  passes  into  the  several 
steeples  it  circulates  in  each  around  a  bar  of  soft  iron, 
which  instantly  becomes  a  powerful  magnet,  strong 
enough  to  lift  the  detent  that  keeps  the  striking  ma- 
chines from  running.  Now  these  machines  are  made 
so  that  they  would  strike  one  blow  and  stop,  unless  the 
magnet  keeps  the  detent  back,  and  leaves  tho  wheels 
unlocked  and  free  to  run:  So  this  man  in  the  little 
third  story  room  by  the  Court  House,  (he  Ml  show  you 
how  it  is  done  if  you  call  upon  him,  for  he  is  very  cour- 
teous to  visitors,)  can,  by  pressing  the  proper  knob  or 
key,  make  these  heavy  bell  hammers  strike  any  num- 
ber^ chooses.  And  he  made  them  strike  the  number 
of  your  ward. 

But  how  happened  the  engines  and  firemen  to  come 
straight  to  my  house?  There  are  two  or  three  thousand 
houses  in  the  ward. 

The  foreman  of  every  fire  company  has  a  key  to 
those  useful  little  iron  boxes,  and  so  when  he  has  got  to 
the  ward  signified  by  the  bells,  he  runs  to  the  nearest 
box,  p.nd  sends  a  private  signal  to  the  man  in  Court 
Square,  asking  "just  where  is  thefiret"  and  then  he 
listens  while  the  answer  comes  back  in  little  taps,  one, 
two,  three,  four,  &c,  till  he  learns  the  number  of  the 
very  box  you  opened  when  you  gave  the  alarm  in  the 
first  place.  Every  box  has  its  own  number.  The  bells 
tolled  the  fireman  what  ward,  and  the  telegraph  taps 
whispered  what  station  box  the  alarm  came  from. 
fn  I  see.  But  is  it  worth  all  this  trouble  of  wires  and 
machinery  and  boxes  and  batteries? 


BOSTON, 


jrjOMMO^  WEALTH     OF     MASSAOHtf. 

^  SETTS. 


■5SH?  55E*#B 


ANCIENT  AND  HONORABLE  ARTILLERY. 

TwcTHundied  and  Thirty-first  Anniversary. 

Tins  magnificent  first  Monday  in  June,  186  i,  b  wit- 
nessing one  AT  the  largest  and  finest  parades  ev\?r  made 
by  the  Ancient  and  Honorable  Artillery  Comp  my  ox 
the  State  of  Massachusetts.  Three  hundred  on 
uniforms  were  in  the  line  as  it  came  up  State  stret  T>  •■  ■ 
about  quarter  past  ten  o'clock,  under  command  01 
Major  George  O.  Carpenter,  preceded  by  Gilmore'9 
Band  of  twenty-iour  pieces,  and  a  drum  corps,  in  which 
Si  Smith  and  Dan  Simpson,  the  veteran  drummer  and 
fifer,  had  a  place.    The  band  was  under  the  leadership 


Headqtjabtebs,  Boston,  December  28, 18«J. 
.  fiEKEBAL  OBDKR,  No.  22. 

Yes,  indeed.     Five  minutes  at  the  beginning  of  a  fire    ^ Sa'lrbS 
are  very  precious.     But  oftentimes,  so  rapid  is  this  svs-       i  <  Arb?cUe-  .     _ 

tem,  an  alarm  will  be  given,  bells  rung  boxes  consult  a  t  g  °rCe  °f  P°hCe  comraftndcd  **  Sergeant  S 
ed,  fire  found,  hose  procured land  screwed  "a  Coc!  k  S;  roster' of  th«  Second  Station,  [including  a  solid 
uate  fire  plug,  and  the  fire  extinguished,  ere  the  familv  P  ♦ T  ? ??md  Policemen' led  the  band-  The  Pleas" 
in  danger  are  well  awake.     Many  a  time,  the  first  thing  °Ut  cr(*lfc£f  81*°**°™  as  well  as 

a  man  knows  of  his  danger  by  fire,  is  that  his  room  is 
Hooded  with  water. 

But  this  municipal  telegraph  is  used  for  more  purpo- 
ses than  one.  In  case  of  riot,  the  police  captains  can 
send  for  help  to  head  quarters.  To  catch  an  abscond- 
ing thief,  by  setting  guard  at  every  railroad  and  steam- 
boat, «an  be  done  in  five  minutes.  Then  too,  very  soon  j 
all  the  city  clocks  will  be  hitched  together  by  these 
wires,  and  all  of  them  go  by  one  central  pendulum,  ac- 
curately, five  hundred  clocks  alike  to  a  second! 

Go  it,  Boston!  We  shall  soon  hear  of  newer  notions 
still.  The  next  move  will  be  to  introduce  into  every 
first  class  house  city  time  as  well  as  city  water  and  city 
gas.  Telegraphic  time  wires  will  be  introduced  just  as 
now  the  water  pipes  and  gas  fixtures  are.  What  a  mil- 
lennium of  punctuality!  Twenty  thousand  clocks  tick- 
ing together!  Yes,  and  next  we  shall  hear  of  a  refine- 
ment of  the  fire  system.  Phillips's  annihilators  will  be 
built  into  the  walls,  their  nozzles  just  peeping  out  into 
the  room.  Convenient  wires  will  be  arranged,  so  that  a 
man  waked  at  midnight  by  a  smell  of  fire  or  a  red  light 
in  his  room,  will  only  need  reach  out  his  arm  to  the  fire 
knob,  and  pull  it  "six  times  slowly,"  and  instantly  that 
wakeful,  watchful,  handy  man  on  Court  Square  will 
touch  his  wires,  not  to  frighten  sleep  from  all  the  city 
with  his  dinging  bells,  but  quietly  he'll  touch  the  wire, 
and  smash  go  the  acid  bottles  in  the  ambushed  annihi- 
lators; phis,  squiz,  fush-sh-sh,  rushes  out  the  humid, 
fire-destroying,  life-preserving  vapor.  The  unseasona- 
ble fire  surrenders  and  goes  out.  But  long  ere  this,  the 
solid  man  has  rolled  himself  back  into  bed  again,  tuck- 
ed the  blanket  snug  about  his  chin  and  fallen  a'sleep 
blessing  the  best,  the  very  best,  the  Boston  way  of  put- 
ting opt  fires.  .      r 


Boston  in  1798.— Major  Jones  has  in  his  pos- 
session a  schedule  of  the  expenses  of  the  town  of 
Bo>ton  from  May  1, 1798,  to  May  1, 1799.  It  ap- 
pears that  schoolmasters  received  pretty  high 
salaries  in  1798,  when  seven  of  these  useful  per- 
sons each  received  an  aunual  s  tlary  of  $666.64. 
Seven  ushers  each  received  just  half  of  that  sum. 
school  committees  lad  free  entertainments  even 
in  those  days,  since  ''Vila"  received  $289.52  for 
"entertaining"  the  school  committee.  The  watch- 
men received  about  $100  per  year  for  their  ser 
vices.  The  town  treasurer  and  town  clerks  were 
paid  the  same  as  the  school  masters,  and  assessors 
received  $533.32  apiece.  The  total  expenses  of  the 
town  were  $49,061.54,  ana  the  schedule  is  signed 
by  Charles  Bulfinch,  David  Tilden,  Russell  Sfcurgis, 
Joseph  Howard,  ^benezer  Hancock,  William.  Por- , 
ter,  William  Sherburne,  John  Tileston,  §amuel 
Cobb. 

B^Duriag  five  years  endiog"in'l86'9,  there  were 
four  thousand  and  forty-nine  dwelling  houses  erected 
in  Boston,  while  durii  g  the  war  period  of  five  years 
ending  in  18C5,  lhere  were  enly  seven  hundred  and 
twenty  houses  built.  Tne  increase  of  population  for 
the  five  years  ending  in  1860  was  15,092;  increase  be- 
tween 1860  and  1865, 15,484. 

Edward  Ward,  who  wrote  a  book  about  Ncw 
England  which  was  printed  in  1699,  says  of  the 
Bostonians  of   that  period:    "The  inhabitants 
seem  very  religious,  snowing  many  outward!  and 
visible  signs  of  an  inward  and  spiritual  grace. 
But,  though  they  wear  in  their  faces  the  inno- 
cence of  doves,  you  will  find  them  in  their  deal- 
ings   as    subtle   as   serpents.    Interest  is  their 
faith,   money  their  god,  and  large  possessions 
the  only  heaven  they  covet.'' 
Ball's  equestrian  statue  of  Washington,  made 
of  bronze  at    the  Ames  Works  in  Chicopee   for 
the  Public  Garden  at  Boston,  was  shippcd'last 
fek.    It  was  taken  in    pieces,   packed  iu  ten 


the  strong  force  of  m'litnry.am'r^fcsidewalks  were  lined 
on  State  and  Washington  streets.  The  first  platoon  was 
commanded  by  Capt.  A.  A.  Folsom,  Superintendent  of 
the  Providence  Eailroad,  and  his  right  guide,  P.aff, 
had  the  honor  or  marching  shoulder  to  shoulder  with 
Gen.  Banks.  Next  to  the  latter  in  the  front  rank  were 
Generals  Cowdin  and  Wass. 

There  were  seven  platoons  in  uniform,  the  sixth  of 
which,  under  Capt.  Cundy,  with  Capt.  A.^P.  Walcott 
as  right  guide,  was  the  color  platoon,  and  consisted  of 
twenty  atalwart  men  in  Continental  uniform.  There 
were  about  140  men  in  full  uniform,  and  nine  more 
platoons  containing  200  men  in  black  dress  suits  and 
chapeaux,,  with  swords. 

The  route  was  up  State,  Washington,  Bromfield, 
Tremont,  and  Beacon  streets,  to  the  State  House, 
where  Governor  Claflin  and  his  staff  had  position 
on  the  steps,  under  escort  of  Major  E.  J.  Jones,  State 
Constable,  with  a  strong  force  o~  his  deputies. 

After  the  usual  ceremonies,  the  column  moved  from 
the  right  to  the  left,  by  platoons,  and  receiving  the 
Governor  and  staff  behind  the  colors  marched  down 
Beacon  to  the  Charles-street  gate,  ;and  along  the 
Charles-street  mall,  the  Boylston-street  mall,  the  Tre> 
mont-street  mall  to  the  West-street  gate,  and  then  by 
West,  Bedford,  Kingston,  Summer,  Winthrop  place 
Devonshire  and  Milk  streets,  to  the  Old  South  Church, 
where  they  arrived  at  about  11>£  o'clock.  ■ 
At  the  Old  South  Church. 

The  galleries  of  the  Old  South  Church  contained  an 
unusually  large  number  of  ladies,  and  the  church  was 
soon  filled.  The  exercises  consisted  of  a  voluntary  on 
the  organ,  the  singing  ot  a  Te  Diun,  the  reading  of 
selections  from  the  Scriptures,  tne  singing  of  an  an- 
them,''Ever  thus  in  God's  hi?h  praises/' prayer;  an 
original  hymn,  written  by  Rev'.  T.  J.  Greenwood;  the 
sermon,  by  Rev.  Augustus  Woodbury,  of  Providence, 


ArtHJery    Election    In    1808. 

In  those  clays,  the  chronicler  says,  artillery  election 

tut  thing  "from  what  it  is  now.-    Evorv- 

where  in  this  vicinity  it  was  a  general  holiday,  the 

hotels  were  \ve!i  occupied,  the  country  stages  came  iu 

lull,  vehicles  and  foot-folk  thronged  from  neighboring 

hamli  ts,  booths  were  erected  on  the  training-field,  or 

Common,  and  the  museums  and  the  theatre  had  per- 

foimances  arranged  expressly  for  the  occasion.    The 

following  is  the  playbill  advertised  for  the  night  of  tke 

(rtdayin  June,  1808,  which  was  the  sixth  day 

thereof* 

ARTILLERY    ELECTION. 


The  Public  are  respectfully  informed,  that  tho  THEA- 
TRE will  be  opened  for  One  fflghl  only.' 

THIS  EVENING,  JUNE   6, 

Will  be  presented,  for  this  night  oulv,  a  much  admired 

Comedy,  in  five  acts,  called 

LIFE. 

Or,  The  WOULD  AS  IT  GOES. 

Sir  Harry  Torpid Mr.  Bernard. 

n  u  •  1;,;l,'"",'\'' Mr.  Dickenson. 

Gabriel  trackbrain,Mr.  Powell. . Jonathan, Mr.Morgan. 

Marchinont. uy  a  geu  a 

Jbemy  his  second  appearance  on  any  Si 

Clifford, J    jVj/  eoe 

Craftly,  Mr.  Barnes. . . .  Waiter,  Mr.  Viniu'g 

Mrs.  Be, lord.  Mrs   j,0Wi?n 

,,  Rcsa  JMttirchmont, Mrs.  Poe 

-Mrs.  Decoy,  Mr?.  Graupner Betty,  Mr-;    1  fear 

In  the  nurse  (/the  I  omedy,  f 
Tenderness  Form'd, 


k 


boxes,  and  sent  in  two  instalments,    itsiptai 

weight  is  13,000  pounds.     '<     ■  'S'otyy 


r  the 


ai 
A  New  Way  to 


■a, 
Mrs. 


Harlequin,  Mr.  "WYi 
—lien  liaulyard,  Mr. 

W'^T^l  l)io,']i'  Mr-  Poo'-'CuIubBiL  . 
Polly,  Mrs.    Poe-Sukey,   Mrs.    Usher-Peea. 
Giaupner—  Saily,  Mrs.  llenrj  . 

XT    ^  •»</,  Of 

.Nobodv  coming  to  Marry  Me,  bv  Mrs    Poe 


And  The  boor's  Welcome  Home, 

'  Bv  Mr.    Vmmg. 

The  whole  to  conclude  with  o 
GTAND     MILITARY     &     NAVAL    SPECTACLE. 

Genius  of  Columbia, ^"'Hv1;      =™ 

Justice,  Mrs  Poo Liberty,  Mrs    Dickenson. 

The  front  of  the  Stage  represents, 

A  MILITARY  &  NAVAL  PILLAR; 

Contouring  the  Names  ot—Warren,Qreene,*na  Knox— 

Preble,  Decatur,  and  Somers. 
At  the  upper  end  of  the  Stage  is  seen  the  Genius  of  Co 
lumbia  supported  by  Liberty  and  Justice ;  I he  M di- 
tary  and  Naval  Pillars  are  supported  by  Oflicers  ot 
the  Army  and  Navy,  Soldiers,  Sailors  &c. 
In  the  course  of  tiu  the  admired  Song  of 

My  Bonnv  Bold  Soldier,  by  Mrs.   Graupner. 
A  Patriotic  Address,  to  be  spoken  by 

Mrs.  Usher. 
A  Negro  Military  Duet,  called 
Go  to  Bed  Tom  —  by  Mr.  Dickenson   and 
Mrs.    (iro.upner.  , 

The  Eveniug'*ejtcrtainments  to  conclude  with  a  irxi- 
/  w  riotie  Song,  called 
God  Save  the  Sixteen  States  11 
UST"  Doors  to  be  ojiened  at  a  quarter  before  7,  and 
the  Curtain  to  rise  at  half  past  7  o'clock,  precisely. 


The  Baptist  National  Anniversaries. 


/ 


The  Festival. 


A 


The  delegates  and  v  isitors  to  the  anniversary  exercises 
of  the  grcut  Baptist  denomination  had  a  fest'Yal  in  the 
Temple  last  evening,  which  was  a  wonderful  succe:?. 
The  floor  of  the  Temple,  and  the  balcony  seat-,  e*»pj 
those  at  the  extreme  rear  of  the  gaftey,  were  flued 
with  ladies  and  gentlemen,  to  the  number  proDaD.y  o* 
16C  J  persons.  Andyet  every  one  was  pervert  promp ty 
and  served  well.  William  B.  Stacy,  the  jentlemarJ  who 
oL  Par.ons  in  the  care  of  the  Temple,  and  Mm- 
gelf  of  CharleE-street  Church,  was  the  catares,  nm  gave 
complete  satisfaction.  A  volunteer  corps  of  150  young 
youD"  ladies  and  75  young  gentlemen  officiated  as  wait- 
er*, and  it  was  wonderful  with  what  military  prompt- 
ness all  their  movement?  were  performed.  All  were 
prettily  attired,  and  every  one  woie  a  while  apron. 

The  company  were  all  in  their  seats  at  i  o  clocK,  l. 
P  Kyder,  the  organist  of  the  Temple,  playiug  while 
thev  were  gathering,  some  choice  selections  on  the  or- 
gan. Rev.  Dr.  Robinson  called  the  company  to  order, 
and* the  divine  blessing  was  invoked  by  Rev.  Dr.  Ide,  of 

'~!ATbell  sounded,  and  out  from  the  side  ante-rooms, 
both  above  stairs  and  below,  came  six  long  columns  of 
young  ladies,  one  line  of  25  for  each  ot  the  four  aisles 
below  and  two  above,  bearing  plates.    • 

They  were  enthusiastically  applauded,  and  when  they 
had  delivered  the  plates  and  were  retiring,  from  the  op- 
lirection,  from  the  doors  of  entrance,  came  the 
voung  gentlemen  with  cups.  Seven  times  the  young 
ladies  came  forth,  each  time  with  a  welcome  burden, 
the  last  course  being  ice  cream,  and  the  young  men  in 
the  meantime  busying  themselves  with  the  coffee  and 
t°a. 

"ioward  the  end  of  the  entertainment,  alter  the  empty 
saucers  (or  spoons  and  cream  were  distributed,  Mr. 
Fulton  wished  to  make  a  statement,  and  on  his  appear- 
ina  on  the  platform  was  hailed  with  a  din  of  applause, 
-  u-ed  bv  the  beating  of  spoons  on  saucers.  The  noiie 
great,  and  Mr.  Fulton,  after  waiting  some 
*ime  d-ew  a  chair  to  the  front  and  seated  fiim-eif. 
ih*s'drew  fcith  shouts  of  laughter  and  renewed  uproar 
Finally  he  was  allowed  to  make  an 
announcement,  which  was  also  applauded. 

The  platform  was  occupied  by  a  long  table,  magniti- 
c ntlv  <!  ■  flowers  and  rare  exotics  and  va- 

riegated plants  from  the  Floral  Conservatory  of  William 
Loogue,  07'.  Washington  street,  and  covered  with  re- 
vi  which  the  eminent  clergy  in  seats  be- 

biiid  it  '  1.        ,,,..,        „.-!,, 

M  half  past  8  o'clock-,  the  debris  of  the  cotla -on  had 

.   the  fair   young  servitors  were  seated 

.  and  the  literary  feasts  began,  the 

In  Bounding  forth  in 

■ 

'"'iir    Iicbitson  made  an  opening  address,   on  three 

lis  in  the  history  Baptist* 

When  ' 

i  The  story  of  the  iiwt  English 
y  tried  to  condemn  and  declared 
eculion  were  wholesome  and  thus 
tory.  ft  was  to  suppress  that  very 
Iv  that  they  were  persecuted. 
1  by.  Thre^  hundred 
as  alarmed,  Queen   Eiizal 

are  Ave 

.<!   the  tore-gners.  tl 

church,  which  was  too  Rom  sh  toaat- 

!;  >mau- 
tholicand  of  Unit  d 
■rsion  of  those  who 

ago  to-day,  in  this  city .  the  church 
d  to  betake  if 
I.    Two  hundred  ye 
gitated.     Co-, 
hard-hearted  man  and    • 
I    WOUld    ere   - 
tists.    1  ■-.  "   very  day  t! 

ution  of 

,'■(]  yean  ago  tin    Baptist*  had  planted 

their  cl 

and.    We  nave 

They  have 

venrs'  ot 

'   •'•>'  form.    '! 

turbera  or  the 
ncace     In  the  broad  State   ot    \  rag    the 

who  ban.  been  Imported  to  oversee  and  b 

■   rating,  card-plfiy!ei.tv::-hunting,iolp^ne»t8 

of  the  E 

—had  sprung  up,  and  it  was  just  one  huudr 
ago  that  Daniel  Boone  tracked  bis  way  from 
and  Baptists  set   fOOl    upon  the -oil  of   Virgin:  < 
it  was  that  our  origin  was  •  I  church- 

es    ii  is  by  the  spjrit  ot  God  and  by  his  truth 
had  our  origin.     We  are  thus  held   together  to  day  by 
one  centralized  spirit.    Not  only  have  we  had  a  bb> 
I   torv.buf  Cod  has  had  a  purpose  in  it. 


The  doctrine  of  baptism  was  alluded  to,  and  then, 
with  a  compliment  to  Boston,  the  speaker  introduced 
the  Mayor  of  Boston,  Hon.  N.  B.  Shurtlelf. 

Mayor  Shurtlelf  gave  the  company  a  generous  wel- 
come to  tbe  city,  and  said  this  gathering  reminded  him 
of  ihe  good  old"  days  when  his  lathe- and  mother  uced 
to  assemble  with  other  Baptists  on  festive  or  social 
occasions.  He  made  a  very  tine  address,  and  said  he 
lad  been  gratified  with  the  chairman's  remarks  about 
early  days  of  the  Baptist  tect  in  this  city,  then  an  old 
colonial  town ;  and  I  feel  a  personal  pleasure  in  remem- 
bering that  more  than  200  years  a^o  one  of  my  own 
ancestors,  though  bearing  a  different  name,  was  driven 
irom  his  friends,  from  hi.-  evho  passed  over  i 

the  wide  ocean  in  the  May  Flower  to  settle  in  this  ' 
colony,  simply  because  he  gave  harbor  and  shelter  to  a 
~  iptist — to  Roger  Williams.  [Applause.]  Roger  Wil- 
is was  driven  to  Rhode  Island.  This  good  ancestor 
3  was  drivflnrrb  Connecticut,  and  there  found 
,c  of  an  entirely  different  denomination  trom 
thoce  that  settled  Massachusetts  and  Plymouth,  among 
whom  he  had  a  home  and  a  resting-place.  The  Mayor 
was  v  amdy  cheered. 

Rev.  Dr.  Anderson,  formerly  of  the  Dudley-street 
society,  Boston  Highlands,  made  an  earnest  and  elo^ 
quest  address,  in  which  he  declared  his  devotion  to 
Massachusetts,  proved  her  generosity,  and  then  dis- 
eased the  great  work  the  denomination  has  to  do. 
Thev  hold  to  the  etern'd  purposes  ot  God  and  his  sov- 
ereign grace,  and  resting  upon  his  grace  an  I  purposes 
lie  knew  they  must  go  forward  and  prosper.   The  fi«me 
Missionary  Society  had  done  a  great  work  in  the  South 
among  the  frcedmen,  and  he  believed  that  in  the  Bap- 
tist denomination  there  was  more  knowledge  in  refer- 
ence to  the  best  way  ot  educating  the  fre 
any  other  denomination.    God  had  preserved 
i  ( iv  ination  from  receiving  grants  of  land  and  of  money 
until  they  were  able  to  make  the  most  of  them,  and  to 
do  tbe  work  God  designed  them  to  do.    They  wore  a 
denomination  of  inspiration  and  not  of  money,  and 
although  seeming  sometimes  behind  others,  they  were 
yet  in  the  vanguard  of  God's  army  in  the  salvation  ot 
the  world.  .     , 

Rev.  Dr.  Caldwell,  of  Providence,  R.  I.,  was  received 
with  much  applause.  He  remembered  that  people 
from  Rhode  Island  had  not  always  been  so  extremely 
welcome  in  Boston ;  in  fact,  there  used  to  be  a  time 
v  hen  they  were  not  (mite  well  treated,  and  one  at  least 
of  his  predecessors  (Roger  Williams)  was  obliged  to  re- 
tire from  Boston  with  a  rather  summary  dismissal,  and 
was  obliged  to  spend  some  fourteen  weeks  not  knowing 
what  bed  and  bread  meant.  Had  he  been  pre  ent  that 
ni<*ht  he  might  have  made  some  new  discoveries,  and 
found  out  at  least  what  bread  was.  He  (the  speaker) 
would  tell  Rev.  E.  E.  Hale,  author  of  the  charming 
"Ingham  Papers,"  that  a  collation  means  a  dinner  with 
a  good  deal  to  eat. 

Dr  Caldwell  spoke  of  the  past  and  of  the  future  of 
the  Baptists.  He  believed  they  were  worthy  to  do  the 
work  God  had  given  into  their  hands.  He  felt  some- 
times, however,  a  want  of  the  spirit  of  preaching  in 
their  denomination;  he  felt  that  they  relied  rather 
more  on  the  rectitude  of  their  principles  and  the  glory 
of  their  history  than  on  being  true  to  them  and  true  to 
the  things  by  which  a  successful  future  is  to  come. 
When  they  entered  into  this  future  he  believed  God 
would  open  it  to  them  in  Europe,  America,  Asia  and 
all  the  earth,  and  there  would  be  realized  to  them  the 
beautiful "and  glowing  vision  presented  to  them  yester- 
day in  the  splendid  discourse  of  the  morning. 

ihe  next  speaker  was  J.  Irad  Smith,  ot  Brooklyn, 
N  Y.    He  remarked  that  he  never  visited  Boston  with- 
out being  made  painfully  aware  of  three  things— the 
Revolutionary  War,  Quincy  granite,  and  Daniel  Web- 
ster.   [Laughter.]    That  was  Boston.    [  Renewed  laugh- 
tf r  1      Ti-ey  called  their  city  the  Hub,  and  ft  followed 
of  course  that  every  man  and  boy  in  Boston  must  be  a 
hub-bub.    [Loud  laughter.]    It  was  a  misfortune,  after 
a'     that  they  did  not  live  in  New  York  city,  and  they 
w       1  find  that  the  best  citizen  in  the  world  was  a  cross 
be      *n  a  Yankee  and  a  New  Yorker.  He  wished  to  a  ly 
a  lew  words  on  "  U.S."  and  Grant,  that  it  may  ever  spell 
an  honorable  man  when  it  does  it.    He  recollected  that 
one  day,  in  Chestnut  street,  Philadelphia,  he  saw  a  reg- 
iment of  Africans  go  off  to  the  war,  and  they  came,  lbJO 
of  them,  each  witn  a  bright  argument  on  his  shouider; 
something  the  same  as  one  of  their  Massachusetts  men 
Baltimore  in  reply  to  a  question,  "  Where  s 
your  .antic?"  said  "In  our  cartridge  boxes!"    Well, 
each  black  had  a  leather  belt  around  his  loins,  with  a     t 
braes  piece  in  front  bearing  the  letters  "  U.  S.    and  + 
thev  afterward  fought  as  "us."    Immediately  aner  the 
batt'e  of  Gettysburg,  be  (the  speaker)  visited  one  of 
•Hoe  old  Dutch  bam?  that  had  been  convert  jd  nuo  a  ■ 
b1  and  he  found  lying  near  the  entrance  a  solduv 
"in  gray  uniform  who  was  evidently  dying.    Ho 
for  the  departiug  spirit,  and  o.i   rising  from  his 
undthal  the  man's  soul  had  gone  b  io.vits 


at  the  head  of  the  Scriptural  commn  tnere  was  to  ue 
seen  the  banner  of  Christ,  bearing  the  words,  "In  this 
sign  we  conquer."    [Warm  applause  followed.] 

Rev.  Dr.  Phelps,  of  New  Haven,  recited  a  poem  writ- 
ten especially  for  the  occasion  and  containing  numerous 
good  nits. 

Rev.  Dr.  Caswell,  of  Brown  University,  made  an.  ex- 
cellent speech,  in  which  he  complimented  the  yoaftg 
ladies,  spoke  of  the  scene  as  one  which  he  bad  never 
witnessed  in  continental  Europe  with  all  her  devotion 
to  Catholicism,  and  of  the  beauty  of  this  scene  as  sur- 
passing that  of  all  the  temples  of  the  old  world.  The 
broad  principles  of  Baptist  faitii  and  action  were  re- 
ferred to,  and  the  speaker  closed  with  exhorting  all  to 
help  young  men  to  enter  the  ministry.  *      7 


liy  yuuuj;  uieu  u>  emer  uie  ministry. 

Rev.  Dr.  Price,  of  Aberdare,  Wales,  made  »  brie/ ad- 
dress, containing  many  witty  allusions  to  himself  and 
his  country.  In  speaking  of  the  eminent  persons  who 
had  come  from  W ales  to  this  country,  he  referred  to 
Roger  Williams  and  John  Ingles,  both  eminent  for  their 
pietv  and  zeal  in  the  church.  He  could  not  claim  Wash- 
ington for  a  countryman,  but  his  wife,  Martha,  was  the 
granddaughter  oi  a  Welchman.  There  were  hundreds 
of  Weldimen  constantly  emigrating  to  America,  and 
already  there  were  a  hundred  thousand  of  hia  country- 
men in  this  country,  delving  in  our  mines,  or  as  skilled 
artisans  in  our  workshops,  and  to  the  Baptist  Home 
Missionary  Society  he  would  gladly  reooauneud  tbem 


I 


ft 

Thanksgiving  Marketing. 

The  region  about  the  Market  and  in  the  vicinity  ot  Mar- 
ket and  Clinton  streets  has  been  particutarty  busy  for 
^several  days,  and  the  relations  of  our  citizens  with  Turkey 
have  been  very  friendly.     The  bulk  of  the  trade  yes- 
terday was  with  out  of  town  dealers,  and  100  tons  of  poul- 
,  try  were  sold  by  the  commission  houses  alone,  while  the 
"^retail  trade  was  stimulated  by  a  light  supply  and  the  fear 
of  higher  prices  today.    There  was  more  than  the  usual 
.proportion  of  ordinaiy  turkeys,  but  chickens  and  geese 
/  were  uniformly  good.    - 

Prices  from  the  commission  houses  ranged  from  25@30c 
for  turkeys,  23c  for  chickens,  20@22c  for  ducks,  and  23c  for 
geese ;  while  inside  the  market  turkeys  retailed  at  30@35c ; 
ducks,  30c;  black  ducks,  pair,  $1  50;  geese,  25c;  chick- 
ens, 25c ;  partridges,  %\  50  per  pair.  Other  articles  which 
go  to  make  up  a  Thanksgiving  dinner  sold  at  17c  per 
bunch  for  celery,  87c  per  peck  for  onions,  5c  per 
lb  for  sweet  potatoes,  35c  per  peck  for  Jack- 
son white  potatoes,  20c  per  quart  for  cranberries, 
50@75c  per  peck  for  apples ;  40c  per  dozen  for  egga ;  3c 
per  lb  for  Hubbard  squash ;  !5@50c  each  for  pumpkins ; 
17c  per  quart  for  shellbarks;  15@30e  par  lb  for  raisins, 
and  40c  per  quart  for  oysters.  A  large  number  of  our 
merchants  and  manufacturers  have  gladdened  the  haarts 
of  their  workmen  by  tho  present  of  a  turkey,     J 


if- 


8' 
f 


man  nearby  beckoned  to  him  and  asked  h  m 

letter  for  him.    He  said  he  was  Major  VVil- 

ie  Second  Florida  Brig  d     'i  ut 

'down       '  you  please,  that  1   am 

Here  Wai  an  example  for  them.    Whatever  differenc* 

mgstmen,  let  there  exist  at  least  respect 

aiHe°\v  i  have  differences  amongst  men  covered  up. 
The  M.  said:  "When  we  get  the  IJmrm  auani  built 
ui.  ni.d\.o  shall  get  it,  (and  he  could  tall  them  that 
those  words  sounded  differently  ou  the  Held  at  Uettys- 
burcthan  the)  did  in  the  Temple  that  night),  we  w. 
shake  hands."     lie  V/   r'0^  > 

and  with  a  burst  of  tears,  the  hands  were  shaken;  tbe 
riirht  hand  oi'  union  fellowship  in  that  barn,  there 
wa   commenced  the  work  of  union,  of  reconstruction. 

Sow  the  Bpeaker  rejoiced  to  :ee  around  him  on 
Ui  .t  platform  so  many  brethren;  every  man, what- 
ever bis  condition,  whatever  tho  color  of  his  skin,  was 
■  man  and  brother  now.  The  man  who  did  not  love  ' 
his  State  thebestprad  his  country  the  best,  was  not 
lit  to  have  a  country  at  "Ml;  neither  was  he  fit  to  bo 
born,  and  he  might  also  auNJ  that  there  was  not  much  . 
horn  when  he  was  born,  [kfagbtpr.]  He  loved  the  - 
Baptists,  be  loved  the  river  of  Jordan,  and  he  came  in 
timate  way  from  the  Presbyterian  (Jhurch;  but 
ed  every  one  who  loved  the  Lord.Je.-us  Chr.st 
fust  in  proportion  as  they  love  Mini.  Me  stood  at  * rert- 
ericksburg  when  men  marched  to  the  front  singing  to 
one  tune,  "John  Brown."  On  they  marched,  some  un- 
der the  Ma.-sachusetls  banner,  some  under  the  New 
York  banner,  and  under  all  the  emblems  of  the  States, 
all  marching  to  tho  same  mnie,  nil  singing  tho  same 
grand  old  hymn ;  but  he.  noticed  that  at  the  head  of  the 
column  there  was  neither  a  Massachusetts  «?'»£{>» 
York  banner,  but  the  glorious  stars  and  stripes  which 
he  loved.  Me  rejoiced  exceedingly  that  at  the  head I  of 
the  Christian  army  there  was  no  party  banner,  but  tnat 


In  1861  the  total  valuation  of  Boston  was  $275,- 

760,100 ;  in  1868  it  was  $493,573,700,  showing  an  increase 
of  over  two  hundred  millions  oj  dollars. 

The  receipts  of   butter   in  Boston  last  week 
amounted   to   17,981  package's  and  586  boxes. 
This  is  believed  to  be  the  largest  fluantitycrer  - 
received  in  that  city  hi  one  week^^fr'  l?J[_ 

The  Dbath-ratb  of  Boston.    The  follow- 
ing facts  from  the  State  registration  reports 
will   answer   inquiries   which   are   frequently 
made.    The   death-rates  are   based  upon  tho  . 
actual  count  of  the  number  living  at  lixed  pe- 
riods in  each  half-deeade  of  years,  which  num-  — 
ber  stands   unchanged  until  »  new   census  is  { 
taken.  .  ' 

This  is  the  only  safe  course  to  pursue,  since,  -. 
although  we  know  that  the  population  is  con- 
stantly growing,  tho  rats  of  increase  must  be  a 
matter  of  conjecture  in  which  no  two  persons 
would  be  likely  to  reach  the  same  conclusion. 

The    death-rates  of   the  years  in  which  the 
census  was  taken  (1850, 1855, 18(50  and  1865)  may 
be  supposed  to  be  perfectly  correct: 
Years.  Rate*.  \  Years.  ,..^u' 

'.'.'.'.'.22.3 

23.1 

26.4 

28.7 

25.5 

2J.8 

%i 

25 

25 


I860. 
1851... 
1862. . . 
18C3. .. 
1854... 
1855... 
1806... 
1867. . , 
1858.. 
.  1869.. 


Average 
ten  years, 


1860. 
1861. 

1862 

1863 

18C4 

1865 

1866 

1887 

1868 

I     1869 

26.3  1    Average 
to  the  1000  |  ten  years, 


.  20.8 
.28.2 
.27.3 
.31.3 
.32.1 
.26.4 
.  26.6 
.23.1 
.21.7 
.21.2 


24.60 
to  the  1000 


6 


(JKOBOB  DEKMY,  M.  D., 

Sec'y  of  State  Board  of  Health. 
Boston,  May  5th,  1870. 

In  Boston,  over  400,000  pounds  of  hair  are 
used  up  annually  for  mattrusses,  &c.,  to  say 
norhii)"'  of  what  is  sold  to  be  carried  off,  and  the 
lai"'c  quantities  or  execttior,  husks  and  palm- 
leaf  for  mattrasaes.    The  hair  comes  trom  South 
\merica   in   the   raw  state,  it   is   manufactured 
into  rope,  and  coiled  up  and   picked  to  pieces 
from  the   rope  by  women   and  children,  which 
(rives   it  its  curl   and   elasticity. 
Tin.  FlBBT  Chubch  Beix  Cast  in  Boston.— The 
bell   which  was   cast   for  the   old    North    Unitarian 
('■Cockerel")  Church  in  Hpnover  street,  and  remained 
in  the  belfry  of  the  old  frame  church  until  it  was 
demolished,  and  was  then  again  placed  in  the  belfry  of 
the  present  edifice,  which  is  now  being  taken  down 
for  the  widening  of  Hanover  street,  was  safely  landed 
upon  tbe  sidewalk  on  Saturday  afternoon.    The  be!! 
weighs  two  thousand  pounds,  and  was  cast  at   the 
North  End  in  1792,  by  Paul   Eevere,  from  the  metal  of 
cannon  and  other  material  captured  during  the  revo- 
lutionary War.    It  wa*  the  first  belt  cast  in  Uoston. 


' 


This  one 
city  has  produced  half  the  literature  of  the  na- 
tion.   She  is  entitled  to  her  proud  name,  "the 

Athens  of  America."    More  than  this,  in   intel-  -the  annual  report  of  the  Uochituate    water  > 

hrtual  activity,  in  the  culture  of  her  native  cit-  board  of  Boston  shows  that  the  average  daily  | 

izens,    and  in   genuine  democracy,  she  stands  consumption  has  been  14,769,167  gallons;  that  ! 

without  a  peer  in  the  world's  history.    Around  the  income  from  water  rates  for  last  year  was  j 

her  is  a  commonwealth  only  251  years  old,  with  $553,744;  that  the  current  expenses  were  S16J,-  ! 

as  dense  a  population  as  that  of  Europe,  and  890;  and  the  expenditure  over   and  above   re- 

with  a  higher  civilization,  for  universal  educa-  ceipts  5160,406. 
tiou,  equality  and  libcrtv  of  thought  and  speech 

have  reared  their  altars  on  its  granite  rocks."  -  £-—      .^  .     ^  .mncxation  of  Dorches. 

_  T         Ha     T.     .,     .   „       .        .     ,    ter,  as  to  territorial  limits,  4532  acres,  giving  a 

Boston,  June  16.— President  Grant  armed   grand  total  of  ncavly  10)000  acreS)  aml  a  popula- 

at  the  Old  Colony  depot  in  Boston,  at  about  8  ^n  01^250,000. 

o'clock,  having  been   accompanied  from   New      Dorchester,  birthplace  of  Edward  Everett, — 

York,  on  the  Fall  River  line,  by  Gens.  Bates  good  old  Puritan  town,  in  becoming  ward  six- 

„„  i  tt„,i« «,?  „f  r^™,.,,™  (ii„fl;„)0  „♦„«•  „„ j   teen  of  Boston  adds  to  the  latter  city  s  territor- 

and  Underwood  of  Governor  Claflni  s  staff,  and  M  limltS4532  acres.    Boston's  vote  on    the  an 


y 


by  no  other  person.  The  mayor  and  the  city 
committee  received  him  at  the  station,  and  the 
party  drove  to  the  St.  James  Hotel,  where  the 
President  was  introduced  to  the  state  committee. 
The  Boston  School  Regiment,  six  hundred 
strong,  of  three  battalions,  from  the  Latin 
School,  the  High  School  and  the  Roxbury  Latin 
School,jwas  reviewed  by  President  Grant,  in  front 
of  the  hotel,  at  9i  o'clock. 

The  General  was  afterward  escorted  to  the 
State  House,  and  presented  to  the  Governor  and 
Senate  and  House  of  Representatives,  and  ap- 
propriately welcomed  by  each. 

The  President  was  then  escorted  to  the  Boston 
Highlands  to  review  the  division  of  militia  un- 
der the  command  of  General  Butler. 

The  troops  were  reviewed  by  President  Grant 
on  Trcmont  street.  The  right  of  the  line  rested 
at  the  Providence  depot  in  the  Highland  district, 
the  left  at  the  corner  of  Berkley  and  Tremont 
streets.  The  President  was  received  at  the  right 
of  the  line  by  Major-General  Butler  and  staff. 
The  General  rode  up  to  the  barouche  and  shook 
hands  with  the  President,  who  was  loudly  cheer- 
ed by  the  crowds  of  people  around.  A  horse  was 
brought,  which  the  President  mounted.  A  horse 
was  also  brought  for  Gov.  Claflin.  The  Presi- 
dent, accompanied  by  the  Governor,  Gen.  But- 
ler and  staff,  rode  down  the  line  and  reviewed 
the  troops,  who  were  evidently  in  good  condi- 
tion and  presented  a  fine  appearance. 

As  the  President  rode  along  the  line  he  was 
repeatedly  and  enthusiastically  cheered.  Many 
houses  were  gaily  decorated  with  flags.  An  im- 
mense concourse  of  people  thronged  Tremont 
street  during  the  review.  The  windows  and 
balconies  of  all  the  houses  were  crowded. 

After  arriving  at  the  left  of  the  line,  the  Presi- 
dent took  up  a  position  at  the  corner  of  Berkley 
and  Appleton  streets,  when  the  right  wing  of 
the  brigade,  in  open  column  of  companies,  passed 
in  review  before  him,  and  escorted  by  the  left 
wing  he  proceeded  up  Berkley  street  to  the 
Coliseum,  the  cheers  of  the  people  greeting  him 
all  along  the  route.  Alderman  White,  chair- 
man of  the  city  reception  committee,  received 
the  President  in  a  spacious  drawing  room  in  the 
Coliseum,  where  an  elegant  collation  was  par- 
taken of,  Mayor  Shurtleff  doing  the  honors. 

In  the  meantime  the  Coliseum  was  being 
packed  with  full  fifty  thousand  people.  Every 
seat  was  taken,  and  thousands  were  glad  to  find 
standing  room.  The  weather  being  fine,  ladies 
were  in  full  dress,  and  the  scene  was  novel  and 
impressive  beyond  description.  The  crowd  out- 
side the  Coliseum  was  also  immense,  probably 
as  many  as  inside. 

The  President's  reception  on  entering  the 
main  building  was  most  enthusiastic.  The  vast 
mass  rose,  and  cheer  upon  cheer,  with  waving 
handkerchiefs,  hats,  and  other  demonstrations, 
greeted  him.  The  President  repeatedly  bowed 
his  thanks. 

The  concert  programme  for  to-day  was  mainly 
of  a  classical  character,  and  the  performance 
gave  complete  satisfaction,  judging  from  the  ap- 
plause bestowed.  The  "Star  Spangled  Banner" 
and  "Anvil  Chorus"  aroused  tremendous  enthu- 
siasm, and  were  both  repeated. 

After  the  close  of  the  musical  performances, 
the  President  was  escorted  to  the  Revere  House, 
where  a  sumptuous  municipal  banquet  was  pro- 
vided. About  200  gentlemen,  including  Secre- 
tary Boutwell  and  numerous  other  distinguish- 
ed guests,  besides  the  President,  sat  down  and 
enjoyed  the  feast.  No  set  speeches  were  allow, 
ed. 

The  President  left  for  Groton  this  evening,  as 
the  guest  of  Secretary  Boutwell.  He  leaves 
Groton    to-morrow    forenoon  for   New   York, 


nexation  was  3420  against  565;  Dorchester's  928 
against  726.  The  union  will  be  consummated 
on  the  first  day  of  next  year. 

^Between  fortyand  fifty  persons  inquired  fc( 
lost  children  at  the  La  Grange  street  station, 
Boston,  on  Monday,  and  were  directed  to  the  po- 
lice tent  on  the  Common,  where  a  large  number 
of  "stray  lambs"  were  returned  to  their  anxious 
predecessors  in  life  during  the  day. 
"Tne  tfastifngtoh  equestrian  statue,  now  on  its 
pedestal  in  the  Public  Garden,  is  sixteen  feet, 
and  the  pedestal  i?  sixteen  feet  more.  The  total 
cost,  including  the  foundation,  will  be  about 
$40,000.     ^' 

Boston  theaters'  receipts  for  May:  Boston 
Theater  (April),  $21,362;  Selwyn's,  $18,215; 
Museum,  $8504;  Howard  Athenamm,  $13,106; 
Opera  House,  $5148. 

A  salute  of  one  hundred  guns  was  fired  on 
Boston  common  at  noon  yesterday,  by  order  of 
the  state,  in  honor  of  the  final  completion  of 
the  French  Atlantic  cable, 


One'hundred  and  twenty  houses,  ranging  in. 
^JVralue  from  $12,000  to  $25,000,  have  been  built  or 
vQ  -  arc  in  process  of  erection  on  Columbus  avenue,, 
^^  Boston,  where,  three  years  ago,  there  was  not  aJ 

»—h  single  house. 


In  and  around  Boston  there  are  six  or  eight 
manufacturers  of  refrigerators  of  all  the  dif 
ferent  styles,  patterns  and  sizes,  and  the  yearly 
business  done  in  this  line  of  goods  by  them  is 
nearly  $300,000.  The  business  has  been  steadily 
growing  each  year,  and  the  volume  of  sales 
this  year  is  fully  twenty-five  per  cent,  more 
than  last.  There  have  been  several  improve- 
ments made  this  season,  and  it  would  seem 
that  perfection  had  well  nigh  been  reached, 
both  in  economy  of  ice,  and  the  even 
cool  temperature  which  is  sought  for. 
The  demand  for  the  provinces  has  been  consider- 
ably in  excess  £of  that  of  last  season,  being, 
however,  mostly  confined  to  the  cheaper  class  of 
goods.  The  city  trade  is  good,  and  a  large  num- 
ber of  market  refrigerators  have  been  put  in  as 
well  as  several  hotels  supplied.  The  small  sizes 
of  cheap  chests  sell  at  about  $8,  and  from  <An%\ 
•up  to  $1000  for_the  largest  and  best  finished 


c 
o 


THE  EOCENE  PERIOD. 

Legally  the  Fourth  of  July  begins  at  sixty  minutes 
after  eleven  o'clock  on  the  night  of  the  third;  practi- 
cally it  begins  as  soon  as  the  policeman  in  your  dis- 
trict will  allow  the  boys  to  commence  the  energetic 
blowing  of  horns  and  burning  ot  gunpowder,  accom- 
panied with  frantic  squeals  of  pleasure,  delighting 
their  own  souls  and  torturing  the  tympana  of  all 
within  bearing  of  their  orgies.  The  ninety-sixth 
anniversary  of  American  Independence  began  at 
about  eight  o'clock  last  Wednesday  afternoon,  before 
the  evening  shades  could  fairly  be  said  to  prevail,  the  ,  fa  * 

youth  of  Boston  took  up  the  tale  ot  independence  ^^Z7^°l 
now  and  independence  forever,  and  never  ceased  to 
repeat  it  until,  long  after  Friday  morning  had,  begun, 
the  last  youngster  took  his  weary  feet,  powder-grimed 
hands,  and  sun-burnt  face  to  his  home  and  his 
anxious  parents.  Notwithstanding  the  elaborate 
preparations  which  ■  were  made  on  paper  tor 
the  preservation  of  the  lives  and  dwellings 
of  our  citizens  from  untimely  destruction  at  the 
hands  of  our  juveniles,  there  was  even  more  noise 
than  usual,  and  nothing  but  the  vast  patience  born  ot 

long  endurance  of  previous  Fourths  could  have  |  posted  up.  Never  was  there  such  joy  in  the  citv 
called  our  people  to  bear  M^fSL^Sl  '  ^  few  evenings  after  there  waa  agffiiSSS 
Soils0  w*e  Spy^fd  heir*  hea  s '  werf  de^lyrc-  **>  «d  although  the  snow  was  f  foot  deeped 
Weed  aa  Sturbea  by  memories  of  Portland,  waked  with  ram, yet  the  streets  were  crowded  with 
thev  swiftly  sold  the  seducing  squib,  the  cantanker-  I  men  and  women  eager  to  see  and  partake  of  every 
ous  cracker,  the  fierce  firework,  the  pretty  pin-  flung  which  bad  in  it,  the  1  !<•»-'  -- ""»t.e  0f  pear* 
Z3T—1   ^t.„   t-xl„iA    inr^cuin.    nr   tin;    sinuous    serpent.  "    '" ' 


BOSTON    AND   VICINITY. 

Independence  day  at  Boston  was  celebrated 
with  even  more  than  the  usual  patriotic  display. 
The  morning  parade  of  the  "Antiques  and  Hor- 
ribles," made  "fun  for  the  million.  The  veloc- 
ipede race,  which  took  place  on  the  Charles 
Street  Mall  at  six  o'clock  a.m.,  was,  perhaps, 
the  most  novel  feature  of  the  day's  proceedings, 
and  attracted  some  ten  thousand  spectators. 
The  rowing  regatta,  which  came  off  on  the 
Charles  river  course  at  half  past  seven  o'clock 
a.  Mr,  was  the  most  exciting  affair  of  the  day. 
The  races  that  had  been  looked  forward  to  with 
the  most  interest  were  those  for  single  sculls  and 
four-oared  boats.  The  four-oared  boat  race  was 
won  by  the  Harvard  crew,  the  Roahr  being  sec- 
ond, and  the  single  scull  race  was  won  by  Wal- 
ter Brown,  Mekeel  being  second,  and  O'Leary  of 
Worcester,  fifth.  The  sailing  regatta,  which  as 
a  feature  of  the  celebration  was  introduced  into 
the  programme  ten  years  ago,  as  an  cxpei  nent, 
having  successfully  borne  the  test,  was  .  'tin 
adopted  this  year  as  one  of  the  ways  and  means 
of  entertaining  the  public.  Added  to  these  we 
a  children's  celebration,  a  balloon  ascension 
fireworks,  &c. 

I  am  of  the  opinion  that  our  style  of  eel 
ebrating  the  day  makes  it  one  of  the 
most  dreadful  of  the  whole  year.  If  we  could  elim- 
inate from  it  the  peril  incident  to  such  a  lavish 
and  unregulated  use  of  powder,  and  the  horrible 
din  consequent  upon  the  same  cause,  and  in 
their  place  introduce  games  and  festivals,  with 
grand  oratorios,  and  popular  concerts,  both  vo- 
cal and  instrumental,  with  more  than  the  usual 
display  of  fireworks  in  the  evening,  the  day 
would  be  rendered  doubly  enjoyable,  with  fewer 
accidents,  less  drunkenness,  and  would  contrib- 
ute quite  as  much  as  now  to  the  patriotic  fer- 
vors of  the  people.  Some  day,  probably,  we 
shall  learn  to  be  festive  and  joyous  without  vex- 
ing the  air  with  unwholesome  noises,  or  run- 
ning the  risk  of  blowing  ourselves  or  our  fellows 
into  eternity  by  our  reckless  use  of  explosives 
Nothing  more  surely  indicates  the  crudeness  on 
the  one  hand,  or  the  fine  culture  on  the  other,  of 
a  people,  than  its  manner  of  celebrating  its  holi- 
days. Tried  by  this  test,  we  have  not  much 
reason  to  be  proud  of  the  measure  of  culture 
to  which  our  tastes  have  attained. 

How  the    News   of-  Peace    was    JCeceired  la 
1815. 

[From  the  Boston  Saturday  Gazette.] 
Years  ago  the  office  of  the  old  Gazette  was  in 
Hanover  square,  near  the  corner  of  Pearl  street. 
It  was  a  place  of  resort  for  news  and  conversation 
especially  in  the  evening.    The  evening  of  Febru- 
ary 15, 1815,  was  cold,  and  at  a  late  hour  only  Al- 
derman Sebra  and  another  gentleman  were  left 
with  Father  Lang,  the  genius  of  the  plase.    The 
efflce  was  about  being  closed,  when  a  pilot  rushed 
m,  and  stood  for  a  moment  so  entirely  exhausted 
as  to  be  unable  to  speak. 
"He  has  great  news!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lang 
Presently  the  pilot,  gasping  for  breath,  whispered 
intelligibly—"  Peace  I  peace  !" 

The  gentlemen  lost  their  breath  as  fast  as  the 
pilot  gained  his.  Directly  the  pilot  was  able  to 
aay — 

"An  English  sloop  is  below,  with  news  of  a 
treaty  of  peace!" 

They  say  that  Mr.  Lang  exclaimed  in  greater 
words  than  be  ever  nsed  before— and  all  hands 
rushed  mto  Hanover  square  exclaiming  "Psace  ' 
peace!"  ° 

.v11"5  w™d0WB  flew  up-for  families  lived  there 
then.  No  sooDer  were  the  inmates  sure  of  the 
iweet  sound  of  peace,  than  the  windows  be- 
jan  to  glow  v/ith  brilliant  illuminations.— 
Peace!  peace!"  spread  through 
the  city  at  the  top  of  all  voices.  No  one  stopped 
to  enquire  about  "free  trade  and  sailors'  rights." 
No  one  enquired  whether  even  the  national  honor 
had  been  preserved.  The  matters  by  which  the 
politicians  had  irritated  the  nation  into  war  had 
lost  all  their  importance.  It  was  enough  that  the 
ruinous  war  was  over.  An  old  man  on  Broadwav 
attracted  by  the  noise  to  his  door,  was  seen  to  puu 
down  a  placard,  "To  Let,"  which  had  been  long 


wheel,  the  timid  torpedo,  or  the  sinuous  serpent, 
When  next  they  are  promised  a  quiet  fourth  of  July, 
good  Bostonians  will  take  the  train  for  Hampton 
Beach  or  New  York. 


Boaton'a  First  Olft  to  Chicago. 

The  following  despatch  has  been  sent  by  Mayor 
Gaston  to  the  Mayor  of  Chicago : 

Boston,  Oct.  10th,  1871. 
Mayor  of  Chicaco,— You  are  authorized  to  draw 
on  Kidder,  Feabody  Co.,  of  this  city,  for  the  sum 
of  $100,000  for  the  relief  of  sufferers  by  the  late 
fire  at  Chicago. 

(Signed)  Wm.  Gaston,  Mayor. 


1 


Letter  from  Boston. 


Historic  Bcniiniscennes  —  Ramble  over 
Fort  Hill— Copp's  Hill  and  the  Gran- 
ary Burying  Grounds  —Beacon  Hill— 
The  Trimountaln  City  of  Colonial  Day 
and  the  New  Boston-on-the-Flats. 


[Special  Correspondence  of  the  Worcester  Spy.] 
Bobtox,  July  27, 1869. 
Westward  the  star  of  Boston  fashion  has  taken 
its  wav,  but  it  is  worth  while  to   spend   one  of 
these  long,  warm  Sunday  afternoons  in  a  ramble 
through  the  old,  historic  parts  of  the  city.  From 
the  clean  sidewalks    and   great   warehouses   of 
Milk  and  Batterymarch  streets   you    turn   into 
steep,  badly-paved,  dirty  Hamilton  street,  and  p 
short  climb  brings  you  to  the  opon  space  on  tt 
top  of  old  Fort  hill.    Here  the  history  of  Bost/ 
began ;  here,  in  May,  1632,  the  people  of  Bosfr1- 
Charlestown,  Roxbury  and  Dorchester  (cnch>ct" 
tlement  giving  one  day's  work)  built   the  drst 
fort;  three  years  later   the    town    allowec  six 
pieces  of  ordnance  and  £80  to  complete  th?  forti- 
fication, and  the  work  was   entrusted  to  Capt. 
Lyon  Gardiner,  an   expert  engineer,   who  had 
just  arrived  from    the   low  countries.    Around 
the  fort  the  chief  men  of  the   town   buiit   their 
houses  and  laid  out  their   grounds,   with  lawns 
sloping  to  the  water's  edge,    and   a   wide   and 
beautiful  view  of  sea  and   land.    In   1686   Gov. 
Andros  was  received  here  in  the   house   of  Mr. 
Gibbs,  "one  of  the  best  in  the  town,"  and   later 
he  was  imprisoned   here.    In   1740    a   bowling 
green  was  made,  and  was  the  fashionable   play- 
ground, and  25  years  after  the  whole   neighbor- 
hood was  ablaze  with  excitement  and  riots  about 
the  stamp  act.    Now  nothing  of  the  old  beauty 
is  left,  not  even  the  remnant  of  a  fine  house,  and 
not  one  spot  from  which  you   can  get  a  a  wide 
view,  and  all  that  tells  of.the  old  fashion  and  re- 
nown of  the  place  is  the  naming   of  the  dingy 
streets,  Oliver,   Wendell,   Hamilton  and   other 
names  that  are  a  part   of  early   Massachusetts 
history.    The  population  of  this  part  ,of  Boston 
is   marvellous ;  it   seems   impossible   that   the 
thousands  swarming  on  the  streets    and   in  the 
courts  can  ever  be  packed   away   in   the   dirty 
piles  of  brick  that  they  call   their   homes.    On 
Sunday,     when       warehouses       are      closed  5 
and    business  streets   are  clear    from  horses 
and      goods,      these      people       pour       from 
their  cellars  and  attics,  and  spread  themselves 
out  for  air  and  light  on  the  long  granite  steps  of 
Pearl   and   Milk   streets.    Here   you   see  pale, 
shrivelled,  toothless  hags  of  ninety  years,  dand-  1 
liiig  pale,  shrivelled,  toothless  babies  of  ninety 
days;  hundreds  of  men  and  boys,  collected  in 
groups,  talking  and  smoking;  foreign-looking 
women  with  bare  heads  and  bare  bosoms  sitting 
on  the  curbstones,  nursing  their  babies.    Every- 
body seems  to  have  made  some  attempt  at  dress- 
ing up  for  Sunday,  you  see  almost  no  rags,  and 
many  very  nice  and  tasteful  dresses;  and  hardly 
a  child  without  a  ribbon  twisted  into  its  tangled 
curls.    A  few  Chinamen  were  in  the  crowd  last 
Sunday,  but  they  were  evidently  strangers,  for  at 
■igfct  of  their   long  queues  and  pointed  shoes 
children  ran  shrieking  with  terror,  and  hid  their 
faces  in  some  friendly  apron. .  The  glory  of  the 
lull  has  departed,  and  soon  the  hill  itself  will  go; 
for  the.  city  is  taking  it  away  as  fast  as  possible. 
Oliver  street,  which  led  to  the  summit,  is  now 
cut  down,  and  will  make  a  fine  level  street  from 
Milk  to  Purchase.    While    looking  at  the  im- 
nse  excavation*,  and  the   energy  with  which 
levelling  is  carried  on,  one  can  not  help  recall- 
ing Thomas  Hodson  and  his   trouble  200  years 
ago.    He    lived    on    Beacon    hill,    and  when 
in    1674,    he    began    to    dig    gravel    on    his 
own    land,   the    whole    little    town    was    in 
commotion,  they  thought  the  safety  of  the  hill 
was  endangered ;  the    selectmen   reasoned  with 
him;  it  was  brought  up  in  town  meeting;  but 
Thomas  would   not   yield.    Finally,  the    repre- 
sentatives to  the  general  court  were  "instructed 
to  move  in  the    legislature  for  an  act  by  which 
this  and  similar  mischiefs  might  bo  prevented." 
No    such    law    was    passed,   and  that  legisla- 
ture has  the  honor  of  having  been  keen  enough 
to  perceive  and  wise  enough    to    avoid  imperti- 
nent legislation.    Still  keeping  at  the  north  end 
of  the  city,  we   continue   our  walk   to   Copp's 
hill,  passing  the  square  where  the  famous  Hutch- 
inson house  once  stood,  and  where    the   accom- 
plished and   fascinating  Sir    Charles  Frankland 


lived  with  the    beautiful    Agnes    Surriagc,  who 
was  first  his  mistress,  and  then  his  wife,  for  he 
married  her  after  she  had  rescued  him  from  the 
ruins  of  a  building  which   buried   him   in  the 
great  earthquake  at   Lisbon.    Tradition  dwells 
upon   the   splendors  of  this  house,  and  of  Sir 
Charles's   summer-place  inHopkinton;  on  the 
spacious  halls,  the  broad  and  easy  stairs,  up  and 
down  which  the  baronet  used  to   ride  his  pony; 
the   gilded   cornices,  and  Corinthian   columns, 
the   mantels  of  Italian   marble,  and   the   fire- 
places of  fine   French  porcelain,  the  tessellated 
floors     where     300   different   kinds   of  wood 
were  laid  in  curious  devices  around  the  family 
coat  of  arms,  and  the  dark  green  tapestry  rich 
with  figures.    Not  one  trace  of   all  this  is   left; 
not   a  bit  of  former  grandeur    stays  our  steps 
until  we  turn  from  the  street  into  the  old  bury- 
ing-ground  on  Copp's  hill.    Here,  too,  were  for-  ' 
tifications  in  the  first  years  of  the  settlement  of 
the  peninsula;    here  was  set  up  in  1532  a  wind. ,, 
mill     brought    from    the    country,    "because 
it  would  not  grind   but  with  a  westerly   wind."  / 
On  Nov.  5, 1765,    there  was  a  great   parade   in  - 
Boston,  and  effigies  of  the  pope,  of  the  devil,  of 
tyranny,  oppression,  and  slavery  were  formally  ' 
burnt  on   this  hill.    In  1793  the  ardent  patriots 
here  had  a   grand  celebration   in   honor  of  the 
French  revolution,  and   the  description  of  it  is 
very  curious ;  a  great  ox  was  roasted  on  Copp's 
hill,  then  placed   upon  a  platform  and  adorned 
with   gilding,  ribbons,  and  the  flags  of  France 
and  the  United  Slates.    It  was  on   an  immense 
spit,  from  the  end  of  which   waved  the  motto 
"Peace  offering  to  liberty  and  equality."    It  was 
drawn  by  fifteen   horses  gaily  dressed,  and  fol- 
lowed by  a  cart  containing  800  loaves  of  bread, 
drawn  by  six  horses;  then  came  a  second  cart 
with  six  horses  drawing  a  hogshead  of  punch ; 
then   800  more  loaves  of  bread;  and   another 
hogshead  of  punch,  which  the  records  say  was 
"mighty  strong."  The  procession  passed  through 
the  princip"'    streets,  stopping  at   the  houses  of 
"Citizen''  '^hii  Hancock  and  "Citizen"  Samuel 
Adams >       '  the  great   feast  was   held  on  State 
street.  ,  ^0,V  the   only  interest  that  the  famous 
hill  has    is  in  its  old   grave  stones ;  there  is  no 
view  from  it,  it  has  been  cut  down  and  built  up, 
and  is  only  a  queer,  shut  in  place,  where  the  old 
stones  stand  in  rows,  and  Irish  children  play  on 
the  tombs,  and  look  on  the  old  coats  of  arms  as 
meaningless  scratches.    These  uncared  for  me- 
morials of  former  grandeur  make  a  curious  fea- 
ture in  the  old  burying  grounds ;  they  are  fast 
going  to  decay,  and  many  of  them  it  is  difficult 
to  decipher;  yet  some  of  the  legends  are  so  brave 
and  cheerful  that  it  seems  a  pity  to  lose  them. 
"Sub  sole  sub  umbra  virescens,"  takes  away  all 
gloom  from  the  tomb  on  which  it  is  carved,  and 
is  as  cheery  in  its  ways  as  the  masses  of  straight, 
gorgeous  hollyhocks  that  crowd  around  the  gray 
stones  in  the  old  granary,  and  make  the  strange 
place  fresh  and  alive.    In  these  old  cemeteries 
the    stones    themselves    are   interesting;    the 
oldest  have  generally  a  winged  skull  on  them, 
and  seldom  the  cross-bones ;  then  come  cherubs, 
cut  according  to  the  skill  and  taste  of  the  worker ; 
some  with  eyebrows  straight  across  the  face,  and 
hair  combed  solemnly  down  over  the  forehead; 
others  with  curls,  and  a  jaunty,  saucy  look  that 
is  very  funny.    Some  of  the  stones  are  ill  shaped 
and  lettered  in  the  roughest  way;  and  many  are 
double,  divided  by  a  line,  and  wrought  in  two 
curves  at  the  top,  one  side  recording  the  name  of 
a  husband,  and  the  other  of  his  wife;  or  per- 
haps two  brothers  are  so  remembered. 

The  greatest  organ  ever  made  on  this  Ponti- 
/ncnt has  just  been  completed  (or  Henry  Ward 
Beechcr's*  church,  by  the  Messrs.  Hook  of  Bos- 
ton. The  wind  for  the  organ  will  be  roThished 
by  a  bellows  with  a  capacity  of  500  cubic  feet, and 
the  bellows  will  be  worked  by  water  power,  with 
a  pressure  of  from  15  to  45  pounds  to  the  square 
inch.       ftp*  «  .  .    ., 

During  the  year  1869  there  were  5525  deaths  in  j 
Boston;    105    more  than    in  1868.    During  the  | 
same  time  there  were  8874  intentions  of  marriage 
declared;  296  more  than  in  1868. 


[there  are  seven  Btatona  Deswe  me,  capital  <>: 
1  snomisetts,  there  are  five  Philadelphia*  in  in 
'to  the  Quaker  City,  there  are  two  Chicagos 
the  burned  garden  city,  there  are  thirty  "Wa 
tons,  fifteen  Albanys,  twenty-two  Richmond 
j  St.  Louis,  and  many  other  instances  of  redu 
tion. 


The  old  Granery  burying  ground  is  not  useo" 
at  all;  and  is  open  on  Sundays  only,  when  a 
great  many  people  go  there,  and  a  smiling  man 
stands  at  the  gateway  distributing  freely  their 
little  salmon-colored  tracts  published  by  the. 
American  tract  society.  At  Copp's  hill  no  burials 
in  the  ground  are  now  permitted,  but  the 
tombs  are  opened  quite  often  to  admit  members 
of  families  who,  generation  after  generation,  for 
more  than  two  centuries,  have  found  here  their 
final  resting  place. 

Of  Beacon  hill  no  historic  trace  is  left,  save  in 
its  name.  The  three  summits  which  gave  Bos- 
ton the  early  name  of  Trimountain,  or  Tremont, 
have  been  smoothed  away ;  the  original  beacon, 
a  tar-barrel  on  the  top  of  a  tall,  strong  mast, 
gave  place  to  a  column  sixty  feet  high,  sur- 
mounted by  a  large  gilt  eagle.  In  1811  this 
monument  was  removed,  the  eagle  being  placed 
over  the  chair  of  the  speaker  in  the  representa- 
tives' hall,  and  a  few  years  ago  the  picturesque 
old  Hancock  house  was  taken  down  to  make 
room  for  handsome  blocks  of  interest  to  no  one 
but  the  owners.  Business  marches  slowly  and 
steadily  up  the  hill,  and  people  flee  before  it,  and 
go  farther  and  farther  southwest,  living  in  win- 
ter in  the  new  Boston-on-the-Flats  which  man 
has  literally  made ;  and  in  the  summer  leaving 
the  city  entirely,  so  that  the  fashionable  quarter 
is  like  a  banquet  hall  deserted. 

At  Copp's  hill  there  is  an  elaborate  monument 
put  up  within  twenty-five  years,  which  states 
that  it  is 

Erected  by 
Isaac  Dupee, 
Grandson  to  G. 

The  door  of  the  tomb  beneath  the  monument 
is  em  Masoned  with  a  coat  of  arms,  but  no  in- 
formation is  given  in  regard  to  "G." 


MUSIC  HALL  SOCIETY.  IftJSU, 
Mr.  Alger  appeared  before  his  people  yesterday, 
and  once  more  gave  them  one  of  the  excellent  sermons 
to  which  they  were  accustomed  to  listen  when  he  tills 
the  desk.  After  a  few  touching  prefatory  remarks 
upon  the  contrast  between  the  scene  in  which  he  found 
himself,  and  one  which  lay  not  far  behind,  a  prison 
chamber  in  which  he  was  the  solitary  inmate,  his 
face  lighted  with  ecstacy,  now  mused  upon  the  re- 
demption of  the  whole  world,  now  gazed  through  his 
prison  bars  at  the  moon,  thinking  perhaps  that  all 
was  delusion, and  meditated  in  heart-breaking  loneli- 
ness on  his  home,  three  thousand  miles  away,  Mr. 
Alger  said  that  "the  whole  lesson  of  my  experience 
condenses  itself  into  the  moral,  if  you  keep  the  in- 
terior modesty  of  your  mind,  your  self  surrender  to 
the  will  of  God,  there  is  no  height  of  temple-spire 
or  mountain-top  from  which  you  need  fear  to  cast 
yourself  down,  for  God  will  give  his  angels  charge 
concerning  you,  and  they  will  bear  you  down  to  the 
level  sward  of  average  humanity  where  peace,  piety, 
and  purity  preside.  There  is  no  depth  of  pain  or 
weakness  so  profound  that  God  will  not  reach  down 
his  hand  and  lift  you  back  to  life,  health,  the  pres- 
ence of  friends  and  useful  days  again. 

Proceeding  then  to  the  discussion  of  his  subject, 
"The  Hope  of  a  Better  Future  to  Humanity  on 
Earth,"  Mr.  Alger  asked  wfcy  the  trust  in  a  better 
future,  which  is  universal  among  nations,  is  not  real- 
ized, and  why  crimes  and  miseries  still  abound  among 
the  most  civilized  nations  of  the  world?  He  ascribed 
the  continuance  of  this  state  of  affairs  in  the  past  to 
the  conduct  of  the  government  and  priesthood,  who 
have  used  the  military  and  mercantile  classes  to  keep 
down  the  industrial  class,  utilizing  for  this  purpose 
the  conception  of  God  as  a  capricious  despot,  Chris- 
tianity in  this  respect  being  worse  than  Paganism* 
since  it  taught  that  sufficient  compensation  for  op- 
pression in  this  world  would  be  found  in  the  joys  of 
the  next;  so  that  men  gave  up  a  real  heaven  on  earth 
for  an  imaginary  one  in  the  akies.  Democracy,  he 
said,  while  removing  class  hostilities,  had  made  each 
man  an  enemy  to  all  classes.  In  support  of  the  belief 
of  the  better  time  coming,  he  adduced  the 
adoption  of  arbitration  in  the  settlement  of 
claims  made  upon  one  nation  by  another,  and 
the  aid  so  freely  given  to  Chicago  in  her  trouble 
last  year  by  all  peoples,  nations  and  tongues, 
and  the  formation  of  international  societies.  The 
question  of  the  removal  of  the  hostility  betweon  cap- 
ital and  labor  was  next  considered,  great  stress  being 
laid  upon  the  necessity  of  kindness,  justice  and  en- 
lightened sympathy  in  the  adjustment  of  the  quarrel. 


THE  EKTERPRESE  CROHltD 
WITH  SUCCESS. 


Enormous   G&tlaering  of 
the  People. 


GRAND    AND    IMPOSING 
INAUGURATION. 


Speeches  toy  Mayor  Siiurtleff 
and  Hon.  A.  H.  Bice. 


POPULAR     OVATION    TO    MR, 
GILMORE  AND  OTHERS. 


r>istisigni®lied.       Gru.es  ts 

Present. 


BIBDrS-EYE  VIEW  OF  THE 
AUBIENCE. 


THE    GEANDEST   MUSICAL 
FEAST  OF  ALL  llME. 


Tbe  Audience  Wild  with  Eutftu- 
siasm  and  Delight. 


EVERYBODY  PEBFECrLY  HAPPY 


EYES    AHt»    EABS    OUTSIDE. 


Etc.,  Etc.,  Bttc. 


The  day  of  Jubilee  has  come!  The  great 
National  Peace  Festival  ami  Jubilee  haa  been 
auspiciously  inaugurated !  No  more  of  wor- 
riment  and  care,  no  more  sleepless  nights  for 
the  great  projector  and  his  allies,  for  their 
hopes  have  been  crowned  with  consummation 
and  the  day  dreams  of  long  and  weary  months 
hare  found  their  realization.  No  more  will 
the  incredulous  shake  their  heads  with  doubt, 
no  longer  will  the  great  public  tremble  in  sus- 
pense lest  the  mngailicent  enterprise  which 
has  agitated  them  for  many  weeks  should  mis- 
carry, to  their  mortification  and  humiliation. 
No,  these  possibilities  are  past;  the  Jubilee  is 
a  success,  even  beyond  the  most  enthusiastic 
expectations,  not  to  say  hopes,  of  any.  The 
projector  has  made  his  promises,  the  people 
have  believed,  and  in  believing  have  been  able 
to  taste  a  pleasure  which  will  create  an  insa- 
tiable appetite  for  more. 

Gathering  of  the  Multitude. 
As  the  clock  struck  twelve  yesterday  noon 
the  blue-coated  guardians  of  the  public  peace 
warned  the  listeners  to  the  morning  rehearsals 
at  the  Coliseum  that  the  hour  for  their  de 
parture  had  arrived.  Up  to  that  time  the  final 
preparations  for  receiving  the  great  army  of 
ticket-holders  had  been  continued,  and  to 
clear  the  auditorium  for  their  reception 
was  the  next  and  final  move.  Slowly 
and  reluctantly  the  loiterers  dispersed, 
casting  wistful  glances  behind,  and 
within  the  hour  none  but  choristers,  musi- 
cians, workmen  and  officials  were  within. 
But  the  doors  were  not  long  closed.  By  one 
o'clock  the  legitimate  auditors  began  to  ar- 
rive. Then  the  ushers  began  their  busy  work. 
Presently  the  throng  became  more  numerous 
and  the  pages  flew  the  faster.  In  fact  the 
number  that  had  assembled  by  2  o'clock  was 
monstrous,  but  they  were  scattered  about 
here  and  there,  and  in  the  vast  auditorium 
made  but  little  show  of  their  strength.  How- 
ever, this  apparent  paucity  of  numbers  did 
not  long  exist,  for  constantly  the  hum-in  tide 
rolled  inward  until,  finally,  a  look  over  the 
house  revealed  the  gratifying  fact  that  the 
floor  and  galleries  were  well  filled  up  except 
in  the  remotest  places.  Perhaps  "three-quar- 
ters full"  would  be  considered  a  fair  estimate 
of  the  degree  of  occupancy  of  the  auditorium, 
and  from  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  specta- 
tors would  probably  include  tke  exact  num- 
ber. 

The  Visiting  Dignitaries. 
The  reception  of  distinguished  visitors  was 
assigned   as    a   portion    of  the  duties  of  the 
committee  of  the  City  Council,  composed  of 
Aldermen    White,    James     and    Fairbanks, 
President  Harris,  of  the  Common   Council, 
and  Councilmen   J.    W.   Jacobs,  E.  Nelson, 
Edward  E.  Batchelder  and  IT.  W.  Pickering, 
The  gentlemen  named  were  at  their  posts  in 
the  Reception  Boom  at  an  early  hour  in  the 
afternoon,  and  many  of  the  dignitaries  pre- 
sented themselves   promptly   and  were  first 
taken  in  hand  by  Alderman  White,  and  after, 
wards  by   other    gentlemen    of    the    Com. 
mittee.        The     first     personage     to     pie- 
sent    himself   was     Hon.     Henry     Wilson, 
and     soon     after     Sir     Edward   Thornton, 
English     Minister    Plenipotentiary    to    the 
United  States,  was  welcomed.     At  half-pas1 
two  o'clock,  or  thereabouts,  the  naval  officials 
arrived  under  escort  of  the  Union  Navy  Asso 
ciation  and  were  conducted  to  the  reception 
room,  where  Admiral  Farragut  was  presented 
to  Mayor  Shurtleff  by  Alderman  White,  as,  in- 
deed, were  all  the  dignitaries  as  they  arrived. 
J  The  apartment  was  shortly  in  a  buaz  of  social 
conversation,    and    iniroductions,   welcome 
■    and  congratulations  were  numerous.    Among 
I   the  gentlemen  of  prominence    participating 
t  therein  were    Admiral    Farragut,     Admiral 
Thateher,  Commodores  Winslow  andBodgers, 
Captains    Montgomery    (Secretary     to    Ad- 
miral    Farragut),     and     Foxhall     Parker, 
I  and  Commander  James  B.  Wheeler.     There 
were     among      the      military      dignitaries 
General  Benham  of  the  Coast  Survey,  General 
Coggswell,  And  General  Cunningham,  and  one 
or  two   other  representatives   of  the   State 
Militia.    The  civic  notables  were  Hon.  Henry 
1  Wilson,  Hon.  A.  H.  Bice,  Sir  Edward  Thorn- 
I  ton,  Kvariste.  La  Boohe,  the  Haytien  Minister 
I  to  the  U'liised  States;  the  venerable  Lowell 
Maiipn.  of  musical   lame;   Hon.    George   O. 
Braatow  and  Samuel  D.  Crane,  of  the  Senate; 
i  Hon.  James  F.  Buffum  of  Lynn;  Mayor  Price, 
<>f  Mobile;   Hon.  C-  B.  Chapman,  Mayor  of 
I  Hartford;    Hon.    Ezra    Mallard,   Mayor  of 


Omaha;  Hoq,  O.  S.McClellan,Mayor  of  Wheel- 
ing, Va. ;  Hon.  James  Blake,  Mayor  ol  Worces- 
ter; Hon.  Eugene  L.  Norton,  Mayor  of 
Charlestown,  and  others. 

About  half  an  hour  was  occupied  in  con- 
versation and  introductions,  which  were  in- 
iori'.'sil  in  character,  and  shortlv  after  three 
o;clojk  Hon.  Edward  A.  White  invited  the 
d  Btinguished  visitors  to  join  in  procession  for 
ti it  ).n:  pose  of  proceeding  to  the  auditorium. 
The  party  was  marshaled  by  Mr.  White  to  the 
places  reserved  for  them  in  Section  C,  on  the 
lioor,  and  as  the  naval  uniforms  became  visi- 
ble-, the  spectators  recognized  in  the  foremost 
rank  the  daring  officer  who.  while  bombard- 
ing the  water  strongholds  defending  Mobile, 
bred  the  hearts  of  his  men  and  incited  them  to 
renewed  bravery  by  lashing  himself  to  the 
rigging  of  his  owu  vessel,  calmly  surveying 
the  scene  and  giving  his  orders  therefrom; 
and  his  reception,  as  he  pas  :ed  through  the 
broad  aisle,  was  most  cordial,  tiie  greeting  be- 
ing loud  and  prolonged.  The  Admiral  bowed 
his  acknowledgements  as  he  passed  along. 
It  was  less  than  ten  minutes  past  three  o'clock 
SS^wte-  ttflttinguished  party  arrived  at  their 
scats,  and  Jubilee  exercises  were  at  once  in- 
augurated. 

A  Bird's-E>  c  View  of  the  Audience. 

The  view  of  the  audience  from  the  upper 
level  ol  the  north  balcony,  at  the  opposite  ex- 
tremity of  the  building  from  the  chorus  and 
orchestra,  was  one  never  to  be  forgotten  by 
the  beholder.  Far  in  the  distance  was  the 
"sea  of  upturned  faces"  of  the  chorus,  ten 
thousand  strong,  the  organ,  with  its  burnished 
pipes,  glittering  like  a  jewel  at  the  extreme 
end,  and  midway  the  eye|  swept  over  the  vast 
space  of  the  auditorium,  its  sections  sharply 
dettned  and  separated  by  the  wide  aisles,  and 
packed  full  of  humanity  clad  in  costumes 
blending  all  colors.  Bemember  the  dimen- 
sions ol  the  building— five  hundred  feet  long 
by  three  hundred  feet  wide— and  its  amphi- 
theati  ical  form,  and  the  beautiful  decorations, 
which  from  this  point  appeared  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage, and  you  have  a  faint  outline  of  one 
of  the  most  striking  pictures  which  can  be 
imagined. 

The  Inaiigiiral  Exercises. 

At  ten  minutes  past  3  o'clock  tiie  great  bulk  ; 
of  the  audience  had  assembled  and  become 
seated.  A  moment  before,  a  delegation  of  the 
Executive  Committee  passed  down  one  of  the 
broad  aisles  having  in  charge  His  Honor 
Mayor  Shurtlefi,  Hon.  Alexander  H.  Bice,  the 
oraicrofthe  occasion,  and  Kev.  E.E.Hale, 
all  of  whom  took  seats  on  the  stage. 

As  soon  as  the  attention  of  the  audience 
could  be  attracted  the  exercises  were  opened 
with  a  feeling  prayer  by  Bev.  Mr.  Hale.  This 
was  followed  by  an  address  of  welcome  by 
Mayor  btiuitlell,  and  an  address  on  the  resto- 
ration of  Peace  and  Union  throughout  the 
land  by  Hon.  A.  H.  Bice. 

At  the  close  of  the  Mayor's  address  an  artil- 
lery salute  was  flred  from  the  Coliseum  by  the 
electric  apparatus  near  the  conductor's  stand. 
THE  GKAiVD  COiVCEBT. 

The  moment  tne  orator  of  the  day  had  re- 
tired from  the  rostrum  it  was  apparent  from 
the  stir  and  bustle  among  tiie  auditors,  and 
thosfcwho  were  present  to  regale  them,  that 
the  long-expected,  anxiously-awaited  moment 
Lnrost  arrived.     No  words  bette; 

-poet  can  deseribo  the  combina- 
ne  ■  ai-.d  sounds  which  aflfeeted  the 
senses  ot  the  multitude  at  that  particular  mo- 
|    ment : — 

'■  See  to  the  desk  Apollo's  sons  repair: 

fcwift  rides  the  rosin  o'er  the  horses  hair;  , 

lu  unison  their  various  tones  to  tune, 

Murmur's  tbe  hautboy;  growls  the  hoarse  bassoon; 

In  soft  vibrations  sighs  the  whispering  lute; 

goes  tiie  harpsichord;  too-too  the  flute; 
Brays  the  loud  trumpet;  squeaks  the  flddle  sharp; 
VV  inds   ihe_  French   horn   and  twangs  the   tingling 

Welcome  to  Mr.  (iilmore. 

In  a  moment  Mr.  Gilmore  came  down  the 
aisle  through  the  instrumentalists,  and  the 
quick  eyes  of  the  audience  recognizing  his 
well  known  figure  welcomed  him  to  the  con- 
ductor's stand  and  to  the  honor,  preeminently 
his  due,  of  opening  the  great  festival  in  per- 
son, with  a  hearty  outburst  of  applause 
and  with  a  general  waving  of  handkerchiefs. 
This  gentleman,  who  had  now  reached  one  of 
the  proudest  moments  of  his  life,  gracefully 
and  gratefully  bowed  his  acknowledgements 
lor  the  kind  reception. 

. .lteceptlon   of  Ole  Hull. 

Among  the  last  to  take  his  place  among  the 
first  violinists  was  Mr.  Ole  Bull,  the  king  of 
violinists.  His  tall  figure  and  graceful  step 
were  recognized  as  he  came  down  the  aisle 
and  took  his  place  in  the  front  iine,  and  he  was 
the  recipient  also  of  a  most  hearty  welcome, 
which  he  duly  acknowledged. 
The  Music. 

Alter  this  little  episide,  Mr.  Gilmore,  with- 
out delaying  the  anxious  auditors,  proceeded 
quickly  to  inaugurate  the  great  festival  of 
song.  Speedily  he  elevated  his  baton,  and 
quickly  in  response  to  the  signal  from  the 
great  organ  the  choristers  arose  as  if  animated 
hy  a  single  moving  spirit,  and  tuned  their 
voices  to  Luther's  beautiful  sacred  choral— 
"God  is  a  Castle  and  Defence," 

The  voices  of  the  choristers,  directed  bv  the 
strains  of  the  huge  orchestra,  and  sustained 
and  augmented  by  the  powerful  tones  of  the 
organ,  expanded  gloriously  until  they  filled 
completely  the  vast  auditorium  andimprei 
(he  hearers  more  with  the  sacred  than  with 
the  jubilant  character  ol  the  occasion.    The 


\ 


beautifi  poke  other  than  sentiments 

of  harmony.  There  was  about  them  a  senti- 
ment of  grandeur,  of  sublimity,  that  caused 
all  to  be  filled  with  a  realization  of  the  pro- 
priety of  their  selection  as  the  opening  fea- 
ture of  the  grand  occasion.  The  chorus  was 
received  with  every  evidence  of  approval  by 
the  assembly. 

Next  came  Wagner's  overture  to  "Tanna- 
hisuser,"  a  composition  which  is  the  terror  of 
most  violinists,  owing  to  the  profuse  and  in- 
tricate "lingering"  which  its  execution  ren- 
ders imperative.  Rarely  is  it  given  to  the 
public,  for  its  proper  performance  is  beset 
with  many  difficulties.  Yet  on  this  occasion 
it  was  given  by  the  select  orchestra  of  600  per- 
formers in  a  smooth  and  pleasing  manner, 
which  excited  the  warmest  applause.  Mr. 
Julius  Eichberg  wielded  the  baton  on  this  oc- 
casion and  was  cordially  welcomed  as  he 
made  his  appearance. 

The  third  feature  on  the  programme  was  the 
"Gloria  in  Excelsis"  from  Mozart's  Twelfth 
Mass,  music  familiar  to  every  one.  It  was 
given  with  full  chorus,  and  organ  and  orches- 
tral accompaniment.  Mr.  Carl  Zerrahn  occu- 
pied the  conductor's  stand  this  time  and  as  he 
appeared  was  welcomed  most  heartily,  espe- 
cially by  the  members  of  the  chorus  with  whom 
he  has  been  so  intimately  associated  during 
the  past  few  weeks.  The  sublime  strains  of 
the  "Gloria"  were  given  with  a  fullness  and 
grandeur  of  effect  never  before  heard,  we  dare 
.".mi  the  result  was  a  decided  sensation 
among  the  auditors,  who  applauded  loudly. 

There  remained  yet  another  scene  of  wel- 
come, and  Madame  Parepa-Rosa  was  its  ob- 
ject.   The  next  feature  was  Gounod's    "Ave 
Maria?*  and  this  favored  and  favorite  song- 
stress was  to  give  the  solo.     Her  welcome 
i  >f  the  most  hearty  and  spontaneous  de- 
iion  and  told  her  how  well  she  had  been 
remembered.    The  <  Uigato  was  given  by  two 
hundred   violins,  Oe  Bull  leading,  and  the 
beautiful  harmonies  jf  the  composition  were 
never  produced  with  a  more  charming  effect. 
The  volume  of  tone  was  hardly  sufficient  to 
fill  the  auditorium  and  at  the  further  extrem- 
iie  lower  notes  of  the  soloist  were  inua- 
:  yet  the  swell  of  the  organ  introduced 
at  the  close  rendered  the  ensemble  at  that  mo- 
ment particularly  delicious  and  provoked  the 
i  applause. 
And  now  came  a  feature  which  had  been 
impatiently  awaited— the    glorious    national 
anthem,  '*The  Star  Spangled  Banner."   It  was 
given  by  the  full  chorus,  full  orchestra,  full 
•r  of  the    organ,   military   baud,   drum 
-  and  bell  and  artillery  accompaniment. 
The  first  three  verses  were  sung  through  by 
the  voices,  with  the  legitimate  instrumental 
mpaniment,    and   the    effect  was   more 
grand  than  ever  before  produced,  while  the 
audience,  many  of  them  catching  the  conta- 
:  heir  voices  to  the  familiar  strains, 
to  relieve  the  enthusiasm 
which  was    boiling  witiiiu.      But  when   th3 
chorus  was   reached,  after  the  last   stanza, 
and  the  tremendous  bass   of  the   neighbor- 
.     was    added    to    the    already 
idous  volume  of  sound,  the  effect   \ 
uch  as  to  send  a  powerful  and  never-to-ue- 
.  orgotten  ihrill  through  the  frame  of  every 
constituent  part  of  the  vast  assembly,  and  to 
almost  make  one  cry  with  delight.     It  was  a 
glorious,  a  painful,  yet  a  happy  m:>m?nt;  a 
moment   well  calculated  to    rou-^e   any  dor- 
mant sentiment  of  patriotism  and  bring*  fully 
to  the  realization  of  eveiy  man  with  a  particle 
of  soul  the  glory  and  the  grandeur  of  having 
for   his   home  a  land  of  liberty  over  which 
"the    Star     Spangled    banner    in    triumph 
vet     waves."     The      audience      was     full. 
The  dying  cadenzas  of  the  beautiful  hymn 
had  not  been  absorbed  in  air  ere  the  pent-up 
enthusiasm  burst  forth  in  one  prolonged,  tre- 
mendous shout  of  patriotic  rapture — a  shout 
that  made  the  very  Coliseum  tremble,  aad 
deafened  one  with  its  intensity  while  it  grati- 
fied all,  for  all  felt  that  it  was  spontaneous 
and  sincere. 

Again     were    the    instruments    attuned,, 
again  was  the  rare  and  delicious  experience 
drunk  in.  absorbed  and  enjoyed,  and  again 
the  hearty  shouts  of  satisfaction.    This 
ad  the  first  nart  of  the  ^^a,,  aT1(1 
immediately  Mr.  Gilmore  was  surrounded  by 
scores  of  friends  Mho  tendered  him  their  per- 
il congratulations  on  the  assured  success 
01  his  magnificent  enterprise. 

"TJie   JVation   iicura  It. 

i  l.v  bad  the  boom  of  the  last  gun  died 
while  the   vast  audience  wei 
givinj  heir  enthusiasm  aad  de- 

nt itives  of  the  dailv  papers 
throughout   the    country  besieged  the  i 

noon,  had  under- 
lation  from  its  festive  app 
to  one  presenting  the  stern 

ad  reportorial  life),  cue!)  trftl 
■  just  enact 
d,  and  the  seats  on  either  side  of  the  long 

I  lv  occupied  and 
pencils    at    once    brought    into     i 

and 
annates  over  the  wires    to 
ction  of  the    country  v. 

>nal  Peace  Jubilee  was  a 

'  wen 
apartment,  and  nil  were  warm  in  t 

be  music  by  the  ii 
orchestra  aad  cnoi  a 
ators  had  their  hands  full  during  the  D 
or  three-quarters    of  an  hour,    and  1 1 
quarters  were  vacated  by  correspondents  only 
Minn  the  Second  Part  of  the  Program 

being  commenced. 

The  Second  Part. 

Grand  and  beautiful  as  had  been  the  concert 
thus  iai\lhe  programme  di 
to  I'umr,  the   very   name   ol    which  po 
that  magnetic,  influence  which  allowed  not  a 
soul  to  leave  the  building. 

The  first  feature  was  a  Hymn  of  Peace, 
written  by  Dr.  <>.  W.  Holmes,  to  the  music  of 
"Keller's  American  Hymn."    It  was  given  by 

h  full  orchestral  and  oi 
companinient,  and  created  a  burst  of  applause 

bonieiii.g  on  laptUTft. 


Next  came  Rossini's  Overture  to  "William 
Tell,"  a  composition  whose  strains  are  famil- 
iar in  almost  every  household,  and  whose 
melodious  measures  are  never  heard  but  to 
excite  the  most  exquisite  of  sensations  which 
it  is  possible  for  the  human  tympanum  to  con- 
vey to  the  organ  of  ail  sense.*  Ic  was  given  by 
the  select  orchestra  in  a  manner  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

The  next  feature  was  the  "Inflammatus" 
from  Rossini's  "Stabat  Mater."  The  solo  was 
given  by  Madame  Rosa,  Mr.  Zerrahn  conduct- 
ing, and~vas  rapturously  encored,  and  even 
after  its  second  rendering  the  applause  did 
not  soon  tub 

1  he  "Coronation  March,"  from  Mevcrbeer's 
"Prophet,"  followed,  and  was  grandly  given 
by  the  fall  band  of  one  thousand  instruments. 
It  would  have  doubtless  been  better  received 
had  rot  tiie  power  of  vision  taught  the  audi- 
ence that  the  favorite  scena  from  Verdi's 
"Trovatore,"  introducing  the 

Anvil  Chorus, 
Was  next  in  oreler.  Nothing  could  have  ex- 
cited livelier  anticipations  in  the  audience, 
and  nothing,  as  the  result  proved,  could  have 
pleased  them  better.  The  music  is  familiar  to 
every  whistling  school-boy,  was  "worn  out"  as 
the  saying  is,  upon  street  hand-organs,  years 
ago,  yet  it  lives  as  fresh  in  the  memory  and 
admiration  of  all  lovers  of  music  as  though  it 
had  been  but  recently  composed.  The  pecu- 
liar dressing  it  was  to  receive  on  this 
occasion,  and  the  announcement  thereof  had 
caused  it  ro  be  looked  forward  to  with  the 
most  lively  anticipation.  It  was  given,  the 
first  time  with  chorus,  full  band  and  chiming 
oi  bells,  dust  before  the  first  strains  were 
sounded  the  one  hundred  firemen,  who  were 
to  do  the  anvil  business,  marched  upon  the 
stage  with  military  precision,  dressed  in  black 
pants,  red  shirts  and  light  caps,  and  ranged 
themselves  in  four  rows  of  twenty-Bye 
extending  backward  from*  the 
front.  Mr.  Gilmore  directed 
every  movement  with  his  -baton,  and  their 
strokes  were  given  with  admirable  precision 
as  regards  time.  The  effect  was  gran  I  an  i 
inspiring  to  the  last  degree.  The  audience 
again  allowed  their  enthusiasm  to  run  away 
wirh  them,  and  their  demand  for  a  second  edi- 
tion was  cheerfully  complied  with.  This  time, 
however,  the  effect  was  heightened  by  the  iu- 
lioduction  of  artillery,  and  every  "gun  re- 
sponded with  the  utmost  promptitude.  Cheer 
upon  cheer  rent  the  air  and  it  seemed  as 
though  the  audience  would  never  cease  their 
plaudits. 

The  performance  was  really  a  splendid  one, 
not  only  in  its  effect,  but  musically  consider- 
ed. If  this  feature  should  be  introduced  into 
every  day's  programme  we  doubt  not  it 
would  suit  every  one  who  will  attend. 
A  National  Air. 

But  one  feature  remained.  It  was  the  Na- 
tional Air,  "My  Country, 'tis  of  Thee,"  with 
words  by  Rev.  S.  F.  Smith.  It  was  given  with 
a  grand  combination  of  everything  at  hand 
which  would  make  a  noise  and  could  be 
attuned  to  harmony. 

Words  fail  to  describe  the  effect  of  the  grand 
combination.  Intense  was  the  volume  of  tone 
or  of  sound  that  rose  from  the  Coliseum  when 
the  latt  verse  was  rendered,  in  which  the  au- 
dience joined.  Twentv-iive  thousand  voices, 
a  thousand  instruments,  the  big  dram,  the 
tremendous  organ,  the  beils  in  the  church 
towers  of  the  city,  all  united  to  swell  the  tor- 
rent to  that  degree  of  intensity  that  the  deep 
bass  of  the  artillery,  while"  it  of  course 
added  to  the  ensemble,  could  not  be  distin- 
guished by  the  audience  inside.  Tremendous 
was  the  effect,  and  when  the  strains  of  har- 
mony had  died  away  they  were  followed  bv 
shouts  Of  joy  and  satisfaction  which  made  the 
welkin  ring  and  must  have  proclaimed  to 
every  person  within  a  mile  around  the  un- 
questioned and  undisputed  success  of  the 
greatest  musical  enterprise  of  modern  times. 
Departure. 

The  audience  then,  at  quarter-past 6  o'clock, 
began  to  disperse,  and  the  great  multitude 
was  soon  dissolved,  each  of  its  constituent 
parts  to  relate  to  envious  and  impatient  hear- 
esultoione  day's  delightiul  experi- 
ence. 

The  Naval  Party 
proceeded  to  the  Reception  Room  immediate- 
lee  terminwtion  of  the  concert,  and 
without  delay  took  carriages  and  left  in  com- 
pany with  Mayor  Shurtlcff  and  other  repre- 
sentatives of  the  city  for  another  scene,  wh  >re 
they  had  been  momentarily  expected  for  up- 
ward of  an  hour. 

Two  Private  Impressions. 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  a  telegram  sent 
from  the  Coliseum  by  a  distinguised  gentle- 
man, to  his  wile,  at  the  close  of  the  flrsl  Con- 

'Nothing  Ute  it  in  a  lift  time.  Will  make 
oti  //  tacrifii  e  to  have  you  here  Thursday.  Come 
iij  Expirees  train .'" 

An  English  gentleman  present  sent  a  Cable 
1  to  Europe,  to  the  effect  that  lie  Jubi- 
lee  is  th.  insioal  success  of  the  19th 

century. 


/ 


The  National  Peace  Festival. 


hmumj'iijimmb *rmmm a— tern 


THE    PEACE    FESTIVAL. 


y 


■ 


The  Programme  Adopted. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  Music  Committee,  held  last 
night,  the  following  programme  was  fixed  upon : 

FIRST  DAY— Tdesday,  June  15th,  3  o'clock  P.  M. 

After  the  inaugural  ceremonies  the  following  musi- 
cal programme  will  be  performed : 

PART  I. 

1.  Grand  Choral,  "A  Strong  Castle  is  our  Lord,".  .Luther. 

Full  Chorus.  Grand  Orchestra  and  Great  Organ. 

2.  Overture,  "Tannhauser" Wagner. 

Select  Orchestra,  COO  performers. 

3.  Glory  be  to  God  on  HigD.  "Twelfth  Mass" Mozart, 

Fuh  Chorus,  with  Orchestral  and  Organ  Accompaniment. 

4.  Prayer,  "Ave  Maria" Gounod. 

Sung  by  Madame  Parepa-Rosa. 

The  Introductory  violin  obligate  usually  rendered  by  one 

performer  will  be  played  by  200  violinists. 

5.  National  Air,  "Star  Spangled  Banner."  Sung  by  the 
Full  Chorus,  with  Grand  Orchestra,  Organ.  Military 
Band,  Drum  Corps,  Chiming  of  Bells,  and  Arldlery 
Accompaniment. 

Intermission  15  minutes. 

PAET  II. 

6.  Invocation,  "Hjmn  of  Peace,"  written  lor  the  occasion 
by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  to  the  mus^o  of  KeUer's 

American  Hymn." 
Full  Chorus,  Grand  Orchestra,  Organ  and  Military  Bane". 

7.  Overture,  "William  Tell"  Kossiui. 

By  a  Select  Orchestra  of  500  performers. 

8.  Inflammatus,  ".stabat  Mater" Rossini. 

Sung  by  Madame  Parepa-Rosa  with  Full  Chorus,  Organ 

and  Grand  Orchestral  Accompaniment. 

9.  Coronation  March,  "II  Profeta" Meyerbeer. 

By  Full  Band  oflOOO. 

10.  National   Air,   words   by  Rev.  F.  S.  Smith, 

D.  P.,  "My  Country  'tis  of  dee." 
Sung  by  the  entire  Chorus,  accompanied  by  the  Grand 
Orchestra  of  600.  Military  Band  of  100,  Great  Organ,  Full 
P/ium  Corps,  Chiming  of  Bells,  Infauty  Firing  and  Can- 
non Pealing  in  the  distance  in  exact  time  with  the  mas'c. 
The  audience  are  requef,t"d  to  join  in  the  last  verse. 

SECOND  p&Y-W*PH»S»AY,  June  16, 
Grand  Classical  Programme— Symphony  and  Oratorio. 

PART  I. 

1.  Festival  Overture  on  Luther's  Choral Nioolai. 

2    (a— Glory  to  God  l  From  the  "Mes- 

1 fc-and  the  Glory  of  the  Lord  f    slab." Handel. 

i.  Recitative  and  Aria  "Aon  piu  difori"  from 
Clemenzadi  Tito" 

Sung  by  Miss  Adelaide  rhilliops. 

4.  He  Watching  over  Israel.from  '-Elijah-'.. Mendelssohn. 

5.  Air,  "Lot  the  Bright  .Seraphim,"  fiom  the  ora- 

torio of  "Samson" Handel. 

Sung  by  Madame  Parepa-Rosa. 

6.  See  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes,  from  "Judas 

M  accabaius' ' Handel. 

PAET  II. 

7.  Symphony  (in  C  major) Beethoven. 

8     t  o— The  AJ arvelous  Work.       )  From  the  "Cre- 

*    (?.— The  Heavens  are  Telling.)     ation" Haydn. 

THIRD  DAT— Thursday.  June  17,  at  3  o'clock,  P.  M. 

PART  I. 

Patriotic  and  Military  Programme. 

1.  Overture,  "Fra  Piavolo" Auber 

By  Grand  Orchestra  of  10C0,  fifty  trumpeters 
forming  tiie  solo  pan. 

2.  Choral.  "Judgment  Hymn" Luther. 

Full  Chorus,  Organ,  Orchestra  and  Band  Militaire. 

3.  March  Triomphale,  composed  for  the  occasion, 

lor  Orchestra  and  Military  Band. 
i-  Aria  "Robert  toi  que  j'aime."  from  "Robert 

le  Biable" Meyerbeer. 

Sung  by  Madame  Farcpa-Rosa. 

5.  Scena  from  "II  Trovatore,"  introducing  the 

Anvil  Chorus >  .         Verdi 

Full  Chorus,  Full  Band  of  1050,  100  An- 
vils, several  Brum  Corps,  Artillery, 
Bells,  Ac.  The  Anvil  pan  will  be  per- 
formed by  100  members  of  the  Boston 
Fire  Department. 

6.  Overture  Triunmhale  on  the  American  Na- 

tional Air  "Hail  Columbia."  introduci  ig 
Tell  Chorus,  accompanied  !>■  the  Grand 
Orcbj  stra,  Military  Baud,  and  oti 

pauiment* c.  C.  Couvers 

Intermission  at  15  minutes. 
I'AI  t  n. 

7.  Marehe  Militalro,  "Prince  Frederick" Gun--!. 

■d'li  oo. 
».  National  Air,  "The  Star  8  tmer." 

ah  Chorus  ami 
Orchestra. 
9.  Scena  from  "Faust"  introducing  the  "Sol- 
diers'Choms" Gounod 

Grand  Chorus,  Military  Band  and  Orcbi 
iu.  Aria  fo-  Trumpet  from  "II  Gluranteuto".Mercadaate. 
f.y  M.  AH; uc.k le  with   On 

11.  Chorus.  "Jiighl   Shades  no  Longer,"  from 

"Moses  in  Egypt," Rossini. 

Grand  Che  ;  Orchestra. 

12.  Overture,  "Stiadella," Flotow. 

,„    i  of  590. 

13.  Choral,  Old  Hundrertfli  1 
(  horus,  Orsan.  Orchestra,  Milltai  ?  Band,  &c.  The 

audience  arc  invited  to  join  in  the  last 
FOTJBTH  DAY-Friday,  June  IS. 

PART    I. 

1.  Overture. 

2.  Choral.  ToGodou  High, from  "St.Paui".Mcni 

3.  Symphony  No.  » (In  0  minor)    beetboren. 

1.  Aria,  "Lascia  cbio  pfanga." Han  lei. 

.sine  b.v  Miss  Adelaide  Pbllll 

5.  Achieved  Is  the  Glorious  TV ork,  from 

"Creation," Haydn. 

6.  1  hanks  be  to  God,  from  "EJ'Jah," Men  I 

Intennisslen  15  minutes. 
E  ii. 
(a— Sleepers  Wake,  a  Voice  is  Calling,  from 

7.  C  "m.  Paul" 

( /     i'i  ii  Egypt" Bo  -iui. 

s.    ii   'ammatus,  flom  "Stabal  Biater" 

B.    Gloria,  from  "Twelfih  Mass" 

10.    Ilallt;lu,ah,  from  the  "Mes  riah" Handel. 

FIFTH  DAT    .  i      ,".-..  .in 

Concert  by  the  children  of  the  Public  School  ■,  with  full 
orchestral  accompaniment. 


Forty-six  ushers  are  engaged  to  show  the  audience 
at  the  Coliseum  to  seats. 


THIRD  DAY. 


/^Bunker  Hill  Annive?sary  Ap- 
¥      propiiately    Celebrated. 


TBE    COLISEUM     CROWDED 


FIFTY    THOUSAND    PEOPLE 
SQUEEZED  TOSETHER  2 


A   GLORIOUS   FEAST 
OF   SONG. 


UNBOUNDED    ENTHUSIASM  ! 


THE  CROWD,  &C,f  OUTSIDE. 


THE   GRAND    JUBILEE    BALI, 


A   LOVELY    SCENE. 


' 


The  third  day  iu  the  history  of  the  Great 
National  Peace  Jubilee  is  pasi  and  gone  and 
an  eventful  day  indeed  it  proved.  It  vva3  a  day 
wher.  was  convoked  the  largest  mass  of  hu 
inanity  ever  assembled  under  any  one  roof  on 
the  American  Continent;  a  day  when  the 
leading  national  anthems  were  given  in  a 
manner  whose  grandeur  was  unparalleled. 
It  was  a  day  when  was  celebrated  the  descent 
of  the  Angel  of  Peace  upon  a  nation  whose 
existence  our  forefathers  ninety-four  years 
ago,  fought,  bled  and  died  to  establish,  and  a 
day  when  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  people  as- 
sembled on  a  space  of  land  less  than  a  thou-  j 
sand  feet  square  to  listen  to  the  tuneful  bar.  j 
monies  of  the  greatest  musical  festival  in  the 
history  of  the  world.  It  was  the  gala  day  of 
the  National  Peace  Jubilee  and  its  interest 
cannot  be  excelled. 

TlietlCoHaeum, 
We  have  befor*  alluded  to  the  morning 
events  in  the  Coliseum  and  may  only  add  that 
by  12  o'clock  noon,  yesterday,  the  ellicient  and 
indispensable  police  invited  and  compelled  all 
to  retire  to  make  room  for  the  legitimate  ticket 
holders. 

Tlie  C»mlug  of  the  Multitude. 
In  our  yesterday's  morning  edition  we  gave 
a  very  fall  description  of  the  outside  crowd 
t  hat  was  in  attendance  upon  the  Jubilee  dur 
ing  the  visit  of  the  President,  not  supposing 
that  it  wouldeven  be  equalled  during  the  weak. 
But  this  was  a  mistake,  as  the  crowd  yes&r 
day  far  outnumbered  it.     Shortly  aftar  on 
o'clock  the  Common  and  the  Public  Cardan 
began     to     give      up      their     complements 
of    human     beings     who     for     hours     had 
been  gathered  in  large  and  small  groups  al 
over  these  grounds,  paying   homage  to  th3 
various  venders  of  small    commodities  that 
arc  supposed  to  be  good  generators  of  a  great 
many  ills  that  "flesh  is  heir  to,"  and  also  to 
the  show  folks,  who  furnish  considerable  en 
tertainment  for  these  crowds  for  a  littlo  mon. 
ey.    Slowly  they  drifted  along  into  the  main 
artery  of  travel,  Boyl3ton  street,  where  by 
dcgr.es  the  flood  was  increased  by  large  c  m" 
tributions  from  other  points  of  the  compass, 
till  at  last,  by  three  o'clock,  it  went  surging 
along  like  the  flooded  Amazon,  emptying  its 
mass  of  humanity  into  the  great  Jubilee  sea 
of  song   and   harmony.    Between  two    and 
three  o'clock  it  was  almost  impossible  for  any 
person  to   gain   access  to   any  of  the   great 
entrances   to  the   building,    so    closely   wai 
this   body  of  men  and  women   crowded   in 
about  the  Coliseum.    All  the  approaches  were 
also  densely    blockaded,  and   for   once  the 
crowd  had  the  advantage,  whatever  thai  may 
be,  of  the  force  of  officers  that  were  on  duty 
to  "keep  order."    Finally  the  multitude  be- 
o  great  both  inside  and  out  that  all  at- 
tempt at  systematic  effort  to  control  the  mass- 
cs  was  abandoned,  and  for  a  time  the  Jubilee 
ficic.l  to  run  itself  without  chart  or 


Hard  GeUina;  In. 

Wicked  was  the  crowd  that  surged  about 
the  entrmiccs.  Humanity  it  had  none,  nor 
pity  nor  compassion.  Onward  to  the  entrance 
was  its  only  aim  and  purpose,  and  every 
individual,  every  aspirin;;'  youth,  tender  maid- 
en or  aged  matron  who  had  with  his  or  her 
person  contributed  to  swell  the  throng  was  by 
it  borne  ruthlessly  along,  helpless  as  a  ship- 
wrecked mariner  clinging  to  a  spar  and  tosss  1 
about  on  a  limitless  sea.  Since  the  evening 
when  Sheridan  was  at  the  Revere,  and  many 
ladies  had  limbs  broken  by  the  absolute  pres- 
sure of  the  crowd  in  Bowdoiu  square,  no  such 
compact  mass  of  humanity  has  been  seen  in 
Boston  as  that  which,  between  two  and  three 
o'clock  yesterday  afternoon,  hovered  around 
the  seven  public  entrances  to  the  Coliseum. 

Panorama  of  the  Crowd  Within. 

Whoever  was  fortunate  enough  to  secure  a 
position  within  the  Coliseum  yesterday  where 
a  bird's-eye  view  could  be  had  of  the  vast 
multitude  there  congregated  had  the  pleasure 
of  looking  upon  an  assembly  of  not  less  than 

KU'TT  THOUSAND  PEOPLE.    For  two  full  hours 

did  we  survey  this  sea  of  humanity,  visiting 
every  part  of  the  building  where  man  or 
woman  could  secure  a  position  either  to  see 
or  hear,  noting  carefully,  as  the  engineer 
would  his  topography,  every  feature  that 
conid  possibly  be  ol  worth  iu  working  out 
our  estimate  of  the  congregated  thousands. 
1  irst  we  propel  leisurely  over  the  two  great 
lobbies  directly  beneath  the  East  and  West 
balconies.  These  lobbies  cover  the  greater 
portion  of  the  square  alloted  for  people  hold- 
ing simply  tickets  of  admission,  and  contain 
an  area  of  10,800  square  feet.  Thio  entire  space 
was  occupied  by  people  standing  so  thick 
that  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
and  the  most  indomitable  perserrexance  that 
locomotion  was  to  be  had  at  all.  That  portion 
of  these  lobbies  extending  back  for  fifteen 
feet,  from  the  parquette,  was  packed  so  thick 
as  to  be  actually  impenetrable  for  most  of  the 
time,  and  it  was  here  if  anywhere  that  the  %i 
subscribers  to  this  peace  carnival  got  their 
money's  worth.  At  times  the  pressure  upon 
this  uer.se  mass  of  humanity  from  the  rear,  ' 
coupled  with  the  heavy  swaying  motion  from 
the  right  and  left,  was  so  great  liu  ldreds  were 
precipitated  into  the  spa- 
and  the  open  aisles  of  the  parquette,  creating 
great  consternation  among  the  ladies,  many 
of  whom  were  so  overcome  with  fright,  or  3  ) 
nearly  suffocated  with  the  pressure  upoa 
them,  that  they  were  obliged  to  bo  removed 
by  the  officers  and  ushers.  Of  the  parquette 
proper,  and  the  north,  east  and  west  balconies, 
where  seats  are  prepared  for  18,300  persons,  it 
is  enough  to  say  that  they  were  all  occupied, 
while  hundreds  if  not  thousands  holding 
tickets  for  their  seats  were  unable  to 
mission  at  all.  About  four  o'clot'v 
the  crowd  had  become  so  smaunse  that 
order's  were  issued  to  close  tho  doors  and 
admit  no  one,  and  this  order  was  carried  on:. 

"Star Spangled  Baauei" 
A  moment  anxiously  awaited  at  last  arrived 
—the  time  for  giving  our  most  inspiriting  na- 
tional anthem,  the  "Star  Spangled  Banner. 
Madame  Parepa-Rosa  came  forward  to  sing 
the  air;  ar.d  was  again  cordially  greeted.  She 
sang  with  a  wondrous  power,  and  the  grand 
old  chorus,  swelled  by  the  organ  and  the  full 
compass  of  the  orchestra,  pealed  forth  with 
tremendous  volume,  electrifying  the  hearts  of 
every  on?  present,  and  cheer  upoa  cheer  rent 
the  air  and  the  vast  army  of  hearers  w<  re  mad 
with  delight.  The  piece  was  repealed,  with 
similar  effect,  and  the  audience  then  seemed 
satisfied,  although  to  have  heard  the  grand 
theme  treated  for  hours  would  uot  have  wea- 
ried any  one  present. 

The  HuB<te«th  Psalm. 

The  musical  festivities  of  tho  day  were 
closed  with  a  rendering  of  the  Hundreth 
Psalm,  the  like  of  which  it  never  before  re- 
ceived. The  last  verse  was  sung  by  at  least  fifty 
housand  persons  the  audience  being  includ- 
ed and  the  mighty  volume  of  human  voices 
being  swelled  and  intensified  by  the  profuse 
rfetroduetion  of  artillery  thunders.  Words 
can  hardly  describe  the  tremendous  grandeur 
of  the  ensemble.  As  the  noise  died  away  it 
was  followed  by  a  long,  loud  shout  of  joy  at 
the  W*at  success  of  the  day's  programme, 
and  as  Mr.  GUmore,  who  had  wielded  the 
hah  n  all  the  afternoon  turned  to.  bow  his  ac- 
knowledgments, th  »u  his  face  a 
>  ftcatlou,  doubtless  wrought  by 
the  them  dearest  scheme  hadno' 
found  its  consummation, 

THE  JUBILEE  BAIili. 

to  participate  in  the  festivities. 
Preparation. 

The  afternoon  audience  was  out  of  the  Coli- 
seum by  7  o'clock,  and  the  doors  were  then 
temporarily  closed  against  all  but  officia  s. 
The  audience  of  the  afternoon  had  not  all  dis- 
persed ere  the  work  of  preparation  for  the 
evening's  festivities  had  commenced  With 
the  utmost  alacrity  an  army  of  strong  aims 
took  hold  of  tho  seats  updn  the  lowerjloor, 
and  numerous  and  awkward  to  handle  as  they 
were,  In  a  trice  they  were  deposited  in  uuner- 
ous  and  ungainly  stacks  in  the  various  lobbies 
skirting  the  auditorium.  __• 


Then,  over  the  smooth-planed  hoards  swept 
an  army  of  brooms,  and  the  dirt  and  debris  of 
demoralized  programmes  was  gleaned  and 
deposited  outride.  Then  came  the  men  with 
long  poles  with  inflammable  ends,  and  anon 
two  thousand  and  four  hundred  gas-burners 
had  illuminated  extremities  and  sent  their 
glare  over  the  vast  auditorium,  softening  the 
ir<  scoes,  relieving  of  their  harshn- 
multitudinous  timbers  aloft  ,  and  generally 
enhancing  the  effect  of  the  decorations, which 
seemed  the  better  to  blend  together,  tho  bet-  ■) 
ter  to  fill  and  please  the  eye.  An  appropriate  {, 
and  the  only  addition  to  the  illuminating  me- 
dium, was  the  word  "Peace"  in  letters  of  fire, 
suspended  over  the  north  balcony,  ju*t  be- 
neath two  huge  and  brilliant  stars. 

The  Journal,  speaking  of  the  third  day  of  the 
Jubilee  says :  "From  a  position  near  the  loftiest 
tiers  of  sopranos  in  the  chorus  the  scene  was 
grand  beyond  description.  The  eye  took  in  at  a 
sweep  more  than  thirty  thousand  people,  the 
waving  of  at  least  ten  thousand  fans,  the  bright 
colors  of  twenty  thousand  dresses  and  the  in- 
cessant bustle  of  the  great  throng.  The  hum 
of  voices  as  they  floated  up  and  combined  to- 
gether was  as  nearly  like  the  hum  of  the  spin- 
dles in  the  Pacific  mills  as  anything  practical 
from  which  a  comparison  can  be  drawn.  The 
beauty  of  the  scene  it  is  useless  to  enlarge  upon. 
All  appropriate  phrases  and  pretty  figures  of 
speech  have  fyeen  exhausted  in  its  desciiption 
heretofore.  There  never  was  such  a  picture.  If 
an  immense  cojjervatory  is  beautiful,  if  the 
Public  Garden  excites  admiration  by  the  blend-  • 
ing  of  its  lovejy  shades  of  color,  what  can  be 
said  of  the  beautiful  sight  which  the  varie- 
gated colors  of  dress  combined  to  form." 

The  fact  that  the  cupola  of  the  State  Hous' 
was  open  to  visitors  on  Thursday,  the  17th,  be 
coming  generally  known,  quite  a  rush  was  the 
consequence.  Several  strangers  seeing  this,  mis- 
took the  building  for  the  Coliseum  and  presentee 
their  tickets  ot  admission  accordingly.  One 
went  so  far  as  to  inquire  of  Mr.  Adams,  membei 
of  the  Governor's  Council,  "When  the  music 
would  begin." 

Tickets  of  admission  to  the  third  day's  per- 
formance at  the  Jubilee  were  in  so  great  a  de- 
mand at  an  early  hour  in  the  day  that  specu- 
lators put  up  their  price  to  $20  for  seats,  and 
sold  them  rapidly  at  that.  One  enterprising 
"operator"  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Coliseum,  whe 
had  purchased  one  hundred  tickets  for  admis- 
sion without  seats,  at  $2  apiece,  sold  them  at 
the  rate  of  $10  apiece,  clearing  the  nice  little 
sum  of  $800  by  the  transaction. 

The  result  of  the  immense  attendance  at  the 
Coliseum,  which  characterized  the  performances 
of  the  second  and  third  days,  was,  of  course,  as 
visible  at  the  ticket  office  as  anywhere.  On 
the  third  evening  the  receipts  of  the  day  at  the 
CoHseum  were  counted  up,  and  amounted  to 
about  $46,000.  Some  sort  of  receptacle  must 
be  had,  and  as  no  Coliseum  pocket-book  had 
been  provided  proportioned  to  the  size  of  the 
building,  a  bushel  basket  was  made  use  of  as 
the  most  convenient  thing.  The  pile  filled  the 
basket  heaping  full. 

The  Orchestra  of  the  Peace  Festival. 
The  Boston  Traveller  says  that  in  the  orches- 
tra of  the  Peace  Festival  the  larger  cities  will 
be  represented  by  instrun.  A%  in  about  the 
following  proportion ; 


New  York. .,.,-....,  400 

Boston 300 

Philadelphia 60 

Baltimore 30 

Troy 25 

Montreal  andQuebec    15 

Chicago 15 

Cincinnati 12 


Hartford 10 

New  Haven 6 

St.  Louis 6 

Albany 5 

Springfield 3 

Making  a  total  of. . .  887 


This  number  will  be  increased  by  additions 
from  various  other  cities  and  towns.  The  follow- 
ing classification  has  been  made : 

Violins 230 

Violas 70 

Violoncellos 70 

Double  Basses 70 


French  Horns 16 

Trumpets 10 

Trombones 12 

Tubas 6 

Tympanies  (pairs) 7 


Flutes 10 

Clarionets 10 

Oboes 10       Total 523 

Bassoons 10 

The  grand  orchestra  for  oratorios  will  be  aug- 
mented in  proportion.  The  combined  brass,  reed 
and  stringed  instruments  will  probably  aggre- 
gate about  eleven  hundred.  The  orchestra  will 
doubtless  be  the  largest  and  most  complete  ever 
organized. 


"Big  Thing."— The  monster  drum  designed  for  use 
at  the  Muical  Peace  Festival  arrived  in  town,  this 
morning,  from  Granville  Corners,  where  ft  was  l.uilt 
fry  Messrs.  Noble  &  Cooley.  On  its  reception  h^rra  it 
fras  temporarily  deposited  in  the  house  of  steamer  JSb. 
4.  Jt  is  eight  feet  in  diameter,  three  feet  across,  ind 
ruestures  twenty-frve  teet  fn  circumference,  aafl  tor  a 
dro?a  It  can  fee- called  a  "big  thing."  The  motto,  "Let 
us  have  peace/'  is  inscribed  on  either  side  of  this  king 
cmong'the  tympani;  and  as  owe  views  its  huge  propor- 
tions bcis  strucfe  with  '■special  wonder."  The  ox  tide 
nsed  i'i  i's  constrwtion  was  tuke*  fr©m  a  pair  of  Jim* 
mense  cat tl^  that  I.»ve-  been  exhibitics  in  the  country 
for  sevial  year*.  o.'ue  drum  weighs- ahout  123  pounds, 
and  about  two  hunched  feet  of  halt-inch  ccd  is  usee? 
in  tighteninylt.  The  drum  is  in  charge  of  Mr.  N.J. 
Baldwin,  babE-drummeT  of  Gilmone's  Bto*. 


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All  the  centuries  since  Tubal  Strang  his 
harp  unite  with  us  to-day  in  the  glorious  hymns 
of  peace.     The   tabret  of  Laban,  the  harp  of 
David,  the  lyre  of  Hermes,  the  monaulos  of  Osiris, 
tlie  trumpet  of  Jubilee,  the  flute  of  the  Hebrew*, 
the  shawms,  cornets,  sackbuts,  cymbals  and  tym- 
brelsof  the  Syrians;  the  systrum  of  Thebes,  the 
beautiful  harp    of  Karnac,  the   sweet   lyre   of 
Apollo,   the  lute   of   Harmonia  and  Pan,    the 
fife  of   Midas,    the  cithara   of  the   Muses,  the 
bagpipes  of   Baccus,    the    syrinx     of     Homer, 
the    resounding    shell     of    Agamemnon,     the 
clarion     of      the     Spartans,     the    organs     of 
Babylon,    the    drums   of     India,   the   reeds   of 
Borne,  the  hydraulicon  of  the  Pope,  the  wind 
organ  of   Germany,  the  troubadours  of    King 
Kichard,    the    viols,   hautboys,   bassoons     and 
rebecs  of  France,  the   guitars    of  Naples   and 
Venice,  the  virginais  and  cornets  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, the  viol-de-ga-mba  of  Charles  First,  the  vio- 
lin of  Paganini,  together  with  the  violoncellos, 
flagolets,  clarinets,  pianos,  reed  organs,  anvils, 
and  cannon  of  this  century,  all  are  heard  in  the 
Jubilee  orchestra  to-day.     And  those  composi- 
tions which  shall  be  performed  from  the  Conti- 
nent's best  musicians,  are  not,  we  venture  to  say, 
all  music  of  our  time,  or  of  the  time  when  Han- 
del, Beethoven  or  Mozart  wrote.  The  merit  of  the 
pieces  and  their  claim  to  universal  attention  lies 
in  their  masterly  combination  of  the  world's  best 
strains.    In  them  the  Jew  recognizes  the  songs 
of  David  and  Deborah,  the  Grecian  is  reminded 
of  the  brdkeu  columns  of  Athens,  the  Italian 
thinks  of  ancient  Rome,  the  Chinese  of  Confuci- 
us, the  Egyptian  of  Memnon,  the  Englishman 
of   her  ancient    Sards,  the  Highlander  of  the 
«olerrn   r^eTits    of   Scotland,    the  Irishman   of 
O'Brian  the  Brav-  aud  his  minstrels,  the  Ger- 
man of  the  war  songs  and  church  hymns  used  in 
the  dark  days  of  yore,  the  Frenchman  of  the 
ballad?  of  Charlemagne,  the  Italian  of  the  early 
Christian,  requiems,  the  Sicilian  of    the  lively 
symphonies  and  sonnets  of  happy  intervals  of 
peace,  and  the  Spaniard  of  the  lays  of  prosperous 
Ferdinand.    Each  nation  and  tribe  can  find  some 
strain  to  suit  their  ear  and  touch  the  chords  in 
their  hearts.    Fit  music,  indeed,  to  sing  in  a  land 
composed  of  all  nations  and  in  a  time  when  all 
the  musical  countries  of  the  earth  are  at  peace. 


Jubilee     Week— The    Great     Festival. 


[Special  Correspondence  of  the  Worcester  Spy.] 


Boston,  Friday,  June  18, 1869. 
The  great  week  is  drawing  to  a  close,  a  week 
of  interest  and  excitement  that  £v«m  the  most 
highly  colored  newspaper  reports  ^an  not  exag- 
gerate. The  interest  in  the  musical  festi  val  in- 
creases daily ;  on  Tuesday  one  could  easily  gain 
entrance,  and  find  a  good  seat,  but  yesterday  the 
crowd  around  the  doors  was  immense,  and  so 
clamorous  for  tickets,  that  at  last  the  doors  we^e 
closed,  and  dilatory  ticket-holders  and  disap- 
pointed ticket-seekers  were  alike  excluded.  On 
Tuesday,  the  opening  day,  one  was  filled  with 
astonishment  at  the  success  of  the  great  plan,  at 
the  smoothness  with  which  all  thiugs  worked,  at 
the  attention  paid  to  every  detail,  as  if  the  affair 
were  an  ordinary  two  hours'  concert,  and  the 
audience  were  to  be  counted  by  hundreds  only 
Mr.  Gilmore  seems  to  have  some  magic  art  that 
binds  people  and  things  to  do  his  will  faithfully 
and  promptly,  and  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  he 
has  not  the  lyre  ofjOrpheus,  and  did  not  use  it  to 
bring  this  week's  beauty  out  of  last  week's  cha- 
otic confusion.  The  greatness  of  the  whole  thing 
grows  upon  one;  and  to  gain  the  f  til  effect  of 
it  one  needs  to  stand  far  back  in  the  gallery, 
where  it  Is  impossible  to  recognize  the  faces  or 
figures  of  the  performers,  and  to  lie 
distracted  by  special  interests.  On  Tues- 
day and  Wednesday  Ole  Bull  sat  in  the 
phic  of  1"  -■'or  amongst  the  musicians,  and  on 
bis  '  ;;it  ":u'  Rosa— the  old  and  the  young 
viol  9  using  the  same  music— a  beautiful  pic- 
ture, tfhich  we  shall  probably  never  see  again. 
Thefii  1  man  sat  with  head  erect,  not  bent 
loving!}  ret  his  violin  as  when  he  plays  alone, 
and  with  eyes  apparently  closed;  while  the 
young  face  next  him  was  full  of  animation,  and 
with  rapid  glances  twk  note  of  music,  leader 
and  audience;  and  far  behind  and  on  each  side 
of   these  stretched  the  long  rows  of  instruments 


and  singers  till  they  were  lost  to  sight  under  the 
shadow  of  King  David  and  St.  Cecelia. 

On  the  first  day  Mrs.  Harrison  Gray  Otis  was 
conspicuous  amongst  the  honored  guests;  she 
wore  a  lilac  silk,  v:jth  a  rich  white  lace  over 
dress,  and  a  simple  white  crape  bonnet,  and 
near  her  sat  the  foreigners  of  distinction  who 
were  present.  The  invited  guests  (excepting 
the  President)  excited  very  little  attention,  as 
they  entered  quietly,  and  nobody  knew  they 
were  of  especial  note,  excepting  the  few  who  saw 
them  conducted  to  the  stuffed  green  sofas  re- 
served for  the  guests. 

Madame  Parepa-Rosa  was  received  with  great 
enthusiasm,  and  day  by  day  the  enthusiasm  in- 
creased. Yesterday,  when  she  sang  "Robert,  toi 
qui  j'aime,"  the  great  listeniug  crowd  was 
hushed  to  utter  silence,  and  away  back  in  the  op- 
posite gallery  every  note  was  heard  clearly,  but 
sounded  faint  and  far.  Then  she  sang  "The 
Star  Spangled  Banner"  with  that  accompani- 
ment of  magnificent  chorus  and  orchestra,  and 
no  one  who  did  not  see  the  effect  of  it  can  begin 
to  imagine  it.  Between  forty  and  fifty  thousand 
people  moved,  according  to.thcir  temperaments, 
from  those  who  merely  clapped  their  gloved 
hands  to  those  who  screamed  and  stood  on  the 
benches  and  wildly  waved  handkerchiefs  tied  to 
the  ends  of  canes ;  and  people  forgot  not  to  cry, 
and  dashed  away  their  tears  only  that  they 
might  not  lose  sight  of  the  enchantress  who 
stood  before  them,  with  the  bar  of  sunshine 
(which  had  slowly  moved  across  the  vast  audi- 
ence, lighting  up  as  it  passed  the  gorgeous  flags 
and  the  grave  dresses,  or  lingering  on  some  sil- 
ver head,)  pouring  its  full  glory  on  her  gold- 
colored  dress,  and  making  her  dazzling  in  her 
brightness.  She  answered  the  encore  by  repeat- 
ing the  whole  of  the  Star  Spangled  Banner; 
again  the  multitude  grew  still  and  listened;  and 
again  at  the  close  that  wild  excitement,  that 
passionate  enthusiasm  broke  forth.  It  was  irre- 
sistible ;  a  man  must  have  been  made  of  cast 
steel  or  arctic  ice  to  have  stood  unmoved  in 
those  storms  of  excitement  that  swept  over  and 
swayed  the  crowd. 

The  Anvil  Chorus  was  always  received  with 
expressions  of  great  delight,  and  I  think  no  sin- 
gle thing  makes  one  more  fully  realize  the  size 
and  power  of  the  orchestra  than  the  fact  that 
one  hundred  anvils  could  be  introduced  into  it, 
and  one  hundred  hammers  strike  at  once,  and 
give  only  pleasure  to  the  listeners.  The  effect 
was  very  picturesque  whe  Jhe  long  lines  of 
bright  scarlet  rose  and  fell  a.  red-shirted 

firemen  bent  to  their  anvils,  and  ti.  came 

softened  by  the  distance,  and  the  hiT""~ 
mers  flashed  in  the  air,  or  fell  obedient  . 
imperious  baton.  The  cannonier  sat  near  m 
conductor,  and  befo  -e  him  was  something  like 
the  key-board  of  a  small  piano;  he  pressed  the 
keys  and  instantly  the  thunder  of  artillery  out- 
side  boomed  and  crashed;  and  one  stood  amazed 
at  the  wonders  of  science  and  the  musical  au- 
dacity that  dared  to  add  to  an  orchestra  of  1000 
instruments,  100  anvils,  and  a  park  of  artillery. 
In  the  room  for  newspaper  men  stands  a  bust 
of  Franklin,  and  one  cannot  help  thinking  how 
amazed  he  would  be,  if  he  could  see,  where  once 
the  tides  of  the  bay  ebbed  and  flowed,  a  firm 
building  on  very  dry  land  where  forty  thousand 
people  listened  to  a  chorus  of  10,000  singers,  and 
to  a  mighty  orchestra  to  which  the  lighting,  that 
he  brought  from  heaven,  had  lent  its  service, 
and  cannon  roared  obedient  to  it,  as  it  was  to 
the  lifting  of  the  leader's  baton. 

The  ball  last  night  was  pretty,  nothing  more. 
The  flags  and  hangings  of  the  Coliseum  light 
well,  and  are  more  gorgeous  by  gas  than  in  the 
day;  the  g.^it  letters  at  the  back  of  the  hall, 
forming  the  word  "Peace,"  in  innumerable  jets 
of  gas,  were  very  handsome;  the  dancers  had 
room  enough  and  capital  music  to  dance  by; 
there  was  little  full-dress ;  the  majority  of  the 
ladies  wore  silk,  light  or  dark,  thick  or  thin,  as 
fancy  or  convenience  dictated;  lace  shawls 
abounded,  and  bare  necks  were  very  rare. 
Bright  silk  skirts  over  white  thin  stuff,  and 
white  lace  over  bright  silk,  were  common,  and  a 
few  voluminous  and  elaborately  trimmed  tarle- 
tons  looked  in  the  line  of  promenadcrs  like  the 
light  scud  which  the  wind  drives  across  the  sky. 
The  dressing  was  hardly  more  striking  than  that 
which  has  frequently   been   seen  on  the  street 


during  the  week;  one  street  dress  at  least  would 
have  been  suitable  for  the  ball,  a  white  muslin 
ruffled  skirt,  with  a  pink  silk  over-dress  pointed 
and  fringed,  a  black  jacket,  a  small  hat,  with 
blue  feathers.  The  streets  and  Common  would 
have  been  entertaining  enough  if  the  crowd  had 
not  been  so  great;  but  it  was  hard  to  move 
about,  ev<m  in  the  malls;  on  the  business  streets 
it  was  harder  still,  and  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Coliseum  there  was  a  continual  jam.  The 
booths  did  not  seem  to  be  well  patronized, 
though  the  thousands  of  possers-by  had  pink 
lemonade  and  pink  pop-corn,  and  pea-nuts  of- 
fered to  them  in  every  imaginable  tone  from  a 
growly  base  to  a  tired  and  nervous  scream,  and 
in  every  form  of  provincial  and  broken  Eng- 
lish. The  dust  was  very  disagreeable,  and 
probably  affected  the  sales  at  the  booths  by 
blinding  the  eyes  of  would-be-customers,  and 
adding  an  undesirable  element  of  grit  to  the 
seductive  beverage  and  food  so  freely  offered. 

The  whole  city  seems  to  have  had  a  gala 
week ;  the  air  has  been  full  of  music  day  and 
night;  and  military  parades  have  lasted  beyond 
the  appointed  day.  Thousands  of  people  wander 
about  without  other  aim  than  that  of  amuse- 
ment, and  if  by  chance  a  quiet  street  is  found, 
at  the  sound  of  a  hand-organ  or  a  harp,  the 
bricks  seem  to  be  transformed  into  men  and 
women,  so  quickly  does  a  crowd  of  idlers 
gather. 

The  Jubilee  week  is  something  to  have  lived 
through  and  to  remember;  grand  and  exciting 
and  pictnresque  and  exhausting.  It  will  be  long 
before  Mr.  Gilmore's  great  and  successful  under- 
taking ceases  to  be  a  subject  of  conversation, 
astonishment  and  pleasure. 


t 


Post  Office   Arrangements. 

For  the  accommodation  of  the  toublic  during  the 
week  of  the  Pc?.ce  Jubilee,  letter  Doxce  have  neen 

filaced  at  the  Coliseum;  one  at  the  central  entrance  on 
he  north,  one  at  the  contra'  entrance  on  the  i.outP: 
one  at  the  entrance  on  St.  James  streei;  at  the  jova 
assigned  to  the  pros  and  telegraph.  Thc:e  box  : 
will  be  collected  every  hour  i/om  8  A.  M.  to  9  P.  M. 
inclusive. 

For  the  accommodation  of  reporters  and  the  pre—, 
letter  carriers  will  be  in  attendance  at  the  telegr.iph 
room  from  9  A.  M.  to  9  P.  M.  to  receive  and  delwer  let- 
ters. The  will  receive  letter.;  Tor  the  New  York,  Phil- 
adelphia, Washington  and  southern  m-il  and  fo-  t'te 
Albany  and  Western  ma",  leaving  Bos' on  at  3  P.  M. 
and  9  P.  M.  till  within  five  minut;s  of  3  and  five  nrc 
utes  of  9  respec.ively,  placing  them  on  the  po.t..'  c.rj 
at  the  crocsing  at  those  houti 

This  will  save  more  than  an  hour  tor  letters  intend'  i 
for  these  mails  over  mailing  a.,  fie  wost  office. 

Letters  are  now  collected  and  delivered  hourly  at  the 
State  House,  City  HrJl  and  vhe  hotrls  in  the  central 
part  of  the  city,  and  also  Cr.mbud  e,  Charle^own  a  id 
the  stations  at  Roxbury  and  South  End,  pud  the  nub^c 
will  find  the  arrangements  in  the  manner  indicate! 
rapid  and  reliable. 

Letters  will  bo  collected  from  the  Cohteum  on  t^e 
hours,  and  will  be  delivered  at  the  Coliseum,  le^vin-; 
the  Post  Office,  State  slreet,  on  the  halt  hours. 

Letters  and  packages  ot  newepe.p«rs  dircetjd  to  the 
Coliseum,  for  the  press  and  reporter.,  leaving  New 
York  by  the  morning  train,  wi1!  be  delivered  ditet  "y 
from  the  postal  car  wheu  it  Uope  a'o  the  crossing  abouu 
5  P.  M.  Wu.  L.  Buae,  Postoutfoe. 

— *-*  "     '    li 

KF-  The  result  of  the  great  work  of  prepara-  f 
tion,  the  rehearsals  of  the  thousands  of  musicians  < 
the  planning  of  the  architects,  the  hammering 
and  sawing  of  the  mechanics,  the  consultations  of 
the  committees,  the  suggestions  and  the  commen- 
dations of  the  press,  is  seen  to-day,  in  the  success- 
ful inauguration  of  the  Great  Jubilee  of  Peace. 

Not  to  Boston  alone,  but  to  the  whole  c  untry, 
this  festival  belongs.  It  had  its  origin  here,  it 
found  here  the  support  which  ensured  its  success, 
and  Boston  is  the  scene  of  this  great  musi- 
cal triumph,  but  this  triumph  is  secured 
by  the  hearty  and  enthusiastic  co-operation  of 
musicians  in  all  parts  of  the  country.  While  we 
cannot  but  have  a  local  pride  in  the  matter,  it  is 
a  source  of  far  higher  satisfaction  that  our  coun- 
try, in  commemoration  of  one  of  the  greatest 
events  in  its  history,  is  the  scene  of  a  Musical 
Jubilee,  which,  in  the  number  of  those  who  par- 
ticipate, in  the  extent  and  variety  of  the  pro- 
gramme, and  we  trust  in  the  artistic  character  of 
the  performance  also,  will  surpass  anything  of 
the  kind  even  in  the  music-loving  countries'  of 
Europe. 


A  Hymn  of  Peace. 


WRITTEN  FOR  THE  '  lATIONAL   PEACE  JUBILEE,  BY 
OLIVE:     WENDELL  HOLMES, 

To  the  music  of  Keller's  "American  Hymn." 


Angel  of  Peace,  thou  hast  wandered  too  long ! 
Spread  thy  white  wings  to  the  sunshine  of  love! 

Come  while  our  voices  are  blended  in  song- 
Fly  to  our  ark  like  the  storm-beaten  dove ! 

Fiy  to  our  ark  on  the  wings  of  the  dove,— 
Speed  o'er  the  far-sounding  billows  of  song, 

Crowned  with  thine  olive-leaf  garland  of  love,— 
Angel  of  Peace,  thou  hast  waited  too  long ! 

Brothers  we  meet,  on  this  altar  of  thine, 

Mingling  the  gifts  we  have  gathered  for  thee, 
Sweet  with  the  odors  of  myrtle  and  pine, 

Breeze  of  the  prairie  and  breath  of  the  sea ! 
Meadow  and  mountain  and  forest  and  sea! 

Sweet  is  the  fragrance  of  myrtle  and  pine, 
Sweeter  the  incense  we  offer  to  thee, 

Brothers  once  more  round  this  altar  of  thine ! 

Angels  of  Bethlehem,  answer  the  strain ! 

Hark !  a  new  birth-song  is  filling  the  sky ! 
Loml  as  the  storm-wind  that  tumbles  the  main 

Bid  the  full  breath  of  the  organ  reply,— 
Let  the  loud  tempest  of  voices  reply,— 

Itoll  its  long  surge  like  the  earth-shaking  mam ! 
Swell  the  vast  song  till  it  mounts  to  the  sky!— 

Angels  of  Bethlehem,  echo  the  strain ! 


Mr.  Carl' Mietzkc,  leader  of  the  celebrated  or- 
chestra attached  to  the  court  of  Mecklenburg 
Strelitz,  Germany,  was  one  of  the  orchestra  at 
the  Peace  Jubilee.  He  is  60  year.-;  old,  but  trav- 
eled over  3000  miles  to  join  the  melodious 
Hi  mug.  He  pronounces  it  the  greatest  musical 
event  ever  witnessed  by  man.  So  full  is  he  of 
Boston  and  its  music-loving  and  supporting 
public,  that  he  is  determined  (in  case  he  should 
live  to  see  the  50th  anniversary  of  his  service 
with  the  Mecklenburg  orchestra,  which  occurs 
in  December,  1873,)  to  settle  in  Boston. 


Come,  North  and  South  and  East  and  West, 
And  meet  with  cordial  greeting  j 

Once  more  beneath  tho  sway  of  peace, 
The  nation's  heart  is  beating. 

No  more  upon  the  trembling  wires 

The  news  of  war  is  flying, 
No  more  our  pleasant  fields  are  strewn 

With  gory  dead  and  dying. 

Hushed  is  war's  trumpet,— Summer  gales' 
The  notes  of  peace  are  blowing, 

And  o'er  our  heads,— God  grant  it  long,— 
The  Union  stars  are  glowing. 

Across  the  prairies'  broad  expanse, 

The  iron  bands  that  span  it, 
Brings  California's  greeting  to 

New  England's  hills  of  granite. 

Maine's  forests,  Pennsylvania's  plains, 
The  shores  the  lakes  are  laving, 

Th  e  garden  lands  'neath  Southern  skies, 
Where  orange  groves  are  waving, 

Break  forth  in  one  harmonious  chant, 

A  glorious  hosannali ! 
Let  us  have  peace  and  unity 

Beneath  our  country's  banner. 

Ye  wielders  of  the  mighty  power, 
That  sways  both  prince  and  peasant , 

May  all  your  ways  be  those  of  peace, 
And  all  your  paths  be  pleasant. 

Praise  we  the  pen,  that  trenchant  wand,— 

Our  best  our  last  endeavor, 
To  wield  with  honoR  that  the  true 

Archimedean  lever. 

And  thus  we  pray,  whilo  in  rude  rhyme 
This  welcome  warm  is  spoken — 

United  hearts— United  States,— 
God  keep  the  chain  unbroken! 


TO  P.  S.  GILMORE, 
Projector  of  the  Fence  Jntoilee. 


r 


I. 

Let  Gotham  seem  within  her  sleeve  to  laugh ; 
While  all  her  wit  sheer  jealousy  distends, 
We  know  the  kind  of  bird  her  liver  rends, 
'lis  said— but  who  will  vouch  for  half 

The  falsehoods  of  historic  paragraph?— 
A  bowl  with  wise  men  three  to  seaward  tend? ; 
The  vessel  founders— and  the  story  ends : 
"Here  wisdom  died"  was  Gotham's  epitaph. 

A  friendly  feeling  prompts  to  this  advice, 
Now  her  disease  no  longer  is  organic, 
Willing  to  learn  what  Coliseum  teaches, 

Let  the  "fat  lady,"  suddenly  grown  nice, 
List  to  her '  'hub's' '  sweet  concords  though  Titanic 
And  wait  till  suffrage  giveth  her  the  breeches. 

II. 
On  thee  poor  praise  at  best  can  we  bestow, 

For  tireless  efforts  in  Euterpe's  cause. 

With  lens  adjusted,  some  unclassic  flaws 

The  microscopic  critic  still  may  show. 
But  if  the  planets,  making  as  they  go 

Departures  from  mere  astronomic  laws, 

Move  on  in  harmony  and  never  pause ; 

The  tidal  waves  of  song  may  varying  flow. 
Success  attend  thy  giant  enterprise! 

On  earth  all  great  achievements  are  empiric ; 

All  novel  thought  startles  the  world  of  mind: 
'Tis  only  when   it  hears  with  ears  and  see3  with 


Victorious  battle  cry,  triumphant  lyric, 
Heroes  and  poets  their  just  honors  find. 

Cambridge,  June  14. 


if 


The  Coliseum  Report. — The  report  of  the 
Coliseum  committee,  which  has  been  anxiously 
awaited  for  months,  not  only  by  those  who  par-i'. 
ticipated  in  the  great  peace  jubilee,  but  by  a** 
large   proportion   of    the   public,  has,  at  last,i 

been  published,    and  the   committee,    at  their^  feu  with  a  crash,  demolishing  the  great  organ" 

and  killing  a  man  who  had  gone  out  to  witness 


S^r"  The  force  of  Shakespeare's  lines— 
"Though  you  untie  the  winds  and  let  them  fhrat 
Against  the  churches:  though  the  yesty  waves 
Confound  and  swallow  navigation  up- 
Though  bladedcorn  be  lodg'd,  and  trees  blown  down  • 
Though  castles  topple  on  their  warders'  heads"— 
was  never  realized  in  a  stronger  manner  than  in 
this  vicinity  yesterday  afternoon.    It  was  a  storm 
such  as  few  have  seen  before,  and  few  have  a  de- 
sire to  see  the  like  of  it  again.    Though  brief  in 
its  duration,  it  was  fearful  in  its  power,  and  ter- 
ribly destructive  in  its  effects.    Scarcely  a  build- 
ing in  Boston  but  shows  its  effect,  in  broken 
glass,  or  damage  to  roof,  or  skylight,  or  chimney, 
and  in  the  suburban  town?  the  effect  was  the 
same.    In   all   the   eastern  part  of   the   State 
great    damage  was  done    to   the    fruit   crop, 
many   steeples   were    demolished,    houses    and 
workshops    were    blown    down,    and    one    or 
two    lives   were    lost.      The    Coliseum,    built 
for  a  summer  festival,  yielded  to  the  blast,  and 


meeting  on  Wednesday  evening,  closed  up  their 


business  and  adjourned  sine  die.    The  labors  of  the  work  of  the  storm.    The  Skating  Rink,  once 

this   committee   commenced   March   16th,    or*?  before  injured  by  a  summer  gale,°and  rebuilt 

about  two  or  three   mouths   after  Mr.  Gilmore-  more  substantially  than  befoie,  again  received 

had  originated  and  announced  the  plan  for  the  much  damage.     Many  unfinished  buildings  in 

jubilee;  and  their  efforts,    seconded  by  those  of  town  and  village  went  down  before  the  gale.  The 

the  city  government   of  Boston,    and   by   the  labor  and  the  patient  care  of  the  fruit  growers  lost 

thousands  of  musicians  throughout  the  country,/  their  reward,  as  the  well  laden  trees  yielded  their 

made  the  monster  musical  affair  of  the  age  the  choice  burdens  to  the  fierce  blast.    The  harbor 


success  which,  in  all  quarters,  it  was    acknowl- 
edged to  be. 

The  committee  state  that,  having  accepted  the 
position  to  which  they  had  been  chosen,  exam- 
ined the  plans  of  Mr.  Gilmore,  and,  while  in  a 
measure  at  least,  they  shared  in  his  enthusiasm, 
it  was  apparent  to  them  from  the  beginning  that 
material  modifications  of  his  plans  and  a  differ- 
ent mode  of  administration  were  necessary  to 
place  the  jubilee  within  the  province  of  success; 
and  these  they,  proceeded  to  make  "without 
adopting  his  promises  on  the  one  hand,  and 
without  lessening  the  attractiveness  of  the  jubi- 
lee on  the  other.  The  risks,  labors  and  discour- 
agements which  they  encountered  were  much 
greater  than  they  anticipated."  Their  legiti- 
mate functions  as  a  committee  ceased  with  the 
close  of  the  promenade  concerts  given  shortly 
after  the  jubilee,  but  the  Coliseum  remained  in 
their  charge  until  August  1st,  when  it  was  paus- 
ed over  to  the  builders  in  accordance  with  the 
terms  of  the  building  contract;  and  since  the  first 


was  lashed  into  fury,  and  much  damage  was  done 
to  the  shipping  at  the  wharves,  and  the  lighter 
craft  caught  upon  the  water  at  the  time. 


J$kc*   fc&*csy-£^ 


—  .  He  conceived  the  idea,  in  all  its  full- 

ness, suddenlTone  day   i«  Jun#,  1867,  in    New 
York,  amid  the  roar  of  Broadway,  but  he  kept  it 
a  secret,  excepting  from  his  wife,  who,  he  takes 
pleasure  in  telling  us,  set  him  down  for  crazy 
when  he  first  informed  her  of  his  great  idea,  and 
brooded  over  it,  forming  preliminary  plans,  and 
;  building  gorgeous  castles  in  the  air,  for  over  a 
:  year.    Then,  thinking  it  best  to  share  his  secret 
5  with  one  or  two  trusted  friends,  he  went  to  the 
1  late  Col  Charles  O.  Rogers  of  the  Journal,  dis- 
j  closed  his  plan  and  asked  his  opinion.    This  he 
1  gave  bluntlv  and  decidedly :  "  T  tell  you  frankly,' 
J  said  he,  'that  if  you  undertake  to  carry  out  any 
tsuch  ridiculous  notion,  you  will  have  to  find 
.other  friends  to  assist  you.    I  cannot,  and  will 
of  August  this  committee  "has  had  no  interest  m  ^not  encourage  any  such  unreasonable  proposi- 


nor  control  of  the  building,  and  no  rcsponsi 

bility  for  the  uses  to  which  it  has  been  devoted 

or  even  for  its  continuance." 
The  following  embodies  thex  financial  portion 

of  the  committee's  report : 

Total  receipts  from  sale  of  tickets,  rent  of 

rooms,  and  all  other  sources $290,270  33 

Expended  as  follows : 

Cost    of    Coliseum    building 
complete $120,750  63 

Paid  musicians,  vocal  and  in- 
strumental     79,366  65 

Paid  advertising 27,293  96 

Paid  board  and  lodging  of  mu- 
sicians     26,200  85 

Paid  decorations  of  Coliseum.    11,170  12 

Paid  music  and  printing 5,533  94 

Paid  Messrs  Hook  for  organ. .      3,000  00 

Paid  doorkeepers  and  sale  of 
tickets 2,504  31 

Paid   incidentals,  land    dam- 
ages, clerk  hire,  gas,  water, 

&c,  &o.,  &c 7,562  78  _ 

283,388  29 


Balance  in  the  hands  of  treasurer $6,882  04 

Although  no  reasons  are  given  for  this,  ap- 
parently, long  d«."lay  in  making  their  report,  it  is 
gratifying  to  know  that,  in  an  affair  of  such 
magnitude,  and  connected  with  which  there 
must,  necessarily,  be  so  many  risks,  *he  balance 
in  the  hands  of  the  treasurer  is  so  large.  Con- 
trary to  the  general  understanding,  however, 
this  balance  is  not  applied  to  the  relief  of  sol- 
diers' widows  and  orphans,  but  is  presented  by 
the  committee  to  Mr.  Gilmore,  as  will  be  seen 
from  the  closing  paragraph  of  their  report: 

"Contrary  to  general  apprehension  the  receipts  of 
the  jubilee  were  sufficient  to  pay  all  its  expenses 
without  calling  upon  the  guarantee  fund;  and  there 
Is  in  the  treasury,  as  above  stated,  a  balance  of  $6,- 
382  04,  which  is  absolutely  at  the  disposal  of  the 
committee,  to  be  used  for  the  reimbursement  of 
their  own  expenses,  compensation  for  their  services, 
or  for  any  other  purpose  to  which  they  may  please 
to  appropriate  it.  They  have  unanimously  decided 
to  add  this  amount  to  the  proceeds  of  the  benefit- 
concert  given  to  Mr.  Gilmore,  and  as  their  own  tes- 
timonial of  their  appreciation  of  his  genius  and  tire- 
less energy  in  inaugurating  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
and  successful  entertainments  of  modern  times. 
The  proceeds  of  that  concert  amounted  to  $32,146; 
add  balance  in  treasury,  $6882.04,  making  a  total  tes- 
timonial placed  in  trust  for  Mr.  Gilmore  and  his 
family  of  $39,028.04." 

— — —  ■-.     — " 


he   had   s 
:h  gotvery 

;heDook  co 


is  is  how  the 
hile  perusing 
he  (Gilmore) 


containing  the 


This  unexpected  rebuff  dismayed  and  saddened 
him,  but  yet  nevertheless  he  was  not  disheart- 
ened. He  decided  to  wait  until  after  the  presi- 
dential election  was  over,  but,  in  the  meantime, 
to  thoroughly  perlect  his  plan.    This  time  duly 

j  came,  and  then  he  started  out  once  more  for 
friends  and  capital.  Not  having  yet  chosen  a 
place  to  hold  the  jubilee  in,  he  went  to  New  York 

^to  prospect.    But  ne  didn't  get  much  encourage- 

.^ment  there,  being  considered,  just  as  at  home,  a 
sort  of  a  lunatic.  So  he  turned  his  face  home- 
ward and  decided  to  plant  his  coliseum  in  Bos- 
ton, and  rear  his  fame  and  name  here.  He  re- 
solved upon  the  time,— the  middle  of  June,— fur- 
ther perfected  his    papers   and   plans,  and  then 

I  sought  out  first  the  leading  musicians,  then  the 
leading  musical  critics,  then  the  representatives 
of  the  Boston  press,  and  finally  the  solid  men  of 
Boston.  With  the  first  he  had  success.  Carl 
Zerrahn  and  Eichberg  both  got^very  much  excited 
and  dangerously  enthusia: 
mild  Eichberg  conducted 
<  the  astounding  prospectu, 
had  handed  him : 

"Mr  Eichberg  took  the 
prospectus  and  commenced  reading  the  program 
for  the  first  time.  As  he  progressed  his  breath- 
ing grew  louder  and  quicker,  his  eye  flashed  with 
excitement  as  his  fertile  imagination  pictured 
the  enlivening  scenes;  and  as  his  mind  grasped 
the  magnitude  of  the  harmonious  feast,  which 
seemed  to  fill  him  with  wonder,  he  closed  the 
book  and  exclaimed  with  inspired  fervor:  'O, 
this  is  glorious!  How  long  have  you  had  this 
idea?  I  heartily  congratulate  you  on  such  a 
sublime  conception;'  and  warmly  grasping  the 
hand  of  his  visitor  he  added,  'if  you  never  go 
one  step  further  toward  carrying  out  your  plan 
than  in  simply  presenting  the  idea  as  you  now 
have  done,  the  musical  profession  will  owe  you  a 
monument."  ^  ' 

But  with  Mr  John  S.  Dwight,  of  Dwight  s 
Journal  of  Music,  Mr  Gilmore  didn't  have  suc'i 
a  pleasing  interview.  Ho  hates  Dwight  dread- 
fully, but  I  fancy  the  object  of  his  wrath  will  not 
suffer  a  great  deal  therefrom.  His  report  of  the 
interview  is  worth  quoting : — 

"  'Mr  Dwight,  I  have  come  to  see  you  on  a 

vi  .y  important  mubical  matter,  and  though  I 

:>:ave  no  reason  to  expect  any  favors  from  you, 

v] ud-dng  by  the  past,  yet,  recognizing  the  position 

which  you  hold,  I  teel  it   my  duty    to  acquaint 

movement  that  is  now 


,  WIllCIl   JUU   UU1U,    l   1CC1      lb       111  J       uiaij         «vr      *.—^  — 

W       EGP"  The  receipts  by  the  Executive  Committee  / you  with  an  important  movement  that  is  now 

f*  of  the  Peace  Jubilee    were  $2CO,270.83;  the  ex-  *&**S  on-'    ™8  g™*  hti°Z&T£JlT>n  \Tm 

™™m„..oa    «o«9  os«  oo     tt,«  hoL™  Lc  .J-  rather  nettled  Mr  DfrJght.  who  replied, ,   0 ,  1 am 


penditures,  $283,338.39 
given  to  Mr.  Gilmore 


The  balance  has  been 


(, 


weary  and  tired  of  all  such  things.  I  wish  that  ■#- 
the  rest  of  the  remark  was  inaudible.    'Here  is  ) 
,the  prospectus  of  a  musical-festival,'  continued 
ihe  visitor:  'if  vou  will  take  the   trouble  to  read 


i  has  stood  amid  the   raging  tempest,  tt        E?5o 
ultimate  success  of  the  thing,  the  projector  al-  v  L 
i„<„nri  t»*o  null. hoViovpd  arp.ntlp.mi>n  of  the  Boston 


lowed  the  well-behaved  gentlemen  of  the  Boston 
press  to  mysteriously  hint  at  the  coming  won 
der,  but  only  hint;  and  again,  a  week  or  two 
later,  another  and  broader  hint  was  permitted. 
Advancing,  day  by  day,  Mr  Gilmore  sought  out 
the  great  men  and  cajoled  letters  ot  indorsement 
out  of  the  good-natured  Mayor  Shurtleff,  Gov 
Bullock,  who  was  about  retiring,  and  Gov 
Clafiin,  who  was  about  entering  the  chair 
of  state.  His  account  of  these  interviews  with 
civil  and  social  dignitaries  bears  a  strong  resem- 
blance to  Mark  Twain's  account  of  the  great  beef 
claim.  The  changes  are  rung  on  "I  have  called 
on  you,  Mr  Governor,  or  Mr  Mayor,  to  explain,  ' 
etc.,  and  "Mr  Governor"  or  "Mr  Mayor"  always 
congratulates  Mr  Gilmore  on  the  magnitude  or 
stupendousness  of  his  undertaking,  only  a  shade 
less  extravagant  than  Mr  G.  himself  employs 


the  long  and  dreary  right,  watches  with  eagei 
eye,  and  welcomes  with  gladsome  heart,  the  first 
faint  blushes  of  the  breaking  day,  with  hope  that 
calm  may  come  again  witt  light  and  sunshine. 
So  was  it  with  one  who  di  cted  his  footsteps 
homeward  that  dreary  niglv,  still  tossed  upon 
the  sea  of  troubles  that  gave  him  no  rest,  and  sur- 
rounded bv  darkness  deeper  than  the  midnight, 
and  dangers  that  seemed  to  thicken  at  every  step. 
So  like  the  weary  mariner,  he  watched  for  the. 
first  gray  dawn  of  another  day,  that  perchance 
would  brighten  up  again,  and  bring  peace  to  the 
troubled  waters." 

Well,  it  did.  Peace  did  come  to  the  troubled 
waters.  The  committee  abandoned  the  common 
and  chose  St  James  park.  The  coliseum  loomed 
up,  and  every  preparation  was  carried  steadily 
forward.    Mr  Gilmore's  report  of  his  interview 


S.  gILMORB.-[Photogbaphbd  mr  G.  H.  Loomib,  Boston.! 


less  extravagant  than  Mr  G.  himself  employs.  ,  DJ.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  to  get  him  to 

Now,  having  obtained  several  thousand  dollar  ^  H         of  Pe        is  tUe  next  best  thingi 

subscribers,  and  a  batch  of  show-letters,  Mr  Gil-  ;  and  cannotbe  omitted:_ 

more  gave  the  impatient  newspaper  men  author-  «.Wben  ushered  into  his  presence,  the  doctor 
itv  to  announce  the  full  program,  (after  the  cor-  eved  his  ViSitor  with  inquiring  curiosity,  and  in 
respondents  of  distant  papers,  it  may  not  oe  y-  friendly  and  flattering  terms  said  he  wanted 
necessary  to  add,  had  told  pretty  much  all  ot  tne  ^^  &  d  ]ook  &t  tne  maQ  wn0  orisinated 
story),  and  one  bright  morning  in  January  the  .  .dea  of  a  national  peace  juhilee,  and  was  the 
Bostonians  were  startled  by  the  wondrous  con-  cauge  of  gQ  a  eeable  an  excitement  throughout 
tents  of  their  breakfast-table  papers  1  his  done  the  country.'  Such  a  familiar  reception  as  this 
Mr  Gilmere's  over-taxed  brain  ana^body^gjive    made  Mr  Gilmore  feel  that  be  was  in  th»  atmos- 

jr  a  few  minutes'  con- 

._  good  nature  lighting 

up  every  lineament  of  his   countenance,  pointed 

,  laughed,  and  the  distant  papers  ridiculed-  When      ^    mantel.piece  on  which  were    several    minia- 

'  ever  the  great  Gilmore  appeared  on  the  street  he    ^  ^^  ^  card.board  of  ancient  and  modern 
was  pointed  out  unpleasantly,  and  many  wnom    buildings  more  0r  less  celebrated.    'Look  there,' 

I  he  had  supposed  his  friends  passed  him  Dy  nn-  .  *    haye  takeQ  ft  d       interest  in  the 

|  recognized.    But  he  nerved  himseli  for  tne   t 


bub  vi  luwi  ■«-- r  v.   4.  *  __j   >,„^„  „„„o  tne  country.      ducl»ibiuiuoi 

Mr  Gilmere's  over-taxed  brain  and  body  gave  Gilmore  feel  that  he  « 

way ,  and  for  a  while  he  was  confined  to  a  sick  bed  m*oe  J  kmdness,  and,  after  a 

And  now  came  ^thfs^Jlntr^  J^  versation,  the  doctor,  with  gooc 

thing  didn't  take  with  the  crowd,     lhe  critics  lineament  of  his   cou 


tle'and  pressed  on.    A  few  subscribers  lagged  in 
and  some  new  friends  appeared.  Among  the  first 


■ I  and  some  new  irieuus  upycaiou.  «.^ — »  ---  ---- 

—    "Vr"'  •.■«rt,it  is  it?  what  is  U?'  interrupted   was  Mrs  Harrison  Gray  Otis,  who  sent  him  the 
\\>  a£d  -7ht  hurriedly  and  peevishly,  as  bis  eyes  followmg  missive  ^- 

undertone,  he  read :    ^a'  "ai?""     \  never  like 
and  musicaHestival !  r  ,?.gS  ^Tronically,  con- 


these  g-r-e-a-t  things 
tfnuml  to  scan  the  prospectus 


MrP  S.  Gilmore's  program  for  a  "grand  peace  con 
cert"  on  Boston  common  in  the  leafy  month  ot  June 
next;  and  believing  that,  notwithstanding .its  colossal 
r  «m  aware  on  proportions,  the  result  will  prove  abundantly  liar- 
."/  <  ^  I  mi./ht  ffi  and  a  decided  success  in  his  unfailing  hands, 
that  ?said  Mr  Gilmore  to  himself,  'and  I  might  «  &nd  mugic  blending  _begsto  have  her  name 
I  o  innwr.  very  well  that  you  would  rather,  dd  d  t£  tbe  )iSt  of  subscribers. 
haVfh  SarTencoSaw  anv  effort  of  mine,  but  the;  "^ount  Vernon  street,  7th  January,  1869. 
crush  than  encouraK  »      j  Q{]m0re  thanks  Mrs  Otis  most  enthnsiasti- 

KsunSakSg^  0Q  the  trailer  money,  by 

in  IUIS  uuuoi  i»^    H >     -_:+:„„     mav    hp.    of  Utin  sdv  Cfi  of 


work  which  you  have  originated,  and  am  delight- 
ed to  see  all  things  progressing  so  favorably. 
These  little  models  represent,  in  their  respective 
sizes,  some  of  the  greatest  architectural  piles  of 
the  past  and  the  present.  There,  for  instance,  is 
the  largest  of  the  Egyptian  pyramids;  it  was 
built  by  King  Cheops,  and  is  said  to  have  taken  one 
hundred  thousand  men  for  twenty  years  to  com- 
plete it.  Here  is  the  wonderful  temple  of  Olym- 
pian Zeus;  and  this  is  the  famous  Parthenon  of 
Athens;  but  there,  there  is  the  most  noted  ot  all, 
the  old  Roman  coliseum.  Of  modern  works,  tins 
represents  the  crystal  palace,  in  which  the  world's 
fair  took  place  in  London ,  and  that  the  palais  de 


will  I  am  sure,  influence  you  Cally  for  this.    Still  on  the  trail  for  money,  by   1.industrie  at  paris;  but  now  we  come  to  the  one 

s   vour  opposition   may  be  of  I  the  advice  of  friends  he  personally  laid  his  project  most  interesting  to  you,  your  own  coliseum,  and 

™*Er benefit  to  the  cause.'     Mr  D  wight  con-  before  the  gentlemen  of  the  commercial jslub  but  can  8ee  how  favoraDly   it  compares  in  size 

?S   to  read  the  marvelous  tale  before  him,  succeeded  in  gaining  nothing  save  a  few  tears  in    wh  Qther  marvelous   structures.-smaller 

merlardm-  with  painful  groans  the  variety  of  the  eyes  of  a  susceptible  bank  President.  Js either  than  some,  yet  larger  than  others.    To  be  sure, 

interlarding  wiuipai-      6  merchants  of  the  town  to  sub-   .    .   h    ,     /  wood.  bu,  we  are  a  voune  country, 


SSJr^  hied  along  under  could  he  move  the  merchants  of  the  town  to  sub    ^buuToY  woodT'but we  are  ayoung  country', 

-  -i~-  nts.  at  g   and  if  we  can  put  up  such  an  immense  temporary 

structure  in  a  few  months,  who  can  tell  what  we 


"""   „.  niiisiral  features  that  h  ed  along  unuei  comu  ne  move  uie  mv,u,ou>o  y.  .-  . _"„•"„   it  is  buiit  ot  wooa    ouswi 

w-  nrfti™     IndiSon  was  already  setting  in.  scribe  through  agents,  and  things  were  growing   and  if  we  Can  put  up  such 
Tt  was  00  much  of  a  pot-pour-1  to  ever  think  of  dismally  desperate  when  luck  threw  him  in  the    structure  in  a?ew  ^onths 

rX°    and  there  were  indications  that  anger  arms  of  Eben  Jordan  of  Jordan  Marsh  &  Co  do  in  the  cour,e  of  time?> 

f  "I  Sh  'would  tall  upon  the  head  of  him  who  who  took  him  and  his  project  to  his  bosom  and       .<This  cnarming  little  'exhibition'  on  the  part 
5«rVT«emDt  the  preparation  of  such  an  incom-  started  the  money  from  the  pockets  ot  hesitating     f  th   distinguished  teacher  and  poet  touched  a 

1    men.    In  the   meantime,   Mr  Gilmore,  though  tender  chord>  and   Mr   Gilmore   felt   under  *« 
Mr  Lewis  Barnes  had  deserted  him,    and   the  jrreatest  obligations  to  one  who  manifested 
Handels  and  Haydns  held  aloof,  had  succeeded  d       an  interest  in  his  cause,  it  easily  and  na 

;~  cfortinff  th«  wnrk  of  forminir  theerand  Chorus,    „1Ut  „0„„j  ,u,,  ™„„  f„r  intrn/iiiMnir   »nH    f-xni 


intr  ana  waning  w  'uo  u^^^^  ^.  -«- ~-  - 

music,  who  evidently  felt  more  surprise  and  In- 
diana ion  at  the  audacious  proposition  he  wa 
reading  than  he.  with  his  command  olchoicf 
rhetoric,  knew  how  to  express,  As  he  flmshec 
the  alarming  sketch  of  the  coming  sangerfest,  he 
raised  his  arms,  gave  a  fearful  growl,  and  stood 
for  once  in  his  life,  bold  and  defiant  as  a  lion  11 

1  Dvright  was  down  on  the  whole  thing,  and  Mi 


so 

JiauutlL)      wuv*      -"«-./  ~.~- -#   ~ —  UCCy  ail   lUBaov  xu.   uia  vwvdw     *"  v.**u**j     «~.«   IiaiUr- 

in  starting  the  work  of  forming  the  grand  chorus,  aUy  paved  tbe  way  for  introducintr  and  explain- 
and  the   arrangement  _  of  the  children  s  choir.  ing  tbe  object  of  his  visit.    'Well,' said  the  doc 


.   of  the  children's  choir. 
With  Jordan  by  his  side  he  moved  onto  victc-ry,  Jor, '1  have  made  an  occasional 


pilgrimage  to 
though  great  ODStacies  oneu  vnwiuw  v^i^-  y0ur  rjs  ls  coliseum,  and  have  gratified  my  curi- 
sleves  in  the  path.  By  and  by,  the  jubilee  asso-  osit?  t0  some  extent  by  manufacturing  these 
ciation  was  formed,  and  things  went  on  some-  ]iuje  paper  models  to  see  how  the  'Boston  no- 
how or  other  but  onward,  when  along  came  the  tioQ,  would  i00k  among  the  architectural  won- 


tion'  would  look  among  the  architectural  won 
-I  dreadful  battle  of  the  coliseuru  and  the  common,  ^       .     -      .      ...     ■  ^  hvmn 

GUmowcouW  do  nothing  with  him.    Itwas  ever  in  which  all  of  respectable  Boston,  Jeaded  by  Jn,    ot    t  e  ,    anothef  J 

so\rith  the  solid  men    of  Boston,   whose  repre-  the  solkis,  was  arrayed   ap "«  thfl  jub ^e-plot-l  o  P       ^  ^  a     r  &Bd  T  coul(J  n 

entative   was   Mr  William  Gray-    MjM SffmoreJ  ters.    Mr  Gilmore  devotes  1 »  Jf6™  anything  more  than   I 

But  Mr  Gilmore  did  not  lose  hope  m  i&ffigVd;  to  his  a«^unt  ^J"' ^g™^  coixnonen  had  have  now  laid  oat  .for,some  tin]e  t0  e,ome-      We 
support  of  the  solids  among  Boston's  men.    He]  its  recital.    When  the  indignant  ^  impor  un- 

suU  pushed  on  "He  could  see  a  glimmer  ol  shown  the  strength  of  their  hand I  the  committed^  Mr  Gilmore  <appropriate  to  the  occasion. 
?i"ht  ahead  and  pressed  toward  it  with  all  hid  held  a  meeting  and  there  almost  gave  up  the  Wh  is  be  done?.  «Why,' replied  the  doctor, 
sfrength  of  wm"PTn  order  to  convince  the  mos3  ship.    This,   or   a   poTtion  of    J   ^  ^lQ^e  knQ w  there  are  many  writers  and  poets  wbo 

-  J  describes  m  the    following  meio-aramatic  and  ^ouM  dQ  ample  justice  t0  the  theme,  and  who,  I 

ludicrous  style:—  am  sure,  would  be  happy  to  write  such  a  hymn 

"Then  from  out  the  noble  band    (by  which  Mr  ag         require.    Mr  Longfellow,  we  know,  is  in 

Gilmore  means  his  committee)    a  low  wail;  it  Eu^ope  _ne  cannot  be  reached;  but  there  is  Mr 

was  the  voice  of  one  who  loved  his  fellow  man; 


skeptical  that  his  enterprise  was  in  no  respect 
political  affair,  he  bethought  him  that  it  woul 
be  well  to  get  letters  from  one  or  two  of  the  lead 
ing  men  of  both  parties.    So    he    went    first  to. 
Col  Greene  of  the  Boston  Post,  and  then  to  Alex 


^•^&XtTT^TZ^fmEz^ 


Bryant,'  Mr  Whittier,  Mr  Lowell,— either  of  these 
u  a  gentlemen  would  no  doubt  willingly  comply  with 
Smnletelv  captivating,  and  out  of  both  he  man-(  was  danger  in  the  path  they  had  cho  et 1  and >  the  £  degire  Q  tf  u  wisb  t0  ?ive  a  generai 
S?d  to  d^nrstXs  "letter,  of  reeommendal  work  they  proposed  to  Perfo™;  that  twouldj  [nvltation  through  the  papers  to  all  writers,  I'll 
fSn'^Btrfyet-and  it  was  then  almost  Christ-  a  miracle  if  they  «hould  snweed.-and  if  not,  warrant  you  wm  have  a  variety  of  hymns  to  se; 
mas'  and  the  show  must  take  place  the  following  Kreat  would  be  the  Pujiishment -of  all.    And  th  from^in  less  tbaQ  a   week  ,     .Well    doctor/ 

June-he  hadn't TsTntrle  dollar  pledged  toward!  voice  was  soft    and  full  £  sympathy,^ and  th  ied  Mf  GUmore    .you  have  kiudiy  pointed 

the  big  guartntee  fund  of  thousands   of  dollarS  hearts  of  many  ™*™™>^J}*JhZ  out  many  ways  to  accomplish  my  object;    but  at 
which  must  be  created.    What  should  he  do  ?        fervor  of  feeling  and  m  deep,  ^P^™*0"'"   *   present  1  can  think  of  only  one,  and  that    , 

0   Dr  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  shall  write  the  hymn 


_ "  present  1  can  think  of  only  one,  and  that  is,  that 
''In  the  course  o  his  perambulations  during  proclaimed  'Who  now  ^at^  ^e  ~uhr««  *°  P™  Dr  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  shall  write  the  hymo 
the  day  (the  d"y  before  Christmas),  kind  fortune!  <;eed  must  Je  Prepared  to  put  his  hands  down  of  &ce  tQ  be  gu  by  tea  bous  d  oiceS)  Wllh 
brought  the  projector  into  the  presence  of  thd  down  very  deep  into  his  P0rc^8;hat^sob?eXnd  the  accompaniment  of  a  thousand  instruments, 
generous  hearted  Josiah  Bardwell  of  the  firm  o3  emn  words 1  elJ ^ "P°n '^it^of  th^a^^  Mcretari  in  the  hearing  of  fifty  thousand  people,  en  the 
Francis  Skinner  &  Co.    Mr  Bardwell  had  already]  even  the  buoyant ^spirits  of  th     a  >  e  iMmttui 


-  first  day  of  the  great  jubilee.'  " 
more,'  said  he,  'it  will  bo  rather  a  heavy  job  for 


you  to  go  round  looking  ap  hundred-dollar  sub- 
'  6cribers  to  help  you  carry  out  this  great  concert 
of  yours.  I  know  what  you  want.  You  want  a 
few  to  start  vou  off  with,  say,  a  thousand  dollars 
apiece.  How  is  that?'  'By  Jove,  Mr  Bardwell, 
giv£  me  your  hand !  That's  just  the  kind  of  mu- 
sic I  want  to  hear!'  'Well,'  said  he,  'you  go 
<  ahead.  You're  all  right.  Stickjjght  through  it, 
and  vou'li  carry  it  through.  JBrrnt  on  me  f, 
II  b.^Tll  get  you  five  names  at  $1000  each.  1 
I  don',"" 
Th 


you  li  c 

(s  set  I 
DIB  Oil 


out  in  the  white  heat  of  composiuon,  when  al 
away."  the  good  things  garnered  in  the  brain  are  forcec 

How  dreadfully  Mr  Gilmore  felt,  and  how  neai  t»b     in  tbe  crucible  of  thought." 
he  came  to  brain  fever  or  something  very  awfuL 
the  following  passage  displays:— 

"Deep,  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  projector,  as 
scored  by  a  pen  of  iron,  was  written  those  fear- 
ful words :  'This  is  the  end  of  the  peace  jubilee. 
The  writing  upon  the  wall  of  the  riotous  king,  in 
the  days  when  Babylon  was  great  among  the 
of  more   solemn   import    " 


nations,  was    not    _ 

charged    with  deeper  despair,  or  edged  with 
iyTl'mgood foTthat  amounVmysel'f.'"   harper  pan*.    O,  the  agony  of  that .nighty no 
fiie  baflTrolling.     With   but  little  pen  can  portray  wh m itfTfttoJi  f^^^M 


troubfPeilmore  got  thousand  dollar  subscrip- 
tions out  of  M.  M.  Ballou  of  the  St  James,  Dtt- 
son,  Mason,  of  Mason  &  Hamlin,  Parker  &  Mills 


into  chaos,  and  darkness  brooded  over  his  soul! 
When  the  gale  swoops  down  upon  the  mariner  at 
sea,  and  his  frail  bark  is  tossed  from  billow  to 


son,  Mason,  of  Mason  &  Hamlin,  barter  ic  aims   sen,  auuu«i. »«"»«»-  "■"","".-  .  ,  fh 

,  j   of  the  Parker  House,  and  a  few  other  gentlemen  !  billow  through  all  the '   ^thened I   hour ,  of  the 

/  U  who  were  keen  enough,  or  thought  they   were ;  day,  and  the 1  coming  mght ^ouly '  ^epens  ihe  dan 

'        keen  enough,  to  see  that  if  the  enterprise  were  j  get  when  the  angry  clouds    weeping  irompcj 

carried  out  according  to  program,  their  pockets   to  pole,  burst  forth  in  fury,  tilling  the   vault  ot 

would  fill  up.      Feelin.  Undent,  then,  in  the,  heaven ^^^."fla-h  Slf fike a  swoK 

tire  as  if  it  were  a  battle  of  world  against  world, 
O  then  it  is  that  he  who  on  the  shivering  deck 


I  The  French  Cable. 


CELEBRATION 


—AT— 


DUXBURY 

IN  HONOE  OF  ITS  COMPLETION.  t 


The  French  Atlantic  Cable.— The  celebra- 

.  tion  at  Duxbury  yesterday  was  a  fitting  close  to 

the  happy  completion  of    the   F»ench  Atlantic 

Cable.  The  celebration,  as  a  whole,  may  be  looked 

on  as  a  success,  and  the  congratulations  on  all 

,  hands  were  as  hearty  as  they  were  sincere.    The  E 

line  from  this  city  has  now  been  completed,  and    ' 

direct  telegraphic  communication  between  Brest 

and  Boston— between    France  and  the    United 

'fates— is  instantaneous.    Aside  from  the  addi- 

onal  facilities  afforded  by  this  cable  to  business 

en,  we  cannot  look  upon  it  otherwise  than  in 

e  light  of  a  great  national  benefit,  and  trust 

lihat,  to  use  the  words  of  Mr.  Collector  Russell,    <; 

ffihe  alliance  formed  by  the  electric  spark  between 

France,  England  and  America  may  lead  the  world 

in  peace,  and  that  their  national  ensigns  may  float 

together  in  amity  until  all  the  nations  of  this 

earth  have  become  United  States^fc^^  «£»^7^ 


THE  FRENCH  CABLE. 


SEOKE     EKD    SUCCESSFULLY    LAID, 


Chronological  Record  of  the  Expedition. 


*  The  full,  complete  and  exclusive  despatches  in  the 
Traveller,  yesterday,  kept  our  readers  well  posted  in 
regard  to  the  movements  ct  the  French  Cable  Expedi- 
tion. The  steamers  Chiltern  and  Scandara  were  first 
1  discovered  off  Eouse's  Hummock  by  Mr.  Joseph  Free- 
man, of  Duxbury,  who  was  the  contractor  ot  the  cable 
building  at  that  place,  and  Mr.  Freeman  immediately 
hoisted  a  large  American  flag  to  guide  the  ships  as  they 
neared  their  destined  haven.  As  the  steamers  neared 
the  Duxbury  shore  the  American,  British  and  French 
flaps  were  displayed  at  the  fore,  main  and  mizzen  masts, 
and  the  steam  whistles  were  brought  into  requisition 
'  for  several  minutes. 

,  i  twenty  minutes  before  two  o'clock  the  Scandera, 
I  under  the  direction  ot  the  pilot,  Mr,  George  Simpson, 
of  Duxbury,  hove  to,  broadside  to  the  shore.  Ten 
minutes  later  the  Chiltern  was  abreast  of  her,  and  the 
.  anchors  of  both  vessels  splashed  into  the  water.  The 
]  j  water  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  steamers  was 
'  t  perfectly  alive  with  small  vessels  of  all  descriptions, 
and  the  scene  on  shore  and  around  the  cable  fleet  at 
this  time  was  a  very  animated  one.  Members 
of  the  press  immediately  boarded  the  Chiltern 
upon  which  was  the  unlaid  portion  of  the  cable  and 
met  with  a  cordial  reception,  and  numerous  other  per- 
sons from  the  shore  embraced  the  opportunity  to  ex- 
amine the  modus  operandi  of  laying  the  cable.  On 
board  the  Chiltern  all  was  life  and  animation ;  the  offi- 
cers were  at  their  posts,  and  the  men  were  running 
about  in  a  lively  manner,  executing  their  orders.  The 
sea  cable  bad  been  cut  and  tbe  end  buoyed,  and  work 
was  rapidly  progreasing  upon  the  shore  end.  The 
shore  end  of  the  cable  was  immediately  drawn  from 
the  tank  amidships  where  it  lay  coiled,  and  coiled 
again  on  deck.  The  end  was  brought  up  over  a  large 
iron  wheel,  and  the  cable  pulled  out  a  yard  at  a  time  jr 
by  a  score  of  strong  men  pulling  in  unison.  There  it 
lay  upon  deck  an  hour  or  two,  until  it  was  decided  to 
put  it  ashore  at  once,  the  weather  being  unusually  fa- 
vorable for  the  work. 

About  4>£  o'clock  the  boats  got  under  way  and 
started  for  the  shore.  The  cable  haa  been  placed  across 
two  long  boats,  which  were  preceded  by  five  other 
boats  manned  by  about  twelve  sailors  in  each,  who 
pulled  at  once  toward  the  shore. 

When  the  cable  touched  upon  the  beach  the  enthu- 
!  siasm  of  the  spectators  was  unbounded,  and  they  gave 
vent  to  their  feelings  in  a  series  of  prolonged  cheers. 
jThe  guns  of  the  Scandara  and  Chiltern  also  greeted 
Hhe  event  by  a  grand  salute. 

The  moment  the  sailors  jumped  from  the  boats  with 
|the  cable  it  was  seized  by  Hon.  S.  N.  Gifford,  Collector 
IRussell  and  daughter,  and  by  nearly  all  the  spectators 
[who  were  anxious  to  assist  the  sailors  in  placing  it  in 
[the  building  prepared  for  it  on  the  hammock.  Collec- 
Jtor  Russell,  accompanied  by  his  wife  and  daughter, 
(Hon:  James  M.  Barnard,  wife,  and  others,  had  arrived 
ion  the  School  Ship  just  in  time  to  participate  in  this 
|  pleading  ceremony. 

r  At  6  o'clock  the  shore  end  had  been  spliced  to  the 

land  cable,  which  is  to  be  conducted  across  the  marshes, 

[through  a  trench  to  the  old  Bank  building  at  Duxbury, 

Ithe  main  office  of  the  company.    Subsequently  the  in- 

ptruments  for  working  the  cable  were  placed  in  the 

cubic  house,  but  it  Is  supposed  that  a  day  or  two  will  be 

(required  before  communication  will  be  had  with  the 

continent.    Batteries  were  applied  soon  after  the  shore 

d  was  landed,  and  it  was  with  the  greate.H  satisfac- 

on  that  it  was  learned  tiiut  Brest  was  within  speaking 

'stance. 


Tbe  cable  house  where  the  shore  pnd  lands  and  where 
the  first  set  of  instruments  are  placed  13  28  by  25  feet  in 
dimensions,  is  substantially  built,  and  has  four  rooms 
for  operators.  The  purpose  of  the  house  is  to  conaD<>n- 
sate  lor  any  iaalt  in  the  intermediate  section  of  the 
land  cable,  as  it  is  called,  which  runs  a  mile  and  %  in  a 
trench  dug  in  a  straight  line  to  Duxbury  and  into  the 
reenJar  receiving  room  in  an  old  bank  building  in  the 
town.  Tbe  splice  between  the  land  cable  and  the 
shore  end  was  made  about  six  o'clock.  If  this  section 
gets  out  of  order  the  messages  may  be  temporarily  re- 
ceived or  sent  from  the  cable  house.  The  trench  is  dugl 
and  the  cable  will  be  laid  in  a  day  or  two.  The  wire 
from  Boston  to  Duxbury  will  be  in  operation  by  Tues- 
day, it  is  said. 

From  Mr.  Phillip  Rawson,  of  the  Telegraph  Mainte 
nance  Company,  and  Mr.  Varley,  one  of  the  electri- 
cians, the  members  of  the  press  receive*  an  account  of 
the  progress  of  their  trip,  and  to  whom  tor  their  cour- 
tesy they  are  greatly  indebted. 

June  19th— The  Great  Eastern,  with  the  cable  on 
board,  sailed  from  Portland  at  8.30  A.  M. 

June  20th— Anchored  off  Brest  at  4  P.  M.,  Capt. 
S.  Osborne,  of  the  Telegraphic  Construction  and 
Maintenance  Company,  came  on  board  the  Chiltern, 
having  two  days  previously  landed  the  five  miles  of  shore 
end,  extending  from  Brest  to  a  buoy  five  miles  from 
the  telegraph  hut.  Preparations  were  Immediately 
made  on  the  Great  Eastern  for  splicing  the  interme- 
diate shore  end  to  the  main  shore  end  previously  laid 
by  the  Chiltern.  The  tide  swung  the  ship  in  the 
wrong  direction,  which  delayed  the  operation  until 
evening.  At  11  P.  M.  the  cable  from  the  Great  Eastern 
was  successfully  carried  to  the  Chiltern,  and  the  latter 
commenced  to  make  the  splice.  This  was '  finished  by 
3  A.  M.,  tested  and  found  to  be  perfect.  It  was  then 
succesfully  lowered,  and  the  great  ship  at  3.20  com- 
menced her  journey.  . 

June  21— At  midnight  the  intermediate  shore  end 
was  all  paid  out,  and  the  operation  of  landing  the  deep 
sea  cable  was  commenced. 

June  22  and  23.— Cable  ran  out  smoothly  at  the  rate 
of  five  or  six  miles  an  hour.  Weather  fine  and  every- 
thing auspicious. 

June  24.— At  3.30  A.  M.  the  electrical  instruments 
indicated  a  fault  in  the  cable,  the  signals  stopping.  The 
depth  of  water  was  3460  fathoms.  The  engines  were  at 
once  stopped,  and  the  cable  was  taken  up  for  a  consid- 
erable distance  until  the  fault  was  found,  which  proved 
to  be  a  small  puncture  in  the  gutta  percha  covering. 
The  fault  was  cut  out,  and  at  10  A.  M.  the  work  of  pay- 
ing out  again  commenced. 

June  25— Everything  working  nicely;  smooth  sea 
and  speed  averaging  five  knot*. 

June  26—  Fine  weather  and  warm.  A  serious  fault 
manifested  itself.  The  ship  was  stopped,  the  winding- 
up  apparatus  put  in  operation  and  another  and  larger 
puncture  was  found,  similar  to  the  first.  Depth  of 
water,  2800  fathoms.  The  ftiult  was  remedied  and  the 
voyage  resumed. 

June  27— Brilliant  weather ;  condition  of  the  cable 
paid  out  is  every  way  satisfactory. 

June  28th  and  29th— Warm  and  pleasant,  south  wind 
blowing,  condition  ot  cable  excellent.  Cable  in  centre 
and  rear  tanks  exhausted  and  we  passed  to  the  forward 
tank.  Up  to  this  time  news  has  been  daily  received 
from  Europe  and  the  condition  of  the  stock  exchange 
was  posted  in  the  ship  every  day. 

June  30— A  third  fauli  was  discovered  in  the  oable. 
An  attempt  was  made  to  wUd  in,  but  a  heavy  gale 
from  the  southward  came  upon  the  fleet  and  the  safety 
of  the  cable  rendered  it  necessary  to  cut  and  buoy  it 
in  2000  fathoms— something  never  successfully  doue  \ 

July 1— Heavy  sea  prevailed;  the  vessel  dodged  about 
the  buov,  trying  to  keep  it  in  sight. 

July  "2— t  ale  subsided;  steamed  up  to  the  buoy, 
Wound  in  cable,  made  a  new  splice  and  proceeded. 

July  8—  Wind  fresh  and  considerable  sea ;  continued 
paying  out  the  cable. 

July  4— Heavy  sea  and  the  ship  rolled  considerably; 
good  progress  niads. 

July  6  and  6— Moderate  gale ;  ship  rolled  a  good  deal ; 
no  accident. 
Julv  7  and  8— Everything  lovely. 
July  9— Ship  in  800  fathoms ;  reached  the  tail  of  the 
Great  Newfoundland  Bank,  a  point  which  had  been 
made  for,  to  keep  the  ship  in  deep  water. 

July  10— Encountered  a  thick  fog.  Progress  slow ; 
the  Chiltern  and  Scandera  sounding  ahead  to  keep  the 
Great  Eastern  in  the  track  laid  down  for  her  guidance. 
July  11th— Fog  continued ;  at  3  A.  M.  came  upon  a 
ship  stationed  In  an  elbow  in  the  bank  to  pilot  the  fleet 
to  St.  Pierre.  .      , 

July  12— Fog  again ;  slow  progress;  signals  perfect. 
The  ship  Willlan  Cary  which  had  been  sent  ahead  to 
lay  the  shore  end  a<St.  Pierre,  came  out  to  m*et  the 
other  vessels  and  pilot  them  to  the  buoyidh  the  shore 
end.    It  was  then  too  foggy  to  find  the  Uuoy. 

July  13— Weather  cleared  up  fine ;  found  the  buoy 
and  made  the  splice  communication  perfect  between 
St.  Pierre  and  Brest;  sent  a  message  to  the  Emperor 
Napoleon  and  received  a  reply  in  about  an  hour  of  a 
congratulatory  naiure. 

July  14— Great  Eastern  lay  at  anchor  between  St. 
Pierre  and  Miquelon,  while  the  other  vessels  were  coal- 
ing and  going  through  the  formality  ot  delivering  the 
completed  portion  of  the  cable  over  to  the  directors 
repr.-senting  the  company. 

July  16—  The  Great  Eastern,  having  completed  her 
mission,  started  for  England  at  7  P.  M.  The  Scandera 
prepaied  to  commence  paying  out  the  cable  from  St. 
Pierre  to  Duxbury,  the  shore  end  on  that  side  having 
already  been  laid. 

July  16— Heavy  gale  and  thick  tog  with  tremendous 
rain ;  found  the  buoy  on  the  shore  end,  but  weather  too 
rough  to  make  a  splice  to  the  Scandera ;  waited  for  fair 
weather.  ...        .,        ,.    .,  ... 

July  18— Bright  weather;  raised  the  cable,  spliced  it 
to  the  Scandera  and  proceeded. 

July  20— While  payiug  out  the  cable  a  kink  came 
out  and  in  pausing  over  some  of  the  machinery  the 
cable  was  broken.  It  took  nine  hours  to  repair  the 
break,  and  during  this  time  in  the  fog  the  Chiltern 
was  lost  sigh!  oi;  rockets  were  sent  up  but  not  seen. 

July  21— Fog  still  thick  and  the  Chiltern  out  of  sight ; 
slow  progress.  .. 

Ji  ly  22—  Teg  cleared  up  in  the  morning,  and  by  that 
time  the  Scandera  had  paid  out  all  her  cable,  and  the 
Chiltern  not  being  in  sight,  it  was  buoyed  again  aud 
theft  andera  went  to  look  for  the  Chiltern ;  found  her 
in  an  hour  steaming  up  a  given  line  before  prescribed 
in  case  ot  scptra tien.  ,  „    ,  .    . 

July  23-Sighted  Highland  Light,  Mass.,  at  2  o'clock 
A.  M.;  sighted  Duxbury  court  house  about  sunrise; 
spliced  the  shore  end  S3  miles  from  the  final  destina- 
tion at  5  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  then  made  rapid 
and  steady  progress  up  to  quarter  before  &  o  ciock, 
ffhen  the  anchors  were  unally  dropped.  n 


The  following  table  shows  the  uuniDer  oi  miies  run  , 
each  day  by  the  Great  Eastern : 

June  21st,  42  miles;  22d,  129  miles;  23d,  123  miles- 
24th,  83  miles;  25th,  120  miles;  26th,  77  miles;  27th' 
128  miles;  28th,  126  milts;  29th,  107  miles;  30th  90 
miles ;  July  1st,  none ;  2d,  4>£  miles ;  3d,  125  miles ;  4*th 
124  miles;  5th,  124  miles;  6th,  126  miles;  7th  115 
miles;  8th,  116  miks;  9th,  181  miles;  10th,  133  miles- 
11th,  162  miles.  ' 

The  average  rate  of  speed  of  tho  Great  Eastern  was  a 
trifle  over  five  miles  au  hour, 

'  "  4 

Duxbuky,  July  27,  1869.— The  most  ample  prepara-  J 

lions  are  making  on  ail  hands  for  the  celebration  in 
honor  of  the  landing  of  the  French  Atlantic  Cable  to- 
day, and  this  great  event  in  the  history  of  this  old 
town,  which  has  been  the  absorbing  topic  among  its 
residents  for  weeks  past,  will,  with  the  close  of  the 
day,  have  been  numbered  among  the  things  of  the 
past. 

As  yet  there  is  not  an  extraordinary  arrival  of  visi- 
tors, and  the  town  presents  a  quiet  and  somnolent  ap- 
pearance. There  were  probably  from  a  hundred  and 
fifty  to  two  hundred  strangers  here  last  night,  among 
whom  may  be  mentioned  Sir  James  Anderson,  Lord 
Cecil,  and  a  few  others,  who  are  the  guests  of  Mr.  Geo. 
W.  Wright.  This  morning's  trains,  however,  are 
bringing  in  large  numbers,  and  carriages  are  arriving 
from  all  the  adjacent  towns  well  freighted  with  hu 
manity. 

What  the  exact  number  of  strangers  in  the  city  may 
amount  to,  I  do  not  know,  but  1  should  imagine  it  to 
be  fully  fifteen  hundred,  which  is  a  cheerful  and  grati- 
fying number  to  a  local  celebration.  The  first  train 
from  Boston  brought  down  many  people,  among  the 
more  prominent  of  whom  were  Mayor  Shurtleff ;  Count 
de  Fanerney,  Charge  d'affaires,  and  the  Count  de  Tu- 
reene  and  M.  Beranger,  of  the  French  Legation; 
Count  Colobiono,  Charge  d' Affaires  of  Italy;  Hon. 
Capt.  Ward,  K.  N.,  of  the  British  Legation;  M.  Birsch, 
Viscount  Parker,  Sir  Samuel  Canning,  Mr.  Hill,  Mr. 
Watson,  agent  of  the  French  Cable  Co.,  Mr.  W.  S.. 
Dexter  and  others. 

The  day  opened  most  delightfully,  and  the  weather 
is  all  that  could  be.  flskerl  for.  Copious  showers  ten 
from  five  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon  till  long  past 
midnight,  which  were  eagerly  absorbed  by  the  .thirsty 
and  sandy  soil  of  the  town.  The  dust,  therefore,  will  be 
no  annoyance,  as  the  roads  are  in  good  condition,  The 
sun  is  shining  brightly,  an  invigorating  breeze  is  stir- 
ring, music  floats  in  the  air  from  innumerable  birds, 
and  nature  is  7,'earing  its  m<5?t  OfiUtfng  aspect, 

There  are  to  be  no  formalities  in  the  way  <jf  a  prodes- 
sion,  but  the  Plymouth  Band,  which  has  been  engaged 
to  furnish  the  music,  has  passed  through  the  town  dur- 
ing the  morning,  delighting  all  with  their  strains. 
From  an  early  hour  this  morning,  the  note  of  prepara- 
tion resounded  on  all  hands,  and  it  is  evident  that  all 
the  citizens  were  alive  to  the,  to  them,  momentous  oc- 
casion. 

The  celebration  proper  commmences  at  two  o'clock, 
with  a  dinner  in  Yales  tent,  situated  on  Abran's  Hill 
and  to  partake  of  which  accommodations  have  bee 
afforded  for  six  hundred  guests.  Mr.  Stephen  I 
Gifford  is  to  preside.  Bj  the  evening  there  is  to  bt  | 
large  display  of  fireworks,  and  this  will  compose  t  .< 
town  celebration.  The  committee  of  townsmen  h;  r 
ing  this  in  charge  are  S.  N.  Gifford,  J.  8.  Loring,  Isa^t 
Keen,  C.  B.  Thomas,  Allen  Prior,  Alfred  Drew,  Walter 
Thompson,  J .  Wilde,  J.  Ford  and  C.  Pratt.  In  additioi! 
Mr.  G.  W.  Wright  gives  a  reception  and  supper  a1 
his  residence,  to  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  guests— 
the  reception  to  take  place  at  seven,  and  the  suppei 
some  hours  later;  and  by  many  this  is  looked  upon  aa 
the  event  of  the  day.  From  all  quarters  flags  are  fly 
ing  and  the  town  presents  a  decidedly  festive  appear- 


•/m. 


Duxbtjrt,  Mass.,  July  27.— The  cable  cele- 
bration programme  to-day  included  a  salute 
fired  by  a  section  of  artillery  from  Boston,  a  din- 
ner under  a  large  tent,  and  a  levee  in  the  even- 
ing at  the  residence  of  George  W.  Wright,  a 
prominent  citizen  of  Duxbury.  The  inhabitants 
of  the  neighboring  towns  turned  out  en  masse, 
the  ladies  superintending  the  preparations  for 
the  banquet,  which  was  elegantly  and  bounti- 
fully spread.  Rev.  Josiah  Moore  of  Duxbury 
asked  divine  blessing,  and  S.  N.  Gifford,  as 
chairman,  welcomed  the  people  with  eloquent 
words.  C.  B.  Thomas,  an  old  resident,  re- 
sponded to  the  sentiment  in  honor  of  Duxbury. 
He  paid  a  warm  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the 
pilgrim  fathers,  who  landed  near  by,  referred  to 
the  history  of  Duxbury,  and  spoke  of  the  aid 
that  Lieut.  Brooks,  a  son  of  the  town,  had  ren- 
dered to  science  by  his  beautiful  contrivance 
for  deep  ocean  sounding,  bringing  the  first  spec- 
imens of  the  bottom  of  the  ocean  from  a  depth 
of  over  two  miles.  He  referred,  in  glowing 
terms,  to  Daniel  Webster,  who  might,  from  his 
near  residence,  be  almost  called  a  Duxburyian. 
He  concluded  as  follows:  ."Then  standing 
between  the  grave  of  Webster  and  the 
harbor  of  the  pilgrims,  we,  in  the  name  of  the 
American  -people,  extend  a  cordial  welcome  to 
those  who  have  consummated  this  gigantic  un- 
dertaking, and  offer  our  heartiest  wishes  that 
this  telegraphic  wire  may  be  a  bond  of  perpet- 
ual harmony  between  the  old  world  and  the 
new. 


A  sentiment  in  honor  of  Massnehusets  was  re- 
sponded to  by  Collector  Russell. 
Mayor   Suurtleff  responded  for  the   city  of 
j  Boston,  which  was  toasted.    At  the  conclusion 
;  of  his  address,  Mayor  Shurtleff  stated  that  he 
!  had  received  the  following  dispatch  from  Paris : 
'  To  his  excellency  the  mayor  of  Boston,  Ameri- 
ca: The  prefect  of  Paris,  rejoicing  in  this  happy 
|  occasion,  of  the  closer  union  between  the  two 
j  countries,  begs  that  the  mayor  of  Boston  will 
accept  his  best  compliments,  and  good  wishes." 
I      I  he  mayor  stated  that  he  had  sent  the  follow- 
ing in  reply : 

"Duxbury,  July  27,  1869—  To  his  excellency 
the  prefect  of  Paris:  The  mayor  of  Boston  sends 
a  most  hearty  greeting.  May  the  new  bond  of 
union  between  the  continents  be  one  of  peace, 
prosperity,  and  amity,  and  may  the  citizens  of 
the  old  and  new  worlds  rejoice  in  mutual  con- 
gratulations on  the  great  scientific  accomplish- 
ment." 

A  few  remarks,  appropriate  to  the  occasion, 
were  made  by  Mr.  Ritchie  of  Duxbury,  and  the 
following  toast  was  given  by  the  chairman : 

''The  French  Atlantic  cable  directly  united 
two  continents;  may  it  be,  to  all  time,  only  a 
medium  of  good  will  and  the  promoter  of  an  in- 
ternational peace,  serene  and  undisturbed  as 
that  of  the  still  ocean  deeps  through  which  it  is 
laid. 

This  toast  was  responded  to  by  Sir  James  An- 
derson. He  highly  complimented  the  manner 
in  which  the  festivities  were  carried  out,  and 
those  participating  in  them.  He  disclaimed  all 
honor  in  the  success  of  the  cable  enterprise, 
which  he  thought  wholly  due  to  the  officers  of 
the  vessels  which  had  just  departed.  The  im- 
portance of  the  ocean  telegraph  was  alluded  to, 
and  Mr.  Anderson  claimed  that  to  Cyrus  W. 
Field,  more  than  to  any  other  man  living, 
was  owing  the  success  of  the  At- 
lantic      cable.  -    ■ 

I  find  that  Duxbury,  from  comparative  obscurity, 
has  leaped  into  significance  in  the  eyes  ot  all,  from 
having  been  thus  fortunately  selected  as  the  American 
terminus  ol  the  cable.  But  very  little  of  the  local  his- 
tory of  the  town  is  known.  Its  original  Indian  name 
was  Martakesett,  but  the  northwestern  part  (now  Pem- 
broke) was  generally  called  Namasakeeset  or  Namasa- 
kiset. 

The  bounds  of  Duxbury  originally  included  what  is 
now  within  the  limits  of  Duxbury,  Marshfield,  Pem- 
broke, Hanson  and  the  Bridgewaters ;  Duxbury, 
which  has  been  variously  spelled  Duxbuymgh,  Dux- 
burrow,  Ducksburrow,  Ducks  Berry,  and  Dukesbury, 
was  first  settled  about  the  year  1632  by  the  people  of 
Plymouth;  among  the  original  settlers  being  John 
Alden,  Miles  Standish,  Jonathan  Brewster,  and  Thos. 
Prence. 

It  received  its  name  out  of  respect  to  Captain  Miles 
Standish,  from  Duxbury  Hall,  the  seat  of  the  Standish 
family  in  England.  Various  names  have  been  given  at 
different  times  to  the  several  portions  and  villages  in- 
cluded within  the  bounds  of  the  town. 

Ashdod  is  the  name  given  to  a  small  village  in  the 
northwest  part  of  the  town ;  a  portion  of  the  south- 
east is  called  Weeehertown,  and  sometimes  Loringtown ; 
a  Tillage  in  the  upper  part  is  called  Tarkiln,  or  Chand- 
lertown,aud  forms  a  school  district.  Tinkertown  is 
another  village  in  the  upper  part  of  the  town ;  and  the 
pcrtion  of  the  main  street  (Washington  street)  to  the 
south  of  the  Methodist  Church  is  generally  styled 
"Sodom." 

Marshfield  was  bounded  off  from  Duxbury  in  1640  ; 
Pembroke  was  incorporated  in  1711-12 ;  Hanson  was 
set  off  trom  Pembroke  in  1820;  and  Bridgewater  (now 
four  towns)  was  incoiporated  in  1656,  having  been 
granted  to  the  inhabitants  in  1645.  Shorn  as  it  is  of  its 
original  proportions,  Duxbury"  is  still  a  queer,  quaint, 
straggling  old  town  of  considerable  area,  and  with  a 
population  not  far  from  three  thousand. 

Time  was  when  it  was  largely  engaged  in  the  fisher- 
ies, and  many  fortunes  were  made  trom  that  branch  of 
- :  now  the  trade  amounts  to  comparatively 
nothing,  and  although  many  fine  vessels  are  engaged 
in  the  traffic,  yet  the  only  market  they  find  for 
their  merchandise  is  at  the  fish  mart  on  Com- 
mercial wharf,  in  Boston.  Thus  the  fisheries,  once 
so  large,  have  degenerated  into  mere  market  fishing. 
Shipbuilding,  twenty-five  years  ago,  was  extensively 
carried  on,  and  many  tine  ships,  some  of  even  nine 
hundred  tons,  have  been  built  in  this  town;  but  the 
demand  for  a  larger  class  of  freighting  vessels  in  a  great 
measure  withdrew  the  Dusiness  from  Duxbury,  and 
now  it  is  prosecuted  to  a  very  limited  extent. 


THE  DINGER, 

The  dinner  was  given  in  the  tent  on  Abraru's  Hill  at 
two  o'clock,  at  which  there  were  a  large  number  ot 
guests  present.  Mr.  S.  N.  Gilford  presided,  and  in 
calling  the  company  to  order  spoke  as  follows: 

Fellow  Citizens,— We  have  assembled  here  to-day  to 
congratulate  each  other  on  the  accomplishment  of  a 
gigantic  enterprise,  and  to  say  a  word  of  welcome  to 
those  who  have  teen  mainly  instrumental  in  initiating 
and  carrying  forward  to  a  successful  close  this  last 
j  great  work  of  the  age.  We  live  in  an  age  of  wonders. 
C  Man  seems  to  be  master  of  the  physical  world.  Ap- 
parently insuperable  obstacles  vanish  at  the  touch  of 
his  magic  skill. 

A  few  weeks  since  a  month  was  required  to  reach  the 
Pacific  shores ;  to-day,  by  the  completion  of  that  won- 
derful specimen  of  engineering  ability,  Yankee  pluck 
v  and  perseverance,  the  Pacific  Railroad  places  us  in  a 
/  week's  time  by  the  firesides  of  our  friends  at  the  Gol- 
rf  den  Gate.    To-day  we  meet  to  rejoice  over  the  landing 
of  a  line  that  not  only  annihilates  the  space  between 
two  continents,  but  at  the  same  time,  if  not  a  guaran- 
tee, is  at  least  an  earnest  that  peace  and  good  will  shall 
forever  continue  between  us  and  the  mighty  nations 
that  occupy  them.    This  is  a  great  work,  a  great  step 
in  the  advancing  march  of  civilization,  great  for  us, 
jrreat  for  the  world. 

Let  us  then  give  to  our  friends  from  over  the  sea  a 
hearty  welcome,  a  welcome  that  will  convince  them 
that  we  are  not  only  glad  to  see  them,  but  that  we  ap- 

Sreciate  the  skill,  the  pluck  and  the  perseverance  that 
as  originated,  carried  on  and  completed  this  great  en- 
terprise. 

Prayer  was  then  offered  by  Rev.  Josiah  Moore  of 
Duxbury,  after, which  an  invitation  to  partake  of  the 
feast  spread  before  them  was  eagerly  accepted  by  the 
assemblage.  The  caterer,  aided  by  the  ladies  of  the 
j  town,  had  provided  sumptuously,  and  the  fare  included 
excellent  clam  chowder,  for  which  the  town  is  so 
!  famous. 

At  the  close  of  the  dinner,  when  the  demands  of 
hunger  had  been  fully  appeased,  the  chairman,  Mr.  S. 
N.   Gifford,  called   the  company  to   order,    and  an- 
I  neunced  as  the  first  regular  toast  of  the  day,  the  fol- 
lowing: *' 

•The  town  of  Duxbury:  its  inhabitants,  the  de- 
scendants of  the  Pilgrim  heroes  who  planted  on  this 
very  spot  the  seeds  of  our  peculiar  and  noble  American 
civilization,  perpetuate  the  names  of  Cover  and  Brew- 
ster, of  Standish  and  Bradford,  and  Winslow  and 
Alden,  attesting  their  unbroken  lineage  by  extending 
an  enthusiastic  and  fraternal  welcome  to  those  who 
nave  achieved  so  magnificent  an  enterprise  in  the  inter- 
est of  the  largest  material  prosperity,  and  on  behalf  of 
the  unity  of  the  human  race."  | 

-Xi^yaissj  •■  ,^-j_ — ^"     —    -      ~  .  ~ —  ' 

The  response  of  STF  James  Anderson  to  the  eighth 
regular  toast,  "The  French  Atlantic  Cable,"  was  most 
enthusiastically  received.  He  said  he  did  not  believe 
there  was  a  heart  that  does  not  ieel  some  awakening 
at  the  landing  of  the  cable  so  near  the  spot  where  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers  landed.  It  would  have  been  strange  it 
New  Kngland  had  received  this  cable  without  some  ex- 
pression of  sincere  acknowledgement  of  neartf'it,  plea- 
sure and  gratitude.  God  only  knows  whether  electric  ca- 
bles trill  be  a  great  implement  in  v.  a  r  or  bo  a  great  in- 
strument in  the  cause  of  peace.  At  all  events  they  have 
become  a  great  fact.  1  wouid  be  forgetting  and  out- 
raging all  my  e»inions  of  justice  if  laid  not  confess. 
honestly  here  that  the  Atlantic  Cable  is  indebted 
more  to  my  good  friend,  Cyrus  Field,  than  to  any 
other  man  living.  [Applause.]  Ko  man  knows  better 
than  1  do  the  intense  energy  of  my  friend,  Mr  Field.  1 
have  heard  rumors  since  I  landed  on  these  Chores  that 
he  has  opposed  this  cable  in  many  and  divers  ways, 
audi  should  have  thought  it  strange  if  he  hadaiot. 
My  friend,  Mr.  Field,  and  his  Menus  have  embarked 
large  sums  of  money  in  the  enterprise,  and  with  all  the 
energy  of  his  character  he  will  defend  it  so  far  as  hon- 
orable competition  is  concerned.  We  wouid 
all  do  the  same  thing.  [Laughter  auu  ap- 
plause.) I  have  heard  also,  that  there  ha3  been 
some  amount  of  opposition  to  the  landing  of 
the  cable,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  my  friend,  Mr.  F 
and  Ii1b  colleagues,  to  say  that  1  do  not  care  for  that. 
[Laughter  and  applause.]  1  am  quite  sure  that  the 
American  people  will  not  let  anv  one  induce  them. to 
be  unjust,  i  am  quite  sine  that  you  will  not  lei  any 
one  inaugurate  an  enterprise  and  spend  a  million  of 
money,  and  connect  the  great  continents  together, 
without  giving  them  at  least  fair  play.  [Aoplause.] 
I  believe  it  would  be  quite  as  foolish  on  our  ■ 
tor  undue  sympathy  or  partiality,  [f  we  cannot  work 
at  Ae.li  or  luster,  we  have  no  right  to  your  support, 
and  we  will  not  get  it,  nol  all  the  sympa- 

thy yeu  have.    This  cable  is  therefore  laid  upon  your 
•  as  .i  puiely  commercial  enterprise,  if  we  will  but 
■   I  also  trust  that  it  wiii  pro- 

r  to  the  whole  world  of  civilization 
and  good  feeling,  which  it  should  be. 

The  following  is  the  speech  in  full  of  Dr.  George  B. 
item,  which  was  reci  ived  with  great  favor 
by  tlie  audience : 

(i,— When 

an- 

If  ot 

the  first  lull  in  the  Oioud,  and 

■  i 

"I 
mory 
i  ders 
fiuk  God,  at  home 
.  We  are 
i  own 
1  the 


mark:!' 
world. 

wen,  :: 


IsarimB ; 

••VI 1 1      i 


I   so  well.    '•  t 

>f   Duxbury!"      What    i. 

Broken!     Their   lives   form  a   part  of 

>f  this   town,   whii  . 

tratiou  of  tli 

of  the 
ehold  word  ii 

>ii,  long 


•ago,  in  the  vigorous  periods  of  commerce,  a, 
the  names  of  the  Gtflbrds  an  .  who  clothe  it 

with  modern  renown,  were  yet  unl 
ago,  sir,  I   was 
mere  child,  listening  to  th< 
/     who  are  now  gone.    I  shall  never   | 

that  day  to  this  has  gone  with   ta'e  the  mern 
George    Loring,    the   firm    ami    honest    and 
Puritan,  bis  i  eins  the  ^lood  ol  Joiin 

ai.d  presenting  iu  his  daily  life  an  example  ot  i 
::nd  wisdom  winch  we  ail  might  follow— the  i 
ion  through  lile  of  her  who  off  Hneat— 

and  the  fast  fraternal  triend  of  him  who  led  me 
through  the  early  days  of  childhood  and  j 
ought  not  to  forget  the  name  of  George  Lori:" , 
live.  And  who  need  be  remiuded  here  of  th 
sons,  that  stalwart  race  whose  axes  swung  the  I 
and  sharpest,  and  whose  hammers,  as  they  drove  the 
treenails,  wakened  roe  at  dawn,  even  in  the  long  sum- 
mer days.  Can  we  ever  forget  the  name  ofFmzer, 
whose  virtues  have  fallen  upon  at  least  one  of  those 
worthy  sons  ot  Duxbury  now  before  me.  And  the 
Smiths,  and  Drews,  and  Soules,  and  Westons — a  long 
list  of  enterprising  and  honorable  meu,  who  gave  this 
town  its  wealth  and  distinction  in  early  days,  and 
whose  service  has  now  fallen  upon  many  now  before 
me — many  who  perpetuate  their  names"  and 
their  good  qualities— shall  not  ail  these  be  rem. 
while  Duxbury— Duxbury  of  eld,  anil  the  new  and  re- 
generated Duxbury,  shall  stand?  The  old  shij 
be  gone,  the  Cherokee,  the  Choctaw,  the  Susau  Drew, 
models  iu  their  day  of  the  best  naval  architecture,  may 
have  perished;  but  the  good  name  of  their  builders 
and  master  still  remains,  and  will  remain  so  long  as  the 
commercial  world  shall  set  high  value  on  solid  ships 
and  honest  merchants.  These  were  the  meu  who 
Walked  with  me  on  the  beach,  and  these  are  their  ships. 
Hie  manners  and  customs  of  the  olden  time  were  theirs 
still.  Ihe  venerable  form  of  John  Alleyn,  the  old 
divine,  stern  and  incorruptible,  with  his  silk  stockings 
and  small  clothes  and  shoe  buckles,  stands  there  in  the 
group,  with  his  hands  pressed  upon  my  head,  asking 
in  tones  of  thunder,  "What  are  you  going  to  dojwith 
this  boy?"— while  the  sands  of  the  beach  seemed  open- 
ing beneath  my  feet,  and  the  awful  weight  of  an  old 
theological  verdict  seemed  to  crush  me  "to  the  ea>-th. 
But  now  comes  tr.e  modern  picture.  "May  the 
electric  spark  now  kiudl.?d  so  tudmate  the  coming 
generation  that  it  may  worthily  ill!  the  places  of  the 
past."  That  energy  which  once  gave  Duxbury 
its  renown,  and  which  lias  slubbered  so  long,  has 
now  a  row  opening  livid  of  labor.  Ail  the  modern 
achievements  in  art,  and  science  an  I  literati-.:-.'  gad 
life  are  now  before  them.  Their  little -nuet  town  has 
sprung  by  sadden  impulse  into  i;e*\  lite.  Through  it. 
now  throbs  one  of  the  arteries  of  a  busy  and  toiliug 
and  vigorous  and  progressive  world.  It  is  the 
portal  through  which  in  an  instant  the  thought 
of  the  great  empire  is  transmitted.  May  it  be  a  portal 
of  peace.  There  now  appear  before  us  the  three  great 
powers  of  the  world — France,  England  artd  the  United 
States— bound  together  in  a  common  service,  and  oi  e 
of  the  bonds  is  here.  This  triple  alliance  may  accom- 
plish much  ii  made  for  a  common  purpose— the  growth 
and  advancement  ot  the  highest  civilization.  Dis- 
similar in  many  characteristics,  they  may  learn  of  each 
other  how  to  live.  The  lesson  of  tree  government  in 
all  its  vitality  the  United  States  is  daily  teaching. 
From  France  we  may  learn  how  an  industrious  peo- 
ple may  cultivate  all  the  arts  of  life,  develop  the 
finest  tastes,  avoid  the  dangerous  extravagances  of 
modern  days  and  study  the  practical  economies  which 
add  so  much  to  the  domestic  comforts  and  to  public 
prosperity.  To  England  we  may  turn  m  these  later 
days  for  our  lesson  m  the  genius  e  states- 

manship, and  learn  froi  of  Stuart  Mill 

what  manhood  suffrage  really  mean  in  Bright 

the  sagacity  of  a  large-minded  publicist,  and  from 
Gladstone  how  the  policy  of  a  great  empire  should  ac- 
commodate itself  to  the  popular  wants  and  demands. 

Mr.  President,  it  seems  to  me  that,  apart  from  o+' 
I  and  more  important  considerations  which  led  to  i 

&  r?w-  °*h  Spot  for  the  IaDdi»g  of  tl™  Transatlat. 
tic  table,  there  are  some  minor  incidental  facte  which 
lend  a  touching  sanction  to  their  choice,  mvestlng  it 
with  a  peculiar  appropriateness  And  first  of  all  is  the 
simple  but  significant  met  that  we  stand,  to-day  as 
the  descendants  of  the  first  settlers  of  NeVE  gland 
upon  genua*}  Ptlorm  soil.  The  feet  of  heroes"  of 
martyrs,  of  saintly  warriors,  animated  with*  the 
courage  of  the  cross  which  no  danger  could  frighten  or 
subdue,  have  pressed  it.    .  8  mguieu  or 

Their  tears  have  watered  it.    On  this  very  air  have/ 
their  prayers  and  songs  of  unfaltering  praise,  alike  iu 
the  darkness  of  the  winter  storm  and  the  sunlight  ot 

the  summer  harvest,  ascended.     This  mighty  ocean 1 

which  we  have  so  conquered  that  oidv  a  second  of  ..i'uie  •     f 
:  ePara  es  us  from  the  old  world,  rolled  as  an  alincAt  im-  '     * 

assable  barrier  between  them  and  the  friends  "they 
had  le.t  m  the  old  homes.  And  as  we  meet  here  now  == 
;£iitftBmo&  ™H^y  aud  frate™»l  purpose,  we  can 
h^£fLCy <,"??"■  T0,f  ?  coming  out  of  the  lengthening 
.  hadows  of  the  past  to  breathe  a  benediction  over  us 
a  his  is  historic  ground. 

There  is  Plymouth  Eock,  richer  in  elevating  and 
kindling  associations  than  the  bloodiest  battle  ground 
Won.tbe  f*ce  °/the  *Iobe-  lhere  is  OW  nome  of  SHnd- 
iov'  the  h?ro  whose  brave  life  the  genius  of  poetry  has 
taken ^forits  theme  and  Inspiration.  There  is  Clarke's 
,  Island,  where  the  first  New  England  Sabbath  hytnn 
J  went  up  on  the  wings  of  the  tempSst,  y 

"When  the  stars  heard  and  the  sea- 
And  the  sounding  aisles  of  the  dim  woods  rang 
With  the  anthem  of  the  free." 

♦dnfti«12i'i00,ure  th.  graves  t0  wWch  the  weak  a»'1 
the  faithful  wearily  sank  as  to  a  welcome  rest  opening 
to  a  celestial  glory  such  as  none  but  a  faith  like  t  heirs 
couio  picture. 

. r^oiVU8  ,ul*!ued  and  chastened  by  the  spirit  which 
appeals  to  us  from  these  spots  that  we  stand  here  to 
greet  tliis  last  and  mightiest  achievement  ot  the  19th 
century  Here  where  the  trail  seed  was  sown;  "here. 
E.  r^i  «  noa  b3?au  tooe>"we  gather  to  pluck  the 
ripened  flower  audio  wonder  at  the  latest  and  grandest 
development  of  its  life.  " 

w„U  h«^eKi  I0-0' t0  the  son  ot  a  duxbury  woman, 
born  hard  by  this  very  spot,  is  science  indebted  far  the 
clearest  revelation  audits  most  useful  knowledge  of 
the  strange  and  hidden  depths  of  the  ocean. 
™hin  Ji'T  tha*,leTJ  telegraphic  plateau  which  this 
cable  traverses  did  the  beautiful  contrivauca  of  Lieut. 
2rr?h«i  £  deeP  «»  sounding  briug  the  first  specimens 
two  miles  °Cean  fr0m  ^plbs  of  1"°-'e  than 

io^nt<!'ODCe*,?or<;;.itlsmtlng  that  th«  cable  should 
JS3  -if  i,a  Sn0t  larnlllar  t0>  and  beloved  by,  and  associa- 
mo,T«  -\.he  mai\  wh0'  next  t0  Washington,  has  done 
more  than  any  other  to  give  permanent  honor  and  dig- 
nity and  renown  to  the  name  of  America  among  tile 


/ 


/ 


[i* 


Patrick  and  the  Serpent- 


A  LAST  KELIQUE  OF  FATHEB  TROUT. 

In  the  days  of  good  St.  Patrick, 

While  our  country  yet  was  free, 
"While  her  name  was  known  and  h <  aor'd 

Over  ev'ry  land  and  sea, — 
The  snakos  and  toads  in  thousands 

Infested  all  our  bops, 
And  no  respite  could  be  gotten 

From  the  croaking  of  the  frogs. 

But  St  Patrick  svw  the  nuisance, 

And  by  the  cross  he  swore 
To  banish  all  the  varmint 

From  our  island's  verdant  shore. 
Then  with  his  big  shillelagh 

To  work  he  boldly  set,  , 

And  he  gave  them  all  a  licking 

Which  they've  not  forgotten  yet. 

Then  the  people  hoped  the  country 

Was  from  the  varmint  free; 
But  there  was  one  little  serpent 

Which  St.  Patrick  did  not  see. 
From  among  the  many  thousamds 

This  one  alone  was  left, 
Of  friends  and  home  and  kindred, 

Of  all  but  life  bereft. 

On  the  day  of  that  great  slaughter 

He  was  scarce  three  inches  long ; 
But  soon  by  ease  and  plenty 

He  grew  both  large  and  strong. 
Full  twenty  yards  and  over 

This  monster  was  in  length, 
And  surpass'd  all  snakes  before  him 

In  ferocity  and  strength. 

Was  none  who  dare  attack  it 

In  all  the  country  round ; 
None  bravo  enough  to  whack  it 

In  Klllarney  could  be  found. 
But  when  St.  Patrick  heard  it, 

With  anger  he  grew  red ; 
Says  he,  "I'll  slay  that  sarpint. 

Or  I  will  lose  my  head !" 

And  with  the  words  St.  Patrick, 

His  shillelagh  in  h  is  hand, 
Set  off  to  old  Killarney ; 

And  there  he  took  his  stand 
Before  the  serpent's  cavern, 

And  loudly  he  did  shout, 
"Come  out,  you  scaly  blackguard ! 

If  you're  not  afraid,  come  out!" 

But  well  that  cunning  serpent 

Knew  what  he  would  receive, 
If  he  to  fight  St.  Patrick 

His  sure  retreat  should  leave. 
Says  he,  "No,  no,  St.  Patrick, 

That  gammon  won't  go  down ; 
It's  myself  won't  lave  my  cavern 

Till  you  have  left  the  town." 

Then  says  the  saint,  "In  cunning 

I  never  met  my  match, 
And  by  some  manes  or  other 
•  This  sarpint  I  will  catch." 
Then  off  he  went  to  Dublin,     . 

And  there  he  got  a  box 
Secured  with  twenty  iron  bare 

And  twenty  big  padlocks; 
And  with  the  box  upon  his  shoulder 

To  the  bog  he  took  his  way, 
Where,  stretched  upon  the  greensward. 

The  serpent  sleeping  lay. 
Says  the  saint,  "Good -morning,  sarpint!' 

Says  the  snake,  "Ju  st  cut  your  stick ; 
For  if  j'ou  don't,  I'll  make  you, 

You  blackguard,  pretty  quick !" 

Says  the  saint,  "Be  aisy,  darlint, 

And  don't  be  gettin'  wild, 
Falx,  'tis  I  love  you,  mavourneen, 

like  a  mother  loves  her  chlid ; 
And  see  the  box  I've  brought  you 

To  shield  you  from  the  could ; 
'Tis  big  enough  and  long  enough 

The  whole  of  you  to  hould." 

Says  the  snake,  "Since  you're  so  civil; 

Let  peace  between  us  be ; 
But  that  box  is  not  half  large  enough 

To  hold  the  likes  of  me." 
And  with  these  words  the  serpent 

Into  the  box  did  crawl, 
But  left  his  tail  outside,  as  if 

The  box  had  been  too  small. 

Then  shouted  loud  St.  Patrick, 

"Mind  your  tail,  or  'twill  be  jamm'd !' 
And  down  the  heavy  iron  lid 

With  all  his  strength  he  slamm'd. 
To  save  his  tail  the  serpeut 

Pull'd  it  quick  into  the  box, 
And  instantly  St.  Patrick 

Made  fast  the  bars  and  locks. 

Then  cries  the  humbled  serpent, 
"O,  St.  Pathrick,  set  me  free. 

And  at  once  I'll  lave  the  country, 
And  no  more  of  me  ye'll  see." 


Says  St.  Patrick,  "Aisy  darlint, 
And  don't  give  way  to  sorrow ; 

Perhaps,  if  you  behave  yourself, 
I'll  let  you  out  tomorrow." 

Then  to  the  shore  St.  Patrick 

Carried  both  the  box  and  snake. 
And  with  one  heave  he  threw  them 

Far  out  into  the  lake. 
Then  he  walk'd  off  gaily  whistling 

"The  wearing  of  the  green;" 
And  never  more  in  Ireland 

Has  another  snake  been  seen. 

But  when  on  summer  evenings 

The  breeze  blows  off  the  shore. 
Or  when  the  lake  is  rippled 

By  the  touch  of  passing  oar, 
The  snake  in  plaintive  accents. 

Which  once  heard  you'll  ne'er  forget. 
Cries  out,  "O  tare  and  ages, 

Isn't  it  tomorrow  yet?" 

in  amicable  bonds. 


Let  every  man  sweep  the  snow  from  his 
own  door,  and  not  busy  himself  about  the 
frost  on  his  neighbor's  tiles. 


Do  NOT  think  of  one  falsity  as  harm- 
less, and  another  as  slight,  and  another  as 
unintended.  Cast  them  all  aside.  They 
may  be  light  and  accidental,  but  they  are 
an  ugly  soot  from  the  smoke  of  the  pit, 
for  all  that;  and  it  is  better  that  our  hearts 
should  be  swept  clean  of  them,  without 
over  care  as  to  which  is  the  largest  and 
blackest. — Heir  of  Bedcliffe. 


is.  curiosity.— For  some  years,  the  fol- 
lowing sentence  has  stood  a=t  the  shortct-t 
into  which  all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet 
could  be  compressed  :  — 

"J.  Gray,  pack  with  ray  box  live  dozen 
quails." 

The  above  sentence  contains  th'uty-three 
letters.  A  Utica  gentleman  recently  im- 
proved on  it  as^'ollows,  using  only  thirty* 
two  letters : — 

"Quack,  glad  zephyr,  waft  my  javelin 
box." 

George  W.  Pierce,  a  Boston  lawyer,  has 
now  forced  twenty-six  letters  of  the  alpha- 
bet into  a  sentence  of  only  thi:ty-onj  let- 
ters, as  below : — 

"Z.  Badger:  Thy  vixen  jumps  quick  at 
fowl." 


I 


FRIDAY,  DECEMBER  31,  1869. 


REVIEW  OF  THE  YEAR. 

There  is  nothing  more  strange  than  the  difference 
involved  in  the  contemplation  of  the  passage  of  time. 
Here  we  are  within  a  tew  hours  ot  the  close  of  the 
One-Thousand-Eight- Hundred-and-Sixty-Ninth  Tear 
of  the  Christian  Era;  and  though  each  and  every  day  of 
the  year  seemed  heavily  laden  with  lead,  so  wearily 
did  all  those  days  pass,  now  it  seems  as  if  it  were  but 
yesterday  that  the  year  began.  It  has  been  long  in  the 
detail,— 't  is  short  enough  for  a  dream  of  joy  in  the  ag- 
gregate. Such  as  it  is,  soon  it  will  be  no  more,  like  the 
millions  who  have  died  in  its  course.  A  few  hours, 
and  it  will  become  but  an  kern  in  the  vast  sum  of  de- 
parted time,  as  much  a  thing  of  the  past  as  the  oldest 
of  those  years  that  were  when  the  world  was  young; 
and  the  world  will  enter  upon  the  closing  year  of  the 
se-enth  decade  of  the  nineteenth  century,— as  tull  of 
good  resolations  as  it  was  a  twelvemonth  ago,  but 
which  will  be  disregarded  as  utterly  as  were  those  of 
all  corresponding  periods.  We  all  mean,  "next  winter, 
to  be  quite  reclaimed,"— but  the  winter  comes,  and 
goes,  and  the  work  of  reformation  never  is  done.  The 
Portuguese  have  a  proverb,  that  "the  way  to  hell  is 
paved  with  good  intentions,"— not  hell  itself,  as  it  is 
generally  quoted,  which  is  nonsense;  and,  judging  from 
the  abundance  of  material  furnished,  and  the  long  age3 
in  which  men  have  been  at  work  thereon,  the  infernal 
,way  ought  to  be  the  best— as  well  as  the  worst— of  all 
roads.  Perhaps  it  should  be  so,  considering  how  many 
there  be  that  walk  therein. 

«'A  Happy  Kew  Year  1" 
is  a  common  expression  at  this  season,  though  it  will 
be  more  appropriate  to-morrow  than  it  is  to-day,— if 
ever  it  is  appropriate.  Are  not  all  the  happy  years 
old?  Mr.  Cooper  pathetically  says  that  all  our  greatest 
enjoyments  belong  to  bygone  days.  But  not  the  less  are 
men  hopeful,  and  this  hopefulness  is  most  strongly  felt 
at  such  times  as  make  eras  in  the  world's  course,— and 
New  Tear's  Day  is  emphatically  the  beginning  of  a  new 
time,  when  men  not  only  make  good  resolutions,  but 
determine  to  be  happy.  More  hopeful  than  Seged,  Em- 
peror of  Ethiopia,  they  declare,  not  that  this  day,  or 
this  decade  ot  days,  shall  be  one  of  happiness,  but  that 
tv->  whole  year  shall  be  full  of  happiness,  and 
this  in  spite  of  experience,  which  is  all  against 
their  dreams  of  dreams.  When  Little  Pearl  (in  The 
Scarlet  Letter)  speaks  to  her  mother  of  the  joyousness 
»f  "the  Mew  England  Holiday,"— "Election  Day,"— 
Hester  Prynne  answers  her,  "To-day,  a  new  man  is 
beginning  to  rule  over  them ;  and  so — as  has  been  the 
custom  of  mankind  ever  since  a  nation  was  first  ga ta- 
red- -they  make  merry  and  rejoice ;  as  it  a  good  and 
oU'en  year  were  at  length  to  pa?s  over  the  poor  old 
Orld."  So  it  is  with  respect  to  the  New  Year.  We 
ope  that  what  is  new  will  be  good;  and  perhaps  it 
ouid  be  if  men  would  only  make  it  so,— but  they  do 
ot,  and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  in  but  too  many  cases 
they  will  not,  so  act  as  to  make  happiness  the  logical 
result  ot  their  lives.  It  is  now  almost  two  centuries 
since  Dryden  put  into  immortal  verse  a  fervid  ex- 
pression of  that  strange  contradiction  ot  the  human 
mind  which  leads  men,  after  perhaps  fifty  years  of  dis- 
appointment, to  expect  success  in  the  future.  The  pas- 
1  sage  is  placed  in  the  mouth  of  the  superb  Aurungzebe, 
land  occurs  in  the  play  of  that  name,  (act,  iv.,  scene  1;) 
and  eight  line3  of  it— those  beginning  "Trust  on,"~are 
said  by  Lord  Macaulay  to  be  equal  to  the  eight  finest 
lines  in  Lucretius,  praise  that  should  have  caused 
^Dryden's  ashes  to  "glow  their  wonttd  fires."  Here 
Tit  is: 

"Whin  I  consider  life,  't  Is  all  a  cheat; 
Vet,  fooled  with  hope,  men  favor  the  deceit; 
•-^gC^rust  on,  and  think  U  -morrow  will  repay  : 
To-morrow  's  falser  than  the  former  day  ; 
Lies  worse,  and  while  it  says  we  shall  be  blest 
With  some  new  joys,  cats  off  what  we  possckt. 
Strange  cozenage  '    None  would  live  past  years  again, 
Tet  all  hope  pleasure  from  what  still  remain ; 
And  from  the  dregs  of  life  think  to  receive 
What  the  first  sprightly  running  would  not  give. 
I  'm  tired  with  waiting  fer  this  chymlc  gold, 
Which  fools  us  young,  and  boggars  us  when  old." 

The  reply  of  Nourmahal  to  this  splendid  tirade  proba- 
bly better  represents  the  general  view,  or  that  taken 
by  the  masses  of  men,  ot  human  lite: 
"  'T  is  not  for  nothing  that  we  life  pursue ; 
It  pays  our  hopes  with  something  still  that 's  new. 
Each  day  'a  a  mistress,  unenjoyed  before ; 
Like  travellers,  we  're  pleased  with  seeing  mor^. 
,  Die  you  but  know  what  ioys  your  way  attend 

Tou  would  not  hurty  to  your  journey's  end." 
This  Is  a  woman's  view,  and  therefore  it  is  less  sound 
than  Aumngzebe's,  as  women  seldom  sec  more  than 
ono  side  of  existence,  so  that  they  have  no  means  of 
arriving  at  correct  conclusions.  The  "joys"  allu- 
ded to  by  Empress  Nourmahal  are  thus  described 
in  the  sublime  and  terrible  language  of  Scrip- 
ture: "An  heavy  yoke  was  ordained  for  the  sons  of 
Adam  from  the  day  they  go  out  of  their  mother's 
.womb  till  the  day  they  return  to  the  mother  of  all 
wrings;  from  him  who  is  clothed  in  blue  silk  and  wear- 


eth  a  crown,  even  to  him  who  weareth  simple  linen,— 
wrath,  envy,  trouble,  and  unquietneso,  rigor,  strife, 
and  fear  of  death  in  the  time  of  rest."    But  whi- 
ttle belief  that  the  future  is  a  placer,  from  .vhiob  ;**e 
are  to  gather  gold,  is  the  merest  of  moinshi/r-,  it 
is  not  the  less  true  that  the  opposite  belief,  thai  hap- 
piness existed  in  the  past,  is  by  no  means  estab- 
lished.   Why  should  happiness  be  found  in  ihe  "&X£k 
of  downgone  days"  ?    Looking  at  the  past  "through  the 
/       golden  mist  of  years,"  its  appearance  is  strangely  capti  • 
1       vating ;  but  could  we  return  to  it,  probably  we  should 
I      -encounter  nothing  but  disappointment.  We  should  take 
X       Jean  Paul's  advice :  "Be  every  minute,  Man,  a  full  life  to 
r       thee !— Despise  anxiety  and  wishing,  the  Future  and  the 
Past!— If  the  Second-pointer  can  be  no  road-pointer 
into  an  Eden  lor  thy  soul,  the  Month-pointer  will  still 
less  be  so,  for  thou  livest  not  from  month  to  month,  but 
from  second  to  second !    Enjoy  thy  Existence  more 
than  thy  Manner  of  Existence,  and  let  the  dearest  ob- 
ject of  thy  Consciousness  be  this  Consciousness  itself  !— 
Make  not  the  Present  a  Means  of  thy  Future;  for  this 
ir^.,*...^  u  ~,st»,i„„  h.„t  a  cominsr  Present;  and  the  Pre- 

sent,  which  thou  despisest,  was  once  a  Future,  wh'cn 

thou  desiredst !"    But  here  again  sentiment  gets  the 

£        better  of  sense,  and  the  past  is  glorified  by  all  who  are 

,       capable  ot  feeling,  and  who  have  got  well  up  (or  down) 

(.  i       in  the  middle  ages ;  and  they  are  ready  to  accept  for 

gospel  truth  what  was  written  by  Lord  Houehton 

when  he  was  Mr.  Monckton  Milnes,  and  a  young  man: 

"On  that  deep-retiring  shore  * 

'J,  Fiequent  pearls  of  beauty  He, 

Wbeits  the  passion-waves  of  yore 
Fiercely  beat  and  mounted  high ; 
Sorrows  that  are  sorrows  still 
Lose  the  bitter  taste  of  wo ; 
Nothing 's  altogether  ill 
In  the  griefs  of  Long-ago." 

And  thus,  again  to  borrow  from  Jean  Paul,  we  are 
deluded  throughout  our  lives  by  two  enchanters,— 
Memory  and  Hope. — As  to  success  or  failure,  about 
which  we  are  apt  to  think  too  much  as  we  arrive  at 
the  milestones  on  the  dusty  highway  of  lite,  they 
seem  to  be,  as  it  is  said  love  and  hate  are,  the  same 
thing  at  bottom.  So  far  as  our  observation  and  reading 
go,  the  successful  man  seems  to  be  about  as  happy— 
that  is,  about  as  miserable— as  the  unsuccessful  man. 
The  measure  of  content  known  to  the  one  is  much  the 
same  as  that  known  to  the  other.  This  proves  that  the 
world's  prizes  are  not  worth  striving  for,  that  they 
are  vain  shadows,  about  which  men  disquiet  themselves 
in  vain,  being  unworthy  of  the  exertions  that  are 
made  to  gain  them,— and  that  the  nameless  moral  poet 
was  right  when  he  said, — 

"  Though  much  Is  good  that  we  desire, 
Nothing  is  good  that  we  attain," 

THE  YEAR  EIGHTEEN  HITCHED  AND  PTxTY-NINE 
IMMIGRATION 

has  proceeded  this  year  in  a  majestic  manner,  and  we 
know  that  the  number  of  immigrants  is  larger  than  it 
was  in  1868,  though  the  exact  figures  are  not  yet  avail- 
able. The  quality  is  as  good  as  the  quantity  is  great, 
the  immigrants  being  composed  of  the  best  race3,  as 
Germans,  Irish,  English,  Swedes,  and  others,— the 
l  ight  kind  of  stuff  tor  nation-makinc  It  is  particularly 
pleasing  to  note  that  the  number  of  English  who  ar- 
rived at  New  York  exceeds  forty-one  thousand, 
a  large  increase  on  last  year's  figures.  We  need  a 
larger  infusion  of  British  blood,  and  it  is  encouraging 
to  see  that  we  are  getting  some  of  it.  The  Chinese  and 
the  Japanese  are  beginning  to  come  to  America ;  and 
we  hope  the  Malays,  and  the  Arabs,  and  the  Hindoos, 
and  all  other  races,  will  send  along  large  delegations, 
and  so  help  make  up  that  American  Rom  which  is  des- 
tined to  dominate  the  world.  There  can  be  no  danger 
from  their  coming  to  the  United  States,  for  wo 
mean  to  convert  all  foreigners  who  do  come  to  us  into 
Americana.  As  Mr.  Beecher  happily  puts  it,  "  When  I 
eat  chicken,  I  do  not  become  chicken,— chicken  becomes 
me."  So  is  it  with  the  foreigners  who  come  hither : 
they  do  not  change  us,— we  absorb  them.  So  let  them 
come,  —  Proteslanfs,  Catholics,  Greek-Church-men, 
Jews,  Mussulmans,  Heathen,  Fetiche- Worshippers,  and 
all,— black,  white,  red,  yellow,  and  gray.  This  coun- 
try should  be  like  a  man  who  is  strong,  healthy,  rich, 
and  benevolent,  and  who,  therefore,  clasps  all  human- 
ity within  his  broad  embrace. 

THE  COMPLETION  OF  THE  PACIFIC  RAILWAY 

is  the  great  material  event  of  1869  in  the  Occident.  It 
took  place  on  the  10th  of  May,  a  date  destined  to  be 
memorable  in  the  history  of  what  is  called  "progress." 
The  event  was  noticed  in  a  respectable  manner,  but  not 
much  enthusiasm  was  manifested.  The  reason  of  this 
is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  Overland  Railway 
had  grown  upon  the  country.  The  project  was  dis- 
cussed for  years  before  the  work  began ;  and  when  the 
work  began,  we  all  knew  it  would  be  accomplished  in 
a  short  time.  Mr.  Asa  Whitney,  who  worked  so  hard 
for  the  road  years  ago,  bestowed  so  much  of 
his  tediousness  on  us  when  we  resided  in  the 
West,  that,  while  we  respected  his  purpose,  we  often 
wished  him  in— well,  it  was  a  particularly  warm 
locality  to  which  wo  w^wild  have  consigned  himt  had 
our  power  been  equal  to  our  will,  and  where  coal  must 
be  "high,"  as  well  as  low.  But  he-was  a  man  of  merit, 
and  much  in  advance  ot  his  time.  As  the  road  was  an 
accomplished  fact  long  even  before  it  was  completed,  the 


country  took  tne  completion  cooiiy.  omce  mat  n 
little  has  been  said  of  it,  and  years  must  elapse  before 
Vie  effect  of  its  existence  will  be  clearly  seen.  It  is  with 
nnr.e  as  it  is  with  distance.  To  view  a  landscape  prop- 
erly, you  should  not  approach  it  too  closely,  and  to  un- 
c.  rrstand  the  consequences  of  a  great  event,  you  should 
li\  e  long  after  that  event's  occurrence. 

THE  CLOSE  OF  THE  AFRICAN  SLAVE  TKADE 

is  claimed  for  1869,— but,  we  fear,  the  claim  is  not  to  be 
taken  literally,  though  the  greatness  of  the  trade  cer- 
tainly is  at  an  end ;  and  even  that  part  of  it  which  de- 
pends upon  the  demand  for  colored  slaves  in  the  East 
is  not  what  once  it  was.  It  is  only  ten  or  twelve  yeaHB 
since  matters  seemed  to  indicate  a  revival  of  what  is 
specifically  known  as  the  African  Slave  Trade,— that  is, 
the  legal  traffic  in  human  beings  between  the  Western 
coast  of  Africa  and  the  Eastern  coast  of  America.  The 
villany  was  sanctioned  by  Napoleon  III.  and  by  the 
'London  Times,  and  by  others  of  tlje  principalities  and 
powers  of  the  earth,  including  (in  secret)  our  own  gov- 
ernment as  then  it  stood ;  and  one  reason  why  there 
was  so  much  sympathy  with  our  rebels  among  the 
higher  classes  in  the  old  world  was  the  fact  that 
it  was  understood  that  the  triumph  of  the  South- 
ern Confederacy  would  not  only  be  a  blow  to  republi- 
canism everywhere,  but  that  of  necessity  it  would  lead 
to  a  reopening  of  the  slave  trade  under  the  patronage 
and  support  of  some  of  the  leading  governments  of  Chris- 
tendom. The  result  of  our  war  proved  fatal  to  the  hopes 
of  the  rc-sctionibts.  Not  only  did  it  destroy  slavery 
here,  but  it  put  an  end  to  all  chance  of  its  extension 
elsewhere,  and  prepaied  the  way  for  its  abolition 
wherever  it  existed,  or  exists.  It  is  shaken  in  Brazil, 
and  it  is  virtually  abolished  in  Spanish  America,  Cuba, 
that  is,  and-  Porto  Rico.  It  also  gave  the  death  blow 
to  the  African  slave  trade,  which  soon  will  be  a3  ob- 
solete as  that  kidnapping  business  which  once  existed 
between  Great  Britain  and  her  colonies.  It  wa3  fitting 
that  that  blow  should  come  from  America,  for  it  is 
certain  that  but  for  the  discovery  of  America  the  Afri- 
can slave  trade  never  could  have  assumed  the 
proportions,  alike  gigantic  and  horrible,  which  it 
knew  for  centuries.  The  trade  in  negroes  that 
grew  out  of  the  grand  enterprises  of  Prince  Henry 
of  Portugal,  about  the  middle  of  the  15th  centu- 
ry, was  but  a  small  affair,  and  gradually  it  would  have 
died  out,  had  not  vast  fields  for  slave  labor  been  found 
—or  rather  made— in  the  New  World. 

EARTHQUAKES  IN  1869 

have  been  respectable  in  their  number,  in  the  vast  ex- 
tent ot  their  range,  and  in  the  amount  of  damage  and 
fright  they  have  caused.  They  have  operated  in  South 
America,  in  Mexico,  in  the  West  Indies,  in  California, 
in  I^™,la;  in  lJtah.*  in  New  England,  iu  the  Canadian 
Peminion,  in  the  Sandwich  Islands,  in  Germany,  in  the 
Caucasian  country,  iu  the  Crimea,  and  in  the  Philippines 
There  may  have  been  some  other  fields  for  shocks,  and 
if  the  reader  can  recollect  their  names  he  will  do  us  the 
favor  mentally  to  insert  them  in  our  list,  so  that  it 
may  be  made  complete.  The  Philippine  Islands  ap- 
pear to  have  "caught  it"  worst,  and  to  have  been 
thoroughly  shaken  up,  if  it  be  true  that  Manilla — which 
some  writers  spell  Manila,  which  is  as  great  an  out- 
rage on  orthography  as  it  is  to  spell  the  lovely  ca- 
mellia with  one  I— was  totally  overthrown,  and  that 
the  shocks  were  felt  far  out  at  sea.  When  the  Span- 
iards erected  their  first  buildings  in  South  America, 
running  them  far  up  toward  the  heavens,  which  they 
could  approach  in  no  other  way,  the  natives  told  them 
they  were  building  their  tombs ;  and  so  it  proved  when 
earthquakes  came,  the  high  houses  being  laid  low,  and 
crushing  the  inmates.  The  houses  in  Manilla  were 
low,  mere  huts  mostly,  a.id,  consequently,  though  the 
town  was  overthrown,  the  number  of  persons  killed  or 
wounded  was  but  small,— not  so  many  as  would  go  to 
the  illustration  of  an  ordinary  American  railroad  "acci- 
dent." In  the  country,  churches  were  tumbled  down 
with  the  utmost  ease,  and  so  were  other  buildings,. 
South  American  earthonake^  ££  ye&r>  wjmi  *he  mag- 
nificent sweep  ah  J  wholesale  slaughter  of  those' of '68; 
but  still  they  are  not  unworthy  of  tho  favorite  land  of 
tfwi  fJOri  of  visUation,-*and  as  there  were  a  few  fools  to 
proplJ*cy  that  on  certain  days  the  whole  oountry  would 
be  destif^ye*^  and  iW»ny  fools  to  believe  them,  the  ter- 
ror was  0«ten  greatc.r  than  that  which  followed  last 
year's  shake*.-  The  fntme  and  tho  unknown  always 
trouble  men  mewtoan  they  arc  troubled  by  the  known 
and  the  past.  The  German  shocks  weie  simply  respec- 
table, their  importance  depending  on  their  rarity.  The 
Mew  England  and  Canadian  earthquake  also  was  re- 
markable because  in  this  age  these  parts  of  the  world 
had  not  been  seriously  shaken  before.  In  some  places  it 
was  serious  enough  to  show  that  even  here  we  live, 
not  at  the  foot  or  any  way  in  the  neighborhood  of  a 
volcano,  but  over  forces  that  may  develop  into  some- 
thing worse  than  a  volcano,— into  a  great  earthquake, 
that  is,  and  great  earthquakes  produce  volcanoes,  some- 
times. In  connection  with  earthquakes  may  be  men- 
tioned a  tidal  wave  at  Oran,  in  Algeria,  which  des- 
troyed half  a  mile  of  a  great  sea  wall,  treating  it  as  if  it 
were  of  no  more  account  than  are  dead  leaves  in  the 
estimation  of  an  American  autumnal  blast. 


I 


f 


American  Necrology 
for  1869  is  singularly  rich  in  every  sense.  The  great 
procession  of  the  dead  that  has  marched  hence  through 
the  j  ear  has  been  illustrated  by  the  names  of  some  of 
the  most  eminent  ot  men, — statesmen,  soldiers,  schol- 
ars, politicians,  writers,  artiste,  men  of  science,  men  of 
wealth,  and  others ;  an  ex-Piesident,  ex-Cabinet  Minis- 
ters and  a  Cabinet  Minister,  ex-Congressmen  and  a 
Congressman,  ex-Governors,  journalists,  publishers, 
and  the  like ;  men  in  the  noon  of  life,  and  men  whose 
lives  had  been  extended  to  the  extreme  limit  ot  old 
age.    Among 

THE  STATESMEN  AND  rOLIT.CIANS 

who  have  gone  "beyond  the  river,"  the  most  noted  are 
Edwin  M.  Stanton,  ex-President  Pierce,  Kobert  J. 
Walker,  Charles  A.  Wickliffe,  Amos  Kendall,  William 
Pitt  Fessenden,  John  M.  Botts,  John  Bell,  William. 
Guthrie,  Isaac  loucey,  and  Edward  Bates.  Next  to 
them  come  a  number  of  old  Congressmen,  who,  though 
respectable  for  their  talents,  it  hardly  would  do  to  rank 
r.s  statesmen,— such  men  as  James  Duncan,  Thomas  G. 
Pratt,  Moses  Macdonald,  F.  A.  Tailmadge,  Sampson 
Mason,  James  H.  Woodworth,  Arnold Plumer,  George 
Biiggs,S.  Fessenden,Richard  Fletcher, W.  B.  S.Moore, 
B.  S.  Cowen,  Thos.  F.  Bowie,  Henry  .1 .  Raymond,  Chas. 
Allen,— and  Walter  Brook,  who  was  strangled  by  an 
oyster.  Of  ex-Governors,  there  have  died  Mr.  Crapo, 
of  Michigan,  Mr.  Swift,  ot  Minnesota,  Mr.  McWillie, 
of  Mississippi,  Hemy  Dutton,  of  Connecticut,  Mr. 
Pickens,  of  South  Carolina,  (distinguished  as  having 
been  Governor  when  his  State  seceded,  and  who  had 
been  a  respectable  member  of  Congress,  and  diplo- 
matist,) and  Mr.  Hubbard,  of  Maine,  (and  ot  Maine 
law  memory.)  Of  less  rank  in  politics  are  Fenner 
Brown,  of  Rhode  Island,  M.  A.  Talbot,  of  Maine,  Na- 
thaniel S.  Benton,  of  New  York,  James  Williams,  (ex- 
Miuister  to  Turkey,)  and  ex-Lt.  Gov.  John  Nesmith,  of 
Massachusetts. 

THE  DEATH  OP  ME.  STANTON, 

so  distinguished  as  Secretary  of  War  during  the  seces- 
sion struggle,  took  place  on  the  24th  oi  December,  and, 
though  he  had  long  been  ill,  it  excited  much  surprise. 
He  had  just  been  appointed  an  Associate  Justice  of  the 
U.  S.  Supreme  Court,  and  the  circumstances  of  the  ap- 
pointment were  calculated  greatly  to  please  him ;  but 
it  is  probable  that  that  appointment,  and  those  circum- 
stances, made  the  occasion  ot  his  death.  They  were 
too  much  for  a  system  shattered  by  the  hardest  of  la- 
bors and  the  greatest  ot  responsibilities,  and  which 
illness  had  long  worn  upon.  Thus  another  of  the  war's 
worthies  has  gone  from  the  country  he  helped  to  save, 
just  as  that  country  had  recognised  the  greatness  of 
his  services.  A  passage  from  Haflz  which  Edwin 
Arnold  has  beautifully  rendered  might  be  placed  on 
Mr.  Stanton's  burial-stone,  all  the  facts  ot  his  career, 
aid  the  suddenness  of  his  death  just  as  he  had  achieved 
the  great  object  of  his  life,  considered: 

"The  sum  of  all,  in  all  the  world, 
Is  nothing,  after  all ; 

Get  to  thy  grave  with  tears  and  prayers ; 
Thither  come  great  and  small." 

THE  NAVY 

has  contributed,  this  year,  the  most  illustrious  of  all 
Americans  to  the  dead  roll,— Rear-Admiral  Charles 
Stewakt  dying  on  the  6th  of  November,  at  Borden- 
town,  in  his  ninety-second  (92d)  year,  the  greatest  age 
ever  reached  by  any  high  officer  of  the  noble  service  to 
which  he  belonged,  and  which  his  history  so  nobly 
illustrates.  The  announcement  of  his  departure  took 
men's  minds  back  to  the  earliest  days  of  the  navy  and 
the  early  years  of  the  nation,— to  the  Presidency  of 
John  Adams,  even  before  the  time  when  the  alien 
and  sedition  laws  were  enacted}  for  he  entered 
the  navy  when  fi^Jt  it  was  formed  under  our 
present  By»Jl€nl)  and  he  was  almost  a  middle- 
aged  officer  before  Farragut  had  secured  his  mid- 
shipman's warrant.  He  was  the  last  survivor  of  the 
armed  servaute  <jf  the  Union  of  the  age  of  Washington, 
s»nd  the  last  of  their  number  who  C?ul*  recollect  the 
closing  events  ot  the  Revolution.  It  helps  show  bow 
Short  is  our  nation*!  life,  notwithstanding  the  Immense 
number  and  *'sst  Variety  of  fadts  that  belong  to  its  his- 
tory, that  one  human  life  neirfy  covered  the  whole  of 
it,— and  that  life  so  intimately  associated  with  the  life 
of  'he  nation,  and  the  history  of  it  belonging  so  largely 
thereto.  The  coincidence  is  striking  and  happy,  and 
no  doubt  gave  geej^  satisfaction  to  the  veteran  Bear- 
Admiral  in  his  lasf^cfay  s,  for  he  was  a  man  who  had  an 
honest  love  of  fame,  and  who  knew  that  his  place  in 
Fame's  Temple  was  high  and  secure.  In  any  other 
country  than  this  Rear-Admiral  Stewakt  would 
have  been  made  an  Admiral,  and  have  been  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  naval  service,— but  here,  with  charac- 
teristic shabbiness,  he  was  made  to  hold  an  inferior 
grade,  and  died  without  having  received  his  due.  This 
country  always  settles  the  debts  it  owes  groat  men  br- 
owing them.    Of 

OTHEE  NAVAL  MEN 

who  have  died  in  1809,  Captain  Salter  wa3  well  known. 
He  is  said  to  have  been  the  last  survivor  of  the  officers 
and  crew  of  the  Constitution  when  she  took  the  Guer- 
Here,  (August  19, 1812.)  The  navy  has  lost  Captain  H. 
A.  Wise,  who  was  also  a  man  of  letters;  and  Comman- 
der Law.  Captain  3.  S.  Lee,  a  brother  of  the  General, 
also  is  in  the  list. 


A  NUMBER  OP  EMINENT  SOLDIERS 

have  died,  the  chief  of  whom  is  General  John  E. 
Wool,  at  the  age  ot  eighty,  (80).  General  Rousseau, 
who  did  good  service  in  the  secession  war,  and  who 
had  been  prominent  in  politics,  and  a  member  of  Con- 
gress, died  suddenly.  Others  are,— Gen.  Win.  A. 
Nichols;  Brig.  Gen.  Miles  D.  McAllister  (oi  the  Engi- 
neer Corps);  Gen.  Wm.  R.  Brewster,  commander  of 
the  Excelsior  Brigade;  and  Gen.  Rawlins,  who  died 
while  holding  the  office  of  Secretary  of  War. 

The  most  illustrious  ot  wealthy  Americans  whose 
name  figures  in  this  department  of  the  departed  was  a 
man  who  had  a  higher  claim  to  consideration  than 
that  which  his  vast  possessions  gave  him :  George 
Peabodv,  who  was,  it  may  be  assumed,  the  most  suc- 
cessful merchant  this  country  ever  produced ;  and  whose 
liberality,  alike  enlightened  and  extensive,  has  made 
him  immortal.  He  died  in  London,  on  the  6th  of  Novem- 
ber, and  his  obsequies  took  place  in  Westminster  Abbey, 
where  a  funeral  sermon  was  preached  by  the  Bishop  of 
London,  before  an  immense  assembly,  among  whom 
were  some  of  the  most  distinguished  personages  ot  the 
British  Empire.  Queen  Victoria  was  represented  at 
Mr.  Peabody's  funeral  by  General  Grey,  her  Secretary, 
and  a  member  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  renowned 
families  of  the  English  patriciate.  Mr.  Peabody'8  re- 
mains were  sent  to  America  by  the  British  govern- 
ment, in  the  ship  Monarch,  of  the  Royal  Navy. 


A  YEAR  OP   STORMS, 

\i  ft  title  t°  which  1869  has  a  strop"  claim.    Never  hajj 

theie  been,  within  the  memory  of  most  men,  a  more 
tempestuous  year;  and  the  worst  of  the  tempests  have 
occurred  in  those  months  which  are  considered  the 
finest  of  the  twelve,  as  September  and  October,  lue 
early  winter  part  ot  the  year,— from  January  1  to  the 
vernal  equinox,  March  21,— was,  though  severe,  by  no 
means  of  a  very  hard  character,  might  even  be  called 
mild  it  compared  with  winters  of  the  immodiatyly  pre- 
ceding years;  and  travel  was  less  interrupted  than 
usually  it  is  in  that  season.  It  wa3  not  until  the  close 
of  summer  and  the  coming  ot  autumn  that  the  stormy 
time  began.  On  the  8th  ot  September  came  the 
greatest  storm  known  in  New  England  since  the  Sep- 
tember gale  of  1815,— and  in  1869  the  gale  was  of  tna 
greatest  force  in  some  parts  of  the  country  where  that 
of  1815  made  its  greatest  display  of  power,  as  Rhode 
Island,  and  particularly  in  Providence.  Tne  day  was  a 
fair  one,  though  somewhat  blustering,  and  it  was  not 
till  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  that  the  tornado  began, 
coming  from  th"  southeast, — and  here  the  heaviest 
blowiDg  was  not  known  till  toward  sunset,  shortly 
after  which  it  settled  down  into  a  regular  gale,  suoh  as 
»**$  heeded.  The  destruction  of  property  was  im- 
-<*  —  unerous  buildings,  both  pubjio  and  private, 
mense,  u-  .  .r^t  iy  injured ;   and  thousands  ot 

being  destroyed,  oi  „  -^  w  unrooted,  among 

trees  were  either  torn  to  pu, 
them  not  a  few  patnarcus  in  town  or  .  "..  , 

very  many  trees  were  stripped  of  most  of  their  branob.es, 
and  nothing  was  left  of  them  but  their  trunks.    Myriads 
of  trait  trees  were  prostrated,  and  so  the  results  of  many 
years'  labor,  and  of  much  outlay  of  capital  and  appuca- 
tion  ot  taste,  were  lost  for  ever.    Orchard?  aud  gardens, 
and  fields  and   forests,  suffered    extensively.     There 
was   considerable   loss   of*    life   on  land,    and   more 
by   Sea,  —  and  many  vessels   were   lost.     It   will   bo 
something  to  talk  about  twenty,  thirty,  forty,  fifty 
years  hence,  that  stoon,  as  old  folks  now  talk  of  "Ihe  j 
Line  Gale"  of  1815.    There  «vas  another  storm  on  the 
4fh  of  October,  which  was  a  longer  one  thau  that  ot 
September  8th,  and  in  which  much  more  rain  fell;  and 
it  would  have  been  set  down  as  th-e  storm  of  the  year, 
in  this  part  of  the  world,  but  for  the  superior  destruc- 
tiveness  of  its  predecessor.     However,  it  did  much 
damage;  and  in  the  British  Province  of  New  Bruns- 
wick it    operated    gigantically,    making   away  with 
houses  like  a  great  fire,  though  water  was  the  prime 
agent    of  mischief,    a  tidal    wave   coming   in    with 
all  the  force  of  that  frightful  form  of  evil,  which  has 
been  so  active  of  late  years,  particularly  in  connec- 
tion   with    earthquakes,    while  in   New   Brunswick 
there  was  no  earthquake  to  render  its  appearance  pro- 
per.   Many  other  severe  storms  there  were,  particu- 
larly two  in  November,  but  those  specifically  men- 
tioned threw  them  all  into  the  shade.    The  winter  3et 
in  early,  and  snow  fell  in  many  parts  of  the  country, 
widely  separated,  before  autumn  had  completed  half 
her  term.    On  the  6th  of  December  we  had  our  first 
great  snow  storm,  which  was  one  of  much  severity. 
A  sad  year  it  has  been,  in  respect  to  the  manifesta- 
tions  ot    Nature,   in  its  later  months;    while  in  the 
summer    there  were   long    droughts,   that    reduced 
fields  and  gardens  to  a  dusty  and  unproductive  condi- 
tion, destroying  the  hopes  of  their  cultivators    and 
making  of  the  industrious  as  unenviable  objects  as 
the  idle  had  made  of  themselves.    Still,  the  land,  as  a 
-hole,  has  yielded  its  increase,  and 


THE  WOMAN'S  EIGHTS  MOVEMENT 

has  "progressed"  steadily,  thi3  year,  and  is  gradually 
assuming  those  proportions  which  command  the  re- 
spect of  politicians,— so  t'.at  its  ultimate  triumph  can 
be  predicted  without  danger  to  the  reputation  Of  the 
prophet.  There  has  been  much  discussion  in  1839,  and 
meetings  and  conventions  have  been  quite  numerous; 
e  who  liys  observed  the  tone  and  manner  of 
the  discussion,  and  the  way  in  which  the  meetings 
and  conventions  have  been  conducted,  but  must  admit, 
if  the  truth  has  any  claim  on  him,  that  woman  "know 
the  ropes"  as  well  as  men  know  them;  and  that  they 
bring  as  much  of  intellectual  power  and  various  ac- 
quirement to  the  transaction  of  business  as  men  bring 
to  it.  The  movement  has  pas-ed  clear  beyond  that 
stage  in  which  it  could  be  disposed  of  by  bad  joking,— 
generally  it  was  black  joking,— and  it  can  no  more  be  ridi- 
culed than  emancipation  could  have  been  ridiculed  after 
the  1st  of  January,  1883.  Rightly  considered,  to  make, 
voters  of  women  would  not  behalf  so  great  a  change  as 
that  which  was  involved  in  making  voters  ot  halt  a 
million  colored  men  just  taken  from  a  state  of  bondage, 
in  which  the  savagest  legislation  iorbade  their  receiv- 
ing any  culture.  Our  countrywomen  often  are  highly 
educated,  and  always  they  are  intelligent,  much  more 
so,  taking  them  in  the  ma!s,  than  men.  We  have  seen 
too  many  instances  of  ludicrous  ignorance  among  mas- 
culine voters,  who  yet  did  their  political  duties  fairly, 
to  entertain  any  fear  that  women  wouldnot  make  aood 
use  of  the  suffrage,  evfn  if  they  should  not,  at  first,  be 
well  "booked"  in  political  details,— and  they  are  so 
clever,  in  the  English  sense  of  the  word,  that  they 
would  rapidly  learn  every  thing  that  voters  should 
know,  once  they  should  turn  their  sharp  and  lively 
minds  to  the  acquisition  of  political  knowledge.  A 
high  masculine  authority  assures  us  that  a  girl  from 
humble  life  would  glide  into  refinement  before  a  boy 
could  learn  to  make  a  bow  without  upsetting  the  table; 
and  the  observation  applies  to  all  other  things  with  which 
quickness,  tact,  and  grace  are  connected  and  concerned, 
—and  they  are  closely  connected  and  concerned  with 
politics.  Women  will  have  the  suffrage  before  this 
this  time  ten  years,  as  we  shall  announce  on  some  31st 
of  December  between  now  and  1879,— unless  we  should, 
before  that  "good  time"  shall  come,  be  looking  up, 
without  seeing  them,  to  the  roots  ot  the  daisies. 


MISCELLANEOUS  MATTERS 

in  America  must  be  briefly  disposed  of.  It  may  task 
the  reader's  mind  to  entertain  such  facts,  but  in  1309 
there  have  been  witchcraft  trials  in  Kentucky,  and 
others  in  Maryland ;  and  the  bier-right  has  been  resorted 
to  in  Maryland,— and  a  very  different  thing  from  lager 
bier  it  is.  The  greatest  explosion  in  America  was  that 
at  the  Avondale  Mine,  (Pa.,)  by  which  more  than  100 
men  were  kUled.  That  on  the  Indiana  State  -Fan- 
grounds  caused  many  deaths,  and  wounded  four  thftcs 
as  man*  persons  as  it  killed.  The  Erie  Railroad  has  done 
its  usual  smashing,  business.  Texas  has  been  visited 
by  floods,  and  so  has  Kansas;  and  in  some  parts  ot  the 
Wes:  there  have  been  flights  ot  grasshoppers  almost  as 
great  and  destructive  as  those  of  locusts  in  the  old  world. 

The  Boston  Musical  Festival,  in  June  last,  was  a  suc- 
cess, and  the  "Coliseum,"  erected  for  performances  aud 
spectators,  was  for  a  short  time  as  much  talked  of 
as  we  may  suppose  t'other  Coliseum  (the  Flavian 
Amphitheatre)  was  talked  ot  almost  eighteen  hun- 
dred years  ago.  The  Coliseum  was  blown  down  by 
storms,  and  then  sold  as  lumber.  The  "Cardiff 
Giant"  swindle  is  one  of  the  cleverest  pieces  of  hum- 
bug that  ever  was  perpetrated,— and  when  it  was  first 
announced  that  there  had  been  the  skeleton  of  a  de- 
parted giant  exhumed,  we  felt  as  if  we  could  have_ 
addressed  him  (or  it)  in  the  words  of  Noma  to  the  re- 
mains of  Ribolt  Troll,— 

"  Sand,  and  dust,  and  pebbly  stones, 
Are  leaving  bare  thy  giant  bones." 
But  the  first  description  of  the  old  boy  wa3  enough  t. 
show  that  the  thing  was  "a  sell,"— and  it  sold  well,  cer- 
tainly, for  almost  $50,000.  The  velocipede  has  pretty 
much  ceased  to  go,  the  favor  it  had  at  the  beginning  oi 
the  year  having  run  out.  The  Gold  Conspiracy  in 
New  York  at  the  close  of  last  September  proved  i 
failure,  and  ruined  many  tat  "bulls ;"  and  one  of  the, 
consequences  was  to  knock  down  "gold  quotations," 
so  that  the  country  might  look  for  an  early  return  to 
specie  payments,  only  that  politicians  have  control  oi 
the  matter,  and  there  is  no  saying  what  they  may  do. 

THE  COMPLETION  OP  THE  SUEZ  CANAL 

.s  the  greatest  event  of  the  year  in  the  Orient,  and  d~  J 
serves  to  rank— as  it  does  rank  in  the  estimation  of  al* 
tvell  informed  persons— with  the  completion  of  the  PaO 
jific  Railway;  so  that  the  Old  World  and  the  NevJ 
World  stand  in  1869  on  an  equal  footing  in  respect  t<§ 
;heir  contributions  to  vast  material  undertakings.    Th« 


THB  BCCMBNIOAI,  COUNCIL 

to*'  the  8th  day  of  December,  at  Rome,  and  was 
opened  by  the  Pope  in  person,  the  occasion  being  one 
of  great  interest.  The  Catholic  Church  knows  well 
how  to  impress  the  minds  ot  men,  which  is  one  of  the 
reasons  why  she  has  endured  so  long,  and  rules  so  poten- 
tially. Ceremonies  were  not  wanting  at  the  opening  of 
the  Council,— and  the  day  was  appropriately  noticed 
by  Catholics  in  different  parts  of  Europe.  More  than 
"00  members  of  the  Council  were  present  on  the  8th, 
but  the  number  of  persons  entitled  to  sit  in  the  Council 
is  1W4,  consisting  of  Cardinals,  Patriarchs,  Arch- 
bishops and  Bishops,  Abbots  and  Mitred  Abbot3, 
and  Generals  ot  Religious  Orders,— making  a  ven- 
eiable  assembly.  The  Council  did  not  continue 
its  sittings  for  many  days,  adjourning,  like  our 
Congress,  over  the  holidays,  to  reassemble  imme- 
diately  after  January  6th,  which  is   the  Epiphany. 

Twelve  peasants  lost  their  lives  at  Kalinowna,  in  Po- 
land, fcecause  they  would  climb  the  tower  of  a  church 
that  was  on  fire,  which  fell,  and  crushed  thera.  The 
50Oth  anniversary  of  the  birth  of  John  Huss  was  ob- 
served at  the  beginning  of  September,  at  Prague,  in 
Bohemia",  and  there  was  a  great  attendance  on  so  inter- 
esting an  occasion.  Another  celebrated  departed  per- 
sonage has  received  honor,  an  headstone  having  been 
elected  to  Robert  Paterson,  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Old  Mor- 
tality, a  full  account  of  whom  can  be  found  in  the 
Introduction  to  Old  Mortality,  the  second  tale  in  the 
first  series  of  Tales  of  My  Landlord.  John  Huss  and 
Robert  Pateison  were  men  of  the  same  stamp,— both 
eminently,  pious,  but  Huss  was  a  great  as  wed  as  a 
good  man,  while  Paterson  was  "only  great  as  he  was 
s?ood."  Eighteen  percons  were  killed,  and  many 
injured,  in  a  theatre  at  Bristol,  (Eng.,)  on  the  night  of 
December  27th,  in  consequence  ot  an  alarm  spreading 
imong  the  audience,  which  led  to  the  usual  ludicrous 
lttempts-to  get  out,  and  to  the  usual  horrible  results  ot 
such  attempts. 


/ 


%£jt±.   /Af^i   //i    {feci JkurliJhje-SS,    ~/fltc&Z 

/•    '  c  '•  ' 

'  J^cf  hf^i  /*  uj  Viz 


-  '. 


V 


r 


i 

t    t 

■ 
■ 


■A-  " 


A 

ft  ■ 


> 


lOO 


CHOICE   SELECTIONS 


No.   9. 


SINCERITY  THE  SOUL  OF  ELOQUENCE.— Goethe. 

How  shall  we  learn  to  sway  the  minds  of  men 
By  eloquence  ? — to  rule  them,  or  persuade  ? — 
Do  you  seek  genuine  and  worthy  fame? 
Reason  and  honest  feeling  want  no  arts 
Of  utterance,  ask  no  toil  of  elocution ! 
And,  when  you  speak  in  earnest,  do  you  need 
A  search  for  words  ?     Oh  !  these  fine  holiday  phrases, 
In  which  you  robe  your  worn-out  commonplaces, 
These  scraps  of  paper  which  you  crimp  and  curl 
And  twist  into  a  thousand  idle  shapes,  / 

These  filigree  ornaments,  are  good  for  nothing, — 
Cost  time  and  pains,  please  few,  impose  on  no  one; 
Are  unrefreshing  as  the  wind  that  whistles, 
In  autumn,  'mong  the  dry  and  wrinkled  leaves. 
If  feeling  does  not  prompt,  in  vain  you  strive.  ■ 
If  from  the  soul  the  language  does  not  come, 
By  its  own  impulse,  to  impel  the  hearts 
Of  hearers  with  communicated  power, 
In  vain  you  strive,  in  vain  you  study  earnestly ! 
Toil  on  forever,  piece  together  fragments, 
Cook  up  your  broken  scraps  of  sentences, 
And  blow,  with  puffing  breath,  a  struggling  light, 
Glimmering  confusedly  now,  now  cold  in  ashes; 
Startle  the  school-boys  with  your  metaphors, — 
And,  if  such  fond  may  suit  your  appetite, 
AVin  the  vain  wonder  of  applauding  children, — 
But  never  hope  to  stir  the  hearts  of  men, 
And  mould  the  souls  of  many  into  one, 
By  words  which  come  not  native  from  the  heart! 

7 


ONE    HUNDRED    CHOICE    SELECTIONS. 


CURFEW  MUST  NOT  RING  TO-NIGHT. 


>{ 


I 


< 


PH 


England's  sun  was  slowly  setting  o'er  the  bills  so  far  away, 
Filling  all  the  land  with  beauty  at  the  close  of  one  Bad  day; 
And  the  last  rays  kiss'd  the  forehead  of  a  ma  n  and  maiden  fair, 
He  with  step  so  slow  and  weakened,  she  with  sunny,  float- 
ing hair ; 
He  with  Bad  bowed  head,  and  thoughtful,  she  wiih  lips  so 

cold  and  white, 
Struggling  to  keep  back  the  murmur,  "Curfew  must  not  ring 
to-night." 

"Sexton," Bessie's  white  lips  faltered, pointing  to  the  prison 
old, 

With  its  walls  so  dark  and  gloomy, — walls  so  dark,  and  damp, 
and  cold, — ■ 

"I've  a  lover  in  that  prison,  doomed  this  very  night  to  die, 

At  the  ringing  of  the  Curfew,  and  no  earthly  help  is  nigh. 

Cromwell  will  not  come  till  sunset,"  and  her  face  grew 
strangely  white, 

As  she  spoke  in  husky  whispers,  "  Curfew  must  not  ring  to- 
night." 

"  Bessie,"  calmly  spoke  the  sexton — every  word  pierced  her 
young  heart 

Like  a  thousand  gleaming  arrows— like  a  deadly  poisoned 
dart ; 

"Long,  long  years  I've  rung  the  Curfew  from  that  gloomy 
shadowed  tower; 

Every  evening,  just  at  sunset,  it  has  told  the  twilight  hour; 

I  have  done  my  duty  ever,  tried  to  do  it  just  and  right, 

Now  I'm  old,  I  will  not  miss  it;  girl,  the  Curfew  rings  to- 
night ! " 

Wild  her  eyes  and  pale  her  features,  stern  and  white  her 

thoughtful  brow, 
And  within  her  heart's  deep  centre,  Bessie  made  a  solemn  vow; 
She  had  listened  while  the  judges  read,  without  a  tear  or 

sigh, 
"At  the  ringing  of  the  Curfew — Basil  Underwood  must  die." 
And  her  breath  came  fast  and  faster,  and  her  eyes  grew  large 

and  bright — 
One  low  murmur,  scarcely  spoken — "  Curfew  must  not  ring 

to-night!." 

She  with  light  step  bounded  forward,  sprang  within  the  old 
church  door, 

Left  the  old  man  coming  slowly,  paths  he'd  trod  bo  oft  be- 
fore ;  - 


ONE    nCNDRED    CHOICE    SELECTIONS. 

Not  one  moment  paused  the  maiden,  but  with  cheek  and 

brow  aglow, 
Staggered  up  the  gloomy  tower,  where  the  bell  swung  to  and 

fro: 
Then  she  climbed  the  slimy  ladder,  dark,  without  one  ray 

of  light, 
Upward  still,  her  pale  lips  saying :  "  Curfew  shall  not  ring 

to-night." 

She  has  reached  the  topmost  ladder,  o'er  her  hangs  the  great 
dark  bell, 

And  the  awful  gloom  beneath  her,  like  the  pathway  down 
to  hell ; 

See,  the  ponderous  tongue  is  swinging,  'tis  the  hour  of  Cur- 
few now — 

And  the  sight  has  chilled  her  bosom,  stopped  her  breath 
and  paled  her  brow. 

Shall  she  let  it  ring?  No,  never!  her  eyes  flash  with  sudden 
light, 

As  she  springs  and  grasps  it  firmly — "  Curfew  shall  not  ring 
to-night ! " 

Out  she  swung;  far  out,  the  city  seemed  a  tiny  speck  below ; 

There/twixt  heaven  and  earth  suspended,  as  the  bell  swung 
to  and  fro ; 

And  the  half-deaf  Sexton  ringing  (years  he  had  not  heard 
the  bell,) 

And  he  thought  the  twilight  Curfew  rang  young  Basil's  funer- 
al knell  ; 

Still  the  maiden  clinging  firmly,  cheek  and  brow  so  pale  and 
white, 

Stilled  her  frightened  heart's  wild  beating — "  Curfew  shall  not 
ring  to-night." 

It  was  o'er — the  bell  ceased  swaying,  and  the  maiden  step- 
ped once  more 

Firmly  on  the  damp  old  ladder,  where  for  hundred  years 
before 

Human  foot  had  not  been  planted;  and  what  she  this  night 
had  done, 

Should  be  told  in  long  years  after — as  the  rays  of  setting  sun 

Light  the  sky  with  niello^  beauty,  aged  sires  with  heads  of 
white, 

Tell  their  children  why  the  Curfew  did  not  ring  that  one 
sad  night. 

O'er  the  distant  hills  came  Cromwell ;  Bessie  saw  him,  and 
her  brow, 

Lately  white  with  sickening  terror,  glows  with  sudden  beau- 
ty now ; 


>-f 


10 


ONE    HUNDRED    CHOICE    SELECTIONS. 


At  his  feet  she  told  her  story,  showed  her  hands  all  hruised 

and  torn ; 
And  her  sweet  young  face  so  haggard,  with  a  look  so  sad 

and  worn, 
Touched  his  heart  with  sudden  pity — lit  his  eyes  with  misty 

light ; 
"  Go,  your  lover  lives  !• "  cried  Cromwell ;  "  Curfew  shall  not 
ring  to-night." 


I 


,       ( 

r 


IJ 


■ 


rj 


ELOCUTION.— N.  H.  Gillespie. 

A  great  deal  has  been  said  and  written  on  the  subject  of 
Elocution.  Authors  and  teachers  have  furnished  excellent 
rules  for  pronunciation  and  the  correct  modulation  of  the 
voice ;  they  have  explained  the  nature  and  use  of  stress,  vol- 
ume, pitch,  slides,  inflections,  and  all  the  other  elements 
which  enter  into  correct  reading  and  speaking; 

This  drill,  however,  though  very  useful  and  even  neces- 
sary to  a  successful  cultivation  of  the  art  of  speaking,  will 
never  make'  an  elocutionist.  It  may  render  a  man  a  good 
mimic  or  imitator,  but  that  is  all. 

T.i  >  become  an  elocutionist  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word, 
one  must  learn  to  do  what  Dr.  Johnson  declared  was  done 
by  Garrick,  the  celebrated  actor.  When  asked  his  opinion 
of  the  reputation  attained  by  that  wonderful  interpreter  of 
Shakspeare,  he  replied ;  "  Oh,  sir,  he  deserves  everything  he 
has  acquired,  for  having  seized  the  soul  of  Shakspeare,  for 
having  embodied  it  in  himself,  and  for  having  expanded  its 
glory  over  the  world !"  Yes,  herein  lies  the  secret  of  elocu- 
tion ;  one  must  seize  the  soul  of  the  author  whose  thoughts 
he  would  reproduce ;  he  must  embody  that  soul  in  himself, 
making  it  a  part  of  his  own  being,  and  then  he  will  speak 
with  that  forcible  eloquence  which  alone  deserves  the  name 
of  elocution.  • 

It  is  quite  evident  that  if  a  man  does  not  fully  compre- 
hend the  meaning  of  the  author  whom  he  wishes  to  repro- 
duce, he  cannot,  with  any  degree  of  precision,  present  the 
thoughts  of  that  author  to  his  hearers.  Hence,  the  first  step 
toward  good  speaking  consists  in  mastering  the  thoughts, — 
the  meaning— involved  in  the  piece  to  be  rendered.    This  is 


Tl 


ONE    HUNDRED  .CHOICE    SELECTIONS. 


accomplished  by  a  careful  analysis  of  the  author's  work, 
rioting  the  logical  connection  of  ideas,  and  determining  the 
object  which  the  author  had  iu  view  when  he  wrote  the  piece 
in  question.  This  is  the  first  step,  but  by  no  means  the  most 
important. 

Having  ascertained  the  meaning  of  the  author,  the  next 
and  most  important  step  is,  as  Dr.  Johnson  has  it,  to  seize 
and  embody  in  one's  self  the  soul  of  the  author.  This  is  ac- 
complished by  studying  carefully  the  character  of  the  man, 
ascertaining  his  peculiarities,  his  habits  of  thought,  his  natu- 
ral disposition  and  temper— in  a  word,  the  tone  of  his  mind. 
Then  comes  the  last  step,  which  consists  in  putting  one's 
self  in  that  man's  place,  creating  in  one's  self,  for  the  time  at 
least,  a  tone  and  habit  of  thought  similar  to  his,  and  striving 
to  feel  as  he  most  likely  felt  while  writing,  or  as  he  would 
probably  feel  were  he  to  deliver  orally  what  he  had  written. 
Thus  prepared,  and  "worked  up"  into  the  spirit  of  the 
author,  the  speaker  may  fearlessly  come  forward,  and  foei 
perfectly  confident  that  with  ordinary  speaking  ability  he 
will  express  forcibly  the  thoughts  of  the  author.  And'this 
is  true  elocution. 


THE  BACHELORS. 


The  naturalists  say  that  these  singular  creatures 
Are  alike  in  their  habits,  their  form,  and  their  features; 
The  Benedicks  think  that  their  senses  are  small, 
Whilst  women  affirm  .they  have  no  sense  at  all, 
But  are  curious  compounds  of  very  strange  Stuff, 
Inflexible,  hard,  and  exceedingly  tough  :— 
The  old  ones  have  wigs,  and" the  young  ones  have  hair 
And  they  scent  it,  and  curl  it,  and  friz  it  with  care, 
And  turn  it  to  dark  should  it  chance  to  be  J':iir. 

They  are  ramblers  and  Avanderers,  never  at  home, 
Making  sure  of  a  welcome  wherever  they  'roam  ; 
And  every  one  knows  that  the  Bachelor's  den 
Is  a  room  set  apart  for  these  singular  men— 
A  nook  in  the  clouds,  perhaps  five  by  four, 
Though  sometimes,  indeed,  it  mav  be  rather  more— 
AY  it  li  skylight,  or  no  light,  ghosts*  goblins,  and  gloom, 
And  every  where  known  as  the  Bachelor's  Room 


z 


I 


14 


ONE    II  UN  DIl  ED    CHOICE    SELECTIONS. 


■c 


4 


If  we  err  in  human  blindness 

■And  forget  that  we  are  dust, 
If  we  miss  the  law  of  kindness 

When  we  struggle  to  be  just, 
Snowy  wings  of  peace  shall  cover 

All  the  pain  that  hides  away, 
When  the  weary  watch  is  over, 

And  the  mists  have  cleared  away, — 
We  shall  know  as  we  are  known, 
Nevermore  to  walk  alone, 
In  the  dawning  of  the  morning, 

When  the  mists  have  cleared  away. 

When  the  silvery  mist  has  veiled  us 

From  the  faces  of  our  own, 
Oft  we  deem  their  love  has  failed  u3 

And  we  tread  our  path  alone; 
We  should  see  them  near  and  truly, 

We  should  trust  them  day  by  day, 
Never  love  nor  blame  unduly. 
If  the  mists  were  cleared  away. 

We  shall  know  as  we  are  known, 
Nevermore  to  walk  alone, 
In  the  dawning  of  (he  morning, 

When  the  mists  have  cleared  away. 

When  the  mists  have  risen  above  us, 

As  our  Father  knows  his  own, 
Face  to  face  with  those;  that  love  us, 

We  shall  know  as  we  are  known  ; 
Love,  beyond  the  orient  meadows, 

Floats  the  golden  fringe  of  day  ; 
Heart  to  heart  we  bide  the  shadows, 

Till  the  mists  have  cleared  away. 
We  shall  know  as  we'are  known, 
Nevermore  to  walk  alone, 
When  the  Day  of  Light  is  dawning, 

And  the  mists  have  cleared  away. 


GUILTY  OR  NOT  GUILTY. 

She  stood  at  the  bar  of  justice, 

A  creature  wan  and  wild, 
In  form  too  small  for  a  woman, 

In  features  too  old  for  a  child, 


ONE    IIUNDKED    CHOICE    SELECTIONS. 

For  a  look  so  worn  and  pathetic 

Was  stumped  on  her  pale  young  face, 

It  seemed  long  years ^ffufferi^S 
Must  have  left  that  silent  trace. 

"  Your  name,"  said  the  judge,  as  he  eyed  her 

With  kindly  look  yet  keen,        _   >( 
"Is  Mary  McGuire,  if  you  please  ex, , 

"And  your  age?"-"  I  am  turned  fifteen. 
"Well  Miry,"  Snd  then  from  a  paper 

TTp  slowly  and  gravely  read, 
"You  a?e  barged  here-I'm  sorry* >  say  it- 

With  stealing  three  loaves  of  bread. 

"You  look  not  like  an  offender, 

XrA  T  hone  that  you  can  show 
Thtl^e\obefaise:     Now,  tell  me, 

Are  you  guilty  of  this,  or  no? 

A  passionate  hurst  ot  weeping 

Was  at  first  her  sole  reply, 
But  she  dried  her  eyes  in  a  moment, 

And  looked  in  the  judge  s  eye. 

« I  will  tell  you  just  how  it  was  sir, 

Mv  father  and  mother  are  dead, 
And  my  little  brother  and  sisters 

We?ey  hungry  and  asked  me  lor  bread. 
At  first  I  earned  it  for  them 

By  working  hard  all  day,        . 
But  somehow  times  were  bad,  sir, 

And  the  work  all  fell  away. 

"  I  could  get  no  more  employment ; 

The  weather  was  bitter  cold, 
The  voung  ones  cried  and  slnvered- 

(Iffi  Johnny  's  but  four  years  old;)- 
80  what  was  I  to  do,  sir  l 

1  am  guiltv,  but  do  not  condemn, 
I  took— oh,  was  it  stealing?—  n 

The  bread  to  give  to  them. 

Every  man  in  the  court-room— 

Gray-beard  and  thoughtless  youth- 
Knew^s  he  looked  upon  her 

That  the  prisoner  spake   hetrum. 
Out  from  theifcpockets  came  k .     lnets, 

Out  from  their  eves  sprung   ear,, 
And  out  hum  old  laded  ny allot. 

Treasures  hoarded  for  years. 


15 


/ 


\    *     I 


16 


ONE    nUNDRED    CHOICE    SELECTIONS 


•i 


The  judge's  face  was  a  study — 

The  strangest  you  ever  saw, 
As  he  cleared  his  throat  and  murmured 

Something  about  the  laiv. 
For  one  so  learned  in  such  matters, 

So  wise 'in  dealing  with  men, 
He  seemed,  on  a  simple  question, 

Sorely  puzzled  just  then. 

But  no  one  blamed  him  or  wondered, 

"When  at  last  these  words  they  heard 
"The  sentence  of  this  young  prisoner 

Is,  for  the  present,  deferred." 
And  no  one  blamed  him  or  wondered 

When  he  went  to  her  and  smiled, 
And  tenderly  led  from  the  court-room, 

Himself,  the  "  guilty  "  child. 


\ 

i 


LI 


' 


ft 


ODE  FOR  DECORATION  DAY. 
Henry  Peterson. 

Bring  flowers  to  strew  again 

With  fragrant  purple  rain 

Of  lilacs,  and  of  roses  white  and  red, 

The  dwellings  of  our  dead,  our  glorious  dead! 

Let  the  bells  ring  a  solemn  funeral  chime, 

And  wild  war-music  bring  anew  the  time 

When  they  who  sleep  beneath 

Were  full  of  vigorous  breath, 
And  in  their  lusty  manhood  sallied  forth, 

Holding  in  strong  right  hand 

The-  fortunes  of  the  land, 
The  pride  and  power  and  safety  of  the  North ! 
It  seems  but  yesterday 
The  long  and  proud  array — 
But  yesterday  when  ev'n  the  solid  rock 
Shook  as  with  earthquake  shock,— 
As  North  and  South,  like  two  huge  icebergs,  ground 
Against  each  other  with  convulsive  bound, 
And  the  whole  world  stood  still  • 

To  view  the  mighty  war, 

And  hear  the  thunderous  roar, 
While  sheeted  lightnings  wrapped  each  plain  and  hill. 


■ 


/ 


ONE    HUNDRED    CHOICE    SELECTIONS.  J 

Alas !  how  few  came  back 

From  battle  and  from  wrack ! 

Alas !  how  many  lie 

Beneath  a  Southern  sky, 

Who  never  heard  the  fearful  fight  was  done, 

And  all  they  fought  for  won. 

Sweeter;  I  think  their  sleep, 

More  peaceful  and  more  deep, 

Could  they  but  know  their  wounds  were  not  in  vain, 

Could  they  but  hear  the  grand  triumphal  strain, 

And  see  their  homes  unmarred  by  hostile  tread. 

Ah !  let  us  trust  it  is  so  with  our  dead — 

That  they  the  thrilling  joy  of  triumph  feel, 

And  in  that  joy  disdain  the  foeman's  steel. 

We  mourn  for  all,  but  each  doth  think  of  one 

More  precious  to  the  heart  than  aught  besides- 
Some  father,  brother,  husband,  or  some  son 

Who  came  not  back,  or  coining,  sank  and  died,— 

In  him  the  whole  sad  list  is  glorified! 
"He  fell  'fore  Richmond,  in  the  seven  long  days 

When  brittle  raged  from  morn  till  blood-dewed  eve, 
And  lies  there,"  one  pale,  widowed  mourner  says, 

And  knows  not  most  to  triumph  or  to  grieve. 
"  My  boy  fell  at  Fair  Oaks,"  another  sighs ; 
"  And  mine  at  Gettysburg ! "  his  neighbor  cries, 

•  And  that  great  name  each  sad-eyed  listener  thrills. 
I  think  of  one  who  vanished  when  the  press 
Of  battle  surged  along  the  Wilderness, 

And  mourned  the  North  upon  her  thousand  hills. 

Oh!  gallant  brothers  of  the  generous  South, 

Foes  for  a  day  and  brothers  for  all  time, 
I  charge  you  by  the  memories  of  our  youth, 

By  Yorktowh's  field  and  Montezuma's  clime, 
Hold  our  dead  sacred— let  them  quietly  rest 
In  your  unnumbered  vales,  where  God  thought  best! 
Your  vines  and  dowers  learned  long  since  to  forgive, 
And  o'er  their  graves  a  'broidered  mantle  weave; 
Be  vou  as  kind  as  they  are,  and  the  word 
Shall  reach  the  Northland  with  each  summer  bird, 
And  thoughts  as  sweet  as  summer  shall  awake 
Responsive  to  your  kindness,  and  shall  make 
Our  peace  the  peace  of  brothers  once  again, 
And  banish  utterly  the  days  of  pain. 

And  ye  !  O  Northmen  !  be  ye  not  outdone 

In  generous  thought  and  deed. 
We  all  do  need  forgivenesJ,  every  one  ; 

And  they  that  give  shall  tind  it,  in  their  need.   . 


18 


ONE    HUNDRED    CHOICE    SELECTIONS. 


•  i 


♦  -/ 


'4-  " 


Spare  of  your  flowers  to  deck  the  stranger's  grave, 

Who  died  for  a  lost  cause — 
A  soul  more  daring,  resolute,  and  brave 

Ne'er  won  a  world's  applause ! 
(A  brave  man's  hatred  pauses  at  the  tomb.) 
For  him  some  Southern  home  was  robed  in  j^oom, 
Some  wife  or  mother  looked  with  longing  eyes 
Through  the  sad  days  and  nights  with  tears  and  sighs, — • 
Hope  slowly  hardening  into  gaunt  Despair. 
Then  let  your  foeman's  grave  remembrance  share; 
Pity  a  higher  charm  to  Valor  lends, 
And  in  the  realms  of  Sorrow  all  are  friends. 

Yes,  bring  fresh  flowers  and  strew  the  soldier's  grave, 

Whether  he  proudly  lies 

Beneath  our  Northern  skies, 
Or  wfrere  the  Southern  palms  their  branches  wave ! 
Let  the  bells  toll  and  wild  war-music  swell, 

And  for  one  day  the  thought  of  all  the  past — 

Of  all  those  memories  vast — 
Come  back  and  haunt  us  with  its  mighty  spell! 
Bring  flowers,  then  once  again, 
And  strew  with  fragrant  rai  n 
Of  lilacs,  and  of  roses  white  and  red, 
The  dwellings  of  our  dead. 


BUCK  FANSHAW'S  FUNERAL.— Maek  Twain. 

Somebody  has  said  that  in  order  to  know  a  community, 
one  must  observe  the  style  of  its  funerals  and  know  what 
manner  of  men  they  bury  with  most  ceremony.  I  can  not 
say  which  class  we  buried  with  most  eclat  in  our  "  flush  times," 
the  distinguished  public  benefactor  or  the  distinguished 
rough— possibly  the  two  chief  grades  or  grand  divisions  of 
society  honored  their  illustrious  dead  about  equally;  and 
hence,  no  doubt,  the  philosopher  I  have  quoted  from  would 
have  needed  to  see  two  representative  funerals  in  Virginia 
before  forming  his  estimate  of  the  people. 

There  was  a  grand  time  over  Buck  Fanshaw  when  he  died. 
He  was  a  representative  citizen.  He  had  "  killed  his  man,"  not 
in  his  own  quarrel  to  be  sure,  but  in  defense  of  a  stranger 
beset  by  numbers.  He  had  kept  a  sumptuous  saloon.  He  had 


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